#tffevent

Neve often wondered if she’d ever be used to the grandeur of it all. It still took everything in her not to gawk in awe at the ornately designed manors in which the richest fae resided, each bearing their own unique brand of beauty. As she stood in the garden of the estate that the last of the wedding reception had spilled out into, clutching a goblet of honey mead, Neve quietly people watched. There was plenty to drink in both in sights and wine. The nobility were particularly adorned tonight, competing as usual for the best dressed at the party. Feathers, gems, silk and embroidery were in full display - albeit a bit more disheveled and droopy as the night progressed.

Neve had not been sure how to dress for a wedding, having only been to one in her entire life that had been staged in a worn old barn. But, something had felt right about the silk gown in Luna’s chest, the garment still wrapped in paper from the dressmaker. It’s color stradled the warmest black, and the darkest brown, small black beads scattered across it that shimmered as they hit the light. It took much pushing and prodding, and strange undergarments that nipped one in at the waist and then expanded into a wide bell shape at the hips to accommodate the massive skirts of the gown. Neve had commissioned a matching pair of small devil-like horns encrusted in black diamonds that pinned into her raven hair near each temple and had covered her eyelids in the blackest kohl. She had signed in relief when she walked into the room, and saw others dressed in kind.

She was pulled, most uncomfortably, out of her buzzed daze as murmurs ran through the crowd and King Oberon himself strode out into the gardens, looking as bored as usual. She immediately looked around for the closest exit, her hand tightening around her goblet. Neve had had multiple near run-ins with the King that night, and the week before. Yet, she nearly always found a way to dip into the crowd before he could near her. Exchanging pleasantries with King Oberon always made her feel sick to her stomach. There was nothing that felt more high-stakes than being a murderer masquerading as the beloved cousin of a King to his face. The last time King Oberon her said hello to her, she had had to excuse herself to puke into the pot of a nearby plant.

Neve inelegantly hitched her skirts, darted behind the waiting crowd, and ducked into a servant’s side door that lead into the passageway to the kitchens. The hob exhaled as the sounds of boisterous voices faded, her hand flying to her heart as though it could still the pounding. “Sun and stars!” she breathed, the familiar hearthling exclamation a comfort amidst all these stranger. Tonight had perhaps been a bit too much for her. There were too many faces to remember, and inside jokes to dodge. Her face ached from smiling too much. Neve giggled at her own momentary panic, her heart rate finally beginning to slow as she stood in the candlelight hallways. She turned to peek out and resume her people watching from afar, only to let out a shrill scream at a figure in the doorway. 

Leaving Luna’s impersonator was as much a relief as it was anxiety-ridden. 

Always more secrets to keep.

Rye breathed a little easier once his eyes landed on Hadasa through the window out in the garden. His eyes scanned the ballroom on his way out, searching for the King to be sure he hadn’t set his sights on finding out who Rye’s date to the wedding was. Celestials knew enough rumors had been whispered in every corridor of the castle regarding the woman so many recognized from the Row. 

He knew his error, his careless lapse in judgment as soon as it occurred. His eyes met Bone’s across the ballroom. 

Rye cursed under his breath, and he turned away from her. His eyes found Oberon, far from Robin and seemingly uninterested in approaching the faerie, but Rye couldn’t even take a moment’s reprieve in that knowledge. His skin prickled under a gaze he couldn’t see, but was certain was behind him. 

Changing course from heading outside—far from willing to lead Bone directly to Robin—Rye instead beelined towards another group.

“Saera,” Rye said, putting on a warm smile as he touched a woman’s arm. But when she turned around, he realized it wasn’t the Wolf Clan woman he’d thought she was, but someone else. Certainly a Solitary fae, though one of the Shark Clan, he was pretty sure. In either case, not the respite he’d been searching for. Rye’s smile turned apologetic and sheepish, and he bowed his head politely. “I’m terribly sorry, I thought you were someone else.” The other women with her let out barely concealed laughs behind their hands, and Rye turned away, very nearly running into the exact person he’d been trying to avoid. 

“Archmage Bone, wonderful to see you as always.” 

Once, Amity might have found any excuse to accompany Naveen to a celebration like the Silverstone and Hemlock’s nuptials. Ever the romantic, Amity had adored attending the all too rare faerie wedding. Those celebrations brought out the best in Amity. She was all too prepared to abandon her shyness in favor of merriment. But ever since she found out the truth about Sabina, she could not bring herself to muster that same enthusiasm. The idea of a wedding left a bitter taste in her mouth, some ugly cross between the metallic taste of rage and the ashen taste of grief. But as the Archmage’s favorite student, she could not afford to skip the Silverstone and Hemlock wedding without causing a stir. 

