Servant Ambrosius
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The Winter Realm
🕑 Added 2024-04-15 04:19:08 +0000 UTCPJO World
Location: ???
In the heart of the ancient forest, where time seems to stand still and whispers of forgotten tales echo through the trees, lies the decaying realm of the Winter Court. Once a place of unparalleled, yet harsh, beauty and magic, it has now succumbed to the ravages of time, neglect, and the consequences of humanity’s transgressions against nature.
The landscape is a patchwork of contrasts, where snow-laden boughs intertwine with skeletal trees, their gnarled branches reaching towards the leaden sky. Ice-coated rivers meander through the land, their waters sluggish and opaque, carrying the echoes of forgotten dreams.
The air is thick with an eerie stillness, broken only by the mournful howl of the wind as it sweeps through the barren glades. Shadows dance across the frozen ground, their movements twisted and distorted, a reflection of the court's fading glory.
Ruined palaces rise like specters from the landscape, their once-grand spires now crumbling and encased in frost. Haunting echoes of fey revelry linger within their walls, a reminder of the court's former splendor.
Amidst the desolation, remnants of fey magic flicker like dying embers, their brilliance dimmed by the passage of time. Glowing orbs of faerie light drift through the air, their hues muted and waning, casting feeble illumination upon the decaying realm.
Yet, amidst the decay, there remains a sense of eerie beauty—a haunting allure that drew wanderers and wayfarers alike into its frostbitten embrace. For within the heart of winter's chill, there lay secrets untold and mysteries yet uncovered, waiting to be discovered by those brave enough to venture into the realm of the Winter Court.
On this night the wanderer is none other than Aemon. Walking across this once splendid realm he cannot help the sense of sorrow that engulfs him.
Rowan, the fey whom Hassan had encountered, warned him of this yet Aemon had not thought the situation to be this dire; for why would he guard this desolate realm with his life if there was no hope of it recovering.
Upon lying eyes upon the realm of the Winter Court, the court of the Unseelie Fey, it seems that it is exactly what the fey knight had been doing; protecting a decayed realm beyond hope.
“I did not think the fey which draw their power from winter itself would suffer such a fate. It makes one wonder at the state of the Summer Court.” says the Other, his voice strangely somber as opposed to its usual cold quality.
“The Summer Court’s fate must be worse.” Aemon comments with a frown as his foot brushes past a dismembered arm.
“Not necessarily.” replies the Other. “There is balance in nature between Winter and Summer. With that balance broken both courts will suffer a similar fate, for despite the hotter temperatures around the world nature as a whole suffers.” he explains.
“This is not our world, how are you so sure?” asks Aemon.
“The world may not be the same, but the fundamentals remain all the same. It is why you can exist in this universe and face no repercussions.” the Other says as they come to a stop before a massive stone tablet with writing of an unknown character upon it.
“I can understand this.” remarks Aemon with a whisper.
“The fallen leaves tell a story. The balance of Nature was shattered. In our home, across the Veil, the Lands Between.
Now, Queen Mab, the Queen Who Is, is nowhere to be found, and in the Night of the Fallen, Oberon the Consort Who Is was the first to perish.
Soon, Mab’s offsprings, ambitious beyond all, laid claim to the Winter Throne. The mad taint of their newfound strength triggered the Shattering. A war from which no Ruler arose. A war leading to further decay of Winter’s Court.
Arise now, ye Lord.Ye Fair Folk, who yet live. The call of long-lost Kingship speaks to us all. Cross the Veil, to the Lands Between, to the Winter Court. To stand before the Winter Throne. And become the Winter King.”
“This…” says Aemon with wide eyes as he speaks the words on the tablet.
“That explains much.” remarks the Other as he looks at the decaying Winter realm, taking note of the various corpses of Fey and dismembered limbs.
A civil war between heirs to the throne exacerbated the destruction of the Unseelie Court. The result leading to the death of all heirs to Queen Mab and opening Rulership of the Court to all Fair Folk lords.
“It is no wonder that the knight guarded the realm so fervently.” notes Aemon. “Should a fey of the Summer Court claim rulership of the Winter Throne, it would be a fate worse than death for the surviving fey of the Winter Court.”
The fey can be said to be split into two major factions, the Summer Court and the Winter Court. The fey of the Summer Court are at worst neutral towards humanity and at best friendly, whereas the Winter Court is outright hostile and malicious towards humanity.
These two factions have never been amicable towards one another, and as such to have a fey of the Summer Court become King or Queen of the Winter Court would be a fate worse than death to the survivors. Of course this begs the question, where are the survivors of the war.
With this question in mind Aemon continues his journey through the Winter Realm, eventually reaching its center and standing before the castle in which the royal family lived and court was held.
The castle's exterior, once adorned with intricate ice carvings and shimmering frost, now bears the scars of neglect, decay, and war. Thick layers of ice and frost cling to its crumbling walls, obscuring the intricate details of its architecture beneath a veil of frostbitten desolation. Jagged icicles hang precariously from eaves and battlements, threatening to plummet to the frozen ground below at any moment, and sts once majestic spires, now worn and weather-beaten, pierce the wintry sky like skeletal fingers reaching desperately for a long-forgotten glory.
