Ron Muller's Story

Tallyho felt a little flutter in her chest when the young man who had threatened (at least she supposed he had) the farmer from earlier spoke up. But it wasn’t a flattering kind of flutter — the kind that makes a person steal looks across the room between the warm rushes of blood swelling their cheeks. No it was the kind of flutter that signaled a bit of baffle and shock. Maybe a bit of disgust.

Reshape this place? Them? If she understood everything correctly, now these aliens were coming to change her world to how they saw fit? Tallyho wasn’t the smarted person, but she definitely wasn’t an idiot. If there was a moment where she was kind of on board with the month warrior thing, this new element of world domination really took her back to the drawing board. Especially when he had the audacity to ask for payment. And Goddess only knew what a gunpowder was…

Tallyho pressed her lips firmly together, stoic. The only expressive behaviors that gave away how turned off she was at the nerve of this man were the glances she stole across the table toward to the only two dinner guests who, by dress, she could assume were from Aires. The warrior and another blonde.
Then she looked to Haru.

Haru wasn’t the most patient person, but he had will power.

“Well Ron,” he put an emphasis on his name as if to signal that he knew all of their names, and he did. “I can certainly get you the education you need. First lesson: There is no gun powder here. No guns even. This is the kind of world where men fight fist to fist and sword to sword, which might be honorable to some… I highly recommend you get trained in hand to hand combat, especially with the power you have… Which is why I’ll be talking everyone to a special academy north of here for training at the break of dawn. It will be your home for a little while. A hero’s journey begins with your ordinary world, a call to adventure, the refusal to said adventure and then a brush with a mentor. And I am your mentor, not your contractor. Therefore, I won’t be paying you. But you’re welcome to forego the journey. Sit here, run off, you’re welcome to take some food too. But if you choose not to cross the threshold of this adventure, then you ought not to know anything about your power, right? You’d be safer not knowing anything if you’re not committed to the cause. So go off if you’d like, or stay. But these are the terms.”

Haru stood up and his chair slid back with a heavy grunt. “For those of you who will be here tomorrow free of charge, be ready. When we get to the top of the academy, I’ll tell you your true potential. But for now, sleep. It will be a very long day.”
And with that, Haru left.

When Haru first spoke, Angela’s heart muddily skipped a beat. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling. Rather, it was one of inevitability finally arriving. Like test scores being revealed or checking your credit score. It didn’t help that he was an intimidating man. Though different than the soldier that slayed the beast and ate like a man condemned to death, Haru still had an air of power about him. Angela swallowed a bit of stew. For whatever reason, this didn’t seem like something to listen to with her mouth full.

And it really wasn’t, for she just might have done a dramatic spit take had she actually had anything in there when she heard the news. She could deal with the reality of monsters. The park had solidified her thoughts on that. But another world? Even she found that hard to believe. As he went on Angela stared wide eyed. It was a lot of information to digest.

Angela wasn’t exactly what one would call a sceptic. There comes a point where after buying multiple candles and going through so many seances (failed though they were) that one simply has to admit they might be a bit of an eccentric. Still, even Angela had her limits. Even she needed some shred of evidence. Some reason to believe. She brushed her fingers over her own gem, hoping it would burn as it did before. Any bit of confirmation would have been wonderful. However, it remained the same. So, she was left to think about this situation. Questions just couldn’t come to mind. She was too confused.

This was all unbelievable, but it had happened. A monster appeared in central park. A bridge of stars and oceans had led them somewhere. There weren’t any other explanations. At least, none that Angela liked. Drugs, kidnapping, these thoughts had been racing through her mind. But for some reason they seemed less believable. Maybe, the more she thought about it, the less she wanted to believe it. A reality where they were warriors and there was magic, that one was more palatable.

Others spoke up, and Angela found herself nodding in approval. She even had the brief thought of following the blond who left the building. But, she remained in her seat. Even if it was out of nothing but begrudging acceptance. She couldn’t stay skeptical for too long. It just wasn’t in her nature. So, fine. There were monsters, and other worlds, and warriors with magical stones. It was better to believe in this reality. In this reality, they had a fighting chance.

Maybe that’s why she stood up after the threatening man spoke, her face flushed with anger. Haru left, and had said his piece. Truthfully, Angela thought he said it well. He said it far better than she.

“You gotta be kidding, dude! Like, holy shit. Reshape? What, like a god or something? I mean, if this is all real, these are peoples lives we’re dealing with! Man! I know this is weird, but you don’t gotta be a creep about it!” The words tumbled out of her mouth, clumsy and awkward. She sank back into her seat sheepishly, refusing to make eye contact. But she continued to speak.

“If there are people in danger, in whatever world, and we can do something to stop that, then shouldn’t we? Do we even have a choice, like, as humans? It’s just the moral thing to do, right? Be good and helpful and stuff? So, I’m going along. If there’s any way I can help, I want to. And even if this is all just some dumb thing or drugs or whatever or who knows, at least I tried. I can be proud of myself for that.”

Tallyho let a wheeze escape her lungs as one of the foreigners (a blonde one, and boy were there a lot of them) boldly condemned the other man’s reasoning. Perhaps they wouldn’t be as much of a problem in that regard as she thought. It would be bad, but not that bad, she thought. And almost immediately she realized that she was already making concessions for a life she didn’t officially choose yet, accepting this task and the nakky personalities that came with it as reality. She was never that good at fighting back, always raising a voice but nary a finger. Her mind wasn’t racing with plans to escape. At the time she didn’t think of the door as much as she thought she would, and didn’t take the prospect of stealing a horse and galloping out into the night that seriously. She didn’t think about inciting a revolution where they collectively flipped the table and marched out. And to be quite honest, she wasn’t sure if she would have joined in on a rebellion like that anyway.

“I too, am staying,” she hummed. She wait to see who else was going to pledge their lives away to a cause they never knew existed. Instead, she made swift break for the door, marching up the stairs with a firm haste. Her hands were pale and clammy on the stair rails and her palms stuck to the wood as she went. The last they heard from Tallyho that night was the heavy thud of a door.

