Dubhaine Family/Brigdha/Roleplays/2016/January

January 30th, 1016

Evening -- Oligarch -- Brigdha Dubhaine

Brigdha crossed the plains largely unremarked, a craggy old woman wrapped in a ragged shawl, leaning heavily on a crooked staff, grey hair hanging limply about her shoulders, a tattered satchel of cheap trinkets clutched tightly in claw-like fingers.

The sun was westering by the time she joined the last stragglers seeking admission at Oligarch's great southern gate, barely remarked by the watch and instantly forgotten. The kind of frail figure beneath the notice or contempt of noble and warrior alike.

The mission which brought Brigdha to Oligarch, the heavily-fortified armed camp at the heart of Duke Garas's rebellion, was largely one of compassion. There'd been much in his letter which stunk of a trap but still she felt a connection to Lady Catherine which demanded she seek the truth for herself, though it was yet far from obvious how to act upon her instincts.

She made her way swiftly through well-chosen backstreets to the Temple of the Flow, avoiding Darton Plaza and slipping unremarked through one of the side entrances used by acolytes on temple business. Shutting the door behind her Brigdha slipped its bolt into place and dropped the glamour which had brought her this far.

​Tonight she'd sleep soundly and on the morrow seek out Lady Catherine.

January 31st, 1016

Morning -- Oligarch -- Catherine Chamberlain

Her breathing was heavy and ragged.

Looking down at herself she noted with dismay the blood soaked into her gown. The image of it... red on white... blood on sheets. The image made her shake and taught fingers curled and uncurled the small blade clattering to the ground. She had to silence the screams, they were distracting her from everything and nothing.

The ewer had tumbled across the floor and now lay empty and useless in the corner. Rubbing her hands on her skirts she returned to the looking glass and set her trembling soiled fingers to braiding her hair.

Evening -- [[Oligarch] -- Brigdha Dubhaine

Brigdha awoke with a start to a darkened bedchamber, her nostrils filled with the heavy, metallic scent of freshly shed blood. For a brief moment she tensed, lungs pausing, preternatural senses reaching out in expectation of treachery. Had Garas drawn her here to end her life? But as her mind's eye studied the threads linking life to life she heard a familiar song, reverberating across the city in melancholy, atonal phrasing.

Washing and dressing with minimal fuss, Brigdha took a moment to check her appearance in the mirror. The ancient crone who'd crossed the plains was gone, discarded as easily as the ragged shawl she'd worn to be replaced by an imposing woman in conservative court attire, a hint of grey in the raven tresses framing her well proportioned, if somewhat pallid, features.

The letter from Garas was the guarantor of her safety, so she slipped this into her purse. She doubted anyone in the city administration would recognise her from her last visit or be aware of her role as Lord Speaker of Sirion, and if they did she had shadows watching her every move, but still if the letter could forestall any unpleasantness it was worth a hundred bows concealed in the darkness.

However these precautions proved unnecessary, the grand dame strolling unchallenged towards the palace, arm-in-arm with her young beau, dainty parasol guarding her delicate complexion, giggling like a giddy schoolgirl.

At the palace gates weak-willed guards barely questioned her business, swiftly handing her into the care of a succession of footmen, valets and minor officials as she navigated her way to Lady Catherine's personal staff.