Placing a palm on the massive doors, Aemon is momentarily surprised when he feels magic flow from them into himself before quickly retreating back to the castle.
Before he can properly process what has happened, the massive doors swing inwards, allowing him entry.
Inside, the once-grand halls echo with the hollow whispers of a bygone era. Tattered tapestries depicting scenes of fey revelry and winter magic hang from walls adorned with frost-rimed portraits of the long-dead rulers and their offsprings. The floors, once polished marble, are now cracked and uneven, covered in a layer of frost and ice that never seems to melt, and on both sides of the pathway, lining each side of the walls, are Unseelie Knights who stand at attention; their swords drawn as if awaiting an enemy.
As he steps inside the knights turn their heads to Aemon, and with magic unknown to him their eyes become animated with a cold blue glow, the same blue that Aemon’s own eyes glow when he channels the magic of his Stark ancestry.
Without a sound the knights launch themselves at Aemon, their cold eyes glowing with malicious glee.
“Kneel!” commands Aemon as he unleashes his Conqueror’s Haki, and from his soul the faint roar of dragon and the snarl of a direwolf can be heard. His willpower manifests itself in a crushing force that craters the ground around him and forces the knights onto their knees.
And yet, despite their powerlessness the knights continue to struggle forward in an attempt to reach Aemon, causing him to frown.
Taking a step forward Aemon increases the pressure upon them twofold, causing the walls and the pillars within to begin to crack and finally immobilizing the Unseelie Knights and knocking them out.
“Impressive.” remarks the Other.
“Aye.” agrees Aemon as he recalls his Conqueror’s Haki. “None of the Wild Hunt could have survived the first onslaught, much less continue to struggle to reach me.”
Before the Other can reply, the sound of approaching armored footsteps draws their attention. From within the depths of the castle which the shadows obscure walks out what Aemon can only describe as a dark elf.
Standing taller than Aemon with skin as dark as pitch and hair as white as snow, the dark elf possesses eyes like the moon as it illuminates on the dark surface of water and even has luminescent pigments across his cheeks that resemble stars.
Covering his frame is an armor as black as his skin, appearing to meld with his form. While in his right hand is a longsword which he points its blade at Aemon.
“You who dare to trespass upon this sacred realm, lay down your life and let your blood be spilled to wash your taint from the Winter Realm.” says the fey as he launches himself at Aemon.
Once more Aemon’s Haki engulfs the area, bringing the fey to his knees before knocking him out.
Walking past the fey, Aemon continues into the depths of the castle, knocking out any knight he comes across with his haki whilst exploring the castle.
Eventually he comes before a set of doors bigger than the one at the entrance and with a more elaborate design depicting the mythos of the royal family.
Once more Aemon feels a wave of magic enter his being upon placing his hand on the doors before they swing open, allowing him entry into the throne room.
In the throne room, where once Queen Mab held court, now sits a crumbling throne of ice, its once-gleaming surface dulled by centuries of neglect. Shadows dance eerily across the chamber, cast by the faint moonlight filtering through cracked windows glazed with frost.
Despite the faint moonlight Aemon can barely see within the room, especially since it seems that the darkness within is the result of magic.
As he steps within the throne room the doors slam shut behind him and the shadows which once lay naturally throughout the room disperse and cover the windows, plunging the room into total darkness.
Before Aemon can summon his own fire, the lamps hanging upon the pillars light themselves, allowing Aemon a clear view of the within.
The throne room is much larger than Aemon anticipated, verging on a scale big enough for Caraxes to comfortably navigate within. And within, on a raised dais, lies a massive throne of ice flanked by a smaller throne of the same make on its left.
On a lower step of the dais are five thrones with elaborate designs that have long been damaged beyond recognition. Finally, on the level of the ground is a single throne decorated with orange and brown leaves of fall, pinecones, and branches.
Upon the final throne is what appears to be a sleeping youthful child, yet to Aemon’s senses is a being many centuries old. Other than his child-like state which sets him apart from the other fey Aemon has met, his hair shimmers more than gold and waves as though wind passed through a plain of wheat; with a few portions of his hair are tied in braids.
He possesses a somewhat feminine figure and dons several gold rings around his fingers, a gold arm band on his forearm and bicep as well as an ankle bracelet.
Standing next to the child-like fey and gently caressing his face is a woman who slowly turns to face Aemon upon hearing the doors slam shut.
She is a tall, well-built yet fairly slender woman with free flowing long red hair that reaches down her back. Her armor is golden and resembles a modern depiction of a Valkyrie from Norse mythology. She wears a golden helm with a visor that covers her eyes but the lower half of her face is exposed, and her helm sports two wings by the sides. Finally she is adorned with a long red scarf around her neck and holds a golden longsword in her grasp.
“You have done well to make it this far, but to sit upon the Throne of Winter you must defeat me.” the woman says, her voice filled with sorrow as if pitying Aemon.
“I am Malenia, Blade of Miquella, heir to the Autumn Throne, and I have never known defeat.” introduces the woman as she flourishes her sword before launching herself at Aemon.
Author’s Note: Here’s the latest chapter, as you guys can see I took some inspiration from Elden Ring. As usual, tell me what you guys think.
Comments
Son-Of-Scorn
Spicy little Elden ring reference I like it and I like where this is going, King of Winter Aemon