Tallyho had trouble sleeping that night. After all, she was petrified. This was the most important night of her life. Her presence on the farm by the break of dawn was her signature on a very serious contract. And this very night was her last moment to rip it to shreds before it was notarized. Yet, while she was scared of this metaphorical contract and all the terms and footnotes that came with it, she was more anxious about what would happen if she didn’t sign it.

She knew too much. Too much about the legend and the stakes of a mission like this. And now, too much about herself. Because unlike the warriors from earth who knew nothing about the legends of the gems, Tallyho knew who she was supposed to be. She clasped her stone between her fingers, and a look of wild panic crossed her face. Tallyho was born on February 17th, seventy five seasons ago*, during a thunderstorm. Her birth, as her mother always told it, consisted of her mother, father and a midwife from the Oni tribe, nestled on a bluff overlooking the coast of Freeland. Birthing a child on the face of the edge of the world. It was always a poetic scene by its own merit, but when the baby born of thunder and lightning becomes its conductor, it’s a completely different poem altogether.

She sat up in her bed, watching the window and the way the dark mountains only slightly traced the horizon. She imagined herself galloping northward on a dark horse, determined to be reunited with her nomadic family. But her trot would slow as she moved farther and farther away from the tiny farm, and then, with a face filled with stupor and regret, she would stop her horse completely. She would look back at Haru’s tiny farm, and wonder where on Aires she would go next. She would be alone.

It was this vision that made Tallyho give up on another alternative. She wasn’t going to find her family on her own. And as far as her mom knew, her daughter could have run away on her own merit to find something better. It was very unfortunate that Tallyho only now realized how little she seemed to enjoy her family. And with everything she ever knew lost somewhere on the continent, probably miles and miles away, she was missing them incredibly.

The blonde reclined back into her bed and blinked away a wave of tears. She breathed in, clearing her sinus of an impending gush of mucus. She, at least, hoped that her mother craft a more positive narrative around her disappearance. One where Tallyho ran away to find a passion that didn’t fit within her current reality. One where she fell in love and was off having fun and being free. Her mother would like to think that, even if she lost her child in a pursuit of happiness. More than anything she hoped that her mother didn’t have nightmares about her daughter face down in a river, or defiled by a man, or both. Tallyho wasn’t sure if she would be able to live with those images. And so, for the first time since she was an impressionable 8 year old, Tallyho prayed to the Goddess.

The last time Tallyho Abel fell asleep, she sunk into her blankets and woke up in another world. On this day, however, she woke up in Aires, to soft light from a dusty window, a bed head like a fuzzy halo, sore legs and her hands clasped and cramped from the fervor of nocturnal prayer.

Every morning Haru would perch outside with a cigar and watch the dawn’s white sky turn blue. It was a ritual he rarely missed, and today was no different. The redhead was perched on the back of a cart, breezily blowing smoke into the air. One farm hand was perched on the driver’s stoop, and though the soles of his feet were pressed firmly against the footboard, his legs were so long that they folded dramatically to his chest like twin spires. He was bent over a jar, spooning a goopy starch into his mouth and shooing away persistent horse flies between bites. He was spooning up glops of warm biscuits and venison gravy that the maids prepared in the wee hours of the morning. Another farmhand was loading extra jars in the back corner of the wagon. They were wrapped in cloth and he was careful to stack the two dozen or so jars in such a way that they would not take up too much space. It was enough food for everyone to have a breakfast this morning and a lunch later. Anything after that would have to be bought from a village market on the way up north.

Haru took a long, deep inhale of his cigar as he waited for the warriors to come outside. They were going up the mountain for the first course of their journey, for training. Truthfully, he looked forward to this moment, interested in seeing who lasted the night. He didn’t think many of them would stick with the program so one could imagine his surprise when one out of the house was one of those shrimpy blonde kids.

Tallyho was bracing herself against the cool air of dawn. The early mornings were getting colder and colder, a sign that summer was ending. Haru squinted his eyes and chuckled dryly.

“Well… Hello my savior. At least there’s one of you.” As she got closer Haru could tell that she wasn’t very amused. The farmer flattened his lips into a tight, awkward smile. He wasn’t the best at jokes he supposed. “Hop on in the cart and get a good seat. There are jars for food back there, some water tins too. I’ll have them pack some blankets. The ride is going to be a day or two.”

Tallyho nodded dejectedly and rummaged through the jars, and although they all had the same amount of food she selected one that she thought felt the heaviest in her hand. The jar screwed open with a wheeze and a pop and the blonde proceeded to push her biscuit down into the thick gravy with the wooden spoons Haru provided. The taste was warm and hearty.

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H E A T H E RXD E V E R E U X
_____ T H EXA R T I S T _____

Outfit: Link Here
Location: Aires - Haru's Farm
Dialogue Color ✦ #8A4E62
Thought Color ✧ #3A0012

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Haru resolved that this would be a long ride, and boy it was. If it wasn’t the way his jaw tickled as the cart piqued and dipped sharply against the crude country roads, it was his attempt to explain to the group that yes, they would need to squat behind some trees during pit stops.

Though the weathered man preferred his silence and solitude, he did try to engage them during the ride. His first attempt at trying to seem like a people person was a corny icebreaker, with an introduction that seemed more fun and lighthearted in his head than it did coming out of his mouth.

“Did you guys introduce yourselves to each other?” He asked gruffly. Surely they weren’t so socially inept that they didn’t at least trade some names by now? “After surviving a cyclopean you’re practically bonded by blood.”

He peered at Tallyho who was perched next to him in the corner of the cart. The blonde was compact, knees drawn to her chest. “You start,” he said with an inflection so clear that Tallyho couldn’t have mistaken the fact that he was talking directly to her. “Your name? Your birth month?”

She appraised the group, words were slow, apprehensive and the thickness of her nomadic accent highlighted.

“I am Tallyho. Born February.”

Her eyes reluctantly shifted onto Haru, an innocent request for a confirmation that she did it right.

It wasn’t the best start, Haru thought, and it definitely felt more awkward than he intended. But one has to commit to things they start. “Okay great,” he said before gesturing toward the next person. He went on like this for the next half hour, pushing them to share their names and promising that when they got to the top of the mountain, he would tell them the power of their month.

