PREVIOUSLY ON ISTA (as played out on Footsteps of Ghosts)

((Solstice Aibhilín))

The day was bright, though clouds lay heavy on the horizon, threatening rain to come as Crya swept easily over the thatched rooftops of the villages and towns below. Hunched over the Roc’s black-feathered neck, her wiry hands entwined deep into thick down beneath, Sol watched the landscape pass with a scrutinizing blue-green gaze that matched the piercing amber eyes of the beast she rode. Ahead lay the Great Lake, as it was simply known, and beyond, the twinkling snowy peaks of the mountain ring, Paragon’s Crest tall and imposing and a Citadel guard tower – its fire flickering red against the pale sky – prominent at its peak. To her back – where the sun shone as best as it was able through the ashen lacing of cloud – was the Citadel proper, though it was now invisible even to Crya’s keen eyes, and the home she had resided in for the last fifteen years.

Change didn’t suit Solstice Aibhilín, though many had told her it was an opportunity not worth missing, and the frown that settled rather too easily on her brow was more a sign of distaste than the dazzling glare from the skies. The Roc beneath her thighs seemed to share the same feeling, his muscles shifting subtly as he flexed and tensed his long, razor-sharp claws in agitation, a motion that Sol had long-since memorised and logged in her mind as one of his trigger movements. Clicking gently with her tongue upon the roof of her mouth, she released the grip of her right hand, sliding it upward slightly to scratch beneath the hollow that signified the bird’s ear. Turning his head to look at her with a single bright eye, Crya responded with a few sharp clicks of his own before beating his wings once more, spurring them onwards.

Within an hour, Roc and rider had passed over the far edge of the great lake. Plains passed below, at first clear of Teela influence and then slowly, signs of activity appearing: tents – small and large – of differing colours, and substantial areas of grassland fenced off, seemingly as paddocks. Slowly, a great, land-locked leviathan appeared, pale, straw-coloured sides gleaming in the afternoon light with a mirrored sheen that matched her own blades; Erythoril. It seemed like a glowing, golden Kraken without it’s tentacles, strange and menacing in its starkness, and it was big – far bigger than Sol had ever imagined.

But people were noticing her too now. Tensing her thigh muscles, Sol indicated for Crya to fly lower and, folding his wings slightly, he did, silvery talons sweeping mere feet above the tent-tops. A sunshine-yellow tent loomed into view, a flag displaying a single yellow star on a white field flapping noisily on its tip. Standing at its entrance was a small figure, his arms raised in her direction and indicating that she should land in substantial paddock beside. Frowning in irritation, she did, a twitch of a smile appearing as the few horses present scattered to the opposite side in panic when the predator settled his talons easily in the soft dirt, glaring disdain at everything around him. Swinging her leg over the Roc’s smooth-feathered shoulders, Sol slid with an easy grace to the ground, automatically checking her weapons as she rose from the crouch.

“Aibhilín,” came the call and Sol turned with a raised eyebrow to view the speaker, dislodging an errant lock of hair from her gaze with a flick of her head.

“Aye, that’s me,” she replied simply, striding towards the man stood on the other side of the paddock’s fence, ignoring the slight limp that always came from a long flight. He was short, she noted with the same disdain Crya so often displayed with things that were lower than his own eye-height – which was pretty much everything – and he didn’t seem to have laboured a day in his life. His hair was long and fine – a blonde tail that ran down to his waist and a neatly trimmed beard that had clearly been agonised over every morning of the man’s adult life – and his attire was made of a satin-silk that rippled delicately with the wind. His summer-blue eyes, however – an identical hue to the perfectly round spots that adorned his forehead like a coronet – were bright and shrewd and they locked onto Sol’s immediately.

“I know who you are,” he returned smoothly and Sol made a note to watch him carefully, for his eyes contained an intelligence that belied his dainty appearance, “I was merely getting your attention.” Sol made no reply, though the man didn’t seem to need one: his gaze settled upon Crya who was preening coolly among the clearly anxious horses. “Aren’t you going to tie it down?”

Bristling, Sol’s hands curled unconsciously into fists as the man’s startlingly intense eyes met hers once more. “He is not a ship,” she spat pointedly, “And he will fly as he pleases until I call him. I wouldn’t worry your pretty little head,” she continued with a deadly smile as the noble’s eyes narrowed slightly, “He won’t kill anything unless I ask him to.”

“Be sure it stays that way, Aibhilín,” came the equally tart retort as the man pursed his lips, “As I am the one who determines whether he stays or goes in this mission.”

Sol’s teal-coloured eyes flashed in anger. “I will not be going if he doesn’t sail with us,” she answered in a growl, “I made that clear from the start. So if you wish your guests to be protected in this ‘mission’ of yours, then you will let him on despite your personal preferences. Is that clear?”

The man opened his mouth indignantly to speak but Sol waved an irritated hand at him, brushing off his words impatiently. “I’ve been flying for six hours solid; do you have any hospitality around here?”

Seemingly realising that he would get no further with the woman, the man shook his head exasperately and indicated a huge midnight-blue tent a short distance away. “The Sapphire tent is serving as a tavern in the interim,” he replied with a sigh, “You can either find a pallet there for the night or have your own tent set up in the communal fields yonder. Tomorrow you will report to the conference tent behind me at midday for a briefing and to meet your charges. My name is Mikáele Tacita – Lord Mikáele. I will see you on the morrow.”

Barely acknowledging his words, Sol navigated the fence and made her way over to the blue tent, arms swinging easily at her side and her limp lessening as she stretched the muscles with walking. Pushing the flap aside, she was met with a plume of fragrant pipesmoke and the soft, underlying hint of ale, and settling herself at an empty table, she ordered a jug of ale from the busty barmaid. It would be a long, hard trip but, until then, she might as well enjoy herself.

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((August Wind))

Every eye in the courtyard was staring at a single man. First of all, he was tall for a man, and stood several inches above most. The second thing people noticed, was his attire, which was made from every type of creature imaginable. The furs were very carefully groomed and cared for. The colors ranged from white to black, and seemed to be patterned and thatched intentionally, but this only added to the obscurity of the outfit. The third thing that stuck out, literally and figuratively, was the immense war axe slung over the mans back. It was chipped and clearly stained with blood in some places, but was still razor sharp. In addition, feathers, charms and teeth and claws hung off of the axe like trophies. The blade seemed to be made from the shoulder blades of some large animal, but not one could guess at what kind.

Though the biggest thing that drew attention, however, was the loud booming voice of the man, trying to talk calmly (and failing) to a man in a floppy red hat. Those within ear shot likely sympathized with the large man, who was only trying to get directions to the 'large roc which flies through the stars', while the smaller man seemed to try to pretend to be some sort of a nobleman.

"Excuse me. Sir." August Wind said through clenched teeth, with his fist following suit, "I know there is a group traveling through the stars. I need to speak with someone to book passage."

The man in the poncy read hat scoffed, "I have no need to inform a commoner such as yourself. Begone with you."

The tribesman had enough, "Thank you Lord." He said with no sincerity, and then bowed suddenly.

The two mens heads collided, knocking the hat off of the nobles head. A wave of snickers made it's way through he crowd as the man gripped his head in pain. August seemed concerned, however, and he clapped the man on the shoulder. This made the 'noble' wince in pain again.

"I am sorry sir." August exclaimed, and bent to grab the mans hat, "Here you are."

August quite firmly reattached the hat to the nobles head. Then he pretended to readjust and fix it up, "There you are sir. Can I help you further?"

"Try that blue tent over there. They may know what you mean." The noble said desperately, not wanting to be accosted any further.

This time August bowed more carefully, "Many thanks, friend."

---

A short while later, August found himself feeling very out of place. He stood just on the inside of the tent, and watched the people gathered there. Like in the streets, he received many odd gazes. August was not a very subtle man, so he decided not to waste time and get to the point. He cleared his throat.

"I am here to book passage on the large ship that flies through the stars." He said stiffly, "A free drink to the person who can help me."

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((Stella Oceane/Ocmare))

It had been quite a long trip. With only a few informations as to how to get to the renowned 'Ship that sails the stars", it hadn't been easy to get there. When Stella tried to remember the names of all the ships she had taken to get there, and their captains, she realized that there were simply too many. Luckily for her, all these trips were paid by the Militant Guild. Otherwise, I'd be without any money, by now. Hopefully, at least, the day was bright, although it seemed that rain was to come, in a few hours.

Stella liked the rain, but not when she had nowhere to be safe from it. She had heard many stories about this 'Ship', but none of them came close to what it was in reality. "A huge golden ship, indeed, but a lot bigger than I had imagined." She wasn't even close to the zone where the ship was standing, and where people would be living, but she was able to see it, since it was so big, and with the bright sun, it was even painful to look at it, directly.

After some time, Stella finally made it. She began to see a few tents and, of course, the biggest ship of all. She realized she liked it; maybe it was because of the colour... and in fact, it was an all too colourful place, with many tents that were all different. Good way to tell the differences between their uses.

She walked in between the tents, until she heard a rough voice calling her. "Miss Oceane?" She turned around to face the voice, and saw a man wearing dark brown voyage attire. He had long blond hair, and his face was round, seemingly calm. "Yes, it's me." Stella answered, shifting her weight from her left foot to her right foot, feeling a bit awkward. She was surprised that she had met someone who knew her name so soon. "Who speaks?" Stella looked at the man, wondering who would it be. "I'm Kanaz, from the Militant Guild. I'm here to introduce you here to Lord Mikáele. It's not easy to talk to him, this days..." She was indeed supposed to meet with someone from the guild, but, meeting with someone, so soon? It was strange, at least.

Stella smiled faintly at that Kanaz man, she didn't know him, and he hadn't showed any proof that he belonged to the guild, but she decided to trust him, nonetheless. "Thank you, but I would prefer to have some rest, first. As you can guess, I come from afar, and it's better to present myself to him in my best state possible..."

Kanaz looked surprised, but reacted quickly to her explanation. "Ah, of course, head to the blue tent over there, it serves as a tavern, so you should find a place to sleep, there." he pointed her finger towards the right to where they were.

"Alright. I will meet you tomorrow, then, and excuse me for the trouble caused." She turned, and without looking back, she went to the right, searching for the blue tent she had been told. For a moment, she wondered if it could be a trap, but when she heard all the noise coming from a blue tent, she smiled, laughing at her own self, for not trusting the man, because it was obvious that it was some sort of tavern.

As she entered, she immediately noticed the heavy air inside the tent; an air that made it difficult for her to breathe. It was also full of people, drinking, talking really loud. She looked around, wondering who would she have to talk to, if she wanted a place for the night.

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((Solstice))

Another cry of despair arose as dice rattled with a hollow clatter onto the table, displaying three identical images carved into the smooth cherry wood. Flicking a strand of hair from her face in a familiar motion, Sol removed her boots from the stool beside her own, leaning forward to collect the small pile of silver coins with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

“Braggers always lose, Aibhilín,” one of the men said gruffly, scratching at the dark stubble lining his jaw and fixing the woman with an amused muddy gaze, “Your luck won’t last forever.”

Laughing, Sol scooped the coins into her leather purse with an audible jangle, tucking it once more beneath her leather armour and meeting his brown eyes with her own. “Did you hear me speak, Walker?” she returned bluntly, cupping the dice once more in her palm and running her thumbs over them. Teal gaze sparkling, she tossed them to the man sat opposite who caught them deftly. “Check them if you will.”

Grunting in acknowledgement, Trey Walker shook his head, the corner of his lips turning upwards slightly as he set the small cubes carefully onto the table’s surface. “Lucky you may be, Aibhilín, but I know you’re no cheat. Buy me a tankard and I’ll forget my sorrows with you.”

“Buy your own.”

With a short laugh that was more like a bark, the man’s thick fingers withdrew from a pouch at his hip, a reddish-metalled coin in his grip as he rose from his stool. “You have eyes on you, lass, I’ll say that about you.”

“Aye,” Sol returned with a sigh and another smirk, resettling her booted heels upon the second seat once more and crossing them at the ankles, “And you’ve another pouch tucked beneath the lip of your boots. Call me lass once more and I’ll make sure you’re well-enough tongue-tied that you say nothing of the sort again.”

Shaking his head in amused despair, the man named Walker left the table for another, his companions following him and grumbling amicably. Jangling her purse in satisfaction, Sol brought her tankard to her lips just as a newcomer entered the tent, his height making him visible even from her position in the far corner. Gazing with curious eyes at him over the rim of her cup – for indeed his weapon seemed to be gaining just as much attention as the man himself – she watched him mill awkwardly for a few moments. He seemed relatively peaceable and already some of the rowdier lot were murmuring restlessly, wondering whether to challenge the stranger and test his skill with the formidable looking weapon.

Finishing her drink, Sol turned her attentions away, pouring another tankard from the jug at her elbow. On most other occasions, she would’ve been one of the first to offer such a contest – the man was either a fool or a liar to wander so unobtrusively into a tavern displaying his weapon so proudly – but today she simply wanted to drink, gamble and drop to exhaustion on a pallet at the night’s end.

The decision, however, was made for her as the man pitched his voice above the general noise of the tavern’s occupants. "I am here to book passage on the large ship that flies through the stars," he said pointedly, his dark eyes sweeping over each individual present as a smaller figure emerged from the tent’s entrance to stop nervously behind him, staring about her with wide cobalt-coloured eyes, "A free drink to the person who can help me."

“You’ll want Aibhilín,” came the instant response and Sol’s teal-coloured gaze snapped up from her drink, fixing angrily upon Trey’s grinning face as he leant against what served as a bar. Returning his own mischievious gaze to the newcomer, Trey waved a hand in her direction, “Over there. Keep your balls close or she’ll bite them off.”

“Fuck you, Walker,” she responded tersely and the man made a lewd gesture in kind. Still, the damage was done and the strangely adorned newcomer was already making his way over, wading through the crowds with ease.

Rolling her eyes, Sol wet her lips with ale once more, settling her gaze upon his with an obvious derision. “What do you want?” she sighed and then indicated the slight form with a tilt of her head. “I wouldn’t leave your woman unattended if I were you – unless you want her mauled by the bears.”

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((August))

August nodded towards the first voice which called out. "Many thanks, friend."

He made his way easily towards the table where Aibhilin sat. He undid the strap which held his great axe, and let the weapon hit noisily on the floor. He leaned the handle up against the table and then took a seat. He placed a hand gently on a passing server, "Two pints here please."

The woman clearly was not the most pleasant type, “What do you want? I wouldn’t leave your woman unattended if I were you – unless you want her mauled by the bears.”

August craned his neck in the direction indicated, and turned back. "That is not my woman. I have never seen her before today."

The drinks arrived and August quickly took a generous sip. He rumbled in approval, and set his tankard down. Then he began, "I will try to explain my task quickly, and you can decided to help me or not. My name is August Wind, of the Malini Tribe. I wish to get aboard the ship that will sail from this place. Of my people, I am our chiefs first son. I was sent on a mission to board that ship, and represent out tribes. I can not take no for an answer, or it would disgrace my family line. I can pay whatever amount is needed, my people have given me all the wealth they could spare."

As he spoke he produced a considerable look money pouch, and showed it to Sol. August was oblivious to the number of looks this action drew. He continued, "Can you help me?"

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((Stella))

Right after entering the tent, the first thing Stella noticed was the big man with the even bigger axe. Her body shook at the thought of the amount of damage the axe could deal. After that, she decided she would not want to think about it again.

As she realized that the man was drawing everyone’s attention, much to Stella’s relief, she walked slowly into the tent, and realized that she would have to approach the exuberant barmaid, who she thought she would draw as much attention as the tall man, usually. She laughed to herself at that thought. She heard a short argument going on, between a woman in a corner and a man with a mischievous look in his eyes. All this had been going on after the man surprisingly had asked to buy a passage into the ship. He offered a free drink to anyone who would help him. Stella thought that it wasn’t exactly an interesting offer, for she wasn’t paying anything with her money.

As she walked to the barmaid, and right when she was about to ask her about a place to sleep at, she heard the woman from the corner commenting on how the man shouldn’t let her woman unattended…

Woman…? What woman? There was no one… “Wait! I’m not…”

Right then, the man turned his head and stared at her. She was surprised when his eyes didn’t portray hatred, or anger, but just calm. That is not my woman. I have never seen her before today.

The barmaid excused herself as she went to take the drinks to the table, while Stella looked around, half annoyed, half scared. Great, now t hat they know I’m not ‘your woman’, I will be more noticed, and not exactly in a good manner…

And, indeed, she noticed quite a few pairs of eyes staring at her, piercing her body with their glares. She didn’t like that.

Fortunately, the money bag the tall man (his name seemed to be August Wind) exhibited was enough to draw the attention of a few eyes, but she still felt observed.

Stella shook her head. It was her duty to protect the ship, in fact, and this also included being careful with who was aboard, so she decided to walk to August.

“Ser Wind, I hope it would not be rude of me to ask for your business with that ship. Mayhap we could reach an agreement…” she stared curiously at the man, bigger than she had imagined that people could be, and the woman who was there before she arrived. She had reddish hair, and she looked to be not especially unfriendly, but she also looked somewhat tired, which could be a reason for her seeming that way.

“Sorry to intrude.”

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((Solstice))

Sol eyed the jug of ale that was placed heavily on the scratched tabletop, lazily switching her teal-coloured gaze back to the man's as he spoke. He was determined, she would give him that. Opening her mouth to respond, she was interrupted by a heafty clink as August Wind settled a large bag of coin next to the flagon of ale before him. “Can you help me?”

“You’d do best not to listen to silver-tongues,” Sol murmured wryly in response, nudging at the bag of coin with the back of her hand, “Though I’d say you soured Walker’s milk pretty quickly with your little stunt.” Lifting her head from surveying the offer, the woman tipped it in the mentioned’s direction, raising a hand in mocking thanks. She puckered her lips in a kiss when the man scowled, returning her attentions to the stranger sat opposite her with a grin and a dismissing wave of her hand.

“I’m not your man, sir,” she replied with an almost apologetic sigh, taking another draught from her unfinished tankard, “So I will not take your drink. But I can-”

“Ser Wind,” came a small voice from the man’s broad elbow and Sol raised an eyebrow, closing her lips on her words. “I hope it would not be rude of me to ask for your business with that ship. Mayhap we could reach an agreement…” The slim woman came into view as the man shifted and Sol recognised the bright eyes of the slight stranger she had seen not a few moments previously. “Sorry to intrude.”

Settling back, Sol leaned her stool upon two legs, folding her arms behind her head with a sigh. “Intrude away. I am just a lowly soldier at arms, after all – not a Clan Chief’s eldest or a noble-woman seeking business. It’s not as if I was looking for privacy anyway...” Though sarcasm laced her words, it was said lightly for her mood was relatively easygoing with her win and since the younger woman’s arrival, her curiosity had peaked further.

“I am to assume then, you’re one of these ‘guests’ I’m supposed to be protecting,” she commented, her blunt words not quite belying her interest as she rocked back onto all four stool legs and rested her arms on the table. Not waiting for an answer – nor even expecting one – she turned her gaze back to August’s. “You’ll be wanting Lord What’s-his-face – Micháele – if you want to book passage on the Star-flight mission. You don’t get his say, you don’t get on – that’s just how it works. However, I’m sure-” she nodded in the young woman’s direction, reaching across to drain her tankard, “-Little Miss Pretty, here, will be helpful. If she’s got passage, she’s already in his good books. You don’t want to go referring me if you want in; we’ve had a few, uh... shall we say dealings in the past and he doesn’t like me much because of it. Besides, he doesn’t take kindly to the company I keep.”

“Still,” Sol sighed, stretching her arms above her head to loose the crick in her back and then bending to rub unselfconsciously at her aching left leg, “You won’t get anywhere ‘til morning. Man sleeps like a baby: to bed at sundown and rising at dawn. Needs a solid eight hours before he can function like any other man. I suggest you both grab yourself a pallet here and wander on over to that hideous yellow abomination on the morrow. We’re supposedly having a meeting but in my eyes, gatecrashers are always welcome.”

Grinning, Sol twisted to place her tankard on a barmaid’s empty tray before returning her gaze briefly to the pair before her. “Solstice Aibhilín,” she stated simply as she stood, gaze shifting again to train upon a figure she had been watching from the corner of her eye, “Excuse me while I deal with the gentleman who thinks it’s funny to take advantage of people when they’re talking.”

Taking two strides past the slim woman’s shoulder, Sol drew a small knife from the leather belt at her waist, twisted it hilt first and slammed it into the back of the neck of the man who had turned just a fraction too late in his attempt to evade her. Like drugged horse, the man crumpled to the floor, a large lump already beginning to swell at the base of his skull. His drinking companions eyed her with wary anger and Sol returned the stare cooly.

“Don’t grope what you can’t afford,” she stated brusquely, though a hint of danger laced her tone, “You’ll find the whores far less dangerous.” And turning on her heel, Sol sheathed her blade, striding back to the two newcomers.

“Speak to Ailsa,” she said to the woman with a wry smile, “She’ll be sure you get a pallet with at least a little privacy. But you, I’m afraid,” Sol continued, turning her teal eyes upon August’s brown, “will just have to keep your coin well hidden, now that everyone knows you’ve got it. Unless you want to get murdered in your sleep...”

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((August))

August bowed to Sol, "Many thanks friend. I shall take your advice. I shall see you both tomorrow."

August left several crimson shillings on the table, hoping it would cover the cost of the drinks. He moved away quickly, and noticed several eyes followed him, and his purse, across the room. One man seemed to lean towards him from his chair. August simply slammed his large fist on the table, knocking drink and dice about.

The man put his arms up defensively, "Hey hey hey. Can't blame a guy for trying."

August frowned, "I can, and I do."

He gave the man a wider berth as he walked around him. It didn't take long to find the woman named Ailsa. He inquired about a room. She told him the price. He paid, and that was that.

He set him axe in the middle of the floor, and moved the the bedding. His room was the cheapest there, simple furs laying on the floor. He nestled his head into a sheet of wolves fur, he liked it best. The arrangement made him feel at home, in the mountains amongst the trees. He didn't know when he would get this feeling again. August went to sleep quickly, making sure that both his money, and his skinning knife were close at hand.

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((Stella))

Stella realized she had really intruded somewhere she shouldn’t have, and felt sorry. It was, however, too late to apologize, so she thought better to forget about it. But Stella was rather amused by the woman’s comments. She, a noble-woman? Well, maybe she wasn’t that mistaken, but still, she wasn’t there as Miss Ocmare, but as Stella Oceane, a woman at the orders of the Militant guild. She couldn’t help but laugh a bit at the ‘Little Miss Pretty’ bit, even if she felt some sarcasm in the woman’s voice.

Stella waited until she had finished talking, and especially paid attention to the words about the Lord, who would only meet people from tomorrow. Apparently, it would be too late for the man, now.

“Excuse me, but maybe I should also be considered as a ‘lowly soldier’, since I am working for the Militant guild…” she turned her body to the side, a little bit, so her sword would be visible for the sitting woman. “Unless, of course, the members of my guild are not ‘lowly soldiers’, that is…” she smiled, kindly. “Of course, I meant that I can talk to Lord Mikáele, but only because I am part of the mission itself.”

After that, the woman spoke again. Solstice Aibhilín. Stella answered back. “Stella Oceane, I hope we get along well.”

As soon as she had said that, Sol excused herself, and hit a man, who was right behind Stella. Was the man going for her? And she hadn’t even realized? She wouldn’t be able to tell, because the man was lying on the ground, already.

“I’ll take the suggestion, Solstice, I wouldn’t want to be…let’s say ‘visited’ by anyone, during my sleep… Thank you for everything; I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess.”

Stella turned around and walked calmly to the barmaid, and asked for Ailsa. Soon, she met her, and asked her for a place to sleep with a little privacy. ‘As much as possible privacy’ where the exact words Stella used. She found the place was a bit better than expected, and she was soon sleeping, since she was so exhausted. Right before falling asleep, she wondered what impressive things were waiting for her…

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((Solstice))

"Many thanks friend," the tribesman named Ausust said, smartly bowing at the waist, and Sol strode easily back to her seat, settling herself in it once more - legs this time tucked beneath the stool's short rungs, "I shall take your advice. I shall see you both tomorrow."

With a smile that was more like a smirk and a single raised eyebrow, Sol lifted a hand casually as he left, amused at the russet-coloured coins glinting dully upon the table-top. Picking one up, she ran it over her knuckles before tossing it with a flick of her thumb into the air and catching it deftly, lifting her gaze to meet the woman's as she spoke.

“Excuse me, but maybe I should also be considered as a ‘lowly soldier’, since I am working for the Militant guild…” she said, in a voice that was both confident and shy at once. She twisted slightly, displaying the hilt that peered out from beneath her pretty long locks. “Unless, of course, the members of my guild are not ‘lowly soldiers’, that is… Of course, I meant that I can talk to Lord Mikáele, but only because I am part of the mission itself.”

Sol raised another eyebrow, the corner of her mouth twisting slightly. She had recognised this woman - why had she not seen it before? Though of course, the girl with the deep blue eyes had entered the guild after her, but it was not uncommon to get used to faces even when not working in the same faction.

"Ye-es," Sol replied, narrowing her teal-coloured gaze slightly, "I've seen you around. Not my faction though... Cavalry? No, not with that get up..." She tilted her head on one side, surveying the woman's appearence intently, "Stealth. Yes, you have the build for it."

