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Vridel von Hresvelg

"Time is running out. All I can do is make the most of it."

0 · 1,647 views · located in Fódlan

a character in “Fire Emblem: Apotheosis”, originally authored by Aethyia, as played by RolePlayGateway

So begins...

Vridel von Hresvelg's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Mercer von Riegan Character Portrait: Senka Rinaldi Character Portrait: Amalthea von Kreuz Character Portrait: Vridel von Hresvelg Character Portrait: Sorcha Blaiddyd
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#, as written by Aethyia


I.Y. 1180 - Garland Moon - Saturday the 28th
Dining Hall - Afternoon - Humid
Vridel von Hresvelg


Vridel rolled his shoulders out as he straightened. The examiners, a pair of Church mages, nodded at him, which he took as sufficient dismissal. He'd been taking certs all day, without even a break for lunch, and with the heat sticky as it was now, the Academy uniform was beginning to feel stifling. He understood that black was a suitable color for students, but did there have to be so much heavy bronze threading? He could see why none of the teachers wore their silver ones, though how Hanneman walked around in that wool coat all the time was beyond him. From the Empire or not, there was only so much a sane man could take before he dehydrated from all the sweat.

At least he was done exerting himself for the day. Exiting the training ground, he bypassed the areas that had been set up for various other weapon and skill certifications. It wasn't only students who took them—there were plenty of knights, monks, and even one or two instructors around today, he knew. Not many would have stayed this late, but he understood Professor Cyril was taking certification exams in everything, just to establish his benchmarks.

Not even Vridel had gone to that length, sticking to the three basic weapon types and magic. He wasn't interested in a large, clanking suit of armor. Horses were fine, but he didn't need one, and it wasn't like he suddenly lost the ability to ride because he hadn't passed an exam or something. He certainly had no need to fly, and for some ridiculously-stereotypical reason, men were only allowed wyverns anyway. It wasn't a weight issue, or they'd have just said that. He knew the Church kept some pretty archaic notions about pegasus mounts, like that colors other than white were inferior or that men were too impure to bond properly with them. All foolishness, to his mind.

He was sure Sylvi had a few things to say about gender-locked classifications, but neither of them were in charge of giving the exams.

Entering the dining hall, he served himself a bowl of the fish stew they'd made today, then another, and then a third, and took a whole loaf of the warm bread they'd set out to go with it. His body required a massive caloric intake for someone of his size, and he'd just exerted himself for hours straight. If he didn't eat a lot, and soon, he knew he'd pass out. Picking a spot by himself, he set everything down, poured himself a tall glass of the icewater from the pitcher on the table, draining it and pouring another before starting in on his food.

There was an unceremonious plop in front of him, not a moment later, and a plate of fruits and a bowl of fish stew in his line of vision. “Hey, Vi!" Mercer stated, before biting into his stew. He made a content sound, as if he found his dish delicious in some way, before he grinned at Vridel. “How'd your certs, go?" he asked, shoveling another spoon of food into his mouth. He didn't look tired, but there were signs of exertion evident on his person. He was sweating lightly, and though he was shoveling food into his mouth, he looked a little winded.

“Do you know if you passed any of them, yet?"

Vridel couldn't much fault the speed with which Mercer was eating. He was quite efficient himself, though his movements were considerably more minimal. It was something he'd developed at a time when he was never sure if the food in front of him would remain there for long, or it would be taken away at a whim. He was polite enough for the dining hall, but only just.

He managed to break the quick pattern of eating once his first bowl was gone and he could be sure he would at least make it to dinner time without incident. “No," he said simply, downing another half a glass of water in three swallows. “I expect most of the results will be posted tomorrow. I think I passed all the levels I attempted, though. I just wanted to be sure the armory would at least give me steel if I needed something, and that I technically have access to some of the more advanced sections of the library." Of course, they both well knew that he'd be helping himself to restricted materials either way.

“Did you get any results on the spot?" He paused, then: “What did you even take." They weren't in the same class, and so while he knew Mercer had used both swords and bows and seemed to like that wyvern, he had no idea if that amounted to a plan or just what his background happened to be.

He grinned in Vridel's direction, and took a drink of the glass to his side. It looked to be tea, from how dark it was. “I took the certifications required to be a wyvern rider, so sword and flying. Passed the flying part of it, but I haven't been told whether or not I passed my sword certs. They're withholding the results until tomorrow for the classifications, I think. There are a lot of people this year, and I guess they just want to make sure they pass everyone they think is qualified?" he shrugged his shoulders as if he didn't know the actual answer. He probably didn't.

“I'm surprised they didn't at least tell you one of them. You did take quite a few, right? " he stated, eating his food with less urgency. “What did you take, by the way?"

“Sword, axe, lance, bow, black magic and white magic," Vridel said simply. The Academy didn't offer certifications in dark magic—residual stigma. Some superstitious people still considered such powers inherently evil. Vridel doubted it, if people like Senka and the professor could use it, but he didn't consider himself much evidence either way. It might turn out that he had to do enough evil things to fulfill that particular prophesy, after all.

He shrugged. “Figure I'd cover the bases. I was only interested in making sure I could reach D-plus on the bow and lance though—not my thing. Axes I already know but won't study much, so I thought I'd get that out of the way and just ignore it whenever they'd benchmarked me." It was possible to take a benchmark, or open test, where the assessors would simply assign the letter they felt was most appropriate after an extended battery of tests, but most people intentionally worked their way up the ladder, because those exams were less draining and there was little reason to hurry. “I tried for C's with the rest. Did you know the Professor is benchmarking everything? I suspect he won't be done until dinnertime at the earliest."

“Whoa, that's insane, but I guess it makes sense," he stated, glancing up from his food, finally. “I think little Thea is taking the exams for armored knight. I saw her on my way here, taking the one for heavy armor certs at the moment," he huffed as if he found something funny. “She looked adorable walking around in her armor," he stated, releasing a sigh. “I wonder where that'll place, Teach, then. He's skilled in a lot of those areas," he stated, leaning his head against his hand.

“I suspect that he will place quite highly on a lot of them," Senka stated, setting a tray on Vridel's left. “I take it that you did well on your exams?" she asked, taking a bite out of her stew.

“Hey, Sen!" Mercer greeted, before nodding his head. “Yeah, I passed my flying certs, so I've got my C-cert for that. I'm waiting on my sword results, though," he answered as his eyes slid towards Vridel.

“I don't know anything yet," Vridel repeated. “I'm guessing you don't either, unless riding came back already." They were otherwise taking similar things, though he supposed his list might be somewhat broader. It really wasn't necessary to do everything, after all.

“Hey guys." Sorcha paused for a half-second when she noted that the logical place at the table was next to Mercer, the flash of hesitation only obvious to Vridel because he was used to looking for such cues. Still, she seemed to shake it off and sat. “Saw the last half of your flying test," she sold him, nodding slightly. “I passed, too. Now all I have to do is pass the written test and the weapon certs and I can put in to take Lady with us on missions." She seemed genuinely delighted by this, still smiling as she lifted a spoonful of stew delicately to her mouth. For as blunt as she could sometimes be, Sorcha was actually quite refined in some ways. Almost delicate with certain tasks.

“Hey, that's great!" he stated, bumping his shoulder into Sorcha's. “We'll be air buddies in no time," he continued, grinning in her direction. Senka huffed lightly at the two of them, but didn't say anything. She took a drink of water before she regarded Mercer and Sorcha.

“I have not received any of my results, yet," she replied, shrugging her shoulders lightly. “I believe they are sufficient, though. One of the examiners praised my... magic abilities, but that was all," she stated, working on the fruit on her plate.

“Well I guess we'll learn our results, proper, tomorrow, or by the end of the day," Mercer stated, grinning in their direction. It wasn't long after that Amalthea appeared, a bright smile on her face as if she'd recieved the best news, possible.

“I did it!" she exclaimed, nearly tripping on her feet as she took a seat on the other side of Vridel. She was glancing back and forth between everyone, though with a large smile on her face. “I passed my axe certifications and my armor! I'm going to be classified as an armored knight!" she exclaimed, working on the jelly-filled doughnut on her plate. It seemed that her plate was filled entirely of desserts, though.

“Well you will be when you pass the written test, anyway," Sorcha replied with a fond smile. “Congratulations, Thea!"

“Well done," Vridel added. “They should let you take your actual axe onto the field with you now, yes?" He referred, of course, to Aymr, which as an Imperial tomahawk at base, was not typically granted to anyone with less than a c-cert. Absurd, since she owned it personally instead of needing to take it from the armory, but needless labyrinthine bureaucracy seemed to be a specialty of the Church's.

Her smile brightened as she nodded her head. “Yep! I'll be able to bring Amyr to the battlefield, now, and won't have to worry about it not getting any use. I was starting to feel bad that I couldn't bring it with me," she murmured, stuffing her face with the last bit of doughnut, as if to keep herself from saying anything more. Mercer snickered softly, as if he found it funny.

“Well, here's to hoping everyone passed and is able to receive their desired results," he stated, grabbing a cookie from Amalthea's plate. She didn't seem to mind, though, and merely pushed her plate towards the center, a silent permission to anyone else who wanted to partake in it.

Without making nearly that much fuss, Vridel took a cookie as well, setting it down on his plate. As the chatter continued around him, the others discussing what they'd been asked to do for their certifications, he broke off a chunk of his loaf of bread, placing it wordlessly and nonchalantly on Amalthea's tray.