The introductions withered down and the cart fell back into patches of silence. After a couple more hours and a few failed attempts at nodding off, Haru decided to engage in tour guide mode, another socially-oriented activity that he wasn’t the most adequate at.

“So… This is the country Solace. Most people are either landlords, sharecroppers or tradesmen in these parts. They’ve got good blacksmiths in the north… ”

Haru paused, unsure of what more to say than that. He wasn’t much of a scholar after all. But he was a simple man who, at the end of the day, knew his limits and eventually he gave up on smalltalk. Unsurprisingly, when he alleviated himself of the burden of trying to get a bunch of teenagers to bond in a hay cart, he finally dozed off. It was a deep sleep, actually. His limbs were spread about (as much as they could be in the crowded cart) with both arms propped comfortably off the cart’s edge. An unfortunate position for whichever warriors lucky enough to be in direct contact with his armpit hair. He was also a very apparent snorer and remained asleep for a good portion of the ride. He only woke up around the ninth hour to help the driver build a fire so that they could set up camp by a river. By then they weren’t too far from the capital city Malboro, but it was only right that the horses got a more finite break instead of the little water pauses they’d make.


When they started moving again it was the next morning. Only this time they only rode for a couple more hours before they reached the capital city.

Malboro is a very visible pocket of civilization that thrives in the middle a fertile plain. The stone wall surrounding the city makes it very hard to miss, and it has a circumference so wide that its borders contain, not only the condensed collection of inns, taverns, feasting halls and the market bazaar, but the farmlands as well. The wall, some say, is one of the most notable architectural feats to this day. Its foundations were started by Halesian defects who, after forfeiting Solace, helped new settlers from the Rose Kingdom erect Malboro as the capital. Of course, this was in exchange for protection from the territory’s Oni natives. The construction of the wall was slow-going, but it wasn’t until the incubating years of The War of Ten Thousand Horses, which occurred between the Oni and the northern settlers, that the wall was completed in a fantastic feat of time. The thing that makes the wall so amazing, some scholars say, is the speed at which it was built. Every man, woman and child in the settlement was given a stone, a spade and put to work on the wall. The result? It was completed and functional it in less than a season. So it’s unsurprising that one type of person might view the wall as a symbol of unity, of citizenship, of triumph against the debauchery and delinquency of “wild men.” But another type of person may look at the wall and see a legacy built on a load of horse shit.

And that’s exactly what Tallyho saw when they came wobbling up to the great door. She never quite liked the city of Malboro, always finding the streets too messy and the people too ignorant. Audiences from the walled city were of a special breed: They often liked to sneak into shows for free and there has been many a time where Tallyho caught a faux patron jigging with all the rest. Ironically, the ones who cheer the loudest, are often the ones who don’t pay at all. It was almost as if they thought their gratification alone was more than enough reward for a lowly caravan, and that money was just an added bonus.

Usually when the caravan comes to town, the guards at the door of the wall are very scrutinizing. They ask them questions about where they had been previously, sometimes checking their carts for weapons, and sometimes confiscating belongings as unoffered bribes to buy them passage beyond the wall. The way they scrutinized outsiders though, really depended on which lord the capital was contracting a militia from. Solace doesn’t have an official military, only a collection of privately-owned militia who constantly duel for who’s the best. Some lords expect their men to be more upstanding and represent their house accordingly, and others let militia do what they please with the only stipulation being that they are killing machines in the times that matter most.

This time, however, things seemed a little bit easier. Sure, they definitely stared down Heather who, looked the most out of place in this particular part of the globe. And they did a once overs on all the blondes in the group just to see if they were the “good kind of blonde” or the lazy, debaucherously sing-songy kind (which to be honest there’s very little that physically distinguishes a courts man in the RK from a flute player in the Caravan of the Sun.) But somehow Haru’s casual assertion that this specially curated cart of attractive young people was just a load new farm labor was enough for these men to just let them through without so much of a question.

When entering the walls of Malboro, the first thing one sees is an expanse of tilled farmland and a scattered suburb of cabins they call the Spras Acres. This is where the farm families live and where most of the city’s food is grown. The farmers do most of their business in Sanguine Square, the large flea market in the heart of the city. But whatever they don’t sell there, they sell (or sometimes forcibly give) to militia men who sell their goods in other cities.

The borders of what constitutes Sanguine Square from the other central parts of the city are so blurry that its name evokes, not just the literal market, but all of the businesses and residential lots in its immediate (and not so immediate) vicinity. And so, Sanguine Square is where all the other townspeople live: Craftsmen, merchants, inn and tavern keepers, the royal family and its highest subjects.

Tallyho never felt more ready to start walking again and she curled her toes in anticipation, wincing at the uncomfortable tingling sensation emanating from her waking foot. The road into Sanguine Square was bumpier than the roads beyond the city. The road was cobbled with stones from the same material as the wall, and the jagged bumps in the cart’s trudge forward intensified from the gentle shudder of jawbones to the jagged clash of molars. And finally, at Haru’s instruction, they stopped just before the road became too dense with the bodies of busy townspeople to continue forward. The redhead hopped out the cart, motioning for the others to follow along. And as they unloaded, he provided the cart driver with directions to the nearest communal stable.

Tallyho wasn’t as intrigued by the sights as much as others might have been. The congested streets, and the enthusiastic shopkeepers… She had seen it all before, though from a slightly different lens. And the things the people wore weren’t much different than what Haru provided them a few day ago.

Haru led the large group into an inn where he promptly fished into his coin purse and presented a few choice pieces of metal that made the older innkeeper do a bit of a double take. He squinted intensely at the offering, probably more so because he needed glasses and glasses were a luxury in these parts.

“Howmanny ye want?” he asked? His diction slurred and slippery.

“Two beds per room?” Haru confirmed.

“Ye, two!”

It didn’t take long for the innkeeper to collect the keys on the wall and present them to Haru with their appropriate room numbers. And with their numbers, the group almost cleared out the entire wall of keys. Haru passed them out at random, leaving the team to figure out their roommate situations.

