"Baroness?"

That simple title was unabashed bliss to her pointed ears.

She enjoyed the way it sounded when rolling off the tongue, and the looks it summoned in the eyes of those hearing the title, glorious recognition birthing small tinges of fear inside. Through the length of an existence that spanned thousands of years she could have donned many new titles, such as Queen or Empress even, but none of them held the same splendid cadence as Baroness. None of them brought her such delight. Winterthorne Briar, her arctic kingdom, had a beautiful despot, and Baroness was the name she demanded.

With toes pointed in one direction and fingers in the other, she stretched away the remaining tension of slumber; sleep's eulogy announced in the form of a rather extensive yawn. Submersed in plush, rolling blankets, she slithered beneath them, the sleek scissor motion of her bare legs drawing the covers downward just enough allow a lucid view of the doorway.

Brokk stood just inside the leaf shaped entryway, a curious look filling the huge black saucers that dominated his tawny gaze. He was a massive cat with a coat of soft fur as black as shadow, save for the area across the breast: an inverted triangle splashed with white. The regal shape of his feline form, perched comfortably upon his haunches, looked tranquil and majestic, two things that Morgue could fully admire.

http://i836.photobucket.com/albums/zz281/AukaiMastema/Brokk.jpg

"There are many things that I tolerate, cat, but being disturbed while I sleep is not one of them." She had actually started to stir long before Brokk arrived, but would never let him know that. She enjoyed the torment that such threats implored. "This had better be important."

Brokk, a C?t Sidhe, filled numerous roles pertaining to the Baroness of Winterthorne Briar, which included body guard, confidant, scapegoat, sounding-board, and collaborator. He had stood beside Morgue La Faye through a multitude of endeavors - both favorable and adverse - and considered himself terrifyingly loyal. He couldn't put his finger -or paw- on why, but there was just something about her that inspired an unnatural dedication. For all he knew he was under some sort of charm, his will bent into servitude and submission, and yet somehow the thought of such manipulation didn't bother him in the slightest. "The escort is here."

"Escort?" She asked, the almond framework of her wintry stare slanting with irritation above the rim of the blankets. "What escort?"

The wide tongue of the feline lolled outward and along his maw as he looked away with a sense of vexation. "The escort of Lord Madoc Morfryn."

"Taunt my wrath with your dismissive ennui again, cat, and I'll tear off your fac-!" Her slander was foiled by a sudden realization, her recumbent form shooting upward with an elegant careen that spilled the enveloping blankets away, revealing naked and snow white flesh hidden beneath. "The escort of the Unseelie Lord is here?"

"It is, indeed."

Springing from the bed, Morgue quickly moved to her wardrobe and threw the doors wide, a trail of snowflakes wafting in her expedited wake. "How long have they been here? Why didn't you wake me sooner?!"

"Not very long, Baroness." Brokk answered before dropping his feline head. "I woke you as soon as they arrived."

"Well it wasn't quick enough!" She hissed as she pulled one of the many extravagant gowns from the numerous assortments within. "If your folly has thinned the Lord's interest in my ploy know that you'll spend eternity as a rug beneath my feet!"

"Of course, Baroness."

Drawers were snatched open and slammed shut in frantic search before she found what she sought and plunged her hand within, sapping from it a pair of lacy garters synched into fashionable rings by a blood-red jewel. She stalked across the room, returning to her bed, and laid out the chosen ensemble. "Go to the spider's nest and fetch me a pair of stockings." She ordered.

"What color?"

"Black." She said without looking up from her task of unfastening the score of buttons that sealed the back of the gown closed. "As black as death, to remind you of the consequence for partaking in dallying."

As far as forums went, the Fae court as the epitome of dark beauty, with sweeping streams of foliage and vines decorating the long and wide avenues forged of thick, twisted tree trunks. Overgrowth covered the Unseelie castle in a gloomy blanket that kept much of the sun's light at bay, the grounds illuminated by the phosphorescent glow of moss and lichen. Brownies and Hobgoblins were busy at work, drudging along in their menial tasks beneath the whip of a Faerie taskmaster, along with Redcaps and Trolls and a wide variety of tainted creatures, all of whom scurried out of the roaring path of the carriage that contained Morgue La Faye.

She stepped from the carriage, once again aided by the hand of the Dullahan, with her wintery gaze cast upward in appreciation of the forest's most infamous structure; she had seen it a thousand and one times, but each new time it took her breath yet again. The twisted and winding length of the single spire mirrored the shape of a tree trunk as tall as the eye could see, with thick branches extending from a chaotic plethora of points that twined and melded to other nearby trunks, creating an intricate weave of corridors and passageways beyond. It was said that without a map or a guide, a Faerie could get lost for eternity within the bedlam of hallways, and while Morgue openly considered such a statement preposterous, secretly she made it a point to never be without her bearings once inside. Needless to say, the Horseman's presence was demanded.

The long halls were lined with numerous pictures of Unseelie lineage, kings and queens celebrated with lavish memorials as well. Due to their extensive longevity, many assumed that Faerie royalty maintained their rule for thousands and thousands of years, but what was rarely taken into consideration was the lethal agendas and plots that often surrounded the nobility. It wasn't considered farfetched for a king to be murdered during his inauguration speech.