“If you got to that part of the test, I'm guessing you passed," he said to Sorcha, rejoining the conversation as smoothly as if he'd never left it. “That's a more advanced lance drill than they had me try for the D-plus."

She nodded, thoughtfully. “Fair point. I guess I'm just... fretting."

“I'm sure it's fine, though. I mean, he's right, they usually don't go that far unless they think you actually have what it takes," Mercer stated as if he were being supportive. From the sounds of it, he was being genuine. He shrugged, though, and went back to work on his cookie. “It still amazes me that you managed to get that far with the bow certs, too," he stated, grinning at Sorcha as he took a delibrately slow bite from the cookie.

“Most of it was due to your help, Mercer. You do not have to be pompous about it," Senka stated in a relaxed voice, glancing up from her food to give Mercer a flat stare. He chuckled and shook his head.

“I think it's great that he helped her out. It's like one of those romantic stories of a knight helping out a village, or a friend," she stated, taking the piece of bread Vridel had placed on her plate, and taking a bite of it.

Vridel snorted quietly through his nose at Amalthea's characterization of the situation. “Are you sure you don't mean to be talking about knights and princesses?" he mused. “Those are the more romantic stories, no?"

Sorcha was doing a pretty good job acting like she hadn't heard the exchange, suddenly quite focused on her food. She'd even managed to avoid blushing yet, but Vridel didn't intend to leave things that way for long.

“Faerghus has an entire genre of chivalric romances, doesn't it, Sorcha?" He inquired, voice light and perfectly innocent. “Loog and the Maiden of Wind and all that? Ancestors of yours, I believe. I seem to recall you being an avid reader of such tales in the past."

She finally lifted her eyes to him at that, cheeks burning but expression defiant. “Mostly that one," she replied with the same false lightness. Hers wasn't as practiced, and some of her irritation came through. “Especially the part where Loog hands the Adrestian Emperor his arse in a duel."

Vridel couldn't help it; he laughed. Even slightly crude language was a rarity from Sorcha, and she already looked vaguely-guilty for having said it. At least the managed not to apologize.

Mercer snorted before he laughed, holding his sides tightly as he laid his head on the table. “That sounds like an amazing book, Sorcha!" Amalthea was the one to speak, first, and her attention was on Sorcha after that. “I've only had access to the books, here, since I've never been out of the Monastery before I joined the Blue Lions. Maybe you can give me a few recommendations from where you're from?" she asked, eyes wide and hopeful.

“Would you deny that face, Sorcha?" Senka finally spoke after finishing off her own cookie, and regarded Sorcha with a light stare.

Sorcha looked unsure; Vridel thought she might not know if Mercer was joking or not. Either way, she emphatically averted her attention from the two of them and shifted it to the two other women at the table instead. “I wasn't going to, Sen," she mumbled, still clearly embarrassed that this was the topic of conversation but offering Amalthea a nod anyway. “I can make some recommendations I guess. If they don't have them here, I can have Lady Cornelia mail me some books from home."

“Oh, that would be amazing! You're the best, Sorcha," she stated, grinning at the woman before her eyes lifted towards Vridel. She made eye contact, though, and immediately her eyes widened, and she shifted her gaze back towards the others at the table. The tips of her ears were red, again, and she seemed intent on not making eye contact with Vridel.

“Well I suppose that settles it. Can I join in on the reading?" Mercer stated, eyes glowing with mischief as he glanced towards Amalthea and then towards Sorcha.

“It would be difficult to share a book, Mercer, but maybe we can do reading groups when we have the time! We can read the books to each other, and maybe even talk about them!" she stated enthusiastically. Senka huffed lightly, but did not seem inclined to speak.

“Uh... I'll think about it," Sorcha replied, eyes moving back down to her plate. She pushed around some of the stew in her bowl with her spoon, but if the look on her face was anything to go by, she seemed quite uninterested in finishing it. After a moment, she picked up her tray and stood.

“I'm... going to go get a head start on studying for my written tests, I think." Her smile was brittle, so obviously false it almost hurt to look at.

Vridel immediately felt a spike of alarm. “Sorcha," she said, his voice unusually soft. “I'm sorry if I—"

She shook her head. “It's not your fault, Vridel. You didn't say or do anything wrong. No one did. I'm just tired after a long day, I think." Freeing one of her fingers from the tray, she gave them a little wave with it. “I'll see you all tomorrow for the mission. Sorry to cut out early." She did, though, turning neatly on her heel and departing to hand her tray back to the staff.

Vridel sighed quietly. So it was about that, then...

Senka was immediately up as well, tray in hand and heading towards the staff to drop it off. She left without saying a word. She didn't need to; it was obvious enough that she was following after Sorcha. Amalthea looked vaguely confused and glanced towards Mercer, who merely shrugged his shoulders. The look on his face, though, was distant, his eyes never leaving the way Sorcha had left. He seemed lost to his own thoughts, and Amalthea finally glanced back in Vridel's direction.

“Will she be alright?" she asked, concern laced in her voice.

He wasn't immediately sure how to answer that question. “Sorcha is a very strong person," he said instead, giving her a momentary look before he turned his attention back down to his plate. “But there are a lot of people who have told her very loudly for a very long time that she isn't good enough." His lips thinned, eyes hardening.

“After a while, even the strongest person starts to believe something like that." He knew that was a strange thing to bring up in the context of the conversation that had actually taken place, but he thought he understood the link, why one would feed into the other.

If so, he owed her an apology, and an explanation.

For the first time, Thea's brows furrowed as if she were angry with something. “Those people are butts, then. Sorcha's an amazing person! She's... so talented and pretty, and just... she has an amazing heart. Why would anyone ever say that about another person?" she stated, upset on Sorcha's behalf, perhaps. Her brows were furrowed and her lips were pursed together.

“That's how things are, outside of the Church, Thea," was the only reply Mercer gave her, his eyes sliding back to regard her with an even gaze.

“That doesn't make it right," she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, and trying to glare, it seemed, at the table.

“Of course not," Vridel replied. Though her sentiment was simple, it was true, and something that many people failed to understand. That just because something was a certain way doesn't mean it should be so. Unfortunately, many people lacked the imagination to imagine anything better, and so what was became what would always be. It was the very thing he was committed to fighting against, for whatever time he had left.

“But I don't think you need to worry too much about Sorcha," he continued, seeking for reasons he could not quite understand to put her at ease. There was a little furrow in her brow where she was glaring; the temptation to reach out and smooth it away was powerful, but he ignored it. “She's been through a lot, and is still all those things you said. She won't let something like this keep her down for long."

“I would hope not. I feel..." she started, but paused as Mercer sighed heavily.

“You shouldn't feel like that, Thea," Mercer spoke as if reading her mind. She had a surprised look on her face, if that was anything to go by. “You're her friend, right? Just keep supporting her, because she'll need friends like you with her. Senka's her best friend, and they seem to know each other well, but she'll need more than just one friend to help her. You can do that, right?" he continued, his face smoothing out into his usual smile.

“I'd like to think I'm everyone's friend. If I can't help, and all I can do is just listen to other people, will you let me listen to you if you need to talk? I don't like when my friends feel like that, and sometimes... sometimes people feel better when they have someone they can talk to," she stated, earning a light chuckle from Mercer.

“Sure thing, Thea. If I ever need someone's ear to chew out, I'll make sure I come find you, first." She at least smiled, then.

Some part of Vridel honestly didn't understand how there were people like this in the world. It wasn't just Amalthea, either—all of them were so... he wasn't sure what the word was for it. Only that he'd seriously doubted there was really anyone in existence who answered to it. Compared to them, he was... well. It hardly mattered.

He couldn't make himself promise the same. If nothing else, their presence had rendered him more honest than he habitually was, it seemed. But he stayed, and perhaps that meant... something.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jeralt's Journal Character Portrait: Cyril Eisner Character Portrait: Mercer von Riegan Character Portrait: Senka Rinaldi Character Portrait: Amalthea von Kreuz Character Portrait: Vridel von Hresvelg
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I.Y. 1180 - Garland Moon - Monday the 30th
Magdred Way - Morning - Foggy
Mercer von Riegan


Mercer pursed his lips together as he scanned the area. They had left Sunday in order to travel to Castle Gaspard. It had taken them a day, but by the time they'd arrived, it was strangely foggy outside. He was slightly regretting not bringing a torch with him, or something as a means of light. Fire magic could fulfill that, but it meant using magic, and he was certain the mages would like to conserve it. Even if they were there as the cleanup, there could still be a battle to be fought. He glanced around at the others, his eyes landing on Sorcha for a moment before turning towards everyone else. A soldier, a young man perhaps not more than twenty, seemed excited about something.

“Are you anticipating a fight?" Mercer decided to ask. It was unusual for someone to be excited to do nothing after all. Chances are, they wouldn't even be needed for this. The soldier shook his head, though.

“I'm excited at the chance of being with Catherine! No matter how powerful our enemies may be, there's no need to worry as long as the mighty wielder of Thunderbrand is with us!" he stated, causing Mercer to huff lightly. He supposed having someone on their side who could wield a Hero's Relic might have been a slight advantage, but he didn't think too much of it.

Most of the others seemed to know what he was talking about, but Cyril, who was in fact walking beside the woman herself, looked vaguely confused for a moment. “Thunderbrand?"

