By Flower and Stick

Moderators: (Shireroth) Duke of Modan and Malarboria, (Shireroth) Steward, (Shireroth) Kaiser

Post Reply
User avatar
Octavia Rossheim
Posts: 55
Joined: Mon Nov 25, 2013 10:31 am

By Flower and Stick

Post by Octavia Rossheim »

The crowd outside City Hall had been slowly growing since dawn and was now many thousands strong; it seemed as though half of Rhodondra had turned out for the occasion.

As the minute hand of the Hall's clock creaked painfully toward the vertical, the approaching rumble of an car's engine could be heard above the chatter of voices. Assembled musicians raised their instruments, while a terse command from the Captain of the Countess' Company brought his lines of guardsmen to attention. An expectant murmur ran through the throng, as eager faces jostled for a glimpse of a phenomenon no Highpassian then living had ever seen.

For the first time in eighteen hundred and twenty-three years, Highpass would soon have a resident count.

As the car rolled to a stop, the band- every member a graduate of the Academy at Abermeade- struck up a cheerful , rousing tune, redolent of the rich musical heritage of southern Highpass. Thousands of pairs of eyes strained to see as a guardsman in crisp green-and-gold uniform stepped forward to open the passenger door...

***

Octavia blinked as her eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight. Ahead of her, the obligatory red carpet led up to a dais; gritting her teeth, she hurried along, nodding curtly to the dignitaries lining her path like willows.

Mounting the dais, the full extent of the crowd at last became clear: as she gazed out over the multitude, a sea of gawping, alien faces gazed back. Suddenly nervous, Octavia glanced down at the speech written for her. She had rehearsed it well, especially the section that called for her to speak in Passikaans, a strange tongue she barely knew...but now, today, those words just didn't seem sufficient. Eighteen centuries ago, another count of Highpass had faced a similar crowd. From that very spot, Count Oze had bidden his people farewell before driving off into legend; it was going to take more than a few stumbled lines of Passikaans to convince these people that she was a fitting successor. A lot more.

She took a deep breath and approached the microphone. "People of Highpass...even though my grandmother, like her mother before, called herself Countess of Highpass, I will not insult you by pretending to be one of you.

"For I am but a stranger to this land. The blood of Kaisers, of Raynor himself, runs through my veins...but that counts for nothing here. To rule the land of Lódondla and Zplízyl, I must prove myself...by flower and stick.

"In one week from now, I shall climb to the top of the Laal Pass. There, in the sight of any who wish to witness, I shall honour the goddess Lódondla by drinking her finest creation: the deadly Essence of the Lódodendlon flower..."

A collective gasp arose from the crowd.

"If the goddess judges me worthy and I survive this ordeal, I shall travel south to the Stick Fighting Lands, where I shall challenge the finest champions of Highpass to Steikfaat..."

Another gasp.

"I shall fight any man, woman or youth who wishes to lock sticks with me; the one who can best me shall rule this land."

***

A low murmur, full of wonder and amazement swept through the assembled onlookers. A young and delicate girl, barely out of childhood, could not possibly hope to overcome the greatest champions of Highpass in the violent and deadly sport of Steikfaat; not that she would live long enough to try. Every man, woman or child present knew that Essence of Lódodendlon could kill an adult Wulde Boar in seconds.

Was the poor child demented, the victim of many centuries of inbreeding within the line of Raynor? It seemed that she must be mad, for no sane person would dare issue such a challenge, just as no Steikfaat champion could refuse it once issued.

***

Octavia could see that her words had made an impact; indeed, several of the officials sharing the dais seemed to be in a state of shock. Not that it mattered now...the regime would never survive if she backed out now.

