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I fall asleep maudlin and wake up to angry shrieks, explosions and a confusion of blankets and limbs that aren't mine. Struggling upright, I whack Ragna in the head with a wing and wonder when she ended up in my bunk... but she's not thrashing, she's pushing me out of bed and onto my feet so I can stagger to the door, fling it open and demand, "What's going on?" "Flaming meteors, Mistress," is the curt answer. I lunge in the other direction and stare out the window and... curse it all, he's right. It's hailing fire. "Isn't this your bailiwick?" I growl at the sky, but it's daylight and I can't see a Star even with my eyes. I rake my hand through my forelock, then turn to find Ragna's already holding out my shirt. Dressed, I head downstairs, only to be blocked by Oweir. "No, Mistress," he says. "You might be hit." I squint at the sky. "It's not coming down that thick, mister." "You don't understand," Oweir says firmly, "it's being aimed." Poll #1067956 Science!
Open to: Friends, results viewable to: AllYou and I know the stars are still out during the day. But this is a fantasy world! Can Angharad call on the Stars before nightfall, or does she have to handle this some other way until then? Current Mood: oh for gods' sakes!
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"I'll miss you too," he says. *** When midnight rolls around the men are still at it. I look out the inn's second story window at the plumes of flame still writhing against the black sky and sigh, turning away to my bunk. Ragna is setting out the blankets on her pallet. I watch her in melancholy silence until she looks over her shoulder at me and arches a brow ridge. I hold up my hands. "Sorry. I didn't mean to stare." "What is it?" she asks. I perch on the edge of my bed and look at the box across from me where the egg is cocooned in its blankets. The last soldier lucky enough to draw the egg ticket has already come by with a hot brick. I think of Silfie, gone to self-destruction. I think of Donal, who is apparently planning to go home. I think of my parents, who I will probably never see again. "You're not going to leave, are you?" I ask finally. Ragna glances at me... then her ears fold down and her whiskers sag. She reaches over and pats my knee with her thick hand. "This is my home, Angharad," she says. I look out the window again and wonder if I can somehow make it mine when almost all the people I care about are gone. Poll #1066257 Wait, what?
Open to: Friends, results viewable to: AllHey! I thought you all wanted Donal to be Angharad's love interest! Current Mood: depressed
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Hours later I am back on the perimeter. The day has been productive: Ragna's merchant chief has given me all the information I needed, and with his help I also managed to find places to house the soldiers while inside the capital. I am back outside, supervising the work involving the fire curtain. Even to me it is uncanny. The men are digging beneath it... and behind them, the earth collapses in on itself, smothering the flames. The Land's gift to me and to Shraeven... I don't even bother to explain, and the men don't bother to ask. By now I suppose they're accustomed to this bizarre campaign. One more miracle to tell their children, if they live to have them... ...or if they can bring them out of the Kingdom. Not a productive thought. Instead I ask Donal, "How long?" He shakes his head. "Until midnight, at least. It's not a small city." "Make sure the shifts rotate out into the city for rest and leisure," I say. "There's no reason for them to suffer. If we're about to become exiles, we might as well start thinking of these people as more than allies." Donal rubs the back of his head. "Do you really think you'll depose the Godson?" "What?" I asked, startled. "No! This isn't about deposing him, this is about kicking him out of Shraeven." "I know," Donal says and lapses into silence. My eyes narrow as I glance at him. "What?" "I was just wondering if Neshanti will revolt, once Shraeven has set its example," Donal says. "I'd like to go home." "You can go home now," I point out. "To my country," he appends, with subtle emphasis on "country." I grin. "Well, when we're done here you can go back and be Donal Crowned for your home." His silence is unexpected and charged. Again I glance at him, suddenly nervous. With the firelight flickering on his face and in the grooves of his heavy horns, he looks different. Dramatic. Determined. Like someone people would follow. "Oh Donal," I say, and sigh. "I'll miss you." Poll #1065729 Donal Crowned
Open to: Friends, results viewable to: AllDonal says... Current Mood: melancholy