Massive ogres were also present, their heavy axes held in hands large enough to swallow Morgue's entire head. She paid them little attention, though. Her power was not the physical dynamic that the Ogre's had mastered, but a potency latent in the fingertips and willpower. They may have been able to swing that axe and cut her in two, but she was more than capable of turning their blood to ice and skin to ooze with but a thought. She strode through the Ogres with her chin held high, her eyes meeting their curious stare with haughty dispute. Let them dare raise their hand to her, and she would snatch it from their wrists and return them a stub.

"Behold." Came the melodic song as she entered the throne room. "For it is the Winter Queen who blesses these churlish walls."

Morgue's dauntless stride halted just beyond the threshold, meeting the aquamarine gaze of Madoc, the Unseelie King, with a practiced apathy. He sat lazily upon his lush throne, robes of sable and amethyst enwrapping his slender elven form, a matching hue to the silken cascade of hair that bathed his narrow shoulders. His face was calm with a passive relaxation, though the impish bend of his thin lips revealed more sinister amusement churning in his devious mind. She was well aware of Madoc's ruthless nature, and knew that his personal enjoyment was nothing more than a prelude to tormenting bloodshed.

"Though only barely, Mh?rgachta. Your usher's arrival was terribly impromptu." She lifted her chin deftly as she slid her glacial gaze from Madoc to the Dullahan, held it, and then returned. "I appreciate your sending of an escort, but surely, penance is called for."

The Unseelie king drew his legs from their drape over the arm of his throne and stood. "When you requested an audience with me, Baroness, I thought it would be only cordial to bestow a means of travel, but perhaps you are right. Perhaps reparation is in order." He made his way forward, the touch of his thin fingers finding the soft hair of a nymph nearby who lounged upon the floor as he passed. Stepping down from the dais, he approached the Baroness with a slow saunter. "Though since Fafnir was merely following my orders, I think it would be only fitting that you extract your recompense from me."

Morgue didn't have to look at the severed head of the Horseman to see its display of sardonic mirth, and while the thing had been grinning madly since she had first seen it, she was certain that this grin was far more revealing. What appeared to be a selfless sacrifice from the Unseelie Lord was nothing of the sort, and Morgue knew it. Only a fool would accept Madoc's offer, and most assuredly not survive the departure from the Castle if having the gull to partake in such an endeavor."That won't be necessary, Madoc. All is forgiven."

Madoc feigned a look of startled surprise, theatrically extending one hand to the side as the other came to rest above his heart. "Are you certain, Baroness? I would hate for you to feel slighted."

"As certain as the snow is cold." She promised, the sincerity of her smile betrayed by the venom in her voice.

"Very well." He replied with a mischievous smirk, the hand that had been extended wide sliding forward and falling open in request of her touch. "Now let me have a look at you."

"Rumors, really. Whispers through the corners of the Castle that speak of a power able to imprison the soul and siphon from it the will to live. To clutch the consciousness within a tranquil touch before crushing it beneath an iron vice. Possession. Possession in every possible way."

Morgue arched a brow as she listened to the Unseelie Lord's explanation; an account carried upon a haunted tone. "You sound almost envious, Madoc. Rapacious of what the Queen has acquired?"

"Envious? Perhaps, though it has very little to do with Maeve, I can assure you. The tales of this power have intrigued me, I won't deny it. The boundaries of her claim seem almost limitless. I would be curious to see how I would fair against such domination."

Morgue's laughter was rich with a condescending melody. "I doubt you have much to worry about. Your resolve is legendary. As strong as the ancient oaks."

"So it is said. But this creature...Aolani...seems to be just as legendary and able to wield a primordial power." His pause was measured as he studied the face of the Baroness, allowing his expression to align in utmost seriousness. " An chumhacht ainm."

Morgue didn't mean to gasp. She prided herself on the mastering of the ambiguous, never revealing anything that she didn't want shown. In fact, more often than not she was able to lead those she conversed with far away from her actual line of thinking with a simple look or gesture. This was something different, though. What Madoc spoke of equated to a living artifact. "The power of name?'

"The power of name." Madoc nodded. " It seems that she possesses the power that the Court has sought to control for eons. If the whispers that course through the Castle are true, then she is the embodiment of the Fae's most coveted influence."

Morgue's initial response was silence, glacial orbs flickering with internal deliberation as she stared off at some distant focus, nearly paralyzed with the deep contemplation. She had not expected the information to be so pertinent. She figured that Aolani Malvlasta was just some otherworldly succubus seeking to wield her feminine wiles in hopes of persuading the Fae Queen to release her friend. She was shocked when she heard that the Queen had done so, though that shock was nothing compared to the astonishing impact of Madoc's accord. No wonder Maeve had released the Cat in exchange for a favor, considering who the favor was from.

Morgue tilted her chin and returned her icy regard to the Unseelie King, thin lips curling into a rather vicious grin. "Well, let's be honest. All we know as of right now are rumors. To profess that she is in fact the an chumhacht ainm is a bit of a stretch without actual evidence."

Madoc pressed his shoulders into the throne, straightening himself tall, as opposing fingers came together in the most regal of steeples. "But there is evidence, Morgue. Substantial evidence. Evidence that not only suggests what she is, but confirms it."

"And what evidence is this?"