Besides, as she made her preparations to run she could not afford to be seen pulling away from the Archmage and rouse his suspicion. So she donned her best navy gown with its embroidered ivory colored moon and stars, arranged her mess of curls into a respectable updo, and clasped a necklace of Hemma’s around her neck. 

The ceremony seemed to take ages and it was all Amity could do to feign interest throughout. When the guests were shepherded into a large ballroom, Amity was quick to grab a class from one of the servants and down it. A flush spread across her cheeks and chest, but she paid it no mind and reached for another before retreating to the sidelines. 

She was just getting comfortable leaning against the wall when another faerie rounded the corner, nearly colliding with Amity. Amity reached out a steadying hand automatically, the other preoccupied with protecting her drink. 

For full context, read Commitment

Cillian took a deep breath, glancing nervously left and right as he neared the cavern wall. If anyone was hanging around the nearby area, they would have immediately caught him for acting suspiciously; he prayed that he was, in fact, as alone as it seemed he was. His mind was racing, and he tried to push back the flood of nerves pressing up against his legs.

Ignoring his shaky knees and willpower, Cillian reached into the small pouch hanging from his belt. His fingers clasped around the thin handle of the small knife he'd brought, pulling it out. Carefully, the blade slipped into his palm, creating a shallow cut just deep enough to get the blood he needed. He winced, waiting until it pooled just enough to paint the sigil on the rocky wall in front of him.

A few swipes of his hand and he was finished, stepping back to admire his handiwork. His hand stung, and he absentmindedly wrapped it in a handkerchief he'd thought to bring as he waited. What if he hadn't done it correctly? This was his first time attempting something this...shady.

Illegal. The word rang in his mind like it was a sin, and he shook his head back and forth, trying to get it to shut up. What did he care about the ire of the Seelie Court? If he could find Ciere, then he would be long gone before they ever found out. He hoped.

TFF Event: An Unlikely Pairing 

June 13th-June 27th 

The Stranger may have slowed down their killing spree, but their shadow still lingers on Midsummer. Fear is a powerful thing and it still lurks in even the bravest hearts. With the Stranger still at large, the authorities of both courts and clans have grown increasingly paranoid and ruthless in their pursuit. 

With this next event, we will be pairing up characters randomly in the following scenarios: 

Character A is stopped by Character B after the appointed curfew. 

Character C is found by Character D, badly wounded. 

Character E  and Character F are both running from something when they collide. 

Character G is trailing Character H after they witness Character H engaging in a suspicious activity. 

Character I watches Character J take to another character who is later found dead. 

Character K  is looking for someone else, but finds Character L instead.

Character M and Character N are both stopped by the authorities for breaking curfew. 

Character O finds Character P in a compromising position. 

Character Q confronts Character R over their suspicion that they may be helping the Stranger. 

To submit your character, please message the main through tumblr by June 6th. Pairings and scenarios will be posted on the 9th to give the writers time to plot. 

Keep a close eye on the Magpie’s Nest. Throughout the event, updates will be posted at https://themagpiesnest-tff.tumblr.com/. 

Additional Information:

Players with multiple characters can submit as many of their characters as they like, but pairings will not include two characters with the same writer. 

Please tag all event posts under “TFFevent”

@magicksilk-andsnakeskin

A betrothal....a betrothal?!

Harland couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it, truth be told. There was something that sat heavily in his stomach at the thought of it, like a leaden weight or a stone, and the soldier had to squelch down the revulsion of it. He had not married this long for this very reason; he loved no one in the capitol, wanted nothing to do with anyone in the capitol, so what did it matter?

The screaming of a child’s laughter further into their family home reminded him. Ah, yes. That would be why. 

Turning back to stare at his grandmother, Idunna’s face all hard, smug lines, Harland resisted the urge to snarl at her. The blond was still in his uniform, having been called off the training fields to hear this idiotic proposal. One which, he now saw, had been planned for a great while. 

“And who shall I be tied to for the rest of my days, so long as we both shall live,” he asked, voice droll.

“My son, Lord Briar.” 