The woman smiled, her eyes crinkling in kindness, and Sol was suddenly hard-put not to grin herself in return. “Stella Oceane," she introduced herself politely, "I hope we get along well.”

Sol did grin then, still fingering the smooth sides of the shilling absently. "We'll see," she returned, though the sentiment was not intended as an insult, "You do, after all, come from a rival faction..."

The young spy's gaze flicked over to the man on the floor briefly before returning her cobalt eyes to Sol's. “I’ll take the suggestion, Solstice," she said with all seriousness, and Sol was pleased that the woman named Stella st least had some military sense and not just a noble-woman's, "I wouldn’t want to be…let’s say ‘visited’ by anyone, during my sleep… Thank you for everything; I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess.”

Sol nodded, "On the morrow," as Stella turned smoothly on her heel and made her way over to the plump brunette the barmaid had directed her to. Similarly to August, they exchanged coin and Stella was led away. Sol watched her go with an intriguing expression, before turning her reef-coloured gaze upon the crimson shillings scattered on the old wood.

"Well," she told herself with a raised eyebrow, "There's no point letting good coin to go to waste."

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Sol woke to a strange blue glow, her head pounding dully and her mouth as dry as though she'd been chewing on wool all night. Groaning, she rolled into a sitting position, furs folding haphazardly around her half-dessed form, and scrubbed her face with her hands. There had been a bet, she remembered muzzily, but what the feat had been she could only guess at. Peering out of tired eyes, she surveyed her section of the tent carefully, breathing a quiet sigh of relief at finding all her posessions present.

Heaving herself into a standing position with both hands, Sol wandered over to the small clay bowl that lay in the corner, the clear water inside glinting in the blue light from the sun piercing the colourful sides of the tent. Lifting a handful of water she splashed her face with a grateful gasp and ran her wet hands through her hair as she stood from her crouch. Teasing out the majority of the tangles, Sol retrieved the leather thong from the floor and tied the long curls into a loose bun.

A faint panicked whinny came from the nearby paddock and Sol smiled as she pulled on her shirt; Cyra had returned from his hunting, it seemed. Within a few moments, Sol had emerged into the sunlight, twin swords hanging from her belt and crossbow strapped to her back. She'd be damned it she'd leave her arms behind, even if it was only supposed to be a peaceable discussion.

A man dressed head-to-toe in brown leather - very clearly from the militant guild - stood silently at the entrance of the tent as Sol wandered up, squinting as the bright morning sunlight reflected sharply off the luminous yellow sides. His mouth twitched, repressing a smile.

"Shut up," Sol muttered, glaring as best she could against the ache in her head - the pounding now down to a dull throb - and striding through the open tent flaps. Lord Micháele looked up as she entered, placing a piece of parchment to one side upon the long table he was sat at, standing.

"Aibhilin," he stated, with a pretence at pleasantries, indicating a seat opposite him with a lazy hand, "Please, sit."

Unstrapping her crossbow, Sol placed it in front of her upon the smooth table as she settled onto a chair between two others - noting, with a swell of pride, that Micháele's lip curled in distaste at the motion. He had clearly been told of both August and Stella's arrival - the extra pair of chairs as evidence, though how many more were actually on the mission, Sol had no idea. Certainly more than three...

Micháele seemed to read her mind. "We are waiting for two others to arrive this morning," he stated in a tone that suggested he was ignoring her initial slight, "One is already on your team-"

"My 'team'?" Sol snapped, "I've told you, I don't-"

"And the other," Micháele said loudly over the top of her, meeting her gaze angrily, "Seems he wants to join in too, so you will stay while we discuss his entry into the mission. I will have-" he continued, his voice overwhelming Sol's protests, "No objections. Unless, of course, you don't feel fit to serve?"

Glaring hatred, Sol snapped her mouth shut and Micháele nodded triumphantly, settling once more into his cushioned chair. "Good," he stated patronizingly, "We will wait."

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((August))

August Wind was already awake. He sat with his legs crossed in his room. The smell of incense flowed around his large body, and clung to his hair and furs. He breathed in.

The bowl that sat in front of him was prepared with the most careful finesse. 19 drops of alcohol, distilled from a Gunji plant. Enough to clear the mind, but not to blur the senses. In the alcohol sat mint, rhular, and alovera. Herbs to cleanse the body. He breathed out.

He imagined his mind as a perfect shield. Polished to perfection, the light would glisten across its entire surface. The shield would protect his mind from intrusion, deceit and temptation. He breathed in.

He imagined his body, as a jagged stone. Rough and imperfect, but deadly as well. The stone was a dark obsidian, impervious to attacks, and sharper than diamond. It would protect him from physical harm, and defend others. He breathed out.

He imagined his spirit, as an inescapable mist. Infinite and invisible, the spirit exists in all things. The mist can not be seen, touched, or heard, but it is there, enveloping all creation. The mist is what holds the universe together, makes all peoples one. He breathed in.

August opened his eyes, and drank his liquid. He repeated his mantra, allowing the incense to fill his nostrils with each breath. At last he exited his room, in full gear, the large axe hanging over his shoulder. He noticed Solstice and another man. He decided to approach them, with the smell of holly still on his clothing.

"Good morrow friends." August began. "Sleep well?"

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((Stella))

That Solstice woman. She was interesting. Of course, their factions were rivals. Not that Stella actually believed in such rivalries, but still…

The night was calm, and it passed without any especial event taking place. She was not visited by anyone, nor did she hear anything strange outside her sleeping place. She was feeling uneasy, though, and kept waking up over and over. Even with that, when she finally woke up for the last time, she felt pretty good. She had been to bed early the day before, guessing this would happen, so in the end she had been able to rest, somehow.

She calmly took her time to set everything up, washing herself as much as possible, and checking on all her stuff. She was relieved to find out everything was there; nothing had been stolen. She saw the early light entering the place, a new dawn was born, and everything was ready for her to have a good day. ‘Hopefully’, she thought.

After everything was set, she took a last sight at her place, to make sure she didn’t leave anything there, and finally went outside. The breeze was light and the sun bright. It was definitely a good day, after all.

It didn’t take long for Stella to meet with the man from the day before, the one who had told her he’d take her to Lord Micháele. “Thank you. I’m rather lost at this place.” There wasn’t much more conversation between the two of them, for the man seemed troubled with something, although he wouldn’t say what was it. After the two of them said their farewell, Stella stepped into the tent where she was to meet with everyone.

Apparently she was late, or their came early, maybe both. She didn’t know. There were people in, already. She already knew two of them. Solstice and that August man, with his huge axe. There was a strange smell around him, but Stella couldn’t say what it was about. “I’m sorry; I wasn’t acquainted with this place, so it took me a bit longer to come here than expected. Hello, Ser August, Miss Solstice. Lord Micháele, it has been some time.” She waited a few moments before actually making her request, which she did after sitting down. “Lord, Ser August here wishes to join us. I would like to request allowance for him to do so. If there is any trouble I would assume complete responsibility over it. I do believe he would be a valuable asset for this mission, and I feel he can be trusted. I formally ask for him to come, as well.”

Little did Stella know that he was more or less already allowed to go with them. However, even if she was asking for that, she was wondering what kind of person he’d be. And, of course, Solstice, too. There were some interesting mission companions, after all. But all that was part of the World’s Grand Plan for her. She had a purpose; there was a reason for her to be there, even if she didn’t know it. That was one of her goals; to find out this reason.

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((Solstice))

Sol barely glanced up as the tribesman August wandered in, trailing a faint floral scent that seemed to be underlying the harsh tang of smoke that permeated his furs. She was concentrating more upon reducing the dull ache to a bearable level, pressing her fingers firmly against her temples in an attempt to rub away the self-induced pain.

"Good morrow friends," he said genially, and Micháele inclined his head in a regal manner, "Sleep well?"

“Sufficient enough for the day’s toils, yes,” the nobleman replied, extending a hand courteously to indicate that the tall man should sit, “I assume your own has been pleasant enough?”

Sol rolled her eyes to herself, dryly amused, but she was saved any further gallant pleasantries by the appearance of the bright-eyed spy she had met the night before. “I’m sorry,” the young woman immediately apologised, taking their own presence as confirmation of her late arrival, “I wasn’t acquainted with this place, so it took me a bit longer to come here than expected. Hello, Ser August, Miss Solstice. Lord Micháele, it has been some time.”

Lord Micháele swiftly stood, striding the few swift steps over to her and grasping her hand, bending slightly at the waist. “No, no, my lady,” he returned with a winning smile, “Your arrival is most punctual, I assure you. But it has been some time indeed.” He waved an arm expansively, his eyes sliding swiftly past Sol’s, ignoring her disgusted glare, “Please, sit.”

Stella did so and glanced across at August before returning her gaze to Micháele’s as he sat on the other side of the wide table, facing the three of them. “Now,” he said pompously, shuffling the parchment before him and resting his clear blue eyes upon August and Stella alone – Sol seemed momentarily forgotten, which suited her rather nicely for the time being – “There are some other items that are to be discussed before we delve into the matter of the mission, am I correct?”

“Lord, Ser August here wishes to join us,” Stella said instantly in reply, and Micháele rested his bearded chin upon his steepled fingers as he regarded them each in turn, “I would like to request allowance for him to do so. If there is any trouble I would assume complete responsibility over it. I do believe he would be a valuable asset for this mission, and I feel he can be trusted. I formally ask for him to come, as well.”

For a few seconds, Micháele didn’t answer, though he surveyed August with open curiosity. Sol sighed audibly, settling back in her seat with arms folded and the stuck-up fool glared at her again, clearly delaying things on purpose. “And I suppose you have an objection to this, Aibhilín, considering you make a point to contend anything I am due to approve?”

Sol raised a single red eyebrow and waved her right hand nonchalantly. “Considering you’ve already approved this ‘team’ without even consulting me, Micháele, I would think that my opinion on this matters very little.”

The man’s lips thinned and she could see a muscle twitch in his jaw as Micháele clenched his teeth, but he maintained his composure and instead turned to August. “And you, August: what is your say on this matter? What is it that you-“ he indicated Stella with a quick tilt of his head, “and Miss Oceane here think you can provide on this trip? I have taken many things into consideration and I do not wish to employ extra hands if it is unnecessary…”

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((August))

August nodded his large head formally, "Lord Micháele, my name is August Wind, I am the first son of the chief of the largest tribe in my homeland. It was the wishes of our tribal council, that I travel on this vessel, to represent the position of our people, should we meet new tribes."

He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts, "But my intentions are not wholly personal. I offer my skills as a diplomat, should it be needed. I have brokered peace treaties with the most brutal savages, and provide a unique perspective should there be any... prejudices on board. In the cases where peace is not possible..." August adjusted his axe, "I offer my life to protect the passengers aboard. If money is a concern, my people have provided me with a considerable sum."

August went to reach for his gold pouch, before stopped himself on Sol's suggestion, he kept his money hidden.

"On behalf of the Kherigate people, I respectfully ask permission to... accompany you on your journey." August stumbled through, making it sound like he was trying to recite a speech.

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((Solstice))

Sol was impressed. The man named August was polite and precise, stating his interest in a few simple sentences and yet leaving an underlying sense of threat behind it. A diplomat certainly: how much chaos would this matter cause if Micháele refused to take on a member of one of the largest tribes in the region? Sol did not think it would be a simple matter of refusal and by the look that crossed the nobleman’s perfect features – a swift flash of annoyance and distaste – neither did he. Still, the snake smoothed over it well, shifting his steepled fingers so that they were interlaced in front of him on the table and leaning forwards slightly.

“You would be a good field man,” he surmised and then, with two tilts of his head, continued, “As Aibhilín and my lady Oceane are and will be. The diplomats I have hired thus far are...” he paused for a brief instant, yet Sol knew it was simply to make a show of it – he knew exactly what he thought of the diplomats, “...less experienced in the field.”

Sol snorted unbecomingly. “You mean that at the slightest hint of danger, they’ll pick up their skirts and use their skinny little legs to run as fast and as far away as they can from it.”

Micháele fixed his royal blue gaze on her with an expression of loathing at her quiet smirk. “Quite,” he spat in an impeccably precise tone, “As I said, they are not trained in the arts of combat-“ He turned his head to August with a strained smile. “Thus if any were to ever be caught in an... awkward... situation, they would become mere targets and would not necessarily be able to defend themselves. You, however, have been trained in both and thus solve an issue that need not arise.”

Taking a deep breath, the young lordling settled back into his seat. “And for that reason, I agree for you to join us in our quest-”

Sol sighed loudly, bursting into startled laughter as Micháele rose from his seat to round furiously on her, his pale ears colouring red. “Aibhilín, shut up for just one minute, won’t you??” he snarled, looking as though he’d like to tear his hair out, “Look, just- just... go and show our guests to the market, please...?” he finished with a desperate sigh, sinking back into his chair and pressing an exasperated two fingers to his temple. “And stay out of trouble, Aibhilín. I’d really rather not see you again today.”

With a grin, Sol unfolded her legs gracefully, sweeping her crossbow from the table and resting it upon her shoulder. “Right you are, m’Lord,” she chirped, adding an edge to the last word that was unmistakable, “And I suppose you’ll want me to show them their cabin aboard after, yes?”

“Yes, yes...” Micháele waved an airy hand, his frown irritable, “I will say you know best just to get you from my sight, soldier, now please leave.” Rising, he made a formal bow to Stella and August. “I apologise but, despite my words, she is capable enough to show you around in this instance. If you have need of someone more...” Sol glared but Micháele seemed as though he was trying to pretend she was no longer present, “More... refined, I am sure there will be someone aboard the vessel who will suit. I will send a messenger when it is time for us to go through the plans in full. I expect it to be around sundown so please feel free to explore the camp in the meantime, though I must ask you to avoid leaving. You will be paid from today, and these instalments you may collect from your benefactor on the ship once every seven days. Again, I thank you for your time.”

Sol figured that his second bow was probably a cue to leave and so she obeyed – more out of hate of the man than any respect of his authority. Stepping out of the tent, she took a deep breath of fresh mid-morning air and felt the throbbing in her head die slightly. What she would give to fly right now... Glancing reluctantly in the direction of her Roc, she decided the tactful option was best and gave a small sigh, turning to her new charges, her quirky grin at least half genuine. After all, she was being paid for this, wasn’t she?

“Right,” she stated, taking her crossbow down from her shoulder and twisting to tie it to her back once more, her teal-coloured eyes meeting each of theirs when she was finished. “What do you need? Weapons, armour, powders, potions... animals to sacrifice...” Sol gave a bark of laughter, grinning at their faces, “Ok, ok... I said I’d behave didn’t I? Come on,” she continued bluntly, “You can talk while we walk.”

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((Stella))

Without a doubt, a good diplomat. That was the impression Stella had about August, when he spoke to Micháele. Why hadn't she noticed before? He looked like a warrior, but his behaviour was far different. How was that possible...? She felt a bit at a loss; because she had failed at identifying him as a diplomat. But, leaving those matters aside, she had to admit he did look threatening, while polite. The tense expressions of their faces showed a moment of fake calm. Nevertheless, things straightened quite easily, for the lord didn't want to begin a conflict. Accepting August aboard was not something he could decide. He had to. Letting him here was not an option.

The lord's flattering towards the big man was no doutbt a mask, to hide his disgust, perhaps? Stella couldn't tell. Lord Micháele had always been sort of unreadable, for her. And as for his definition of the diplimats... well, she agreed more with Sol's definition. They thought they had a high reputation, as if they were noblemen, when in fact they were just a bunch on wanna-be's... that's why Stella didn't like diplomats, in general. They spoke way too much for her. Not that she wanted to fight, to resolve conflicts, but usually those diplomats used their abilities against their personal enemies, trying to make life better for them, egoistically. She couldn't stand people who were like that, diplimats or not.

Again, she was a witness to Sol and Micháele's antagonism, for she bursted out laughing while he was speaking, and he couldn't stand that. Of course, that man was doing nothing to earn their respect, and certainly, they sure had their relationship from the past. Actually, Stella didn't know the lord that well. He had met him in the past, for sure, but she did not know him very well. She probably wouldn't understand everything that was going on. Because of this, she decided not to say anything, until things were more calm.
And it was then, when Micháele treated Sol as someone who was not refined enough to meet his standards, when Stella finally decided to answer back.

"Lord Micháele, I don't think someone more... refined, as you put it, would be necessary. I've seen enough of Miss Aibhilín to know she's capable of that, and of far greater things. While I agree that manners are important, I do not believe that she should be treated this way. From now on we're comrades. It is imperative that we collaborate, that we work together, if we want this to be a success. And I believe we all want." Stella grinned cockily to Micháele, before softening her smile to Sol and August. She didn't want to seem a rebel, but she did believe that team-work was important, and the lord wasn't helping. At all. After the man bid farewell to the group, Stella followed Sol outside, and inhaled the fresh air again. The tent's air was certainly more dense. Partially because of the tense moments that happened inside, but also because it was a closed place. Stella thought about her home. She had always enjoyed open places, like forests, rivers, coasts... but she had to admit she always loved the rich houses, rooms, and places she used to be at, when she was younger. She always admired the aesthetic beauty of those places.

She stared with surprised at the offering of sacrificing an animal, but was a bit relieved, as she saw Sol was joking, or at least she thought it was just a joke... "Well... I have my sword, my basic equipment... I'd need potions, probably. I prefer mixing stuff than creating stuff... not that I can't do it, but... oh, and some powders would be nice, too." she decided not to mention she was a healer, although by her request it was probably obvious anyway.

"So, tell me, Miss Solstice... what is your story with that lord... I do dislike him, as well, but you seem particularly... how to put it... hostile, in a way." she smiled, trying not to sound annoying.

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((August))

"The sacrifice of an animal is only permitted in times of great need." August explained, missing the joke, "I do not think this counts. A simple offering of sage and rhular soaked in crai should be enough." He used the tribal name for alcohol.

August remain silent after that, taking in the sights and sounds of the busy market place. He noticed a number of shops selling goods that he did not recognize. He took a moment to analyze the items, but did not ask what they were for. He half listened to the two women discuss the 'finer' qualities of the Lord. It mattered little to the large man. He had pledged his sword (or axe, as it were) arm to the man, and he intended to carry out his vow.

As the sun rose, the heat from the street began to rise. This was the second time he had been in a proper city. The first time was with his father, he was just a child then. The city was still as large and imposing as ever. August marveled at the structures all around him, and the crushing waves of people. In the market place, he felt like he was in the middle of a battle field, except there were no sides. Each person had their own goals, moving in their own directions.

"Coarse stone." He announced quite suddenly. "Or an equivalent, to keep my blades sharp."

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((Jean-Baptiste Montague))

As if her puffed cheeks their selves did not make the child look silly enough, the girl was almost perilously trying to increase the hilarity by turning the crystal into all angles and seeking for her most ridiculous reflection. The owner of the outlet however, was not nearly as amused as his young customer. "That's one expensive toy you're playing with lassie." He lectured the girl with a faint, but more importantly; fake, smile. "Put it back before you break it." The shimmer of yellow teeth and the disturbance contained in his dark green eyes were not getting through to the child. Without turning around, she bent her neck over her shoulder and looked at him suspiciously, inspecting him from top to bottom. It was as if this child was judging him.

"Hey whelp! Do as I say!"

She was clearly not of noble heritage. The simple clothes she wore had made that clear and this image was endorsed by the fact that she had come unescorted. But seemingly unimpressed and undisturbed, the girl returned to what she was doing. The storekeeper hesitated. A mere brat, was what she looked like, but when a child that looked as if she had barely entered her teens remained calm after a shout of his, it could only mean one thing; thief. Clearly she was confident that her legs could carry her faster than the shopkeeper could ever run. He grumbled. What she played like as a toy was a precious artifact worth much more than a couple of shillings. If she had eyed of high birth, the storekeeper would have gladly let her toy with the stone. But how could he retake his crystal now? Would she notice him, if he attempted to block her escape route? A gamble was worth his bet. At any moment the child could grow bored and make her escape, in which case all was lost. Nervously the man circled around the girl, who on her turn glanced at him and carefully kept her eyes focused on the move. Clenching the crystal tightly in her small hands and pressing it against her chest. But she did not move. Why did she not move? Had he thrown twelve eyes, or a mere two?

The floor squealed with every step the storekeeper took. While he kept his distance, the girl maintained her position. The man took a step towards her. In retrospect, she took two steps away. "Thief!" the storekeeper growled, now he was confident to have revealed the girl her intentions. Her eyelids clenched as tightly around her pupils as her hands around the crystal. But her lips remained sealed and her posture static. He took another step, she another two. The distance grew. But her back would soon meet a wall. He had to close in fast, before she could find the space to make a run for it. "You got nowhere to run- AH!"

Within split seconds he stared into the face of the owner of the hand he had felt on his shoulder. A man he had not heard coming in. Ignoring the potential customer and the shame that he had been unable to suffocate his scream, the shopkeeper turned around once again following the light sound of quick footsteps that had begun the moment he had turned his back on the girl. And his suspicion had come true, she was no longer there. Inwardly cursing the man started scanning around his outlet with false hopes of finding the thief. But the girl was nowhere to be found.

"Oh, I believe you are looking for Chanson, dear shopkeeper!" He found the now more familiar hand rested upon his shoulder once again. "You must have found her shy, but I can assure you she is plenty adventurous." The storekeeper stared the individual straight in the face. In contrast to the girl, who had been dressed in a simple single piece of cloth and a scarves wrapped around her hair, neck and waist, the red-haired stranger was equipped more formally. But it wasn't the dark travelling cape that piqued the storekeeper, nor his beautiful coat or his leather boots. No, it was the girl who had hidden her body behind that of the man.

"Would you not introduce yourself?" The man pressed. His smile was too gentle for such a sudden cold tone of voice. Was this man expecting an introduction and did he try to discipline the storekeeper when he did not receive one? Either way the stranger seemed to have no doubt whether or not his attempts would be defied. The storekeeper grumbled again, not liking nor trusting the situation one bit. The girl still had his possession in her hands. "Wilfred." He replied hastily when his eyes met those of the other man. But the stranger was not pleased, not satisfied and not hiding the slightest hint of those in his expression.

"I require your full name, if you please, Wilfred." The man stated after a short wait and an uncomfortable silence. "It would not be sincere of you to defy my family name, for when word travels further, so may your customers." That introduced the three to another.

"Wilfred Fronde." The storekeeper admitted, having too much difficulty to raise his attention from the threat of losing a single crystal to the one of the entirety of business. He did not recognize the self-proclaimed lord in front of him and the merchant raised eyebrows. He sold many treasures in many places. Surely he would have recognized a marking of high birth. But this man's were hidden in a collar. Whereas most noble families he had met could be recognized from patterns in more visual areas. Unmistakably however, this man carried a long, thin blade that bungled in its hold next to the fine-woven coat. A necklace encrypted with words Wilfred did not understand fell in front of the man's chest and rings with even more alien words engulfed the fingers of his gloves.

"Wilfred Fronde?" The stranger repeated. Wilfred nodded. "Why is it, Wilfred Fronde, that my Chanson hides from you?"

Now Wilfred had to carefully watch his words, the child was clearly under his protection. Stating his suspicions would do him little good. And yet, he did not fully believe the man his stated birth. "I beg your pardon, sir. I had no idea she was with you." But the stranger frowned and invaded further into the storekeeper's personal space. With his nose hovering but an inch away from Wilfred's, he repeated his question. Clearly the man insisted to have it answered. In spite of his shorter length, the red-headed stranger seemed to have no issue intimidating the living hell out any storekeeper. Wilfred could feel the man's breath on his chin and his eyes piercing those of his own. The grip on his shoulder had returned and tightened more than ever.

One again he repeated: "Why does she hide from you?" A hint of restrained viciousness was noticeable in his voice, hardly, but for the listener it was difficult to ignore. And that listener shook his head. He knew that he should not blame the girl. Thief or no thief.

"I am at fault, please, forgive me-"

But the stranger shook his head. "Is it so hard for the common man to answer a question?" He mumbled more to himself than to the shopkeeper and let go of the man's shoulder. "Chanson," he began with a considerably more friendly tone and smile as he turned and knelled to the girl, "Could you tell me why you hide from this man?"

"This man claims me a thief, Jean. He says I will break his crystal." The girl replied to the red-haired man, while she pointed her finger in the storekeeper's direction. "He then yelled. He then approached me. He would not inquire."

Jean returned his eyes to the figure of the storekeeper and slowly stood up. A short sigh escaped from his lips before he finally spoke again. "I understand you suspicions, Wilfred Fronde, my Chanson is adventurous, but shy. She is of course, but a child. However, we shall take no offence." Those words clearly relieved the storekeeper, who dropped and relaxed his tense shoulders and repositioned his shivering legs. "What I do take offence for, is your disrespect. One of your birth must know it is no less than proper to introduce himself and should not take my questions so lightly not to provide a satisfying answer. I shall leave with a warning, Wilfred Fronde. Heed it, for your next actions may be received by a man less forgiving."

"Oh, and Chanson. Would you kindly return Wilfred his merchandise? We are no thieves, are we?"

The girl nodded and put the crystal back where she had found it. Without deeming the storekeeper worthy of another look, Jean and Chanson swiftly left Wilfred's outlet. That left the man breathless and petrified in his own store. Only to be woken up by another unfamiliar voice minutes later, "Excuse me, how much do you charge for..."