Sway of the Pendulum - Part One

Reclined comfortably upon her elegant throne, the Baroness of Winterthorne Briar met the simple goblin ambassador with casual regard as long, graceful fingers caressed the satiny pelt of Brokk, who sat, as always, by her side. Ever the image of youthful nobility, Morgue's beatific countenance was disarming and alluring, though the sage cunning in her arctic stare could not be denied.

Her seat of rule, fashioned in the form of a jagged ice shard, rested upon a dais in the center of the room. A pair of large windows hung upon the wall behind her, bathing the tall chamber in a gyrating glacial radiance that resembled light refracting through water. It filled the hall with an enchanted mysticism that could be felt upon the skin, sensations of power and treachery tangible enough to taste.

"And you see, Baroness." The goblin continued with a slight quiver in its voice. "The Autumn Sire seeks your aid in the battle with King Madoc. He is more than willing to offer handsome compensation in return for your assistance."

"The Autumn Sire is a diligent and threatening adversary to any, I'm not sure what help I could be to him." Morgue replied as beneath the length of her cobalt gown supple legs crossed at the knee. Fashioned of lace and silk, the trim was adorned with sparkling stones that shown lavender in the dim light of the throne room, a matching glimmer to the bejeweled webbing that graced her slender throat. An eternal emissary of allure, the gown had a plunging d?colletage that offered an appealing view of delicious cleavage along with a tapering corset that accentuated her slender waist.

"Of tha' he most certainly is, Baroness, yet he cannot compete with the King's elite fighting force, the Makska. That is why he needs your help." The bulbous gray eyes of the Goblin fell to the floor as he tucked his hat into his chest. "Without it, doom lies just ahead."

She felt the C?t sidhe's thick neck tense beneath her touch at the mention of the Makska. Madoc's affinity for felines was legendary, and it only stood to reason that once he achieved power and prestige he would breed an entire contingent of nothing but fierce lycanthropic tigers. Savage, loyal, killers -- the Makska were feared far beyond the reaches of just the court.

"Again, I'm sorry, but there is little that I can do to help." She smirked. "Besides, I would be a fool to openly pit myself against the King of the Unseelie. While I may not see eye to eye with his highness, I am certainly not savvy to his opposition."

The gaunt torso of the Goblin thinned out as it drew in a deep and defeated breath, showing wide ribs through its thick hide. Its wide eyes lifted slowly until they stared at the Baroness' chilling gaze. "Then hope is lost."

Morgue feigned a look of empathy. She could care less about the Autumn Sire, or Madoc for that matter. She had her own agenda in motion, and taking time away from her schemes to aid and assist in the schemes of others just didn't seem logical to her. "I'm so sorry. And here I thought your sire and King Madoc were starting to make headway toward a truce. War is so fickle." She all but tsked mockingly.

"Indeed there was, Baroness." It said as it scratched the pad of its foot on the floor by dragging it back and forth in a quick line. "Until the King allied himself with Queen Maeve. All was well until she became involved, and then suddenly King Madoc wanted nothing to do with a respite. If anything he became even more aggressive."

The compassion for the Goblin's unfortunate circumstance was quickly washed away at the mention of Queen Maeve, and more directly the King's alliance with her. "What did you just say?" She asked. There was a chance, albeit thin, that she simply misheard the creature.

"Which part?"

Goblins. Such simple and stupid beasts. "Did you say that the King and Queen were united?"

It shook its head promptly. "I did. They allied themselves ten nights prior, at least that was when the war resumed."

"And you know this for a fact how?"

"We intercepted a missive that was intended for the Queen from one of King Madoc's runners."

"How astute." She tapped her bottom lip with a gloved finger as she uncrossed her legs, paused, and re-crossed them, her gaze never slipping from the sight of the Goblin. "I would appreciate a detailed account of what that particular message contained."

"That is between the Autumn Sire and myself, Baroness. I mean no disrespect, but I can't divulge the contents of that letter." The slim smile that graced his wide face showed a calamity of yellow fangs.

Without any sort of indication from Morgue, Brokk stood from his haunches and stretched lithely, sending idle sinew into a rippling dance beneath his smooth obsidian pelt. Once awakened into motion, he took a threatening step toward the Goblin and bared fangs of his own, unleashing a blood-curdling snarl that echoed across the entire chamber.

The Goblin Ambassador froze in his tracks as though possessed by a paralytic, his breath caught in his slender chest, his globular gaze fasted to the deadly panther.

"I'm sure you can find it in your heart to tell me. It'll be our little secret." Morgue said sweetly, canting her head as she awaited his response. As terrifying as Brokk was to behold, she found equated excitement in the fearsome form of the C?t Sidhe. So majestic in his menace.

Trapped, the Goblin swallowed hard, which was evident by the egg-shaped bulb in its throat that bobbed up and then down. "Of course." It said, speaking to Morgue yet refusing to release Brokk from its stare. "The message spoke of an alliance between the King and Queen predicated on his assistance in her war against her sister, Elizabeth. King Madoc is to offer the strength of his fighting force and aid in overpowering the resistance of Queen Elizabeth's troops, and in return shall receive recompense in the form of a sealed pact."

"A sealed pact?"

Again came the rapid nod of the Goblin's head. "From his highness it read, 'I know the pact in which I request means a great deal to you, but fret not in wonder of the power that I offer. Once Elizabeth is destroyed, this favor owed shall seem no more important than the dream it was sealed with'."

