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The Mask Comes Off	By : Samson Category: -Misc Video Games/RPGs > Slash/Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 4984 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Kingdoms of Amalur intellectual property, nor am I making any money off of this fanfic. Unauthorized duplication of this work is prohibited.

Chapter List
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Blue-blooded

The Mask Comes Off
Part II - "Hourglass"
By: Jesse Racine AKA Samson
Original Date Written: January 28, 2016

As Leah made for the Warsworn Keep, and Kelly rushed to find Miriam after her unexpected ejection from the House of Ballads, Farrah and Astraia rode on for Whitedown, spending several days at leisure as they better got to know one another. Just as Farrah had anticipated, it was quite the learning experience for them both: aside from someone Astraia continually referred to as “the Beckoned,” the Kollossae people as a whole hadn’t had any contact with the rest of Amalur for quite some time. Even the Beckoned’s coming, she said, was only due to divine will.

She regaled Farrah with the tale of her peoples’ ascendancy from the ranks of their lesser giantkin, of their initial creation of and exodus from their first homeland, of their ongoing attempts to elevate and civilize their giantkin cousins, and of the founding of their new capital, Idylla. Farrah, for her part, did her best to inform Astraia on the recent history of the Faelands, as well as larger events concerning Amalur as a whole, including Gadflow’s perversion of the Winter Fae.

When the two spoke of their respective peoples and cultures, they inevitably drifted into philosophy and religion, and spoke at length about their respective beliefs. To be sure, most would likely consider the conversation dull to the highest degree, but for Astraia, it was quite intellectually stimulating, and Farrah was genuinely interested in the concept that the devout Kollossae were once among the ranks of the Jottun and Ettin. Farrah couldn`t help but notice how quickly Astraia grasped Ljosalfar culture and customs, as well as how her life tended to be on a day-to-day basis, back in her father’s courts in Whitedown.

Perhaps it was this inborn nobility they shared that was to thank for their rapidly growing kinship. Whatever the case, by the time they had rode past old Allestar Tower and taken the mountain pass out of Odarath and into Whitedown, the two of them felt like old friends. As their carriage climbed the slow, steady road, winding up the ascent, the air became chillier, cooling until their breath fogged before their faces. The chill didn’t bother Farrah in the slightest, in fact, it seemed to make her feel even more comfortable and limber, as if the pleasant warmth of the mainland had been too muggy for her liking.

Astraia spent a good deal of time looking out through the window of the carriage door, watching as the environment steadily changed into something completely alien. The further up the mountain range they rode, the less plentiful trees became, steadily opening up the horizon. As the trees became sparse, frost became visible on the grass, quickly thickening into a blanket of snow the higher they climbed. Astraia had never before seen snow, with her own two eyes. The Teeth of Naros was always temperate, barring the occasional balmy rainfall, so the sight of a land smothered in a condensed chill felt surreal.

Once they reached a plateau, the carriage slowed some, relaxing into a more casual pace. With a smile, Farrah said “Welcome to Whitedown, my friend. This land has been my family’s home for generations. Of course, it also plays host to a number of other noble families, as well.” She raised a petite hand near her immense bust, demurely laying her fingerprints just between her collar bones. Lightly raising her eyebrows, she cooed “On behalf of the Beaumont family, please accept my sincerest welcome. We’re still a few miles yet from my father’s estate, but it would be remiss of me not to extend to you our hospitality, for a few days, before continuing on to the Novambles Estate.”

Astraia turned her head from the window, a small smile on her face. Given her height, sitting on the couches inside the carriage was an impossibility, as she no doubt would’ve been doubled over with her face close to her knees. Instead, she sat cross-legged on the soft carpet, just next to the carriage door - that way, she could sit upright without the crown of her head pushing against the ceiling. “It’s amazing, I’ve never seen a wintertime land, in all my life! I’m certain that this must be the land from my vision. The endless white expanse, the near-total lack of trees - it’s exactly as I was shown.”

Farrah, one hand resting daintily over her closed knees, lightly extended an arm towards the carriage door. Her voice a sweet hum, she pleasantly offered “We can stop, for a moment, if you’d like an opportunity to make sure. Although, given the accuracy of your depiction of the Novambles Estate, I’d say it’s safe to assume you’ve come to the right place, my dear.” Astraia, lightly raising her eyebrows, raised a hand from her lap and gave a polite little wave. “No no, that’s quite alright, Farrah. I trust what the window shows me. Besides, I’m a bit worried that if we open this door, I’ll begin quaking from the chill.”

The look on Farrah’s face grew more compassionate. It wasn’t often that a non-Ljosalfar could handle the cold of Whitedown without dressing in extra layers. Even a giantess would find it frigid, she supposed. “That’s quite alright, my dear, I understand perfectly. I must insist, when we arrive at Castle Beaumont, you simply must allow the resident seamstresses and tailors to take a look at you. They’ll be able to put together something a little more weather-friendly, for you. Thick quilted pants, perhaps, and a doublet, along with a fur cape - and possibly a red velveteen dress, if you’d like, for dinner engagements.”

“That sounds lovely,” Astraia murmured, her eyes heavy lidded with contentment. Farrah’s smile grew wider. Yes, a rest for a few days at the family estate would be best for everyone, all around. Astraia would be able to stretch her legs and get in out of the cold, enjoying the Beaumonts’ hospitality for a short while before continuing on after the clues of her divine premonition. Farrah would get a chance to wear something new, speak at length with Astraia over drinks by the fireplace, and, most importantly, get to spend some quality time in her private quarters. A quiver ran down her spine at just the brief thought.