--------------------

"I concur, my beloved Chanson." The child had hesitated to believe Jean's words. She would not accept if Jean would wish to introduce her to a stranger. But little did Jean-Baptiste care for her concerns and he continued, "She is not the woman I would hold for a mother, you must believe me, yes?" And he awaited a nod or any other form of confirmation. Chanson obliged. "I must admit her name escapes me, but she is not a woman easily forgotten. And what man would I be if I forgot about any who once flew under my wing? Certainly, you must be introduced."

Any argument about this matter with Jean was a lost cause, Chanson knew that better than any other and Jean knew Chanson better than any other. And hence the pair started moving through the busy market place in a rapid pace. Her hand clenched to Jean's tightly, who pulled her through the masses on this hot day. He put a little more strength to his grip when he felt that Chanson had started sweating. No wonder, on such a hot day. The tumultuous market moved in many directions and would occasionally slow them down. Their pace was unaffected however, as Jean would simply maneuver around or push through whenever he saw an opening. And while Chanson focused on the many legs that crossed and blocked paths and then on Jean's and then on the narrow moments she had time to calculate how not to bump into anyone, Jean himself studied the three persons ahead. Of course, there was the Sky Fighter whose name he could not remember. She was a loud, brutal woman. But no less than often she had been praised as a dependable comrade. Her two companions, Jean did not recognize. One of the two however, easily stood out. An incredibly large tribesman. Little men of Ista could compare to the sheer bulk that was bred in the tribes. Bred. As Jean's impressions were his father's. Barbarians, beasts even, that is how Émeric Montague had described their kin. It made Jean ponder, why would a barbarian be searching for in a place like this? Certainly not horses to eat.

The other companion, a small, well-dressed woman, Jean-Baptiste paid little attention to, as his time to, had been cut short. "It is truly magnificent to find another familiar face!" The man exclaimed! "It has been long since I have seen yours. How do you fare these days, my lady? Whispers tell many stories, of course, but these fall apart in the shadow of a first-hand tale!"

He paused, and took his final steps and then waited for Chanson's. The girl was panting, but regardless her ever-observant and suspicious eyes accompanied her blossomed cheeks. But Jean remained cheerful and smiled. "Please, do us the favour of introducing us to your companions."

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((Solstice))

"The sacrifice of an animal is only permitted in times of great need," the great man beside them mentioned in his calm tone, "I do not think this counts. A simple offering of sage and rhular soaked in crai should be enough."

Sol inwardly cackled with glee – outwardly showing a poorly smothered grin – and gave August a friendly slap on the tall, fur-covered curve that was his shoulder. “I do believe you’re correct, my friend,” she replied, inclining her head with a smirk, “Excuse my ignorance.”

Stella merely looked relieved, clearly understanding the tease for what it was. Sol grinned fully. She didn’t think it’d be so bad having a ‘team’ anymore; sure, she would’ve preferred to have been able to disappear off on her own and get some good exploring in, but as parties go, this wasn’t a bad one. Not like the wyrm, Micháele...

"Well...” started Stella, continuing the conversation off from where it had begun and Sol turned her attentions once more to the dirt paths, leading them to the edge of the city proper. So... fanatical... about this ship these people were, the city had scarce enough resources to hold everyone – hence the myriad of tents erected upon the plains that fringed the city. The small group picked their way through the labyrinth of bright cloth and tripping guy-ropes, finally entering the town proper, leather soles slapping against rounded cobbles. “I have my sword, my basic equipment... I'd need potions, probably. I prefer mixing stuff than creating stuff... not that I can't do it, but... oh, and some powders would be nice, too."

“That’ll be this way, then,” Sol responded, swivelling on her heel and taking a sharp right turn into an alleyway full of canopied stalls. Already the scent of bread and cooked meat wafted upon the breeze, causing the sky-fighter’s stomach to growl. First the apothecary’s stand, she mused to herself as they walked, mentally mapping their route through the marketplace, then the Three Ships to break our fast... then the smithy, she finished, idly wrapping her hands around the hilts of her blades. She would need a new whetstone and oiling cloth – the last, she remembered wryly, had been soaked by the storm they had flown through three nights ago.

So absorbed she was in her mental planning, that Sol almost missed Stella’s question. Restraining the want to spit, her face moulded itself into an expression of distaste instead. “He is a coward and a traitor, and not fit to serve his position,” she spat, “He will never admit to it, but he once entertained the idea of serving a period in the Military Guild-”

They had reached the apothecary stand and Sol stepped to one side, allowing Stella to see the tradeswoman’s goods. “Long story short: he bought his way in, lost his nerve at a crucial point and blamed an incident on one of his comrades. In return, he got a promotion.” The Sky-fighter studied the spy as she eyed each herb and potion, putting a few to one side to purchase. Sol remembered her vaguely – though she had been absent so much recently from the guild that it was hard to say how long the other woman had been there. “You know the code,” she said fiercely, turning to assess the crowds with her eyes narrowed, “You don’t bail out on each other.”

"Coarse stone," came the deep voice from beside her and, turning to look at the speaker, Sol raised an eyebrow. "Or an equivalent, to keep my blades sharp."

“A whetstone,” she answered him, “I have need of one myself. We’ll go there next.” Her stomach could wait: if Micháele wanted them outfitted, then she would do so – more for the logic in it than respect for the man. If they were to travel with her, she would see them outfitted with all the supplies they could carry – all the better to help keep them alive...

She was just about to continue – for she wouldn’t go without mentioning the meal at least – when a loud voice made itself heard over the incessant buzz that was the busy marketplace. "It is truly magnificent to find another familiar face!”

Turning with a frown to see who was being spoken to, her turquoise eyes lit upon a distant and at once familiar face. Her brows lifted as she raised an eyebrow, a small smile twitching at the corner of her lips. “Well, if it isn’t old Jean...” she murmured in amusement, taking a step forward as he continued to stride towards her, a small child trotting along behind him, palm caught in his large hand.

The man fair beamed. “It has been long since I have seen yours,” he said amicably, still a few paces away. Sol folded her arms and watched him approach. “How do you fare these days, my lady? Whispers tell many stories, of course, but these fall apart in the shadow of a first-hand tale!” He drew up in front of them, the girl jogging the last few steps to catch up. “Please, do us the favour of introducing us to your companions."

“I fare as well as I always have, Jean,” Sol answered, inclining her head with her usual quirked smile and ignoring the title he gave her. Jean-Baptiste was a nobleman at heart and as such – in Sol’s eyes at least – his strange mannerisms had to be expected. “Though you look more burdened than when I saw you last.” Sol gave a nod in the direction of the small teela that glared suspiciously at her from the soldier’s side. Jean had always been a strange one – for a soldier... Sol hadn’t known him on a personal level – mind you, she didn’t know anyone on a personal level but Crya – so indeed it was possible he’d had a family. As to why he was here with a child of all things was another matter entirely.

“This,” she continued, standing aside to allow her two companions into the conversation, “is Stella Oceane and August Wind – a healer-spy and a warrior-diplomat – that I am charged to ward in this grand mission to the stars. Guys, this is Jean-Baptiste Montague. He was my Wing Commander a few years past; we’d best hope he’s come to join and not hinder this mission – he’s got the most silver of tongues I know...”

"Anyway." Sol turned her gaze back to Jean's, raising her palms, "Stella's just picking up some ingredients and August and I need to find the smithy. We shan't be long and then I plan on a visit to the Three Ships; you're free to join us if you will?"

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((Stella))

As they walked between the numerous tents, looking for a place to buy the stuff Stella needed, she realized how similar this place looked like those food markets back home. Those she saw from her room. So many bright colors, so much people wandering around, without a specific direction, ... it was then, that she noticed one thing she would never have from her room. It was the scent of many things; bread, meat, and a lot more things. Of course, she had been to a few places like that, but it never ceased to amaze her...

Right then, Sol answered her question, about the lord. He is a coward and a traitor, and not fit to serve his position. He will never admit to it, but he once entertained the idea of serving a period in the Military Guild- she seemed strangely absentminded, when they entered the apothecary's stand. Long story short: he bought his way in, lost his nerve at a crucial point and blamed an incident on one of his comrades. In return, he got a promotion. Stella eyed each and every herb and potion on the place, as exhaustive as she was, she would want to have as many supplies as possible. After all, it's not as if they knew where they were going... she put a few things aside, and handed them to the woman taking care of the store. "This will do. How much is it?"

She turned to Sol. "I can't believe we're using the title 'lord' with such a... worm. Wait, nevermind that. It would be insulting worms, actually. Are you serious about what he did, anyway? I can't believe it... that's... well, just as you said, that's terribly coward. And coward people are never fit to serve a high ranking position." she realized for a moment that she was speaking like her father, and this thought made her shudder. "Not that I know what someone should to when being that important, but I'm sure being a coward weakling can never help, for sure. And also, especially, if he's ready to place blame on anyone else just to save his behind."

You know the code, you don’t bail out on each other. And Sol was right. Of course you'd never do that. Not in the Militant guild. Of course, the groups weren't exactly allied, but their basics remained the same. "I know... people like him make this world the wretched place it is, today..." she smiled at Sol. "I do share your opinion on him. I admit I have never known him that much, but still thought I'd have to show some respect... I might have to re-think that. Right?"

Stella finally turned to the woman on the store, and gave her a few shillings. "Thank you". And turned to Sol and August, who were now talking about weapon-stuff. And then, all of a sudden, someone greeted Sol. Someone that knew her, it seemed... and when Stella faced the man... surprise.

She let the two of them talk for a bit, until, finally Sol introduced her to the man. Not a specially tall man, but he sure looked strong. Red hair, brown eyes. She did remember him. Probably he wouldn't know her, though, or maybe he would? "Well, well... look who's here... Montague, hm!" she smiled faintly, mildly sure that he wouldn't recognize her. "I'm done with my stuff. I'll follow to wherever you guys are going."

She looked at the little girl with some curiosity. She didn't look like a noble child, of course, which was intriguing...

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((August))

August eyed the newcomer. His hand briefly went to his axe handle, but he lowered it when Sol acknowledged the man. He stayed for the brief introductions, and found this colorful man confused him with his quick speech and long words. While the three discussed things he knew little about, August excused himself with a short grunt, and moved to the smithy's area, looking for this 'whetstone' Sol had spoken of.

August approached a man who's face was smeared with smoke and sweat. He was bent over a forge, and straightened suddenly when August hailed him. "Seerah." August called to him, using his native tongue for the word Forger. "I would like some help."

The Smith pulled out a rag, and whipped the soot off of his hands, "What can I do for you sir?"

"I am looking for something called 'whetstone'. Do you know where I can find some?" The large man asked.

The Smith gave him an odd look, "Sure, I can sell you a whetstone myself. How many do you need?"

August seemed to think about this for a moment, then drew his axe. He set it down with a thud, and showed the blades to the Smith. "How long would one keep this weapon sharp for?"

"Hmmmm..." he said with a appraising look, "I suppose it would last for several months at least, depending on how often you use the weapon."

"Then you best give me two, no, three. I do not know how long I shall be gone for."

The blacksmith moved about his stall, handing August several whetstones. August rummaged in his money pouch to pay the man. After handing over far too much tender, August wordlessly turned and set out to find the group. He nodded to Sol as he returned to the group, and held up his spoils.

"Whetstone." He said with a grin.

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((Jean))

Two words identified the woman to anyone in a heartbeat. Sol's name instantly returned to Jean as she nodded towards Chanson; "Though you look more burdened than when I saw you last."

"Manners, Aibhilín."

But Solstice paid no attention, or did not hear them, as she continued introducing her two companions to Jean, tripped in a sneaky sarcasm about the voyage and made her previous wing commander known to Stella and August. Of which the latter quickly left after the exchange of names. Not to Jean's surprise, he was a barbarian after all. A rough grunt was his substitute for a note of absence? Jean's father's words made more sense to him now he could witness one of the tribesmen in person. Previously Jean had barely been able to relate the tales to the people. But swiftly, his attention was redistributed over Chanson's tightening grip on his hand and Solstice' words. "We shan't be long and then I plan on a visit to the Three Ships; you're free to join us if you will?"

Stella Oceane quickly replied to her fearless leader and the nobleman did not take any hesitation with his either; "Why I would love to, Solstice. But you must agree; I could not possibly take my Chanson to a drinkery!" Jean laughed as he raised an eyebrow of his own. "Speaking of whom, lady Oceane seems to have her interest piqued! How magnificent!" A playful grin played on his lips with the passion any father would have with the chance to introduce a newborn child. Except that Jean's excitement had never truly subdued and showcased itself every opportunity it would receive.

"Be not afraid, my Chanson! Surely no member of the guild would mean us any harm." Jean smiled gently at his adopted daughter. He pulled her forwards into the vision of the two women. Chanson almost tripped when she tried to resist the sudden swing, but having caught her balance did not mean having caught her dignity, which had fell and broke on the ground beneath her feet and she stared at the shards while Jean did the talking.

"May I introduce you to my Chanson? Her shyness colours her, you must agree. One would not believe it at sight, but she possesses a most enchanting voice. Why, the name I gave her is the word for 'song' in my language. If you only knew how truly befitting it is of her..." A sigh escaped Jean's mouth with his last phrase, visibly saddened by Chanson's shivering posture. She didn't even look up for a mere second. "Chanson, this is Solstice Aibhilín," Jean continued. "She is a fine warrior whose service I previously enjoyed. I believe she has already introduced us to Miss Oceane." But it made no difference.

"Whetstone." A voice boomed. It had come from the tribesman August. He had returned and his face was beaming. The man had purchased what he needed, Stella Oceane had mentioned her expenses were covered and the three would now head to the Three Ships. Jean nodded to the party in acknowledgement to the situation and Chanson saw her cue to hide her small body behind Jean's.

"It has been of great pleasure to speak to you, Miss Aibhilín. It has gracious been to make acquaintances with your companions also. No matter how short it may have been. However, I must beg your leave. I am certain we shall meet again before the ship sails." And with another nod or two, to Stella and August respectively, Jean made his leave, once again with Chanson trailing behind him in their two-bodied parade, making their way through the tumultuous market crowds, heading for Ciel and Gaia-know-where.

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((Solstice))

“May I introduce you to my Chanson?” the nobleman enquired – in a tone that wouldn’t take no for an answer nonetheless, “Her shyness colours her, you must agree. One would not believe it at sight, but she possesses a most enchanting voice. Why, the name I gave her is the word for 'song' in my language. If you only knew how truly befitting it is of her..."

Sol surveyed the small figure trembling beside him with her bright gaze, raising a subtly disbelieving eyebrow. She had enough respect for the man not to speak outright, but the child’s posture bore no trace of the picture he painted. Certainly, this could be no daughter of his; if she was, then she must’ve taken all her traits from her mother, for there was hardly a sign of the bubbly leader beside her – both in her appearance and mannerisms.

"Chanson,” Jean said to the girl, seemingly ignoring the swordswoman’s silence, “this is Solstice Aibhilín. She is a fine warrior whose service I previously enjoyed. I believe she has already introduced us to Miss Oceane.” Sol made a soft humph of scepticism, turning her raised brows upon the man as her lips quirked. Enjoyed? As far as she knew, no one enjoyed her service... appreciated, yes, but enjoyed...?

Smiling despite herself, the woman noticed August returning almost silently to their side, holding up his spoils and positively beaming. “Whetstone,” he stated proudly in his deep, calm voice and unable to help herself, Sol grinned at him in return, shaking her head in amusement.

“Good for you,” she replied with a nod and readjusting her crossbow on her back, she turned back to the nobleman, intending to get an answer from him. Her stomach was positively growling by now – especially since the fuzz in her head had faded – and she was determined to get a meal in before something else distracted them. However, Jean beat her to it.

"It has been of great pleasure to speak to you, Miss Aibhilín,” he stated formally, finally allowing the girl Chanson her wish to tuck herself out of the strangers’ sight, “It has gracious been to make acquaintances with your companions also. No matter how short it may have been. However, I must beg your leave. I am certain we shall meet again before the ship sails."

“I’m pretty sure if Micháele gets his way we will, at least,” Sol muttered, but she inclined her head in a short bow anyway, adding, “Until then, then.” And with that, the strange pair began to weave their way back through the cobbled streets.

Watching them go, the sky-fighter’s stomach gave another audible rumble, and she turned to meet Stella and August’s gaze. “Right,” she said decisively, “Let’s--”

Sol frowned in mid-sentence, small squeals of pain and indignation filtering through the morning cacophony of the crowd to her sensitive ears. The sounds were coming nearer, building in intensity as whatever caused the commotion hit the main bulk of the throng and barrelled through it, heading in their direction. Automatically, Sol slid out one of her swords, holding it in a loose grip at her side and turning fully to face the alleyway’s open entrance. She could see people scattering – either running to get out of the way or simply leaping to one side – and suddenly, the source of the outcry became clear.

Sparks skittered across the stone as a fine chestnut bay skidded around the street corner, iron-shod hooves ringing upon the smooth pebbles. Lathered and blown, the exhausted beast rolled it’s eyes to show the whites as the rider drew in the reigns at the sight of Sol, his own gaze wide in panic. Gripping the worn hilt of her blade in readiness, the sky-fighter glared – preparing for a fight – but instead of approaching, the man kept a wary distance, attempting to keep his mount still as it danced across the cobbles in agitation.

“Soldier!” he called breathlessly, tugging at the reigns to wheel about before them, and just as the stranger had recognised her garb, her eyes caught at the silver guild emblem emblazoned on his cloak, “An army approaches!”

Sheathing her sword in one swift motion, Sol strode forwards, grasping at the horse’s bridle to hold it still as she turned her attentions on the man. “From where?” she enquired sharply with a frown, “And for what purpose?”

Still catching his breath, the rider pointed in the general direction of the great lake. “They’ve come to stop the mission,” he gasped, lowering his hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. Sol could see small, irregular, burnt-orange markings at the outer corners of his brown eyes; he seemed to be a runner and no more, yet he knew enough to know the gravity of the situation, for fear made his face pale, despite his exertions.

Making a split second decision, Sol released the runner’s steed. “Go find Micháele,” she ordered and before the soldier could answer, she had slapped the chestnut on the rump, sending it galloping off into the streets once more. Spinning on her heel, she ran back to Stella and August, giving each a slap on the shoulder as she passed. “Let’s go! Jean?” Without checking to see if he had even heard – let alone followed – them, the sky-fighter wound her way around the crowds, out of the constricting alleyways and on to the plains, leading the way through the tents towards the distant shimmer of the lake. Already she could see two low, black smudges at the water’s distant edges – far right and far left – where the army had trudged around the lake’s shoreline and were now beginning to regroup again. Stilling at the outer edge of the encampment, her companions coming to rest alongside her with the myriad of multicoloured tents at their backs, Sol glared at the gathering mass – virtually out of sight as they were – and made a low noise in her throat. “Great.”

Putting her fingers to her lips, the sky-fighter whistled sharply. “A few hours away, I reckon,” she said then to the group at large, lowering her hand to rest it upon the pommel of the sword at her hip, “He must’ve continued through the night without stopping, the fool.”

Listening to the steady beat of wings, Sol barely blinked as a huge black shape landed to her right, a single ebony feather floating past her gaze as Crya landed softly upon the cool grass. Sunlight glinted gold upon his steely beak and piercing dark eyes as the woman moved over, digging a hand deep into his thick feathers while the Roc pecked reproachfully at her hair. He was right: she usually called him earlier than this... Still, she had her contract to consider and overseeing the needs and safety of Stella and August was her primary concern.

Releasing a heavy sigh, Sol turned a wry smile upon her companions and charges. “Best wait for Micháele, then, eh?” she told them regretfully, “He is the man in charge, after all...”

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“May I introduce you to my Chanson?” the nobleman enquired – in a tone that wouldn’t take no for an answer nonetheless, “Her shyness colours her, you must agree. One would not believe it at sight, but she possesses a most enchanting voice. Why, the name I gave her is the word for 'song' in my language. If you only knew how truly befitting it is of her..."

Sol surveyed the small figure trembling beside him with her bright gaze, raising a subtly disbelieving eyebrow. She had enough respect for the man not to speak outright, but the child’s posture bore no trace of the picture he painted. Certainly, this could be no daughter of his; if she was, then she must’ve taken all her traits from her mother, for there was hardly a sign of the bubbly leader beside her – both in her appearance and mannerisms.

"Chanson,” Jean said to the girl, seemingly ignoring the swordswoman’s silence, “this is Solstice Aibhilín. She is a fine warrior whose service I previously enjoyed. I believe she has already introduced us to Miss Oceane.” Sol made a soft humph of scepticism, turning her raised brows upon the man as her lips quirked. Enjoyed? As far as she knew, no one enjoyed her service... appreciated, yes, but enjoyed...?

Smiling despite herself, the woman noticed August returning almost silently to their side, holding up his spoils and positively beaming. “Whetstone,” he stated proudly in his deep, calm voice and unable to help herself, Sol grinned at him in return, shaking her head in amusement.

“Good for you,” she replied with a nod and readjusting her crossbow on her back, she turned back to the nobleman, intending to get an answer from him. Her stomach was positively growling by now – especially since the fuzz in her head had faded – and she was determined to get a meal in before something else distracted them. However, Jean beat her to it.

"It has been of great pleasure to speak to you, Miss Aibhilín,” he stated formally, finally allowing the girl Chanson her wish to tuck herself out of the strangers’ sight, “It has gracious been to make acquaintances with your companions also. No matter how short it may have been. However, I must beg your leave. I am certain we shall meet again before the ship sails."

“I’m pretty sure if Micháele gets his way we will, at least,” Sol muttered, but she inclined her head in a short bow anyway, adding, “Until then, then.” And with that, the strange pair began to weave their way back through the cobbled streets.

Watching them go, the sky-fighter’s stomach gave another audible rumble, and she turned to meet Stella and August’s gaze. “Right,” she said decisively, “Let’s--”

Sol frowned in mid-sentence, small squeals of pain and indignation filtering through the morning cacophony of the crowd to her sensitive ears. The sounds were coming nearer, building in intensity as whatever caused the commotion hit the main bulk of the throng and barrelled through it, heading in their direction. Automatically, Sol slid out one of her swords, holding it in a loose grip at her side and turning fully to face the alleyway’s open entrance. She could see people scattering – either running to get out of the way or simply leaping to one side – and suddenly, the source of the outcry became clear.

Sparks skittered across the stone as a fine chestnut bay skidded around the street corner, iron-shod hooves ringing upon the smooth pebbles. Lathered and blown, the exhausted beast rolled it’s eyes to show the whites as the rider drew in the reigns at the sight of Sol, his own gaze wide in panic. Gripping the worn hilt of her blade in readiness, the sky-fighter glared – preparing for a fight – but instead of approaching, the man kept a wary distance, attempting to keep his mount still as it danced across the cobbles in agitation.

“Soldier!” he called breathlessly, tugging at the reigns to wheel about before them, and just as the stranger had recognised her garb, her eyes caught at the silver guild emblem emblazoned on his cloak, “An army approaches!”

Sheathing her sword in one swift motion, Sol strode forwards, grasping at the horse’s bridle to hold it still as she turned her attentions on the man. “From where?” she enquired sharply with a frown, “And for what purpose?”

Still catching his breath, the rider pointed in the general direction of the great lake. “They’ve come to stop the mission,” he gasped, lowering his hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. Sol could see small, irregular, burnt-orange markings at the outer corners of his brown eyes; he seemed to be a runner and no more, yet he knew enough to know the gravity of the situation, for fear made his face pale, despite his exertions.

Making a split second decision, Sol released the runner’s steed. “Go find Micháele,” she ordered and before the soldier could answer, she had slapped the chestnut on the rump, sending it galloping off into the streets once more. Spinning on her heel, she ran back to Stella and August, giving each a slap on the shoulder as she passed. “Let’s go! Jean?” Without checking to see if he had even heard – let alone followed – them, the sky-fighter wound her way around the crowds, out of the constricting alleyways and on to the plains, leading the way through the tents towards the distant shimmer of the lake. Already she could see two low, black smudges at the water’s distant edges – far right and far left – where the army had trudged around the lake’s shoreline and were now beginning to regroup again. Stilling at the outer edge of the encampment, her companions coming to rest alongside her with the myriad of multicoloured tents at their backs, Sol glared at the gathering mass – virtually out of sight as they were – and made a low noise in her throat. “Great.”

Putting her fingers to her lips, the sky-fighter whistled sharply. “A few hours away, I reckon,” she said then to the group at large, lowering her hand to rest it upon the pommel of the sword at her hip, “He must’ve continued through the night without stopping, the fool.”

Listening to the steady beat of wings, Sol barely blinked as a huge black shape landed to her right, a single ebony feather floating past her gaze as Crya landed softly upon the cool grass. Sunlight glinted gold upon his steely beak and piercing dark eyes as the woman moved over, digging a hand deep into his thick feathers while the Roc pecked reproachfully at her hair. He was right: she usually called him earlier than this... Still, she had her contract to consider and overseeing the needs and safety of Stella and August was her primary concern.

Releasing a heavy sigh, Sol turned a wry smile upon her companions and charges. “Best wait for Micháele, then, eh?” she told them regretfully, “He is the man in charge, after all...”

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((Kestrel))

The heartbeat of panic was like the rhythm an upbeat drum. With every slam, step or yell, something moved. The tumultuous market had grown more restless, not knowing the details of the event but regardless the people anticipated something was coming. The prelude of the unknown had taken shape of a runner spreading chaotic words throughout the streets and leaving anxiety in his awe.