“There’s going to be two of you and one key.” Which was his way of saying be considerate to your roommate, whoever they were.

Tallyho, who was given a key at random, immediately looked to Heather. After all, that was the person she was most familiar with.

“You’re free to explore tonight,” Haru explained as he fished into his coin purse and began dropping a few into each of their hands. “Try not to leave central parts of the city. This should be enough money to get you a good meal with a little to spare… Just seem confident and I’m sure they’ll give you the right amount of change. And keep your identities to yourself. Don’t mention your business. Everyone isn’t your friend. This is your home base tonight, so don’t get lost. We’re going to leave here tomorrow morning and start moving up the mountain.”

Tallyho clutched the coins tightly in her hands before looking to Heather. “Food?” she asked. Although she said it loudly enough so that it could have been an invitation for any of them. She wearily scanned the group, looking for any takers.

OOC: *** Folks can start going their separate ways for their side events! To the tavern, to the heart of Sanguine Square, etc. I'll probably have Tallyho start off with the group witnessing the play before she breaks off into her thing.

Ron found the trip to be fine enough, although he could do for more blankets and less of Haru's snoring. He mostly either slept or read the Scrapes to Scabs along with the other maps. He learned quite a bit about the world from that book. Medicine was virtually nonexistent as the remedies mentioned were just for easing pain. It read more like a guide to how to work in hospice care rather than an actual doctor. It also gave a list of herbs and drugs that were very similar to the ones on earth, though slightly different in appearance. The diseases were also somewhat similar. Some had similarities to small pox or Bubonic, while others looked like something from GOT. Throughout the journey Haru started acting unusually friendly and started to point out spots like they were on a tour. At that point Ron would just light one up, ignoring anyone else who disliked the smell of tobacco.

Eventually they reached Malboro. Ron first laughed when Haru said that was the name of the capital, mostly because it sounded like a city ran by big tobacco. Still the town was pretty enough. Although the population was probably small compared to Earth, it still did not stop the city from looking like Troy over from the distance. The walls were strong and impressive, like they could hold out near any attack. Soon they got off and went into a small inn. So instead of getting food with the group's bumpkin, he decided to go out and get a strong drink.

After wondering around a bit, Ron walked into a tavern that looked cleaner on the outside. Inside it was dark wood and their were loads of pipe smokers. He came up to the barkeep and ordered a beer. What he got tasted like watered down bud-light, it would have to do. Ron eyed around the bar until he spotted a middle age man in the corner of the room. He wore an eye patch like a pirate and kept blowing on a candle that just refused to go out. So he downed his ale, bought two better ones, and brought the pints over to the man's table. There he placed the extra pint in front of the stranger before asking, "May I sit here?"

‎The Whiskey and the Candle

At the back of this smoky tavern sat a swarthy man watching the candle with a quiet pleasure of content. He blew at the flame occasionally, watching as it bowed back and billowed up with calm resolve. The steady flame warmed his face in the darkness of the liquor hall, seamlessly peeling the shadows from every crater and angle of his rough mug like a thin black veil removed. His left eye was covered, and though the general purpose of an eyepatch is to deflect from the specific details of a one eyed man’s misfortune, the three long trails of scar tissue that rolled from underneath the patch’s cover and swelled like yeast down his rosy cheek, seemed to compel more questions about his incident than contentment to leave the matter be. All things considered, he was striking. Not in the sense that he was beautiful in any regard of the concept, but he was certainly memorable. His slick, greasy hair lopped and curled in into a rusty brown mane that settled just past his shoulders. His mustache-beard combo was just as gnarly as the hair on his head, maybe even more so if one considered about how easy it would be for crumbs and ale to get lost in his chin’s wavy tresses.

He was swaddled in black head to toe, from the lightly padded shoulders of his black under armor (which puckered and glistened like burnt leather) to his worn boots which were dull as soot.

When an uninvited stranger came sauntering to his table, inviting himself to drink along, the older man, who looked to be in his mid-40s, welcomed the newcomer with a casual calm. With crossed arms he sat back in his chair, still staring at his candle with a sense of wonder, and turned a brown eye to his new tablemate.

“Boy,” he said, with an accent that sounded of the region but was neither posh nor as slippery as many of the accents chattering around them. “You blow that out.” His eye lit up with a bit of enthusiasm as he emphatically pointed at the candle. While he waited for Ron to try, he called over to two rounds of “the good stuff” (imported Pyre water), before deferring their costs to his tab. “Put that ale down. It’s not the good shit,” the man said as he downed his shot like a fresh glass of juice. (And if you never tried Pyre water, it’s the Everclear of Aires, but worse…) He waited to see if the young man could do it. And he knew it wouldn’t be possible, it was the nature of flames like these, but he’d give him time to try. Every gust of wind that fell upon it only made it stronger, and it would waver and slip back up like a stubborn hair no matter how hard he blew. Whether Ron chose to partake in his challenge or not, the man waited for a while, watching the flame and ordering more shots of Pyre water. Eventually he spoke again, eye trained on the flame.

“People used to worship fire. Blood sacrifice and all. They’d pray to it, dance to it, and make it their God. There are still those who do it today you know… And I think… It’s a load of horse shit.” He glanced at Ron, a stern expression crossing his face. “You believe in that horse shit, boy?” His questioned seemed both earnest are interrogating, but when a leather clad man with and eyepatch asks you if you believe in horse shit, you wouldn’t be blamed for feeling at least a little on edge.

Ron would be lying if he were to say that the man in front of him looked too out of the ordinary. Hell most farmers where he grew up were dirty and rough looking, minus the eye patch. Though he could understand the lack of glass eyes in this world. When the man asked him to blow out the candle he furrowed his brow out of confusion. He had seen the man play with the candle earlier, putting it out to no avail. Before he got the chance to try the man began to order drinks to the table and to Ron's surprise they were shots. He smiled and took one as bar etiquette said that it would be rude otherwise. The taste was awful; It was as if everclear and cheap tequila had a kid. Still he took the whole shot while the man in front of him downed them as they came. He had originally thought that the liquor in this world would be tasteless and weak, fortunately that was not the case.

