"I don't pretend, lords and ladies of the Red, to insult your intelligence and claim birthright to this house. I don't pretend that I spent my childhood with you, learning the ways of the coin at port, or you Lady Dirna, overseeing the cornlands of Eirfeld. I was not primed and trained to be among your number. My path has been a different one, my playmates and allies lived under the dirt of Eirdred.
"And it is during this time of crisis for House Archne, my dear lords and ladies, esteemed guests, it shall be these experiences that guide my hands now. Blood for blood, as the greater Keeper's host compels, I strike out for justice for the slain and dishonored. It has been the trials of a precarious childhood that has left me bare of the softness of woman, that I might serve the memory of my husband the way he deserves.
"House Archne is under a sickness, during these times. This sickness has deprived me of a husband, deprived our district of just and prosperous governance, and deprived you all of a colleague, ally and friend." Lady Genvieve bellowed to the attentive, packed ballroom hall, knowing fully that far more nobles present felt nothing less than serendipitous joy at the news of Lord Archne's untimely demise. He had made too many enemies in such a short time as a young lord, many were surprised it took so long.
"It was my eyes in places treason cannot hide, that brought the coward murderers, the conspirators, to the ever judging eyes of the great Thal'Rel, and his vengeful host.
"Furthermore, I will not pretend that Rel's hand upon the fiends was not great. What befits their crime is no less that sheer destruction and torment. Lord Henri Archne's death is not lightly taken. The retribution deserving the slayers of my lord husband has not been lightly delivered. I gave them no less than their crime deserved. But for you gentle folk, the work of Rel is best done in the dark. The path of his host leaves no room for sympathy and mercy.
The Lady Archne looked upon her captive audience like a cat to fish in a bowl. "The wrath of House Archne is tremendous, and those who do harm to even the least of us shall be punished! To those who would do harm to our House most dear would be caught in the very maelstrom of Thal'Rel 's terrible host!
"Witness the consequences that await fools who do not respect House Archne!"
As if on queue, for it was, the dining hall's twin oak doors creaked open and two teenaged servant boys tugged on a wallless wagon with visible effort. Upon the oak slab on iron and wood wheels layed the desecrated corpses of a diminuitive Outer Crestan girl and a pale, flax haired Eirdren male. The wagon was wheeled to the center of the ballroom, in clear view of every noble, lady and lord, as they sat at table.
Both bodies boasted an uncountable number of bruises and lacerations while the flesh had already begun to bloat in a stink of post-mortem decay. Melting pinkish purple innards hung loosely from the side of the wagon while rope burns on their wrists and ankles gave tribute to the evidence disjointed bones and torn muscle of the bodies.
Gasps and groans of disgust reverberated throughout the hall, but none turned away. A violent dance is art in and of itself, and though breakfast now sat poorly in many of Lady Archne's guests, she had done them no wrong in her actions. Sounds of vomitting and frail ladies' fainting spells, contrived or genuine, told Ruby that her presentation had gone smoothly and the dance had been done well. The abject horror on her guests' faces were the bow at the end of a symphony well orchestrated and Ruby could not help but allow herself a sip of the draught called success.
She had initially been taken back, having to discard the elegant mask of a wife besought by evil unjustly inflicted in exchange for the twisted helm of a tyrant. But her words had been effective.
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