With the girl on his shoulder, Jean maneuvered his body through the crowds more forcefully than before, trying to find someone who had heard what the fuss was all about. “I demand to know what this uproar is!” Jean announced loudly after two, less blunt but also less successful attempts. He grabbed a crying woman by the shoulder and looked her straight in the face. Her upset eyes told the ex-military man she knew more of the situation, but when her lips moved her voice would not rise above the noise of the market.

“An army is gathering at the gates.” Chanson spoke in Jean’s ear, before the man could ask his question again. He let go of the woman, who vanished within the masses within the blink of an eye. An army had come? But for what purpose would anyone order to attack? And who could have given the order for that manner?

Jean cursed Micháele’s name. What or who had he brought upon these people? He might not have shared Solstice her exact sentiments when it came to the man, but Jean had enough reason of his own not to trust him. And everyone who had previously been under Jean’s wing and was not worthy of his trust, had experienced a very uncomfortable career in the guild. Micháele, however, had been a few notches too high for Jean to decide for. And now he was further out of his reach than ever.

A lone, brave shadow soared over the heads of Chanson and Jean. “Aibhilín.” The latter murmured. The roc’s figure would lead him to Solstice, who was without a doubt already preparing to engage. But first he had to hide Chanson. A thought that had become harder to realize as the masses grew more aware and wilder by the second. Taking her to the field was out of the question, but leaving an unmarked girl in an urban wilderness did not ease his mind either. His own indecision frustrated the nobleman.

“You! Soldier!” Jean’s voice boomed at the first sight of the guild’s emblem and colors. The soldier turned around but did not get the chance to reply to the shouting Jean, who pushed the girl to the man’s chest and pressed a handful of coins in his palm. “Take this and keep her safe.” Jean pressured before wavering the astonished soldier away with his hand. “Don’t you recognize an order when you receive one?” The ex-commander roared, fully aware but ignoring that he no longer held this authority, or that orders never came alongside bribes. “Go, go, go!”

To set power to his demands, Jean did not wait for a reaction, but turned around and adapted a rapid pace in the trail of the giant bird, expecting that his simplistic directions were going to be followed. With two fingers between his lips, Jean blew a whistle. Then the nobleman drew his blade, raised it in the air and began shouting at everyone on his path to make way for him. Jean sealed the sword when he made his way through the alleys and onto the plains. He could already see the trio, or rather the enormous roc, in the distance. They were waiting, conversing perhaps? Jean could not tell. But as far as he was concerned, Micháele had not given any orders yet, for they were the only four.

The shadow Hercule’s wingspan threw was as grotesque as ever. The roc had answered the call and announced its landing with a low cry. Loose particles of the surface flew upwards as they made acquaintance with the last beats of the roc’s enormous wings. In sheer contrast to its impressive size and strength however, the bird was as calm as it could be. The rush didn’t seem to affect Hercule’s docile nature at all. Almost nothing could disturb the roc.

And Hercule’s landing did not disturb Jean’s pace either. His hand sought for quick contact with the bird, but instantly slid away from the brown-feathered coat with his next step.

“What is upon us?” Jean demanded, more than inquired, as soon as he believed to be within hearing distance. He sped his pace further and ran to cover the final ground in-between him and the trio. “Have you received your orders?” He asked, in spite of having already predicted the answer. The vague and unknown did not suit the straight-forward thinking Jean at all.

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((Solstice))

Sol frowned deeply, glaring at the distant hazy smudge on the horizon, the lake’s brighter shimmer flashing at the oncoming enemy’s back. Eyes focussing as much as she was able – it would’ve been so much easier from the air! – the woman attempted to count the opposition, finding it impossible. A black line in a field of blue and green. Quite picturesque, actually...

“What is upon us?” came the familiar call from behind and Sol had neither the need nor the desire to turn to see the man’s face, so she didn’t. In a flurry of dust and feathers, Hercule settled down at a respectable distance away from her ebony roc, who eyed his brethren but made no other sign of acknowledgement. Rocs after all, were primarily solitary creatures.

“Trouble,” she answered abruptly, “A significant amount of it, by the look of it.”

The more experienced soldier drew alongside them, winded only slightly from his run. Sky-fighters did not let age take hold so easily. Not that the man was much older than her... “Have you received your orders?” he enquired, no less bluntly. You didn’t fancy with words at the edge of battle – any soldier learnt it quickly enough, or paid a deadly price.

Sol snorted. “Clearly not. Do you believe I would stand here otherwise?” Luckily, she was saved a retort, for at that moment a rider trotted to their side, turning his horse sideways so as to better see them all.

“Hai, you three,” he said, twitching the reigns in their direction and turning his gaze to meet Sol’s. A single royal-blue diamond lay in the centre of his forehead, marking him as likely one of Michaele’s personal guards, and so she merely raised her eyebrows. It hadn’t been a surprise – in fact Sol had expected it – but she wasn’t one to go without a fight.

“Why?” she asked him cryptically, knowing that he saw she knew his task already, “Can he not bear to see our enemy? Or does he merely think himself important enough to be killed on sight?”

Well trained as he was, the man still blanched in anger, his leather-gloved grip tightening on the reigns, mount dancing beneath him with his agitation. “I am to bring you to Lord Micháele,” the guard hissed through gritted teeth, “Now. It is an order.”

“Oh! Well,” Sol smiled darkly, “if it is an order, then I guess we should attend to his wish...”

Glaring, the man swivelled his dark gaze to Jean’s. “And you,” he said, eyes roving Jean’s face and attire for any sign of rank, clearly noticing the man’s visible lack of facial markings and at last deciding to go for the more tactful option – just in case – “...Sir. I think you should come too.” He nodded once at the two rocs, who were watching him as placidly as though he were a mere insect. “You obviously have experience in these matters and I believe Micháele would be grateful for any extra help.”

Given no other option, Sol shrugged, glancing briefly at her companions for confirmation. “Fine,” she said, raising her palms skyward in exasperation. Pausing only long enough to await Jean’s answer – the guard had clearly labelled him the most senior of the group – the man turned his horse and led them the wider path back around the outskirts of the tents, towards the hideous lemon abomination that signified the council tent. Behind them, Crya took off with the dull thud of heavy wingbeats, heading for the higher vantage-point of the clear skies. He would watch her and follow.

The Lord’s guard dismounted once they neared the yellow canvas box, handing his horse’s reigns to a nearby stable-lad and striding purposefully into the tent’s confines. Trailing lazily behind, Sol stepped in behind him, wincing at the bright citrus glow that suffused the space before allowing her narrowed gaze to settle on Micháele.

“Aibhilín,” he said dryly, with no little irony, “I’m glad you decide to join us. Sir August... My Lady...” Micháele’s bright blue eyes surveyed Jean. “I know you... You commanded Aibhilín’s legion once. Montague, yes?” He nodded, blonde braid flopping over one shoulder; he’d had time to do his hair, it seemed... “Good. We have need of your expertise. If you haven’t noticed, our mission is under attack-”

“...Already...” Sol muttered under her breath, folding her arms with a raised, russet-coloured brow.

Micháele continued, either ignoring her or just deaf to her jibes. “We believe them to be from an island several hundred miles across the sea to our East."

“Overseas?” Straightening, Sol frowned at the lordling, astonished and disbelieving. “How were they not seen before now? We live in a ring of mountains, for pity’s sake! An army that size should’ve been seen weeks ago!” More to the point, she thought privately, I would’ve seen them on my flight here...

There was no doubt now that Micháele was ignoring her. He slid a piece of parchment across the table, the newly cracked wax seal flaking onto the notched wood and the curled black script contrasting starkly with the intense light of the sun through the coloured canvas around them. Sol picked up the old paper and gave it a mere glance, immediately handing it over to Jean-Baptise. Born a nobleman, he had an innate understanding of the flamboyant language used for such parleys. “A letter,” she stated to Micháele, her eyebrows back in their usual position of amused derision.

The Lord surveyed her calmly, his earlier mistake seemingly remembered. “They say our mission is blasphemous,” he returned, “And that we are meddling in the affairs of the Gods. They say that we will bring their wrath down upon the world and all those who dwell within it. They also say they have five thousand men and the most renowned mages of the region to their name. And that they will persuade us by force if necessary.” Micháele mirrored her expression, pale eyebrow rising.

Sol made a low note of disbelief in the back of her throat. “They can try.”

“They will succeed.” His voice was blunt. “We have a mere two-thousand men trained to arms available and few mages specialised in combat. We must try a more... tactical option. And unfortunately, Aibhilín, your little party is the best for the job.” Sol remained silent, not deigning him with an answer, knowing that he was merely goading her as she had done. In any other circumstance, she would’ve welcomed the fight but Micháele’s cowardice once again was his downfall. He had assigned her the job, thinking the danger would scare – or at the least inconvenience – her, but she was a fighter at heart and being at the forefront of the battle was more of a reward than a punishment.

Of course, Micháele didn’t need to know that...

“Aibhilín,” he continued smugly, “You – and Jean-Baptise, if he will acquiesce – will take your birds and scout out the enemy: work out what defences they have and any weaknesses we may exploit. In the meantime, my Lady Oceane will accompany Mister Wind as he serves to offer the Bellanese a parley – an offer that will likely claim their High Priest’s full attention...”

“A distraction.”

“Yes.” Micháele fixed her with a significant look. “I judge the time available will be enough for you to accomplish this task?”

Sol bared her teeth at him in a smile that didn’t quite reach her dark, teal-coloured gaze. “Ample,” she told him, sparing a glance for Stella and August, “As long as you can guarantee my charges will be in no danger – though I believe they could do far more damage than your guards could inflict in a fight...”

“They will be accompanied,” the Lord responded smoothly, raising a single hand to stay the furious lunge of his guard, “By the traditional contingent of arms for a parley. It is unwise to do anything otherwise.” Leaning back, Micháele surveyed those in the room in general. “What say you all?”

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((Jean))

"Clearly not." That was all he needed to hear for now. The lord had given no command. Was the horseman honestly the first messenger? It felt unlikely, by the sight of an enemy so large. Now Jean stood amidst the trio, he too could see the numbers rising from the horizon.

'Impossible.'

Not that any could gawk or gaze at these lines of offence any longer, as the man whose word had been anxiously awaited, had decided to send a mounted messenger. The lord's personal guard, no less; Micháele needed them. Solstice had noticed so without a doubt and engaged the man with more cynicism than the situation called for. Bothersome, but the rider would not be provoked.

"And you... Sir. I think you should come too." Jean looked the messenger straight in the eyes, more calmly than he felt, for every battle could be the edge of the world. It was something any commander learned through the years of service. Never show fear or doubt, but to reply every action with confidence. Micháele's guard disengaged his eyes from Jean's piercing and nodded at Crya and Hercule. "You obviously have experience in these matters and I believe Micháele would be grateful for any extra help."

"I assume he would." Jean replied calmly and nodded back, restraining from eagerly jumping at the puppeteer's strings just to be tangled, but also from a judgment Solstice had been so notorious for. Clearly the rider could not place him very well.

The foursome was escorted back towards the city, accompanied by a steady beat of Crya's wings, while the less concerned Hercule did not take flight. It was unusual for a Roc, but Hercule's hearing had always been better than his sight and Jean knew little could make his trusted companion anxious enough to follow him with more than just his ears.

They stopped at a yellow tent, from which soon, Micháele would enter their sight. The nobleman was not practical, a trait Jean-Baptiste looked down upon. Of course he had been raised with these mannerisms, which pressured the man’s stature, but when it came to battle, they were a waste of time. As was the flick of his forehead, a second that could have cost him his neck in a direr situation… Of course, Micháele had never truly gone to war, so one could not expect too much.

To momentarily silence Sol, Jean-Baptiste grabbed her shoulder and held her back, so that Micháele could finish. In his other, he accepted the letter handed to him, splitting his attention over the words written and those spoken. But both came down to the same; an enemy had gathered to swipe them of Gaia’s surface, were they not to abandon the mission.

But Jean’s control on the woman did not last very long; "They can try." She scowled, but to Jean, Micháele's numbers made more sense than Solstice' morale. Surrender was not a favorable option, but the meaningless death of twothousand men and women at arms even less so. At least Micháele had a plan...

"Aibhilin, you - and Jean-Baptise, if he will acquiesce - will take your birds and scout out the enemy: work out what defences they have and any weaknesses we may exploit. In the meantime, my Lady Oceane will accompany Mister Wind as he serves to offer the Bellanese a parley - an offer that will likely claim their High Priest’s full attention."

Never had Jean-Baptiste liked anything different from a match of skill and morale when it came to the battlefield, but never had an enemy or higher officer cared for such sentiments. The lord's words did make sense; a head-on charge would be suicide - especially if the claims about battlemages were to be true - so the next best option to avoid instant surrender would be scouting and postpone the decision. But Jean was doubtful at best; after all; Roc's did not go unnoticed so easily - the High-Priest was not the only man with eyes after all - and to reach the heights required to avoid full sight, would mean Solstice and he would clim to skies that were deemed perilous. Often they would not provide a sky-fighter with enough breath to last. They'd have to alter height to hide and to survive respectively.

And Micháele would comfortably sit in his chair while others risked their necks and conciousness for his mission. His inexperience in anything but rough tactics showed. The lord made himself comfortable and leaned back... "What say you all?"

To prevent Sol from taking the first word, the ex-commander scraped his throat - buying precious time he required to spell out his answer in his head. "Lord Micháele, given our options, your proposal would seem..." Jean carefully weighed his words, "Favorable." He waited for the satisfaction to settle in, before he continued.

"However; time will be as ample as our breath. A -" Jean struggled at visualizing the idea of August offering a parlay, after all, not only would he appear a barbarian, unfavorable at best in this world, but his short and to the point speech would give Sol and him less space than the flamboyant wordplay of a usual parlay. "- diplomat and a streak alone will not suffice. I do, see a chance of success to this mission, were we given more time. The only way we can be assured of this however-"

The nobleman took another pause for his words to settle in and build up Micháele's anxiety. For he would not easily agree this option, although Solstice most definitely would, and had to be pressured this was their only chance of winning the battle. "- Would be if you were to accompany the party of parlay."

Inevitably, a third break between his phrases commenced as the heaviest shock so far had to settle in. But before Micháele could abruptly refuse - in fact, Jean-Baptiste interrupted the suspected upcoming protest - "The High Priest cannot ignore the command of the mission. With all due respect, but inevitable defeat or surrender will take place were you to refuse, Lord. I trust you are aware of the consequences."

And to a man like Micháele, the consequences were obvious. Defeat would lead to death, imprisonment or demotion, whereas surrender would lead to the latter - Jean-Baptiste would make sure of that. "We have no other option, my Lord. All of us in this room are willing to risk our necks for the cause. It would be most unsettling for the morale of the troops, were you, the head of the mission, to refuse..."

"My lord does put trust in his guard, does he not?" Jean added, pressuring Micháele further to not stand up to him. After all, denying faith in the loyalty and ability of his very own men in front of their very faces could be a grave mistake. "At least you will be accompanied. It is lonely up there you know, in the sky..."

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An army approaches! words like daggers on Stella's body. An army? There? That was not only bad news... it was terrible news!!
To stop the mission, that was their goal. Stella was definitely not planning on allowing them to do that! Not while she was there, and alive!

Everything happened so fast, though. At one second they were waiting for Micháele's orders, and the next one they were being scouted to him. He requested for their meeting, specifically. She didn't like him, for sure. He was not clean with his actions... and then, about Sol had said about him...

Aibhilín, I’m glad you decide to join us. Sir August... My Lady... His eyes swiftly moved to Jean. I know you... You commanded Aibhilín’s legion once. Montague, yes? Good. We have need of your expertise. If you haven’t noticed, our mission is under attack-. It was Sol who interrupted him. Of course she ought to do that. They were under attack, and this man was talking way too much. However, the next information left Stella more than surprised.

We believe them to be from an island several hundred miles across the sea to our East.. "Wait! From an island? That simply is not possible! Sol would have seen them, if they had come with ships...! And.... it should have been spotted... it simply... is not possible... unless they're using some kind of...camouflage, or magic camouflage... I know it's possible, but I'm not sure if it can be done with such a huge army."

She listened carefully to the explanation of what was written in the letter. She would have had no problems with reading it, with the kind of language they would probably use, but if she showed such knowledge, then she would reveal herself as the noble-birth girl she was. But then, Lord Micháele had been addressing her as 'my lady' every now and then, which made Stella feel a bit uneasy. Did he know who she was? Did he feel, or guess, she was a noblewoman? As far as he knew, she was not of higher birth than Sol, and yet the way he spoke to each was so different... she decided she would have to talk with the Lord, at some point, the two of them, if only for the sake of her own information.

"Heh, as long as we're here, they're not ending with this mission. And I might not be a renowned mage of the region, but... I do know some tricks..." as Micháele kept speaking, the tension between Sol and him was getting more and more clear.

"Hear me! I don't want to see this going on! We're absolutely outnumbered, we must work together, closely. So no matter who we like and who we hate, we're on this together. Whether we die or live, we're all on the same boat." she knew it wasn't right for her to speak like this, to someone like Micháele. She wondered if her heritage was something she could have used for her advantage in such a situation. If anything, she would only use it as a last resort.

Aibhilín, you – and Jean-Baptise, if he will acquiesce – will take your birds and scout out the enemy: work out what defences they have and any weaknesses we may exploit. In the meantime, my Lady Oceane will accompany Mister Wind as he serves to offer the Bellanese a parley – an offer that will likely claim their High Priest’s full attention.... Sol had said what they all thought. It was clearly a distraction.

I judge the time available will be enough for you to accomplish this task the Lord spoke, and was answered by a confident Solstice. Ample, As long as you can guarantee my charges will be in no danger – though I believe they could do far more damage than your guards could inflict in a fight...

"I do think we could deal a good damage... but if that's the plan, we will do it the best we can. I honestly can't say I have a better plan. And August's a diplomat, after all."

Jean spoke first, quickly, after clearing his throat.

Lord Micháele, given our options, your proposal would seem...Favorable. However; time will be as ample as our breath. A diplomat and a streak alone will not suffice. I do, see a chance of success to this mission, were we given more time. The only way we can be assured of this however- he stopped for a moment, seemingly weighing his words, carefully. Would be if you were to accompany the party of parlay.

Stella, who was looking around the room while listening, suddenly stared at Jean, then at Micháele. His expression didn't show any emotion, yet. Probably because of the surprise this meant.

Jean continued. The High Priest cannot ignore the command of the mission. With all due respect, but inevitable defeat or surrender will take place were you to refuse, Lord. I trust you are aware of the consequences. And he was right. Besides, having Micháele with them meant they would be taken seriously, which was important. We have no other option, my Lord. All of us in this room are willing to risk our necks for the cause. It would be most unsettling for the morale of the troops, were you, the head of the mission, to refuse... My lord does put trust in his guard, does he not? At least you will be accompanied. It is lonely up there you know, in the sky...

Wonderfully spoken. Noble speech in all its magnificence. He had cornered the Lord to act in a matter of minutes.
"My lord, with all due respect, but I completely agree with Sir Montague here. His words do hold the truth. It is very important for you to show up with us. The fact that we have come up with this strategy must mean they have thought of this possibility, as well. Mages wouldn't be known for their stupidity. If you were to come with us -do not worry, I'm fast, you would be safe if I was around-, that would definitely surprise them, and this would give us the edge. At least at the beggining. Of course, in order for this mission to succeed, we need trust to be something common to each and every of us. We are trusting in your plan, and I have absolute faith in my companions; Solstice, August, and -if he will allow me to call him companion-, Sir Montague. We need you to put your trust on us, to put your trust on your guards, on your people. All our lives depend on that matter."

Not waiting for his reaction, trying to corner him further, Stella turned to Jean and Sol. "I have an idea about the Roc's camouflage... I don't know if it's something you should do, or if they would be allowed to be touched by other hands, but..." seeing it was better if she explained, she decided to go for it.

"You see... our -yours- only problem is being seen by the people below... this gives us an advantage. You wouldn't be flying exactly at 2 feet from the floor, so I came up with a small strategy... we have a market, here! We should be able to find blue pigment. Someone bring that pigment, and water, and we can 'paint' the lower part of the Roc's wings with it. Then, it would be nearly impossible for them to see you, up in the sky... they would only see blue. Of course, a mage would probably know, but I believe it is sure to say that the vast majority of people are not mages, but soldiers. That gives us a little advantage, right?"

She examined Sol's and Jean's face, hoping to have had convinced them. She was sure the idea was worth a try, especially because it was not something that took a lot of time to do. The only problem she had was that she didn't know if the Roc's would allow someone other than their companion to touch them. If that was the case, Jean and Sol would have to do it themselves, which would slow the process a little bit. And it was true, they didn't have that much time available.

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((solstice))

Solstice fairly crowed with laughter at her companions’ responses to the yellow-bellied toad but she held her tongue: Jean’s large hand remained upon her shoulder, steeling her to silence as much as Stella’s assured words, but it was amusing enough to watch the nobleman’s features and so the fighter said nothing. Expressions flashed swiftly across Micháele’s features, a virtual forest-fire of unsaid sentiment that the man was unable to hide with his usual stoic arrogance. Lips quirking, she watched the blonde’s skin blanch at Jean’s words, becoming as sweaty and grey as a garden slug as the noble sky-fighter brushed away his stuttering protests with carefully selected words.

“My lord does put trust in his guard, does he not?” Jean said then in feigned concern. Unable to help her herself Sol grinned, as Micháele flashed a nervous look at his guard’s furious demeanor.

“Well... I mean, of course I...” he flustered, spots of pink embarrassment flushing high on his cheekbones. Behind him, the soldier’s glare became deeper and Sol was pleased to see that not everyone enjoyed being in the Lord’s service.

“At least you will be accompanied,” Jean continued pointedly, saving him from further awkwardness, “It is lonely up there you know, in the sky...”

“Yes, well, I’m sure...” Micháele muttered almost meekly, and against her better judgement, Sol’s grin became wider. A mistake, for the Lord fixed her with his summer-blue gaze, seizing on the familiar antagonist to his plans. “Aibhilín,” he growled, and her face instantly shifted into a snarl of dislike, matching his own, “If this is your way of humiliating me...”

"My lord,” Stella interrupted Sol’s retort in a strong tone that was at once beseeching and unarguable, “with all due respect, but I completely agree with Sir Montague here. His words do hold the truth. It is very important for you to show up with us.”

Giving Solstice one last glowering look, Micháele – with what looked like a humungous effort – composed himself and indicated for the mage to continue. “The fact that we have come up with this strategy must mean they have thought of this possibility, as well,” she told him sensibly and the Lord’s reluctant expression showed he could see her logic was sound. “Mages wouldn't be known for their stupidity. If you were to come with us - do not worry, I'm fast, you would be safe if I was around - that would definitely surprise them, and this would give us the edge. At least at the beginning.”

“Of course,” she said then softly, with a slyness Sol found herself appreciating – indeed it seemed all of her travelling companions had enough intelligence to manipulate the less-than-willing nobleman, “in order for this mission to succeed, we need trust to be something common to each and every of us. We are trusting in your plan, and I have absolute faith in my companions; Solstice-” Sol raised her eyebrow at the astounded Micháele, a small proud smile curling the corner of her mouth, “-August, and - if he will allow me to call him companion - Sir Montague. We need you to put your trust on us, to put your trust on your guards, on your people. All our lives depend on that matter."

Shaking himself, Micháele opened his mouth to reply with a frown, eyes trained disbelievingly on the red-head grinning at him. “You trust-?” he began, but Stella had pre-empted his reply and was already turning to other matters. Her cobalt gaze lingered over Sol’s dull teal, shifting them to look up at the taller Jean’s.

"I have an idea about the Roc's camouflage...” she said uncertainly to the sky-fighter pair, “I don't know if it's something you should do, or if they would be allowed to be touched by other hands, but... You see... our – your - only problem is being seen by the people below... this gives us an advantage. You wouldn't be flying exactly at 2 feet from the floor, so I came up with a small strategy...”

Behind her, Micháele was whispering rapidly with his guard, barely audible, and frowning Sol pulled her gaze away from the muted conversation to concentrate on the woman’s words. “We have a market, here!” Stella explained enthusiastically, “We should be able to find blue pigment. Someone bring that pigment, and water, and we can 'paint' the lower part of the Roc's wings with it. Then, it would be nearly impossible for them to see you, up in the sky... they would only see blue. Of course, a mage would probably know, but I believe it is sure to say that the vast majority of people are not mages, but soldiers. That gives us a little advantage, right?"

Biting her top lip in thought, Sol’s brow furrowed in her indecision. Crya was a stubborn bird – and a proud one too – and he did not like too many people other than his rider; sometimes not even her. Dropping her gaze to the floor, the solider rubbed at her old leg wound unconsciously. Should she risk bringing her charge and Roc into such close contact with each other? As Teela, Sol knew that Stella would be doing no harm but in Crya’s view, the world was often painted in black and white: anyone who approached him was either an enemy, or not worth his attention at all. And yet Stella’s plan was sound – and it was the best option they had. Switching her gaze to frown at the bright canvas roof of the tent, the woman could only hope that the Roc’s mood currently allowed the latter reaction...

“He will be fine I think,” she answered eventually, turning to face Stella once more, “As long as I am there with you.”