She needed to take a slightly deeper breath than usual to steady herself after the light pulse of excitement, but she easily managed to keep it subtle. By the gods, it had already been over a week since the last time she had had a chance to be alone, with herself. The weight in her chest was becoming quite noticeably heavier, and she was beginning to feel a bit more tender than usual. Of course, the burden down under was already unbearable, especially after that passion she had shared with Leah, unfulfilled on her side.

Farrah’s eyes drifted away from Astraia, her lips momentarily pursing as the carriage rocked beneath her. Unfortunately standard state of affairs, that. Ever since her prayers had been answered, several years ago, she had been unwillingly, unhappily chaste. As much as she disliked it...The reality staring her in the face was, she just couldn’t let anyone know. She didn’t think she’d be able to handle the humiliation if anyone knew. A flush of warmth slowly began to wash in between her thighs, prompting her to discreetly nibble on her lower lip. She...She could handle having a one-sided sex life. Moments could be more than magical, even if only one side went fulfilled. Nobody could know, even if it meant she never took her dresses off, in the bedroom.

But, oh...Leah...It wasn’t often she got to have a tryst with someone, and when she did, it wasn’t often that her lover was a bodacious, vivacious trap, like her. Men, women - most of the time, they attempted to seduce her, and other times, she reciprocated and dropped coy hints. If it came to anything, Farrah did what she enjoyed best, and gave someone a memory they’d never lose. With a body like her’s, it was so easy to captivate people’s attention, and some part of Farrah still so dearly loved the game of seduction, even if she could never fully consummate it, anymore. The game of love, of gentle wordplay, of intimacy and subtle caressing, all to stoke someone’s passions until they can think of nothing but stripping naked and making wild, intense love to her...For hours.

Farrah softly cleared her throat, slowly stroking her hands across her lap, smoothing out any creases. If she didn’t get Leah and her enormous bubble butt out of her mind, she’d soon look lost in daydreams. Although, for anyone in the know, who could blame her? It was so difficult to resist reminiscing when the memory was so vivid: Leah’s quivering rosebud squeezing around her tongue, her thumbs spreading the trap’s cheeks wide open, the girly-boy’s smooth, bloated orbs brushing against her chin...Farrah raised a hand, lightly rubbing at the inside corners of her eyes. No more fantasizing. She’d just have to endure until she could be alone with her thoughts.

Wouldn’t be the first time she had reminded herself of that sad reality, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. In an effort to both preoccupy her mind and to cover for any possible untoward body language she might’ve given, she gained Astraia’s attention and began going over with her for a second time what would likely occur once they reached Castle Beaumont. For starters, the entire live-in staff and Beaumont family would gather in the Great Hall to welcome Farrah home, as well as to greet any guests she might’ve brought back from her ambassadorial trip. After introductions, Astraia would promptly be shown to the dignitary’s quarters, where she’d be left to unwind and settle after her long carriage ride from the heartlands.

About an hour later, she’d be visited by one of the family’s butlers, who would inform her that a leisurely meal had been prepared for her, then show her the way to the dining hall. There, her father and mother would be present, hoping to familiarize themselves with the Kollossae and get to know her, a little, over wine. As well, her father would likely desire to theorize with Astraia what kind of relations the duchy of Whitedown and city of Idylla could potentially establish, if any. If so, further arrangements could be made at a later time, preferably after Astraia had had a chance to properly rest and recuperate.

Of course, Farrah offered, her tone growing a bit more casual, if Astraia was interested and wasn’t too tired by that point, she could afterwards join Farrah in her personal library and continue their discussions of religion, history, cultural norms, and the future. There, Farrah often spent her leisure time before calling it a night, reading philosophical treatises over brandy, or the occasional fiction novel if the mood struck her, and she would’ve enjoyed the company. To her delight, Astraia agreed, all with the friendly smile Farrah had come to expect from the giantess.

At first, it was confusing for Astraia, noticing the grand buildings they passed by with somewhat regularity. Like the Novambles Estate she had been shown in her vision, the buildings they passed by were quite stately, often mansions and miniature castles in size, often without the same architecture or crafting materials used from one to another. She supposed that these must’ve been the homes of lesser noble families in the duchy, those with wealth and a bit of land who swore fealty to the Beaumonts. When they passed through the walls of a small city and entered the residential area of Whitedown’s capital, Whitedown City itself, Astraia couldn’t believe her eyes.

Outside, everything glimmered like mirrors. The homes she could see were tall and narrow, jagged like icicles. Through the window, she could see blue-skinned Alfar, Ljosalfar just like Farrah, walking around in silk-thin dresses, suits, and robes, as if the harsh winter chill was no different to them than a breezy summer afternoon. A few minutes later, when the buildings began clearing and Castle Beaumont came into view, Astraia’s eyes and mouth slowly began to widen. This put all the mansions she had seen thus far to shame. The charcoal gray walls of the great building were a few stories tall, the windows were all stained milky white, the rooftop was tiled over with ebony that lacked nary a single snowflake, but most impressive of all was the extravagant ice garden, stretching through the castle’s kilometer of a front garden.