Morgue's eyes became as hard as ice. She sat forward in her seat, her delicate hands gripping the arms of her throne with outrage, and in her gaze mirrored the danger of Brokk's roar. "You mean to tell me that Madoc has bartered his services in return for the an chumhacht ainm pact?"

The Goblin shifted his eyes to meet the glower of the Baroness, though quickly returned it to the C?t Sidhe. "I'm not sure what you ask."

Of course not, stupid Goblin.

She sat back and released the Goblin from her glower, letting her gaze drift up and across some distant place in contemplation. The more Morgue thought about it, the more the deal made sense. If the arrangement was successful and they destroyed Elizabeth, the Unseelie Court would be unimpeded and ruled solely by Maeve, who would then be allied with Madoc -- her only natural opposition to the throne. The Unseelie Court would be unified beneath the tyrannical rule of a King and Queen, and the Seelie Court would be cast into quick chaos.

Madoc's bounty in all of this was as masterful a plot for Maeve as it was a boon for the Unseelie King. Madoc would get the pact pertaining to an chumhacht ainm from the Queen, and then circumvent the stipulation of Maeve's surrendered pursuit and punishment of any involved or associated with Aolani Malvlasta. After all, if Madoc was pulling the strings, then Maeve would be clear of trespass. Mab would be free to extract her revenge against Aolani through Madoc, and Madoc would get his reward...which Morgue would stake her entire kingdom on as the spawn of he and the Shaitan Siren. Morgue recalled with irritated clarity the fascination Madoc had with her.

She rose with the elegance and grace of a pureblood Fae, the discord that had marred her alluring features melting away to reveal a captivating expression of halcyon composure. "I apologize if my methods of coercion were a bit alarming, master ambassador." She stepped down from the dais, brushing feathery fingertips between Brokk's flat ears as she passed. "In these troubling times it is hard to tell who is friend and who is foe. Trickery is abundant with all conversation, it would seem."

The Goblin's shoulders slumped as repose took hold, and he expelled a kept breath.

Morgue continued. "Please allow me to offer you an escort back to your Autumn Sire. Again I am sorry that I cannot assist him in his quandary, but if there is anything else I can do I will make sure to lend my aid." She nodded to a passing servant who deviated from his task to attend the Baroness. "Take this master Goblin to the dining hall and have him fed as though he were a member of the Court."

The Goblin snapped his head up to look at Morgue with astonishment and veiled excitement, even going so far as to lick his lips.

"Once you are finished and rested I will have Brokk here usher you home. There will be nothing to fear from any, even the Makska, with him by your side." Her smile was as soft as a dream, and she lowered her fingers to trace the Goblin's orbital jaw. "Fare thee well, ambassador."

Morgue watched as the servant lead the Goblin, who was having a hard time containing the skip that sought to infect his step, away. Once the throne room was empty, she turned sharply on her heel to face Brokk, the vengeance in her stare returned.

"See to it that he finds his way to the lake bottom, and then fetch me Kshantu of the Makska!"

Sway of the Pendulum - Part Three

With the moon perched high in the star-filled night, the Makska made their way through the forest of the Unseelie. Like a terror upon the wind, two hundred and thirty seven were-tigers slashed through the dense wood; a wave of fangs, fur, and claws that somehow managed to keep from disturbing a single leaf.

Kshantu's information concerning the Autumn Sire's ambassador and his plea for aid from the Baroness of Winterthorne Briar had been answered with roars of victory, and the anxious Makska could barely contain themselves as they awaited King Madoc's order. All they needed was his approval and they would tear out the jugular of the Autumn Sire and end this bloody war triumphantly.

The order came, and there was no hesitation.

Taksheel, the great white tiger and Alpha of the Makska, commanded that the Pride ready themselves for the honor and glory of victory, even going so far as to urge the young cubs to join in on the raid. He knew the prestige that lie just beyond the horizon, and understood that a victory over the Autumn Sire would line up the remainder of the Court that sought to oppose Kind Madoc. None would dare stand against his Highness out of fear of what sort of wrath would rain down upon them from Taksheel and his Pride.

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Kshantu led them, navigating the thick forest with tactical ease. Verbatim, he had recited the details of the Ambassador's meeting with the Baroness of Winterthorne Briar, as she had instructed. Morgue had told Kshantu that King Madoc would be able to magically discern truth from lie, and that as long as he spoke only of the meeting she had with the Ambassador he would be safe. Kshantu treaded carefully through the conversation, making sure to keep his discourse focused on the meeting and nothing else. The slightest mention of any details beyond that would cause the King to question him further, which would have not been good. As Morgue had put it, the King will know if you are not telling the truth, but not if you are telling him everything.

"Kshantu!" Taksheel roared as they came over a steep hill, just several hundred yards from the Starless Grove. "Stop the run!"

He did as the Alpha commanded, pulling up from the quick streak and slowing to an easy pad. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing the massive Taksheel shove his way through the horde of tigers, and steeled his jaw.

"Where do you take us, Kshantu? The Autumn Sire lies to the East but you take us North East. Why is this?" Taksheel asked, circling around in front of Kshantu so closely that their feral heads were nearly touching.
Kshantu narrowed his eyes, remembering a time when he answered to no one. "The Barberry pass is flooded from the rain two nights ago. To head East would lead us directly through it, which would slow us down. While this route is longer, it is in fact quicker than trying to traverse the muddy shores of the overflowing Myrtle Lake."