“Don’t be a fool!” Sol’s head swivelled rapidly to look at Micháele in pure hatred as he stared at them all, mouth open in the tail-end of a disbelieving laugh, “That creature is more evil than the Eben-wolves! Have you even seen what it did to it’s rider after she tamed it?” He shot an amused glance at the sky-fighter’s furious features, gesturing with an airy hand. “My Lady, if this woman does not trust you enough to tell you her mount is barely under her control...”

“The Rocs,” Solstice spat, finding herself restrained once more by Jean’s strong grip as one of her blades found its way into her fist, “are not animals to be controlled-” The Lord snorted, and Sol nearly threw Jean’s hand off in her rage, struggling to reach the nobleman who was now stood stiffly, his guard moving to his side in an unobtrusive manner. “Crya is a brave, talented, loyal bird-” she snarled furiously but Micháele interrupted again, seemingly enjoying his upper-hand for once.

“Loyal enough to nearly tear out your spine...?”

“He would never abandon his ally on the battlefield,” Sol hissed, pointing her sword at the nobleman’s face, and it was his turn to purple, “He would rather die than-”

“Enough!”

Micháele’s eye were blazing and, in any other circumstance, Sol might have smirked at it but he had taken his insult too far. Her Roc was her sole companion and she knew – as well as she knew the sun would rise each morning – that the bird would do anything for her, despite his fierce temper. That the Lord had even dared call him...

“It seems,” Micháele stated coldly, composing himself rather more than the sky-fighter was able to, “that Sir Montague and my lady Oceane’s plan is the best we have. You will go to the market and procure whatever you need to ensure this strategy succeeds, then you will meet me at the city gates in thirty minutes. Aibhilín,” he finished, “If your bird harms either of your charges, I will personally ensure he is euthanized. Is that clear?”

Stony-faced, Sol sheathed her right sword, shrugging off Jean’s cautionary fingers. “Perfectly,” she snarled, letting her hands rest upon the pommels of his twin blades lest the man forget her skills, “I can assure you Stella and August will be unharmed – after all, it’s only rats that feel Crya’s cruelty...”

Micháele’s bright eyes narrowed. “I suggest you leave, Aibhilín,” he murmured softly, “Before I decide to have you arrested as a threat to your charges’ safety. You will meet me at the gates in half an hour.”

Spinning on her heel, Sol strode angrily from the tent, heading back towards the stone buildings behind the city walls. After a short while, the others fell into step around her, but the soldier made no comment, deigning to glare at the city walls instead. She didn’t care where she went as long as it was far away from Micháele, though part of her hoped that one of her companions at least knew where to find the market again.

((Jean))

Stella's confirmation was most pleasing to the nobleman. Her youthful enthusiasm added strength to his words and the young woman proved hers not to be taken too lightly either. Jean nodded to confirm his status as companion and let Stella speak. Her head been working remarkably quick and she had forged an ingenious idea that might just give them the edge...

"Camouflage?" Jean murmured. "Fascinating..." Painting a roc's feathers and expecting it to stay still was unheard of amongst most of these birds. After all, as predators they were born and as predators they would die. Their hooked beaks were meant to tear flesh and their strong talons to kill and carry; these were the tools and trademark of a roc. Even amongst the sky-fighters, not everyone fully trusted their winged mounts. Some birds were considered just as fearsome as foes as they were as companions. Regardless, Stella's strategy remained sound on paper and even Solstice seemed to have put faith in her newfound ally's tactics; enough faith to allow her near Crya - which was a foreign privilege to most.

"Don't be a fool!"

It was the lord who had erupted. Finally having seen his chance to unleash his discontent, Micháele broke the silence with a verbal assault - his target was the sky-fighter. Solstice bleached in anger at his words as Micháele continued to assault her feathered companion. Jean felt the woman trembling under his palm - struggling with her own emotion. His fingers pushed into the woman's shoulder-blades, reinforcing her to calm down. But to Solstice' temper, Micháele's words were stronger than her ex-commander's grip and her hand drew to the blade’s handle. A single exchange of words followed, and then the steel flashed near the lord's nose.

"Enough!" With a single movement, Jean-Baptiste pulled Solstice' sword-arm out of Micháele's face. Sol then tore her shoulder from his grip, but to Jean's relief the woman managed to find the wisdom and strength to sheathe her weapon. Yet her hands rested on the grips, ready to strike at any given time and remained there until the foursome left the tent. Jean turned around before he took his leave and faced Micháele; "We shall begin our preparations immediately. It would be wise if you would do the same." He shot a look at the guard that had grumbled in discontent before, and then added without turning his head away from the man, "I am certain your men will assist you to the best of their ability. We of the mission all put our trust in you, my lord." And with that and a nod, Jean was off, leaving Lord Micháele with naught but pressure in his awe.

Jean had to run a short sprint to catch up with the others. Hopefully Micháele was left in unease and had none of his arrogance to waver him from paying attention to anything but his contribution; which was now more expected than ever. At the same time, it was not merely the lord’s faults that had cost the entire army treasured minutes. What danger these futile conflicts put hundreds of soldiers in at the edge of a greater battle. Jean empathized with Sol's sentiments, but empathy alone would not undo events or bring back lost time.

When Micháele's ears could no longer reach the party, Jean had decided. Although it took him effort to scramble enough assurance in his tone to convince his own mind, the moment he caught up with her, Jean spoke to she who had paced furiously forward,

"Aibhilín." the nobleman stated abruptly; demanding her attention. "Micháele has cost us enough time without provocation. Restrain yourself." He was completely aware that without his former function, the nobleman had nothing but his title - a far from reliable medium - to rely on. Jean could no longer command or sanction any sky-fighter. Instead he hoped that she thought highly enough of her ex-commander to listen, that her memory failed her, or Solstice’ thoughts would stray away from pride and anger. "As a sky-fighter above all, my lady, you must know our time is precious. It must not be spilled."

His gaze went from Stella to August, then back to Solstice. They had but little time. The rocs better not make this too difficult. Jean trusted Hercule - the gentle giant among its kind. Too confident of its own strength, Hercule believed that its posture alone provided plentiful intimidation. But Jean could not let Stella near without supervision in case she would not recognize an unlikely warning. Crya, however, was a more spirited bird; much like its rider. It was Solstice' mount that Jean feared for. In spite of his blunt and arrogant words, Micháele had voiced the thoughts in the back of the ex-commander's head. Yet he had to remember; there had been but one woman able to tame this roc.

"Lady Aibhilín, lady Oceane, head towards the city gate. Lady Aibhilín, I entrust both birds to you. Give them some time and assurance with lady Oceane." And by 'both birds' and 'them', Jean meant Crya. Although mere minutes of quality-time with the roc would barely make a difference, all the small bits contributed to the final goal. "August and I shall head towards the market and return swiftly." The barbarian certainly looked like he would have no problem carrying his fair share of the pigment and water after all - in spite of Jean's ever-present distrust of the tribesmen; August had to be relied on. After all, Jean might not be able to return quickly if he had to carry it all by himself...

"We must treasure every moment that is given to us. Proceed, quickly." And with that, the nobleman found his path towards the market; leaving the women nothing more but a trail of dust and orders that were everything but official.

((Stella))

Stella smiled gently at Sol, seeing how the latter seemed to agree with her idea as long as she was there, to ensure nothing bad happened. Stella was glad her idea seemed good, and Sol's face apparently confirmed so. Even though she was really curious about getting to the bird's side, she now wondered if it was really safe to do so.

Stella knew that Micháele's words were not to be trusted, but in a way, she couldn't help to be worried by them. She tried to shake thouse thoughts off her head, as she heard then Micháele talking to her. Jean held Solstice, as Stella started getting nervous. The situation got even more tense when Sol and the lord started argueing. Was all of this because of her idea?

"I trust Solstice, and I trust Cyra, my lord. I am well aware of the nature of the Rocs, but I do not fear for my life, not in this time, in our dire situation we mustn't fear!"

With this, she turned around and breathed calmly as she heard Sol sheathing her sword. She walked outside, and turned around her head to lord Micháele. "I won't be hurt. And if I was..." the last words were only muttered, low enough so that Micháele wouldn't hear. "I will personally ensure the Roc is not harmed".

Once outside, Stella followed Sol, until she saw Jean walking forward to talk to the still infuriated Solstice. She decided to wait and not walk to them, since they were probably debating things that were better left alone. If there was something she had to know, she was sure she'd be correctly informed, so there was nothing to worry about.

In the end, Jean and August left to get the materials they needed, while Sol and herself would go with the Rocs, so that she could spend some time to get used to being around them, and also so that they would accept her presence, too.

"Sol... I don't want to cause trouble, for you or for Cyra. If you think it's not possible for me to get near him... We'll try of another way. Also, if you wish to continue with the current plan, please tell me how can I earn his trust, if you do know of a way, that is..."

After saying this, she followed Sol again, who would lead the way until they made it to the birds. As they got there, the sight impressed Stella. How magnificent those two Rocs looked like! Now that they were sort of closer to them, she was able to see how wonderful, graceful and noble they did look like.

Her first reaction was to swiftly get in front of them, and bow quite a lot, paying her respect to both. She hoped they would understand what she meant by that. She respected them and would never want to harm them. Actually, if it could be avoided, she would never want to bother them, knowing contact with humans was, except with their partner, something with they probably didn't enjoy. Or so she had been told...

((Sol))

Damn bigoted, conniving little... The sky-fighter’s furious thoughts were interrupted by the strong tone from behind, followed almost immediately by the sight of the ex-commander’s lean form drawing alongside. Restrain herself?! Spinning on her booted heel, Solstice sought Jean’s measured gaze with a fierce glare but despite herself, she found the man’s calm words soothing her pent-up anger, sealing it away behind well-constructed walls of tact.

"As a sky-fighter,” he told her firmly but carefully, “above all, my lady, you must know our time is precious. It must not be spilled." Irritated by his composure and the effect it had on her, Sol merely grunted in acknowledgement, folding her arms and glaring sullenly. A small part of her that had her brother’s voice reprimanded her for her childishness, but that revelation only served to encourage the glare to deepen.

"Lady Aibhilín, lady Oceane,” Jean continued, after looking at Stella for a moment before turning his gaze back to hers, “head towards the city gate. Lady Aibhilín, I entrust both birds to you. Give them some time and assurance with lady Oceane." His tone said volumes more than his words. Sol stiffened slightly at the reminder of Micháele’s mocking insult but immediately relaxed as she met the elder sky-fighter’s calm gaze. He knew Crya and he also knew she could handle him. "August and I shall head towards the market and return swiftly. We must treasure every moment that is given to us. Proceed, quickly."

Despite having strained against orders from the blonde lordling, Sol respected Jean and didn’t blink twice before beckoning Stella with a tilt of her head. Putting her fingers to her lips, she whistled shrilly. A great black shadow passed overhead, swiftly followed by another – slightly paler – as Hercule also responded to the call, and the two eagles landed a few hundred yards away in a space clear of all but horses. They scattered immediately at the touch of the large birds’ shadows and Sol was sure she saw Crya’s head twitch in derision, even from this distance.

"Sol... “ voiced Stella from beside her as the sky-fighter led her in the direction of the waiting Rocs, “I don't want to cause trouble, for you or for Cyra. If you think it's not possible for me to get near him... We'll try of another way. Also, if you wish to continue with the current plan, please tell me how can I earn his trust, if you do know of a way, that is..."

Solstice glanced sideways at the woman as she walked, tucking a loose coil of her hair behind her ear. “I am used to dealing with trouble as much as I am used to Crya causing trouble,” she answered steadily, returning her gaze to the dark feathered beast, “and I have no doubts of my own skill with him.” She paused, frowning slightly. “He is a very intelligent bird and understands when people mean him no harm, but he has a temper to rival the sun’s and cannot always control how much damage he deals with his irritation.” A few yards away from the Rocs, Sol stopped and met the spy’s clear blue eyes. “Show him respect. If he acknowledges you are not a threat, he will at worst ignore you and try to make things awkward. At best, he will allow you to paint his wings with no movement or any other acknowledgement. In time, he may respect you in turn.”

Stella said nothing, but she seemed to acknowledge her words, for she stepped up before them and quickly gave a bow, eyes downcast. The bigger, chocolate-feathered Roc twisted his head so he could better see her, peering curiously at her in a seemingly calm manner. Sol noted how very much like Jean-Baptise he was in his easy motions, contrasting boldly with the fiery bird on his left. Crya’s wings twitched with tension, talons curling in the dirt as he assessed the newcomer equally, though his head tilted from one side to the other as his golden orbs pierced her small form.

Watching every small shift of muscle, the sky-fighter made soft clicking sounds against the roof of her mouth with her tongue and the Roc turned his gaze upon her instantly. Noticing the lift of a single claw from the ground, Sol moved to stand beside her new friend, challenging the bird’s thoughts. Crya let out a piercing shriek, his wings opening suddenly in angry threat and startling the young soldier at her side so that she unfolded quickly from her bowed position. Hercule seemed almost disgruntled and clicked in reprimand.

Sol waited calmly and eventually he settled, indignantly folding his puffed feathers against his flanks and eyeing her in irritation. Almost as though he was fed up with the sight of her, Crya turned his head away from his rider and stared off into the middle distance. Smiling to herself, Sol moved forward to place a gentle hand on his stomach, beckoning Stella closer.

“Approach Hercule first,” she warned, though her grin was encouraging, “Spend some time with him while I soothe Crya’s temper. Jean’s bird is far more suited to contact than mine and it would be best to start with the small steps first. After a few minutes, you can approach Crya and lay your hand beside mine. Hopefully, after a while, I should be able to leave him with solely your touch and then we will know he is ready.” She looked up at the sun to gauge how much time had passed. “We should be able to get to that point just as Jean and August returns, I reckon.”

((Stella))

Listening to what Sol said, Stella approached Hercule first of all. She knew it was safer this way, for Sol’s roc was a bit more… lively. She bowed once again, though this time not as much as before. After no more than a couple of minutes, Stella was already able to stand close to Hercule and even touch him, without making the roc feel uneasy.

“Crya. I am not doing anything bad. See? Watch Hercule, everything’s fine. See?”

Stella was trying to make little advances with Crya while she was getting Hercule to trust her more. Soon after that, Jean was back already, with everything she needed. A big bag full of white pigment, the tone was also perfect, clear light blue, just as the sky was in that moment. In the other hand, Jean brought a bucket full of water. The bucket was probably big enough to contain enough water for both Hercule and Crya, but just in case she could run out of water, Stella decided she’d use as least water as possible.

First of all, Stella brought the bucket near Hercule, and showed the water to the Roc. After that, she put her hands inside the bucket, and touched the lower part of its’ wings.

“Wet, isn’t it?”

As she smiled to Hercule, she then kept bringing her hands to the water, and then to the lower part of the wings, until they would be completely wet.

“Now we will apply this pigment and your wings will be blue. This way, you won’t be seen from below…”

After a while, Stella’s own hands were also blue, for applying the pigment on the bird meant she also got painted. Not that she cared too much; after all, the pigment should be easy to remove with water. Hercule seemed to trust her, and there wasn’t a single problem while she was painting its wings. She was glad, because that would make the whole thing easier with Crya, who was watching curiously.

After the wings, the rest of the animal’s body was left to do. It was harder, because she would be feeling its belly, which is part of the body which animals try to protect since it’s the weakest. She thought it would be more difficult, but Hercule had probably realized she wasn’t doing anything bad, so everything went smoothly.

Quite a sight, once Stella was done. A half brown, half sky blue roc. She had never imagined she would see such a sight. She smiled at Hercule, thanking the bicolour roc for staying still while she did her work.

“Someone bring me another bucket of water, please. I need to wash my hands before I go to Crya. I don’t want to use my stained hands on such a noble roc…”

She made sure she said this loud enough so Crya would hear her. Surely, the roc would not be so stupid as to believe she wasn’t using flattering words on purpose, but she hoped Crya would, at least, feel soothed by this fact. After Jean brought another –smaller- bucket with water, she washed her hands, and stood in front of Crya. Finally, the time had come. She was sure that her experience with Hercule would help her.

“Let’s see, Crya… we will get along, right? I am not going to harm you… just watch Hercule. See? The fanciest roc in town! Look at the combination of colours… and, Crya, tell you the truth; this is for your safety. This color will help you not be seen by your enemies in the ground, so you will allow me to do this…right?”

Would Crya understand her? It didn’t matter. Stella still thought she had to say this, otherwise she wouldn’t feel at ease. She cupped her hands and took some water, showing it to Crya. The animal sniffed what her hands contained, and upon realizing it was water, and it wasn’t something harmful, it seemed to accept her presence. Crya turned her head away, as if Stella’s presence there was just as important as a rock’s.

This was more than enough. In Crya’s dictionary, this probably meant she was accepted. Stella did the same she had done with Hercule, previously, and soon she was done. She washed her hands again and dried the sweat of her forehead, looking at the spectacular sight of the two bicoloured rocs.

“What do you think? The colour is absolutely perfect! I am sure it will work!”

Finally, she bowed again in front of Crya and Hercule.

“Thank you, both of you.”

She smiled softly, although a bit nervous. There was no reason to fear Crya. It was, of course, just as Sol had said. Being nice and polite to it would be more than enough.

((Jean))

Footsteps like drums, the market was now emptier than before. Many merchants were anxiously packing up, others had already left with their unprotected merchandise in plain site. All over town, nothing around. This made finding pigment much harder. "We need pigment and water!" The man bellowed, but some flighty looks aside nobody answered. Jean nodded to August, directing him to the left of the market and taking the right half himself. The two men were by no means thieves, but time was short. And if they'd surrender these goods would be classified as spoils of war.

Jean wondered about Chanson and whether he had made the right decision to leave her with a stranger. A soldier, of course, but were those colours always trustworthy? Leaving her with a man like Micháele or woman like Solstice would have worried Jean, but he knew that the former could not tarnish his reputation, whereas the latter had a good heart behind her rough and scary facade. This soldier, Jean knew nothing about. It worried him. But could this skirmish be managed without him? Jean didn't like the idea to flee, but Chanson's safety was his first priority, even above that of all these people.

It was August who came back with two large vases - one sealed off, filled with pigment according to the barbarian, while the other remained empty - buckled underneath his equally large arms. Jean tried to calculate in how much they'd need. The rocs were large birds, after all. But this would more than suffice; Jean knew he would struggle to carry something so large by himself once filled with water, and in spite of his impressive bulk, even the barbarian would have it difficult if any more weight would have to rest on his shoulders.

Jean hesitated, but nodded to August in acknowledgement, "Come, I know where to find water." He said, and gestured the barbarian to follow him. The two men trailed the market to the fountain, where they filled the remaining vase with water. After a quick exchange of words and instructions, Jean put the lower ends of the vases on his shoulders, where August took care of the higher ends. The weight was distributed a little more towards the barbarian, but even so, the water turned out to be too much to carry that easily. The two men searched around and found a bag, in which they dumped the bulk of the pigment by which lost the weight of one vase, but together with the water it was still too much. Regardless, Jean sent August ahead with the pigment.

Quickly after, Jean found a large bucket. It couldn't carry as much water as the vase, however. Jean wasn't sure if it would be enough. And even if it was, Stella could not make a single mistake while painting... Still the weight made Jean wonder, how much would it weigh and slow the rocs down?

When the two men returned, Stella quickly went to work. Hercule tensed a little when she wet his wings, but didn't go as far as to give out a warning. In fact, if Jean wasn't imagining things, the Roc slightly enjoyed the young woman plucking his feathers. Much of the water was used however, so Jean signaled August to get another bucket, so he could stay and watch over Hercule, just in case. He then went over to Solstice, quickly expressing a warning about how the rocs might move with a little less agility now. After all, feathers were delicate and light...

When Stella finished painting Hercule, she requested another bucket of water. August arrived with this a mere minute later. Jean went to Hercule to see to it he wouldn't peck at his feathers, although it had trusted Stella, the bird did find her results of her work a little awkward on his body. Jean too made some quick glances at Crya's reactions and Sol's facial expressions while she was watching her bird, but her roc didn't seem to resist or attack either.

((Sol))

The warm wind snapped at her bound hair as Sol squeezed her knees against Crya’s flanks, urging him gently into a subtle curving arc towards the mass of milling soldiers. The faint speck in the distance that was Hercule mirrored the black Roc, his flight-feathers merging in with the blue of the sky until they were almost invisible. The people below, like tiny ants on a carcass, certainly wouldn’t see them distinctly enough to recognise them for what they were; even if some of the dye were to come off, the advancing army would see only tiny dark flecks and would think them no more than a flock of birds.

Twisting in her seat, Sol peered to the ground behind them, assessing the line that had quickly formed at the edge of the tents that bordered the town. She could almost see Micháele in his crisp uniform, striding up and down before a small portion of the defence unit, while a slim, pale-headed figure stood nearby, watching him pace. The Sky-Fighter humphed, turning away: he was probably debating how much protection to take with him when he walked into the enemy’s maw. Still, at least that protection would be Stella’s as well. She had felt a bit guilty for leaving the woman back on the ground – more so that she had to stay with Micháele – but there was no other choice but to go with the plan that had been conceived.

Frowning, Sol let her turquoise gaze scan the sight before her, trying to collect a quick count of the advancing Bellanese. As quoted, there looked to be near enough five thousand men – no supply chain, she noticed with surprise - but from this height, she couldn’t easily identify the High Priest’s mages. They didn’t dare get any closer for now or they were sure to be noticed by the Bellanese leader; the people from Bellan were well known for their ingenuity and it was safer to wait for the Lordling’s distraction – much as she hated to admit it.

Peering down toward the ground, Sol finally saw Micháele and his contingent of guards make their way over towards the High Priest, his cape billowing across the rump of his mount. Stella rode placidly beside him, a picture of elegance – though very likely a deadly one. Sol wondered again to her parentage: her mannerisms were certainly more polite than most. With a shrug to herself, the Sky-Fighter dismissed it, and instead turned around once more to face her distant flight-partners as Crya soared steadily on the air currents.

Unsheathing a dagger, Sol aimed the flat of the blade towards Jean and Hercule and twisted it so that it caught the sunlight, sending a distinct flash of message: descend. Seeing Jean signal his understanding, Sol sheathed her blade and interlocked her fingers into Crya’s soft feathers, guiding him downwards with a gentle squeeze of her knees. She could feel the bird’s muscles protest beneath her thighs, straining for a rapid descent, but Sol’s fist full of down prevented the Roc from doing anything more than a slow glide. The primary objective was stealth and anyone below was likely to notice a sudden aerial movement, camouflaged or not. It seemed that the dyed feathers had put her companion in a rather obstinate mood...

Once they had reached the minimum height they could go without risk, Sol scanned the crowd again, looking for mages. If she could find out how many they had, it would be a vital piece of information for use in an attack. Gaze sweeping over the Teela-spotted ground, she suddenly noticed a fuzziness in her vision – as though she were looking at two overlapping images – and absently rubbed at her eyes. When it did nothing to help, Sol looked up towards Hercule; his dark brown feathers were clear in the crystal skies. Her eyes narrowed, flicking back to the ground: blurred once again. What in the name of Indri’Enis was going on? She daren’t signal for Jean – not when they had so little to tell. Unsure as to what to do, she glanced back to the distant speck of Roc and rider.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

((Micháele))

Micháele almost felt regal for a moment – beautiful Stella swaying at his side as her horse walked serenely beside his own mount – but as soon as his blue eyes returned to the sight in the near distance, he felt more like a man riding to his own execution. Death was death, noble or not.

He had discussed the matter at length with the barbarian – what was his name again? August? – and thought the big man’s logic was surprisingly sound, considering his background. What he couldn’t get over though, was the size of the man’s axe; he could cave his enemy’s skull in with the butt end of it, let alone the blade. A man who could wield a weapon like that could say what he wished: he would have no fear of the consequences. So Micháele had decided to forgo the barbarian’s plan. He hadn’t told him that – there was no way he was going to end up on the wrong side of the man’s axe – but had instead dismissed him to command the battalion behind them. After all, the men were well-trained enough to know what to do if the barbarian’s orders went awry.

Lady Oceane was a delight to have around, though a little reluctant in her conversation. He thought Aíbhilín had probably soured the spy against him. His lip curled slightly at the thought. One day he would be far enough away from that woman that she would no longer interfere in his business. She just seemed to have a way of being there at the wrong moment: like a cockroach in a kitchen inspection. He guessed he could always get Montague promoted, and palm her off to him...? Still, Stella was a tactician herself – all spies had to be to some extent – and so his intention was to allow the young woman free reign over the conversation. Of course, Micháele would nod importantly and agree, like a proper noble should to his strategist, but she would do most of the talking. And then, if things went sour, he could whisk himself quietly away, leaving their escort of fifty men to do their jobs and protect her. It was the safest way to do things.

The crier interrupted his thoughts by announcing his and Stella’s name to the High Priest. Micháele hadn’t even noticed that they had arrived at their destination. The Bellanese leader was an abomination of tanned skin and dull orange splotches – at least the size of a hand – and his bare chest was smeared in some kind of paint. Catching an overpowering scent of iron on the breeze, Micháele almost recoiled: the red markings were blood. Ugh, how he hated barbarian ritualists...

“You!” said the man abruptly, feathered headdress waggling as he shook his head and gestured widely with his arms in the direction of the ship, “You who hold so much arrogance towards the mighty beings who created you! Do you believe that you will win against the great power of the Gods? You, puny earth-bound creatures?”