Towering above the carriage, spreading out on either side of the well-trodden road in four distinct parallel rows, were these fantastically large, impossibly positioned, curling and curving horizontal pillars of ice, all loosely wrapping and coiling around each other, overlapping as they stretched out from the castle’s front entrance. The closest thing Astraia could compare them to were enormous roots made of pure, glass-like ice, stretching out like guardrails for the road, ensuring visitors to the castle were funnelled into a single pathway. To say Astraia found it utterly phantasmagorical would be an understatement, to say the least. This was as much a wonder as the Hyperian in the center of Idylla!

When the carriage came to the cul-de-sac before the castle, it quickly slowed to a stop. As Farrah’s handmaiden, Alvina, prepared to open the carriage doors from the outside, Farrah graciously offered “Allow me to help you out, my friend. The steps will be a bit too small, I’m afraid.” Astraia smiled and, just as politely, answered “Oh, thank you. I don’t think it will be entirely necessary, but I appreciate your concern, all the same. I wouldn’t want to slip and hurt myself, not before meeting your family. To be honest, I find myself excited to meet your father.” Farrah smiled from ear to ear, eyes shifting to the carriage doors as Alvina slid them open, allowing the afternoon sunlight to burst into the carriage interior.

“My lady, we’ve arrived,” Alvina softly stated, hands folded together over her groin as she gave a light bow. As Farrah stood up, she said “Wonderful, Alvina. My thanks for your companionship on this trip.” Farrah reached out and, as Alvina delicately took her hand and helped her down the extended stairs before the door, she spoke with a flattered undercurrent, her voice just above a murmur as she said “You honour me, my lady. It’s my duty as your handmaiden to accompany you, but you need not bring me if you wish it so. I always enjoy these trips, your thanks is too much for me to accept.” Farrah gave a faint chortle.

Once Farrah had stepped down on solid ground, her diamond-studded slippers sinking into the inch of snow covering the road, Alvina respectfully took a few steps off to the side, allowing Farrah’s guest ample space to emerge. Farrah allowed the silver staircase a chance to withdraw before extended a hand towards Astraia, smiling as the giantess reached out, taking the Alfar’s fingers with her own in a cultivated handhold. Astraia uncrossed one leg, extending it out over the edge of the doorway, body visibly giving a tremor as her sandalled foot came down on the snow. She raised her other knee, getting her foot on the edge of the doorway, pausing for just a moment as she slid herself closer to the doorway for ease of exiting.

Astraia’s thighs were parted, and as she moved her backside closer to the edge, her skirt hiked up, a bit. In that moment, Farrah couldn’t believe her eyes. It had been an accident. Of that, she was immediately sure of; Astraia couldn’t have realized that the size discrepancy between the two of them would’ve allowed for a rather clear look up her skirt, in that instant. It only lasted about two seconds before Astraia was stepping out into the open, but that was all Farrah had needed. She knew what she had seen: an enormous, round, plump bulge, packing full the front of a tight pair of pure white cotton panties.

The image was instantly seared into Farrah’s already lust-addled mind. She had gone this entire trip without even the faintest clue, shame on her. By the gods, that thing must’ve been huge, even without growing excited. How...How positively scandalous, and unbelievably exciting. That bulge, big and long under those soft panties, became the sole focus of Farrah’s imagination, quickly rendering her mute as Alvina closed the carriage door behind the two of them. Farrah just couldn’t take it, anymore. A sheen began to develop on her face, something she hid by keeping just a few paces ahead of her guest.

What if she...Stuck her head up under Astraia’s skirt? She could press her face against the bulge, feeling the hot, soft mound squish against her, the giantess cooing up above. Farrah could reach up, pull down on the strings of her panties, and set free that gigantic manhood, allowing her no-doubt heavy orbs to hang free before she pressed kisses to them. How long and thick could Astraia be, at full mast? As big as Farrah’s ivory fertility idol? The thought made her shudder with excitement. Oh, the number of times she had lost herself to fervour during her scarce private time, and ended up polishing that big, white dildo between her breasts...

Farrah might have to warn Astraia that people around the castle might be able to look up her skirt, especially as she goes upstairs - no, on second thought, better not. That’s an inappropriate topic of discussion with a guest, and it might give away that Farrah had been given the vapours by just such a sight, as well. Once Astraia has been fitted with a new pair of pants for the perpetually cold weather in Whitedown, the problem will have solved itself. Farrah, as subtly as possible, cleared her throat, but it wasn’t enough to compose her for further conversing with Astraia.

Perhaps the two of them would have more to discuss, that night, than history and religion. Oh gods, the mental image of her own silhouette, kneeling before Astraia’s chair, the giantess’ head leaning back as her mouth hung open...It promptly had Farrah’s eyes crossing. Soon. Soon, she’d be alone, alone with her thoughts as well as her milking apparatus. She just needed to get through this greeting ceremony, and then she could slip away, for a while...And not a moment too soon, she might add. The urgency behind her nipples suggested that another hour or so, and she might’ve needed to take matters into her own hands.

Two days later, as Farrah was striding down the hallway just outside her bedroom, making her way towards the Great Hall for Astraia’s and her own departure, she noticed an unexpected individual at the other end of the corridor. It took her a moment to recognize him, and when she did, she had to suppress a groan. Of course, who else would it be: Sir Tavin Cheshire, third son of Lord Geralt Cheshire, the current patriarch of the Cheshire clan. From the looks of things, he was waiting for her, but Lyria only knew why. Farrah slowly drew in a breath, forcing a polite smile onto her face. This wasn’t exactly a welcome meeting.

