Jules Fontaine'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.

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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.

It was not the grand, stone-halls of art-minded Constance that echoed the roar of applause, laughter, and dull chatter, to such an extent it seemed much warmer than cool humid-wet weather generally called for most seasons; but a rather simple tent, of heavy tooled cloth that blocked out most the fading sun of the evening, made cozy warm by the sparse supporting pillars that allowed the cloth to dip in uneven folds and quaint seating arrangements that clustered people together (not unlike ancestors of the not so distant past, all-knowing elders speaking around campfires and youth listening on in silence). Without sunlight, candles had been placed in strategic locations that allowed for one to see their own feet and their nearest neighbors in order to keep them from trampling upon if they were to leave; a greater amount of candles brightened up the stage itself where the thespians were charismatically gyrating upon, while a low-burning fire trench curved around the stage and behind to give the appearance of greater definition / depth (and allowed for a smoke-like, hazing effect if the occasion called for it, as all one had to do was pour a little water atop the hot coals).

The on-going play itself was a rotational piece called “The Three Kings” set within Ve Marie and Koratev depending on the dress – nowhere near exact matches of what those countries occupants truly wore (but the fur coats looked real enough, everyone seemed to have a proper sort of decoration in their hair at the very least, a little make-up here or there, and the occasional glitter of fine-yet-fake jewelry) – of the hodgepodge cast of thespians at the time they resided on the stage. It was a classic of traveling groups, that was well adored by the local crowd as they hooted away the jesting manner at the opportunity to snub not only one but both of the world’s current imperial superpowers (and learn of the current and ongoing charged political events of their world in a round-about way). To the men and woman from another world, it would most likely look all very Shakespearian to them and of all his grand plays, or-… The Airian version of them. Considerably dafter in its proportions and allegations, and bloodier (all those deaths at some point had to be exaggerated, right?). But still something to past the time never the less!

As the play drew to an end, many of the thespians disappeared into the back for a quick respite before the next demonstration for the evening… {OOC: Word document froze on me, and I’ve got to run to work shortly before I can have the time to add in another paragraph or so detailing the voluminous greedy-drunk playwright kicking out Jules, Heather, (and any others that happened to show up). I will be coming back later to finish this, but I wanted to at least post what I had so far this morning that I’ve already rewritten to better reflect the posts that came before it, so others would have a chance to respond this weekend. Thank you!}

“Easy, Horace, easy.” Came a voice rough with a thick accent purring soft amusement, far more posh and proper than most of the slippery voices they had heard so far of Solace. A hand shifted the heavy fabric that served as the door to the tent, stepping out of the warm tent light into the darkened square was one of the thespians that acted in and narrated some of the previous play. Dark of hair and eye, but a fair complexion and noble mien that was potently different than many natives of the area (except for the few certain Guards – mercenaries – that resembled a kinship somewhat). Grinning an all to knowing, but kind enough smile towards the two ‘ruffians’. “Belletor, this heathen Manslander and whatever the hell you are,” Horace now named, pointed dramatically to Jules (who didn’t look enough like the right blond to call him a Sun-child, but different enough not to be readily considered a local Solacian by any means). He continued, “-haven’t paid for their entry into the show! How dare-…” “Oh dear! Poor, lost lambs. War orphans undoubtedly?” “Why you-“ “Tragic, yes. But I’m sure they’ve learned their lesson not to walk into any play-tent as they please, they’ll remember to pay plenty for the next one they wish to see? The sched-…” “SHUT UP INVALID!” The vein that had the potential threat of bursting under the strain of anger, seemed dangerously close to bursting now by the red flush and sticky sweat drippling across his head. Horace continued his tirade, ignoring the two behind him for the moment to flip upon the charismatic young man with vile curses aplenty.

And charismatic may be becoming an overused term, but over the time the play had occurred it seemed to come up frequently how one would describe the young man with easy, genuinely playful smile upon his maw. He obviously hit it off so well from stage-work a character or two, to narrating for parts – and this was done most often in another language(s) at that flitted off a silver tongue, reminiscent in diction to the Oni of Aires (and Native Americans of Earth) – that consistently seemed one of the thespians people wanted to visit with and touch as he passed through the aisles. It seemed too good to be true that he’d came out of the tent, when everyone else seemed to more keen to avoid any trouble with the ill-tempered play wright, in an attempt to defuse the situation with these out-of-towners in good humor.

