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Fern Cascade
Nationality Tar
Spouse King Rion of Celero
Children Unknown
Title Queen of Celero
House Petrichor

Noth (by marriage)

Race Quill
Father Opus Petrichor
Born 390
Died 468, Tar
Cause of Death Religious Ceremony
Religion Children of Kina

Fern was known as a linguist and a scholar. She reportedly spoke over a dozen languages.

When Fern Cascade married King Rion, she sought out any potential children of his and found them good and noble professions.  Professions in places far, far away from Celero itself.  She took a special liking to Andus, and persuaded her father, Opus Petrichor, regent of the Jeweled Cities, to raise him.  Most considered him the heir apparent to the Jeweled Cities.  

Opus tells Fern of her marriage Edit

Fern managed to maintain her composure until she and her ‘father’ were behind closed doors. As soon as he turned to close the door, she struck. With a flick of her wrist, her red bracelet uncoiled and shot out towards her father’s unprotected neck, weights propelling it in a practiced arc.

Without even so much as a backward glance, Opus’s hand shot up and intercepted the ruemel. It coiled around his hand instead. He followed through, tugging with his entire body. Off balance, Fern stumbled towards Opus, only to receive an elbow to the chest.

Opus drove her to her knees with a precise kick to the knee. He was the only person ever to master the Khadi’s cradle, a one handed method of strangling a victim. He used it now on his only child; his own ruemel wrapping about her throat. Jet black, it was the only one of its kind, a testament to over fifty victims taken by his own hand. As she tried to get her fingers under the strangling scarf, he slapped them away with his free hand.

"You forget yourself, daughter.” Venom oozed through his words. “You forget who you are. Every move, every thought, every decision you have made has come through my design. Your betrayal, now, was clearly foreseen.”

Opus held his deadly grip, waiting and watching calmly as Fern slowly strangled. He released her moments before she passed out. Grabbing her by her hair, he pulled her to her feet, then over into a chair. Calmly, he retrieved a pitcher of water and two mugs, pouring glasses for both of them. 

Fern came back to consciousness slowly. She closed her eyes and took deep, ragged breaths to clear her head. She could have sworn she caught a faint odor, as of ancient graves or bloody battlefields far off. When she recovered sufficiently and had a drink, she spoke. Her voice was even more ragged than before, “You expect me to accept this?”

“I expect you to do as the Goddess dictates. It is She that places this opportunity before you. Can you not see the power and influence you will be able to wield on her behalf? You can become the shining beacon of our religion, showing its truth to all Telluris.” He could see the hatred returning to her eyes, but a glimmering of realization behind them. “Do not forget who you are, nor who I am. I am Lord and Master of the Deceivers, and you will obey my commands.” His voice carried great weight, and it felt as if the room suddenly got warmer and more confined.

“So I am to be a brood mare to that whoring reprobate?”

“His mother seems to think you possess both the strength of will and the physical attributes needed to curb such behavior.” He said, the tone of a man assessing a field of crops.“So honor him, take him to bed and produce lots of children. Populate the lands of Celero with the children of Kina.” Almost as an afterthought, he said indifferently, “You may, of course, kill the bastard children at your leisure.”

“The whores as well?” Fern’s rough voice was guarded.

“Of course. Few nobles would see it as outrageous. Many might see it as prudent.” Opus’ tone indicated he agreed with the latter.

Again she closed her eyes, thinking. She hated the man, despised him as both father and regent. She was tempted to fight, tempted to ruin this just to get petty revenge against him. ”Your path is your own, daughter. Be wary why you travel upon it” a voice in her head said, accompanied by another, passing, stench of the grave. It was probably just residual hallucinations from being strangled, but it made sense. She could take this opportunity, and still take it from him.

“Very well, father. So be it.” She put as much venom, as much hatred into the word as her re-injured throat would allow.

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