For starters, it was common knowledge that Sir Tavin and Lady Farrah had never been on particularly good terms with one another. That, alone, should’ve logically kept him from attempting to speak with her in private, but more important was the reason why they couldn’t stand each other: Farrah’s younger sister, Elise. All the aristocracy in Whitedown knew that Tavin resented his position as his father’s youngest, resented the idea that he’d always hold a shadow of the authority or power that his eldest brother, Jacques, would posses. Barring some unforeseen calamity, it was entirely possible that he’d never sit on the throne of the Cheshire Estate.

And so, like any good ambitious noble hungry for power, he began sniffing around for ways to improve his stature in the aristocracy, and has, rather annoyingly, seemed to set his sights on Lady Elise Beaumont. After all, how much higher could he elevate himself than to the royal Beaumont family, the de facto rulers of the entire duchy? The rather transparent power play vexed the entire Beaumont family, Elise included, although her feelings were more mixed than the others. Elise had always been somewhat of a loner, typically quite shy around court, and often spent much of her time on her own. To say she was a socialite would’ve gotten chuckles amongst her family members.

However, that very solitude she enjoyed made her susceptible to mongrels, like Tavin. She wasn’t used to men paying attention to her, leaving her less likely to reject the courtship of someone entrepreneurial enough to sweet-talk her. All it would take was someone bold enough to flatter her, to tell her all the things she wanted to hear, to make her feel special, for her to begin seriously entertaining the notion of developing feelings. She didn’t yet have much of a grasp on the concept that, simply because someone tries to woo you, it doesn’t mean you’ve finally gotten lucky and found the one person in the world who’s madly in love with you.

Although Elise wasn’t worldly, like her older sister, she at least had enough common sense and grasp of politics to understand that Tavin didn’t see her as a woman, or even a person, for that matter. He saw her only as a way to elevate his status - as a way to come closer to a throne even greater than his father’s. She knew he didn’t mean the things he said or the gestures he made, but even still, it nonetheless flattered her. Their parents, Lucan and Yavell, saw right through Tavin, and had absolutely no interest in allowing some ambitious mutt to try romancing their daughter and marrying into their family, but were too polite to forbid him from frequenting their court during social events.

Farrah, on the other hand, found it undeniably infuriating, the idea that this fool was not only so power-hungry that he was willing to manipulate her sister, but that he was so ambitious that he had shot for the moon and was attempting to marry into the Beaumont family, rather than a lesser noble family. It wasn’t that Farrah was unused to the concept - yes, marriage was a common way for nobles to gain power and solidify unions between clans - it was that Farrah cared too greatly about her sibling to watch her be manipulated by some conniving, loathsome cur. When he smiled at Elise, when he complimented her, he saw her as a tool. Oh yes, he’d no doubt play the part well enough, he’d marry her and give her his child, but then he’d be thinking about who still stood between him and the throne.

Thankfully, Elise was far from an unattractive young lady, and the family had always known that other, more agreeable nobles fancied her for her looks and shy personality, rather than her standing or wealth. It was just that, aggravatingly enough, Tavin’s ambitions made him more bold than the others. Farrah prepared to walk straight past him, offering him naught but a passing “Good afternoon” in greeting, when he abruptly stepped away from the wall he had been standing close to, quickening his pace until he was following right alongside her. “Lady Farrah, may I have a word with you?”

Farrah barely slowed her footsteps. Turning her head maybe an inch, vaguely looking off in his general direction, she flatly said “Sir Tavin, my apologies, but I’m a busy woman, and I’m about to make a departure. I can’t very well stand around and have a conversation. I’m sure you understand.” “Oh, I do, my lady. I don’t mean to keep you, I just wanted to have a word with you. It’s about your departure, in truth.” Farrah slowed to a stop, a move he promptly mirrored. Farrah’s brow subtly twitched downwards before she relaxed, turned, and faced him. Hands going to her shapely hips, she coolly asked “And what about my departure, sir? Have you aught to say about our Kollossae guest?”

Tavin raised an eyebrow, his mouth set in a flat line. It always pleased Farrah to admit that he was not, all things considered, a particularly handsome man. The Ljosalfar had a face that was undeniably gaunt, a head that seemed a bit too small for his body, and a frame that seemed a bit too thin to be healthy. Not only that, but his white hair always seemed oily, as if he never washed it - disgusting, to say the least. Still, he at least dressed himself well. The loose black dress shirt he wore, designed with gold thread across his chest and back, was fetching, and went well with the black slacks and leather dress shoes he wore.

Farrah, for her part, was dressed as impeccably as ever. The pure white dress she had worn on her trip to Webwood had been lovely, yes, but after wearing it for over a week straight, it hadn’t been merely her strong sense of personal hygiene that was calling out for a change of pace. Now, she was wearing a silken dress coloured ruby-red, a vibrant contrast with her creamy blue skin tone. This red dress had been made in much the same style as her previous ivory one, aside from some key differences.

Similar to the last one, this passionate red dress had been created with a rather large window over her back, in order to help accommodate her humongous bust. Instead of a closed back that would no doubt draw very tight across her whenever she inhaled, there was a window crisscrossed with thin black laces, a bit like a corset, in order to help the front, which had been moulded to her shape and hugged to the contours of her figure, support her like a built-in brassiere. So clearly showing off the extremely ample shape of her breasts was certain to turn heads wherever she went, but really, any dress she wore was going to give people more than an eyeful, anyway, and Farrah savoured the wanting glances people gave when they thought her otherwise disposed.

