79th Trial of Ashan, Arc 717
The gentle light of Ashan’s rays caressed thin cheeks and stirred from slumber that of a woman with long, messy brown locks and limbs that ached from having been malnourished and abused. Her rescuer, Andraska, and herself arrived here in the early morning of the 78th trial, but instead of being properly introduced to whatever this place was, she was dropped off with little interaction from the man and escorted away by… servants?
It was dark when they arrived, but Freya knew just from flying down upon the estate that this was a massive place built on money and power. Whoever Andraska was, it piqued her interest to discover he was the apparent Lord of this place.
A noble of Rynmere, Freya had thought. Great…
The Biqaj was far out of her element within this place of politics. She had no mind to play the kind of games they were notorious for and realizing she was in the company of a player, and possibly a high ranking one too, Freya had little interest in remaining. Wary was an understatement for how she felt, even as she was taken up marble steps and led down hallway after hallway till she came to a finely crafted oak door and was invited in.
“This will be your room, Miss.” The servant explained. Freya could hardly believe it.
Not only was the room entirely too big, it had almost an entire wall of intricately made windows with a matching set of doors leading out to a balcony. On the right side of the room was a canopy bed with luxurious curtains draped over the beams and tied every so eloquently to the posts. The bed itself looked welcoming, as if the dead could sleep in it and awaken back to the living. There were nightstands next to the bed as well, where decorated candelabras sat patiently, waiting to be lit.
The was no need, of course, as the light from one of the three moons happily bathed the room in soft blue. It illuminated the curtains before the windows, tied to the holders protruding from the wall, their cream color taking on the familiar azure tint Freya fell in love with.
On the left hand side of the room sat the dresser and a vanity, accompanied by a massive fireplace while a bookshelf and basin for washing pressed against the adjacent wall the biqaj just entered from. All around the room were portraits of landscapes, artwork, sculptures— even the rugs in the room looked exquisite.
Freya stood there awkwardly, taking in every bit of detail. She didn’t know how to feel, being here… It was… odd. She was out of place.
“Miss, are you alright?” Asked the servant and Freya turned with a slight grimace on her lips.
“You work here?” She’d asked, her hand coming up to play with the ragged sleeve she wore.
“Well yes, I live here too. I am a servant for my Lord Venora. He’s asked us to provide for you anything you wish until his return.”
“Servant?” Her accent dipped, “You’re a slave?”
The young woman paused only a moment before nodding, but she seemed more confused than offended, “Yes Miss, there are many servants here in Rynmere..?”
Freya nodded, her arms crossing over her chest, as if that would shut out everything new and different and transport her back to her bed on the Arbiter. Nothing was familiar. She felt exposed… Her eyes drifted around the room again, but she didn’t move from the spot she was fixed to.
“Will you be needing anything else, Miss?” The servant asked and all Freya could muster up was a shake of her head. “Then I will bid you goodnight and greet you in the morn. Please don’t hesitate to ring the bell there on the end table should you need someone. There are servant quarters down the hall.”
With a curtsey, the woman shut the oak door softly and suddenly, it was entirely too dark. It was only after the servant left that Freya realized she’d been carrying a candle.
Freya didn’t keep track of how long she stood there for, but the glittering ripples of the lake just beyond her windows brought her footfalls forward. Her thin digits tugged at the handles on the doors before she pushed them open and stepped out. Gentle wind brush up against her skin as she looked around, her brown locks dancing against the middle of her back. Nothing was familiar… Nothing but the water there, below her. Freya watched, her fingers steady on the stone railing that held her back.
She missed Ne’haer… Kian, Valkan, Wendell, Haraji, Caed… She missed the smell of the ocean, the salty air, the sound of the sails catching the wind, and the rush of the waves as they folded over one another. She missed the late nights keeping watch on the wheel, the conversations she had with Haraji and Caed, the Common lessons she took from Wendell, the stories they exchanged around the campfire on the road to Ne’haer, and thereafter within the city, being around Wendell… But those memories left her shattered inside with a sour taste in her mouth. Freya had done what she thought was right, and in the end, it destroyed her…
Shaky hands swiped at the stray tears suddenly falling from her lashes. She looked down at the droplets, never realizing her features twisted to mirror the pain her soul felt. The darkness there was overwhelming and she shook. Like a leaf, she shook. So weakened and vulnerable, she shook. Her hands tighten and she ventured back inside, rage biting at her heels.
Bright, smoldering red eyes watching those shaky hands grab the curtains and tear each one down with a destructive yank. Their fine fabric ripped easily to her will and fell deathly to the floor as she moved onto the next one. It didn’t stop— she didn’t stop. Everything needed to be destroyed. Everything need to feel pain. She needed to be free of the markings of her past and in a whirlwind of wrath, she decimated the room given to her.
Those fine painting were knocked from the walls and broken, the statues were shattered, the mirrors broken, the books ripped up and thrown, the shelves toppled and splintered, the dresser shoved onto its side with a loud bang! Even the basin was not safe from Freya’s destruction.
The sheets were torn from the bed and hurled across the room as she ripped into the feathered pillows, “I hate you, foulborn scums! You wretched, rookid, cowardly bastards!” The biqaj screamed into the room. “You murderous scumbags!” She was volatile as she ruined everything around her, heaving into the cool air of the room having left the balcony doors open.
It was then a knocking at her door called crazed attention to it.
“Miss..?” The servant called, “Is everything alright?”
“Leave me be!”
“Uh— Y-Yes, Miss.”
The light around the frame of the door faded as Freya stood in a halo of feathers, holding the ripped ends of the pillow. She released them tentatively and ran those same shaking hands into her hair before sinking to the floor.
