Snippet #2787212

located in Fódlan, a part of Fire Emblem: Apotheosis, one of the many universes on RPG.


A continent divided into three different factions: The Adrestian Empire, The Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, and the Leicester Alliance.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Cyril Eisner Character Portrait: Vridel von Hresvelg Character Portrait: Jeralt's Journal
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I.Y. 1180 - Verdant Rain Moon - Sunday the 31st
Rhea's Office - Afternoon - Drizzle
Cyril Eisner

Cyril had, as promised, brought the head of a so-called demonic beast to the Crest Scholar. Though Maurice's body had dissolved, the rather large, lupine head he'd tossed at the man's feet quite convinced him that the problem was taken care of, and he'd indeed spent an entire day on the front steps of the monastery, recanting his earlier accusations publicly, while Cyril leaned against a wall nearby, arms crossed, watching to make sure he didn't try anything funny.

Regardless of what they thought, people had at least stopped talking about Senka's Crest after that, which he was willing to accept as about the best result they were going to get. Of late, a new rumor seemed to be circulating instead: something about a spirit of Death appearing in the village at night to whisk away young maidens or something of the sort. Cyril knew better than to believe any spirit would be doing such a thing, but he'd decided to have a brief talk with his students about the danger of who would tomorrow morning when class began.

It would be a rather uncomfortable thing to discuss, but he thought they needed to know there might be a threat to their safety out there, and he'd noticed that such things were often left to the discretion of the teachers rather than being a matter the Archbishop saw fit to have dealt with in any official capacity. Perhaps he would talk to Hanneman and Manuela about doing the same—he at least knew enough about the reality of the world to know that such rumors rarely appeared from nowhere, for no reason.

At the moment, though, he had to receive his next monthly assignment from Rhea. He'd accepted the fact that she wouldn't simply send it to him in writing like the other professors got theirs, but he couldn't say he was especially fond of the fact. Still, this time he had a cause to argue himself, so perhaps it would turn out to be for the best.

Mounting the steps, he headed into the small chapel, and knocked on the door leading into the Archbishop's office. “Lady Rhea? It's me." He doubted she'd have trouble recognizing him.

“Professor Cyril, come in," she stated, greeting him with the distant smile she usually wore. Her eyes assessed him, as if to make sure he had not been harmed, before her features softened. She seemed pleased for some reason. “You have done well to complete such a difficult task," she stated, applauding him, it seemed. “You have shown exceptional skill in leading your students. I am forever grateful for the safe return of the Hero's Relic."

He inclined his head slightly, endeavoring to at least pantomime respect, because he was going to need her favor for the next bit, he supposed. “Thank you, Archbishop," he said quietly. “I actually wanted to ask you about that. While I am grateful for the use of the Sword of the Creator—" He'd worn it today, too, just to make the point, though he usually didn't bother. While he was adept with swords, his preference in weapons had always been for lances, and his bare hands above all.

“—I was going to ask if Senka might be granted use of the other, as well. She does seem to have the appropriate Crest for it, and given the increasing gravity of the missions in which they are partaking, it seems appropriate to arm them with every possible advantage." He stood at something like a soldier's rest, straight-backed with his arms folded behind him. While he'd never been a formal part of an army, he could recognize now the ways in which his father's time as a knight influenced the way he ran his company.

“I had heard that the creature accused one of your students of sharing a Crest with it, however; such a dangerous thing cannot be left in the hands of someone unfit for it. She is not ready to wield such a relic, and as such I cannot permit that." She had narrowed her eyes almost as if she were disappointed that he'd request such a thing.

“One Relic is more than efficient for the missions you partake in; I do not see the need to part with another, especially one belonging to the cursed Maurice." She didn't seem like she was going to relent, either.

Behind his back, Cyril's hands tightened; he was careful not to let his eyes narrow or his face lose any of its customary neutrality. “I can appreciate your concern for everyone's safety," he replied, well aware that she was dangerously close to demonstrating a complete lack of it and seeking to remind her. Rhea had always at least paid lip service to the safety of the students before—here she was making no attempt to do so at all, and if she wanted to keep up the fragile facade he was going to force her to walk that back.

“But it could well be that a Relic makes the difference between victory and death for all of us, in the future, and it protects no one locked in the reliquary." He was careful to keep his tone free of accusation, as flat and mild as it always was. He might be able to scare the wits out of a scholar without much effort, but Rhea was the Archbishop. He knew quite well she didn't scare.

Her eyes narrowed at him, but the smile she kept on her face. “I will agree on one condition," she began, her expression smoothing out as she regarded Cyril. “The moment it appears that she lacks in anyway to use it properly, or it overcomes her, you will return it, immediately." She gave him a hardened gaze, clearly unhappy about the situation. She did not comment further, though.

