Inaction and suffering had served its purpose. The grizzled, scarred countenance of the man splits wide in a toothy grin upon seeing the tatters of his homeland. His brother, the great and esteemed Oliver no longer stands before his people as a proud monolithic figure. No longer does he present as the stalwart aegis to shield and protect his countrymen with fang and claw. No, he now huddles amid his misery, a broken man and a shade of his former self.
Now was the time for action.
The words were like poison slipping into the ears of the destitute and starving, those seeing themselves abandoned by the once protective king. Soon, the shadows spread the news for him: that it was the time for change. They gathered, sheep flocking to their deigned shepherd and savior. They gather upon the shores of the distant island, family banners and proud insignias waving with snapping fabric upon the salty wind that cracks them like whips overhead. For the first time in ages, their bellies are filled with the islands bounty and harvest. There is joy, there is celebration and a promise for more. That he - Niclas Rasche - would deliver them from the oppression of his brother and his regalia of defeat. The wolves demanded blood, howled for vengeance and he would give it to them. This regime of stagnant, slow death merely had to crumple first. The will of the people had to be shown with strength. With conviction.
The duel that had once lost him the seat now occupied by his sibling had burned within the back of his mind for those overly long years of exile. As the elder, it should have been he to don the crown. It should have been him to face the threat of the Red Queen! His! His by right! But every dog was due their day.
And his dear brother's was nigh.
Come all ye downtrodden, ye hungry, ye broken and abandoned. The time for revolution has at last come. Upon an isle in the coasts of the Fae lands, Niclas Rasche amasses his army to overthrow the current government. He promises action and change in the face of this stagnant plague that has made Vufrien home. Banners have begun to make their way to the isle, soldiers pledging their loyalty in exchange for a higher seat within the new world order he would impose.
Few and less recall him as the elder half brother of the current king, let alone the duel that had seen him marked and thrown out from the lands of his birth. There is no denying his charisma, nor the intent and feeling behind his promise to once again uplift the people of Vufrien. What of you, stranger? Will you follow this man? Will you become another waving flag upon the field swearing fealty to a new leader? To a new dawn?
Sari remained missing, a grim reality that Avarice had mentioned seeming the most likely explanation. She had begun to suspect that her lady in waiting was the owner of the coffin meant as her own, disgraced as the aggressor and murderer of the true Arabella. A facade cloaked in arcane enigma to cover their sordid truths. She hoped one day to reclaim her own name, her innocence, and clear the false allegations that another bore upon their shoulders in her stead. The woman had, however, served her faithfully until her end.
As had the shopkeep she had crossed paths with while out with Aethelos in the traveling markets, the sense of familiarity not leading her astray as the madame had indeed confirmed that she had once been among traders and subjects loyal to the dune wolves. Through her, Sari had reclaimed the last articles of Dae's clothing, her belongings, precious materials that offered some form of mocking comfort. A true pity that she could not thank the young lady properly, an undertaking she knew nothing of until the merchant traced her down to deliver the goods long after the debacle. Along with the return of her armaments and dressings, she had received the company of a few of her sisters - not those of blood, but family none the less. Proud warriors she had served with, those who still held fealty from the gilded sea.
It was but another body of water they crossed now, the salted breeze breathing through the loose tendrils of her pale golden hair. The winter sun glittered off the gossamer waves as they gently tossed, and yet the warm breath of the ocean bid the chill to remain away from at least this part of the world. It allowed her the frivolous privilege of donning her regalia at long last. Foreign silks and breathable garments that still retained a faint hint of her homeland's scent. One she had condemned herself to never again inhale, it offered a sorely needed comfort.
Her fears had been confirmed, what remained of her people had long since scattered, chased down and now extinction loomed near for them. The duo that had come to her considered that they were quite possibly the last of their kind. They had also reaffirmed her suspicions of her last sibling: that she too had passed the gate to finality. They knew not the finer details, but they had confirmed the tragedy with their own eyes, witnessed the horrors of their enemy first hand.
They were the last of them.
She gave a soft sigh as the groaning oars settled into stillness, vocals rallying around them in commands for settling the vessel at the port. The rumors had reached her of a man who swore to right the wrongs within this country. A man concerned with the wellbeing of those who suffered and starved while the rich merely bled further resources for themselves. She would not claim fealty to the current king, a man and policies she did not know, but by his actions, she had found him lacking. The fact that so many abused their stations and remained unchecked by him - the Beleveron's and their antics alone stood as proof that his was not a banner worthy of bowing to.
Departing the ship, she and her small company would approach where many seemed to be pledging their allegiance. They would join them, the baskets of cactus fruits set as offering while the tall, lean woman to her left would implant the flag bearing the golden wreath that had once symbolized her clan. Their crowns would bow as they joined the others set upon this perilous route.
