#baronyofthesilverwolf

She has to slide past the other trolls crowding in the doorway. The Bale fire room is set up more like a parlor or private reception - sumptuously comfortable chairs, a small reading nook, a liquor cabinet and quality glassware, thick plush rugs over hardwood polished to a sheen, a study in comfort and class.

The balefire itself is set in a wrought fireplace chased with silver, and normally glows with healthy silver flames. Today however, they are low flickers licking amongst the coals.

Linnea moves to her side and sets a hand on Gwen's shoulder. "You should go back to bed. It is late." Her voice and expression troubled.

Danica is in argument with Calanthe - Julius hovering nervously to one side. The others are not to be seen - though the ruckus may well have awoken Delorean or any other guests.

Gwen says "I have an idea. I .. I need dross"

Linnea frowns down and takes Gwen's arm, moving her to one side. "I don't think that you should get involved. This may be ugly."

Danica's voice raises. "I will go find him myself then!"
Calanthe's response is cold. "You are bound by oath to serve Silverwolf. In the absence of the liege lord, as Chancellor I am in command. I order you to remain here on guard over the freehold." Raising slightly. "And that includes you as well, Thane Linnea."

Linnea does not respond, but her frown deepens, as she angles her considerable size to block Gwen more or less from view.

Gwen hides..as best she can , behind her.

"You should go back to bed. It's late. Things may be better in the morning." Linnea murmurs down to Gwen.

Gwen nods softly

And wonders where to find the extra dross.

Linnea looks over at the flickering balefire. Her expression seems stolid, but Gwen can read the worry in the set of her lips, the tension in her shoulders.

Pretending to go to bed, she instead slips to kenning the supplies Julius keeps

In his small study, she finds Bluebell, curled up with her knees to her chest in Julius's office chair, her ears drooped. "Oh, zorn..." She whispers to herself.

Looking up at Gwen, she makes an effort to smile, one ear perking half-heartedly. "Seekest thou to be a knight afore your year and a day, that you should so scorn the sandman? You are precious early to catch a glimpse of Santa's ride."

"Dross is requested." Hoping ot make it sound like someone else higher up is asking for it

"More? Was it not enough to soothe the savage beast?" Bluebell gestures towards a small notebook, one of Julius's ledgers.

She looks at it and reads

Lines and lines and lines of precise script! Julius has a good hand, not fanciful or ornate, but clearly legible and with detailed script.

"Solstice 2020" catches her eye.
- Good Luck x 3
- Fertility x 3
- Warding x 3

And notes of where each piece of dross was acquired, some from near and some from far - it seems to be something that gets gathered over the course of each year. NO SILVER. Is underlined - TWICE for emphasis. On the next page, a rough map, noting a series of locations that seem to form a rough boundary.

She looks confused because she is. No Silver? does that mean stay off the trod? She tries to read "Uhm. but we do have a bit more dross yes?"

Her head tilts to one side, and an ear perks. "A yuletide gift? Come now. I can share, but you must let me bend an ear?"

"Fine. " She says "I think I can willowhisper the Fire.. if I have the dross to help make it possible"

"And it's linked the baron.. so IT might tell us what the heck is going on. and how to help him.. and maybei t's not linked anymore but that tells us plenty too"

Bluebell's eyes widen and she makes a warding gesture. "Say that not. To be unlinked means only one thing. One no longer treasuring daisies, but pushing them instead." She shivers. "It burns still. Light is hope. Come..." She leads Gwen to her own room, and gestures for her to come in.

She follows in... "Bluebell, no one is listening to me. I tried to talk, but Dame Calanthe is giving orders shutting everyone down from helping or so it seems. "

"Everyone tells me 'go to bed' but I can'tt do nothing"

The bedroom is a strange mishmash of design, elements of both Julius and Bluebell in evidence! The half finished stack of notes, surely the satyr. The plie' bar for stretching, clearly for Bluebell... but she opens a drawer in her dresser, moves a few sets of ballet slippers out of the way, and whispers, "My own, for a rainy day. Is it raining? I hear the drops falling..."

Within, Gwen can see an odd collection if items! Seemingly random garage sale or thrift store finds, but all with a touch of glamour in them, remnants of their previous owners.