"You lengthen my need for patience, Kshantu, which I already have little to start with. Damn the high water, we head East from here. I wish to hold the Autumn Sire's head in victory before the sun rises!" Taksheel snarled and turned away toward the east.

Kshantu glanced beyond the white fur of Taksheel to where the Starless Grove was just in view. To head east from where they were would completely bypass it. "Wait." He snapped.

Taksheel stopped in mid-stride and slowly turned back to Kshantu, his eyes leading the way.

"You are my alpha, and I will do as you command, Taksheel. Of that there is no question. I feared of arriving at the Autumn Sire's doorstep on the verge of triumph reeking of mud, fish, and of offal, even if it meant adding a bit more time to our travel." He dipped his head, and lowered his eyes in submission. "I will take us east."

Taksheel considered this; Kshantu knew he would. The Alpha wanted this victory to be flawless in every way, and when it was recounted as legend in years to come, the last thing he wanted was to have it told with details about their stench. He turned and addressed the horde that awaited anxiously behind him. "We shall head North East to avoid the Barberry Pass!"

The roar of the Pride was thunderous.

Taksheel turned back to Kshantu and snarled. "Get moving, nomad."

Kshantu took off at a sprint, and while the sound of the legion racing behind him was utterly silent, his feline ears made him well aware of their quick pursuit. This was his role as Psi-Omega, to lead them to their destination, to be the very tip of the deadly arrowhead.

He took them through a thick line of birch and pine trees, following Morgue's instructions perfectly. Up ahead, over the next hill, would be the Willow Ring, the target area where the Baroness demanded he take them. Kshantu had never been inside the Starless Grove - the closest he had ever been was circling the parameter - but Morgue promised him that finding the Willow Ring would be easy enough.

And that it was.

As expected, the Willow Ring was a crop of tall and ancient willow trees, all of which were strategically placed to create a perfect circle. Their dangling branches swept softly in the light breeze, all flowing in the same lapping direction, inviting travelers and passersby to enter their halo.

A quick caution flashed through Kshantu's mind as he closed in on the Ring. What if one of the Makska knew of this place and whatever trickery Morgue had lying within? Surely they would castigate him for being so bold or foolish as to lead them inside. He shook the thought from his head. He had made it that far, and found no sense in second guessing his decision o trying to turn back.

He crossed into the circle, and the entire Pride of Makska followed.

Kshantu reached the other end of the Ring and looked up at the undulating trees, not sure where to go next. Morgue had instructed him to go to that particular spot and then promised him that the next step of the plan would be quick and unnoticed. Unnoticed was right, for as far as he was concerned, nothing was noticed because nothing had happened.

"I...I think this should be..." He let the statement hang in the air. He wasn't sure what to say - an unfit deceiver he had been for his entire life. He turned back to face the Makska, ready to take their ridicule and wrath at what he could only assume appeared as a blunder.

To his surprise, there was no Makska, nor any trace of them.

Kshantu...was alone.

?~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~?

Taksheel felt the sting of magic the moment he entered the Ring, but before he could react the mana took hold and ripped him from reality. The arcane pull wracked his soul, tearing from his feline maw a roar that was never heard, hushed upon the plane of the ethereal. He landed with unceremonious grace upon a hard, slick surface, overwhelmed by an arctic caress that stiffened his limbs and burned his flesh with frost. He gasped, and the air that expelled from his lungs wafted around him in a cloudy mist. He tried to stand but couldn't move, watching as the pads of his paws fused to the frozen floor. In fact, he was so astonished by this sight that he missed the quick freeze of his saliva as it fell from his lips and shattered upon the ground.

Howls of pain erupted all around him, and it took every ounce of strength Taksheel could gather just to strain his head and turn it over his shoulder, where he found the sight of his beloved Makska - the entire Pride - scattered across the icy floor in the same situation as he.

He turned back with another agonizing strain of muscle, fighting off the hardening of tendons and joints, to look once more at his hands. He realized that the only thing keeping him from freezing completely was the lycanthropic blood that flowed through his veins. Had he been human, he would have already been a living ice sculpture, but because of his magical regeneration he naturally fought off the more lethal effects of the glacial chill. How long that would last, he did not know.

Massive doors, more than twenty feet in height, slowly drew open at the end of the hall that Taksheel and the Makska painfully occupied, and through them emerged the colossal inhabitants of the estate. There were no more than forty, all armed to the teeth with ancient weapons; axes, maces, swords and flails. They wore plates of black metal armor with heavy cloaks of thick and tough hide, and open-faced helms adorned with horns and spikes; open-faced so that any looking upon them could see their onyx eyes that mirrored the lifeless chill of the corridor. They towered above the Makska, more than twice their size, and glared down at them with a merciless wrath.

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"This is without honor." Taksheel snarled, his gaze straining upward to meet the eyes of the Giant.

"Thou hast nay honor, lycan." The lead Giant said, the deep baritone of his voice echoing like stowed thunder in his chest . "Mine name is Ioram, dost thou have a title?"

"I am Taksheel, Alpha of the Makska!"

From behind him, the entirety of the Pride, even though they were agonizingly pinned to the ground with their flesh frozen to the floor, roared in honor of the designation.