Since there was no more to be said, she decided not to say anything more. Let her actions do the talking now! With a closing wave to the crowd, Octavia spun quickly on her heels and marched into City Hall.
Octavia
Queen of Steeria and Highfield
Princess & Lichgravine of Highpass

Sometime Empress of Sangun & Queen of Leichenberg

User avatar
Octavia Rossheim
Posts: 55
Joined: Mon Nov 25, 2013 10:31 am

Re: By Flower and Stick

Post by Octavia Rossheim »

The Laal Pass

From the head of the pass, the whole of northern Highpass seemed to unfold like a giant map. A little way to the south, the gleaming petals of Rhodondra nestled beneath the snowy peaks; beyond, the terrain flattened out as mountains slowly gave way to the dusty plateau of the Veldt. In the crystal-clear light of early morning, it certainly made for a lovely vista; all things considered, not a bad final sight for dying eyes.

"Are you sure you wish to proceed, Your Highness?" enquired a synthesised voice. Octavia glanced over her shoulder to see Cogito approach, tendrils waving about distractedly beneath his braincase. The lich-adept reminded her of an octopus balanced precariously upon a tripod; despite the enormity of the moment, the absurd thought made her smile.

"Too late now to be having doubts," she replied with as much sang froid as she could muster. "Is everything ready?"

She felt a sinewy tentacle light brush her arm. "Everything has been checked and rechecked, but..."

"But...?"

"You are so young, my lady. Even your mother was older when she took this step."

"Only by a few months!"

"And I recall her finding it difficult to adjust."

Octavia looked away. "It wasn't her choice...this is mine. And I must say I'm a little surprised at you, of all people, questioning my decision."

The hint of reproach made Cogito pause. "My hypocrisy is motivated solely by concern, Octavia."

She reached up and lightly stroked the tendril with her fingertip. "I know. You've been a wonderful, loyal friend. Whatever happens, I want you to know that."

The braincase tilted slightly, the mechanical eyes refocusing; it was the nearest thing to a reassuring smile the lich-adept was capable of managing.

Over to one side, someone cleared his throat; Octavia and Cogito both turned to face the source of the noise.

The guardsman saluted stiffly, his face stretched with tension. "Your Highness; My Lord...it is time."

***

A pair of barricades, set some distance apart, had been constructed across the road; together with the steep drop on one side and sheer cliff on the other, they formed a rough square cut into the mountainside. A narrow path, little more than a track, led up the sheer cliff face to a higher level and in the centre of the square, a complicated pattern, not unlike a flower, had been drawn upon the ground with coloured dyes: few of the onlookers crowded against the barricades would have understood that it possessed a significance far beyond aesthetics.

In the centre of the flower, an open coffin had been placed, into which several robed and hooded priests were emptying containers of what looked like soil, prompting further muttering from the huddled masses. What bizarre spectacle were they about to witness?

Coffin filled, the priests retreated to the edge of the flower pattern. A lonely horn sounded from above and the muttering died away.

A trio of figures descended the path into the clearing. The first and last were priests, robed like the others; one carried a silvered cup and the other a flask. Between them walked the young countess, wearing a simple white dress and a garland of purple flowers in her hair; the morning chill, against which her clothing offered little defence, had paled her fair skin. The girl's striking beauty and shocking youth provoked a collective gasp of admiration tinged with horror, as like a lamb to the slaughter, she was led calmly to her inevitable fate.

Standing before the coffin, she gestured for silence. "People of Highpass..." the girl's voice wavered for a moment, but then seemed to steady. "People of Highpass, I keep my promise. Before you all and in the sight of the goddess Lódondla, I shall drink the Essence of Lódodendlon and be judged: worthy to rule...or ready to die."

She nodded to the two priests beside her, who carefully poured the contents of the flask into cup; taking the cup, the girl lifted it up to those present, before handing it back to the priest. Then, she reached up to her narrow shoulders and with shaking hands, slid aside the straps of her dress. The people gasped again, as the girl's garment slid silently to the floor...leaving her naked, save for the purple flowers crowning her hair.

