Homeage

[Thorin]

The city should be beautiful to the wandering soul, but to Thorin Xanathi, it would always be an ugly memory in his mind. People walked passed him, ignoring his existence as he was accustomed. It was getting colder, with snowflakes falling intermittently out of the iron sky. He bundled against his leather jacket, cursing the idea of making a trip into this forsaken city. Since the bloody war and the death of his father, he had been considered dead by his family. Ever since then, he had lived alone and depended on his own common sense- which is more than what his father had been blessed with.

Even though he blamed his sister for the death of their mother, he would have given anything for a familiar face, or a kind word. He didn't even know what to call himself, since this place had done away with the royal family. Technically speaking, he would have been the prince, but a lot of good royalty seemed to do around this place.

He snickered at his thoughts, gaining the attention of some of the street whores. His father might have been a blood thirsty killer, but at least he inherited his good looks- he never had a hard time with women. He had been given Vylrath's sharp facial features and his mother's soft eyes. The features weren't something he could complain about, but he felt less appreciative of his bloodline.

Thorin loitered outside a popular bar, wondering if he shouldn't treat the women to a drink, or if he should keep on trekking to his destination. He had heard of his father's body being abandoned, which was fine with him, but he wondered if his mother had a burial site that he could pay his respects to.

Thorin huddled up against the bar entryway, trying to gain some warmth. He was used to living in the woods and the idea of being in public raised his paranoia levels dramatically.

[Igraine]

"Your kind isn't welcome here." A large man, smelling of stale sweat and sweet liquor, stiff armed a petite blonde out of the nearby bar door. She staggered a little before planting her hand on the wall near Thorin.

"What do you mean 'My kind'? My money is just as good as anyone elses!" She knew what he meant though as she kicked the wall savagely, very near Thorin's shin. They didn't like anyone in these parts that looked remotely like aristocracy and they certainly didn't like anyone digging for information.

Oh, and asking about the ruling family of Rivenfelde City was what could get you kicked out of a bar. Pretty innocuous stuff, but these people were not happy with the way things turned out with royalty. She aimed another swift kick at the wall and only then realized how close she was to obliterating Thorin's shin.

"Oh, sorry." Igraine huffed as she slammed her back against the wall. She wasn't usually this bitchy but she wanted to make a connection to the ruling family of Rivenfelde like her mother had before her. Granted, as she recalled her mother saying, she had nearly been driven mad by the royal family before Isabella Rivenfelde's time.

Igraine looked up at Thorin for the first time, her bright green eyes surveying his features. He looked strangely familiar and she found herself staring at him, while trying not to appear as if she were staring.

"Excuse me, but you look strangely familiar. Might I ask your name?" Her voice had a soft musical cadence that bespoke of someone from Ulster, though she herself wore no adornments to show her rank -- which was Queen.

[Thorin]

Thorin watched the bartender yell venomous insults at the young woman in front of him. He fumed inside, watching her put her hand on the wall beside him. He thought quickly, mostly due to his anger. Grabbing her hand, he pushed past the crowd and up to the counter. It was obvious that he hadn't even heard her ask what his name was, he was too upset over the hostility in the bar.

He had just gotten here and he had already witnessed whores and now this- it needed to be handled. Walking up to the bartender, he let his confidence swell to arrogance. He didn't know if it was an inner source, or just talent for influencing people. He glared into the bartender's eyes, making him focus on him momentarily. “You will serve us a drink.” Slowing his tone down, it would appear as if he were speaking in a condescending tone. Maybe this girl already thought he was crazy, but at this point he didn't care. He was having a rough day and the cold was starting to get to him.

Without another word, the bartender returned with Thorin's drink, while he waited for Igraine to order. He put coin down on the table, only to make the others less suspicious. He sipped his amber substance, enjoying the burning aftertaste in his throat.

“The name's Thorin....” He figured she would tell him her name, since she suddenly spoke with a feminine touch.

It was as if everything went back to normal after he spoke his name to her. The bartender no longer seemed captivated by them and the waitresses went about serving drinks.

[Igraine]

"I'll have what he's having." Igraine studied the back of the barkeeps head for a moment before looking back at Thorin. She studied his face for a minute or two, weighing her options and trying to pin what made his face so familiar.