Alas, it could be considered a certain wisdom if one knew and accepted that the most dangerous people were always clever, compelling, and charismatic. Thus it shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise: In a subtle shift of tension from merely accepting the verbal abuse from his employer, his eyes blearily rose sharply with a flicker of vindictive anger in their depths – so faint, most wouldn’t have been able to tell it had been there at all, or, er, well… If he hadn’t suddenly dropped nearly to his knees, as one leg bent for balance and the other flashed out to knock the top-heavier man’s knees out from under him, and his hand clenching the walking staff flicking his wrist upwards to smack with abrupt force to the temple and causing the man to crumple in upon himself, hopelessly unconscious, before he even hit the ground.

“Nakk.” The stranger cursed softly under breath, as he crouched lower beside the Horace’s prone form. A hand briefly lent across the pulse in the neck, assuring that he’d stopped short of killing the other / though that damn headache in the morn’ would be nothing to scoff at, before idly tracing down to rummage in just the right pocket and pluck the hefty jingling purse (it would enough of a final farewell payment). It had happened all in a matter of selective moments, before he rose again - the coins disappearing in a pocket and walking staff grinding thoughtfully in the gritty walkway – and he observed the pair of out-of-towners with a new interest, w/out any of the abrupt ‘silly’ kindness as before. The expression soured with annoyance shortly, as he seemed focused beyond the two of them towards the bystanding gawkers of either gender (men with hungry eyes and chipped teeth from already long days in the field and longer drinking nights still, and woman bundled in their quaint gossiping groups that included the better part; already lingering about in the busy square from an earlier excitement due to butcher’s misfortune with his giantess of a daughter taking off).

“Haven’t you ever seen a clumsy invalid tripping over a drunken fool, no?” He snapped, a short snarl of authoritative power, which caused the closest people to look at their feet immediately chastised. As much as the people of Solace enjoyed watching a good brawl or good show, those that looked on for their own amusement often weren’t fond of starting something themselves. Before anyone had the opportunity make an amendment to the general rule, he flicked his head over his shoulder towards a distant side-street (that would then lead to more confusingly twisted residential alleys, but away from attention), and clipped softly to the two in front of him, “Manslander, and-… Acquaintance,” The brief pause allowed an aura of amusement to return tickling his words again (because he wasn’t going to echo Horarce’s earlier words’ of whatever the hell you are). “Apologies and Thanks are in order I suppose. I recommend best be scare before the defective puppies raised in rose gardens make their rounds. Yes?” He turned on his heels at that, walking stick make a threatening click that parted the crowd enough to push through easily. Leaving the out-of-towners up to their own devices and choice of whether or not they followed, went another direction entirely, or let the Guards catch them; making it clear it was up to their own choice(s).

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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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For the life of him, Jules could not remember the last time he’d seen a play. Well, that wasn’t true. He’d caught glimpses offstage, poised to help with the odd quick change, had meandered through an empty auditorium while an actor swanned about onstage to determine if a sequined suit was blinding or simply dazzling from the audience’s perspective. But it wasn’t like the real thing. He was only reminded of that now, surrounded on all sides by enthusiastic audience members, cheering and howling as the actors ran their paces.

For a moment, he lost himself in that crowd, the tension that he’d been steadily building slowly ebbing away. It was an effect aided by the low candlelight, fighting against the tent’s darkness to make those onstage shine, flickering spotlights for the audience’s pleasure. It wasn’t Broadway, obviously. It wasn’t even like Community Theatre. They were a hodge-podge lot onstage, costumes, props, and make-up the minimum it needed to be to help the audience along. This was theatre in the old school, a cobbled together group wandering the world and selling their dramatic wares. It was… nice. Comfortable in its setting. Some of the actors fit in this stage, figure painted into this moving piece of artwork. It was, well, it felt more like home than even New York had for the past few years.