***

The sudden rush of cold air against her alabaster skin was strangely exhilarating, even though she had to fight even harder than before to stop her limbs trembling too noticeably.

Well...this is it. Death comes to all mortals, she reflected, and this way she would still be guaranteed immortality of a sort even if something went wrong. Death and the virgin...it was an old cliché that she was so shamelessly co-opting, but like all good clichés it recognised what people wanted. Tragedy and titillation...and dear gods were her tits freezing! Best get in on with it; deadly poison couldn't possibly be worse than the sheer agony of frostbitten nipples.

She raised the cup to her lips and was steeling herself to drink, when a sudden noise intruded. Looking over, she noticed a disturbance behind one of the barricades, where a burly man was pointing angrily in her direction.

"Are you people blind, or just plain stupid?" he was shouting. "D'you honestly think that girl's gonna drink real Lódodendlon? Everyone knows what that stuff does. Mark my words, she'll just drink some harmless juice, groan and moan a bit and then whaddaya know, she's been magically spared because the goddess wants her to lord it over us! Well I'm not fooled by this parlour trick...not for one moment!"

Octavia blinked. It had never even occurred to her to fake it.

But the seed of doubt, now planted, was growing fast. Fresh voices were taking up the burly man's challenge and now the thin line of guardsmen were struggling to restrain the surge of indignant bodies. Real fear clutched violently at her stomach as she realised she was losing the crowd. She had to restore their faith- and fast.

Fucking clodhopper! A tidal wave of annoyance swept away any lingering fear until nothing else seemed to matter. Screw death and screw the crowd...she was going to show them. Marching over to the barricade, she angrily gestured her guardsman aside and then waved the cup in the burly man's face.

"Care to verify it? You've certainly got a big mouth...I'm just wondering whether your balls are anywhere near as big."

The choked guffaws proved that her taunt had struck home: the fickle masses were already turning on their erstwhile hero. The burly man tried to laugh it off, but there was a hint of doubt behind the bravado as he slowly took the cup from her hands. Octavia just smiled sweetly as he took a sip.

For an instant, he actually seemed to think he had won and she even allowed herself to feel a little sorry for him. But then the triumphant roar was throttled as his throat clenched shut; like a mighty building in an earthquake, his powerful form was contorted with violent spasms as he collapsed to the ground.

A profound, threatening silence descended over the scene. Tearing the cup from the deathly grip, she eyed the crowd with as much menace as it was possible for a naked young woman to summon.

"Would anyone else like to join us...?"

No one stirred.

"Well then." Without another word, Octavia marched back to the centre of the pattern. Grabbing the flask from the priest's hands, she refilled the cup...then drained it.

Death's icy hand grabbed her by the throat the moment she swallowed; her lungs rasped painfully as the life was dragged from her shaking body. With the last remnants of her strength, she forced her flailing, failing limbs into the coffin's cold embrace, the soil of her adoptive homeland closing around her clammy flesh as she breathed her last...
Octavia
Queen of Steeria and Highfield
Princess & Lichgravine of Highpass

Sometime Empress of Sangun & Queen of Leichenberg

User avatar
Octavia Rossheim
Posts: 55
Joined: Mon Nov 25, 2013 10:31 am

Re: By Flower and Stick

Post by Octavia Rossheim »

Liberated from its fleshy prison, Octavia's spirit hovered high above the pass. Light and giddy, she skipped through the air, revelling in the untrammelled freedom of her new state. Motion was effortless; her vision no longer constrained to a partial arc.

Far below, Highpass stretched away into the distance. Soaring like an eagle, she raced over the landscape, faster than any work of nature or man. The green and gold patchwork of the Veldt, veined with rivers blue and brown, unfolded below her racing soul; ahead, the greying stain of Spleazure swept beneath, its brutal squalor strangely beautiful from these unnatural heights. On and on she flew, Mirroring the river's south-westerly course...until with a disorientating jolt, she came to an abrupt stop.