Instantly, Micháele steeled his features into his familiar expression of cool calm: the one he always used for the reprobate Aíbhilín. “It was never our intention, my lord Priest, to insult the Gods of your land,” he said plainly, and then indicated the Lady Oceane with a single hand, “We send our best warriors into the heavens so that they may understand the beauty of the worlds beyond ours.”

The High Priest seemed to puff himself up, his glare flicking between Stella and Micháele. “It is not your place to know what is beyond this world; that is knowledge for the Gods alone. Your best warriors,” he mocked in a scathing tone, indicating Stella and the men behind them with a tilt of his chin, “are no more than fleas compared to the mighty lords of the heavens!”

Micháele could sense the situation escalating out of his control. Forcing himself not to look for the accursed sky-fighter in the skies above, he looked mildly across to Stella, as though inviting her to speak her opinion on the matter. He hoped she would use the same resourcefulness in this endeavour as she had with the giant birds...

((Stella))

After finishing with the bird painting, Stella had hurriedly cleaned her hands and arms, and soon went back to the meeting point with Lord Micháele. She would never be able to forget Sol's satisfied face as the work was presented to him. Two perfect half-sky-blue rocs, and not a single person harmed by them. Stella herself had been the one to explain that there had been no problem during the whole painting. Micháele scowled, but decided not to waste time in pointless discussions. No matter how unfriendly he was, he wasn't as stupid as to waste time now.

Soon, then, the two rocs along with their partners had taken flight. Stella was given a white horse. Apparently it was a calm animal that came from a good family. It was a horse that would be given to important people who had to attent a meeting. Probably because the animal was beautiful, and it would give a nice impression, before the actual talk. It made sense, for her, and every thing they did would be important, because of what was at stake. Because of this, she searched on one of her small bags. What she was searching for should be there... and it was indeed.

A ring she had been given by her parents. It was silver, and had two small gems attached to it. A red ruby and a green emmerald. Those were her parents' gemstones; the ones that represented them, thus this ring was the junction of their souls. It was meant to symbolize she was their daughter. Ymber, her brother, had the same ring. While her horse started moving, at the side of Micháele, for a moment, she remembered her family. It was a very short moment, but she felt a kind of melancholy. Back to reality, she put her ring on her left hand. She wasn't sure if those people would be able to appreciate such fine jewelry, but if they did, it should have a positive impact on the outcome, if only a very small one.

It was then, that she realized that Lord Micháele was apparently trying to give some small conversation to her. Stella hadn't answered because she was lost in thought, and when she finally had, her speech was rather short and precise. While she was there, as well, she decided to try understanding a bit better his behaviour pattern. She had been intrigued by some things, since she had arrived there. Of course, she had a good opportunity to do so when she was to see how would the Lord deal with the Bellanese.

In the meantime, Stella was thinking about how would it be possible to convince them to avoid getting attacked. If Lord Micháele hadn't been there, she would have thought they were just a distraction. It was his presence there, that unsettled her. Why would he be there, if they were just a distraction? If they were meant to die there, Micháele himself wouldn't come; unless there was someone higher up that would send him there. This option was not impossible, but still. Something did not sit right. Or maybe he would consider fleeing, should a difficult situation arise?

The sound of her horse trotting calmly was one that kept her concentrated. The animal was splendid; strong but not bulky, and it had a good presence. Stella realized that, even if she adjusted to its' movement, the animal would also adjust to her own movement, so the riding was particularly smooth. She gazed to the sky, as if she was in deep thought. In fact, she was trying to see -hoping she wouldn't- the rocs she herseld had painted not long ago. Much to her delight, she wasn't able to see them. Finally, after passing a great amount of soldiers, they maded it to the High Priest.

Micháele seemed to suddenly come out from a trance, as the crier announced their names. "Stella Oceane", she heard. Of course, there was no reason to be worried, but knowing her name was going to be called, she should at least be concerned about it. She locked her eyes on the High Priest's figure. His tanned skin and orange splotches made him look rather dangerous. She looked around, curiously, as she felt a heavy scent of iron on the air. There was not enough iron stuff on there, so why would...?

Stella got the answer as soon as her eyes happened to meet the High Priest again. The paint on his chest. It was red. No question about it; blood. Stella tried to concentrate on her eyes and ears, which besides not receiving as disgusting input, would be more useful now. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath with her mouth, before continuing. She was a bit startled as she heard the High Priest abruptly accusing them of being arrogant toward the Gods. His words didn't seem as the words of someone who would forgive this mistake and stop the attack. Micháele answered, but his words only served the purpose of the High Priest having more reasons to mock them.

And then, just as Stella was wondering how would Micháele deal with such a situation, he looked across to her. She could not believe her eyes. So this was the way he had in mind all along, to be able to go through that situation? Stella felt her blood pressure rise. She looked at Micháele. She could see the fear in his eyes. So it all came down to that, right? At that moment, she realized that whether they were part of a distraction or a genuine attempt at stopping them, it made no difference. She would speak for as long as possible, taking as much time as possible, as well as trying to convince them to spare their lives. Of course, showing weakness was not an option, though...

"My lord High Priest from Bellan". She elegantly descended from her horse, causing a few guards to tense up. She walked two steps forward, so she was in front of Micháele, and bowed, eyes downcast. "First of all, I would like to take this opportunity to thank you for receiving us here; it means a great deal to us". This was the first thing she thought, giving a long introduction would make them seem very open to dialogue, as well as buy some time. "I understand perfectly how you feel about this. We earth-bound creatures should respect the mighty beings who inhabit the heavens from the distance. That is what I, myself, thought, long ago". Speaking of long ago would make them think she was older, therefore wiser, than she was, and saying she once had the same opinion should make the High Priest at least curious about why she changed it.

"Once I got word from this, I felt the decision was taken out of arrogance", Stella could only imagine Micháele's face as she was saying such things; she only hoped he would now not intervene, for she wanted to carry out this little plan. "However, after a lot of thinking, I realized something. We might be earth-bound creatures, but we are also incomplete. Right now, as it stands, we are not wise enough to be able to respect the Gods and their power. We want to visit the heavens so that we might understand everything better, so that we may understand the beauty of the other worlds..." she paused for a moment, pondering which her next words should be. "The respect we have for the mighty beings who created us is the same as your people have. If the Gods did not want us to know what is beyond this world, they would not provide us with the necessary means to do so. We are not so arrogant to think we are pushing our boundaries. We are mere earth-bound creatures, after all. This is why we believe Gods have lay upon us the necessary means so that we may discover other worlds".

Stella wasn't sure if her speech would work. She was sure, though, that she was using all the resources her mind had; and she would have to make sure to remember everything she had said, just in case she was to live to see the following day and she was to pacifically meet with any of the people who were present there. "My lord High Priest", she tried to make sure light hit her jade pendant, and raised her hand, so that the ring was visible, hoping it would make the small but critical impact on what she was to say now. "I, Stella Oceane, personally promise to bring further proof that Gods would accept us knowing other worlds, were you to give me the opportunity to do so". And then, she smiled a secure and calm smile, while her heart was racing.

Stella then locked her eyes on the High Priest's, hoping that she had made a good impression on him. She was glad about one thing, though. Her slow and calm talking had bought quite some time, now, and depending on his reaction, maybe she could still do it for a little longer. However, she had the feeling that what he was to say then would be definitive. Whether it was good or bad.

She thought of her family once again. Father, mother, you have taught me well; I am sure that the use of the knowledge I have received has been of good help to my companions. Let us allow Gaia to decide what will happen now.

Just in case, she mentally calculated the move and strength she would need to do if she was to take the sword out of the sheathe. And she thought of a trump card; one that she would use only if things got really really bad.

((Jean))

The steel stars flickered in the morning sun, as Solstice and Jean-Baptiste exchanged signals. Descending the winds, they closed in on the troops below. Their numbers and formations were first to be confirmed, the mages seemed well-protected; each surrounded by at least a hundred men to their defence. It would be difficult to-

Suddenly, Jean noticed something that was not right. The soldiers beneath Hercule their features became unclear. Surprised he looked forward, where all men’s images were as his eyes were used to, as were the teela he passed again. But below him, it was as if the soldiers were an amateur’s paintings. The sky-fighter pinched his eyes, but they were not fooling him; as a matter of fact the men below became even less clear.

Were they even there? The light was not bright enough to brittle his vision, but nonetheless he shielded his eyes from the incoming sun. Again, something changed – it made the sky-fighter dizzy – it was as if his eyes saw different things. Jean closed his right eye and then suddenly, the majority of the soldiers vanished into thin air; leaving not a trace behind.

Suddenly it struck Jean: it was an illusion; this was not real. They could only partially fool his sight. Quick to seize the opportunity, Jean began to scout for the true formations. The men were positioned with much space in between; ideal to wreak havoc with a roc with no soldiers near to guard another’s back. But then why were Stella, August and Micháele so near the high priest? Were the Bellanese confident their illusion was so strong they would not notice?

Jean pulled Hercule skywards; waiting for Solstice and Crya to follow them. Why could they only see through the illusion from above? Jean did not know how many rocs were present under the lord’s command, but he didn't dare to expect many. This would be a difficult battle to fight as such. There had to be a way to see through the spell on the surface. But what way? For now it was better to retreat and regroup, as well as safer for his companions. If the ground troops couldn’t tell flesh from air, they might as well have been outnumbered.

((Micháele))

Smothering a grin, Micháele relaxed back into his saddle, watching the fine lady do her work with confidence of one born to it. She would be a valuable asset on the trip – he could certainly see that without much effort. Besides, it was a nice change to have something pretty to look at, rather than hard, toughened men who didn’t know a hairbrush from a knife. But he had to be careful: despite Stella’s clever words, the High Priest’s frown showed that he was neither fooled nor swayed by the woman’s fancy words. In what seemed like her last ditch-effort to placate the man, the spy extended her hand, sunlight catching upon the delicate jewellery displayed. Micháele nodded quietly to himself; there was no doubt that Stella was of good breeding – her action here confirming it – but then why would she chose to reveal herself in such a small action here, rather than with her travelling companions? Remembering Aibhilín and his days training at the Guild, the young lord thought he knew why.

"My lord High Priest,” Stella voiced calmly, "I, Stella Oceane, personally promise to bring further proof that Gods would accept us knowing other worlds, were you to give me the opportunity to do so." Micháele let his blue gaze settle upon the darkened, orange-splotched face of the Bellanese leader, showing through a simple look that he supported the young woman’s words. The man’s response however, was not quite how he expected it.

“How dare you!” The High Priest spat – with such venom that Micháele’s tall steed harrumphed and stepped a pace backwards – and immediately, the foreigner’s guards surrounded their leader, spears bristling like a porcupine’s quills. Spears, Micháele noted glumly, The cavalry wouldn’t stand a chance against such a defence, particularly, he mused, catching sight of the large round shields strapped to their backs, if they had a good defence. But the High Priest had not finished his rant yet, and so Micháele merely tightened his grip on the reins, waiting to see what move the strange man would make.

“Your arrogance offends both my people and the Gods themselves!” the tall priest hollered, throwing his hands to the skies. Micháele’s own hands twitched with a minor jolt of nerves, causing his horse to snort and dance sideways – though thankfully the motion looked more like one of insult; he just hoped the two birds were well out of eyeshot, what with the Bellanese leader’s penchant for gesticulating. “There are no worlds beyond ours bar the heavens and they belong only to the mighty lords that created us! I do not want proof,” the High Priest directed this last comment at Stella, his nose curled disdainfully upwards and his tone sharp, “That you have desecrated the Gods’ palace. I do not want proof, he spat again, this time glaring fiercely at Micháele, “That your soldiers have forced their way into the Gods’ sacred world.”

Drawing himself up proudly, the High Priest sneered at them as though they were as stupid as lemmings. “If the Gods’ had intended us to fly, they would’ve given us wings like the birds in the air-“ His large hands were flung skywards once more, though this time at least Micháele managed to control his concern and stare impassively at the strange leader, only a slight twitch at his temple revealing the effort to do so. By the Gods, the man could talk... “Instead,” the High Priest continued angrily, his men murmuring in agreement around him, “You steal the very thing that makes the earth what it is to use for your own selfish ends. Glory, power and expanding your own puny lives is all you high-born nobles care about. You are ungrateful of the Gods’ gift and because of that, no matter how your words justify it,” he glanced derisively at Stella before returning his glare back to Micháele, “all your actions are made through arrogance.”

Fed up with the conversation and angered by the man’s insults at both the lady spy and himself, Micháele returned the barbarian’s dark look. “It seems,” he said coldly, “That in this matter – and many others – we are in complete disagreement, my lord priest. I cannot allow you spread such lies and insults among my people.” Sitting up in his saddle, he held the man’s gaze. “My lady Oceane,” he called, “I don’t believe we can progress any further here. Let us return to our men, so that we can settle this matter in a manner more suited to the truth.” Turning his horse, he waited until Stella’s mount was beside his own before continuing. “We will let the Gods decide who among us is more arrogant.”

As he walked his mount back to his troops at a stately pace, Micháele felt a shiver run down his spine, and fought not to turn and meet the eyes that were now boring into his skull. However, their journey back to the line of soldiers – who, he was glad to see, were already standing in battle formation – was uneventful, leaving the lordling secretly relieved. There had been at least a part of him expecting to feel the sharp bite of a steel point severing his spine.

“Milord?” Once of the Sergeants queried carefully as they approached, glancing at Stella, “The Sky-fighters have returned. They’ve asked to speak to you both-“ he turned and pointed to a large brown tent on the edge of the encampment, “-over there, where their birds won’t be seen.”

Nodding absently, Micháele beckoned for a small escort of guards to follow, and led his horse away to the tent, Stella swaying gently at his side. Rounding the dull fabric of the far side, the two Rocs suddenly loomed into view, their riders standing together like small children before the giants. Aibhilín saw their approach immediately, and walked stiffly to meet them, Montague following more sedately behind her. “It’s an illusion!” she growled, her eyes already gaining a fierce and reckless cast, “They-“

Looking past her to Jean, Micháele raised his eyebrow. “And you confirmed this?” he enquired, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Stella was saying something to the seething woman. “The Bellanese do not want to negotiate,” he added solemnly, “Therefore any advantage we have from now will be of benefit.”

((Stella))

The strong voice of the High Priest echoed with anger as he answered to Stella's speech. Apparently, no matter how hard he tried, it hadn't been enough. Or maybe it was just the High Priest who was too recalcitrant. As he said his words, their guards surrounded him, protecting him with spears. What a surprise, spears. Since they had requested to talk to them, it was natural they'd bring horses, if only for the appearance. So they were ready for this, after all.

She was about to note, sarcastically, how funny it was that those who talk in name of the Gods would not respect the other living beings, how they came here to talk and were received with spears. However, Stella decided to give the benefit of the doubt, since the High Priest was still going on. She took a look back for a moment, making sure the lord was alright. She took a step back. If things got ugly, she already knew what she had to do.

Arrogance? Stella thought. And you're one to say that... Stella turned back again as she heard Micháele's horse moving sideways. She unknowingly thought the same the lord had, with all that gesticulating, the High Priest could end up seeing Sol and Jean. She hoped it would not be the case. But with the camouflage she had used with the Rocs, there shouldn't be any problem.

Hearing the High Priest rejecting her offering was ennerving, though, and she thought, that for her own pride, once she had definite proof about what they were defending, she should personally go to Bellan to show them. She smiled softly at that thought, even if the High Priest would not stop his rant, his voice still echoing with strength. Stella had to bite her tongue in order to avoid answering to almost everything she was hearing. At that moment, words from her mother came to her mind. You have to accept your surroundings, Stella. You cannot argue everything you disagree with!. In the end, she had to say her word, even if it was a moderate version of what she was thinking. "My lord High Priest. I cannot talk for the other people, for I am unable to read their minds. One thing I can assure you, though. It is not arrogance that drives my actions".

After that, she heard Lord Micháele speaking coldly to the High Priest. He almost seemed like a different man from the one they had met before. My lady Oceane, I don’t believe we can progress any further here. Let us return to our men, so that we can settle this matter in a manner more suited to the truth. "Yes, my lord". Stella glanced a final look into the priest's eyes, showing her determination, and turned back, climbing into the wonderful horse, which responded immediately to her command to follow Lord Micháele.

Surprisingly, they weren't attacked at the moment they turned their backs on them, which at least ment they were able to make it back. The lord was quiet almost all the way back to their men, and Stella respected that silence. She only interrupted it when she decided to let the lord know he had been safe there, and at least in that front, things had worked alright. "My lord, I believe that this part of our little operation went quite smoothly, right? We returned unharmed, and allow me to say that your life was never in danger, for I had a little tactic that would have allowed us to escape swiftly. Now, let us hope Sol and Jean will bring us useful information..."

When they finally arrived, they were called by a Sergeant, who informed Micháele about the return of Sol and Jean. Apparently they requested talking to both the lord and Stella herself. Moving to place where the big Rocs would not be seen, Stella spotted, in front of the big animals, two figures, corresponding to the two sky fighters. Sol walked stiffly and nervously towards them, and while Stella descended from the horse, she almost fell down upon hearing the statement from the woman.

"What?! An illusion?!" Stella rushed to Sol, and saw lord Micháele dismissing what Sol said, instead turning to Jean to confirm what the first had said. Stella could have started a fight but telling Micháele how they should all trust each other in this times, but decided to instead be practical, and talk to Sol herself. "So, what did you see? Tell me! We went in between their men, and I could not see a single strange thing. And I tell you my eyes are good!" She could not avoid being nervous herself, so she stomped her words and kept talking. "I do not even know why they accepted us to go there. They didn't have any will to listen. No matter we would have said, they would have not stopped anyway. Not that it surprises me, but if they were willing to have us go there, there should be a reaso..."

She didn't finish talking, as suddenly an idea came to her head. Of course, if there was an illusion there, the Bellanese wanted them to see their huge army and probably decide to stop the mission, right? That made sense, but there was still something strange. Realizing she wasn't letting Sol explain, she blushed a bit. "Sorry."

Stella was definitely not used to such situations. Nothing she had done as a member of Stealth could compare to this. In fact, because of all the anxiousness she was going through, she had forgotten to remove her ring.

((Jean))

“I confirm this.”

They had not reached the surface shortly, but Jean had spent him time grounded to figure the puzzle. Sol had seen it too, but they had not discussed. Jean-Baptiste solved his puzzles on his own; the man didn’t even know if Solstice had spoken as much as a single word since they had landed. Only when the party of parlay had returned, his fingers left his chin and his eyes Hercule’s neck-feathers.

“Below a roc’s wings, the image of soldiers blurs. Their men are roughly a tenth of our original estimates.” The ginger ex-commander explained, as he dismounted the bird, “But-” Jean added, shortly enough to abruptly break anyone’s train of thought. “They were confident enough to let you near them. There is no way for us to tell which man is made of flesh and which of air. If we face the Bellanese in this fashion, we might as well have been outnumbered. No, a regular assault will do us no good.”

Jean frowned, as he watched the movements of the opposing army. They were preparing new formations; that must have meant they were aware of their advantage, the Bellanese were going to attack.

“The reason I could see through the illusion was the shadow of my bird. These magic tricks require more light to be able to be seen than men do. If we take away the light, we can determine opponent from spell. Waiting for dusk is our only option; even though our defence is weak. We must fight fire with fire.”

Then suddenly it jumped on Jean. The solution. He wet his finger and stuck in the air and mumbled “Perfect…” Forgetting his lowly position within this army once again, Jean jumped off his bird and began barking orders. “You!” He suddenly bellowed at a horseman. “Rally the archers, bring out the beacons. Light the arrows and fire them at the left flank, do not worry about hitting targets, all we need are the flames.” And he hit the horse’s respective flank.

“You!” Jean yelled at another, “Prepare the cavalry to pressure the rear and right flank. Herd them together like sheep.” Without waiting for the ex-commander to do so, the second of Micháele’s mounted men encouraged his horse to gallop. Jean himself, turned to the lord, Stella and Solstice.

“Milord, we will do the following; when the grass burns, smoke will block the sunlight and travel with the wind. The cavalry will prevent the opponent from fleeing the smoke’s shadow. Our main force will make use of the panic and charge a fontal assault. Their formations are too open to defend well. Solstice and I will pressure from above and keep the formations weak, by landing in the middle and spreading chaos. We will make use of our camouflage and the smoke the ambush them; a hit-and-run.”

Micháele must have been furious of him taking command, however Jean did not care to confirm. Nonetheless he had to brush the lord off. “Our first minutes will be without shadow; we will suffer losses. Milord, for your own safety, you must head to the city immediately. Here, you must gather the townsfolk and prepare them to fight the fire after we claim out victory.” Jean’s eyes pierced those of the lord, as if attempting to stare down the Eben-wolves. Jean did not want a supreme commander he did not trust around when hell would break loose. “Every second you spend here, your safety is at stake.”

“Stella,” Jean turned to shorter of the two women first. “Take my orders to those in command.” But Jean held up in hand in gesture for Stella to wait while he thought. He would take wing soon, so this was the last moment he could spare to speak to her. The ex-commander pondered. She was mounted and confident in her skill with the sword, but she was also a healer and therefore more valuable to remain alive than a common soldier. If he ordered her to join the cavalry early, Jean did not see her hold back. Her life would be in danger. “When the battle begins, I want you to stay behind and watch the battle, report the situations to the grounded commanders, guide reinforcements where necessary. When the smoke erases the illusion, join the assault and help them clean.”

“Solstice, after the arrows have been fired; we take wing. When the armies begin to move, we will break up the formations. Our first targets will be the mages while they are still separated. Do not act reckless, our job will not be to finish this fight but to allow our ground forces to sweep. Before the surprise wears off, ascend and plan another attack. Do I make myself clear?”

“As for the rest of you; all mounted men join the cavalry, all infantry report to the main force.” Jean waited sparse moments for questions, then unsheathed his blade and held it up in the sky and shouted for one last time:

“Fight bravely! Move out!”

The ex-commander returned to Hercule and put his fingers on his heart. They slid across each other’s arms and ended in the sky. A prayer for guidance. The roc bowed and allowed Jean to climb onto it’s saddle. This strategy… This improvisation of troops. The army was weak and incomplete for the militant guild’s standards. If only they would have had an entire wing; this battle could be over within minutes…

((Sol))

The lordling ignored her again and Sol gritted her teeth in irritation. It was always the high-ground Michaéle sought, no matter what the conditions of the situation. As the fool swept past her to query the truth with Jean, Stella’s elegant figure appeared at her elbow and the spy illustrated the situation with their enemy. Opening her mouth at several points to try and reply, Sol in the end gave up with a quirked smile and waited until the woman finished before responding.

“I saw little more than a blurring of vision, yet I know my sight is as good as Crya’s,” she explained with a frown, adjusting her crossbow so that it was more comfortable on her back, “I know of the Bellanese fighters and their rituals, so it couldn’t be anything else. I’m sure Jean saw more; I know his silences from past experience and you can guarantee he was chewing on something.”

Clapping a hand on Stella’s shoulder, Sol grinned. “Isn’t looking like the Gods are on their side today, does it?” She gave a short, barking laugh before a sudden shout drowned out her mirth. Typical to the man’s history, Jean had already assumed command, to the great frustration of the lordling still astride before him. Michaéle’s mount was sidestepping agitatedly as the pink-eared noble blustered his outrage – which of course fell on trained deaf ears. Sniggering to herself, the sky-fighter beckoned her companion with a hand and a tilt of her head, leading the mounted spy-healer towards the commotion.

“Milord,” the ex-commander stated bluntly, politely oblivious to the Lord’s burning gaze and set jaw, “we will do the following; when the grass burns, smoke will block the sunlight and travel with the wind. The cavalry will prevent the opponent from fleeing the smoke’s shadow. Our main force will make use of the panic and charge a fontal assault. Their formations are too open to defend well. Solstice and I will pressure from above and keep the formations weak, by landing in the middle and spreading chaos. We will make use of our camouflage and the smoke the ambush them; a hit-and-run.”

Aaahh... Everything now seemed to be slotting into place. It had been shadows that had caused the illusion to falter – particularly those of the giant birds, whom the Bellanese had naïvely forgotten – and in bright, sunlit midday skies, the only way of making shadows was with smoke. Flitting in and out of the insubstantial darkness , the Rocs and their riders would be no more than wraiths, free to reap chaos among disciplined ranks. Of course, if they were overwhelmed...

“I... of course,” Michaéle was saying with as much dignity as he could muster, though his cheeks flushed as he caught Sol’s smiling derision, “It is a sensible suggestion.” It was an order, the sky-fighter thought, though for once she didn’t voice it. “I will ensure that the town citizens come to no harm during this battle.” He turned his horse and put his heels to its flanks. “It is a noble suggestion...” Sol heard him mutter as he galloped into the distance and she snorted, giving Jean an approving glance.

But the redhead had already turned to Stella, illustrating their need for a cautious start and tight-reign before she would be required on the field. Sol appraised her ally, noting that she was wholly suited to the task set, when her bright gaze suddenly caught a glint of colour upon the woman’s hand. Frowning, the sky-fighter opened her mouth to question the gem, however she was interrupted by her current battle-commander, so she pressed her lips closed instead, nodding her acknowledgement of Jean’s orders.