“You mean you don't know?" Catherine stated, vaguely surprised. She stared at Teach with a confused brow, before she continued. “My weapon is called Thunderbrand. It's one of the Heroes' Relics." Everyone almost seemed to nod in unison at the explanation.

“Yeah, supposedly a long time ago, the goddess bestowed divine weapons upon ten heroes, which were passed down to their descendants," Mercer stated, causing Catherine to nod her head. “For instance, House Blaiddyd has Areadhbar, and House Riegan has Failnaught. We're each expected to inherit those relics when we ascend to our position as leaders, but in the mean time..." he trailed off with a shrug of his shoulders.

“They're an honor to wield, but I'm afraid there won't be any chance for that today," Catherine stated, holding out her arms with a shrug. “Our mission is to help clean up the aftermath, not fight." Which was true, for the most part. That, however, did not seem to ease the unsettled feeling in Mercer's stomach.

“I wonder why Lord Lonato would start such a rebellion, though," Sylvi asked, glancing towards Devon with a sympathetic gaze. Catherine looked vaguely uncomfortable for a moment before she sighed. Mercer had a feeling she at least knew part of the reason.

“It all goes back to the Tragedy of Duscur..." she began, curiously catching Senka's attention. Her eyes were on Catherine as soon as she'd said it.

This, Teach actually seemed to know about. At least, he didn't ask what it was. “I don't understand," he admitted. “The Tragedy of Duscur wasn't a Church dispute, as I understand. Why would someone rebel against the Central Church because of it?"

“There's more to that story than it seems," Catherine explained, expelling a heavy sigh. “They had accomplices within the Kingdom as well," she stated, shaking her head as she glanced at the group. Senka's brows were furrowed, and Amalthea looked vaguely confused. Catherine chanced a glance in Devon's direction, and Mercer found his lips pursing into a fine line.

“Accomplices," Sorcha muttered, shaking her head. If Mercer hadn't been as close as he was, he wouldn't have been able to hear what came next. “Ridiculous." She didn't, however, dispute what Catherine was saying, probably for the sake of the mission they were all here to do.

“Lonato's son was part of it, wasn't he?" Mercer questioned, bringing Catherine's attention back to him.

“He was one of them, and so he was handed over to the church for execution," she explained, shaking her head once more.

“What is the church doing, executing criminals?" Senka finally spoke, calling Catherine's attention.

“Speaking from the church's perspectice, we simply passed judgment according to our doctrine in place of the Kingdom, which was in complete chaos. Whatever the truth behind that incident may be, Lord Lonato has harbored resentment toward the church, ever since." That explained why Lonato was attacking the church, but nothing more, to Mercer.

“Well... to be more specific, his grudge isn't only against the church. It's also against the one who turned Christophe over to them..." she added, glancing away from the group. Mercer had an idea, but he chose to keep it to himself for now.

Devon winced, but said nothing.

Teach apparently shared Mercer's hypothesis, but not his instinct to keep it to himself. “I take it that was you?" The question was blunt, but in that weird way Teach had about him, it didn't come across as harsh or unkind.

She glanced up, ready to reply when a church soldier hurriedly interrupted them. “The enemy is approaching! Their numbers are far greater than we predicted," he spoke, glancing between the group. “They used the fog to slip past the knights' perimeter!" he continued, panic laced in his voice. Mercer didn't blame him; they weren't supposed to have to fight.

“It looks like our mission just changed, Professor. Everyone, prepare for battle!" Catherine shouted as if to rally the troops together. Some of the troops nodded in unison, and departed to do as they were told.

“Well, I guess so much for being a cleanup crew," he muttered, shaking his bow loose from his shoulder and glancing at the others. “Uh, not to make anyone alarmed, but they are using this fog as cover. Be careful out there, alright?" he stated, glancing at everyone before his eyes landed on Sorcha. “Especially you," he added, pursing his lips in her direction.

She frowned, glancing away from him, but she did nod a little, tightening her grip on her own bow.

“Agreed. With this fog, it's impossible to tell where the enemy might be... or how many of them there are. Keep your guards up; the enemy could be trying to surround us. They shouldn't have enough soldiers to form a tight circle, but it's best to stay focused and alert," Catherine stated before she departed.

Teach squinted after her for a moment before sighing. “Dierdre, Sofia, Thea. Go with her. Deirdre, fire magic into the air if you need help. It should be visible through the fog." When that group had departed after Catherine, Teach simply made eye contact with Reynard, who half smiled and saluted casually, drawing a knife from the sheath at his thigh and seemingly melting into the fog.

“The rest of us are going to make small units, and follow the same plan. There has to be a cause to this fog; it's not natural." He didn't elaborate on how he knew that, but there was no doubt whatsoever in his words. “Our first priority is finding that mage, and taking them out. Mercer, Vridel, Sorcha. You're a group. Move quietly. Senka, Devon, Sylvi: you're with me. We're going to make the noise."

“Fine by me," Mercer replied, saluting Teach in the process as he glanced at Sorcha and Vridel. Senka had spared a glance towards Sorcha, but merely nodded her head and departed with Sylvi and Devon with Teach. He wished, at the moment, that he'd brought a torch with him, but he supposed that would defeat the purpose of moving quietly, now.

“Alright, I can't see too much in this thick fog, but," he stated, glancing at his surroundings, “we can at least form a tight circle to watch each other's backs for now. Also, I know this is prime opportunity, with the fog and all, but please don't accidently stab me, Vi." He'd given the man plenty of reasons to want to stab him, after all.

“Oh believe me, Mercer. If ever I stab you, it will be very much on purpose." Vridel replied simply, drawing his blade with a slight rasp.

Sorcha glanced between them once and rolled her eyes slightly, but where ordinarily she might have made some comment, she was silent now.

“Teach said the fog wasn't natural, so..." he trailed off, making eye contact with Vi, “any idea how to track the source? If it's not natural then there has to be someone making it, and that usually requires magic, right?"

“I'm not some kind of weird magic bloodhound like the Professor, if that's what you're asking," Vridel said dryly. “There's magic all over the battlefield right now and it's not easy to tell what's what. That said..." he paused, frowning. After a moment, he stopped moving and shut his eyes.

Sorcha moved immediately to cover him, squinting warily out into the fog. The quality of the air around seemed to change for a moment, almost brightening, somehow, or... freshening. It smelled like early spring, when the grass was new, and the flowers were coming in, but the change had no obvious source.

After another moment, though, Vridel cracked his eyes open, tossing his head to clear a strand of hair from his face. “I think it's that way." he pointed with his sword to the northwest, more west than north. Teach's group was going more north, and Catherine's headed almost due west, so if he was right, they'd surely run into the source first.

Probably what Teach had thought, come to think of it. Why else have the noisy groups draw attention in the other directions?

Mercer nodded, moving in the direction Vridel had pointed to. The fog was thicker than Mercer had anticipated, and he had to switch from his bow, to his sword. He didn't want to use his bow until he could see, clearly. As much as he favored it, he didn't want to accidentally hit someone with it. He wanted to make sure it was an enemy and not one of his friends, even if they'd gone in the opposite direction. He wanted to be sure.

They'd encountered a few soldiers along the way. One had managed to nick him in the shoulder with a spear. Mercer had reacted too late when he'd spotted it coming out of the fog, and barely managed to get out of the way in time. He cut the man down, but even Mercer felt a slight hesitation in his blade. These were civilians, and possibly innocent people. He wondered if they wanted to be in this fight, this battle fighting against the church. They had to know they couldn't win this. So why... he pushed the thought out of his mind as an arrow whistled towards him. It nicked him in the face as he dodged it, drawing a thin line of blood as he sighed.

“I take it we're getting close. There are more soldiers around," he spoke to Vridel and Sorcha. Chances were they would want to keep the mage as protected as possible to keep the advantage. But there was also a chance that they were just trying to confuse them and make them believe that. Mercer did not want to have to kill more people, but he gripped his sword tighter as he moved forward. He didn't have a choice.

Neither Vridel nor Sorcha looked any happier to be there. Vridel's face was set into a grim frown; at a small break in the fighting, he reached back and tapped Mercer with a quick healing spell, wordlessly resetting his stance a moment later to fend off another blade from the fog.

“W-why are you doing this?" behind them, another man faced Sorcha, a spear held in his trembling hands. “Lord Lonato is a good man! The Church is wicked and corrupt! They—they're liars!" Behind his ill-fitting helmet, it was clear that he wasn't much older than any of them, and his lack of experience in battle was just as clear. He had the build and patchy clothes of a workman, perhaps a farmer's son or something of the kind from the outlying region.

He thrust forward with his spear. Sorcha deflected with her own, crisply enough to knock his weapon right from his hands. He fell to the ground, mostly from surprise and terrible balance, probably. She leveled her spear, and he threw his hands up as if to stave off her blow. “Please! Please don't kill me!"

Mercer was close enough to hear the soft sound Sorcha made in the back of her throat. Her expression was pinched, pained; in the strange pall of the fog, she looked wan and ill.

The tip of her lance shuddered, a scant few inches from the man's hands. “Go then," she said, voice hoarse. “Leave, and don't come back."

He looked at her, then, eyes wide with disbelief, but didn't second-guess the mercy, scrambling to his feet and disappearing into the fog.

Sorcha looked stricken, and swallowed thickly. “He's probably gone to warn someone we're here," she said, still soft and scratchy. “We should hurry."