Bewildered and confused, her spirit floated there for what seemed like an age, but even her newly-transcended senses could not discern the invisible wall blocking her path, like some giant glass barrier. Then, all at once, she understood!

She had reached the ends of Highpass.

No longer mere lines on a map, the borders of the county marked the limits of her disembodied awareness. The ritual had worked! She and Highpass were bound as one...she was Highpass.

Yet...even as she delighted in this success, she could feel something tugging at the limits of her awareness. The ground below began to recede, as though wound backwards. She tried to arrest her involuntary retreat, but found herself unable to slow, let alone stop; indeed, she seemed to be accelerating inexorably. The world raced past, fast and faster now; the skies around darkened angrily...the world was a raging, howling blur...!

***

With an unearthly shriek, the corpse of the naked girl twitched violently...one hand punching clean through the side of the coffin in a shower of splinters. Limbs contorting crazily as she staggered to her feet amid a flurry of loose soil, red eyes staring wildly.

The crowd of onlookers took one look at the jerking, lily-white creature, streaked with dirt...then, with a cry of utter terror, they ran.
Octavia
Queen of Steeria and Highfield
Princess & Lichgravine of Highpass

Sometime Empress of Sangun & Queen of Leichenberg

User avatar
Octavia Rossheim
Posts: 55
Joined: Mon Nov 25, 2013 10:31 am

Re: By Flower and Stick

Post by Octavia Rossheim »

The Stick Fighting Lands

With a final yank, Octavia pulled the knot tight. At least, that was what she had intended to do, for instead the twine snapped like a dry twig, sending the claw tumbling to the floor.

She cursed silently. Just as Cogito has warned, it was proving surprisingly difficult to master her newfound strength and the last few days had seen a modest trail of destruction accumulate in her wake. Nor was that the only hurdle to overcome; the habits of a lifetime- however short- were not easy to leave behind. Having to consciously remember to inflate her lungs when trying to speak was one such issue, and on several occasions she had found herself mouthing silently to alarmed members of her household. Back in Lichkeep this would likely have been much less of an issue, but the Highpassians were not accustomed to undead and seemed unnerved by any reminder of her condition.

Collecting up the fallen claw, she set herself to task once more. This time the twine held, binding the wickedly-curved claw to the stick. Although the rules did not specify that a fighter must craft her own Steik, it seemed appropriate...so she had closeted herself away within her tent for most of the day, struggling to fashion something suitably intimidating from a collection of Acacia branches and Aaak Bird bones.

"Highness?" enquired a bass voice from outside.

"It's quite safe for you to enter, Captain Kronje," she replied, rolling her eyes. Ever since her rebirth on the Laal Pass, her living servants had developed an irrational dread of entering her presence unannounced. "I'm fully clothed and have finished cleaning my internal organs." She could hear the poor man gulp through the fabric of the tent.

The tent flap lifted to admit the stocky Highpassian, who bowed promptly, before approaching. "The challengers are assembled, Your Highness."

She thought she detected a slight hesitation in the man's voice; did he secretly doubt her ability to prevail? Her knowledge of Steikfaat was far from extensive, despite several days of near-continuous practice...and the fact that law as well as custom forbade the recording of the means of winning made it virtually impossible to study theoretically. It was as much a trial of wits as strength or speed.

Gripping her newly-completed Steik, she pushed herself up. "Then let's go and inspect them."
Octavia
Queen of Steeria and Highfield
Princess & Lichgravine of Highpass

Sometime Empress of Sangun & Queen of Leichenberg

User avatar
Octavia Rossheim
Posts: 55
Joined: Mon Nov 25, 2013 10:31 am

Re: By Flower and Stick

Post by Octavia Rossheim »

A trio of men, each holding a Steik, waited before the tent.