“Luck be with you,” she said, meeting Stella’s rich gaze and pressing a fist to her breast in semi-salute, “Milady,” and spinning on her heel, she sprinted over to her waiting avian companion, hoisting herself into position with a handful of feathers. Crya screeched, sensing his rider’s anticipation for the fight to come, and beat his black wings hard, lifting them into the hot air. Giving one last wave to Stella on the ground, Sol clucked to the dark Roc beneath her, guiding him in the direction of the town edge, where already faint wisps of smoke drifted into the breeze.

Loosening her twin swords, she loaded her crossbow as Crya caught a warm air-current, spiralling upwards into the blue sky with his painted wings spread. In the distance, the mass of enemy warriors was a black smudge, but already it flickered faintly as the smoke floated past the army’s fore. Seeing Hercule spin his way towards her, Sol cupped her hands to her mouth to call over the beginnings of the cacophony below. “It’s working already!” she shouted with a laugh, “By your leave, sir?”

((Stella))

"They may not be on their side, but it would be nice if, besides that, they were on our side." After a brief conversation with Sol that allowed them all to understand what was going on, Stella realized, amusedly, how they were actually taking the reigns of everything, while Lord Micháele was not much more than a puppet, being told where to go and what to do, even being manipulated, in a way. Stella smiled to herself as Jean started giving the orders. Probably he was the best suited for this job, as his reputation showed. And of course, the way he was giving orders seemed to be flawless.

At one moment, Jean approached her, in order to give his orders to her. Jean was clear and concise. Her job would be to take his orders to those in command. When she was already turning around to leave, she spotted, on the corner of her eye, that Jean was holding his hand up, signaling her to wait. His face was deep in thought. Certainly, there was no time to waste. If he could give the final orders now, he wouldn't have to worry any more about her and could concentrate on everything else.

And so he did. During the battle, she would be watching the battle, trying to direct from the back, reporting the situation to the grounded commanders and guide reinforcements where and when necessary. Only when the smoke erased the illusion, she would be joining the fight. Stella was confident on her skill, but she was able to see she was not well suited to this kind of battle. She was trained on hand to hand combat, one on one, maybe taking two or three people at the same time, but she had never been in a battle with so many people, which would be so chaotic. Therefore, she accepted and supported Jean's decision.

Stella waited for a few moments, while Jean gave Sol her orders. It was important that she knew what Sol and Jean would be doing, so that she would be able to understand the battle as it unfolded. Stella closed her eyes for a moment, and took a deep breathe. The moment she turned around and went to take Jean's orders to those in command, there would be no turning back. Everything would happen so quickly, that she had to be ready. Again, images of her family appeared on her mind. Stella's smiling parents, always caring about her future, and even Ymber, her flamboyant brother. Ymber, I don't plan on dieing here, but just in case... you shall know you are my beloved brother, no matter how different we are.

She opened her eyes again, meeting Sol's in that instant. She was surprised to meet the woman's eyes right after she opened her eyes again, and she spotted the intense determination on the sky-fighter. Luck be with you. Sol pressed a fist to her breast Milady, and spinning on her heel, she rushed to Crya. Stella was left there, shocked. Milady? Why'd she say that? Why would Sol say such a thing... and to her! Did she know anything about her past? No, this was not the time to think about that. she removed the ring on her hand and placed it on her small bag without realizing she was wearing it, and she put on gloves. She waved back at Sol, wishing for the best of luck for them, and turned around and along with the quick-responsive horse, she rushed to take Jean's orders.

Stella changed her face completely, sporting a serious look which was meant to show how important this battle was, as she informed exactly about what everyone was supposed to do. A few did not agree with the fact that she was to stay in the back, but she tried to defend herself, explaining she knew how to heal, and so she would be more useful in the back than in the front, at least at the beginning. Nobody seemed to complain much after that, although Stella imagined there would probably still be some doubts about that.

After everything had been settled, and they started spotting the smoke, Stella ordered for the cavalry to start the attack, with her sword high in the air. "Move forward, men! Make your companions proud of your strength! The Gods are on our side today, I feel it!!" The horses rushed forward, rising a big amount of dust. Stella coughed, feeling pathetic because of this. A soldier who can't help but cough at all that dust. Well, she wasn't a true soldier, at least not yet.

The shadow of the smoke started covering their enemies, and the cavalry was making sure they would not be able to escape. Stella kept moving around nervously, feeling anxious for not being actively helping, but she kept her eyes and ears sharp for anything she could do. From time to time, she would yell at a group of soldiers and prompt them to move somewhere else, in order to keep the momentum of the battle. She was completely ready, knowing she would join the fight sooner than later.

((Jean))

So far so good, his orders had been taken without protest. Jean held his breath, watching the mounted men and women take off, galloping to their destinations. When their figures began to blur with the horizon, Jean addressed his roc. Hercule ruffled its feathers; the bird knew what was coming. Arrows flew into the distance, setting fire to the fields, just as planned. A single command later, two brown wings beat against the air and lifted the sky-fighter high up into the blue.

The smoke was consistently spreading and panic had began cross. Panic, the strongest weapon of war. It was time to begin picking out the mages. Normally, he would have picked the magicians off from a safe distance, but the illusion aside, Jean, unlike Solstice, wasn't wearing his equipment. Unprepared for this battle he had been left with a single sword; more a symbol than a weapon. But with the smoke as a cover, Hercule's surprise and strong talons would suffice. After all a giant bird spreads more terror and chaos than a single crossbow.

Crya came in sight and Jean steered Hercule in the black bird's direction. "It's working already!" Jean heard Solstice shouting with a laugh, "By your leave, sir?"

"Take the back row!" Jean roared back. Crya was a better sprinter than Hercule, this way they could cover the ground faster. "Take out the mages while we can still easily spot them!"

When Solstice acknowledged her orders and took off, Jean and Hercule soared lower, searching for an angle to set up their assault from. The closer they came, the blurrier the images became. The battle beneath them had already begun and the roc's shadow slid across the ground. The Bellanese noticed too late. Jean held onto the bird tight, then signaled it to dive.

Jean could feel the air pressure his hair and face. Hercule didn't even need to steer clear of fire and dropped onto the mage like a bomb. With its powerful talons, the bird fished the Bellanese magician out of the formations and Jean pulled the bird up, steering it into a smooth horizontal flight across the Bellanese army. Those who looked up could stare helplessly at the limp corpse of one of their most important allies, crushed between the talons of the giant bird, and vanishing within a flash.

The preemptive strike had been a success. However, the next attack might no longer be a surprise and the sky-fighter could be met with spears and magic. Hercule ascended up into the sky again, flying far out of harm's reach.

((Ymber))

"I tell you I am Ymber Ocmare, I should have a proper bed!" A blond young man is shouting inside a tent. Everyone turned around to pay attention to the man who was strangely dressed. He was new in there, wearing black clothes with colorful details, carrying a big ornated bag on his back, and shouting to the woman in charge of welcoming people in. "I am sorry, sir, but we do not have any more beds now... recently we got some people in... I believe they are going on that ship... when they live, you will have one, and it won't take that much, I think..."

Ymber rolled his eyes and covered his face, in mock desperation. "Oh, wonderful. Precisely! I am going on that ship as well, so what use would it be for me to be able to stay once the ship leaves! You are not saying I should stay here, are you?" His eyes scanning the room, trying to see if there was anyone who was defying him. "Whatever." The boy turned around and left the tent, visibly annoyed by the people in the tent. Did they think they were better than him, an Ocmare? Fools...

He then started to remember his trip from home to where the ship was resting. She had managed to get a place in there, as a guest. He liked to say he was representing his family, but officially he was just a guest. Of course, no one would know that, unless he told them, which he never intended to do. The last night before arriving there he had stayed at a friend's place, and so he had taken this opportunity to have his clothes washed and so he would look perfect upon his arrival to the ship place. Of course, that was his duty as a noble.

It was after coming out from the tent and stopping remembering his trip, that everything started to move. Suddenly people started to run all around. There was a bit of chaos as people voiced their discontent against someone... was it against the Bellanese? After walking around against the flow of the crowd and asking some people, Ymber decided that there probably was a battle going on, and if they were mentioning the Bellanese... that probably meant they were the enemy. But the question was why they would attack now?

Nonchalantly, and smiling to himself, Ymber decided to go see what was going on, for he was a curious person. For some reason, he felt he had to keep going forward; to the heat of the battle. As he kept going, he saw some children running excitedly, shouting things like "Battle, battle! Fight, fight!". He walked through the narrow streets of the site, avoiding people as though not to crash with them. In the meantime, he saw a big cloud of smoke in the air as he heard the battle in the distance. People shouting and swords clashing; something was really wrong, now.

Suddenly, Ymber, seeing how some soldiers ran past him in the same direction he was walking to, he bumped into someone, and felt the weight going down, falling to the floor. By the height he felt against his body, it was probably one of those kids. When Ymber looked down, he saw a young girl in her very early teens laying on the floor. "... Hey, are you ok?" he offered his hand for her to stand up, and once she was again on her two feet, Ymber continued walking towards his direction. "You should leave, girl! This is no place for people such as you!"

What was this girl doing here? She didn't seem a noble girl; at least her clothes didn't say that.

Sol could feel Crya’s chest muscles bunch as the smoke rose into the air and, knotting her fingers into the Roc’s soft feathers, she subdued the irritable cry that fought to arise from the bird’s throat. Releasing a few sharp admonishing clicks, the sky-rider squeezed her mount’s sides with her thighs, urging him towards the rear of the enemy, and the great beast beat his wings hard in response, spurring away from the increasingly hazy dark shadow that was Jean and Hercule. The figures below were still blurred, though it seemed the thickening smoke was now beginning to make enough of a difference for the friendly army behind her; she could hear the sounds of battle already and Crya twitched beneath her in response, eager for the fight.

Suddenly spotting a lingering Bellanese mage – apparently surrounded by a hundred spear-holding followers that wavered in the smoke – Sol allowed the giant bird his predatory instincts. Tucking his wings close, Crya dropped through the smog, his rider’s body pressed securely against his thick neck as she fished with one hand for the crossbow strapped across her back. She saw a glimpse of the man’s startling green eyes and a flash of emerald markings before she swung the crossbow about and loosed a bolt at the mage’s throat. Screeching loud enough to startle the surrounding soldiers – of which she could now see there were less than a dozen – the Roc snatched up the next nearest enemy, rising quickly the drop the man into a small group of his brethren, scattering them like leaves in the wind. A swirl of smoke billowed in the wake of the bird’s wings, allowing Sol enough time to rewind her bow and fire another bolt into a dark silhouette, before guiding Crya back into the skies.

A sharp pain stung her thigh as they lifted, and the sky-fighter had enough sense to duck as the thrown spear shot past her vision, sailing cleanly between her Roc’s wings and fierce head. An inch further, she realised and it would’ve been a puncture wound rather than a graze, rendering both herself – and Crya – useless. Gritting her teeth, Solstice wheeled the bird towards the sun, protecting them from the Bellanese’s sight with the bright daytime glare. When she was sure there were no more missiles aimed in their direction, she took a glance at her leg: the damage didn’t seem too severe, though from the red staining on her leggings she would need to bandage it once she reached the ground again. Still, she noted, lifting her head to peer at the battle below, at least the Bellanese didn’t seem so confident now...

A roar from the frontlines made her raise her gaze and a grin lit her face: it seemed Jean’s battle tactics were working. The Istanese army were surging forwards into the confused mess, wreaking havoc on the even smaller enemy lines. Pinned between flanking cavalry and the ever-more confident footsoliders, the invaders were already beginning to flee – unsurprisingly enough, the mages first. Mages were all very well and good in war – as long as they were alchemists or remained closely protected – but it was clear from their panic that these focussed primarily on ritualism, for how could anyone concentrate in the current chaos?

Spotting Jean and Hecurle in the haze, Sol guided Crya over, shouting when she was in earshot. “Sir, the rear-lines are already breaking form: I don’t think they believed we would figure out their ruse. The cavalry seem to have had a few losses but the main front is now pushing their way forwards, so it won’t be long before they get support. Shall we pursue the rear, sir?”

((Chanson))

"Let go! Your orders!"

The soldier didn't listen to the girl. She was dragged along by the stronger man's hand. "I cannot watch you, lass, your..." He hesitated, "-father, he must be out there."

"Your orders!" She repeated the words like a chorus and sounded more pushy every time she reminded the soldier.

He became agitated and his grip grew firmer. "Listen, I have received orders supported by the supreme commander, lass, I cannot ignore those!"

Chanson had developed a strong disliking in the short time she had been with this man. Jean might have been in a hurry, but could he not have acted more responsibly? Jean had claimed to take care of her, he had promised her. He could not break his promise, he was not allowed to break his promise. How could he have let her to be dragged around by this brute? She flustered. She fought the tears that welled up and blinded her, but she was powerless.

Unable to keep track of what was in front of her, Chanson rammed into a body and finally her hand slipped out of the soldier's. She squealed as she hit the ground. Chanson looked up, and saw the hand was stretched out to her. A nobleman, clearly, but not one she was familiar with.

"... Hey, are you okay?" He asked and she accepted his hand. He eyed her, noticing her lack of markings and plain clothing, she could tell his focus. She leered him suspiciously, as he turned her his back. "You should leave, girl! This is no place for people such as you!"

"Leave to where?" She more stated than asked, but she spoke softly under her breath and with eyes that many would have interpreted as hostile. Suddenly the soldier came back running and grabbed Chanson by her arm. His lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but his effort was wasted. The girl saw her chance to get rid of this man and his painful grip once and for all.

"Let go off me, you brute! Don't touch me!" She shrieked in feigned panic; loud enough for the nobleman to hear. He had valiantly helped her back on her feet and Chanson hoped his chivalry stretched a little further...


((Jean))

Rising over what was supposed to be a battlefield, the enemy seemed to be fleeing. The views more reminiscent of a riot near its end than a fight between armies. His strategy had worked better than Jean had dared hope for, this army had been a joke all along. However their army was still large. A pursuit would thin their numbers sufficiently, discouraging their soldiers to regroup and mount a second offence. There were more questions about the Bellanese army that needed answers and with the launch so soon, there would be no time to research. Who knew when they would come back and what they would bring?

However, Jean was a fair man. "No." He answered Solstice, but left behind his reason. He would have to discuss further measures with Micháele later, such as assigning a night-watch and requesting the aid of the militant guild. No matter the background of this army, their mission statement was to defend, not to slaughter. This was not a war.

"Watch the end of this battle, attack should they regroup." Jean commanded. He pulled the roc sideways and made Hercule glide to the parts where his vision was unscathed by the smog. With the fallen and fleeing mages, their illusion must had been broken, but Jean wanted to confirm this. If this battle was indeed over, he would do nothing rather than land and deal with the aftermath as swiftly as possible.

((Stella))

In the end, the moment came. When the fight seemed to be shifting to their side and look easy to win, Stella knew she didn't have to hold back. Urging her horse to run towards the heat of the battle, she quickly joined the chaos of the battlefield. She never wanted to just go and kill everything that stood on her way, so instead of aiming for heads or hearts, Stella kept trying to hit arms, and legs whenever it was possible. She knew she wasn't suited for a battle like this, but she had to be useful, or else...

When the stress had peaked inside Stella's heart, she felt lost. She didn't know where she was anymore. She was fighting in the battlefield, but she wasn't able to know where was anything. She only saw soldiers, both allies and enemies. Dust, on the ground, smoke on the air. She realized how actually admirable the soldiers were, in that split of second. And when she was still thinking about that, Stella found herself in front of a mage, who was apparently still fighting back, while many other people were already fleeing. Here, she didn't doubt, a swift strike through his chest would be enough.

This went against Stella's beliefs, but it was either eat or be eaten. The law of the battlefield. Because of this, once she saw the soldiers around the mage running away, and leaving, she never chased after the Bellanese. She considered herself to be an honorable fighter, even if an unexperienced one; at least in a real battle like this one. Before she could even recover from everything, she noticed that the battle was effectively over, at least on their side of the battle. The cavalry was not being attacked anymore.

Stella looked around her and saw most of the cavalry soldiers regrouping, already celebrating, as if the battle was completely over. "Do not celebrate yet! We have to be prepared in case they regroup! Stay sharp!". While saying this, she moved her left hand to motion the soldiers to move, and only then she noticed how stained she was. Her clothes were covered in red blood and brownish dust and mud. That was the fate of a soldier who fought on the ground. The fate she shared with those who were under her command.

But there was something which was a lot more important than stray thoughts that came with the heat of battle, and that was healing her comrades. Stella knew some of them could be healed completely if she put her heart on it. Fortunately, she was carrying all kinds of herbs and powders with her, which meant she could take care of the soldiers. Stella could still hear the battle going on somewhere around, but the sound was diminishing and apparently all the fighting would cease soon. Therefore, took the decision of healing people instead of fighting. Their battle was not part of a war. They were only defending themselves.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

((Ymber))

Ymber turned around for a second, trying to see where the people came from, but quickly turned back after hearing a shriek. The girl he had just helped stand on her feet was still there, and as a matter of fact she was being grabbed by a soldier. I definitely shouldn't have helped her...

"Hey, you, soldier! What are you doing!" Ymber ran towards the soldier, who seemed as though he wanted to say something. The girl was free before he had even gotten there, but just in case, he decided to knock that man down. The soldier fell heavily to the ground, and looked at Ymber completely shocked, surprised since he hadn't seen that coming. Ymber smiled cockily. "She's under my protection now. I am a nobleman, you do not disobey what I say!" The soldier's response to that was protesting furiously, although he had already turned around, knowing that everything he would say could prove pointless. He had been humiliated, too.

However, Ymber realized he hadn't thought of a thing, of a little not really important thing. Now that girl was definitely under his protection. "Alright. You better explain me why he wanted to grab you, otherwise I'm not staying with you." There was definitely something odd with that girl. She had no marking that he could see, and for a little girl that didn't look like a noble girl, that was something really unusual. Maybe she was from a noble family which had fallen in disgrace.

"I don't like to act as a nanny, so we will be partners for a while, alright? I help you and you help me. I'm moving forward, since I want to know what's going on there. You will come with me, and after I've seen whatever is happening, we will decide what we're going to do."

Ymber talked without hesitation, apparently not caring about the girl's opinion on what they would be doing. After all, whatever was happening, it didn't seem particularly threatning for the city, so they would be safe so long as they remained together, which was something he planned on doing anyway. Maybe the girl was someone important, in which case he would be regarded as a savior and his reputation would be so great. He was glad, coming earlier had been a good idea, after all.

((Sol))

“No,” came the response from the ex-commander, his eyes taking in the grizzly scene below. “No?” Sol bit back dumbly, but he offered up no further explanation, simply commanding her to remain in her position and watch for further developments. Grumbling to herself, she knotted her left hand into her Roc’s downy feathers, steering him away to bank back around the battlefield for a better view. The cavalry – who had rallied under the small figure of Stella atop her mount – now pressed slowly forward, supported by the surrounding foot-soldiers.

Watching as one Bellanese warrior was hauled from the ground, Sol smirked wryly. Of course Micháele would want ‘guests’ – as he called them when he felt they were little threat. Who else would give him the explanations he needed? No one knew the Bellanese well enough to understand their motivations. Not for the first time, Solstice wondered at the ease of the battle: even now, those invaders too slow or tired to run were throwing down weapons gladly and were starting to trudge their way dismally back to the city with their captors. Wheeling Crya around, Sol glared at the disappearing specs heading toward the lake as the great bird hovered on an air current, the remains of the enemy’s tail fading into the heat haze and smoke. Sensing her mood, the Roc shrieked piercingly, spurring an extra burst of speed from those nearest and suppressing her need to take off after them, the sky-fighter turned her mount sharply, heading back towards the vibrant yellow splodge by the horse fields.

Right where she expected it, Micháele’s blonde hair gleamed in the bright sunlight as Crya descended sharply towards the Lord’s tent, pulling back at the last minute in order to give the lordling a quick blast of sooty air before landing. Noting a nerve twitching at the corner of his expression, Sol grinned, sliding down from her seat atop the Roc with practiced ease. “A victory,” she told him cheerily with a mock bow, adding at the last minute, “my Lord.” The man’s nose practically curled as his blue eyes surveyed her critically; she must look a sight, she realised, covered in sweat and ash as she was. She found herself getting angry before she realised it, eyes narrowing and fingers clenching as the injustice of the matter rose like bile – bitter and burning.

“Ah – Sir Montague, Lady Oceane!” Muttering a few expletives in his direction, Sol turned her glare from Micháele to her travelling companions. Of the two, Stella looked a little more worse for wear, though the sky-fighter doubted that much of the blood spattered on her dress was her own. Her horse walked gamely beneath her, tired yet still high-spirited: much like Sol’s own mount. Jean-Baptiste landed gracefully on the bigger Hercule, whose painted feathers seemed to have borne rather well, his rider’s own strong features smeared in grey. “I hear that the barbarians have surrendered,” the pale Lord continued when the two had come into earshot, “Good, good. I have my men bringing a few survivors back now. Mayhap we’ll get some answers out of them regarding all this...” he waved a hand towards the plains, “...folly.”

“I thought you were looking after the citizens,” Sol snapped irritably, beckoning Stella closer to ask her for a bandage, yet still unwilling to let Micháele’s earlier slight lie. She bent over slightly, applying more pressure to the cut to stem the bleeding; it was relatively shallow and the blood-flow didn’t seem to be life-threatening but it was hurting like a bitch... “Seems to me like you were just hiding your sorry arse away from harm,” the sky-fighter muttered fiercely. Bright splotches of colour appeared on the lordling’s cheekbones and his brows drew down furiously.

“How dare you suggest...” he began in a low hiss, taking a step towards her and then suddenly, seemingly reconsidering, he straightened, sighing deeply with an almost concerned expression on his face. “I’m afraid,” Micháele said as Sol frowned at him suspiciously, “That we cannot delay casting off any longer. I will have a brief word with each of you before you go – Aibhilín, we’ve already had our little heart to heart – and then you must take your things and board the ship immediately.”

“Hey, woah there a minute.” Sol grabbed his shoulder as he made to turn towards Jean, forcing him to face her again, cold hard hatred glaring from his summer eyes. But there was fear there too. “Get your hand off me, soldier,” he iterated carefully and the sky-fighter made a show of it, spreading her fingers in a display of mocking contrition, “What do you want now?”

Throwing her hands up, Sol took a step backwards, russet brows bowed in anger. “I want to know what the hell’s going on! We’ve just been attacked by a random foreign tribe who simply dropped steel and ran as soon as their trick failed. A thousand men intending to do harm have just strolled through Ista, tried to sabotage this mission for unknown reasons, and you want us to just ignore that and leave?”

To his credit, Micháele didn’t even blink at the onslaught. “Yes,” he replied simply and arrogantly, making Sol’s blood fairly boil, “I don’t expect you to understand Aibhilín, but you are conscripted to this mission and this mission only. If you wish to sacrifice both your career and your pay-packet, then please, do continue challenging my authority for then I will be more than justified ridding this voyage of another piece of irritating baggage I don’t want.” He watched her, his sharp little eyes taking in the furious set of her jaw and tight-lipped silence with cold disdain. “Now, I would suggest you oversee the boarding of your bird onto the ship while I fill in your commander. After all, it would be a devastating loss to the world if your bird ended up mauling one of the stable-hands and had to be put out of his debilitating madness, now, wouldn’t it?”

((Stella))

Stella took the job of healing her soldiers. The ones that needed more urgent help were the first to receive it, as she hastily used all her knowledge in order not only to save their lives, but also trying to keep their bodies as well preserved as possible. She didn't know if that would be possible, with all her hard work, but she had surely tried as hard as possible. As the most difficult cases were treated, soldiers with minor injuries came looking for her help. Stella did her best in trying to teach them enough so they could be able to help each other with the smallest wounds, and soon all the cavalry was working together to heal themselves.

The leader of the cavalry couldn't help but be surprised at the sight of the Bellanese not just surrendering, but accepting going back to the city... She realized her side had become the captors, now, and that was something she was not going to promote. She could not do anything about it, now -no, rather, it would not be wise to do anything about it- so there was only one thing she could do. "Do not capture a single enemy!!" She raised her voice as much as she felt she could, so that everyone in the cavalry unit could hear her. "That is not our job!! Remember the first priority is making sure our people are in good condition!! After we make sure of that, we are going back!!"

Did Stella sound confident in herself? She didn't know if that was the case, but she was certainly trying. She understood the logic behind capturing enemies, and in a way, she accepted it, as it would be good to know the reasons that brought the Bellanese to attack them. But Stella decided she would not take part in that. If anything... maybe she could try to make sure the captured enemy soldiers were released safely after they got the information they wanted. Perhaps then the Bellanese would realize they never wanted to harm anyone on the first place.

Those thoughts distracted the woman while she kept taking care of the remaining soldiers. When she decided was the right moment, she sent everyone back to the camp, while she got on her horse and rode towards Lord Micháele's tent, a yellow one, the color so strong. Almost as if he decided that color was to match his hair's. Stella rode slowly towards it, and the sight was certainly a revealing one. Their lord was in front of the tent, looking as clean as always, while Sol, who had just bowed in front of him, was covered in sweat and ash, just as Jean, who was landing next to the other sky-fighter. As for Stella herself, she was covered in dust and blood.

How unfair it was, for a lord to sit back and watch as his soldier fought. For a moment, Stella wondered what actually happen, if she mentioned her origins to the lord, now, and laughed softly to herself as she arrived next to Sol and Jean. That would certainly be an interesting sight. The coward lord would not be able to deal with being aware that she had sent a noblewoman to fight. But that wasn't the right moment, of course. Stella was concealing her identity because... why was she doing it?