The allure of the show effectively vanished for Jules the moment the third patron stumbled into him, drunkenly guffawing at a joke either too obscure for Jules to understand or not even there at all. He was left with an unfortunate sort of awareness. The tent was far too warm now, the people around him suffocating rather than a collective group he was meant to be part of. Was the show over? Was he missing something? He was obviously missing something. And, and- where was that other girl? Where was Tallyho? Oh, God, he was literally missing something.

The other blonde had vanished, and Jules couldn’t even be sure how long ago it had happened. Was she okay?* They should probably find her, Jules decided, the thought cemented when someone meandering by spilled something sticky and unknowable near his feet. For her sake. Right. That was it.

* Would they be okay without one of the only Airesians they knew to keep them from doing something unknowingly stupid?

He turned to Heather, the only other familiar face immediately available to him.

“Did you see-?” the question, spoken just loud enough to be heard over the din, was cut off when someone suddenly grabbed both of them. Jules could barely let out a swear himself as they were dragged bodily from the tent, crashing against spectators too slow to get out of their way before being thrown out and into the cool night air. Jules staggered, partially hopping as he nearly crashed into a nearby group of women. They tittered, partially offended and partially intrigued by the entertainment sure to come.

The swears were louder out here, their assailant still drunkenly snarling as Jules whirled around to face him. Great. Drunk, mean-tempered, and belligerent. That's exactly the kind of person Jules always wanted to be around. And perhaps he would understand later why this man was angry. Maybe he could sympathize with him when they weren't in the heat of the moment, theatre person to theatre person, impoverished artist to artist. But at the moment, he could only bristle, lips pulled into a thin line of disgust.

"Excuse me?" He squawked at the same time Heather sputtered out her own objection. He had no idea what a Manslander was, although from the way it was spat it was clearly not on, but his own insult "whatever the Hell you are was something he'd heard before. You had to develop a thick skin when you existed as someone outside of society's norms, at least in theory. Jules had never quite mastered that technique, and it showed as he spluttered, red face from a mix of embarrassment (he didn't even warrant being a person to this drunk fucker?!) and outrage.

Perhaps it would have gone further, then, with both outraged Earthlings backed up against a metaphorical wall given that they barely knew where they were and unwilling to simply take this man's abuse. It was lucky for all involved that someone else entered their fray. Jules recognized him, had seen him glide about the stage of that strange play. He was playing the role of a peacemaker now, gentle and forgiving in spite of the man named Horace's snarls and bluster. Not that it seemed to be leading to a positive conclusion. No, Horace was far too drunk and furious for that.

Jules was a coward. He'd admit that freely in the same way that he'd say that he was a fan of theatre or a complete weirdo. That didn't mean that he didn't take a step forward when Horace rounded on their would-be savior, even if said step was more of a reluctant shuffle. Jules wasn't entirely sure what he was planning on doing if things went south, mind you. Maybe hit Horace with his bag? Or find a large stick to flail wildly around with before running off and hope that maybe he didn't hurt himself? Oh, God, let it not come to that.

"Oh my God!" Oh my God indeed. Jules couldn't help gasping himself as Septimus dropped in one fluid movement, taking out Horace in a quick burst of action. The audience that had begun to grow outside the tent seemed frozen for a moment.

"Is he dead?" Jules glanced at Heather, took a step towards the crumpled body, and then thought better of it. He'd seen enough horror movies to know that you didn't get within ankle-grabbing range when it came to potentially unconscious assholes.

"I mean, probably not?" Jules offered, glancing around nervously. At least he hoped not because the last thing he needed was some dumbass dying in front of him and/or being made an accomplice to murder. But time was too short to worry for long. More of a crowd was beginning to gather, and their savior was wandering off with an open invitation, although not explicit, to follow him.

Unlike Heather, Jules was not actually prepared to make his way back to the inn. Having assumed that someone would leave him back, he hadn't really bothered marking a trail or remembering things like land marks or, well, street signs. Did they even have street signs? Could he read them if they did? So, while he did want to run away and preferably find his way back to the muscular meat shields of Dorian and Haru, well, he didn't have much of a choice. But maybe Heather-

"We should follow him."

Okay, maybe not. She was already following Septimus and Jules let out a dramatic, disgusted sigh. Typical. Cowards never had any luck finding other cowards.