Besides, Farrah believed that the dress lacking an opening into her cleavage offset the way it otherwise left nothing to the imagination. The neckline of the dress went straight up to her collarbones, offering a wonderful canvas over her chest for the large gold pendant she wore, a beautiful marquise sapphire glittering from it’s place of honour, just slightly dipped into her well-defined cleavage. The sleeves of the dress slightly loosened up at the elbows, becoming a little wavy as ruffled white lace peeked out around her wrists, giving the sleeves the illusion of blooming flowers.

The dress reached down to the middles of her calves, with splits up the sides to just above her knees, showing off her lovely legs. Instead of white fishnets, she instead chose to wear seductive black nylons, kept elevated by an obligatory satin garter belt. On her feet, she wore a pair of shiny black slippers, rubies encrusted over the fronts in a depiction of roses. She had put aside her silver and sapphire earrings, opting instead for small hoops of gold to match her pendant. As always, however, she wore her regalia, with several gleaming rings to be seen on her fingers, a platinum bangle sitting comfortably loose around her left wrist.

She had let her hair down from her ponytail, allowing her snowy white waterfall to hang straight down her back, all her locks swept back from her shoulders in a very prim, seemly curtain, somewhat at odds with her exciting outfit - or rather, perhaps the innocent hairstyle would only serve to make her look all the more erotic, to certain individuals. She wore dusky makeup to match the rich red of her dress, with a light application of black eyeshadow, a bit of matching eyeliner and mascara, and crimson lipstick rounding out the rest of her beautiful features. For a short time, Farrah had considered applying some rouge to her cheeks, as well, but ended up deciding that perhaps blush would’ve been a bit too much.

“Not at all, my lady,” Tavin earnestly stated, briefly raising his eyebrows. “I have nothing but the highest of praises to sing for the duchy’s Kollossae guest. If Whitedown were responsible for introducing the Kollossae people to the rest of the Faelands, perhaps even the rest of Amalur, why, the prestige would unbelievable. It’d likely become one of the first steps in transforming the duchy into an independent empire. Besides, I admire her piety. A modern-day pilgrim...If only more believed as devoutly as she.”

“Then what must you say about our trip, sir? How do you even know about our departure, might I add? Do you know where we’re going?” Farrah asked. It was fortunate that she was such an able actress, otherwise she might’ve allowed some suspicion into her tone, there. “Oh, it’s common knowledge in the court by now, my lady,” Tavin readily said, an unbearably sly little smile on his thin face. Lightly raising his chin, barely tilting his head to the side, he loosely crossed his arms over his chest and momentarily leaned in, just a little closer.

“I just wished to take it upon myself to warn you, my lady, about the Novambles clan. I can’t say whether or not your father, the good Lord Beaumont, has already warned you, himself, but in my humble opinion, this trip might be ill-advised.” Farrah slowly arched an eyebrow, her expression otherwise neutral. “I’ll take your counsel into careful consideration, Tavin. I wasn’t aware that the Cheshires disliked that Novambles.” He gave a smile that he probably thought was charming, but instead simply came across weaselly. “Oh, no, my lady, you misunderstand me. I’m not speaking on behalf of my family. This is a personal entreaty, for reasons of my own observation.”

“As I’m sure you’re well aware, my lady, the Novambles family has become...More reclusive, as of the past several months. Over time, less family members have been making public appearances, until it reached the point where only Lord Novambles, himself, ever attended any social functions. When he did, his mood always seemed...Sombre. Now, it would seem that even that has come to an end. From what I’ve gathered, he and the rest of his family have been absent from the last four events that they’ve been invited to, which would make them entirely withdrawn from Whitedown society for the last month and a half, at the very least.”

Losing his smile, he raised an eyebrow, then crossed his arms a little more tightly. “Shortly after you departed to meet with the Clementines, word began to spread that Lord Novambles had dismissed his entire cast of servants from the estate, and forbade them from ever returning. Your father, as well as a few other heads of the noble houses, sent heralds to try and contact Lord Novambles to see if all was well, but they each came back claiming that nobody ever answered their summons. It’s certainly cause for alarm, but social suicide is one thing. Until they do something egregious, such as miss paying tribute to the good Lord Beaumont, I don’t think much in the way of an investigation will occur.”

“And now, you’re but a minute away from riding a carriage there, intent on aiding our Kollossae guest in her pilgrimage.” Tavin slightly leaned in, once again. Holding his head up straight, no longer speaking in a hushed tone, he finished with “My honest advice, lady Farrah?...Do not involve yourself further in this affair. I’m not claiming that Lord Novambles is a dangerous man, but...His family’s behaviour has become odd, erratic, and there’s no telling how this could play out. You’ve fulfilled your obligation by meeting with this woman and returning with word of her intentions - you extended her a kindness by going so far as allowing her to accompany you in your carriage, back to Whitedown.”

“Accompanying her to the Novambles Estate, as well, would be going above and beyond the call of duty. It’s unnecessary, and potentially unnecessarily dangerous. I beseech you to allow this pilgrim to continue her personal quest, by her lonesome.” The look in Farrah’s eyes subtly hardened. At first, her flat tone sounded annoyingly unimpressed to his ears, but as she went on, he understood the menace she was keeping in check. “As I said earlier, Tavin, I’ll take what you’ve said under very close consideration. Now, if you have no further unsolicited advice to offer me, I have an appointment to keep.”