Of course, being a noble would have meant bad relationships with people who basically thought every noble person was to be hated, and so not saying who she was meant that people would appreciate her or hate her because of who she was, and not because of the name she bore. But what about the advantages of using her name? She was sure the name 'Ocmare' could be used for her benefit, but would it be wise to do it now? After all, she had come here as Stella Oceane. In that moment, Stella realized that a very small part of herself had accepted her name, because of the good things it meant.

She would use it, her name. There was no telling how soon or late that would happen, but she had realized that the false world she had been living in during a good part of her life could not be changed, no matter how hard she tried. 'To do what no one else had done before'. That had been her goal in life, so far. It was time to outgrow that goal. For the time being, Stella would need a new goal. Perhaps, making sure that the Ocmare family was the most fair noble family in Indri'Enis? That sounded like a plan.

Stella's feet again on the ground, as she patted the horse she had been riding. A wonderful animal, indeed. It seemed to be tired, but still moved with confidence. "Sol, Jean, I am glad to see you both have returned safely. I expected no less of such skilled sky-fighters." She then turned back to the birds behind them. "Hercule and Crya, good job you two". Finally, after paying respect to their comrades' job, Stella turned to Lord Micháele. "I am back, my Lord."

Of course, soon, the tension between Micháele and Sol arise, while the latter signaled to her, needing a bandage, which Stella provided swiftly. Sol tried to go on herself. At first, the blood-flow scared the healer a bit, but soon realized it was not so serious, although by the looks of it, it must hurt quite a lot. Stella listened without interrupting, as the little argument between the two of them kept going, until the lord used his autority to stop it, in a way that Stella didn't like at all.

Sol voiced what the three of them -Sol, Jean and Stella- were thinking. What was going on there? Being attacked by a foreign tribe without a warning or a reason, and then being sent off. There was something really odd in all that. But what was more surprising to Stella was seeing the strange confidence that the lord showed in front of such an irritated Solstice. He replied in such an arrogant way, that Stella was afraid Sol would punch him on the face straight away.

"My lord, if I am allowed to interrupt. I do not think Solstice is being unreasonable here. We are not asking to act as noble people and do the politics, but it would be fair for us to have as much information as we can possibly get. After all... if we are in charge of the security, we need that information. This is not challenging your authority for the sake of it! We are doing our job! I said this, once before, but how can a soldier trust its' lord if the lord does not trust their soldier?"

It was clear, though, that if the lord didn't want to tell them anything, he wouldn't, regardless of what she said. However, perhaps those words could make him act different in the future. He was but a weak and coward man, and so, she could manipulate him, if she was able to use words well enough. Now, the question was; had she done that?

Lord Micháele proceeded, 'suggesting' Sol that she go and oversee the boarding of Crya -and probably Hercule, as well, although probably the lord mentioned only Crya with hopes to mess with Sol's mood-, and Stella could see that Sol was certainly mad at him, so she decided to try and give her a small lending hand. "My lord. Is my presence still needed, here? I can oversee Crya's boarding myself, for I think the roc has grown used to my presence."

Stella smiled faintly, knowing that her sentence constitued a double hit on the lord's face. She was defending with confidence that the bird was not dangerous, and that there was no problem with her being on her own with the bird. And at the same time, she was offering Sol the possibility of staying there, against the lord's wishes. Stella realized she was being a bit too daring, but after all, her words were polite and showed respect, so it should be alright.

((Jean))

To his displeasure, Jean found himself in agreement with the lord. Their priority was the safety of the mission and its participants, they would soon leave and be out of harm’s way. The town itself was not their responsibility, but that of the guild. Surely, Lord Micháele would request their aid, Jean would make sure of this later. For now, Jean’s priority was to search for Chanson. The information the lord possessed would not go anywhere.

“Lady Oceane is most right, my lord. However I must insist we are not mere soldiers, our strengths alone are not the reason we have been recruited. The Bellanese were defeated not through superior manpower, but through strategy. To form a plan of action one needs intelligence of the opponent’s. We were able to scout today, but we may not be tomorrow. Had their formations been solid we would have suffered many losses. In the future, for the sake of the mission, it is of utmost importance we share our intelligence.”

This was as much as Jean could say to the lord, the Bellanese were no longer their problem, after all. What Jean could do, was minimise the damage the lord would do and quicken all the processes without further delay. He would assign Sol to overseeing the birds, on the argument of being most experienced with rocs and ask Stella to attempt to gain more information from Micháele.

“Solstice, may I request you to oversee the birds? Both Hercule and Crya have been in battle and their predatory senses have sharpened, I would prefer if someone with experience would oversee them, rather than one unfamiliar with treating rocs. And Lady Oceane, may I have a short word with you?”

Jean walked outside of the tent, gesturing Stella to follow him. The sky was still gray, although no long pitch-black. Much of the ash was settling on the surface, that too would have to been taken care of. Soldiers and civilians alike were covered in its blankets, the wounded would have to be treated before their new coats settled in their wounds. He hoped that Stella and he were out of hearing distance, for Stella had figured out the Lord a little too much. She was clever, Stella Oceane, but perhaps a little too daring.

“Thank you for coming, milady.” Jean began, pausing to pick out his words. “Soon… We will no longer be here to defend the town. None will be able to hold us responsible for the lives of these civilians. Lord Micháele knows this. I want you to obtain as much information as you can, request the aid of the guild and pass to them this information. Under their protection, the town has nothing to fear. The lord has shown not to feel responsible for these people’s lives, so I cannot entrust him with this task. I am unaware of your experience and duties within the guild, so I apologise if I ask more than what you have been trained for, but I fear I have no choice. I have another responsibility I must attend to.”

The ex-commander took a moment to breathe, disgusting ash-filled air and coughed loudly. Jean then turned back to Stella and studied her expression carefully. She would go as far as challenging a lord, there was something off about her. It was not like Solstice’s recklessness; it was something else. Something that gave her confidence to stand against the lord as if he were her equal.

“Before you go, Lady Oceane, I must request you to treat the Lord respectfully. I am aware of your… Disliking, and certain that you are stronger of both body and mind, but one never knows what a cornered beast may do. Even rats have fangs, do remember that. Although he may not hurt you, he may hurt others. Them too, I leave in your responsibility. Our priorities are the safety of these people and the continuation of the mission. Any personal grudges any of us may hold can wait. Whether Lord Micháele is above this, is irrelevant to your own ability. Tell the lord I ask him to entrust you with all the information he would entrust me with.”

Jean made a quick bow, announcing his leave, “If you will please excuse me, I must be on my way.” He said, as he went to town. Hopefully his trust in Stella was not misplaced and Solstice would look over the rocs. The women might not be pleased by Jean’s actions, taking the lord under his protection, but it was all for the sake of greater goods. Once off in space, mutiny was an option if Micháele stood in the way of the crew’s safety. Right now, however, he was not so easily dealt with…


((Chanson))

His chivalry did stretch, or so the girl assumed, as the soldier ran off to the nobleman’s words. Chanson suppressed a smile, her scheme had worked. Now she needed to return to Jean and send him a thousand cold glares for leaving her, but she could not have been more wrong about Ymber Ocmare’s motivations.

“Alright. You better explain me why he wanted to grab you, otherwise I'm not staying with you.” Her saviour demanded. Chanson stared at him, looking for the man’s marking to confirm his heritage. She could spot hints of turquoise, but these markings were on his arms and so she could not identify them. He had the air of a young nobleman, however, there was no mistaking that.

“I do not know.” Chanson stated clearly, scrambling whatever guts she had together to speak loudly. “If I knew I would tell you. I search for Jean-Baptiste Montague.” However the young man had ceased his listening ears.

“I don't like to act as a nanny, so we will be partners for a while, alright? I help you and you help me. I'm moving forward, since I want to know what's going on there. You will come with me, and after I've seen whatever is happening, we will decide what we're going to do.”

There was no mistaking, this man was definitely a nobleman. “There is an attack. A Bellanese cult, the soldiers say.” Chanson explained, in the same down-talking fashion as her new escort. “I possess excellent hearing.” She explained before he could ask. Chanson did not fancy further conversation. The nobleman would not join the battlefield or leave her; he was better protection than the soldier and much to her disgust, Chanson had no better choice than to stick with him.

((Stella))

Jean was quickly the one to be reasonable, trying to calm things down in order to avoid any possible confrontation between anyone. Stella could then see why he was a good leader, if there was ever any doubt of it. His words were sensible yet straight to the point. It was then, much to her surprise, that the man called her outside. She excused herself to the lord and went outside, following Jean. What was it that he wanted to tell her, that couldn't be said in front of Sol and Lord Micháele.

Stella stood, silent, in front of Jean, waiting for him to explain what he wanted to say. She couldn't even imagine how she looked like, right then, after that battle, and she thought to herself she should find a way to fix herself. At least get some new clothes to wear. She listened carefully as Jean explained how they would not be responsible for the lives of the civilians there, and was about to answer back, saying that was not the point, when Jean said she should get information from the Lord and pass it to the guild.

That was certainly a good idea. She was quite new inside the guild, but they would definitely listen to her. It was not as if she was nobody; after all she had been chosen to go there, so if she sent them an advice, explaining the situation, they would do something about it. They wouldn't leave the place go unprotected, right?

"I agree with that, Sir Montague... I do not feel you need to worry about the lives of the civilians, in such a case. I will of course try to obtain as much information as I can possibly do, and pass it to the guild. However, if I was to fail on this, I am convinced that Stealth will deal effectively with the information matter. Therefore, the place will be safe. As safe as it can be, if they eventually get attacked again, anyway... As for my experience and duties... I will admit I am not the most experienced member, there, but as I was chosen to be here, I doubt they would ignore my words."

Jean coughed for a moment, because of the ash-filled air, as Stella was wondering what this responsability he had to attend to could be. She was looking at him as he seemed to take a careful look at her face. Was he trying to see something that was not clear? Did she send some strange feeling? Maybe she was just covered with mud and dirt, because of the battle?

"I have always used respectable words towards the Lord, haven't I...? But at any rate, I think I will be able to deal with him. After all, you could say I am... used to dealing with this kind of situations." As she said that, Stella laughed softly. "I know. My priority is also the safety of the people here, moreso than the mission itself. However, I do not have any specific grudge against the Lord... that could probably be applied to Solstice Aibhilín. I am aware that I should not push him too far, or he could do something completely unexpected, and I do not plan on risking people's lives like this. I will be careful... sir."

Stella bowed to Jean right before he did a quick bow himself, and said goodbye to her. "Thank you for the trust you have put in me." She spoke as the man had already turned around. She was glad Jean had entrusted her with an important task, as that meant he was being useful, and that was the reason she was actually here.

After seeing the ex-commander leaving, Stella returned inside the tent, where the lord was waiting for her. "Excuse me for my short absence... Jean-Baptiste Montague has explained to me there were some urgent matters that required his presence and has therefore left. He told me that, whatever information you would entrust him with, related to this battle we have just won -Stella hesitated for a moment- under your leadership or to the Bellanese, should be passed on to me. That way, I can quickly give him the information without bothering you anymore, my lord."

She smiled confidently at Micháele, hoping her words were to have the desired effect. The decision of praising him and assuming he had been the battle's leader was clearly taken with the idea of pleasing him in mind, so that he would feel at ease when giving information to her. It was easier to obtain information from a relaxed man, after all.

"But perhaps we should discuss this somewhere more comfortable. After all, someone such as you shouldn't have to be standing up when talking about such important matters... am I not right, my lord?" While Stella spoke to the Lord, she could only hope he didn't take that the wrong way. After all, she was trying to praise him and his position in order to obtain something. There was nothing else than that, and she certainly didn't wish to get in trouble herself only because that man had understood her the wrong way.


((Ymber))

So the girl didn't know why she was chased by the guard. Hmph, bad beginning. Ymber thought he heard the girl talking about some name, but he wasn't really interesting. Perhaps talking about a friend of hers. Who knows. But the most surprising news had still to reach his ears.

"A Bellanese cult, you say??" Ymber didn't think of himself as the biggest expert in politics, even if he was sure enough of his knowledge. However, he had to secretly admit to himself that he didn't know what they would be doing there. "Hmm...! I... see...! Thanks for that information, sharp-eared girl, your ears have been really helpful here. Not even I could have known they were Bellanese without having enough proof. Come to think about it, I do not know your name. I am Ymber Ocmare."

After the proper introductions were made, the two moved forward, with the goal of seeing the battleground in mind. Realizing that the girl didn't really want to talk that much, he decided not to bother her. After all, if the girl was truly lost, she wasn't probably having a good time, with there being a battle and all. He probably should be a bit more considerate, if only just a bit.

What Ymber saw when they arrived at a point from where the battle could be seen was really surprising. The battle was flickery, kind of blurry, which was the most unsettling thing, with some the sky full of dark smoke and some other flickering things on the sky. And of course, everything else was what was to be expected from a battle. People using swords against other people, blood and dust everywhere, and a big amout of soldiers riding horses who were wreaking havoc upon a specific section of their enemies.

"This is madness... I never thought the Bellanese would attack such a place... let us leave this place! We do not want to risk our lives, here." By the number of enemy soldiers Ymber saw, it was impossible that they were to win. However, he didn't want to frighten the girl, so he omitted that information. "We will leave the city center, though, and move towards... there!" He said that as he pointed the direction of the tents, at the limit of the city, believeing they would be able to make it alive from there.

"So, how did you get lost? And are you searching for someone in particular?" For a moment, Ymber thought it might be a good idea to try and distract the girl with some chit-chat, hoping she would not think that battle was important at all. While crossing the city, he realized that, after all, people in general didn't seem as frightened as he would expect, seeing the number of enemies in the battlefield. All the better, since that would work well with calming the girl.

After a while, Ymber and Chanson found themselves walking through a deserted area of the city, and it was then, that he saw a man in the distance. That man had imposing red hair and seemed to be quite tall. Ymber then extended his arm in front of the girl he was protecting, meaning to her that she should stay behind him, and he unsheathed his sword. After all, a man alone on a place like that was suspicious.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?"

((Micháele))

As the detestable sky-fighter left with her vile avian charges – a small irritable frown crinkling her brow as she glanced back to her companions – Micháele turned his attentions to the conversing pair a short distance away, eyes narrowing slightly in concerned suspicion. The beautiful spy was nodding sombrely to the ex-commander’s words, exuding a natural confidence and grace, despite the current state of her person. The nobleman frowned deeper; despite the lack of visible markings, Stella carried herself like a queen... was she truly as common as she described, or was there a streak of nobility in her bloodline that shone subtly through her disguise? He knew the way the guild worked; was there something more here than just a privileged student sent to explore the stars? What if they had sent her on purpose: to spy on him – and the mission itself?

As if to support his suspicions, the pair acknowledged each other with a short bow, splitting off in their own separate directions. Contrary to his request, Jean-Baptise disappeared rapidly towards the city, his swift stride carrying him quickly out of eyesight, and the figure now approaching him was the woman with whom he had growing concerns. Stilling before him, she explained the reasoning behind the sky-fighter’s recent departure. Micháele prepared to steel his face into impassivity, lest his eyes show his misgivings, however Stella suddenly grinned at him disarmingly, and he felt his own lips quirk to a smile in response.

"But perhaps we should discuss this somewhere more comfortable,” she stated then with the ease of one born to hospitality, “After all, someone such as you shouldn't have to be standing up when talking about such important matters... am I not right, my lord?"

Feeling his concerns slip away like ice melting in the sun’s heat, the lord allowed himself a brief moment of self-satisfaction; there was clearly no threat here. She merely only wished to relieve the burden of her superiors and spend her time conversing with one of the most powerful men for miles around. Of course those pretty blue eyes held no subterfuge. Smile broadening, the Lord Tacita indicated a doorway of tent-flaps behind them, leading the way through the conference area of the tent into a more comfortable reception area adorned with rich carpets, soft seats and a single writing desk. The only reason Micháele agreed to stay on these forsaken dirt plains was because of this little piece of luxury. Even then, remembering the opulence of the home he left behind caused him to shudder in disgust at his current appointments. But it served its purpose at least.

“My lady Oceane,” Micháele began as they both sat themselves upon the cushioned chairs, “May I call you Stella?” Continuing with her nod of agreement, the lord waved a hand for her to help herself to the refreshments on the small table before them. “You are aware, of course, of what the Bellanese leader said when we attempted to dissuade him from his course? In truth, there have been more than a few oppositions to our mission, none of which actually hold any relevance to the true reason behind our travels. The information I have gathered so far suggests that there will be many more.” Micháele paused dramatically, helping himself to a dried fig as he let the thought sink in. Chewing contemplatively on the fruit, he studied the woman opposite him, noting the predictable curiosity and settled back further into his seat. “But that is not why your little team is here. Sure,” he shrugged, “your military skills will be put to good use on this trip, but have you wondered Stella why a diplomat, spy and warrior – an unlikely trio at the best of times – have been put together specifically for an exploratory mission?”

“It is our belief,” the lord stated coolly, reaching for his goblet of wine and taking a large swig, “That we are not the only beings in the great expanse of the heavens. The Academy has been quietly using its ritual astrologers over the last few moons in an attempt to see and communicate with these other creatures.” Leaning forwards, Micháele allowed a hint of his enthusiasm to shine through his blue gaze. “And it has worked. Through the medium of an erythoril compound that flows like liquid metal, the ritualists have been able to create a form of scrying mirror through which we can trace images: of our home, our people, our ways. And recently, we have been answered.”

The Lord Tacita leaned back into his cushions, a single eyebrow raised and a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Hence the mission. The pictures shown to us by these beings – what they are calling ‘aeliens’ – describe a variety of landscapes rich in strange animals, plants and – most importantly – minerals.”

“Now, the Bellanese – as you saw – don’t want us going to these distant planets because they, for some reason, are aware of our ultimate plan: to collect some of these wondrous items and bring them back to Indri'Enis so that we can study and archive them. Our experimentations with the erythoril compound is similar to one of the Bellanese’s sacred rites and they believe our messages come from the world’s deities where they live in their...” Micháele waved a hand airily, trying to find an appropriate word for the strange ideal, “...god paradises. They believe that to even venture into such a world will spell doom and disaster upon our people.”

He snorted in derision. “Of course, they are fools. Our astronomers have been studying the stars and their planets for centuries; it is clear that the heavens are no more the god’s than they are ours. And so we go, despite some of the protests from the land’s barbarian tribes. Your mission: you, my lady Oceane, Jean-Baptise and the Aibhilín girl, are going to be the few who make first contact with these beings. You, Stella, are here to retrieve what information you can from the aeliens; Jean-Baptiste will be the effective politician: greeting, treating and debating with them; and Aibhilín is there to protect you both.”

“Of course, in truth,” Micháele sighed, rolling his eyes, “the sky-fighter’s not truly needed: you’ll have a quarter of the Guild’s army at your backs after all... but her presence was requested by a power higher than my own humble position-“ he allowed himself to share a long-suffering expression of amusement with the spy. A bit of common dislike never failed to boost the morale of the underlings... “-and who am I to disobey the orders of a superior? Still, Stella my dear, I’d like you to keep an eye on her. She’s trouble in a bottle that woman, and it wouldn’t surprise me if she managed to jepordise the mission with just her presence aboard the ship. She seems to respect you two though so if we’re lucky we may at least get her to toe the line...”

Micháele chuckled, stretching luxuriously and then standing. “Well,” he said decisively, “It has been a pleasure, my lady, but I am afraid we are all very busy and should both be elsewhere. I would advise you find Mister Montague and board the ship as soon as possible. We will be launching from the dock at dawn, so you should make sure you are all in your cabins by sundown at the very latest. I would also suggest," he added, grinning and wrinkling his nose, "that you take the time to explore this ship's baths. Get youself into some clean garments."

Giving her a nod of dismissal, the lord smiled and encouraged her out with a wave of his hand. "I will see you anon.”

((Stella))

Stella saw Micháele's mouth quirking to a smile when she smiled, herself, and right then she knew it was working the way she wanted it to work. Praising him was what she had in mind, when she was talking to him, right then. Especially because she wanted to get information from him, and so the best way was to have him feel at ease. He would speak easier, that way, and trust her a bit more, probably.

As the lord's worries apparently disappeared, she smiled to herself, glad that her tricks had worked, as he saw the man seemingly lost in her eyes, for a second. Stella followed the lord to a doorway of tent-flaps behind them, as he smiled wider. As they walked in, she realized that the inner part of that tent looked definitely fancier than she had expected, especially the area they were in, now. It was quite fancy in general, with quality carpets, good and comfortable seats and a writing desk. She could see that the desk used a very good variety of wood, definitely. Obviously, the lord loved luxury and was having it in there. As much as Stella hated to admit it, it kind of felt more at home than some other places she had been to. It was nowhere close to the Ocmare Estate in terms of luxury, but it did feel similar, in a way.

Stella sat down, letting out a very soft sigh, finally able to sit in such a comfortable place, for the first time in who knew how much time. She looked at Micháele as he sat down as well. He requested that he be able to call her Stella, to which she quickly gave a nod of agreement. She wouldn't want to say no to him, as this would jeopardize her mission. She was given permission by the lord, with a quick gesture of her hand, to help herself. However, she wasn't particularly hungry, after a long and tough battle, so she only ate a little bit, to make sure the lord was not offended by her not taking up his offer. In the meantime, she listened carefully to what he had to say. Micháele talked about that the Bellanese leader said when they tried to dissuade him from advancing with his army. He had been very clear, and although Stella understood what he meant, and respected it, she didn't thought it was necessary to go that far. However, she was not surprised when the lord revealed that there had been quite a few groups that were opposing to that mission. It made sense, as it was something quite controversial.

What worried Stella was hearing that there would be more opposition in the future. Did that mean they would have to fight against their own kin? She hoped that would not be the case... Impatience grew on her as Micháele paused for a moment, settling then back further into his seat. He was about to explain the reason of having chosen the three people that had been chosen for that mission. Stella had never thought about it, but it made sense, to wonder about that. For once, she was agreeing with the lord. What an unlikely trio, they were. From the militant guild, all of them, but quite different anyway. A diplomat, a warrior and herself, a spy. What did they have to do in an exploration mission? She had always assumed she was there more as a warrior than as a spy, especially because of her healing skills. A warrior with such skills was rather rare, so she had always thought that was the reason. But it turns out her spy skills were part of the decision, too?

Stella had a bit of water, while Micháele took a large swig of wine. The next words the lord spoke shocked Stella, who stood up, all of a sudden. "What do you mean we are not the only beings...?!! Are you saying that... there are more... living beings... further away?" Stella couldn't believe her ears. She understood that the ship was supposed to go so far away in the heavens, and see other worlds... but, to think that other worlds were truly inhabitated, and that it was confirmed... she was beyond surprised. The method that had been used to communicate was surprising, too. And it was one she failed to completely understand. An erythoril compound that lowed like liquid metal? Surely, the Academy knew lots of interesting and impressive things. She had to admit those were beyond her comprehension. Trying to accept there were living beings beyond what she knew was already something huge.

The lord leaned back into his cushions, and motioned Stella to sit down again, as he continued to explain everything, a small smile starting to appear in his face. They had been show many landscapes with strange animals, strange plants and minerals that probably were to be used by her own land. Stella wondered if this could create a war with this new people, this "aeliens". And she had to wonder if they could win it, if it started. It then made sense for the Bellanese to be mad at them. They probably thought that their Gods were being spied, and that they would try to steal everything there was in their "god paradises", as Micháele put it. If that were true, it would really spell doom and disaster upon the Teela.

Stella listened to how Micháele explained everything he knew about the heavens, and how they belonged to their people as much as to any god. But if everything hadn't been surprising enough, what the lord had to say further surprised her. That was why she had to sit down. If she had been standing up, she would have definitely fallen down. She would be one of the few first people to make contact with these mysterious beings. She would have to get important information from them, as risky as it may sound.

Micháele continued to explain that a higher power had requested that Sol was part of the mission. What kind of past did she have? There was something about her, certainly. She had probably been a really good warrior, for quite some time. And, as he kept talking about her, the conversation went on to have him ask Stella to keep an eye on her. What was she supposed to say, then? She was particularly fond of Solstice, as she seemed like a very decent woman, unlike the lord. "Do not worry, my lord, I will keep an eye on her, you can be sure of that." What she didn't mention, though, is that keeping an eye on her did not mean she was agreeing with his goals, and defending him from her. All in all, with these events going on, could she be considered a double agent, now? Hardly, as she'd never change her allegiance. It was more like a quite complicated situation.

After such matters were settled, the lord decide it was time to call it a day. A few last instructions about when the ship would be launching, and a suggestion that she went to find Jean and board the ship soon. No mention for Sol. As expected. But there was still time for a last humiliation from the lord, as wrinkling his nose while grinning, he also suggested she 'explored' the ship's baths and get into some clean garments. "Unlike you, I have been fighting against your enemies, risking my body for this mission. As disgusting as I may be, right now, you have no right to mention that to me, when you have been sitting all the time while we risked our lives!!" That's what she would have liked to say, but that was not right; it would be too risky, so she didn't say it. "Yes, my lord, thank you for your concern."

Stella was given a nod of dismissal, smiled gently at her, and the meeting was over. She walked outside, and decided to walk around the place, a bit. However, she had to consider going straight away to the ship's baths, as a blood-drenched woman in the middle of the town would be quite a scary sight.