Harland turned, stunned to see Rahman Byrd sliding through the double doors to his left, poised and elegant as any court viper. The man flashed a tight-lipped smile, bowed to the pit viper beside him, and then sat. Hands folded before him, he continued to speak. “You see, your...indiscretions have tarnished your family’s reputation. My son is the heir to the queen’s guard. As such, his influence should be able to...mend that mistake you have made, in due time. However, your presence and the...steadfast quality of this family line should be, in my last hope, enough to temper my son’s more...devilish qualities.” 

Raham spread his hands to encompass Harland and the room around him, a genial smile only making Harland’s heart drop into his stomach. “It is for the best for us all. And the contract has already been signed, you see, so to break such an engagement would be most unfortunate, don’t you think? Naveen is on his way here now. You shall accompany him to the gardens with a chaperone.” 

In the midst of the Stranger’s killing spree, the Royal household is targeted leading the King to question his mistress’ loyalties. 

@the-lionamidstlambs

@alektobone

There was no shortage of fairies who wanted Countess Kit Scarlet dead, but there were very few indeed who knew the intricacies of her security detail. The proof of King Oberon’s paranoia lay plainly in the multiple layers of protection surrounding his mistress and his newly born daughter. Every fortnight, the King granted different advisors or courtiers insight into her security, hoping to flush out the Queen’s spies and assassins. The death toll had long grown incalculable. It did not matter to the King whether or not he had truly uncovered a plot against them or if the courtier simply had the misfortune of being trusted when an attack had already been planned. Only execution could set his fears at ease, a cure that weakened with each application. 

His paranoia and ever-changing demands made it difficult for those few he entrusted with Kit’s safety, but any challenges were used as proof of betrayal. Thus, even Maddox was kept ignorant of certain details. He had no way to know that the King had relaxed his restrictions regarding access to the royal kitchens, allowing the Queen to send in her agents. When a pinch of wolf’s bane was added to the mortrew, it was so obscured by the heavy spices and pickled beef that Mariot did not register the bitterness. When she did not immediately begin to choke or gasp, the dish was carried up to the banquet hall where a few dozen of the King’s advisors, courtiers, and friends were partying. 

As stewards and serving-girls scurried to and fro, clearing dishes and presenting new ones with a flourish, Countess Scarlet was lost in her thoughts. Her blue eyes had taken on a greyish hue, accentuated by the deep purple set underneath her eyes that seemed to shine through regardless of the glamour applied. In motherhood, her face was more angular and her blonde curls resisted all attempts to be tamed into delicate updos. No amount of elegant dresses or lavish jewelry could fully disguise her fatigue. Kit herself hardly seemed to notice, but the annoyance in the King’s gaze spoke volumes. 

Her dish lay untouched before her and the serving-girl hesitated to clear it away, but Kit’s meal-taster, Clarrisa, nodded her approval after sampling a small portion of the still steaming mortrew. She leaned forward to whisper in her mistress’ ear and only the slight tilt of her head gave notice that Kit was listening. 

“Mistress, you should eat at least something. The King-” Clarissa began, but Kit sighed in response and lifted her wine glass to her lips, signaling her answer. The heavily tattooed human frowned but withdrew all the same. 

The bitterness of her wine shocked Kit and she began to cough violently, drawing Maddox immediately to her side and the King stopped mid-sentence to turn to his attention to her. Kit waved a reassuring hand, clearing her throat. It was hard to believe she once had nearly drank her half her weight in wine daily. She barely could stomach a sip of the dry red without feeling her stomach rebel against her. Her hand went to her stomach, pressing firmly as if she could will her nausea away. 

The mortrew began to cool, but Kit continued ignoring it. Her seated neighbors began to abandon hopes of engaging the fairie in sustained conversation. Kit searched again for the King’s gaze, her wish to be dismissed stated plainly in the set of her jaw. It had taken much cajoling to even draw Kit away from her sleeping daughter and into the royal banquet hall. Another hour passed in a similarly sluggish fashion and the King continued to pointedly ignore his mistress. 

It was not until a panicked steward approached Maddox, whispering hurriedly, who then relayed a message to the King that Kit found her reprieve. The King abruptly announced that he, along with his closest advisors,  would be retiring for the evening and that all others were to stay and enjoy the festivities. Kit gathered her dress and began to follow the King out, but once they were in the corridor and out of sight of the puzzled partiers, Maddox gripped her upper arm firmly and began to hurry her along. 