“However, before I go, I’ll be having a word with my father, letting him know that if anything should happen to me or my guest on this trip, that Tavin Cheshire is the one to hold responsible. He’ll likely arrange for some kind of escort to ensure my safety, and if the good Lord Cheshire doesn’t want to risk his enterprising third son from being implicated in the unfortunate murder of Lucan Beaumont’s firstborn, then perhaps he should arrange to complement the escort.” Tavin’s eyes began to widen. The smug little smile was wiped clean off his paling face. “N-Now, my good lady, you completely misunderstand me, I only meant to-”

She cut him off, her brow beginning to twitch downwards. “I don’t appreciate this gesture, Tavin. I think you forget your standing. We are not family, nor are we even so much as acquaintances. You’re a guest in this castle, and you wait for me, scant dozens of paces down from my private bedchambers, in order to catch me alone and attempt to intimidate me? If you hope to reach your estate before I leave, sir, you’d best depart now. And, one last thing: if I ever catch you sniffing around my sister, again, it won’t just be banishment from the grounds and public humiliation that you’ll have to worry about. It’ll be this little meeting becoming known to my mother and father, as well. Elise is wise to your game, and I’d personally relish never having to suffer seeing you inside my home, ever again.”

Tavin lightly cleared his throat, raising a hand to lightly tug at his collar, letting some warm air out from inside his clothing. In a significantly more subdued tone, he stated “Very well, my lady. I couldn’t agree more, a joint escort is a fantastic idea. I’ll depart, straight away.” Farrah watched him turn and walk away, one hand tightly gripping the guardrail once he had entered the immense Great Hall. She never enjoyed becoming spiteful or throwing her weight around with anyone, but after years of diplomatic and ambassadorial duties, she had learned that, sometimes, a bit of pressure was needed to make productive use of time.

And, besides, she disliked putting Tavin under her thumb less than most. Seeing the smile wiped off that unbearable ferret’s face had been worth sitting through his “warning.” If this was a particularly sinister ploy of his to remove opposition between him and the throne of Whitedown, he had played his hand very poorly. Farrah was not intimidated, and now she had a suspect for her father to start with, in the event of an attempt on her or Astraia’s lives. Furthermore, what stake could he possibly have in Astraia’s quest? Why try to stop Farrah from accompanying her to the Novambles Estate?

As it was, the mere threat, alone, was worthy of investigation - no doubt he’d be using the excuse to run home that she had provided him with to simultaneously get his affairs in order, something Farrah had fully counted on. Such actions as scrambling to write up a last will and testament or consolidating his personal wealth would be damning, suggesting guilt and fear of apprehension. He thought he was so clever. If she were a fool, she wouldn’t have achieved half of her accomplishments.

About an hour later, Farrah and Astraia were seated inside her carriage once again, following the near-invisible road around the exterior of the city’s walls. Surrounding them on all sides were numerous additional carriages, most made of ivory metal like Farrah’s own and bearing the crest of House Beaumont, others crafted from a black-purple sort with a less elegant design, bearing a different family’s heraldry. After having headed north into a far less densely populated area of Whitedown, their destination eventually came into view, looming like a dark obelisk on the pale horizon.

Farrah’s brow furrowed as she watched it through one of the narrow windows set in the carriage wall, next to the double doors: the Novambles Estate. She had only ever been there once before, many years ago. It wasn’t a day she remembered fondly. She had sworn that, under no circumstances, would she ever return to that mansion, and for twenty-six years, she had stayed true to that vow. It had began innocently enough, she recalled. Lord Novambles was hosting a public birthday party for his youngest daughter, Sophitia, and had invited many of the noble families to visit.

At that time, Farrah was a child around Sophitia’s age, and so her mother and father both decided that attending the party might be a good opportunity for Farrah to make a new friend, someone who wasn’t part of the workforce inside the castle. A new friend within the aristocracy wouldn’t make for quite the same gossip, after all. At first, the party was particularly boring, Farrah recalled. She didn’t very much like Sophitia - the girl came across rather spoiled and self-centered, and although she was friendly enough with Farrah, it wasn’t really enough for Farrah to overlook her obnoxious behaviour.

By now, she knew that Sophitia had outgrown those flaws, but back then, she didn’t think of the possibilities for the future. Instead, she ended up distancing herself from the birthday girl, leaving herself alone for what had felt at the time like hours. There were confections aplenty for the guests, but Farrah wasn’t the type to gorge herself on sweets. There was music, but the band of Varani minstrels didn’t much entertain her, and she didn’t think she felt alone in that sentiment. There weren’t really any other children to mingle with, at least, not until Sophitia’s older brother, Rupheus, came downstairs from his bedchambers and joined in on the festivities.

Rupheus was a few years older than Farrah, having already grown into a young teenager. Farrah noticed him, straight away, but she didn’t approach him. Instead, he approached her, introduced himself, and struck up a conversation. She thought he was charming, handsome, and his friendly attitude easily had her opening up. Most importantly, however, she finally had company at that lonely party. With her being rather mature for her age, the two hit it off, and...Farrah didn’t remember whose idea it was or how it had even come up in conversation, but the two ended up leaving the party and going outside, with one another.

