tangled webs, broken chalice

The work had been beyond her. She'd had to wait until she could ask Saetan for assistance. While any Black Widow had a particular gift for weaving illusions, the strength and skill it took to set a spell into a nonliving object permanently was something she couldn't do alone. Yet, she'd been asked, and wanted to try to get it done. Of course, the intended recipient might not want the gift, regardless.
That, however, was a later concern.

They'd decided on a ring, rather than a necklace or badge. Tersa had to guess at measurement, though her impression was that it would if anything be slightly too large rather than small. A plain silver band, set with several small red stones.

Then he set the illusion to meld with the metal, Tersa providing the image it was to follow. The hands and arms were the focus of the 'disguise', concealing them to appear smooth, unmarked/untentacled.

Remembering how often she'd noticed people staring at Suzi, she could understand somewhat that it might be best if those weren't always visible to strangers. They wouldn't feel any different, if touched. Nor would the magic interfere with a Sime's senses.

The illusion would hold up, barring unforeseen circumstances,* as long as the ring was in contact with Suzi's skin.
It would, however, let her go about on other worlds with a bit more safety. Or so they hoped.
She put the ring in a gift box, to take back with her when she returned to Milliways.

*in other words, 'tis up to Suzi'sMun whether or not she wants this to work or on what terms*

SaDiablo Hall is old, has been rebuilt several times but retains the look and feel of a castle that houses royalty. It might look at home in any medieval age...until, that is, you noticed winged humanoid figures circling overhead,
others in a courtyard practicing weapons drills. Centaurs and pixies and unicorns, and seeming animals that looked at you with eyes that were a little too shrewd to belong to 'mere' animals, roaming about.

Today the atmosphere is one of busy but happy anticipation. The First Circle of Jaenelle's Court have all found time to gather here, to celebrate the turning of the years. The coming of 'Witch'. It's one festival Blood everywhere never miss, never ignore, whether or not they know that the
Queen, the Black-Jeweled embodiment of magic and dreams herself, is among them.
The public rooms are filled with music, places set for performances, and dancing if one desires, and are decorated with late blooming flowers and winter garlands, green and gold and crimson. Scents of blossoms, candles set
high on the walls, and further off, aromatic woods burning and food being cooked. The interior is clearly lit, by globes of witchlight upon the ceiling.
Servers hurry back and forth, circling around knots of people engaged in
conversation.
The Throne Room is the largest room on the first floor. Today and through the
festivities, the majority of the guests congregate there, taking at least a
few minutes to pay their respects directly to Jaenelle, Kaeleer's Queen, and
her adoptive father, Saetan SaDiablo.

Upstairs are found the libraries, both magical and mundane subjects, a gallery graced by various forms of art, including painting and sculpture,
a training arena with open spaces for exercise or weapons demonstrations,
shielded rooms that are used for magical work, Saetan's office, and the armory.

Tersa and her visitors appear just inside the front gate of the Hall. There's
brief looks of surprise from a few people nearby, but nothing more extreme than that. Most of those who have any business at the Hall know of the Black Widow, if only as a trusted friend of the High Lord.

High above, one of the Eyrien warriors spots them, and descends swiftly to land. "Hello, and merry Winsol," he calls to Tersa as he approaches, grinning.

Tersa had rested for a day or two, but she kept feeling uneasy. Unsettled. There was something she had to do, and it wasn't at the Hall.
The dreams showed her nothing she could understand, yet. She was used to that. It added to her frustration, however.
The coven and Saetan, knowing her as they did, didn't press her for company when she withdrew. Jaal came to curl up beside her most nights, his purr soothing nerves that had been scraped raw.
After her moontimes had passed, she made what preparations she could to journey West again.
Realizing that she might also find herself quite further away than Dhemlan Terreille, she packed as if for a longer trip, taking extra coin and her Black Widow's/Healer's tools. Those were stowed away in a bag that held a locking spell, Saetan's work.
Tersa could open it whenever she needed to do so. Anyone else who tried would, at best, be unable to unravel the knots tying it shut, no matter how nimble their fingers. Anyone stealing the bag, or trying to cut through the ties, would find themselves paralyzed until someone(Tersa, or another magic-user), released them.
She turned north, and then west, taking a different route across the Territory borders.

As she was walking across an old stone bridge that ended in an
archway, the door reopened...

Tersa'd taken a pack of food with her from the Bar when she left. Where she was going, she wouldn't be able to trust what people might offer her. While poisons were a specialty of hers, she didn't want to have to use the energy and concentration it'd take to test every crumb she ate.
The background whispers tugged at her, making it hard to think, to want to stay in the here-and-now, waking world. Easier to drift.
But she couldn't.
Twice, she had to leave the paved roads to avoid oncoming riders. There was a feel of /greed/cruelty/undisciplined power about them that was like a warning beacon to anyone who could See. She walked through bushes, across rocky and wet ground in the rain, which was half-frozen. Kept moving.