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"Well," Gavan says with a suppressed sigh, "we've done it now, haven't we." "What's that?" I ask as I climb off the barrel, ringed by my men. They must have arrived during the speech. "Committed ourselves," Gavan says, almost glumly. I can't say I blame him. None of us signed up for this after all... but this is what we ended up with. I clap him on the shoulder and squeeze, then look out across the square at the milling people. "Him," Ragna says. "What?" I ask, blinking. "When did you--" She points a thick finger into the crowd. "You want him." I send someone to pluck "him" from his peers and look down at Ragna. She continues. "He was always a little bit too snide in court," she says. "He's head of the merchant's council. He has power." I had forgotten that Ragna was a court translator. I turn with interest to this fellow as he comes to stand before me. My fleeting impression is of a solid body moved with the flicker-swiftness of fish in a stream, and then he turns fierce eyes and a belligerent mouth to me. "Your intelligence is good," he says. "I don't know how you know me, but you seem to. All right, then. What can we do?" "You're head of the merchants," I say. "Tell me about the trade routes into this city, what gets imported and how often. I need to know where he can cut us off and how serious it'll be if he does. And I want to know if we can cut him off... what he can't get from the land around here if we burn or foul or spoil it." A broad grin flashes over the man's mouth. "So you can think as well as talk." For some reason it doesn't offend me. I grin back and say, "Well, I've only been a politician for a few months. Give it time." He laughs and we get down to business. Poll #1065103 Allegiances
Open to: Friends, results viewable to: AllIt occurs to me to ask... are there any people in Shraeven's capital who want to throw in for the Godson? And how much trouble should they be? Current Mood: determined
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It's good that I pause here, because they roar. Not a cheer: nothing so enthusiastic, so light-hearted. The Godson and I have barely been at this two days and they've already gone from confused to angry. Glancing at the plumes of fire I can just see over the buildings, I can hardly blame them. "The gods of Shraeven are with you," I continue. "With their help, I will protect you from the Godson's fire... and if in a week we remain, then he has promised to withdraw." Murmurs--they are skeptical. So am I, but the time to discuss that is later... when I see just what Shraeven's capital has to offer by way of militia. On that point I am not hopeful, since the Godson has brought the entirety of his conquering army, battle-hardened, seasoned, and probably contemptuous of the task of putting down such a minor provincial town. "I am moving my people into town so that we may better guard you," I say and cast about for something inspiring to finish with. "Together, gods and men will prevail against tyranny and oppression, and Shraeven will be free!" There is a shocked silence, and I am stunned no less than they. Then they give me the cheer they held back at the beginning. Gods! Did I really promise them a free country? They are a province of the Godkindred Kingdom! What did I just do? Not much to do for it now but brazen it out... I lift my arms and spread my wings and they cheer again. I try not to think how much I could get to like this. Where is my Silfia now, to knock me down a few rungs? Poll #1058505 The Next Move
Open to: Friends, results viewable to: AllSo what diabolical thing should the Godson do next? Current Mood: !
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I look out over their upturned faces, worried, angry, uncertain, determined. I've never thought of myself as an orator; most of my stirring speeches have been delivered to people who volunteered for uncomfortable beds, bad rations and difficult lives. These people signed up for none of that... would perhaps even have preferred a quiet exchange of power between foreign governors to being subjected to the kind of nonsense the Godson has mandated, solely because I can't keep a passel of meddling gods from tinting me colors. They deserve a quiet life, free from manipulation and mischief. They also deserve freedom, and well I know that freedom must be paid in blood. There's no one else to help them... no one else who can stand between them and the Godson. Had the Godson been someone worthy of his throne, I would have been the first to bow my head to him... but he's proven himself nothing of the sort. I am the woman of the hour. No one else will do. "I am Angharad Godkin of the Sunblood Cliffs," I say. "Called Crowned... once Governor of Shraeven. Camped outside our door is the Godson of the Godkindred Kingdom, whose fire it is what rings your city... ...and I am here to stop him!" Poll #1057019 Speechifying
Open to: Friends, results viewable to: AllAnd this ends...
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It is a strange procession, then, that heads for the center of town, gathering people as it wends. Bedraggled, grim and tired citizens, issuing from their homes and places of business beneath a smoke- and flame-streaked sky, past buildings with waterlogged roofs and ash-smeared walls... following a weirdly-colored conquerer who is, herself, trailed by soldiers in foreign uniforms. It could not be more absurd without the gods becoming more obviously involved: a meteor shower, perhaps, or portentious thunderheads over the ocean. Fortunately, none of that is forthcoming. So far. By the time I reach the center of town, the capital has emptied a good portion of itself into it to meet me. There is no podium, so I have the men roll a barrel into the rough center of the square and clamber onto it. "Citizens of Shraeven," I say, and stop. Poll #1055423 Who am I?