Octavia glanced briefly over the three. First in line was a fit, well-muscled male, probably in his late twenties; wearing only a tattered loincloth, his tanned body was criss-crossed with numerous scars. The contrast with the next hopeful could not have been greater. Little more than a boy, he wore the feathered headdress proscribed by law for the young...not that such a distinction was necessary to signal his inexperience, for the skinny arms clutching his Steik trembled incessantly. The final man was older, possibly in his forties or even early fifties, but obviously still in fine fettle. His steady gaze held a quiet, resigned look that suggested a lifetime of experience.

The countess nodded to the three, before turning to Captain Kronje. "And the others?"

"There are no others, Your Highness," the captain replied, after a moment's hesitation.

"Three? is that all?! I thought hundreds of brave young fighters competed every year."

Kronje looked visibly uncomfortable. "Normally, yes."

"Was my challenge not reported sufficiently widely, then?"

"Oh no, Highness...copies were posted in every village; all of Highpass has been talking about little else. On the first day alone, over a hundred stepped forward."

"Well...I'm not seeing over a hundred now," she replied dryly. "I've heard that the men of the Veldt are expert hunters, able to stalk their prey nearly unseen...but I didn't know they could actually turn invisible!"

"No, Highness...unfortunately there have been a number of withdrawals over the last few days."

"Withdrawals."

"Yes, Your Highness. Apparently several of the challengers felt unable to continue...well, after hearing about certain events."

"You mean, what happened at Laal Pass..."

"I believe so, Your Highness."

"Mmm...I had no idea my unclothed body held such terrors. Come on, let's get this over with."

She indicated the first man with the end of her Steik; he replied with a bestial mockery of a kiss that, fortunately, touched nothing but air.

Urghhhhhh...! thought Octavia, marching into the circle.

***

Octavia leaned on her Steik and watched thoughtfully as the injured man was stretchered off. "Do you think it can be reattached?" she asked Captain Kronje, whose otherwise impassive face had assumed a faint greyish tinge.

"Perhaps...Highness..." he replied slowly.

"I thought it was caught on the loincloth...had I known, I wouldn't have pulled quite so hard."

At that point, the youth in the feathered headdress dropped his Steik, retched violently into the dirt and then swooned. "Urghhhh!" exclaimed the countess, this time aloud, as the boy's face became intimately reacquainted with his own regurgitated breakfast.

"I believe we may interpret that as a late withdrawal, Your Highness," commented Kronje.

***

For the second time that day, Octavia stepped into the circle. The Steik gripped tightly in her hands already felt more natural and her body's imperviousness to pain had already been quite dramatically demonstrated, so her confidence should have been high...but there was something about the way her last opponent moved that gave her pause.

Lowering her Steik, she called out to him. "Before we fight...tell me why you're here when so many others aren't."

"Zat's easey, m'lady," he replied evenly, crouching down. Octavia looked on in surprise as he scooped up a small handful of dirt, which he then appeared to kiss, before scattering it back over the ground. "Ah'm but ah simple man o' ze Veldt, not ah greats lady likes yuhrself. But zis here, 'tis uhr soil...and beggin' yuhr paardon, but ah don't believes it belongs with ze likes o' yuu."

She nodded. "I may not be a woman of the Veldt, but I think I understand you."

***

Octavia gazed on sadly as the man's broken body was borne away. Her own clothes were ripped to shreds and her left arm hung limply by her side, smashed and disjointed; unlike her gallant opponent, it would mend, in time.

The challenge had been issued and it had been won. She was now the unquestioned mistress of Highpass, her right to rule confirmed by flower and stick, but also underpinned by the mystical energies binding her to the very land itself. Yet her success felt strangely hollow. As the dusk cast its obfuscating veil over the blood-soaked circle, she knew that his claim to the land had been the true one. Hers had merely been purchased.
Octavia
Queen of Steeria and Highfield
Princess & Lichgravine of Highpass

Sometime Empress of Sangun & Queen of Leichenberg

Post Reply

Return to “Highpass”