[Butting in to say this is a fun read]
[Thanks, KKY.]
To all readers, if you happen to be interested in the backstory of this (or at least the serpentine part of it), you can contact me with social actions for a (probably not) quick chat at Euphemia. Make sure to bring appropriately bizarre stories.
EPILOGUE[i]
[OOC: this brings us full circle as my first RP interaction with Absimiliard was another meeting of him and Apsalar - one that did not go very well… Same as Vavakx said, if someone should be interested in it, PM me. I still think it was a pretty good piece, if I do say so myself. I like my writing a lot better when it’s centered on Apsalar, not Phryne, which is why I drag her into every story…][/i]
One night (but then, it’s always night in the Neath…), when you’re overseeing cargo being offloaded from the Brazen Hussy while admiring your new fingernails, a light-flash reflected in one of them catches your attention. Sure enough, it’s the Huntsman, stepping out of a fold of Is-Not/Who-Knows-Where into the relatively sane reality of the Wolfstack Docks.
"Captain," the wayward daughter of the Leopard Clan inclines her head in greeting, "a word if you please."
But then she stays silent for a long while, looking out over the busy docks.
"I trust your friend is fully recovered?" she finally says, awkwardly. "I would call them a fool - but then look where I’m standing!" She laughs, a bitter laugh you well remember from that night in the Flit.
"Anyway, while you were busy fighting the Trader in Birthrights, I met a… a tragic creature. The Radiant Warmonger, a distant ancester of mine. Enslaved two centuries ago! I had never met him before, had hardly believed the stories were true. It shocked me no end to see what had become of the man who is still remembered as one of the greatest warriors in the history of the New Khanate: hardly more than an automaton, with just a last remnant of humanity hidden somewhere inside.
"I brought him back here, into reality, knowing he wouldn’t last long. And he didn’t, he just faded away… finally free. Yes, I know that’s a euphemism, don’t look at me like that. But with his last breath, he thanked me. That… made me think."
This cannot be what she came here to tell you, but apparently she takes the long and winding road to make her point, whatever it is. You wait patiently, letting her get there in her own time.
"I have been summoned to the Castle of Forests. Again. I will probably be… chastised*** for my continued disobedience." She shrugs. "Maybe I’ll get to see the Bloody-Handed Queen this time. Lady Amarantyne is extremely curious about her, and so am I. Maybe she is nothing. Maybe she is the key to everything.
"Ah, I’m so bad at this! You know, a princess is never taught how to say sorry, or how to admit to being at fault? Indeed, she is taught never to feel sorry, and never to believe herself at fault! Still, all that - being a princess - was a long time ago for me. It feels like a long time ago because time is mutable in Parabola. I have always been the Fingerkings’ Huntsman - which is impossible, but true nonetheless. And sometimes I feel like I’ve lived a thousand lives - the distorted memories of all those who were Huntsman before me, but never existed. Because, Parabola!, as you like to say." That bitter laugh again.
"Anyway, here’s my point: that night in the Flit, I left it up to you whether you told my family about my fate or not. It was wrong of me to put the burden of that decision on you. So, here’s what I want: tell them everything! Let them know. It’s important somebody does. In case I lose myself… in case I, too, never make it back to reality."
She makes to leave, then suddenly grins: "Oh, by the way - nice fingernails! Though I think they’re a bit far out, even by your standards…"
[OOC: All right, good fun everyone! Irene’s probably just going to wake up after an unrestful night with vague memories. No ill effects on Mathieu, though he might vote Tory in the next election.]