He wanted to tell her that it was going to be alright, but the truth of it was that Mercer didn't know. As much as he didn't want to kill someone, there was no room for mercy on the battlefield. An enemy was an enemy. It didn't matter if they had experience or not on the field. He had half a mind to grab his bow and finish him off, but a quick glance at Sorcha had him sighing heavily. Shaking his head, he glanced her way.

“Do it, next time. Battle is life or death; there is no mercy on the field, Sorcha," he spoke, his voice unusually harsh. He reeled in on himself, though. He hadn't meant to be that harsh, nor say that. They continued pushing forward, Mercer positioning himself to the front so as to keep Sorcha behind him. He did not want her to do what he was now doing, cutting people down whether or not they were innocent.

It didn't matter.

Mercer narrowed his eyes into the fog, spotting something almost like light. He turned his attention to Vridel, “I think we're closing in. Vi, can you use a fire spell to dispel the fog in that direction?" He pointed in the direction where he'd seen the light. The sooner they lifted this fog, the better.

“Leave it to me," he replied grimly. He'd remained quiet through the disagreement, but Mercer knew quite well that Vridel felt much the same way he did about these things.

Lighting the spell in one hand, he took a moment to close his eyes again, then adjusted his aim and let loose. The flames sliced through the fog like a hot knife through butter, their roar a much more fearsome thing than it had been during their desperate flight from the bandits a couple months ago. It burned away the fog it passed through, and at the end of the trajectory there was a short yelp, and the air around them seemed to shudder.

“Found him. If you two can hold off his friends, I can get this fog off the field."

Sorcha pressed her lips together, but nodded, readying her lance. “Do it."

With a nod, Vridel surged ahead, just as several soldiers closed in around them.

Mercer merely nodded, readying his sword in his left hand. He glanced in Sorcha's direction before turning back towards the field. Taking a deep breath, Mercer deflected a soldier's attempt on him, knocking the soldier back in the process. He struggled to get back to his feet, and Mercer grimaced when his sword went through the man's throat. He could hear him, feel him in a way he had to shake off. There was no mercy on the field. None. He felt his nerves steel themselves as he continued fending off the soldiers who continued their onslaught.

At his back, Sorcha seemed to have done the same. Or at the very least there was no time to do anything but stay alive, no room for anything but killing so as not to be killed. Every once in a while a metallic clang would ring out from the direction Vridel had gone, or magic would flash in the corner of Mercer's eye, but for the most part it was just the two of them, dealing with the onslaught.

She was unnaturally quiet, for her; it was hard to even tell how things were going for her, except that her presence at his back remained there, steadfast and stubborn if nothing else.

It wasn't more than a couple minutes more before the fog began to thin, almost all at once, dissipating into the air as if it had never been there at all. The morning sun fell over the field, bodies strewn in three distinct arcs from east to west. To the south of them a figure in white—Catherine—had fixed her gaze north, where a small palisade wall served as fortification for the rest of the forces and with them—

“Lonato!" Devon, not more than fifty yards to the north with Teach's group, was looking at the same thing: a dignified-looking man mounted on a barded horse behind the wall, lance in hand.

“It's you, Thunderstrike Cassandra," he spoke, glaring at Catherine. His eyes landed on Devon for a moment, and Mercer saw a pained expression flash across his face before he turned his attention back to Catherine. She merely furrowed her brows in his direction, and dropped Thunderbrand to her side. “It was your wretched zealotry that killed my son!" Catherine, however, turned to face Lonato, scoffing lightly before pointing her weapon at him.

“The only name I answer to is Catherine!" she stated, gripping her weapon a bit tighter. “Prepare to taste the blade of one who serves the goddess. Now you face a Knight of Seiros!" she shouted. Lonato merely huffed as he glanced at his soldiers.

“The fog has cleared. There's nothing left to hide you or the filthy Central Church from the judgement of the goddess!" he declared. Mercer grabbed his bow, this time. He wasn't close enough, but he could at least try and pick off a few soldiers from a distance.

Someone else had the same idea; and arrow went sailing over the palisade, landing at the feet of Lord Lonato's horse. Tracing its path back, Lonato met eyes with Devon, where he stood in the middle of his group, protected on two sides by Teach and one each by Sylvi and Senka.

“Lonato, why are you doing this?!" he called, doing his best to straighten to his full height. “You're putting all of your people in danger, leading them into a fight you cannot win, and for what? Please—tell me why this is happening!" There was an edge of desperation to his voice, but there was hope, too. Like he really did believe it might be possible to talk down Lonato's army. Like the Church wasn't already planning to kill them all.

Lonato seemed to have no such illusions. “You wouldn't understand, Devon. Know that the Church had betrayed us all. That woman who sits at the very top of this world... her claws are deep in every nation in Fódlan, and no one will ever be free until they have been torn out!"

Devon hesitated, clearly unsure what to do or say in response to that. But then a soldier slipped past Sylvi's guard, and he had other, more immediate things to worry about.

Mercer grunted under the force of a battle axe that came down on his sword, and he struggled to push it back. He managed to get his footing, using his bow to sweep the man's feet from underneath him before plunging the sword deep within the man's gut. He pushed out a breath as he glanced towards Catherine and Lonato. Catherine was upset, it was obvious to tell with the furrow of her brow, and she charged Lonato, who rushed to meet her on the field. Their weapons clashed as Catherine deflected his lance. “You! I will be the one to kill you, no other!" Lonato declared, twirling his lance towards Catherine.

“You have lost all sense of justice, Lonato," she retorted, thrusting Thunderbrand in his direction and eyes heavy with something. It wasn't quite sorrow, but Mercer would say it was close to it. Perhaps regret? “You want to fight me? So be it; I'll send you to meet your goddess," she continued, dodging his attack as he continued his onslaught.

Thunderbrand sparked and crackled as it glowed red. It would have been an awe-inspiring sight if Mercer didn't already know what Catherine was planning to do. He had to turn his gaze as she slashed at Lonato, the force pushing him back and breaking his guard. Mercer didn't need to hear the strangled cry that left Lonato as Catherine's attack made contact, slicing through the metal of his armor. He fell to his knees, glancing defiantly up at Catherine as she pointed her weapon at him.

“Vile woman..." he spat, his voice ragged with each breath he took. “Christophe, forgive me," he stated out loud, perhaps on purpose so that everyone could hear him. Catherine grimaced as she swung her blade, ending the battle as she turned away.

“I... never thought I'd see Lonato meet this fate," she spoke, her voice cracking just slightly. She seemed to steel herself, though, and glanced at everyone as the other members of the army, retreated. “Well done, everyone. Let's... gather our troops and go," she stated. Mercer couldn't agree more, as he glanced in Sorcha's direction.

“We should regroup with the others," he muttered in her direction.

Her eyes were fixed on the scene; he had the distinct impression she'd forced herself to watch the whole, bloody thing. After a moment, she tore them away, nodding.

“I think if we—"

Abruptly, Sorcha's eyes went wide, a strangled cry that never had a chance to form parting her lips silently as a blade bloomed from her stomach. Her knees gave out beneath her, and the sword withdrew with a slick sound. Behind her stood the same soldier she'd spared what seemed like hours ago, but had likely only been about twenty minutes. His face was twisted into an expression equal parts anger and terror.

“You've ruined everything!" he said, voice trembling as he prodded her off the end of the sword with his foot. He must have picked it up on the field somewhere. Blood seeped over the grass beneath her; Sorcha was entirely still. “You've killed him, and now—now there's nothing!" Tears streaming down his face, he raised his sword, slick with Sorcha's blood, and charged Mercer with a shout.

Mercer's eyes went wide as Sorcha fell over. He could hear Senka shouting from over the field, but everything went numb. Cold. He reacted without much thought, his blade deflecting the man's sword as he tried to attack Mercer. Without much effort, Mercer's blade found its home in the man's neck, severing his head from his shoulders as Mercer threw his blade to the ground. He rushed towards Sorcha's side, eyes wide, and a strange sense of panic seeping through him.

“Sorcha!" he shouted, moving to her side to cradle her towards him. “Sorcha," he continued, not registering the small body falling to his side. Amalthea had reached them first, having run from the other side of the field, it seemed. Mercer would have thought it strange since she was so small compared to Senka's longer strides, however; he couldn't seem to focus.

“Oh, no... no, no, no, Sorcha!" she spoke, placing her hands over Sorcha's wounds. “Mercer, we need to get her bleeding to stop. She's going to bleed to death!" she shouted, but Mercer already knew that. He was trying to get his body to move, to do something other than shut down, but he couldn't seem to take control. He was paralyzed. “Mercer!" Amalthea shouted. Tears were starting to bubble up in her eyes, and she continued to put pressure on Sorcha's wound.

“Don't... you're going to be okay, Sorcha. You'll be fine. Vridel and Senka are on their way!" she couldn't stop the sob that tore through her throat, and the force of her tears had caused her to shut her eyes. “Goddess, please help me," she whispered. Whether it was the prayer, or some latent ability of Amalthea's, her hands began to glow. Mercer recognized white magic when he saw it, but he never recalled her having it. He chanced a glance at Amalthea, her eyes still closed as the tears continued to fall, however; there was a light glow coming from where her heart was.

Did she have a Crest, too? Whatever it was, it seemed to knit Sorcha's wounds closed, but it wasn't enough. She was still bleeding. If Amalthea had a Crest, and did little training with her own magic, it wasn't going to be enough. Her Crest would likely only be able to do so much. He glanced at Senka who came into his vision. “Help her," was his only plea.

