Chapter 333: The Rousing of Lord Alwyn
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Chapter 333: The Rousing of Lord Alwyn
The ride had started easily, Mudhead loping across the fields and orchards, bringing them rapidly to the Fae Maple tree that rose in the sky and held the portal to the lands of the Summer Lord. Mudhead hit the ramp that spiraled around the trunk at sixty miles an hour and didn't slow as Ben leaned into the turns and Suzette held onto his belt, her patient between them, still unconscious.
A hound was lazily chasing unicorns, never putting out more energy than needed to send them running across the fields. They came back as soon as the hound fell asleep in the sun, poking him softly and nipping at his tail to wake him up. A racing horse was much more interesting than silly horn ponies. Lord Hound joined Mudhead in his run up the tree. The unicorns ran off to pester the grumpy dwarf who was planting a new field of peppers.
Gaining the level of the Fae Embassy, the horse slowed, and Lord Hound did not. He raced ahead, knocking the door open and racing inside, barking loudly in a tone that echoed through the strange house and into the Lands of the Summer Lord. Alwyn heard the alarm, and it startled him from his lethargy. The wounds taken in battle from the Gophorian Behemoth had long since healed, but not the malaise he felt inside.
A sound thrashing he could recover from; it certainly wasn't the first time that his pride was wounded. It was the death of his horse that had thrown him into despair. He had raised the horse from the time of its birth, and they'd ridden into battle together many times and across the wilds of the Fae Lands. Windrover had been a companion and pet to him, and he knew it was his fault she had died. He had sunk into the despair and apathy common to melancholy Fae. Creatures of great emotion, they could drink and celebrate for weeks, ride gladly to glorious battle, and dance until their shoes wore out and their feet bled. But they could be equally angry, vengeful, or greedy. The bards sang endless stories warning of mortals dealing with them because of this. In Alwyn's case, it was depression from which he could not escape. He sat day after day in his study, drinking the wine of his new vineyards and cursing himself. If he ventured out, it was brief, and he retreated again to the dark room and dark thoughts.
The Hound had tried, time and again, to gain his interest and finally just settled in for a few years of running things himself. To reward his dedication to duty, he gave himself a raise. He was glad he had because the situation brought to their doorstep was of a serious nature, and he was going to have to take steps to rouse Alwyn from his stupor. He was relieved to see the Summer Lord had roused himself and staggered from the house. He was squinting at the Sun overhead, which had the grace to hide behind a cloud and spare his eyes. The Hound, however, would not be quiet, kicking up a racket that brought all his demesne. "Yes, Yes! Did someone fall down a well? No? Important visitors at the gate? Yes. Good. I will see them...shortly? Tomorrow or the next day."
The Hound was impatient. He latched onto Alwyn's wrist, biting hard enough to draw blood, and dragged him toward the door to the mortal lands. "ARGH! OW! Cursed Fleabag! Filthy Cat Chaser!"
"We found him in a dungeon infested by ghouls, with worse wounds than you see, hanging like meat on a hook."
That was far quicker and blunter an expectation than Alwyn had expected, but it did convey the essential information. "Oh, hell. That is bad. So very, very bad. If he dies from wounds taken in a mortal city, by ghouls or not, there will be such an outpouring of vengeance from his faction at court that the city will not survive. He must be taken to the heart of the realms, and you will have to help me get him there. I know I have no right to ask, but..."
He was interrupted by Ben. "I'm in!"
Suzette glanced his way, smirking. "Of course, you can't turn down a hopeless quest into lands unknown." She turned to Alwyn. "I'm in as well."
Alwyn clapped his hands, and servants appeared. "Restorative tonics for my two mortal companions. Please lay out riding leathers for Lady Suzette and see that the fine steed outside is given the special oats." He took a deep breath. "And please select for me a mount both fast and strong, and prepare them with my tack and saddle."
"We will leave within moments as soon as proper carriage is made ready for Prince Leporidon. Twitterberry will care for him, and we will clear the road of difficulties."