Open to: Friends, results viewable to: AllThis is a very important emotional pivot, where Angharad chooses who she is. What name does she give the people of Shraeven? Current Mood: here we go...
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"Then tell them I will," I say, and stride past him, tucking my wings in and going into the tunnel-- --and stopping in the middle. I am no creature of Earth. The plot of land and people bequeathed to me with my bloodline sings to me only because the cliffs jut high into the sky, because they seem to exist solely so I can throw myself off them and spiral onto the rising winds that coil above the sea. If there are caves in the Sunblood Cliffs, I know nothing of them, and would hardly consider entering them by choice. But here... here I am crouched in a tiny hole in the ground, barely the length of two men lying down, surrounded by soil and blocked from the sky... and I feel... embraced. As if the earth is a blanket I can pull up around my shoulders and cuddle into. Is this what my child feels, swaddled in that warm egg? "Hello," I whisper to the Land, feeling shy and somewhat ridiculous. Sister, He whispers back, and I don't want to go. Perhaps the townsfolk on the other side could be forgiven for back-pedaling when I emerge from the ground, for I'm sure I look entirely fey. The only thing that saves me is probably that I am as confused as they are. "The Governor," one of them says as the soldiers at the tunnel's mouth stare at me. Says another, "The Crowned." I want to tell them not to be superstitious, but what if they're right? "Come with me," I say instead. "To the square. There is something I have to tell you all." Poll #1054890 Reaction Shot!
Open to: Friends, results viewable to: AllSo, hearing the explanation Angharad is about to give them, the people of Shraeven's capital... Current Mood: ...
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The soldiers charged with digging the first cut are dubious. "They say it's river delta, Mistress," Gavan says. "We can't expect it to hold." I nod. "Just do it." A pile of wet sludge grows on our side of the wall of fire. The rhythm of their digging pauses and I crane my neck to look past them at the opening. The ground is as solid as a well-graded road. "Gods!" Gavan exclaims, returning from examining it more closely. "Yes," I say, stifling a chuckle. "Put in support struts, though." Unnecessary, I thought, but it would help the men feel better. "I can't decide if I like supernatural aid or find it disturbing," Gavan admits. "Just so long as we don't count on it," I say. "Divine aid is like negotiating with foreign powers. They want concessions. Usually large ones." Gavan chuckles. The work continues. Whether the men like it or find it disturbing, they make good progress, and they believe the evidence of their senses when they can walk into a tunnel and tap its walls and find them sound. As they dig, I eat and take a survey flight. The ring goes all the way around; at the mouth of the river, the flames lean toward one another from either bank until they join in the center. It would be beautiful, if it wasn't so damned annoying. I am spiralling in to land when I see a commotion at the mouth of the largest tunnel. "Mistress!" Oweir says. "They're trying to get out!" "Excuse me?" I ask, then stop. "Ah, no, don't tell me. The people of the capital." "I'm afraid we're going to have a riot if we don't get in there and tell them what's going on," Oweir says. "I've already had to send people through to guard the tunnel mouth." Poll #1054290 Escaping the Heck Out of Here
Open to: Friends, results viewable to: AllAngharad should say:
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"A ring of fire," I repeat. The two messengers stare at me. "Well," I say. "That's worth seeing." I haul myself from the chair and say to Ragna, "With me, please." She arches the whiskers on one side of her muzzle, as if wryly laughing. I can't blame her. It sounds ridiculous on the face of it. I exit my tent and into the tension of the camp... and stop. They weren't exaggerating. If anything, they were understating the matter. The capital is surrounded by a wall of flame, twirling columns that stab the air and twine toward each other, as if trying to form a dome. My eyes catch on the little droplets of fire that sag off the bending tip of one column. How long before those start catching the roofs of the city... again? Donal appears at my elbow, looking tired. "Under or over?" he asks. I squint at the rising fire. "Under," I say. "Get the shovels. We're going to have to dig." "I don't suppose you can summon more rain," he says. "I'll work on that," I say. "But we need to get in that city." "We could make a firebreak...." I shake my head. "We can't chance that. His element is fire. Making a new one will only give him more to work with. Better to go with buckets and shovels." "I'll get it started," Donal says, and leaves my side. I fold my arms and stare at the wall with narrowed eyes. I am still standing there when a whisper caresses my joints. Instinctively I look down. I will help, my sister, comes the voice, hushed, as if sharing a secret. I grin. Poll #1053815 The Mood
Open to: Friends, results viewable to: AllYou know, I don't think the people in the capital know what's going on... Current Mood: ha!
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