Slowly the regard of the Giants lifted from Taksheel to survey the praise that came along with speaking his name.

"Thou art honored highly by thine legion, Taksheel of the Makska." Ioram said.

"I am."

Ioram's expression had yet to change, his sharp and angular features frozen in place. He raised his massive, steel covered foot from the floor and slammed it down onto the prone form of Taksheel, flattening him beneath the sole. He lifted his foot and slammed it down again, and then a third and fourth time, filling the hall with the sound of bone splintering and cracking, until Taksheel lay motionless in a puddle of seeping blood and mangled flesh.

The rousing of the Makska at the name of their Alpha dwindled quickly with Taksheel's sudden and brutal death, and while there was no sign of fear in the eyes of the mighty Lycanthropes, there was certainly startled confusion.

"Thou dost hath no need for worry, hellcats, mercy shall withstand attendance this day." The Giant promised as he drew forth his large and ancient battle axe, signaling for the others to brandish their massive weapons as well. "Doom lingers, and shall be plentiful."

Even with the Makska snarling and growling fiercely, though ultimately pinned to the floor, the slaughter did not take long.

Sway of the Pendulum - Part Five


Morgue returned to Winterthorne Briar inside her lavish vehicle; a crystalline sleigh drawn by a pair of massive winter wolves. As the only passenger, she had plenty of time to think on the road from Sh?ora? Sitka to her home, and it was these thoughts that recited the next part of her plan. Ioram had reported the success of the trap she had set and the annihilation of the Makska, and with Mealla conceding to wed Kshantu, everything was falling into place nicely. The next part would be the most dangerous, however, because it directly involved the Unseelie King himself, Madoc B?s-lann.

Manipulating Kshantu and Mealla was child's play compared to his highness. While the lycanthrope and the Lady Evergreen were easily steered with ambitious promises and lethal threats, Madoc would not be so quickly swayed, and Morgue knew that she had to watch her every word, her every nuance, for if the Unseelie King detected even the smallest hint of scheming he would be able to see through her completely, and unravel her web.

The sleigh cut through the snowy lands that surrounded her estate with a blade's quickness, keeping the trek flawless and without interruption, and stopping only when they arrived at the doors to her icy fortress. She exited the carriage and rounded to the front where she praised the giant mystical canines with sweet attention; scratching hard behind their ears and down their necks, letting their maws nuzzle into to the warmth of her bosom. The wolves cherished the attention of their Mistress eagerly, and whimpered once she turned and headed inside the domicile of the Briar.

Gracefully she moved across the decorative bridge leading to the landing of her home's entry, elevating her over the frozen stream that flowered slowly beneath. While seasons changed throughout the rest of the realm, the borders of her land were home to the touch of winter all the time, keeping water frosted with ice and trees bare of leaves. A beautiful disaster.

Awaiting her at the doors was the form of Brokk. Perched calmly upon his haunches, the powerful C?t Sidhe looked down upon the vehicle with a sense of disdain, the cunning shade of his tawny eyes shifting from one side to the other even though his wide head held perfectly still.

Morgue greeted him with the touch of her hand, lowering to rake her slender fingers along the hard bone between his eyes, knowing of his affinity for that spot. "Greetings, my beloved."

Brokk's eyes closed instinctively and he arched into her touch. "Greetings to you, mistress. You reek of dog."

Morgue's laughter was harsh and dangerous as she passed him. "Someone is getting a bit too comfortable with my leniency. Do you wished to be punished?"

Brokk stared down at the pair of Wolves who, at that moment, just so happened to be looking back up at him. He shed his lips and bared his deadly fangs with a hiss, inciting a howl from one and a vicious barking from the other, before turning to follow the Baroness.

"How is your ...niece?" Brokk asked as they made their way along the extravagant halls of the Fortress, the only other creature alive to know of Mealla's secret.

"As predictable as ever." Morgue answered, pushing open the door to her bedchamber and stepping through. She left it ajar for the C?t Sidhe to follow. "Her concession of the marriage was given at a price far less than I had anticipated."

"I am not surprised, Baroness. Your niece has always been a bit frivolous in her plots and ploys." Not once did he break stride as he entered into her room, casting a look down the corridor to see if any followed. When he found no one he turned back to her. "How did she receive the pearl of Gh'nal?"

With deft fingers Morgue unhinged the dress along the side until the tight hold of the alluring sheath loosened to be removed. Pulling the gown from her shoulders, she let it slip down along her torso in midstride, each step a decisive slither to shed the garment until it was left in a careless pool upon the floor. In only the elegant lift of diamond-encrusted heels, she gracefully crossed the room to the elaborate wardrobe nestled into the corner and pulled the doors open to survey the variety within. "She did not receive it well, Brokk, because she did not receive it at all. Its mention was not required."

He was a bit startled, though outwardly Brokk showed no sign of it. "Then what payment did she demand for her compliance?"

Morgue's laughter was musical and light - as it was with most purebloods of Fae lineage - though laced within the pleasant chortle were slivers of cruel torment. She pulled an outfit from the dresser, held it against her naked body, and then replaced it for another. "Mealla is a creature who is fueled by praise and accolades, as are most who spend a majority of their life looking for some sense of self worth. I did not need jewels or riches to sway her decision, but the simple promise of recognition. Taking Kshantu of the Makska as her husband was easily agreed to after I indicated that I would be a more frequent guest of the Evergreen Estates once they were wed."