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Chapter 333: The Rousing of Lord Alwyn
The ride had started easily, Mudhead loping across the fields and orchards, bringing them rapidly to the Fae Maple tree that rose in the sky and held the portal to the lands of the Summer Lord. Mudhead hit the ramp that spiraled around the trunk at sixty miles an hour and didn't slow as Ben leaned into the turns and Suzette held onto his belt, her patient between them, still unconscious.
A hound was lazily chasing unicorns, never putting out more energy than needed to send them running across the fields. They came back as soon as the hound fell asleep in the sun, poking him softly and nipping at his tail to wake him up. A racing horse was much more interesting than silly horn ponies. Lord Hound joined Mudhead in his run up the tree. The unicorns ran off to pester the grumpy dwarf who was planting a new field of peppers.
Gaining the level of the Fae Embassy, the horse slowed, and Lord Hound did not. He raced ahead, knocking the door open and racing inside, barking loudly in a tone that echoed through the strange house and into the Lands of the Summer Lord. Alwyn heard the alarm, and it startled him from his lethargy. The wounds taken in battle from the Gophorian Behemoth had long since healed, but not the malaise he felt inside.
A sound thrashing he could recover from; it certainly wasn't the first time that his pride was wounded. It was the death of his horse that had thrown him into despair. He had raised the horse from the time of its birth, and they'd ridden into battle together many times and across the wilds of the Fae Lands. Windrover had been a companion and pet to him, and he knew it was his fault she had died. He had sunk into the despair and apathy common to melancholy Fae. Creatures of great emotion, they could drink and celebrate for weeks, ride gladly to glorious battle, and dance until their shoes wore out and their feet bled. But they could be equally angry, vengeful, or greedy. The bards sang endless stories warning of mortals dealing with them because of this. In Alwyn's case, it was depression from which he could not escape. He sat day after day in his study, drinking the wine of his new vineyards and cursing himself. If he ventured out, it was brief, and he retreated again to the dark room and dark thoughts.
The Hound had tried, time and again, to gain his interest and finally just settled in for a few years of running things himself. To reward his dedication to duty, he gave himself a raise. He was glad he had because the situation brought to their doorstep was of a serious nature, and he was going to have to take steps to rouse Alwyn from his stupor. He was relieved to see the Summer Lord had roused himself and staggered from the house. He was squinting at the Sun overhead, which had the grace to hide behind a cloud and spare his eyes. The Hound, however, would not be quiet, kicking up a racket that brought all his demesne. "Yes, Yes! Did someone fall down a well? No? Important visitors at the gate? Yes. Good. I will see them...shortly? Tomorrow or the next day."
The Hound was impatient. He latched onto Alwyn's wrist, biting hard enough to draw blood, and dragged him toward the door to the mortal lands. "ARGH! OW! Cursed Fleabag! Filthy Cat Chaser!"
"We found him in a dungeon infested by ghouls, with worse wounds than you see, hanging like meat on a hook."
That was far quicker and blunter an expectation than Alwyn had expected, but it did convey the essential information. "Oh, hell. That is bad. So very, very bad. If he dies from wounds taken in a mortal city, by ghouls or not, there will be such an outpouring of vengeance from his faction at court that the city will not survive. He must be taken to the heart of the realms, and you will have to help me get him there. I know I have no right to ask, but..."
He was interrupted by Ben. "I'm in!"
Suzette glanced his way, smirking. "Of course, you can't turn down a hopeless quest into lands unknown." She turned to Alwyn. "I'm in as well."
Alwyn clapped his hands, and servants appeared. "Restorative tonics for my two mortal companions. Please lay out riding leathers for Lady Suzette and see that the fine steed outside is given the special oats." He took a deep breath. "And please select for me a mount both fast and strong, and prepare them with my tack and saddle."
"We will leave within moments as soon as proper carriage is made ready for Prince Leporidon. Twitterberry will care for him, and we will clear the road of difficulties."