After the first few shots the man began to go off on old religions of worshiping deities that represented fire, commenting on them as if they were inferior to his own beliefs. Then the man asked for confirmation in his claims, as if to make Ron agree through sheer discomfort. "No. I don't think that's horseshit. I think that everybody should be free to worship as they please, so long as they don't harm others. I believe in a God of my own, so what right do I have to judge others for their beliefs." That kind of thinking really pissed him off. It was that mentality that brought conflict, instead of just letting others worship as they saw fit. He then took a look at the candle in front of him, moving it to the edge of the table. Instead of blowing air at it, he instead sent a lob of spit at the flame to extinguish it. When he was a kid there were not very many things to do so he and the other neighborhood boys would make games to occupy time. One was always a spitting contest to emulate some of the dads who chewed. As a result Ron became rather accurate with the useless skill. It landed and the flame went out, to which in his fairness he did technically use his breath to do that.

‎The Whiskey and the Candle

One could think that a man in a tavern in Malboro wouldn't do anything less than react angrily to such a move of bad sportsmanship. He might have questioned why the youngblood didn't just play along with his game of candles. Could have threatened his life even. But this particular man, in an even more unsettling display, laughed quietly as the flame's lasting breath, now a wheezing string of smoke that bunched up in the air like tulle, vanished. He had listened to Ron's ethical lecture. It was earnest enough, he thought. Free will, freedom to worship the whole package. But when he spit out the fire he only laughed and spoke again.

"All of it, horse shit. The fire dancers, the..." He paused, raising a brow to Ron. It was the kind of pause that made it hard to tell if he actually knew Ron's identity or if it was simply a well-timed coincidence. "The Month warriors. The mysticism is real, but the intentions behind it aren't what they seem. Our world is lost I think. Because we trust in Gods that aren't trusting in us, and we trust in Gods that don't serve the purposes they should." As he spoke, he drew a finger in the direction of the candle where the flame was slowly rippling awake, cracking its back and standing straight and steady as it had been before Ron had reached the table.

"Boy... Man cannot trust in Gods," he said. "Only in the power of other men."

‎The Whiskey and the Candle

After Ron gave his opinion and put out the candle, the other man simply went on insulting the fire dancers again. Then he mentioned the month warriors after a long pause. Haru had mentioned it in the beginning along with some of the literature that he brought for the trip. All he knew was that there were a group of young warriors who banded together to fight monsters like the one in central park. If it was not a confirmed event in history, possibly even being a myth, Ron was not very comfortable in sharing the idea that he was possibly one of them. He nodded as he took another drink of his ale.

"Well, this conversation is getting a tad too intense for me. How about we just agree to disagree?" He drank the last bit of his beer in one large gulp. "By the way, I never got your name." Ron held out his hand for a handshake. It would be impolite to leave without exchanging names and he did intend to leave soon. Theological debates were never really his style as the two parties rarely came to see eye to eye. After their exchanging of names he planned on leaving the tavern in search of the market.

"The names Ron." He said with a polite smile.

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H E A T H E RXD E V E R E U X
_____ T H EXA R T I S T _____

Outfit: Link Here
Location: Aires - Marlboro
Dialogue Color ✦ #8A4E62
Thought Color ✧ #3A0012

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The Whiskey and the Candle

The man in black would have shaken Ron’s hand with a callused palm and a firm grip. Finished his shot with a seamless tip of the chin. Offered a name, maybe not his own, but something to help the boy remember. But alas this man was too far gone to have such an interaction. In the time it took the young man to down the last drops of his beer the man disappeared without a sound, leaving behind the scent of burning leather and the candle burning brighter than ever.

The Last Daughter

Tallyho was quaking with excitement at the idea of having money in her possession. And of course all she wanted was food, something that had been Haru’s suggestion in the first place.

The hodgepodge of shops, taverns and street merchants packed onto the narrow streets of Sanguine Square didn’t always make for the most pleasant of morning walks. It was like New York in a way, where locals barreled and squirmed through the swarms of people with very little regard for those around them. But for some, the sheer density of people in the city was a favorable quality, and it wasn’t uncommon for someone to head out to the market only to reach their destination with empty pockets.
It was because of this that Tallyho clutched her coins tightly in her fist until they finally settled on a place to eat. And after a fulfilling meal of meats, gravies and starches, the group was drawn to a tent billowing with laughter. Heather wasn’t the only one whose interest was piqued by a rumble of applause in the distance. Tallyho was so taken aback by it that she froze in her tracks at first. There were only two things that made people in Solace applaud, a good brawl and a good show. And considering the fact that the clapping in distance was accompanied by a chorus of joyous laughter, Tallyho figured that this was no fight. And maybe, by a strange turn of luck, it was something being put on by the caravan.

The thought of seeing her family and ending this strange journey before it started made her heart race. And so the blonde trudged into the tent after Heather and Jules, slipping and sliding between the waves of bodies in hopes of hearing the tried and true jokes of the caravan’s wiry haired host.

But she was, unsurprisingly, disappointed by what she found: On the stage a hodgepodge cast of actors made great fun of kings and leaders from Hales and the RK. It was an homage to the House of Harald, the country’s royal family. But this particular play is a classic for travelling troupes. Tallyho recognized it as a rotational piece called “The Three Kings,” which could be performed in Solace, Hales or the RK. The catch was that the cast would make fun of the two countries they weren’t performing in, uplifting their host country and appealing to their political views in exchange for generous tips. It was an easy cop out that appealed to vanity and kept people abreast of current events in the most irresponsible way possible.

While she didn’t always like her community, she didn’t think many people could compete with their talent. Disappointed and mentally kicking herself for even conceiving an escape back to her old life, the blonde bid a temporary farewell to the others, letting them know that she’d be waiting for them outside of the tent.

But of course things couldn’t have been as simple as that.

"I ain' like the rest of em!”

