“It was a display of their crumbling hold over the land,” Freydis insisted, her voice full of steel and resolve–and with it a level of hope and satisfaction in her assurance that it was the result of some sort of fissure in the might of the Aetheron. “They were cowards who subjugated dragons, chased a kingdom from their lands in the dead of night, and then isolated themselves behind a wall so no one could challenge them.” There was a fire in her eyes that Agnes would have seen before–one that burned when Freydis drove that fatal blow into Kansaldi, when she fought to maintain Eivor’s liberation, and one that many might have witnessed as she led on the battlegrounds of Aventia or sought to overthrow the Kossith on their own floating torture chamber. “It will not be that simple. But it will be done. Whatever their movements behind that barrier, they will be stronger for it. But so are we now.” She bit the inside of her cheek nearly to the drawing of blood before the fuse of her temper burnt itself out once more.
“You pointed in my face and called me a liar,” Freydis insisted, lodging the ridiculous accusation only to see what Agnes might volley back. “They did–in this life and the last. When they were ready and I wasn’t, and when Fate allowed it.” Dúnedain; still a word that weighed on Freydis with the grief of what might have been. But now was not a time for grief, it was time for what Freydis had done for her entire life–to make the most of what she had, and to fight with every atom of her essence for what was worth maintaining. “All of that is true, and more,” Freydis said, the memory of the Iskarans from centuries ago ruining the sacred archways playing out in front of them by virtue of Veilwhisper’s magic. “But I am not without hope.” She looked back to Agnes. “On this matter, I will never be without hope.”
In the cabin, Freydis looked back over her shoulder at Agnes where she rested in front of the hearth from her own place at the wood burning stove. “Would you like something floral, or something spiced?” she asked, preparing two cups and a few thick rags to protect her hands from the searing hot sides of the kettle. “I have spoken with another of our allies–the druid Deimos. He intends to make his way to Caribella when the time is right. And if the Weave allows for it, I plan to go with him.” Her eyes settled on Agnes, expectant and waiting for a response.
Agnes nodded once, her eyes mirroring such ferocity but with an inkling of understanding embedded within. She'd told Freydis what she could of her current life, her father's standing in the Vanguard, and her growth within Astoria despite how they would have culled her without question if they'd grown even a scant suspicious. "It sounds familiar," it was all Agnes could offer without trying to equate her pain to their own - Freydis, the dragons, every other Iskaran who had fallen or lost something - truthfully, Agnes would never wholly understand the depths of their sacrifices, as love and life was torn from them as violently as a limb, but indeed did her heart bled for them.
"Chaos is a ladder, Freydis; they had utilized it well, but now as the flames of their destruction flicker and they have none but themselves to look upon, they realize they've nothing else to manipulate." Her words were crafted and believed based on how strongly Freydis felt in the moment; it settled any nerves Agnes may have had, squashed them to nothing and only made the genasi stand stronger, too. She stagnated, however, as Freydis used such strong language, Agnes' lips parting, and a curious expression on her face. "I don't believe I've ever used such foul titles towards you," the genasi was more amused than offended, though a teasing sense of reproach glinted in her eyes.
"I will join you in the pursuit of their reparations, no matter my former wariness. It has always been you who has made me believe, Freydis; and such inspirations are worth their weight in platinum coin." Agnes settled within the chair again, where she had momentarily sat straighter, the genasi settled back within the chair, letting the warmth of the hearth wash over her. "Spiced if you will," something which would match her invigorated spirit, Agnes nearly sputtering from her spot as Freydis mentioned Deimos. "I'm shocked you were able to get a word in edge wise with Deimos." She delighted in being able to lie sometimes, sarcasm laid on thick when it came to the rather mute druid. "He will have to pardon my intrusion on these plans, but I must insist on coming with, Freydis." The lilt of her words poised that if Freydis did not wish for her to go, she would indeed refrain, otherwise Deimos would have to simply deal with it no matter.


