"My name is Igraine." She picked up the drink the barkeep set down and had half of it down before she realized just how much it burned going down. With very little dignity Igraine set the glass down and had a coughing wheezing fit. Her eyes watered with the burn of the amber liquid and she wondered, briefly, how anyone could drink that vile amber liquid.

"My god what the hell is that stuff?" Wheezing a little she cast a sidelong glance at Thorin.

"What brings you to this miserable hell hole? I can't seem to find a decent bit of information here now that the royalty is gone. I hear that the Rivenfelde family was the last good thing that happened to this place." She was obviously fishing for information, hoping that this guy that had taken up for her would know something. He obviously didn't know her.

[Thorin]

Thorin smirked, wondering if she was some spoiled thing who had wound up here by accident. With the way she handled her alcohol, he couldn't see her surviving very long in the city without some guidance. It was common sense not to reveal too much about yourself in a public area like a pub. Even if she was beautiful and tempting, he couldn't always trust the prettiest face.

“That was just simple whiskey.” He paused, repeating her name over and over in his head. “Nice to meet you Igraine, I'm on my way to find my mother's grave.” Thorin finished, wondering how she'd react to somber news after such a friendly introduction. He took her drink, figuring she wouldn't need it and finished it in a single gulp. Liquor did very little too him, except maybe dull his senses for awhile.

“So, what brings a princess like you here?” He had already decided that she was helpless, without even having given her a chance. Maybe it was the mood of the place, but he didn't like being asked about his personal life. “A lot of good the royalty did...I'm glad the bastard is dead.”

[Igraine]

"I'm sorry to hear about your mother." Igraine flagged the barkeep down and asked for water. She was turning back to Thorin when the glass was slipped into her hand. Checking to make sure it was, in fact water, Igraine took a sip and eyed Thorin warily.

"Not all royal families are terrible. The Rivenfelde's did a good job of cleaning this place up. Not that you could see much of that around here now." Musing over her thoughts Igraine took another sip of her water and motioned toward the door.

"I know where the cemetery is if you would like me to show you?" She wasn't entirely sure what she was getting herself into, but it didn't seem like a bad idea to show a man his mother's grave. If he tried anything fishy she would gut him. Her mother hadn't raised a helpless whelp, even if she couldn't hold her liquor. Igraine hopped up off the stool she was sitting on and began to weave her way through the crowd, pulling her long coat tight around her body against the cold. Ever since the bloody war the winters in Rivenfelde were intense, worse than they should have been in a Desert country.

Igraine peered back toward Thorin and shrugged her shoulders deeper into her jacket. "Well, are you coming?" She called back to him, wondering how much of him she dared trust.

[Thorin]

Thorin followed her hesitantly, wondering what Igraine thought of him. He sounded ungrateful to something he probably didn't understand, but as a man, he knew that he hated the royal family for what it did to his mother. Now she would be resting in her grave, without given the chance to enjoy her city- the very thing she had fought so hard for.


Now the city was practically in ruins, or should be entirely, from the way the citizens kept it up. His pointed ears turned to the sound of her harmonious voice again. She had mentioned the Rivenfelde name and he quietly hung his head, mulling over a quiet prayer. He shouldn't be thinking terrible thoughts while heading toward a graveyard- he was sure that was bad luck for traveler's somewhere- even worse when it's your mother's grave.

He followed her through the snow flurry. “You're strange.” Thorin said out-loud, not realizing what he had said until it was too late. He had been watching her movements, which seemed to move with nature. Quickly, he apologized, hoping that his awkward feelings would leave him soon. They were nearing the graveyard, which looked like a pile of rubble off in the distance. When you got closer, they were actually neatly placed stones of lesser and greater significance depending on who was buried.

“I'm looking for Isabella Rivenfelde.” He said, looking for any marker taller than the rest.

[Igraine]

Igraine smiled when he called her strange. That was the very least of what she'd been referred to since her mother's disappearance. No, Kahlan Lothair was not dead but in a retirement of sorts until her daughter needed her. In a way, Igraine wished she'd decided to stay so that she could take care of the Kingdom. The intrigue among "friends" was enough to drive the poor young woman crazy.