“Maddox-” Kit began to protest, but the ever increasing speed at which her bodyguard pulled her forward brokered no argument. Behind them, Clarissa was silently lead away with the King’s party.  It was only when they arrived in her chambers and barred the doors that Maddox met her confused eyes.  Elia’s nursemaid attempting to soothe the high pitched squealing bundle in her arms and Kit reached for her daughter, clutching her to her chest. 

“Do not keep me in the dark, Maddox.” Kit snapped, turning her frustrations towards the nursemaid. “And Mattie, so help me if you woke my daughter without justifiable cause-” Mattie began to stammer her apologies, but Maddox reached for Kit’s hand, kneeling beside her, and silenced all but Elia. 

“Mattie had little choice in the matter, Countess. The King has made it very clear that in the event of to a threat to the household, Elia is to be brought to your chambers and I am to guard you both here until we are summoned or receive other instruction.” His gravelly voice was gentler than normal and if Kit had not been so tired and irritable, she might have sensed the gravity of their present circumstances. 

“And what present danger stalks us now, Maddox? Being bored to death? Or perhaps suffocated by Lord Folkes’ stench?” Kit snapped, her grip on Elia tightening. “Or is this just punishment for asking to be excused from a banquet?” 

“One of the tasters in the kitchen collapsed moments ago. She had sampled quite a few of the dishes, so it is still unclear who poisoned her and who they meant to harm, but-” 

“Where is Clarissa?” Kit abandoned her attempt to soothe her daughter, passing her quickly to Mattie and striding towards the barred door. Maddox caught her easily, placing himself between the door and Kit. 

“With the King and his advisors.” Maddox answered, his voice thick. Clarissa and Maddox’s friendship ran just as deeply as the bond between mistress and meal-taster. 

“Take me to them,” Kit ordered, her fire returning with a vengeance. Maddox did not relax his grip and pressed his forehead to hers. 

“I cannot. Not unless we are summoned. You know this. We have no choice in the matter-” 

“You will take me to them, Maddox. I will not sit here and wait for summons while he studies Clarissa like she is a dog, poking and proding her to see how long it takes for her to collapse or-” Kit descended into sobs, attempting to wipe the tears from her eyes and push pass her shadow. His hold gave way into an embrace, equally meant for soothing and restraining. She began her futile attempt to claw at the bar, hoping to unlatch it and run. 

“I am truly sorry, Kit,” Maddox whispered. 

Both courts, along with all of the clans, have implemented some form of curfew in addition to increasing patrols. Even the pacifist Sparrow Clan now has nightly patrols, ensuring all are tucked away into their treehouses. Despite these increased security measures, the Stranger’s toll has only risen. Even the King’s mistress, so recently elevated to Countess, seems to have been a target. Of course, with her newly borne bastard daughter, we cannot completely rule out the Queen’s involvement. Other notable targets include Aubrey Crane, suggesting that the Stranger fears neither lawman or criminal. It would appear both Harland Briar and Vera Pike have mostly recovered from their brush with the Stranger, and only time will tell if Kit Scarlet and Aubrey Crane will follow suit.

To date, here is our most recently compiled list of assassinations/ targets.

Harland Briar, Seelie, recovered

Ethel Grancourt, Seelie, deceased

Mary Wren, Seelie, deceased

Thalia Efraim, Sparrow Clan, deceased

Louise Forde, Sparrow Clan, deceased

Serena Shells, Shark Clan, currently recovering

Kit Scarlet, Unseelie, currently recovering

Aubrey Crane, Unseelie, currently recovering 

Morell Moret, Unseelie, deceased

Geoffrey Wlyde, Wolf Clan, deceased

Methel Strongshield, Wolf Clan, deceased

Vera Pike, Fox Clan, recovered

Alyce Norwood, Fox Clan, recovered

Thrystan Baker, Clanless, deceased

A pattern is clearly emerging: those in positions of power seem to be the Stranger’s true target. Other kills seem to be collateral damage, likely to try to throw investigators like ourselves off the scent. Alas, motives of the Stranger remains a mystery to even us. Their target pool is too evenly dispersed among courts and clans to favor any individual group as the culprit. Furthermore, a string of grisly assassinations hardly seem to be aligned with the Tears of Iwan’s agenda. The deaths are far too public to be the work of the Church of Lilith.

We will watch closely, Midsummer. Take care, and we shall talk soon.