Chapter 4:
Isolda swept down the stone hallway like a specter. She blended right in with the stark white walls and floor, and the light from the windows lining the corridor almost seemed to reflect off her pale flesh. People who saw her often related their experience to seeing Shallya walk amongst them. A floor-length white corset dress, the hem trimmed and patterned with golden thread, clung to her form, accentuating every feature to the best of its ability. It was a deadly simple item, the patterning along the hem warned all who knew of its origin, but the woman encased within ensured that even the uneducated knew that she was far from somebody to mess with.
A long, flowing white hooded cape was tied around her neck. This cape, like the dress, was trimmed with the same gold patterns, but the icon emblazoned in the centre rendered the tiny warnings somewhat obsolete. A 'V' lay at a 45 degree angle, with a line bridging the letter in the middle. A simple circle hovered above this line, the top of it aligned perfectly with the tops of the lines that made up the 'V'. It, like the other patterns, was created from gold thread, but silver thread weaved through it like lightning bolts.
Her long, silvery blonde hair was tied in a high ponytail, showing off her décolletage and neck. Despite the temptation, those who stared quickly averted their gazes upon sighting the many warnings about her person. Sky blue eyes punctuated her face, which seemed to carry a perpetual dreamy, yet serious quality. She seemed as if she stared off into the distance, but it was a fool who assumed that she missed even the soundless falling of a single blossom from a tree amongst a forest in full bloom.
She walked tall, and emitted a noticeable air of power and authority. The four guards, clad in polished platemail with tabards of Murstvig's colours-a field of emerald green bordered with a dark, wooden brown-and carrying long halberds, stood two abreast of a grand pair of doors with panels of dark, stained ashwood and frames of lighter, varnished sycamore, finished with copious amounts of gold leaf upon the finely crafted designs.
The soldiers watched Isolda through unblinking eyes, never wavering for even a second as she approached. There was a reason that Dedrick used elite guards such as these for his own personal protection. Isolda inwardly smiled at the fact that if she, one of the most beautiful and powerful women in Ostermark, could not tempt these men away from their stations, then what chance did any old succubus have of getting past them?
As she reached the door, the guards pounded the stone beneath them with their halberds, and a man poked his head around the door, withdrawing quickly at the sight of Isolda. A second later, the doors swung silently inwards on oiled hinges and Isolda glided into the room beyond. It was smaller than someone would expect for the quarters of a lord, but then, Dedrick was a reasonably small man, and he was not yet used to grandeur that accompanied his ascension to the seat of Lord of Murstvig.
The walls were as everywhere else in the keep, a gleaming white. Tapestries from ages past hung on each wall, each one depicting a unique scene of heroism from the Empire. Against the far wall, a roaring fireplace suffused the air with the smell of various oils no doubt used to scent the firewood. Above it hung the largest tapestry: that of Otsermark. As independent as some towns acted, they were still under the jurisdiction of Wolfram Hertwig, the Elector Count of Ostermark. The grand item above the fireplace served to remind the residing lord that he was still answerable to the Elector Count, and the crowned red manticore, rampant upon a field of purple and yellow, stared down at all in the room, almost as if it were about to leap off the tapestry and attack any who threatened the Empire.
Before the fireplace was a long polished mahogany table, along with a number of chairs backed with the same rare wood and finished with plush green velvet, bordered with brown, upon the backs and arms. Where the house of Murstvig had been able to acquire mahogany of the quality used eluded Isolda; as far as she knew such wood was restricted to the warmer-and thoroughly more dangerous and myserious-climates of the new world.
'My lord Dedrick of Murstvig, Lady Isolda, sorceress of the Celestial Order, has arrived as you requested.' Shouted the man who had opened the doors. Isolda nearly jumped, but such things no longer affected her. What she had been seeing of late rendered all else insignificant.
Dedrick emerged from one of the rooms off to the side, dressed in a brown doublet, over which he wore an emerald green jerkin, brown trousers, and black jackboots. At his waist he wore a tight black leather belt, from which hung an empty scabbard, and a holster which, like the scabbard, was devoid of a weapon.
He looked as if he hadn't slept in a week. His cropped black hair was sticking out in tufts, his black eyes were like voids that had sunken into his skull, and stubble coated his chin. Isolda pulled her lips into a small smile, usually it took people a much longer time to crack under the weight of governance.
Dedrick gave her an impatient look of 'yes, what do you want?', before sweeping around the room like a madman, looking in the drawers and cupboards lined against the walls,
'Dedrick, what in the name of all that is holy is going on?' Isolda's patience and calmness felt out of place in a question regarding a frenzy.
Dedrick stilled, 'What is going on? What is going on?!' He threw up his arms, 'I shall tell you, little miss sunshine, just what is going on.' He stormed up to her and stopped close enough for her to smell his breath. She didn't flinch, but instead gazed down at the man, and blinked, 'Rieger has taken a detachment of our best knights out to some Morr-forsaken village in order to save a woman he likes, this town is close to exploding from all the refugees, the food is running out, the fields in the outlying areas have either been abandoned, or looted and salted, I only just received word back from Wolfram that he cannot aid us about a situation that I reported on two weeks ago and has since become a hundred times worse, another messenger is still at least a week away from Middenheim with word of the same outdated plight, Einar returned not two days ago with half his detachment slain, and a bunch of foresters looking for payment and recognition for some half-arsed effort...'
He ran his fingers through his hair, 'I have beastmen pouring out of every orifice for miles around, and the people out there-' he gestured wildly through a window at the back of the room, 'want me to do something about it all.' He poked Isolda in the stomach, 'THAT, my dear, is what is going on, and unless you have a nice shiny rainbow to pull out of that bosom of yours that you put on display like fresh meat in a butcher's shop, then I suggest you make this quick and get out of my hair-or what will be left of it after this ordeal.' He tugged on his tufts of hair and went back to combing the room, 'Where in Sigmar's name did I put my damn sword?'
Isolda smoothed her dress, 'It's in your bathroom, leaning against the bath.' She calmly stated every word. She had to be sure that Dedrick knew the consequences, and it wouldn't do to launch into a tirade of her own, no matter how much she wished to, 'Your pistol is being cleaned by the gunsmith, as you requested not an hour ago.'
Dedrick gave her a critical look, stormed into the bathroom, and with a cry of 'aha!' returned with a jubilant look on his face, 'I found it.' He waggled the sword before him and then slid it back into its scabbard. He looked to have calmed significantly, 'Now, what did you want again?'
'My lord, the stars have spoken to me.'
Dedrick stared up at her, 'Really? How fascinating.' If he tried to hide the sarcasm, then it wasn't a very good attempt, 'What did they say? I can't imagine they're a talkative lot.'
'My lord, your troubles have only just begun.' Isolda watched Dedrick's cheerful expression melt away as quickly as it had formed, 'I have much to tell you, and I doubt that you will like it anymore than I did.'
Dedrick lowered his gaze and fell into one of the seats across from the fireplace. He bridged his fingers before his face and stared into the embers. A coal burst, sending bright sparks shooing upwards, but his gaze never wavered, 'Tell me, Isolda, what did you see?'
Isolda gulped past the lump that had formed in her throat, 'My lord, I saw nothing but Chaos.'