"Right. Follow the random dude and hope for the best," He muttered to himself before following behind. And if he picked up the pace just a little more when he heard Horace let out a little groan, well, that was his business.

The trip through the twisting alleys of the residential district off Sanguine Square wasn’t a long journey in truth, but as time whisked by the amount of people hustling and bustling died off slowly but surely, in the same turn the buildings looked more lived in than merely fronts for stores and their wares. Belletor paused at some crossings and turns, his free hand rubbing casually against the rough scores etched approximately head-height in wood, or stone, or some hardened combination of mud / straw, as directional bearings (or “street signs” for the Earthlings), before continuing on a meandering path. Never did he seem concerned nor aware or acknowledging the living shadows following along behind him; one part simply curious, the other sticking together was better than nothing.

Belletor finally paused in a relatively quiet alley (at this hour, only the day-drinkers that had definitely had their fair share were wandering home this early in the evening), stopping at an in-descript heavy wooden door heavily shadowed by the lone candle flickering in its lonely lantern. He set his walking stick leaning up beside the door, before rapping his knuckles twice roughly against the frame. Another brief moment passed, before a woman (another thespian) with rougher weary look in her eyes that clearly contrasted the glittering silks she wore, snapping a question in a halting slurring tongue in his direction and clicking her fingers together impatiently. His response in return was the same language, though altered and more melodious than the woman’s with his prime and proper accent strengthen the hollow words. He passed a leaner coin-purse into her waiting hands, before stripping off the doublet, revealing an off-white cloth shirt slightly damp with sweat – that in the evening chill was enough to allow the sporting of mild gooseflesh up his neck – and other items he had worn during the play; passing it to the woman, who disappeared inside with the door left partially ajar as if to invite him in, though he remained patiently waiting at the stoop.

The woman that had collected the thespian clothing articles from him, returned to the door in short order with his own apparent belongs (an oddly shaped bundle of leather coat) in hand, but eyed the appearance of two newcomers with immediate distrust. The distrust was echoed in her hollowed language that she growled back to the young man waiting patiently at her stoop. Belletor seemed to blink at her question, and blearily tilt his head to acknowledge their silent audience, before humming a quiet negative to her inquiry with a lackluster shrug of his shoulders. Not swayed by his nonchalance stance to the strangers that had obliviously followed him there, the woman snorted out a mild curse; before dropping his belongings with a muted clang of exposed metal – the first few inches of a naked sword escaping its scabbard – and the coat that had been wrapped around it flopped; and slammed the door, hard enough to cause the candle in the lantern to sputter dangerously / threatening to go out. Belletor flinched at the sounds, looking mildly exasperated but rather understanding of the event that had just occurred. “You know… “ He mused abruptly into the silence from the woman’s albeit harsh departure, easily switching back into polished TRK Common. There was the echo of laughter on his breath, and his faint smile not unkind – as he finally seemed to vocally acknowledge the presence of the other two young adults that had followed him upon his wandering path into the heart of the residential alley’s twisting off Sanguine Square.

“A trifling few and far actually take my offer.” He continued, conversationally – bending down to grasp the scabbard of the partially exposed sword, and twitching his wrist just so as he rose back up that it slid back into its sheath with a satisfying slick clink; and began shortly belting it with fumbling fingers, much higher up his waist were one would typically rest one’s weapon due to the seemingly odd length it possessed (an Calvary sword wasn’t really meant to be astride two feet). Once satisfied with its position up on his ribs, he bent down swiftly again, shaking the street dust and grime off the coat – an older but well-made water-shedding leather, typical of any Constantine gentleman to handle the many rainstorm or muddy hovel of their homeland – slipping it over the damp shirt, effectively becoming a different person (especially when viewed from a distance). A far different (and much slimmer) appearance than the puffy, finely colored doublet, delicate flowers brushed out of his crown, and ribbon belt, from before.