“I need you to let her go, Mercer. Vridel and I can take over from here, Thea. Let her go, and let us help," she stated, clearly out of breath, but wearing an expression Mercer had seen before on other people, even himself. It was fear and anguish.

It wasn't long before the whole class had gathered there, even Devon wearing a worried expression on his already tear-streaked face.

“Out of the way," Videl snapped, pushing past several people to drop next to where Thea had begun the work. His hands were already lit with the light of a healing spell—a pore powerful one than the standard kind, from its brightness. “Mercer, you need to put her down or she is going to die. Do you understand me? Senka and I both need to be able to get at that wound."

He was trying to do what they wanted him to do, but his body wasn't responding. He was screaming at his muscles to move, but they wouldn't listen to him. Couldn't they see that!? He was trying, but his body was not in his control. Both Senka and Amalthea were now pleading with him, their eyes wide. Amalthea's were wet with tears, and Senka's looked to be on the verge of her own tears.

“Mercer! Let her go! I'm begging you!" Senka shouted at him, reaching towards Sorcha. He'd never heard her yell like that, before. There was so much emotion behind it. His grip only tightened on Sorcha and he cursed himself. He was going to be the reason she died, even though he desperately wanted her to live.

Vridel cursed and went to work, clearly at least trying to do what he could alone.

Perhaps it was his magic added to what Amalthea had already done. Perhaps it was something else. Either way, Sorcha's eyelashes flickered, and her eyes opened just a little, hazy, indistinct slivers of foggy blue. She seemed to struggle to focus, perhaps unable to process all of what was going on, but somehow, her eyes found his, and with what seemed to be great effort, she lifted the hand closer in to his side. Her fingers were smeared with blood—most likely her own, though there was no way to tell for sure.

“'msorry," she slurred, like her tongue was too thick and heavy in her mouth. Her fingertips found his cheek, and she half-smiled in that particular way she had, where it was a little bit wry, even if this one was dreamier than usual, actually. It wouldn't have been surprising if she was delirious from blood loss at this point. “You can... let go," she mumbled, quietly enough that it was probably only he and Vridel who were close enough to hear now.

“An' smile, 'kay?" her head lolled, hand dropping away as though both were too heavy to hold in place any longer. She left a crimson smear on his face. “'It's..." her eyes slipped closed again, and she went limp.

Mercer," Vridel repeated urgently.

The force of her words was enough to cause Mercer's body to relinquish his hold. That, or perhaps it was the force with which Senka pushed him out of the way as she grabbed hold of Sorcha. He swallowed thickly, watching as both Vridel and Senka immediately went to work on Sorcha's wounds. It felt like hours. Long, drawn out, and angry, for whatever reason Mercer could not name. When they were done, Senka's shoulder's were shaking. It was clear to Mercer that she had been crying, but it wasn't until she turned to face him, that he realized that it was his fault.

“What were you thinking! You could have..." she shouted abruptly at him, but stopped when something caught in her throat. “You could have gotten her killed! Why didn't you let go!?" she continued, causing Mercer to avert his gaze from her. He knew. He knew, but he couldn't bring himself to let go. “She's... she's all I have left and you almost let her die!" And he deserved her wrath, and her anger.

“Senka, I... don't think he did it on purpose. He was worried, scared just like you are," Amalthea stated, briefly touching Senka's arm as she turned to face her. Senka glanced back at Mercer before turning her gaze from him, and refusing to look at him the rest of the time. He deserved it.

“We need to get her back to the Monastery so she can rest." She said no more after that.

Vridel stood last, rising with Sorcha in his arms. “We can put her on one of the horses for now, but someone should ride with her." From the way he was swaying on his feet, he wasn't in any shape to be doing so himself.

“Senka." Teach nodded to the horse Sofia was leading over. “If you need to switch off let me know." He seemed to deem it best that Senka be the one to travel back with Sorcha, and given the fright she'd just had, perhaps that was a kindness. At least this way she'd be able to know if anything about her condition changed right away.

“As for the rest of us... let's get back to the monastery."

Senka nodded at Teach, though glanced over her shoulder one last time at Mercer. He knew, then, that she hated him. And he did not blame her. He hated himself.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jeralt's Journal Character Portrait: Mercer von Riegan Character Portrait: Vridel von Hresvelg
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I.Y. 1180 - Blue Sea Moon - Thursday the 3rd
Outside Garreg Mach (Town) - Late Evening - Cloudy
Mercer von Riegan


Mercer ran a hand through his hair, slicked back from water, as he walked through the town. He was dressed in simple clothes, nothing that detailed involvement with Garreg Mach or the Alliance. Hell, he was pretty sure he looked like a typical commoner. The shirt was a dull beige color, slightly worn with a few patches on it. The trousers he'd worn had seen better days, a hole in the left knee, and he was certain there was a hole somewhere else, but it was a disguise that worked for him. He had agreed to meet Vridel and Reynard at their meeting place, and it was quite difficult to slip out without being noticed. With the Goddess' Rite coming up, security had been increased which made it more difficult to slip out of the Academy.

He wondered if Vridel and Reynard had the same problem? He shook his head at himself. He doubted it. They were good at sneaking out, or into places, Reynard especially. The man was way too quiet for Mercer's liking, but as long as they were allies, there was nothing to fear. He wondered, for a moment, how Sorcha was doing. He hadn't had the chance to visit her because Senka hardly left her side. And every time he went to visit, she had thrown him a glare. It was strange seeing so much emotion on a person's face who'd, otherwise, had none. He didn't blame her, though. He hated himself just as much as she hated him.

Shaking the thought from his mind, he continued towards Reynard's house, pausing only to knock on the door, and waiting for an answer.

It was Reynard himself who answered the door. He too was dressed like a commoner; more of the townsman type than a farmer or laborer. He managed to look considerably older than the average Garreg Mach student, which probably helped; at the moment he was even sporting heavy stubble. Mussing his hair, he blinked at Mercer and opened the door a little wider, stepping back inside. “I'm going to get you a key," he murmured. “Vridel's in the study."

It wasn't far off the entrance hall; a small and sturdy bookshelf took up most of one wall. There was a small, grimy window on another; it was important that the place fit in with its neighbors. The table in the center had several chairs around it. In one of them sat Vi, apparently hard at work on one of the ciphers he'd mentioned.

His attempt at plainclothes was... slightly less accurate, but at least he'd gone with dark colors and worn a cloak, which was now draped over the back of his chair. He didn't look like he had anything to do with the school, at least. There was a tray of sandwiches in front of him, and a few glasses of water.

Glancing up, he waved Mercer in. “Hey. What's new?"

“Oh you know, just the usual," Mercer replied in good fun, but he knew his face didn't show it. Instead, he heaved a heavy sigh, and took a seat across from Vi. “I swear this is getting stranger by the minute," me murmured, leaning forward and catching his face in his hands. He rubbed his hands down his face for a moment before turning to glance at Vi. His brows furrowed slightly before he took in a dramatic sigh.

“Were you able to find anything on Lonato's son?" he asked, leaning back in his chair in a haphazard way. From what he was able to gather during the battle, Christophe had been accused of being part of the Tragedy. The church executed him as a result, but that confused Mercer more than anything else did. Why was the church executing criminals? That wasn't their job, even if they were temporarily carrying out a sentence.

“And Catherine obviously had something to do with it, but... it doesn't add up," at least not at the moment.

Vi sighed, leaning away from his work and back into his chair. “Reynard found the official Church records on the incident. Apparently, Christophe was a member of the conspiracy against King Lambert, and instigated the people of Duscur into killing him." A roll of his eyes indicated what he made of that. “The truth... will be much more difficult to uncover. Perhaps we will figure it out in the course of the rest of this."

He folded his hands together and settled them behind his head. “If you want my best guess... the Church wanted him dead for some other reason and used the assassination as a screen. A justification for slipping in and killing him with no trial and few questions. Everyone just wanted to put that whole thing to rest as soon as it was over."

Assassinations seemed to be plenty, lately. “Probably, but then that leaves the question: what did Christophe plan?" He would have asked Devon if he knew anything about it, but... there were two reasons why he didn't. Devon was clearly distraught over Lonato's death. Mercer didn't blame him; Lonato had practically taken him in and raised him. The other was that it was obvious that Devon knew nothing if Lonato's words were anything to go by. He didn't want Devon to be part of whatever it was he was doing.

“I wonder if it has anything to do with Rhea," he stated. Then again, a lot of things seemed to be pointed in her direction. “She made it quite clear to Teach that this battle was supposed to teach us a lesson. About us ever turning our swords against the church or some shit like that," he continued as his eyes narrowed in thought. “I wonder... if Christophe had done something like that?" he mused out loud. It was a possibility that was the case, but they needed concrete proof.

Vi hummed quietly. “It's curious, isn't it? That there are no recorded cases of anyone openly rebelling after the War of Heroes. At least not on any large scale. You'd think that someone, at some point, would have, and yet nothing until this Lonato business." He shook his head. “I've always thought they have to be suppressing that information. Handling it themselves instead of turning it over to the relevant country's authorities. She's not so perfect that no one ever disagrees with her, that's for damn sure."