“Just leave me be…”
The gentle light of Ashan’s rays caressed thin cheeks and stirred from slumber that of a woman with long, messy brown locks and limbs that ached from having been malnourished and abused. Her rescuer, Andraska, and herself arrived here in the early morning of the 78th trial, but instead of being properly introduced to whatever this place was, she was dropped off with little interaction from the man and escorted away by… servants?
It was dark when they arrived, but Freya knew just from flying down upon the estate that this was a massive place built on money and power. Whoever Andraska was, it piqued her interest to discover he was the apparent Lord of this place.
A noble of Rynmere, Freya had thought. Great…
The Biqaj was far out of her element within this place of politics. She had no mind to play the kind of games they were notorious for and realizing she was in the company of a player, and possibly a high ranking one too, Freya had little interest in remaining. Wary was an understatement for how she felt, even as she was taken up marble steps and led down hallway after hallway till she came to a finely crafted oak door and was invited in.
“This will be your room, Miss.” The servant explained. Freya could hardly believe it.
Not only was the room entirely too big, it had almost an entire wall of intricately made windows with a matching set of doors leading out to a balcony. On the right side of the room was a canopy bed with luxurious curtains draped over the beams and tied every so eloquently to the posts. The bed itself looked welcoming, as if the dead could sleep in it and awaken back to the living. There were nightstands next to the bed as well, where decorated candelabras sat patiently, waiting to be lit.
The was no need, of course, as the light from one of the three moons happily bathed the room in soft blue. It illuminated the curtains before the windows, tied to the holders protruding from the wall, their cream color taking on the familiar azure tint Freya fell in love with.
On the left hand side of the room sat the dresser and a vanity, accompanied by a massive fireplace while a bookshelf and basin for washing pressed against the adjacent wall the biqaj just entered from. All around the room were portraits of landscapes, artwork, sculptures— even the rugs in the room looked exquisite.
Freya stood there awkwardly, taking in every bit of detail. She didn’t know how to feel, being here… It was… odd. She was out of place.
“Miss, are you alright?” Asked the servant and Freya turned with a slight grimace on her lips.
“You work here?” She’d asked, her hand coming up to play with the ragged sleeve she wore.
“Well yes, I live here too. I am a servant for my Lord Venora. He’s asked us to provide for you anything you wish until his return.”
“Servant?” Her accent dipped, “You’re a slave?”
The young woman paused only a moment before nodding, but she seemed more confused than offended, “Yes Miss, there are many servants here in Rynmere..?”
Freya nodded, her arms crossing over her chest, as if that would shut out everything new and different and transport her back to her bed on the Arbiter. Nothing was familiar. She felt exposed… Her eyes drifted around the room again, but she didn’t move from the spot she was fixed to.
“Will you be needing anything else, Miss?” The servant asked and all Freya could muster up was a shake of her head. “Then I will bid you goodnight and greet you in the morn. Please don’t hesitate to ring the bell there on the end table should you need someone. There are servant quarters down the hall.”
With a curtsey, the woman shut the oak door softly and suddenly, it was entirely too dark. It was only after the servant left that Freya realized she’d been carrying a candle.
Freya didn’t keep track of how long she stood there for, but the glittering ripples of the lake just beyond her windows brought her footfalls forward. Her thin digits tugged at the handles on the doors before she pushed them open and stepped out. Gentle wind brush up against her skin as she looked around, her brown locks dancing against the middle of her back. Nothing was familiar… Nothing but the water there, below her. Freya watched, her fingers steady on the stone railing that held her back.
She missed Ne’haer… Kian, Valkan, Wendell, Haraji, Caed… She missed the smell of the ocean, the salty air, the sound of the sails catching the wind, and the rush of the waves as they folded over one another. She missed the late nights keeping watch on the wheel, the conversations she had with Haraji and Caed, the Common lessons she took from Wendell, the stories they exchanged around the campfire on the road to Ne’haer, and thereafter within the city, being around Wendell… But those memories left her shattered inside with a sour taste in her mouth. Freya had done what she thought was right, and in the end, it destroyed her…
Shaky hands swiped at the stray tears suddenly falling from her lashes. She looked down at the droplets, never realizing her features twisted to mirror the pain her soul felt. The darkness there was overwhelming and she shook. Like a leaf, she shook. So weakened and vulnerable, she shook. Her hands tighten and she ventured back inside, rage biting at her heels.
Bright, smoldering red eyes watching those shaky hands grab the curtains and tear each one down with a destructive yank. Their fine fabric ripped easily to her will and fell deathly to the floor as she moved onto the next one. It didn’t stop— she didn’t stop. Everything needed to be destroyed. Everything need to feel pain. She needed to be free of the markings of her past and in a whirlwind of wrath, she decimated the room given to her.
Those fine painting were knocked from the walls and broken, the statues were shattered, the mirrors broken, the books ripped up and thrown, the shelves toppled and splintered, the dresser shoved onto its side with a loud bang! Even the basin was not safe from Freya’s destruction.
The sheets were torn from the bed and hurled across the room as she ripped into the feathered pillows, “I hate you, foulborn scums! You wretched, rookid, cowardly bastards!” The biqaj screamed into the room. “You murderous scumbags!” She was volatile as she ruined everything around her, heaving into the cool air of the room having left the balcony doors open.
It was then a knocking at her door called crazed attention to it.
“Miss..?” The servant called, “Is everything alright?”
“Leave me be!”
“Uh— Y-Yes, Miss.”
The light around the frame of the door faded as Freya stood in a halo of feathers, holding the ripped ends of the pillow. She released them tentatively and ran those same shaking hands into her hair before sinking to the floor.
“Just leave me be…”