"Isabella Rivenfelde? You're her son? I didn't know she had a son, she didn't speak of you when I saw her." Igraine didn't look old enough to have even met Isabella Rivenfelde much less have knowledge of her. "You won't find her stone here. She never had one that I know of."

Igraine motioned to the spot where it was assumed that Isabella's body originally rested, but everyone knew that she'd come back from the dead. Except this poor man. Igraine reached out and laid a slender hand on Thorin's forearm. Her skin was strikingly soft and delicately pink. She was pale, but not deathly so, and she carried hardly a whit of her father's traits.

The only thing of Vylrath Xanathi that showed itself in his Fae daughter were the delicate shape of her eyes and her defined jaw and cheek bones. This gave her an almost exotic appeal that her emerald eyes and full pink lips seemed to tame ever so slightly. Being born in the Fae realm and growing therein made any demonic taint in her blood minimal at best.

"Isabella is alive, Thorin. She's not as she once was because of a blood taint, but she lives with my mother Kahlan Lothair in the Fae Realm. I think that they have given up on this cursed world we live in." Her face fell slightly, thinking morose thoughts as she wandered over to one very grown over grave and grimaced. It was unmarked but she knew who it was. It was Vylrath Xanathi's grave, and she didn't know that Thorin was also his son.

"This is my Father's grave. I only met him shortly before he died." And she left it at that, tugging her dark brown coat tighter against the harsh chill in the wind.

[Thorin]

The news of his mother still living, but not in the same essence, shocked him. He looked to her, not knowing how to react. His mother had been wandering in a physical form, but had never searched him? He supposed that she wouldn't look for a cursed Xanathi son. Thorin watched Igraine, captivated by her beauty for the first time. In truth, he hadn't been around another individual for awhile. He had forgotten about his loneliness.

He watched her gaze at a grave that had little meaning to him. Bowing to the grave, he turned to her with a blunt request.

“Take me to my mother....I wish to see her.” He paused thoughtfully. “Please, Igraine. Wouldn't you want someone to take you to your last living blood relative?” Silently, he wondered if she would take his abrupt request. He hadn't explained much about himself. In his mind, he wondered if he would really be comfortable seeing the form of his mother walking around freely. He didn't understand who Kahlan Lothair was, except that she was Igraine's mother. He would pay his respect when he could, but he suddenly felt urgent for meeting with Isabella- it was almost a desperate desire to just see her face.

The last time he had seen her alive, was when she was giving birth to his sister Caela. In his dark mind, he wondered what his sister was up to and if she'd be there to greet him. It was a lot to take in, but he had handled worse in the past.

He looked around the desolate area, still disgusted that his homeland had turned into such an ugly scar of a city.

[Igraine]

"But you aren't alone at all you have a sister and she has two children!" Igraine turned to him with a brilliant smile on her face. She gestured with her hands somewhere to the south where she had left Sebilla, Caela, and Trydian some months ago. She had gone to visit them as part of the family, but she still didn't connect Thorin as a potential brother. It occurred to her that Isabella might have had this son before ever meeting Vylrath Xanathi.

Just about the time she was going to agree with Thorin's demands, that indeed his mother must want to know that her oldest son is indeed alive, she heard someone call her name.

"Igraine! Is that you?" A feminine voice called over the distant ruckus of city life. Igraine twisted around and raised up on her tiptoes to see who could be calling her.

"Why, speak of the devil, Thorin! That is your niece Sebilla!" Igraine smiled warmly as the seventeen year old girl skipped over to them. There was a light snow falling and gathering in the girl's raven black hair like a halo. She was a stunning girl of Xexorian heritage on her father's side and a wild legacy on her mother's side.

"Rain, who are you standing about this musty old cemetery with? Where are your guards? Don't you know how dangerous it is to be out all alone?" Sebilla frowned as she crossed her arms over her stomach trying to look imposing. The girl wore an ankle length grey travelling dress with a long black cloak to ward off the biting cold. She looked the picture of angelic beauty and not a few eyes were cast her direction.