"I recall you being quite fond of those lands some time ago." Brokk found himself staring at the sensual posterior of the Baroness, tracing the bow of her spine and swell of her bottom with his large, tawny eyes.

"Whether I intend to actually hold true to my indication is meaningless." Morgue added as she drew from the cabinet another outfit and turned for the bed. "All that matters is that Mealla believes it."

"So what is the next step?"

She laid the gown across the foot of her bed, and the touch of the lush mattress called to her soul. She purred as she crawled onto it and sprawled her naked form across the sheets, taking a moment to revel in the celestial heaven that was her extravagant divan. "It's time to go and see the King."

?~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~?

As always, the twisting expanse of the Unseelie Court was powerful in its dark aura. The castle tree reached heavenward as high as the eye could see, entwined outward upon its branches with the surrounding structures to create a network of corridors and halls within. It was magnificent to behold, and Morgue could feel a sense of homage in her heart as her sleigh came to a stop just outside the main entry.

As a member of the Court, Morgue was permitted into the castle, though that didn't stop her from flirting with the pair of soldiers who guarded the gate. The Fae were such fickle creatures, and even the stoic warriors of the Kingdom would surrender their harsh exterior for a chance to fancy the attention of a noble. Morgue played to their whims, taking on a softer role, something gentle and innocent. If only they knew.

She was lead through the winding halls to the great doors of the Throne Room - the portal impeccably gilded with a pair of massive dragons taking flight over an ancient Oak tree - and then within, where she found the form of King Madoc B?s-lann seated upon his ruling chair.

The King of the Unseelie was known for his mordant humor and capricious regard, ever the malicious harlequin, though the Fae that Morgue observed was far from this. His eyes were distant and contemplative, and his posture was serious and stiff. This was not a Fae who sought to bleed pitiless humor at the expense of another, but one who was on the verge of something far more dangerous. Still, the Baroness of Winterthorne Briar couldn't help but taking a moment to indulge in the sight of Madoc's delicious masculinity.

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"His highness seems distraught today." She said with a smile rich in sweetness, crossing the room with the click of heels to approach the dais of the King. The gown she selected was a bit more formal with its flaring skirt and halter top that left her shoulders and arms bare, though the diamond-shape cutout across the breast unveiled the deep valley of succulent cleavage, which was fully exposed to the King with her deep and submissive curtsy.

"His highness is distraught." Madoc responded coldly, flatly, his eyes remaining distant.

"A tragedy, for sure. Why is it that you are despondent, my king?"

"It matters not."

"My lord, I have traveled all this way to enjoy your company. Please don't tell me it's been a complete waste." She smiled. "Let me be of services to his grace."

The King drew in a deep breath and slowly shifted his gaze to the nubile form of Morgue La Faye, forgoing the torrid attention he normally paid to her enticing body to instead stare directly into her chilling eyes. "I am undone."

"Undone? How so?"

"The Makska have been destroyed. Somehow, the Autumn Sire was able to annihilate the entire pride!"

Morgue brought her hand to her breast and gasped. "Destroyed? How can this be? Can you be certain? Perhaps they are simply prisoners somewhere."

"Their bodies were bound in thorny vines and returned to my stoop." He said, narrowing his eyes before adding. "All of them except one. A nomad of the pride was left alive to deliver me a message." He then recited. "B? rabhadh, an Mhe?n O?che r?, do t? t? chugainn."

Be warned, Midnight king, for you are next.

"Unbelievable." Morgue said with another gasp.

"Perhaps I have underestimated the Autumn Sire. When Kshantu returned from your Briar with word of the Autumn Sire's request I assumed it was a sign of weakness...of desperation. Apparently, he had me fooled."

"And me as well." Morgue nodded. "For I thought the same."

The straight line of the King's shoulders slumped a touch as he sat back into his throne, letting his eyes fall closed as he pushed out a deep breath. "If the Autumn Sire has a force that is able to dispatch a unit as powerful as the Makska then I am doomed. Even if I roused the remainder of my entire contingent they wouldn't be able to ward off something powerful enough to destroy Taksheel and his Pride. I am finished."

"Not necessarily."

This interjection drew the attention of the King, who opened his eyes to inquisitively meet Morgue's gaze.

Boldly she took a step onto the dais, an area reserved for the King, and the King alone. With a sensual grace she approached him, her eyes intently locked upon his, and when she arrived she placed her hands on his thighs and slowly fell to her knees. She kept her hands steady, wide, flat palms on his legs with gentle fingertips applying easy pressure. She looked up at him from her kneel, her glacial gaze an amalgam of determination and submission. "I am at your service, my king."

A salacious innuendo seeped into Madoc's mind, and even in a time as disastrous as the one upon him, a sense of lustful enticement began to bloom. "Are you?"

"I am." She said. "When the Autumn Sire came to me and said that he wanted my help in destroying you I told him that I would not get involved. I did not want to be a part of you and he's war. Though as I watch you now, trapped within your own misery, I am inspired to aid you in any way that you see fit. Call upon me, my liege, and I will answer..." she caressed his thighs before turning her head and spilling black tresses across his legs, laying it upon his lap. "...willingly."