“Alas, you don’t seem very much like the rest of these scavengers – just strangers, lost and then found.” Belletor said, contemplatively, regaining his last item (the walking stick) from where it had been leaned up against the door. His free hand moved then, rolling his wrist in an elegant gesture to thump across his left breast in a common greeting (though far more impressive with a metal breastplate no doubt). “Belletor, Septimus.” Septimus offered his true name, pausing long enough time for them to offer their own names in response (or not, if the case may be). Though it would be considerate to have them placed in his mind eye other than a female Manslander and male Acquaintance (or “whatever the hell you are” per Horace)... “Well met, but night is young and I best be off for the journey ahead. Follow the path directly, it will lead you back to the Square directly.” He gestured with a tilt of his head behind him. Helping them again, or Helping himself? Either way, it ended the conversation shortly without much delay. “Oh… And try to avoid walking into any more of the arts without paying, yes?” He let a loud, rueful laugh escape at that final comment, flashing a crooked grin. Before stepping towards and then around the pair, disappearing into the growing shadows quickly and efficiently as if he’d never been there in the first place.

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

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XXTallyho AbelX

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XXHaru SinwoodX

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If you were wondering what had happened with Jules and Dorian within the past day’s journey, the answer would be a resounding “nothing”. Jules had woken with a stiff back, a headache, and the revelation that his dark roots were beginning to show and he had no way to stop them, which is to say that he had woken up to a bad mood. It was only perpetuated by the subsequent cramped cart ride, unpleasant tour of a less than cozy training academy where he would be spending the rest of forever, and the current interpersonal chaos that was this group and all they came into contact with.

He’d filled his mattress first, glad for once that he’d played set crew for a director that had demanded accuracy for a piece that took place in the middle ages (“If they cannot feel the straw, how are they supposed to feel the people who sleep on it? I ask you!), and was it, pale face twisted somewhere between a scowl and a pout.

Dorian was currently grimacing on his bed, although maybe that was just his face. He’d given up on filling his mattress halfway through, muttering something dark and unnerving* before simply setting the half-filled lining on his bed frame. He was currently running over the blade of his sword with a sharpening stone, the soft whick, whick noise of stone against steel lost in the surrounding cacophony of people. Somehow this was less concerning than the emptied gun Tallyho had tucked into her mattress. Jules wasn’t sure if that was because Ron was just that unnerving or if everyone was just comfortable with the thought that if Dorian went rogue, they were all screwed anyways.

*In Halesian, it translated to, “What a waste. Don’t they have goats to feed? At market you could sell this for…”

The two weren’t friends, per say, but they were certainly joined together in their division from the general hubbub. That and both had been bonded by the fact that they’d spent over twenty-four hours directly in each other’s presence and had not decided to kill or hate the other yet, which was a good track record among the group.

So, their conversation unfolded as such:

“It’s like we’re in Hell,” Jules said when a new Month Warrior appeared out of the blue and Ron started waving around a joint. It was an appealing sight, but Jules wasn’t quite desperate enough to ask anything of their resident psychopath.

Dorian grunted in response, although he wasn’t certain what Jules was talking about. In the days they’d known each other, Dorian had come to accept that most of the Earthers’ idioms and sayings were going to be lost on him. It didn’t make getting back into the swing of Common any easier, but one must be patient with aliens, he supposed.

“No, I mean it. There’s straw digging into my everything, we’ve had twenty fights in the last three seconds, I haven’t bathed in God knows how long, and… God, everyone’s awful,” Jules said, which wasn’t true, but that had never stopped him from complaining before.

“Little girl is good,” Dorian corrected with a shrug. “Bold. Strong character, yes?”

“You’re right. It is a good quality. She’s rather delightful,” came the reply, but it wasn’t from Jules who froze mid scoff. The voice was far too deep and warm, not slightly higher than usual and bitter. Both men abruptly turned their heads to the stranger in their midst.

A man was standing a little ways away from them, beaming in the direction of Kibi and Alina. He was a handsome man and a little older than anyone standing in the room, even Haru. His thick black hair and scruffy beard was flecked and peppered with gray and smile lines were evident on his dark face. Still, there was something about him that made his age hard to place, too much youth in his smile, too much energy in his body. He was not a large man, more lean and lithe, wiry muscles hinted at underneath his almost baggy training clothes. He was warmth personified, although there was something harder there, under the surface.