A woman yelled in a loud, slurred fluster. It came booming out from a butcher shop not far from the tent, and out came a young woman hobbling out the shop’s door in tears. Her large round cheeks were highlighted by the rosy flush of her face. Her size and stature was the first thing Tallyho and anyone else witnessing the scene might have noticed. She was pale girl with a full figure: Wide bosom, hips and thighs, and arms plump all the way down to her wrists. This wasn’t an uncommon body type for a woman living in the city of Malboro, the catch was that this particular woman may or may not have been more than six feet tall. And to be quite honest it was pretty visually striking to see a wailing woman of such physical presence bursting out onto the streets with such speed. But the most striking thing about this woman, if you asked Tallyho, was her ability to clear a path of bodies in the midst of a tearful escape. And by bodies, Tallyho meant her body, which was unfortunately occupying the wrong place at the wrong time. One minute she was peacefully exiting a play in Sanguine Square and the next she was bearing down in the dirt with the wind knocked out of her.

The wailing woman paused briefly at the scene of collapse, posing an open palm above Tallyho’s fallen body as if to apologize. But as more people stopped to watch the scene, no words could escape her lips. She gargled them over and over, trying to spit something out. And when that didn’t work she recoiled unspoken shame, physically straining to lighten the weight of her hurried steps and folding her arms firmly over chest and stomach as if to stop them from shaking and jiggling as she went.
A few folks in the crowd began to snicker, men looking up at her mockingly with their snaggle-teeth beaming in the sun while women leaned on their friends and whispered in cupped palms. Every eye in the square seemed to follow the giantess as she leaped through a crowd that curiously parted a path for her (something they don’t even do for drivers.)

An older man came wondering out of the shop, looking on with a furrowed brown. His expression could be read as worry, or maybe hurt, as he watched the woman disappear in to the crowd. By this point Tallyho somehow felt like she had unwittingly contributed to something terribly wrong, even if she had very little control over what had just happened. And without much thinking she weaseled through whatever walking space remained of the spectacle of her exit—a hurried pursuit of the woman. (To be continued in another post.)

**I’m splitting my events into multiple posts and getting something out now because this weekend I’ll be fairly busy with my birthday.

One would be lying if they didn’t admit that the Month Warriors had a collectively chaotic day in Malboro. Nonetheless, the strange encounters they’ve experienced were no reason to not move on from the walled city before day break. Haru made sure of that, taking it upon himself to wake up early and personally round up the warriors, even if it meant snatching the wool blankets right off of their unconscious bodies. They had one more day of travel left.

You see, Haru wasn't the only immortal who had been waiting for the next group for hundreds of years. There was more of him where he came from, twelve to be exact. And while he knew not of where most of his fellow guardians went, he knew of at least one person who was only a cart ride away. And today, they were going to him.

Tallyho, who had been one of those who slept so soundly that Haru had to physically snatch her covers off, didn't take kindly to the rude and early awakening. In fact, she was a little angry, although she was much too scared of Haru to outwardly voice her wrath. And so she spent the earliest part of their ride quietly fuming in the corner of the cart. To be fair, that wasn't the only reason why she was peeved though.

All of her “best friends” growing up were her cousins and even then she didn’t feel like she had that much of an attachment to them. But in the off chance she made a friend with a settler, the friendship seemed to end almost as swiftly as it began. Such was the case with Ingra, at least she thought so at the time. When they parted ways last night Ingra invited Tallyho to visit her in Malboro whenever she wanted. Tallyho accepted the invitation uneasily. But in her heart she knew that she’d probably never see the towering feminine figure again. Especially when she didn’t know where she’d be next.

The next five hours were probably the most trying. There were no more snacks in the cart and a strong scent was beginning to develop amongst the group members. They travelled so much before this point but Tallyho, years later, would always remember those five hours as the most uncomfortable hours of her life. She needed to get out of this cart. Fast. And it didn’t help that they had gained some altitude on the mountain path. The ground was far below them, hidden by canopies of trees and autumn mist. The snow was going to come down soon enough.

She wondered if they’d be trapped on this mountain and how high they were going to go. By this point they were nowhere near the top.

“We are almost there,” Haru assured them, as if on cue. “Ryou lives here. He was a guardian too. And when we went our separate ways he built a modest training ground up here. Takes in a handful of students, many orphans, and teaches them how to fight. Many go on to be mercenaries. This academy will be your new home for a few months. You need to learn how to defend yourselves because there will be lots of people who want to challenge you, test you, kill you… So you need to be ready.”

As they weaved and turned precariously on the winding mountain path, Haru proceeded to name each of the teenagers and their associated powers off to them. He hadn't forgotten his promise to tell them who they were. But Tallyho, being Airesian, was quite aware of who she was already.

Soon after, the upward path levelled into narrow road that wedged through two slabs of mountain face. And soon, they were surrounded by forest. The view over mountain ledge was gone, and besides the fact that Tallyho’s ears had popped, she wouldn't have been able to tell that they were in fact, on a mountain.

“It looks like we’re here,” Haru said.

The upward narrow lane wound through a forest of mostly oak and maple, where most of the trees were so ancient that only the most meager grass and brush could grow beneath them. By the time it leveled between the two faces of mountains, there the forest was not so old, and smaller trees and brush, some of it still living despite the lateness of the season, stood thick and heavy. Golden and scarlet leaves had begun covering the dried skeletons of the smaller brush, and the naked, sleeping trees swayed in a chorus of gentle creaking. Signs of humanity began shortly after, after Haru’s statement: They traveled passed a barren orchard, beehives, and a quaint field laid fallow for the season; and the dirt pathway became more heavily laden with soft, white cobblestone, jostling the cart and it’s passengers almost painfully. It was the signs of a strong holding, that the academy’s central buildings had walls higher than some military encampments, reaching nearly twice the height of a man and made of seamed, dark grey stone, laboriously raised from the mountainous ground over many years. The gates, heavy wood bound with a primitive steel, were half-closed, and a woman precariously perched on the wall above them, squinting laconically out over the distance.