Outside, Rupheus had admitted that, at first, he had mistaken Farrah for a girl, and it had only been upon introducing himself did he realize who she truly was. By then, he had been too embarrassed to excuse himself, but the opportunity had shown him that her company was enjoyable, regardless. He hoped for her forgiveness, hoping he had offended neither the guest in her nor the Beaumont, but Farrah teasingly told him that no apology was necessary. It was a common enough mistake, she assured him. He offered to show her something intriguing down by the family mausoleum, and she had agreed to come along. A short walk through the snow later, they had found the entrance to the family crypt: a short, narrow, dome-topped building of stone, half buried under snow and ice.

Rupheus had leaned in through the agape doorway and pointed towards a close-by spiral staircase, descending who knew how deep into the cold earth. Once, he said, he had come out here late in the evening, after a particularly heated argument with his younger sister. Looking her in the eyes, he swore that he had seen a light at the bottom of the stairs, and echoes of people speaking from deep below. He hadn’t recognized their language, and furthermore, he swore that the most foul hissing noise imaginable had periodically sprang out, in a chorus. Whoever they were, whatever they had been doing, they had surely been trespassing. He had never been willing to personally investigate, and upon informing his father, he had been told that no trace of interlopers had been discovered on the grounds.

Farrah remembered feeling a bit frightened, then. To make matters worse, moments later, the two of them had heard a far-off howl. Rupheus assured her that everything was fine, that packs of wolves occasionally passed by the rear side of the estate, prowling along past the manse in search of smaller animals. This hadn’t placated Farrah much, but he was so charming, she couldn’t resist following his lead. Perhaps it was directly due to her lingering anxiety that he pointed upwards and suggested they honour an old tradition: “I see Icy Icicle.” Farrah had looked up, with surprise. Thin icicles had hung from the top of the rectangular doorway, pointing down above their heads.

If two people met under an icicle, he said, they needed to kiss. Farrah remembered going beet red, and feeling like he might’ve had this in mind, all along. She had never kissed a boy, before, but she didn’t mind him being her first. He took her by the hips, she took him by the elbows, and...It was probably the only good thing that had happened that day, but it doesn’t even come close to making up for what happened, next. As they stepped away from one another, Rupheus stepped into the building, waving her to follow.

Normally, Farrah wouldn’t be particularly comfortable in her own family’s mausoleum, let alone another family’s, but Rupheus led her inside, offering her his house’s blessing. Looking over the guardrail, trying to peer into the depths, he asked her if she wanted to go down with him and investigate what he had heard, just the year before. Farrah had quickly, yet politely, refused, admitting she was frightened. He told her he’d keep her safe, even going so far as to gaze into her eyes as he did so. It was all so terribly romantic, Farrah had a hard time saying no - but it didn’t matter, anyway, as neither of them took so much as a single step down the staircase before they heard four feet racing towards the mausoleum entrance.

Farrah blinked. The mansion had passed her window, and was no longer visible. Her eyes dropped, and she turned her head away. She didn’t want to reminisce on what had happened next. When Astraia spoke, it was a welcome distraction. “Something on your mind, Farrah? You look a little preoccupied.” Farrah raised her eyebrows as well as her chin, looking over at the cross-legged giantess. Astraia was looking at her with a casual, lighthearted curiosity, idly commenting “I haven’t seen you bothered, like that, since you saw my drawing of the mansion. I suppose seeing the true thing would get the same sort of reaction. I’m certainly pleased to see it, although the rumours I’ve heard of the occupants aren’t encouraging.”

Farrah let her eyes wander off to the side, her eyes easing partially shut as she tilted her head to the side, a little.“Oh, no, nothing in particular. I suppose I’m simply contemplating our escort.” Lightly raising her eyebrows, she added “We may be accompanied by sixty strong men, but please, don’t let your guard down, my friend. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.” Astraia gave a confident smile. “Not to worry, I never do. I’m not drawing any conclusions before we enter the mansion, however. Violence may not be necessary.”

“I was shown this place for a reason. The reason wasn’t clear, however. Anything could be happening, in there.” Farrah gave a couple slow blinks, gazing into the giantess’ milky eyes. She hadn’t wanted to trouble Astraia with the truth, and so she hadn’t told her of Tavin’s perceived threats. Instead, she had simply informed her that, based on the isolated location and the odd behaviour of the occupants in recent days, a guard would be dispatched alongside them, purely to be on the safe side. In a murmur, Farrah added “Whatever it is, my intuition tells me that it isn’t good. Dismissing a family’s entire workforce is...Well, it could mean any number of things, but none of them are good signs.”

Farrah knew that, by that point, they’d be moments away from coming to a stop, before the manse gates. Lightly raising her eyebrows, she said “I, too, don’t think there will be a need for any violence, nor will there be any thrust upon us. Lord Novambles only ever kept a small guard detail for his wife and children, he never maintained a large force like most of the other noble families. Nevertheless, his family has become absent in recent days, and now, so has he. It’s ominous, to say the least. It’s my informed opinion that, if anything might be the culprit, it’s mental illness brought on by grief. There’s been tragedy in the family, and I don’t believe...”

Farrah paused, for a moment. Taking in a tiny breath, she continued. “...No, I know, for certain, that they’ve never recovered. Please be sensitive to that, if we find them a bit...Out of sorts. The heir apparent, Rupheus, in particular.” As the carriage came to a stop, Astraia nodded, her smile fading. “Of course, I’m not here to pass judgement. At least, I don’t think I am. Were you close, with the family?” Farrah lightly shook her head. “I have a passing acquaintanceship with the daughter, Sophitia, but no. I was never close to the family.” Before Astraia could say or ask anything else, they both heard Alvina step up to one side of the carriage, pulling open the double doors a moment later.

