Weapon Walking

The Cailleach’s arrival, heralded by constant snow and chill wind, was the witch’s only reprieve.


Not from the weather or her symptoms, of course, which were exacerbating her illness. What started as a thin dusting of snow on the ground seemed to change overnight into heavy drifts. It cracked the bottom of wolves’ paws and sent shivers to the very bone. But that was the Cailleach’s way. The Queen of Winter was a harbinger of storms and change. And the piercing cold progressed the weakness cursing the lithe witch’s frame. It did, however, keep her fever down and provide plenty of cold water to ease her sore throat.


But no, the reprieve was not physical. It was the banduri witch’s sign that the ancient goddesses had not abandoned her. Catching contagion from the orphaned thief in the woods—the Cù-Sìth, so the witch believed—was not a punishment. It was part of the answer to her prayers. She would prove her strength, and her conviction, by carrying the illness into the heart of King Adamh’s army itself.


Yorkshire was not a welcoming place for a lone woman. And the banduri couldn’t breach the walls of the barracks. But she didn’t want to arouse suspicion. Instead, she chose a clear place amongst the trees where she appeared to be resting. The sounds of training (likely in response to Jacob’s rising army) echoed in the distance. There the woman with the dark crown waited, suppressing her smile, as she anticipated the approach of Imperial passersby.

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Yvaine is infected, so coming in close contact puts other wolves at risk. You can optionally have your wolf infected by interacting with Yvaine and posting in the #outbreak channel on Discord!

@Sybil

i did a bad thing
feeling the heat.

Winter had arrived and settled over Rionnach, blanketing them in a layer of snow. It wasn’t her favorite time of year, the constant cold and the biting winds. But she would survive, just as she did every year. Leaving Castle Stuart, she headed towards the barracks, stepping up her training regimen with the news of Jacob’s return. Tensions sky rocketed between the change of seasons and the return of the exiled prince and left everyone looking uneasy. She wasn’t keen on the idea of another war but it seemed inevitable. War was long and bloody, it left both sides exhausted and battered, turning neighbors against one another.

With cold paws, she walked a familiar path, returning to Yorkshire. There was comforting familiarity here, she knew what was expected of her and she knew her roll. Orders could fall easily from her lips and those beneath her would follow. Her dark ears pressed forward, catching the sounds of training already taking place as the army stepped up its presence in preparation.

Just before she reached the barracks, a shadowy figure resting amongst the trees. Eyes narrowed slightly as she paused for a moment to just watch. When the wolf made no effort to walk into the barracks or leave, she would approach. Dual toned features were neutral, a ghost of a polite smile hanging from the corners of her mouth. ”Hello.” She would greet the woman, the singular word rolling fluently off her tongue. Nostrils flared gently, pulling in the woman’s perfume as she inhaled. She had intended to just walk by, but there was something off about the way the woman smelled.

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At first, the witch wasn’t sure what she saw approaching in the distance. Perhaps another fae messenger with a trick in its talons. But as the figure emerged from the trees, Yvaine saw beyond the sheer white of her coat, and the frame of a wolf took shape from the unusual, dark underbelly and pointed, bat-like ears. The scent of rain washed over her, but other familiar smells burst like notes in the harmony of a song. The stench of Castle Stuart, combined with the notably muscular, fit physique, led the witch to believe this woman was a soldier.


Again, she had to force herself not to smile.


Instead, the banduri glanced up as if in mild surprise, her silver eyes shimmering with concern. The emotions that danced across her features were subtle, subdued. “Forgive me,” the witch murmured, her voice hoarse and hollow. That part was not feigned—it burned even to speak. She remained curled on the ground, the dark tip of her tail flopped over her front paws. “I felt tired, so I just needed to rest…for a moment…” She swallowed thickly. Then her eyebrows contorted and she tried to meet the stranger’s piercing blue gaze. “Are you a soldier?” she asked, even though she had an inkling of the answer.


@Sybil

i did a bad thing
feeling the heat.

The strange woman appeared surprised, glancing up with the faint shadow of concern in her eyes, like she hadn’t expected to be approach. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse, unexpectedly so. An apology dripped like honey from dark lips as she claimed to need rest. A noncommittal hum formed in the pale soldiers throat as she eyed the woman with veiled suspicion. Are you a solider? The question wasn’t uncommon, it was usually asked by someone seeking aid and if this woman were to be believed, she needed help. But things were different now…

”Do you need help?” She side stepped the question, instead offering the help this woman sought. Soldiers were not immune to the unrest that was spreading with the news of Jacob’s return. Spies would soon start infiltrating both sides, strangers would smile before plunging a dagger in your belly. It was time to be vigilant. She wouldn’t admit that she was also still leery of strangers after her attack.

Delicate features remained smooth, her gaze wandering casually to the barracks in response to a particularly loud noise, as if it caught her attention, but she was also looking to see if anyone was around. The stranger was curled up on the ground, seemingly harmless with her demure act. ”Out in the snow is hardly a place to rest.” She mused, a small smile stretching across her lips as she turned her attention back on the wolf.