A cheap trophy, the type awarded to every child who participated, with a faux gold finish over a plastic ballerina. Chipped, it says "Star of the Show, Emerson Pre-K 1977"

A small porcelain Easter rabbit, perhaps once part of a set? One the ears chipped off.

A collection of spring wildflowers, carefully pressed and pasted to a card.

A small selection of vintage postcards, collectables - the names on them of people long forgotten, addresses long since moved from, now inside jokes or references. "Wish you were here, remember Spring break? Love Quincy!"

"Dame Calanthe watches over us all. She protects Silverwolf. Why would she not? It is her own... nae, I misspeak, it is her home." A glance at Gwen.

"I'm not saying Dame Calanthe is bad. I'm saying she'sn ot letting others do good.. and I'm afraid if I ask permission I'm going to get blocked. If I beg forgiveness I have a shot" She admires the things and says "I hate the idea of using one of tthese up.. but.."

"It is Yule." She says, as if that explains it all. "Please."

"You are not saying what everyone is not saying." She murmurs, cryptically.

"I'm sorry, Bluebell. I wish I were smarter." A blush "But sometimes I just can't figure out what your'e saying... but maybe as a flrege I can get away with somethings you guys arn'e allowed. " She takes the takes the porcelian rabbit "Okay thank you"

"Where now are the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing?
Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing?
Where is the harp on the harpstring, and the red fire glowing?"

She recites in a singsong voice, and then shrugs helplessly. "I am sorry...." Dipping her head graciously. She does look regretful, knowing that she cannot but speak as she does.

"Hey, that's not your fault. " She frowns , then ponders "Horn that was... oh!"

She moves to her room to the horn of Wolfe noot

"If I call the horn, it.." She tries to remember the speicifics

Bluebell tugs an ear, frowning.

She had trailed after, and is watching. "Should I leave you be? If my odor offends?"

"No no.. I'm sorry. I just am trying to remember if the horn summons folks or.. if the Baron will heari t where ever he is" A breath "The Howl of the north"

She takes the horn "Wait. No. Not yet. Bluebell. I'm going to go near the fire.. see if you can distract others if I need to? Please? Or watch if you don't need to"

"If only there was one unfettered and unbound. Oh, I do harp on." A smile, and she says, "I DO have a job, gainful, though slower in these times. I can afford enough to buy thee a bit of time, I think."

"Though do not thank me... you will think I am but an unmannered cat." A bow, apologizing in advance.

She disappears...

"I..." A pause "thanks" And she goes towards the fire, carefully, quietly..and trying not to sound like a wingless gargoyle

And soon there comes a CRASH, brushy thud and crystaline tinkling, from the main hall. "Oh, the trees! Birnam wood comes to dunsinane! Aye, I am slain!" Bluebell cries plaintively! The sounds of feet heading that way....

And to the fire she goes... taking the dross, she begins to chant softly "Great Spirit that gave us fire, Fire fuels our dreams. With Yulestar's shining light above, with Mother Earth Below. With the songs of the Redeemer in the air. With the laughter of the Wild Hunt's gentlier cousin cheering children. I invoke the power of a whisper, the power of a truth.. answer my questions so I may KNOW" And she let's the magic flow

Even as she tkaes the magic from the dross

A Balefire is a strange and mystical dweomer of glamour and only those most skilled in the gremayre of fae mysteries may hope to affect on with a cantrip. Yet even so, as she puts in the effort, the porcelein statue crumbles to dust in her hands, and the fire flickers with blueish tints in response.

A whisper, that seems to be both inside and outside of her head, sounding like the crackling and popping of logs. "A fledge so bold, would ask me true. I shall answer thy questions two. If the answer is one that I may... ask away."

For a moment she felt something ready to crush her for arrogance, then.. a mercy.. and now the fire

A touch of gold hint in the flames, a warmth normally missing from the cool tinted bale.

"Are you and the baron both alive and well?" It's not meant as a cheat, the link is what she's counting on, so if one is hurting it might affect the others

Calanthe's voice, shrill, carries even from the other room. "Well, get her OUT from under there. We have more important matters to discuss than a pooka's folly. Take her to Marigold and out of my sight."

Her time may be limited.