“Of course." He gave no sign of having won a victory in this, because he didn't want it to seem adversarial. Rhea was... touchy, was a good word for it, if a bit mild, and he was learning that though she did have some odd, inexplicable fondness for him, it only extended so far.

Still, he wasn't just going to roll over and do as she pleased, either. Shifting his shoulders back slightly, he tilted his head. “I feel I should also report that the Monastery seems to have a leak somewhere in it," he said slowly. “Prior to the mission, word somehow got out that one of my students in fact possessed Maurice's Crest. A group of them were quite publicly confronted about it, despite the matter being one that only a very small number of people knew about. It concerns me that similarly sensitive information may escape via the same channel in the future."

He did not accuse her. He had no evidence with which to do so. But he wanted to see how she reacted to the information.

If anything, she didn't seem surprised at all. She merely pursed her lips together and ducked her head. “I see... it is a shame. I will have Lyanna look into it," she replied, lifting her gaze back to Cyril's. “In the meantime, I will see Blutgang returned to your student. Since we are here, I shall update you on next month's mission," she began, however; she paused for a moment as if anticipating something.

It took only half a second more for him to hear the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps; he was outright surprised when Lyanna burst into the office, face drawn and pinched with obvious worry. Vridel was only slightly behind her, for some reason. He did not pass the threshold, however, only shooting Cyril a glance that conveyed a similar concern.

“Rhea!" Lyanna lacked her customary cool poise entirely; the word came out rushed, and she looked like she'd run miles to get there. “She's gone! Thea's missing! Please—" Only then did she seem to notice Cyril, and the eyes with which she looked at him were red-rimmed and scared. “Please. We have to find her."

“Lyanna, calm yourself," Rhea spoke, though her voice was not one of concern nor compassion. “Have you checked every where for her?" she asked, glancing in Lyanna's direction. She didn't bother to glance at Vridel, nor motion for him to approach. “You know how she likes to wander," she continued, her eyes narrowing slightly. She almost sounded angry, though it was unclear as to why. Amalthea seemed to be missing, according to Lyanna, however; Rhea seemed angry at the fact, even if her face did not show it.

Lyanna drew in a sharp breath, a wounded look briefly crossing her face before she straightened. “Yes," she said, fighting to keep her tone under control. Cyril couldn't believe she was expected to do so, when her sister was clearly in danger. “We've searched the whole Monastery. I don't... I don't think she came back to her room at all last night."

“She wasn't there this morning?" Cyril asked, gentling his voice.

Lyanna nodded, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “I went to bed early last night, thinking she'd be home later, but her bed doesn't show any signs of having been slept in, and the floor's clean—she—" She swallowed. “She always leaves her laundry on the floor." Her lips trembled; Cyril immediately took a step forward, unsure what to do but knowing he wanted to do something.

It seemed to be all that was required. Lyanna stepped in, too, winding her arms around him. Unsure exactly how to respond, he patted her head gently, sliding his hand down to rest on her upper back.

“Is there any reason she would have been taken?" Vridel asked, stepping into the office despite his lack of an invitation.

Cyril's thoughts immediately went to the rumor he'd heard, but it was much too soon to be jumping to any such conclusion.

Lyanna sobbed, a soft thing, and shook her head faintly. Her arms squeezed around Cyril. “Her blood," she said softly. “Our blood, it's—special." The words hitched before the last one, almost as if she'd meant to say something else. “It should have been me," she said miserably. “Why didn't they take me?"

Rhea's eyes seemed to harden at Lyanna's declaration. She almost seemed to be outright glaring at her, as if she'd said something she wasn't supposed to. “Lyanna von Kreuz, you will calm yourself. You will do well to recall that impatience begets error. At present we know for certain she has not left Garreg Mach," Rhea spoke, her voice loud and commanding. “Despite the troubling rumors," she began, apparently aware that there were rumors running around, “you know I think of your... sister as family as well. You know that." Her voice had softened, perhaps intentionally.

“You will have my support. We shall devote ourselves fully—mind, body, and soul—to recovering her." She didn't seem too happy about it, however; she turned her attention towards Cyril. “Your mission is to help find Amalthea. We will have the knights cover the town, so I ask that you focus your efforts on searching the monastery again. We do no have time to waste; you have your orders."

Lyanna stiffened in Cyril's hold at the rebuke, and he could hear her swallow thickly. He gave her the time she needed to gather herself, and she stepped away with a sniffle and a subtle nod. “I—yes, Archbishop. Thank you." Her tone was almost meek; her eyes dropped to the floor.

Cyril resisted the urge to frown; Vridel did not. “Of course," he said. “We'll begin right away."

Time was of the essence.