The woman was lean, with darker skin than most people they’d seen so far of Solace, and had her long brown hair drawn painfully tight to pass an illusion of a mane of hair. Her colorful, flowing loose, tunic-dress and multiple layers of fine, jingling jewelry upon her arms and neck, left far too much skin on display – not that she seemed all that bothered by the cold seeping with the mountain mist clinging to the protected valley – and the prominent scars that came with it. She seemed to observe the coming cart with a slim mixture of annoyance and indifference for some time, before deciding they were close enough to skinny down the wall on a thin braided rope attached to a thickly made gray-fletched arrow wedged into the cracks of stone and landed on bare feet (ankles tinkling with their own noise-making jewelry in turn). Wordlessly she nodded in reluctant greeting as she pushed open the gate, allowing the driver to get his beasts and the cart inside the property; and once everyone was inside, she closed the gate and locked it with a ring of keys orbiting unnoticed upon her wrist.

Inside the gates there was a significant open space for communal gatherings and/or training; with what looked to be a deep well to one side, a large placid fountain with a minimal movement of water in the center, and stacks of various weaponry to the other side. Past it was a trio of large, rustic stone buildings, and beyond them a small barn and pens for animals resting upon a distant wall of the forest beyond. The woman approached the head of the cart, her sea-glass eyes retaining a distasteful yet knowledgeable look about a thing or two of the situation at hand as she passed over the heads of the warrior crowded in the back, before focusing on red-headed Guardian – the distaste lifted some, but she offered no more than lukewarm terse ‘smile’ to part her lips briefly. “Haru, and month warriors. We have been waiting for you… Ryou had another matter to attend too, and asked for me to greet you in his stead.” She spoke matter-of-factly, her voice quick and melodious and with minimal effort to separating the pronunciation between words. The brief pause in collecting her breath before continuing, allowed her gaze to shift briefly towards the cart driver / farm-hand and the tired horses appraisingly.

“I will call a student over to help take your cart to unload and allow your beasts some rest and hot grain. But dinner is not for some time I am afraid, and while I understand you must all be very weary from your journey – I have only a tour and general things to offer you in the mean-time.” She finished shortly. Pursing her lips to deliver a short whistle, a younger man (really a boy, if his half-finished build and gangly limbs were any indication) materialized from a distant building, nodding in quick affirmation to her proposal / orders, as he stepped forward to take the reins of one of the team and stroke the equine’s bristled nose absently. The woman hardly spared the lad an appreciative glance, with all her authoritative attention focused upon Haru and the month warrior crew, yet was truly thankful not to be entirely alone dealing with this group of unknown variables even momentarily. Ryou had certainly done his best to feed her to the wolves to deal with this delicate matter in the most elegant way she knew how. Goddess help her...

Properly introduced by Haru’s confirmation, Alina bowed a polite inclination of her head and offered a gentler but still terse smile of her own. “The years have been kind.” She mused in agreement. Her eyes flickered a spark of something infinitely warmer at the guardians’ continued commentary: One part evidently satisfied to be remembered for her gifts from his last visit 10 years ago; the other a reluctant (at least to be seen expressed in front of a majority of strangers to be honest), reserved fondness for a missing member of the party mentioned previously.

“Yes… Ryou mentioned that it would be best to leave my bow behind in the barracks for your arrival, due to the sensitive nature of some of the month warriors arriving. However, I hazard the state of their-err, other world, if a bow would cause any remarkable reactions – mhm, they’re to be warriors, no?” Alina continued, a faint echo of wiry amusement yet callous intentions upon her breath, with an idle shrugged roll of her shoulders. Her smile faded to a her preferred neutral line, observing the collective of individuals as the last unloaded from the cart thoughtfully, harsh yet not entirely unwelcoming – at least two, the sun-daughter and the Halesian male, should very well know what a bow was / and that a war-bow wasn’t someone’s silly prized hunting weapon; the others only caught her glance long enough for her to understand they held themselves differently, not wrong per say, but something wasn’t right either. Though, Alina noted, that she should suspend further judgement until later on.

She flicked one of her hands up in a dismissive gesture towards the other student, who nodded respectfully in turn, stepping up into the wagon seat and took the offered reins from the cart-driver (who subsequently leaned back with a thankful but tired expression). The lad murmured soft encourage to the horses, resuming travel as they pulled away from the milling group and headed toward the barn and quaint pens beyond the three buildings standing before the group; the two men, younger and older, chatting softly but animatedly as they went. Over the creaking of the rattling wheels departing, Alina raised her voice and said quite simply, “Come,” with a brief, beckoning gesture of her hand, and turned on a bare heel – jewelry jingling pleasantly as she went.

As a tour guide, Alina proved to be more efficient than particularly informative, and the tour marched on quickly (with very little questions being answered frankly). As they crossed the open yard before the buildings, many things were noted in an idle fashion, including: To start, that the only sources of water upon the campus were the fountain and the deep well, and the necessity to treat such resources with care (w/out quite blunting the thinly veiled threat of what could happen should you do). Following that, all of the training seemed to be outdoors; from a few groups of other students scrunched together in the shade or various nocks and crannies with books / crude parchment / or intent listening to other ‘instructors’, a well-maintained sand-pit with a rack of swords near-by with a pair of sprawled / sweaty students taking a breather, to the distant but well maintained shapes of targets with a rack the included suitable bow shaped pieces of wood and string, to multiple trails disappearing off into the forest for endurance (she didn’t take enough time to mention that it would be unwise to wander off alone down them unless with another elder-student of the Academy until they grew more familiar, but that should be rather self-explanatory). And last, as nonchalantly as everything before, that the first, smallest stone-and-wooden building they passed without entering was Ryou’s home and left it at that.

At the next building, a much larger structure that resembled more of a barn or shed with doors that looked almost as heavy as the gate they’d arrived through and a high vault to the roof observed as they walked up to it. “These are the barracks.” Alina spoke shortly, as she pried open the door that gave muted groan and revealed the interior. The barn had been converted to a giant communal living area, much like any army not on the move / living out of tents, completed with orderly rows of wooden bed frames and more of the same located above in a balcony (once used for feed storage) connected via a rope ladder, and had a single stone fireplace on one side that was dead currently / but would be lit every night for warmth. Many showed signs of ownership, with mattresses, blankets, clothes, weapons, or various sentimental knick-knacks; and more were empty frames, void of anything including a mattress. Alina paused momentarily frowning, searching left and right with measured tilts of her head, before finding what she was looking for and started off again to weave between frames on the ground-level before stopping at a row of thirteen beds in a row in a lonelier corner of the barracks (eleven bare, and the last two already claimed with stuffed mattresses, thin blankets - and the furthest in the corner had a rusty oxen-bell attached to the foot, and a long-sword hanging sheathed at the corner of the head).

