#baronyofthesilverwolf

Citrine, catching Gwen’s smile, gives a little twirl in the air before settling onto the edge of the table, nibbling on a tiny piece of cookie she’s pilfered.

Nan considers, “Aye, now that you mention it, we did get a bit of a shake. Not too strong, mind you, but enough to rattle the dishes and send the nurses into a tizzy. Thought it was just my old bones creaking at first!” She chuckles at her own joke, reaching for a another madeleine.

"The idea of the ground shaking every time's ones bones creak IS kind of flattering though" Gwen jokes back lightly, or tries to.

"Well, you get tall enough, might shake the ground with every step..."

"Nan, you were around for the war, weren't you?"

"War? Which one?" Nan retorts with a wry grin, pretending to be more forgetful than she really is. But her expression turns more serious as she realizes Thistle is referring to the Accordance War. She nods slowly, her fingers idly tracing the edge of a cup.

After a moment, Nan squints at Thistle, her voice tinged with bitterness. "Yeah, I was around, but don’t go thinking I was in the thick of it like some bigshot. No, those farkakte Sidhe and Commoners both kept me out, can you believe it? I was left on the sidelines, with my thumb up my - er, twiddling my thumbs, while the rest of the world went to war. Never forgave ‘em for it, not once.”

She pauses, considering her words carefully. “But aye, I saw more than my share of it. Knew some folks who didn’t make it out the other side. Good folk, mostly. And some... well, some were as mad as a hatter by the end.” Her gaze grows distant for a moment before she shakes her head, focusing back on Thistle and Gwen.

"Why do you ask, lass? Digging up old bones?"

"More like old bones coming to the surface" A mutter

Nan's voice has risen a bit but she doesn't seem to give a hoot who hears her. Then again, no one really turns to look - either they're used to Nan going on a tirade, or, more likely, the other residents are half deaf.

"Yeeaahhh, that's just the thing."

"You know a Caelan? Or an Isolde? Pretty, the both of'm."

Nan squints, her brows furrowing in concentration as she tries to remember. It’s clear she’s struggling. For a moment, it seems like she might not recall anything at all. Then, Citrine flutters over, landing lightly on Nan’s shoulder. The little Never’s touch seems to spark something in the old Nocker.

The grump blinks, and suddenly her eyes sharpen with recognition.

Citrine gets a little flash of a smile.

And then, they narrow, a bitter edge creeping into her voice. “Isolde Windwhisper? Only one I knew, not that it's a common name, and oh, did I know her. She was good at whispering alright—whispering behind my back! We used to be friends, once. Real close, or so I thought. She had a way about her, y’know? That Sidhe charm, made you feel like you were the only one in the room. But that was before she turned on me. Spread all sorts of dreck about how my work was too ‘unstable,’ too ‘dangerous.’”

Nan slams her fist onto the card table with an effort that sends Citrine zipping away in surprise, and rattles the teacups alarmingly.

She huffs, her lips curling in disdain. “As if she knew anything about real craft. All looks, that one—prettier than a diamond but just as cold. She made sure neither side wanted me, said my stuff was more likely to blow us all to bits than do any good. And everyone bought it, ‘cause who’s gonna listen to a loudmouthed Nocker over a Sidhe with a smile like that?”

Nan’s hand clenches into a fist, her knuckles whitening. “So yeah, I knew Isolde. Knew her real well, before she stabbed me in the back. Haven’t forgiven her, and I never will. If her name’s coming up now, then it’s probably nothing good. What’s this all about, anyway?”

Gwen looks utterly intrigued. A story of friendship turned to revenge? Ire beyond death? That's Daireann bait there

"She had a thing for a Dragon Stone-worker? Caelan?"

"Or at least he was set on her."

"He made that big stone arch down by the green."

Nan’s expression softens slightly as she reflects on the past. “Well, I reckon there was something between them. Caelan and Isolde, they were quite the pair, or so they said. He was a big name, always dabbling in grand designs, and she, well, she had that charm. They made quite the match, I suppose.”

She sighs, “Maybe she was trying to protect me in her own twisted way. But it don’t change the fact that she left me high and dry, watchin' from the sidelines while the world went to hell. Can’t forgive that. That and more - dirty deeds, rumours and intrigue, I hate it. It’s a pity things turned out the way they did. Maybe if she’d been less of a troublemaker, Caelan might’ve kept to his regular work and not ended up as a pretty, pretty, pincushion.

And if ifs and buts were candy and nuts, we’d all have a sweet-ass feast.”

Nan shakes her head. “But that’s all water under the bridge now. What’s it to you lot?”

A CRUNCH down on a cookie, perhaps with more gusto then Marigold's delicate baking requires.