Mercer huffed lightly. “That means someone inside the church knows the information we're looking for, unless they were disposed of for precautionary reasons," he stated in a nonchalant manner. It wouldn't be the first time something like that happened. Mercer knew from experience that there were people who were killed to keep the silence. It meant that, whatever information they knew, they wouldn't be able to use it as blackmail, later on. Not as effective, though, as they'd want it to be. People were cautious by nature; there was bound to be a journal or something.

“It's not the first time they've concealed something like that, though," he sighed, slumping into his chair. “Supposedly Maurice didn't have any living descendants," he stated, allowing his eyes to slide towards Vridel. He wasn't stupid; he'd seen the Crest on Senka's forehead and knew what it meant. The perks of reading forbidden things, he supposed. “Why would the church cover that up? There's no reason to; we all know he went crazy with bloodlust," he continued. That's what was written in the lore books, anyway.

“I think it's all the same," Vi replied, picking apart one of the sandwiches and eating a slice of tomato. “If it stays under the surface, so that even those people don't know what power they have... no one asks any question the Church doesn't want to answer." He paused a moment, midway through another tomato, and frowned. “The question is... why hide these things in particular? A hero turning rogue... it's a bad look, but like you said everyone knows. So what questions are they avoiding in concealing this?"

“Why'd he go rogue in the first place." it was mostly a statement than a question. “Supposedly it was because he overtaxed his Crest, but wouldn't that have happened to the Saints during the battle with Nemesis? They, obviously, used their Crests to defeat him," which didn't add up in Mercer's book, but he'd let it slide for now. Speaking of which... “How did you come across the dragon thing, anyway, Vi? How does that even make sense to associate it with a Crest?" Dragons, for all he knew, didn't exist in Fódlan. He'd, of course, heard of the different species across the world, but there hadn't been a sighting in Fódlan since... well, forever.

He thought they were mostly just myth. He picked at one of the sandwiches, settling it in front of him, but otherwise left it alone. He just poked at it.

Vi sighed quietly. “I don't know where it comes from. It's an old story, I guess. My uncle told it to me. Something about... being a way to understand how to access the power of a Crest. It helped me figure out how to use mine whenever I wanted, so I sort of assumed it was some kind of educational tool. A metaphor." He shifted aside a piece of cheese in the sandwich to take out another tomato.

“I was kind of surprised none of you knew it, actually. Don't they tell any stories like that in the Alliance?"

Mercer merely shrugged. “Not really, no. And to be fair, I grew up in the alliance, doesn't mean they taught me anything about my Crest." he responded a bit dryly. “Remember? I just inherited the role as future heir of the Alliance not more than a year ago. It's not exactly enough time to say 'hey, so your Crest of Riegan does this' and what not. Plus, they didn't really put an emphasis on it," but that might have just been Mercer.

“And you really love those tomatoes, don't you?" Mercer inquired, but shook his head. He took a deep breath through his nose and glanced at Vi. “Metaphor or not, why associate them with a dragon? For all I know, dragons don't exist in Fódlan," he murmured, leaning his head into his hands and propping his elbow on the table for support.

“To make people feel more important?" Vi shrugged. “Why tell anything with creatures that don't exist?"

“Then there's Rhea's weird obsession with Teach. Did I tell you how she looked at him when she gave him the mission? It was..." strange was too mild of a word to use. “Expecting. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she had a real serious thing for Teach, but it goes beyond that, I think."

“Actually..." Vi's expression darkened; breaking the sandwich in half with his hands, he took a large bite from one half, putting it back to chew over for a bit before he swallowed. “I got kind of the same impression. Senka and I were studying with him for our magic certs, and she just... showed up. It seemed like she wasn't interested in anything but him. I even made a joke like that, but you're right. It might be that, but if it is, it's more, too."

Grabbing the glass next to him, he took a swallow before setting it back down and continuing. “I mean his whole hiring is suspicious. I won't deny that he's damn good at what he does, and at teaching it to us, but... he had no qualifications. He was a mercenary, and one with a pretty unsavory reputation at that. He'd taught no one anything; there was no reason to suppose he'd be good at it. Why take the risk? It's like she wanted him to stay, and just used the means she had to make it happen, you know? But why, if they'd never met before?"

“Well, from what I've gathered, she knew his father," he began, pursing his lips together. “She brought him back into the fold, too, without so much as questioning it. I haven't been able to find out why the Captain left her, but I did come across something strange in the library not too long ago," he stated, closing one eye as he regarded Vi.

“There was a fire at the monastery back in 1159. It said something about a child dying, I can't be too sure," it was kind of hard to decipher that one properly, “but if I had any guess..." he trailed off, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“I'd have to say that whatever the reason, it might have been why the Captain left," he stated. Maybe it was the death of an innocent child that pushed Jeralt to the edge? He still couldn't discern when the man had left Rhea's services, but he could at least put two and two together. Maybe he was making up something that wasn't there? Seeing things only he wanted to see. He shook his head, regardless, and finally took a bite out of his sandwich. It tasted strange to him, but that might have been because he had no current appetite at the moment. He wasn't sure if he'd ever get his appetite back, not after the whole ordeal with Sorcha.

“Didn't everyone think Jeralt was dead, too?" Vi mused.

He sighed after a moment, though, eyes fixed on Mercer. They were an odd color, that purple they had to them. It wasn't a trait of the Imperial family, or at least nothing like that had ever been in any of the material Mercer read. And the Emperor's portraits all depicted him with grey eyes. Given Volkhard, though, it was probably a maternal thing. “You're moping," he said flatly, narrowing the eyes until the hue seemed almost to sharpen itself.

Mercer had forgotten about that detail, but now it just made everything else more curious. At Vi's statement, though, Mercer furrowed his brows and pursed his lips at him. “I'm not," was his quick reply, shoving the entirety of his sandwhich into his mouth. He immediately regretted it, but he choked it down. His pride demanded that he did. Once he managed to clear his mouth, he sighed heavily. Vridel was right, he was moping.

“You'd be moping too if Senka was furious with you for doing what I did," he finally stated, pushing another heavy sigh through his nose. “And for also being partially responsible for Sorcha being on bedrest for so long. She wouldn't be if I had just..." if he'd just let go, the others would have been able to heal her properly, and perhaps, better.

“Maybe," Vi replied, lifting his shoulders and letting them fall. “But it wouldn't be doing anyone any good then, either." Keeping his eyes fixed on Mercer a moment more, he expelled a heavy breath and stood, making his way over to a cabinet at the end of the bookshelf. Opening it, he pulled down a dark bottle of something and a pair of glasses, returning to the table.

Once he'd dropped back into his seat, he opened the bottle, pouring out a rich, golden liquid into both glasses and pushing one towards Mercer. “Get it all out, then," he said simply. “Whine and blame yourself. Tell me about all the things you did wrong and wish you could take back. Don't leave anything out, because this is the only chance you get to convince me you're an ass I should blame for any of that."

Mercer pursed his lips at Vi. Convince him that he should blame him? Didn't he, though? Didn't he blame him for what happened? “I should have killed that man, to start with. If I'd done that, he wouldn't have had the chance to stab her. You and I both know that mercy can't be afforded in battle," he spoke, his hand gripping the cup tightly. It wasn't enough to break it, and instead, he downed the drink in one go, slamming the cup on the table in the process.

“If I'd been paying better attention, if I'd let go of her when Senka first asked me... the both of you could have worked to heal her properly. That she's alive now... if I hadn't been able to let go, she'd be dead. How can you not blame me for that? I almost got her killed," he furrowed his brows. Senka hated him, and he hated himself. So why didn't Vi? He had the right to hate him; Sorcha was his step-sister.

At the conclusion of his words, Vi nodded, tossed his own drink back, and poured again for the both of them, leaving more in the glasses this time. “That all?"

That's all? “That's all?" Mercer found himself repeating his thoughts. “What do you mean That's all? What else am I supposed to say!?" he nearly shouted, but gritted his teeth. He slammed the cup back down on the table, almost rising to his feet. “I know you blame me for it, Vridel."

“Do you?" he hissed in return, still sitting in his seat. His expression had sharpened, until all his angles were edges, like someone had carved him out of ice. The chill was almost palpable in the air, too, crackling like the frozen surface of a lake in winter. Do you know that? Because I don't think you do, Mercer."

Deliberately placing his glass aside, he set his palms down on the table. “You fucked up. I am quite aware of that, considering I'm the one who had to compensate for your mistake. But guess what? We've all fucked up. You think I bear no responsibility for letting that man go? I could have shot him down with fire just as easily as you could have with an arrow; I was right there too. You think Senka's healing was any good as emotional as she was? You think Sorcha couldn't have just killed him to begin with, or been more aware of her surroundings? You think the Professor couldn't have split us differently? Where does the responsibility stop, hm?"

He shook his head emphatically. “Everyone makes mistakes. That's what humans do. And you know what? She survived this one. But if you don't pull it together, if you don't leave it in the past where it belongs, she might not survive the next one. We don't have the luxury of wallowing. We have to be better. That's the only choice if we want to get out of this alive. If we want them to get out of this alive."

Vridel's words were sharp, and the cut deeply. Mercer felt himself wince at the force of them, but that didn't change how he felt. He knew he had to be better; that was what he was striving for. The reason he joined the Officers Academy. He wanted to protect his friends, but how was he going to do that if he wasn't competent enough? He had to get better. He had to. There was no choice other than to be stronger so that none of his friends, or any of the people he came to care about, were hurt or killed. He... wouldn't be able to take it.