After Farrah had stepped out, she helped Astraia do the same, the woman finding it pleasing to note that Astraia seemed more comfortable with the cold, in her new clothing. Astraia had kept her garb from Idylla, but now, she wore a thick, fur doublet underneath her cuirass, rather than the silk dress she had come to the Faelands in. Now, black fur poked out from underneath her pauldrons, a fashionable look Farrah had complimented her on. A matching black pair of thick, quilted hosen covered her previously-bare legs, and now, she wore a thick pair of fur socks underneath her sandals, protecting her lowest extremities from the snow.

Farrah slowly looked around, judging the scene. The last of the rearward carriages were just coming to a stop, now. Her family’s soldiers, as well as the guard detail dispatched by Lord Cheshire, were stepping out from their own carriages, none making a sound besides the commanding officers as they gave orders. The two factions were easily distinguishable from one another: the platemail of Beaumont soldiers was ivory, with the commanding officers given sapphire accents, while the Cheshire guards wore ebony of a different craftsman’s make, the officers bearing the family’s crest upon their breast in golden filigree.

Beyond that, the terrain was a barren white wasteland. Snow stretched on for as far as the eye could see, in all directions. The city wasn’t even a black smudge, on the horizon. Farrah turned around, eyes rising to the rooftop of the mansion. She tried not to let her apprehension become visible on her face, but she was afraid she couldn’t stop a gloomy little frown from overtaking her lips. Well, here she was. Her vow was broken. She could only pray to Lyria that the Novambles were in the mood to entertain company. If not, Astraia wouldn’t get the answers she sought, and neither would the rest of the aristocracy in Whitedown, for that matter.

“Alvina, stay by the carriage,” Farrah quietly ordered, to which her handmaiden obediently nodded. Farrah and Astraia, standing in the middle of a wide swath of armed guards, stepped through the small maze of carriages, approaching the rather wide set of charcoal gray stone steps, leading up to the tall front door. Two commanding officers from Lucan Beaumont’s dispatched soldiers led the way, and when they came up to the doors, one of them grabbed the door knocker, gave it numerous rather firm raps, and waited. A few moments later, he did it once more. Astraia glanced over at Farrah. The tremendously busty Ljosalfar looked back, an odd sort of disappointment in her eyes.

The third time the soldier rapped at the door, he loudly said “Lord Novambles, or whoever it may concern, this is First Officer Heschua, commander of Duke Beaumont’s Third Company. By order of the Duke, you are hereby commanded to open these premises and peacefully submit yourself to inspection by Lady Farrah Beaumont! If you are found defiant of this order, we will forcibly breach the premises, and you will be held responsible for insubordination towards the crown! Will you comply?”

No answer came. After numerous tense moments of silence, it became clear that nobody was coming to answer the call. Officer Heschua looked over at a nearby soldier, giving him a nod. The Ljosalfar man pulled the immense Sylvanite warhammer from his back, holding it at the ready as he strode over. Getting in front of the double doors, he twisted his shoulders, rearing back with the immense weapon as if it were no heavier than a twig. He swung down once with a wicked crash, smashing the beaked end of the hammer straight into the crack between the two doors, directly between the door handles.

He jimmied his warhammer around, a little, then pulled it back up. It came down once, twice, thrice, each time forcing the doors inwards a little bit more. Finally, he shifted his footing, raised a leg, and slammed a sabaton into the two doors, once more directly between the doorknobs. The locks on the doors finally gave way, knocked right off from the other side as the double doors violently swung inwards, slamming into the walls on either side. The soldier regained his footing after the wild kick, then quickly stepped back into formation. The two lead officers slowly walked inside, hands on their sheathed longswords as they looked around.

Farrah and Astraia slowly made their way through the center of the crowd, coming out into the open before the doorway. Several soldiers came up at their flanks, hands on their weapons. Astraia’s brow furrowed at the dismaying sight. Farrah’s reaction was more muted, but she couldn’t help feeling terribly ill at ease. The manse’s front hall was dark, but even so, it was easy to notice a conspicuous lack of furnishings. Cobwebs were visible, everywhere. Not only was there not a single candle lit, but it would seem as though every window in the manse had been blotted over with black curtains. Doors to attached rooms had been left wide open, revealing little else besides more oppressive darkness.

Did anyone still live, here?

(Author's Note - Hey guys, here’s another chapter, for you:D. I was a bit bummed out that the last chapter didn’t feel like it really went anywhere, so I trimmed down on the naughtiness, in this chapter. Hope you guys enjoyed:). So, in this chapter, we got to see a bit of Farrah and Astraia connecting, a run-in with a nasty noble from another family, and found out a bit about why Farrah has been so reluctant to visit the Novambles Estate ever since her childhood days.

There’s likely more to the story, but not only is Farrah reticent about it, but she dislikes so much as remembering it. As the chapter ends, Farrah, Astraia, and a small contingent of guards forcibly enter the Novambles Estate, finding it in a state suggesting abandonment. What’s happened to the family? Is anyone still inside the manse? Astraia’s vision showed her this place - what significance could it have to a pilgrim from such a faraway territory as the Teeth of Naros?

Next chapter should bring us back to Leah, the big-bootied trap, and let us see where her journey goes next:o. I’ll see you guys in the next one:)!)
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The Mask Comes Off