"What house was Isolde? Dougal?"

Said softly, hard hearing or not

“Dougal? She wouldn't know a sprocket if it kissed her ass and wished her Merry Christmas! No, that schemer was Eilunid, through and through—always wrapped up in riddles."

Snorting, "Dougal, mumble mutter mutter..."

"Ah" A nod "I see."

"Knew it."

"She sounded all twisty sneaky."

"It wasn't all bad - before the war. The War changed everything, you know. She and me? THick as thieves, it once was. When she strode back through that gate, I thought it was a miracle, me old self - old old OLD, mind you, rememberin' her.

Nan's eyes go a bit foggy, remembering. "Oh, there was this one time! Isolde had this grand idea for a chimerical contraption, some sort of gizmo that was supposed to light up a whole ballroom with just a flick of the wrist. She had the vision, all right—a real spark of brilliance. But her ideas were more fancy than practical.”

That’s where -I- came in, sitting up half the night, tinkering away with gears and springs, trying to make her wild dream a reality. She wanted it to be dazzling and enchanting, but she had no clue of the mechanics.. I had to twist and turn every cog and bit of metal just to get it working. Finally, when we got it all set up, it was like a bloody light show—sparkling, whirling, just like she’d imagined. The whole room was aglow, and folks were enchanted. We had quite a night, let me tell you...”

Wistful...

"So, check this out..." Rummage rummage...

"Oh, that sounds lovely. Like stars. Bet Art'd like somethin' like that, he's real keen on astronomy... oh, here it is." SHe offers out the little stone soldier.

Nan takes the stone soldier from Thistle. She turns it over in her hands, examining the craftsmanship. “Well, would you look at that. A proper piece of Stoneweaver work..." She sees the faded crayon on the back, and goes silent for a long moment.

Her hands tremble slightly. She stares at it, her eyes misting over, and she has to swipe at them with the back of one wrinkled, mottled hand.

"Nana?" She reaches out to touch the older nocker's arm.

Nan presses her hand on top of Thistles, and digs into a pocket for a handkerchief. She gives her nose a noisy blow and loudly curses, "Damned pollen!"

Another HONK, and she runs her fingers over the childish scrawling on the leg "...A R I N"

“He was just a kid, barely old enough to get his hands dirty. Had a knack for building things— s'why Caelan had an eye on him for apprentice, even though he was "just" a commoner. Died in a fire. Big blaze, one the ‘commoners’ supposedly set.”

"oh" Gwen doesn't know what to say to that

"Is that why Calean made that thing to kill commoners?"

She sighs deeply, shaking her head as though trying to clear away old memories, even as she sets the Soldier up and gives it a little push, so that the arms swing back and forth.

“There were whispers, you know. Rumors that Solly - Isolde- had her hand in it, that it was all part of some twisted scheme to push Caelan into fighting with his talent instead of just his sword. That’s the sort of thing people say when they want to explain away the horrors of war."

She grumbles and waves a hand, "But I don’t know how much of it’s true. Sometimes, it’s better to let the past stay buried. The war’s over, and some secrets are better left where they lie.”

"That's the problem."

"That weapon... golem.. thing? Whatever Caelan made, it's wakin' up."

Gwen mutters "Sentinel"

Nan’s shoulders sag as she speaks, her tone heavy with resignation and a hint of bitterness. “The one who would know the most about this mess is Solly herself. But I swore I wouldn’t speak to her again, not after she ruined my reputation and made me out to be some kind of reckless fool."

Gwen can almost remember the flames.. of a past life of her own. She tries to focus on the here and now.

The sun prickles warmly on the stone that covers the back of her neck. It's almost hot.

"She's... still around?"

"I mean, she's clearly a blind bitch. You're amazing."

She pats her own neck, then says "You're amazing, it's true"

Nan gives a tired chuckle, “Yeah, well, she was still alive around the last I heard. Might be best to talk to her and get whatever’s left of the truth. Besides, even if she’s a pain, she might be yer best shot at understanding what’s happening with Stoneweaver's... creation.”

"Thanks. Can you tell us anything else about her?"

"If I could figure out his glyphs, there might be something I could do..."

Nan sits back in her chair, brushing at some cookie crumbs. She looks back up, and gives her granddaughter a smile. "Trina, you been enjoying that bike I got you? 12 speeds! Back in my early days, they didn't think girls should RIDE bikes, can you believe it, past a 'certain age...'"

Thistle remembers that bike, she got it for her 8th birthday.

Citrine gives a dismayed tinkle chime.

Gwen is intent on these stories, and also feeling somewhat uncomfortable with the talk of fires.