“It's not that easy, and you know that. Saying to be stronger, to be better, you know as well as I do that even if that were the case, it wouldn't matter," he stated, slumping back into his chair and running a hand down his face. “I can't promise that I will leave it in the past, but..." the least he could do was try. He took a deep breath and cracked his eyes open, unaware he'd even closed them. “I'll..." why was it so hard to say that he'll try?

“On the contrary," Vridel replied, picking up his glass and taking a deep swallow. He set it back down with a dull thud. “Getting stronger... it's the only thing that matters. It's the only way we'll ever be able to change the world that forces all this on them to begin with." He pushed a hard breath out through his nose, and shook his head, topping up both their glasses before flopping back against his chair.

“I don't blame you, for whatever that's worth. And honestly... after what Amalthea did, I did most of the healing, and I could've done it even if you kept holding on. I was worried I wouldn't be able to, but I was." He didn't sound prideful; rather his words had the air of a strange observation more than anything. “I think she has a Crest. But anyway—I for one know Sorcha's not going to blame you, either. Senka will get over herself soon enough too. It's not like she has any room to talk about handling trauma badly."

The words were blunt, but the very opposite of cruel. Vridel said them with a great deal of compassion, though perhaps most people would not have been able to detect it as easily as Mercer could. “If you don't believe me though... ask Sorcha herself. She's the one whose opinion really matters to you right now, isn't she?" He arched a brow, eyes still keen.

That didn't mean he wouldn't stop beating himself up about it, he would just... heed Vridel's advice and talk to Sorcha. He did have a point, though, at this point, Sorcha's opinion was the only one that mattered. He didn't like the way Vi phrased it, but he wasn't wrong. Sighing softly, he drank from his cup a little slower this time, placing it back on the table as he raised a brow at Vi. He could feel some lightness seeping into his personality again as he grinned lightly.

“Oh, she does. I saw it glowing on her chest," though to be more specific it was on her heart. But where would the fun in that be if he told Vi, that? “Such a strange location, don't you think?" he continued, finishing off his drink as he kept his gaze on Vi.

“You're being transparent," Vi grumbled into the rim of his cup, taking a long draw. “But fine. I'll be honest: I find her attractive." He shrugged, as if this was no trouble at all to say. “But honestly it's incredibly inconvenient. What am I supposed to do with that?" He finished the rest of his glass and went for another. Perhaps the drink was loosening his tongue a bit.

“If I thought she was just after my title or Crest or something it wouldn't matter. But even I can tell she's not that good an actress." He frowned, sinking down a little in his seat with another grumble. “Usually when someone pretty fancies me I just... fuck them and call it done, you know? But of course that's not an option either. Really. Where does she get off being so... naive?" He made a disgusted noise and took another swig.

Mercer nearly fell out of his chair. He wasn't expecting that, to be honest. Vi didn't know what to do with Amalthea's little crush on him? That was a strange insight to the man, honestly. “Can you really blame her, though? She was raised by the Church, and from what she's told us, she wasn't able to leave until she joined the Blue Lions House. She doesn't have much wordly experience like you and I do," he stated, grinning to himself as he shook his head.

“I didn't say I blamed her," he muttered, staring down at the contents of his cup. “It's just... inconvenient."

“You find her attractive, sure, but do you like her? It's different if you do, because then it's fucking hilarious, but if you don't, you should probably have a talk with her. She's not very good at hiding her emotions. That one there wears it everywhere for just about any one to see," he stated, swirling his cup in his hand. “Plus, it'll save her from a future heartbreak once she understands the depth of what a crush is. I'm pretty sure you're actually her first crush, lucky you," though he meant it in a genuine manner.

“The sooner you let her down gently, the sooner she can move on and not experience a heartbreak that'll be ten times as worse if she ends up falling in love with you. And even I know you wouldn't want that on your conscience."

“Ugh, you're useless," Vi groused, shifting in his chair so he could prop his feet up on the corner of the table. Reaching out, he tugged the bottle of liquor closer to him with unusually-unsteady fingers, sloshing more into his glass. “What the fuck does it mean to like someone, anyway? That's such a stupid phrase. I like Sorcha, but she's practically my sister so I'd never—" he made a face and a gagging noise at the same time.

“And don't give me any of that bullshit about physical responses. That's all sexual. And it seems like all of the emotional things are just... pretty much like being friends with someone. But apparently liking someone is different from wanting to fuck a friend, so please do enlighten me, o wise one."

Mercer chuckled lightly as he rolled his eyes. “Really, Vi? You've never had someone you've liked?" that was an interesting thought. Everyone liked someone at a different stage in their life. Most of them liked someone when they were young enough to understand what it meant, however; that Vi never liked someone was an interesting thing to know. “You know, it's not always just physical responses. And you like your sister because she's family. You couldn't see Sorcha that way even if you wanted to," he rolled his eyes again at that.

“What I meant is that, do you enjoy Thea's company more than others? Liking someone doesn't always have that romantic notion or bullshit. Sometimes, liking someone is just as simple as that. You enjoy their presence without getting any of those physical responses and you can just... relax. You don't have to put up a mask or pretend to be someone you're not," he continued, sighing softly.

“You actually kind of care about them and want what's best, I suppose. I dunno if this makes sense to you, but it might be because of the drinks," because Mercer was certain he wasn't making to much sense. Hell, he didn't even know what he was getting at at this point.

Vridel waved a hand carelessly, as if to banish the remnants of the conversation. “Whatever. I'll sort it out somehow." He shifted in the chair, clearly trying to get comfortable. “You been to see Sorcha yet?"

“No," he muttered intot he rim of his glass. “Senka's been there a lot lately, and I haven't really been able to see Sorcha. She's a scary woman, that Senka," he admitted. It wasn't that he was afraid of her, but rather, he just didn't want to face her, yet. “Plus, I'm sure Sorcha's doing fine with her friend there, and all. Not like she needs me, yet," he continued, slightly perplexed by what that meant, yet.

Vi made a face that looked like it was supposed to be skepticism, but apparently he was having trouble summoning that sharpness he usually had right now. “Don't blame me if she starts thinking you don't care, then," he said with a sniff. “She's more sensitive than she lets people guess. You know she still carries around a token from her 'first love'? Has been as long as I've known her." He shook his head, but couldn't muster the disapproval he seemed to be going for, managing only a sort of soft, fond exasperation.

“And I've known her since she was nine."

Mercer snorted, but that did catch his attention, and he turned a curious brow at Vi. “First love, eh?" he stated, leaning on his hands, folding them beneath his chin. “What's this token that she carries around? The only thing I've ever seen her with is a green-looking jewel," and he knew for a fact that was something he had given her.

“That'd be it," Vridel continued with a nod, entirely oblivious to the relevance of this fact. “It's kind of ridiculous, honestly. She can't even remember anything about the fellow, other than the fact that she apparently knows he was kind to her. Which..." He sighed heavily. “I suppose I can understand why she'd find that novel, really. But children grow up. He's probably married by now, or forgotten all about her, or at least doesn't have any such... sentimental attachment to her. I've not the heart to tell her that, though."

Mercer blinked slowly, the words registering in his mind. He snorted before he found himself laughing entirely at Vi. He nearly fell out of his chair once more, but managed to keep himself balanced. “Wait, back up, she said I was her first love?" he stated, giving Vi an incredulous stare. “I mean, yeah I was nice to her when we first met, but that's because she wouldn't stop following me everywhere. And I gave her that jewel so she'd stop crying. I didn't think I'd have that profound of an effect on her, though," he stated, wiping a tear from his eye as he calmed his laughter.

“And obviously I haven't forgotten about her, and," he paused to wiggle his fingers in front of Vi, “obviously I'm not married." He couldn't stop another bout of laughter after that.

“What the fuck?" Amusingly, Vi did not seem as immediately quick on the uptake as usual, but a moment later he sat bolt upright in his chair, dropping his feet back to the floor and nearly spilling his drink all over himself as he pointed an accusatory finger at Mercer. “That was you?! What the hell, Mercer?!"

An exaggerated expression of consternation overtook his features, looking ridiculously out-of-place on them, like it wasn't suited at all. “And don't laugh at her like that, you asshole! D'you know how many people have ever been nice to Sorcha?" He set his glass down and counted on his fingers.

“There's you, and me, and Senka. And maybe like... a couple knights. Oh, and Rodrigue. Her dad was okay, I guess. That's it. So you better not fuck it up. You said—what did you say? Gently. Yeah. Let her down gently, or I'll stab you and it'll be totally on purpose."

Mercer gave Vi a flat stare, but he was doing his best not to laugh. “How can I fuck something up if I've never started it to begin with? She's the one who developed a crush on me, not the other way around, but," he paused, pursing his lips together, “unlike some people," he gave Vi a hard stare, “I know how to let people down gently. I'm not an asshole like you, Vi. You know that. And besides, it's not like she's complained."

He did suppose that this new information was to be taken into account. He didn't want to mislead her, or anything, but she was too damn cute to not tease. “And how many times have you said you'll stab me? If you're gonna stab me, just do it already, but please," he paused, batting his eye lashes at Vi, “do be gentle. It'll be my first time, you see." He was grinning from ear to ear.

Vridel scoffed. “Perhaps I should outsource, then. I'm not known for being gentle." Polishing off the rest of his glass, he set it down and relaxed again.