The summons she'd felt was more urgent. She'd walked north, then west, from the door. Deep into unfriendly territory.
Half a day passed. She had to stop and rest, though only for an hour or so. The fear she felt aching through her bones wouldn't let her pause that long, hers or not.
As she dozed, she dreamed. SaDiablo Hall.
A young woman standing by a table, her features hidden by long, unruly golden hair.
*Jaenelle?* Tersa tried to call. *Jaenelle!*

*Tersa?* She felt the young Queen's startlement, then shock, concern. *You shouldn't be reaching so far--What's wrong?*

Tersa ignored the jabs of pain behind her eyes, the taste of blood in her mouth. *I need the darkness. Where I am...to have the daylight held back.* She couldn't explain why, it would take too long.
Jaenelle had done it before. When the High Council of Dhemlan tried to remove her from Saetan's foster care as a minor, she had told them that they could name her a new guardian "when the sun next rose."
The sun didn't rise for another three days, by which time the Councilors were too terrified even to attempt any such change.
It wasn't a gesture or a threat Jaenelle had made lightly...

Tersa felt strength flow into her. The pain receded. *How long?
Only where you are, or throughout that province?* asked Jaenelle briskly.
*Two days and nights should be enough. No--only--perhaps a day's ride in all directions.*
*All right. Rest. It will be done when you wake.*

Kaeleer's Queen was true to her word. Tersa made good time on the roads. The sudden gloom had caught people off guard.
Understanding what Tersa couldn't articulate, Jaenelle had also
clouded the area magically. Anyone looking for a certain Kaeleer witch would find nothing. A gentle, brief rain washed away any physical trail she might be leaving.
She finally came to the spot where the summons had originated. A hole leading into a hillside cave. Tersa's eyes filled with hot, griefstricken tears. Two bodies lay by the cave mouth.
They'd have appeared to be horses, wild mustangs, to anyone who only looked with the outer eyes.
Kindred. The female had been a witch, and Healer. The dead male wore a Summer-sky jewel, or the remains of one, about his neck. The Jewel was dulled. Lifeless.
Tersa crouched, one hand outstretched to stroke the female's mane tenderly.
A noise from the interior made her head lift sharply. She stood and walked uphill. "Come out," she coaxed, her voice soft.
*They killed my dam.* A head peeked out from the rocks at the
entrance. A colt, the same dappled gray as his sire. *They tried to take us away, and then...*
"I know." Tersa swallowed back her tears. He was so young, still no more than a baby by the equines' standards. The humans in Terreille didn't always believe that kindred were Blood, people every bit as much as they were. Or, they didn't care.
"I'm a Black Widow, of the Hourglass, like your sire and dam.
They called me to come bring you safe." She approached cautiously, putting a gentle hand on his neck.
*You don't smell like them. My sire said someone would come. Are you from the Black Mountain?*
"From Kaeleer. Yes." Her golden-brown eyes hardened as she noticed bloodstains on his withers. "Can you walk, little Brother?"
*My left hind leg hurts to walk on. I don't think I can go very far.*
Tersa glanced at a nearby crack in the stone that was quite large enough to serve as a door. "It won't be far. We'll go somewhere closer, where we can get you food and some Healing for that leg. --may I have your name, friend?" He might not trust her yet. She could hardly blame him if he never trusted any humans again.
This would have to be punished. But she was going to get this little one safe first.
*Sunchaser,* he answered, sounding reluctant.
"I'm Tersa."
She led him into the aperture, and away...

Tersa's at the Bar, sipping a hot cup of cider. She has a book beside her, along with paper and pens.
The paper holds a map of the Blood's territories. Cities, towns, terrain marks such as rivers, mountains, valleys, the sea and islands to the far southeast, are drawn clearly.
She's given more detail on Kaeleer, including directions to Ebon Rih, SaDiablo Hall, and the Keep.
From time to time, she glances up at the door. Blinks hard, and finally forces herself to look away, rubbing at her eyes.
She finishes the present copy of the map. There are three in all. One for Bar to keep, should anyone later ask for it, the other two for Truman Burbank and for Serena.

She rolls the maps carefully, inserting them into thin wooden tubes, along with a letter and a carefully inscribed golden coin with her personal mark on it. Any of the Blood who know her, such as Saetan, Jaenelle, Lucivar or Daemon, will know this was hers. Given freely; the coins will melt if stolen or lost instead of handed away of the owner's free will.

One for Truman, two for Serena and her spouse, Mina.
The letter for Truman reads, ( for Truman )
( for Serena )

She has gone through the process of brewing antivenin before now. Going out to the forest, she sets a nonlethal snare near a rabbit hole she finds, baiting it with a fresh carrot. The temptation works. A few hours later, she returns to find the trap occupied by a sleeping(tranquilized) snowshoe hare. She brings the little animal back to her room, using a bit of Craft to keep her 'patient' asleep. She doesn't really want to be explaining to other patrons why she's chasing a live rabbit through the place.
( antivenin, history )

Tersa's room at Milliways isn't large or fancy. There's a couch, a couple of upholstered chairs that are more interested in being comfortable than stylish, a desk, and a bed shoved against one wall. Rugs cover the floor. She walks in ahead of Serena, half turns to wave her inside.