Chapter 333: The Rousing of Lord AlwynThe ride had started easily, Mudhead loping across the fields and orchards, bringing them rapidly to the Fae Maple tree that rose in the sky and held the portal to the lands of the Summer Lord. Mudhead hit the ramp that spiraled around the trunk at sixty miles an hour and didn't slow as Ben leaned into the turns and Suzette held onto his belt, her patient between them, still unconscious.A hound was lazily chasing unicorns, never putting out more energy than needed to send them running across the fields. They came back as soon as the hound fell asleep in the sun, poking him softly and nipping at his tail to wake him up. A racing horse was much more interesting than silly horn ponies. Lord Hound joined Mudhead in his run up the tree. The unicorns ran off to pester the grumpy dwarf who was planting a new field of peppers.Gaining the level of the Fae Embassy, the horse slowed, and Lord Hound did not. He raced ahead, knocking the door open and racing inside, barking loudly in a tone that echoed through the strange house and into the Lands of the Summer Lord. Alwyn heard the alarm, and it startled him from his lethargy. The wounds taken in battle from the Gophorian Behemoth had long since healed, but not the malaise he felt inside.A sound thrashing he could recover from; it certainly wasn't the first time that his pride was wounded. It was the death of his horse that had thrown him into despair. He had raised the horse from the time of its birth, and they'd ridden into battle together many times and across the wilds of the Fae Lands. Windrover had been a companion and pet to him, and he knew it was his fault she had died. He had sunk into the despair and apathy common to melancholy Fae. Creatures of great emotion, they could drink and celebrate for weeks, ride gladly to glorious battle, and dance until their shoes wore out and their feet bled. But they could be equally angry, vengeful, or greedy. The bards sang endless stories warning of mortals dealing with them because of this. In Alwyn's case, it was depression from which he could not escape. He sat day after day in his study, drinking the wine of his new vineyards and cursing himself. If he ventured out, it was brief, and he retreated again to the dark room and dark thoughts.The Hound had tried, time and again, to gain his interest and finally just settled in for a few years of running things himself. To reward his dedication to duty, he gave himself a raise. He was glad he had because the situation brought to their doorstep was of a serious nature, and he was going to have to take steps to rouse Alwyn from his stupor. He was relieved to see the Summer Lord had roused himself and staggered from the house. He was squinting at the Sun overhead, which had the grace to hide behind a cloud and spare his eyes. The Hound, however, would not be quiet, kicking up a racket that brought all his demesne. "Yes, Yes! Did someone fall down a well? No? Important visitors at the gate? Yes. Good. I will see them...shortly? Tomorrow or the next day."The Hound was impatient. He latched onto Alwyn's wrist, biting hard enough to draw blood, and dragged him toward the door to the mortal lands. "ARGH! OW! Cursed Fleabag! Filthy Cat Chaser!" "We found him in a dungeon infested by ghouls, with worse wounds than you see, hanging like meat on a hook."That was far quicker and blunter an expectation than Alwyn had expected, but it did convey the essential information. "Oh, hell. That is bad. So very, very bad. If he dies from wounds taken in a mortal city, by ghouls or not, there will be such an outpouring of vengeance from his faction at court that the city will not survive. He must be taken to the heart of the realms, and you will have to help me get him there. I know I have no right to ask, but..."He was interrupted by Ben. "I'm in!" Suzette glanced his way, smirking. "Of course, you can't turn down a hopeless quest into lands unknown." She turned to Alwyn. "I'm in as well."Alwyn clapped his hands, and servants appeared. "Restorative tonics for my two mortal companions. Please lay out riding leathers for Lady Suzette and see that the fine steed outside is given the special oats." He took a deep breath. "And please select for me a mount both fast and strong, and prepare them with my tack and saddle." "We will leave within moments as soon as proper carriage is made ready for Prince Leporidon. Twitterberry will care for him, and we will clear the road of difficulties."