Before either could do much more than blink, the man was crossing the room and scooping Kibi up into his arms, swinging her high into the air with ease before pulling the child into his arms for a bear hug.

“Kibi, my darling, my dear, have you been playing hostess?” He said as he set her down in a smooth motion before grinning at Alina. “Or co-hostess with our lovely Alina, yes? Charming our new students, I’m sure.” The tone was strange, not quite doting adoration but not quite a tease.

Somewhere in the midst of all that motion, both Jules and Dorian realized who he was. For Dorian, it was from watching him walk to Kibi, all powerful stride and loose but precise movements. Jules picked it up around the time he dared to coo at Alina, ignoring her detached manner.

When the man turned to the majority of the group, it was only to confirm their suspicions.

“Hello and good evening. My name is Ryou Zerrin, the owner of this humble academy. Please forgive my lateness. I’m afraid that certain matters detained me.” He bowed deeply, although the motion lost any sort of seriousness the moment he straightened, delight spreading across his comely features.

“So, which one’s mine? Where’s my March?” Ryou appeared eager, a broad grin spread across his face, but his eyes were surprisingly focused, scanning over each warrior with an appraising eye. They were being judged for some quality, and some were clearly found wanting. His eyes skipped over Dorian automatically, lingered only briefly on Jules and most of the others, and merely brushed over Ron before landing on Angela.

“It’s her, right?” He said, asking Haru , who he had yet to officially greet, rather than the girl herself before turning back to her. “Has to be. Look at that sweet-faced smile.”

Jules, who remembered very little about whose month was whose but was quite certain that Angela had something to do with the Autumn, glanced over at Dorian and realized that Dorian had not been grimacing before. If he had been, there was no other word to describe the look of pure discomfort on his face when Ryou began his search for the March warrior, the realization that none of this was going to end well setting in quickly and forcefully. Well, that settled who March was.

Angela would be lying if she said she wasn't at least somewhat fearful of Dorian. Everything about him was intimidating. From his voice, his mannerisms, the fact that he seemed to be casually sharpening his sword as if preparing for combat. All of it spelled out an individual who wasn't someone she was comfortable with. However, comparing that to the man with drugs and a gun (unloaded and stowed away, it was still a threat to her) he didn't seem so bad. Well, that and she felt that she could at least talk to Ron. She had no idea where to begin with Dorian.

Now that Ron seemed to be pacified, however, the grating of metal began to concern her. Maybe I should say something. She thought to herself. Taking a deep breath, Angela let a smile spread on her face. No use talking to someone with a frown. Before she could, though, another man walked in.

He had a different air than the rest. Dignified, warm though he was. So this was the long awaited Ryou. She waved at first, plenty eager to introduce herself, but lowered her hand as he spoke.

"Oh, um, actually... I was born in November." She chuckled sheepishly. She was little flustered by the complement, though she was of course very pleased by it. More than that, however, the actual March warrior was about as different from her as could be. "Uh, Dorian is March."

Well it was comforting that the gun was out of the picture. If they were all dead who would save this world. Was Kei even sure he could trust these mad people. He looked over to Angela when she spoke. Honestly she seemed like the only sane one here. She pegged him as that one cheerleader type he saw around his campus. Then again he didn't judge a book by it's cover, she could've been a medical major for all he knew. "I agree, death is bad." he hummed, what good would a bunch of dead kids? He for one wanted to get home alive.

What was he in for? He wanted to joke and say a life sentence but he chose to be serious for now. "I'm told I'm the April Month Warrior, if that's what you mean?" he answered honestly. "I'm Keiran Wakefield you can call me Kei if you want. it's nice to meet you Angela!" He grinned. The grin left his face when another walked in. Oh, that was Ryou. He met him when he first got here. He had explained everything he needed to know. He guessed the man did anyways.

He was rather joyful and happy, exclaiming something about his March. He must've meant the March Warrior. He just had to snicker very quietly at the fact that he had gotten it wrong. So Angela was the November Warrior, or did it not work that way? He just sighed and layed back on his bed. Hay didn't offer that much of softness and he missed his bed back home. He missed home.