"You're one to talk, Ebi! I don't think a young lady should be alone out in these conditions, much less alone in a huge city. What were you thinking?" Laughing Igraine pulled the girl into a hug. They were thick as thieves, these two young women, separated by a mere four years.

"Oh, Rain, you know I'm never alone. Mother simply wouldn't allow it. My faithful shadow is always around, though I think he's been a bit caught up at the blacksmith now that I'm with you." Sebilla gestured behind her where a
Blacksmith was gesturing wildly at a forge and talking animatedly to a tall well built young man. His silver hair fluttered wildly in the frigid wind.

"I see Trydian has returned to his natural hair color. The black didn't suit him well at all." Sebilla murmured her agreement before looking at Thorin.

"Oh, and who are you? I am sorry for my rudeness! I am Sebilla Xanathi Rivenfelde!" Sebilla reached out to Thorin with a bright smile.

[Thorin]

Thorin didn't care about the relations, or who-was-related-to-who. He felt awkward with the women and more-so with the strange man they gestured to. He just wanted to see his mother's grave, which he thought he had made clear to Igraine. While she smiled her impish smile, knots formed in his stomach. He had never been very keen on socializing and this was a little too much for someone who had been isolated for so long. Thorin didn't shake hands, but he did nod at Sebilla, his proclaimed neice.

"Rivenfelde..." He paused, letting that information connect. They were all family here, in one form or another and he was beginning to feel a little smothered by the reunion. "Maybe you can take me to my mother's grave?" "I'm Thorin Xanathi." He said, with little enthusiasm to his introduction toward the young woman. She had striking features, but Igraine's still caught his attention more. His eyes shined at her with an unnatural depth. He acted like a lost prince to a land that had forgotten about him long ago.

[Igraine]

"A pleasure to meet you...Uncle?" She didn't know much about her mother's family beyond her grandfather Vylrath and her grandmother Isabella. Sebilla quirked a brow and tilted her head a little like a bird of prey. It was an eerie quality that she shared with her grandmother and she did so completely unaware.

"Grandmother is still alive. As I recall she went to the Faerie Realm with Igraine's mother Kahlan." Sebilla gestured to Igraine and then glanced over to her tall lithe brother as he wandered up.

"Igraine..." Trydian lowered his head in greeting to his half sister. A shame she was related...even if the pull of her blood called to him like a lover. He would NOT be his father, he had established that a while ago. He had too many people to guard and protect to think about sex now.

Then again, he was only seventeen. A wry smile lifted the corner of his lips as he looked at the man standing there looking highly uncomfortable. Trydian sympathized with this stranger, being around Xanathi blood was a lot like being suspended above a cauldron of boiling oil -- one could never expect anything but chaos from a Xanathi woman.

"I don't believe we've had the pleasure of meeting. I am Trydian Rivenfelde-Xanathi." Trydian bowed his head briefly but didn't reach out to touch the stranger. He found most people strayed away from the pure demon in him. They were smitten by his good looks, but they feared his touch and his eyes. His eyes carried the heritage of his house and the legacy it's women. He had one violet eye and one turquoise eye both flecked through with silver. Unnerving at best.

"Trydian, you fool. This is our Uncle Thorin Xanathi. He is looking for grandmother." Trydian listened to Sebilla, a smile only for her. He could not help his love for his mortal sister -- it was as if fate had put them together in life to keep his dark soul under control.

"Ah, if that is the case you should join us to meet our mother, your sister Caela." Trydian pointed to an Inn on the outskirts of the city and smiled. "She's well within residence, though the person you should speak to about actually seeing our Grandmother is Igraine." Trydian's glance lingered on Igraine a fraction of a second longer than was proper, but he turned abruptly and held out his arm for Sebilla who took it as if she belonged there.

"It's true. I do know the way to her. We should meet with Caela first, she may know where your mother is. She isn't always with mine." Igraine searched Thorin's eyes briefly with her deep emerald green eyes. Igraine tucked her slender hands into the pockets of her long coat and smiled and began to slowly walk after Trydian and Sebilla toward the Inn.

[Thorin]

He had no obligations to these people. They could claim relations all they wanted, but his goal was to see his mother- dead or alive, apparently. It was odd to think that she walked the earth like any other living creature. His mind still tried to grasp that logic.