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The woman’s disposition was stoic—so she was (most likely) intelligent. A shame, too; a young, beautiful, cautious female like her should have been serving Rionnach instead of the petulant cowards in Parliament. The two-toned woman responded to Yvaine with a measure of healthy suspicion and distance, and though she wasn’t vocal about why she stayed stock-still, it was rather obvious. Yvaine was a strange Highlander in Imperial territory. Sizing this she-wolf up, it was also evident that in direct conflict, the witch was at a disadvantage. Generally she could handle herself, but in a fight with a trained soldier, she didn’t have a chance. The banduri had to proceed carefully.


There was one more thing that snared her attention: a certain lilt in the woman’s voice…it made her sound like a Highlander. Had so many native-born already forgotten what the Mainlanders did to their Queen? How they pissed on the monuments to their gods while blood spilled down from the mountains?


Well…after today, perhaps they would remember.


Yvaine’s ears flattened against her onyx-hued skull. She did her best to “muster” a smile, but it faltered, and she murmured, “Fair…enough. I just couldn’t continue. Do you remember last summer, when…so many were having nightmares and nosebleeds?” The witch was referring to the fae sickness, though nobody knew what it was. Yet there were documented cases of wolves appearing inexplicably younger and suffering from insomnia—Princess Mhairi included. It didn’t seem to be contagious though. “Do you think,” Yvaine asked weakly, “it could be related to that?”


@Sybil

i did a bad thing
feeling the heat.

The unnamed woman offered a weak smile that she barely kept on her face for more than a moment. Her complaint about being unable to continue would go in one ear and out the other when she mentioned last summers mysterious sickness. "I do." Her voice was measured, though there was a subtle question in her response.

Do you think it could be related to that? This woman was sick. She had to be, Why else bring up last summers troubles? "I certainly hope not." She forced subtle concern into her voice. She regarded the woman closely now. "You should get somewhere warm, to rest." She would take a few steps towards the barracks, still angling her body towards the stranger.

"We certainly don't want a repeat of last summer." She mused, speaking to the woman as if they were chatting over a drink, rehashing the past like friends. It had taken practice to keep the softness in her shoulders even when tensions rose.

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This soldier clearly wasn’t interested in helping an ill stranger. Under different circumstances, Yvaine would have admired the woman’s nonchalance. The words that fell from her lips were strained—concerned, yes, even as she walked closer to the barracks. Yet she stayed, chatting politely as though she was waiting for the stranger to depart. Fire bubbled in the witch’s throat and she yearned to breathe it in this creature’s face. But she, too, must be patient. She closed her eyes for a moment and nodded, rising shakily to her feet. “I’ll leave your woods,” she murmured, moreso to see the soldier’s reaction than to incite guilt.


But as the banduri rose, she stumbled a few steps closer to her target. Her head swayed and her paws slipped through the snow, white powder flying to the right. She knew she was close enough to breathe disease into the other wolf’s lungs. Would the Imperial know? Would she connect the coming agony to this encounter at all? Yvaine withheld the urge to cough so the soldier might not recognize her future symptoms. “Sorry, I think…I’m steady now. I hope I didn’t startle you. I’m sure…you need to get back…to your officers soon.”


With that, head held low, Yvaine turned to leave Yorkshire. The witch maintained the illusion of weakness, although it was only partially an act. Before she’d taken three steps, however, her silver eyes peered over her shoulder and she said, “Surely your…Parliament overlords will forgive you…for stopping to talk to a tired woman, instead of returning immediately to your post.” Secretively, she watched for the other’s reaction. You’re a Highlander, aren't you? she mused. Act like one.


But unless stopped, Yvaine departed from Yorkshire without another word. Only when she was far, far from the training grounds and any other wolves did she allow the manic grin to overtake her deadly maw.


@Sybil

i did a bad thing
feeling the heat.

Finally, the woman agreed to leave. She remained silent for a beat but as lips parted to speak, the stranger swayed on her feet. While her paws did not move, her weight would shift, rocking back onto her hind feet. She sucked in a quiet breath as the woman found her feet and steadied herself. "No need to worry." Came falsely assuring words. The woman had apologized, claiming to not want to startle her. She would smile and nod, a simple acknowledgement that the woman spoke.

She hadn't moved when the stranger looked back over her shoulder, offering her final words. Sybil's chin would lift slightly. It was the only outward reaction she would have. Parliament overlords... It was an interesting choice of words. The weary woman was highlander, it was clear in the accent that colored her hoarse words. Most would assume that she herself was a mainlander due to her place in the military and her lack of accent. She'd spent her entire life within the mainlands, there was no reason for anyone to think otherwise.

Only when the woman was out of site would she turn and leave herself, heading into the barracks to begin her day, unknowingly carrying a disease.

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