Guardian. Oh, that's not what they call it here, but at home--Well. The man who'd been her child's father had been one such, and though they hadn't been closer than friends in centuries, he still was one of her
most valued friends. Among Kaeleer Blood, there wasn't a lot of concern for what people at large thought. A sort of fierce independence was bred into them. They'd go their own way, no matter what others believed was right.

The wards she'd laid on the room, if Serena could perceive them, might give the other woman a subtle hint or warning as to Tersa's own self. They aren't as high-powered as what a Jeweled witch could set in place, quiet, though tightly woven. There's an aura of steadiness, calm, welcome, but something not so nice beneath it; rather like a piece of silk that, if one pressed down, might have razor edged blades underlying the softness.

She switched on the overhead lights, smiling over at Serena, held out a hand. "Shall we sit?"

Back home, Tersa had grown used to people who would, without realizing it, literally never sit with their backs to her.
Good instincts, she would have said, if she'd been able to get the words out--and remember why she wanted to do so. ( Read more... )

Craft or artwork, simple but creative things such as her current project, were soothing. She looked down at the little table in her room at the Bar.
A necklace that could be worn by either a man or woman,
silver worked in the shape of a dragon. She smiled to herself. Lorn's wings... The eyes were green stones. The wings spread outward to rest against a wearer's neck.
Back to basics. This was a lesson she'd learned among the Arachnians. How to attract, englamour someone, and then spring the trap. Young witches were taught something akin to this while learning to defend themselves.

Two spells forged into the metal. One would draw someone's eye, if they were the sort to feel greed or jealousy, the emotion would be magnified. The other would be activated by touching the necklace. A spell of compulsion. The person holding the necklace would be bound to speak the truth so long as it was in his or her possession at all. They could refuse to speak, but if they opened their mouths, whatever they said could not be a deliberate lie. On any subject.
The spell would fade, once the piece was no longer in their grasp, to be gone within perhaps a day.

She regarded the necklace, and nodded. Tucking it away,
forgotten already, as she hadn't meant it for use, only for a practice session.
She left her room and walked downstairs in search of hot food, and perhaps company.


ooc: was thinking that while this isn't as inspired an idea as some posts I've read, it might be casual fun for people to play around with if the talisman aka hot potato changes hands. Tersa will lose the necklace--and
if someone wants to find it, what they do afterward is up to them. *g*
She'll look for it, once she realizes it's lost, but this is Tersa: she wouldn't necessarily notice that for a while.

She hasn't known Lucivar, Saetan's other son by her friend Luthvian, very well. As a baby, then a toddler, but not a grown man. He'd wanted few if any reminders of that time or of the parents who gave him up.
She couldn't fault him for that. Like mother, like son, in a way, though she'd never dare say that to him. Yet, Luthvian's own parents hadn't been so very generous to a wingless daughter themselves. Tersa had been puzzled by the coldness in her Sister-witch's voice when Luthvian spoke of Eyriens, her family's race.
Words spoken by Saetan after Lucivar's birth, when they first saw the wings projecting from the tiny shoulder blades, explained a great deal. He is still Eyrien in his soul. Altering his appearance won't change that.
Tersa saw the brief sting of her friend's tears, and for the first time, thought of how it must ache to be born without that freedom, but the memory, the need for it. Luthvian was a gifted and clever witch, yet even so.
Throwbacks happened at times when the bloodlines crossed, Hayllian or Dhemlan
women taking Eyrien mates as their children's fathers.
When Luthvian slept, one night, Tersa shut her own eyes and slipped (out) into the dreamings, mist and welcoming shadows closing their arms about her.
She couldn't heal the harm that was done, but perhaps ease Luthvian's grief a little. It would have to be done carefully, she was aware even when her thoughts wandered, veering into madness, that she did *not* want her family to be caught in the same broken maze of what was and what-wasn't.
Alone was sometimes better.

Muse: Tersa
Fandom: Black Jewels series
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own, they're Anne Bishop's. Just borrowing.
Prompt: children
( she had known that the baby was a son )

Muse: Tersa
Fandom: The Black Jewels series
Prompt: hurt
Rating: R/NC17
Word count:771
ooc: Fair warning that I'm adding my own take on Tersa's backstory here. AB never said much about her past. I'm going by what little was said about her in the first three books, in particular Heir To The Shadows. Future books may contradict this, but...*shrugs*
( broken and open )

Muse: Tersa
Fandom: The Black Jewels series
Rating: R
Challenge prompt:
( If you could kill anyone, and be sure not to get caught, who would you kill? )

Muse: Tersa
Fandom: The Black Jewels series
Rating: PG
Prompt: explore
( the storm's passing )