Thorin was aware of the demon in Trydian, but it wasn't enough to throw his senses off. He didn't see him as a threat. The kid was cocky, but that was the only trait he could visibly see. He hardly remembered his father, only having heard the horrible details about his life in this land.

"And who is your mother, Igraine? Some goddess?" He smirked at his words, knowing that this was the longest converation he had had with someone in a very long time. "I hope my neice and nephew can forigve me, but you do not look like you belong with them." Thorin turned toward Trydian. "Especially when some of us possess the taint." His words were not an assault on Trydian's character, but a mere observation. He could feel the demonic presence inside the young man. With his own demonic blood, he had gotten used to the idea of being able to sense oddities in strangers like Trydian.

He decided to quickly change the subject, feeling the tension around him grow. He was never gifted with words and prefered action. "We should head there now, before nightfall." He began to walk ahead, assuming that he was following the correct path they had pointed towards.

How would he react to his sister? He couldn't remember the last time he had seen her and all connections to his family had extinguished, with any form of affection for them. Thorin only wanted to see his mother- or a marker of her- just to clear his mind and free his heart. He wondered if ghosts from the past spoke to begotten son's.

[Igraine]

Trydian frowned as he watched his "uncle" walked away. He felt the pull of his blood and found it strange. He wasn't as powerful as Trydian himself was, but he was still a potential threat...uncle or not. He watched as Thorin flattered Igraine and his frown deepend. He wouldn't say he loved Igraine like he did his own sister, but she was his half sister and he felt obligated to protect her, from every single male within a five mile radius if he had anything to say about it.

Igraine caught up with Thorin and walked beside him, carefully picking her path among fallen headstones. "My mother is not a goddess, though she is something quite special. You will see that when you meet her, she is with your mother. It is within my power to bring you there, but after you meet with Caela."

Igraine stepped into the Inn and shook off her coat and tossed it on a hook near the fire. Under the coat was a well made cream colored shirt with long bell sleeves and a pair of khaki colored pants that were tucked away into tan riding boots. Sebilla followed her and tossed her cloak over another hook to warm by the fire. Her dress was floor length and modest, not the clevage showing style of the day.

Trydian kept his long coat on and watched as the two young women climbed the stairs before motioning for Thorin to follow them.

Sebilla burst into a room and flounced her skirts a little as she settled on a simple chair. Igraine rolled her eyes at the younger girl and laughed. She glanced up as a shadow moved behind a tall screen. She heard a voice that she knew well and loved almost as much as her own Mother's.

"I see that you have brought company, Sebilla." Caela's voice was rich and soft, sounding every inch an indulgent mother. "Who else have you brought with you my darling?" Caela stepped out from behind the screen wearing a simple soft blue dress finely woven with intricate embroidery around the hems along her wrists and the very bottom of her skirts. Her long brilliant blonde hair was pulled back from her face in a pony tail and revealed her soft pale skin and intense midnight blue eyes. she looked nothing like the red haired child that once ruled this land.

Caela was the only suriving Vuri residing on this plane of existence. She looked very regal and beautiful in an immortal sort of way. This woman was the founder of nations and a ruler, of that there was no doubt. Yet she exhuded motherly compassion and happiness.

"Well, who is the man you brought to me? I have never met him before."

What on earth would Thorin think of his sister?

[Thorin]

Thorin bowed before they got halfway into the room, respectfully toward the woman who questioned his presence. He had no place here, but he wanted to see this ghost they called Isabella Rivenfelde.

“Forgive me, I am Thorin Xanathi....your older brother.” His voice was soft, always sincere. More than likely stunning the woman with this news, he continued on and explained his quest. “I was told that you could take me to Isabella. I'm here to see my mother- our mother.” He corrected himself at the last minute, watching the room spin.

Everything was so new and alarming, that he had to get a grasp on his reality. Thorin was used to living like a hermit, away from people and the city that had claimed his families life. Now that he was reunited with a handful of them, he didn't know how to react. He had his sister back, niece, nephew and possibly his mother. This would be the first time that he felt faint as a soldier and man. From their past, he didn't blame her if she turned him away and shunned him.