Chaos and uncertainty remain in the aftermath of the Balisekt War. With the Lands of Order in such a fragile state, the tribal races turn to Tranquility, their holy land, for guidance and stability. However, war has left the Temple more shaken than...
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This is my pledge, but also my sacrifice. My life, my family, even my name, are given eternally to the past. Windsong must have a leader, a mentor, a champion, a Rose. Just as this tree holds up our city, so must I hold up our tribe. And with Her blessing, I will do it gladly.
The Oath of the Rose
Dewdrop knew it was still too early. Sparrow had only been gone on her secret mission to Meadowgold for a few days. The chances she'd already discovered something about Firefly's whereabouts and sent word back were slim to none. Still, that didn't stop her from watching the skies. It didn't stop her ears from perking up each time the cry of a falcon echoed through the treetops. Most of all, it didn't stop her from assuming every message brought to her would be from the Thorn captain.
High in the tallest branches of Windsong, Dewdrop sat in the great hall of her palace. The structure was a marvel of fae engineering. Innumerable branches and vines were woven together, creating a flat, rectangular surface. The platform was held aloft by dozens of branches, each positioned to keep it level and securely in place. The walls and roof were fashioned the same way as the floor. Hundreds of ivy vines wove their way along the sides of the palace, their deep greens accentuating the exquisite colors of the many flowers growing around them. To the untrained eye, it looked wild and untamed, but the entire faerie world knew this was the most carefully maintained garden in all the Lady's forest.
The interior was surprisingly empty. A few tables and chairs lined the walls, along with several vibrantly colored paintings. This space was intended for noble gatherings, and too many treasures made little room for guests. A rug woven with threads of many colors covered nearly the entire floor. The hollowed-out shells of large insects hung in a neat row along the north wall, broken in the middle by a large, circular window. The throne sat before the window, fashioned in the same manner as the one upon the stage within the city.
Even though she was alone, Dewdrop was still adorned with her lavish makeup and exquisite attire. Her dress wasn't as large and cumbersome as the ones she wore for public engagements but was still far nicer than anything a common faerie could ever hope to own. Though the palace was her home, it was no place for privacy. Her actual living quarters consisted of a small apartment attached underneath the main floor and accessible only by a hidden door in the southwest corner underneath the rug. Though no common faerie ever set foot in the great hall without invitation, certain nobles and high ranking thorns were allowed to come and go as needed. No faerie was ever to see the Rose looking like a commoner, so her face stayed behind its painted mask.
The life of the Rose was rarely this quiet. There was always a dispute to settle, a law to review, an announcement to make, or a gathering to attend. However, since dismissing Sparrow on her secret mission, Dewdrop had requested privacy whenever possible. Her agenda was wiped clean except for the most important of appointments, leaving most of the last few days spent sitting alone in the palace to be haunted by her worries.