Alina turned to face the group and waved her hand in an encompassing gesture to the set-up directly behind her, “This is where you will be staying warriors,” Unspoken, she shared a brief glance towards Haru, who would not be sleeping with nor nearby the warriors; if Ryou didn’t simply demand the other man stay in his own home was one thing, otherwise he would be offered a location in the tier above out of respect undoubtedly. The pause finished, she turned her head to acknowledge a nearby corner as she continued, “We have straw available to make your bedding with, the liners are in one chest, and the other has blankets – one per person for now, once Winter arrives - considerations will be noted… It will be easier if you set your places up now, depositing any extra belongings you may have, before the dinner-chime calls from the mess hall calls and dark is upon you.” Alina fell silent, regarding them all with a cool expression, patiently folding up her jangling arms across her chest to wait for the warriors to get a ‘move on’. As it was clear this wasn’t like an inn they’d stayed in the night previously, without any maids to come and go and do such a thing themselves, and that your own sleeping arrangements was entirely up to yourself. However, now out of the abbreviated tour for the moment, she seemed more available to any questions or concerns that would pop up if anyone had something.

XXPerspectives

XX
XXTallyho AbelX

XX
XXHaru SinwoodX

---

Ron drunkenly made his way through the crowded city of Malboro back to their inn where he found a nice bed to pass out on. Morning came all too soon and as the group got back on their cart his head throbbed from all that poison he drank the night before. He frequently napped as the trip continued, sometimes waking up to read or look at maps to tell where they were or any landmarks nearby. As they got closer to the mountains, he began to wonder if there were any sources of sulfur or saltpeter in the area. If they were to learn how to fight, he would much rather create a musket or a rifle than swing a sword around. To think that joining in black powder clubs and reenactments would possibly save his life later on was laughable at best.

As the group closed in to the walls of the academy, an agile woman came down from a rope to greet them. She wore a combination of leather and metal and sounded middle-eastern. Although Ron knew that there were probably not any nations that were similar to the ones on Earth, it was all that he could compare things to. The woman, Alina, showed the warriors around on a tour and Ron took note of where he could make his gear later on. Eventually they were taken to a barn, which were apparently going to be their quarters.

The barn was filled with bunks that had no walls or rooms or barriers for privacy. He looked around to see if anybody would feel uncomfortable when they eventually had to change. Then they were told that their beds were to be made of straw. While the comfort of sleeping on straw did not bother Ron, as he had passed out in the family barn on multiple occasions, it was the idea of repeatedly sleeping on it for a long period of time that vexed him. Straw was an invitation to fleas and bedbugs, two insects that he did not want to invite to his bed. Still it was better than sleeping on the cold ground. He looked up at some of the others talking to a child that seemingly came out of nowhere. All this time he thought that this academy was for aspiring soldiers or mercenaries, and if it was, he doubted that they would take in a child. Maybe she was a runaway.

"Hey kid!" Ron called out. "Why are you here and where are your parents?"

XXPerspectives

XX
XXKibiX

As Ron sat down on his finished, awkward bed, he began to feel uncomfortable as the child began to talk about shit. He wondered if she even knew that she was speaking or if her parents had not taught her about social dos and don'ts. Then she asked everybody their age, while guessing that his own age was about 20 years off. Still he figured that he would just shrug it off and go with it.

"Close." Ron began with a grin "I'm actually 43, but thanks for the compliment."

He began to empty his belongings into what was left of his ration bag from early in the trip and placed it by his bedside. The only thing that he was sure to keep with him at all times was his pistol, along with its ammunition. Partially because he was in an unknown world with knights who could be one-shot by it and also because Heather had threatened to kill him earlier. While he had not thought about possibly harming any of the other warriors, the thought about snuffing her out had come to mind once or twice during the journey. However, that would be a bad idea so long as they were in the presence of Haru or within the academy walls. Until that came, Ron had no desire to be friendly to someone like her.

"Hope the ride wasn't too rough for you princess" He called out to Heather.

Alina remained silent, and observing haughtily over the conversation stirred to life by an over exuberant child, and the cautiously reluctant (until another stepped forward, showing the way; or how it ‘must be done’) or lackadaisical attempts of stuffing the liners with the straw for their mattress and pillow. It wasn’t long until her patience ran thin, however, that even the fond endearment (only earned through the child’s six seasons frankly) couldn’t win out for much longer. Why must she always go to pooping, indeed? “Kiba.” She admonished abruptly, not cruel by any means but not quite blunting her sharpness of tone either; stepping forward to wind a firm grip with her slender fingers about the little girl’s wrist, pulling her off to the side and out from the midst of the warrior’s bedding duties. After they’d moved a respectable distance away, Alina knelt unto her knees in front of Kiba, with her terse smile falling into a thoughtful frown. "Hold still." Releasing her grip from the other’s wrist, that hand made itself busy plucking the straw that prickled and poked out of the untamable afro; while the other wound up to her own head, and after a few curious tugs with the evidence of her carefully tight braided mane look decidedly looser on the left side compared to the right, a white-tooth comb of bone was free to help removal of the straw – much quicker than solely by fingers in the mess of hair that was more or less unmanageable to many of the adults here that called the Academy home (or even this side of the World for that matter). It wasn't a long ordeal, only made longer by Kiba's occasional ticklish squirm, before Alina was satisfied that most if not all of the straw had been taken care of. "Go get yourself washed up for dinner, your father will be returning soon, yes." She hummed softly, though the order it entailed no fainter even with her low tone. As she rose, resuming her cross-arms, attentive expression with eyes not unlike the frost that stars sometimes held in the sky above.