XXPerspectives

XX
XXHaru SinwoodX

Alina remained silent, during Haru’ brief disappearing intermission, to bear witness the month warriors ongoing idle chattering, various arguments and vicious commentary, and the subsequent attempt at making up one such argument. It was all very… Disappointing, yes. Annoying, almost certainly. Though her detached manner did not fade at face value, she couldn’t help the stab of uncertainty deep down that these children – as simple-minded, hormonal, youthful animals was much more of a mouthful – would ever amount to much as warriors (much less their destiny at hand). Time would most certainly tell nevertheless.

“You’re right. It is a good quality. She’s rather delightful,” Came a reply that brought so much relief to the tension held in her shoulders, Alina suddenly relaxed to look downright pleasant, welcoming even – as not only Haru returned to help wrangle his month warrior crew, but the man that had been mentioned far too many times as the Leader of this Academy had finally arrived – Ryou, greeting first Kibi and herself, before introducing himself verbally to the whole of the party (if they already had not already guessed who he was when he had appeared and walked over to love on his daughter, and coo towards herself), before searching for his precious March warrior. Throughout the continued chittering’s, Alina aloof disinterest returned, though she remained attentive in her presence at Ryou’s side. “Ryou, Do you have any initiations for them?” DING DING-DING DING… An enthusiastic dinner chime abruptly rang out right after Haru’s gruff question, interrupting whatever Ryou would have immediately responded with; and the shuffles of movement from a fair amount of students began, most of the traffic seemed to be going around o/s the building towards the third building the tour hadn’t touched in their brief halt for bed-making exercise; but a fair amount of students opened the groaning heavy doors of the barn, slipping between rows to their own sleeping spaces to drop of gear and personal weaponry, before heading out the opposite door.

Alina took a sudden side-step away from Ryou and Kibi in the general hub-bub, gracefully bounding up to balance precariously on the foot rails of another nearby empty bed. Her eyes sharp, hunting for something (or someone), because, for all her impressive high-and-mighty attitude, it was rather apparent she was not a particularly tall individual. Her scowl lightened as she focused on whom she’d been looking for, and called a brief, accent-garbling, name, “Bellator,” as she jumped from the frame and strode purposefully through the clearing path. She finally stopped in front of a younger man just making his way into the building, who had halted abruptly the moment his name had been called out and waited patiently for whomever had been attempting to get his attention. His dark hair and eyes, and comely features for a male, were potentially recognizable at that distance to a couple of the month warriors who had an adventure of sorts the night previously (if the name called out hadn’t done so already); and more so after he finished whatever conversation of short duration the two had, before Alina had turned on her heel – steps light and purposeful – and the man followed behind – with his own steps far more cautious, and aided by a wooden walking stave tapping along the way.

“Follow them.” Alina murmured softly behind her, without waiting for any further acknowledgement; before looking to Ryou and conveying more in a simple glance than words ever could. It would be best after-all to get all of the ‘fresh-meats’ orientation out of the way, and including the warriors, there was only one other new student that arrived that morning. And she needed to get the supplies for all of them in turn. The conversation ended with a simple blink, as she turned away, graceful and jewelry jingling, to disappear out the second main door in the direction of the mess hall alone.

Leaving behind 'Bellator' that had offered her an affirmative nod in Alina's direction at her ordered commentary, as he rolled to a slow stop on the outskirts of the group in an "at ease" position with his feet spread comfortable apart for balance, and the free hand swinging at his side idly moved back to rest against the small of his back with the palm exposed. Remaining quiet, patiently waiting to follow along; and up close, he-Septimus did looked a little different from the night before for those that had met him -- Without the shadows and candlelight warmth to aid, he looked far more youthful, even with a openly polite if passive face (for the time being) void of the crooked grins and laughter under each breath; and yet older (or well-worn frankly) in turn, by the glossy, red, irritated pale skin splattered across his cheekbones, intentionally downcast eyes, and beginning to exhibit an exhausted set of his shoulders. The clothes seemed to be the same, or similar make of cloth and thread and leather, but well worn from a long day (and evening before) and unworn coat hanging over the shoulder. However, the roughed scraped knuckles and a blossoming bruise creeping up to be seen just above his shirt collar, were certainly newer additions to the look the former thespian had the evening previously.