His hand fell to her head and gently he brushed her hair away from her ear. "I appreciate your offer, Baroness, but there is little winter wolves and ice goblins can do in this instance."

Her eyes snapped open and she unleashed a hard stare upon the far wall. Luckily the angle she was at made it impossible for Madoc to see this reaction to his veiled insult, for surely had he seen the outrage in her glower it would have stirred his suspicion. How dare this arrogant ass belittle her estate. For a moment she considered retracting her offer and leaving the Unseelie King to his own fate, for without the Makska the Autumn Sire truly did have the upper hand.

Quickly she regained her composure and returned to her scheme. "Perhaps you are right." She said as she lifted her head to again look him in the eye, the sight of her indignation replaced with confidence. "But I retain a host of Frost Giants who can match the strength of any."

"Frost giants?" Madoc asked, startled. "But...how? They are absolutely chaos personified."

"To most, though King Ioram and I have a mutual understanding. He does my bidding and in return..." She smiled. "...well, that's truly unimportant."

Morgue noted as the King considered this information his shoulders straightened and his eyes lifted from their internal abyss. The possibility of victory's resurrection began to infect his mind; the task made easier as far as Morgue was concerned by her alluring manipulation. Had he been focused fully upon the disaster of the Makska there was no telling what his reaction would have been.

"Wait." Madoc said suddenly, one thin brow arching as the other narrowed. "You said that you told the Autumn Sire that you would not interfere, and now here you are lending your service to me. The Court will not favorably view your mercurial allegiance. Had you pledged your allegiance to me to begin with you would be fine, but because you denounced any involvement your promise shall be viewed as dubious."

Morgue brought a finger to her lips and tapped them gently in feigned contemplation, well aware of court rules in such matters. "A good point, your highness. If only we were allied in some other way, then you could call upon my legion without fear of retaliation aimed at me."

"We could wed." Madoc offered. "I could take you as my wife and absorb your legion."

How openly the King made this proposal startled Morgue, and the shock that splayed across her beatific visage was sincere and obvious. Of all the tenders she had considered the King might give, marriage had never once crossed her mind. The possibilities of what being a Queen might entail flew through her mind, though forcefully she pushed them out. She had a plan, and needed to stick to it.

"I think such an arrangement would appear as a sign of weakness, my lord. If others already know about the fall of the Makska and then suddenly we wed, it would be obvious as to the reasoning. I would hate for your legacy to be tarnished by such a perception." Again she feigned contemplation, though had to admit that the King's offer played right into her hands and made for a perfect segue. "Granted, a wedding could be exactly what is needed to combine our resources."

"How so?" Madoc asked, and in his voice could be heard a sense of disappointment with her rejection. The Unseelie King could think of a lot worse things than being able to take the Baroness of Winterthorne Briar to his bed nightly.

"You said that a few of the Makska were able to escape the fate of the Pride, didn't you?"

"Not a few. Just one."

Morgue smiled. "One is all that is needed. My niece, the Lady Evergreen, has not been seen at Court in some time. Perhaps this is due to her focus turning to that of a husband she recently married?"

"Mealla La Faye." Madoc said, his devilishly handsome features lifting as realization set in. "The lone survivor is Kshantu. Is there not already history between the two?"

Morgue gave her best beaming grin. "Praise be to spirit and ancestors! The fates have fallen in our favor! If they are wed then Kshantu himself can call upon my aid, leaving me clear of betrayal and you clear of inferiority!" She added the last part out of venomous spite, a penalty for undercutting the value of Winterthorne Briar.

Madoc took her softly by the face and bent forward, placing his mouth upon hers.

Morgue let him kiss her tenderly, though did nothing to inspire a greater passion, keeping her lips closed and her tongue behind her teeth, even as his tried to pry her mouth open. She retreated then and drew herself upward to stand. "I shall make all the arrangements. It will have to be quick and without notice. You and I shall attend to witness the event, though the timeframe must be vague and never recalled."

"Very well." Madoc agreed, the sly intention of the Unseelie King having returned to his eye. "Though in order to consummate their marriage they must perform spiorad i gceist, correct?"

Morgue tilted her head suspiciously, though was certain as to why the King would ask this. "Of course."

Madoc sat back in his throne and lifted one leg to drape over the decorative arm, a serpentine grin hanging upon his sensual mouth. "Then I look forward to the ceremony, Baroness. And I hope you do as well. Though there is one last question that I have. You have been rather generous in this entire endeavor and have yet to ask for recompense. Am I to believe that you are doing this purely out of the goodness of your heart and devotion to your king?"

Morgue let the question hang in the air for a moment as she stretched upward, lifting her arms above her head and raising up onto her tiptoes so that the soothing shudder could ripple down her curvaceous form. She then gave a charming smile. "A favor is all that I ask, your highness. A favor in the future. I would not be so bold as to make demands of your graciousness and thus there shall be no appeal so that you may determine the worth of this favor in return for me assistance."

The grin etched upon Madoc's face slipped just a bit, as in that moment he realized the potency of the Baroness' price. By not asking for a determined amount all of the onus to see her fitfully reimbursed fell upon him. Too little and the Court would see him as stingy and ungrateful, two qualities that made gathering allies and supporters excessively difficult. Too much...

...well, no Fae liked giving away too much.