He was quiet for a long time, and from the way his eyes had closed, it almost looked like he'd fallen asleep, at least until he cracked an eye. “So... I've figured out that Deirdre and Sofia are affianced. No points for that one. And I'm sure you've noticed Sylvi's thing about Devon. But. What are your thoughts on Senka and the Professor?" he cocked an eyebrow.

Mercer raised a brow. “Teach and Sen?" he stated, pursing his lips into a thoughtful manner. “It's kind of hard with those two. They hardly show anything but it's obvious there's an attraction of sorts, there. Do you see how often she smiles at him? Smiles! She doesn't smile at anyone but Sorcha, really. And there's this weird chemistry with them. It's like they're... aware of each other, but they're both so stupid that they don't understand what it is. Oh," he paused to take a breath, “someone said they were holding hands in the kitchen the other day."

He knew there was something there, but he wasn't sure if Senka or Teach knew it themselves. It was, in his opinion, hilarious. He'd never seen two people so starved of something, before. Maybe that's just how they are? “What about you?"

Vi nodded. “I heard he was seen leaving her room one morning. Right after that night with the thunderstorm, after our first battle as a group?" He shook his head. “I had Reynard suppress that one, since I'm pretty sure they haven't actually caught on yet, so it can't have been anything much." He shrugged.

“Well that and I just don't see a problem with it. It's not like he grades us, and I haven't seen him give anyone special treatment, so why should anyone care?"

Mercer had somewhat of an idea. “Weren't we just talking about it?" he questioned. “Rhea's obsessed with him for some reason. Who's to say she'd take that well if Teach was seen with another person, nevermind that Sen's a student. They're both of age, anyway, but Rhea... she just rubs me the wrong way with that." He shuddered thinking about it. He wanted to doubt Rhea would do anything to Senka, or to Teach, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

“Like you said, why should anyone care? I'm sure it wouldn't be the first time a student was... what's the word, romanced, I dunno, by a professor. But, yeah... Rhea, bad fish that one." He was slurring slightly. Was he drunk?

Vridel snorted a laugh for some reason. “Bad fish," he repeated, grinning a bit too widely. Maybe he was drunk, too, come to think of it. “She probably—probably smells like one. Like a rotten—slimy—fish." He lost hold of another chuckle, wrapping one arm around himself as if to keep it in. Entirely unsuccessfully.

Mercer knew, for a fact, that she did not smell like a fish, however; that didn't stop him from joining in on the laughter. “I mean, her hair is like that slimey green they get, isn't it? Bad, smelly fish lady, needs to just leave the Teach alone. He doesn't want her stinky fish face," he added, falling over in his chair, finally hitting the floor with a hard thud. He didn't mind, though. He was too busy laughing to notice any pain, if there was.

Vi's laughter blended with his own, though he at least managed to keep his chair. “Right? Who would? She's a grumpy fish. 'Punish the infidels, rrrrr. Let this be a lesson to your students about what happens when they challenge meeeeee!'" His impression of Rhea's voice was terrible, shrill and grating probably on purpose, and he waved his hands emphatically but with no direction in particular.

Mercer snorted. “Rawr, fear me! The Queen Fish of all the fish!" Mercer stated, raising his arms in the air in an attempt to be intimidating, but he wasn't doing so well on the floor. “I bet you she like... can actually transform into a fish. That's a thing, right? She's like... got her own little pond she swims in and just like, does stupid fish things like make faces and probably like, scowls at people."

“Stupid fish things," Vridel agreed, nodding sagely, then ruining it with a grin.

“What if someone fished her out of the pond? Is that cannibalism?"

“Never thought about it... we should give it a try!"

Mercer wasn't sure what happened after that.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Cyril Eisner Character Portrait: Mercer von Riegan Character Portrait: Senka Rinaldi Character Portrait: Amalthea von Kreuz Character Portrait: Vridel von Hresvelg
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#, as written by Aethyia


I.Y. 1180 - Blue Sea Moon - Sunday the 6th
Training Grounds - Midafternoon - Warm
Vridel von Hresvelg


As the first Sunday of the month, it was someone's turn to teach the others something about their culture. For reasons Vridel wasn't entirely sure of, the Professor had been nominated to go first, and in lieu of being from a specific country or region, he'd invited the group of them to the training grounds this afternoon.

When Vridel arrived, most of the others had not arrived yet, but both Cyril and his father the captain were there, talking in low voices about something or other. Jeralt chuckled, though as usual his son's face remained impassive. They were both holding lances, the Captain casually leaning on his while the Professor had braced the other over his shoulders. He raised a hand in greeting to Vridel, who nodded slightly as he took up a spot at the edge of the ring, leaning on the rail.

“So... I suppose we'll be seeing some part of mercenary culture today?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Jeralt barked a laugh. “Culture? I dunno if anything we do is sophisticated enough to be called that. But you'll be getting a show, all right?"

Cyril huffed quietly. “The point of the exercise is to teach each other how different kinds of people live," he explained to his father. “Since they already do barn chores, I thought I should give them a taste of the rest of what you put me through." It was mostly deadpan, but Vridel could sense the undercurrent of humor.

As, apparently, could the Captain. “Ah, so that's how it is. I gotcha. Well, I s'pose it can't hurt to show 'em how it's done."

“So, what you're saying is that we're going to watch you and Captain beat each other senseless?" Mercer stated, making his way towards Vridel. He yawned, stretched his arms over his head until there was a popping noise, and he sighed. “I'm down for that," he stated, rolling out his shoulders.

“I think it might be more than that, Merc," Amalthea spoke next, having been behind him. “Mercenaries train differently than soldiers would, or like we would, and they have their own tactics. It'll be really nice to see that, plus..." she pursed her lips and shook her head as if what she was going to say didn't need to be said. She glanced up at Vridel, smiled, and then turned her attention towards Cyril and Jeralt.

Senka was the next to arrive, though she spared a glance in Mercer's direction, nodded, and stood on the other side of Vridel. At least she didn't seem too upset with Mercer at the moment. She didn't say anything, though, and merely remained quiet.

While everyone else was gathering, Vridel noticed another newcomer to the area as well. It looked like Professor Jeritza had intended to use the ring; or at least her stopped at the edge of it, about ninety degrees away from the students.

Professor Cyril clearly noticed him, too. “Ah, Jeritza. Were you needing the ring? We can move our demonstration elsewhere."

Jeritza shook his head. “No," he said, with his strange, melancholy lilt. Sometimes Vridel swore he recognized it from somewhere. “But if you do not mind, I would like to... observe."

Cyril shrugged, turning to his father.

Jeralt didn't seem to care, either. “Go ahead," he said with a belabored sigh. “One more witness to me getting my old ass beaten, I guess." Vridel snorted softly, even as Professor Cyril clapped his father on the shoulder.

“Old? Never." Jeralt barked a laugh, apparently a little surprised at the gesture, but grinned broadly afterwards.

“All right, kids. So the most important thing to recognize about the mercenary way of doing things is that we don't give a shit about honor, or chivalry, or any of that fancy stuff. If you can win by throwing dirt in the other guy's face, you do it. If you can win by tripping him, you do it. If you can win by ganging up..." he paused, making a gesture as if he expected someone to complete his sentence.

“We do it," Thea stated, seemingly proud of herself for completing Jeralt's sentence. “But, basically you're saying that, in order to make sure we win, that it's okay to cheat?" she asked, furrowing her brows slightly. “Is that... really okay, though?" she asked, causing Mercer to snort softly.

“Not everyone fights with a sense of chivalry or honor; Captain just said that, Thea," he stated, placing a hand on her shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. “And it's not just mercenaries who fight that way. You'll, hopefully never, come across people who will do whatever they can in order to ensure they live, and that you die," he stated, causing her brows to furrow deeply.

“Mercer is correct, Thea. This is just a demonstration, though. You can take whatever you want from it and apply it to yourself, if that makes you more comfortable," Senka finally spoke, her lips twitching just lightly as if she were trying to smile, but couldn't. Thea nodded her head in reply.

“I suppose so," was her reply as she glanced back at Cyril and Jeralt.

Vridel folded his arms across his chest, tilting his head at the two men in the ring. The Captain didn't seem perturbed by the discussion any more than Professor Cyril did, which was not at all.

“We also don't bother with too many practice conventions. We don't care if our weapons match, or if the other guy throws in whatever magic he's got, or any of that. Not in a spar between equals. This ain't quite that, anymore, so Cyril here's gonna keep his magic out of it for the sake of his old man's bones." Despite the words, he wore the jagged grin of a man very much looking forward to a fight.

“Anything else is fair game."

Cyril and Jeralt faced each other, each taking a few paces back so they were just out of reach of one another's lances. Jeralt firmed his grip on his. Cyril cracked his neck to either side, face settling back into that uncanny stillness he'd always worn when they first met him. Funny, now, how different it seemed from his usual expression, even if both could be loosely described as impassive. This one was cold, too, just utterly void of anything, in a way his usual face was not.

Before it even seemed that they'd settled, Jeralt lunged. In a chivalric duel, they would have had to bow first, and wait for a signal that the match could begin. Then again, this was clearly not that.

Cyril, at least, seemed to have been expecting it. He raised his lance, somehow instantly in a ready grip, and swatted the thrust aside, bending so that it passed through only air to the left of his head. Jeralt barked a short laugh, grin still very much in place, and took a hard step in, swinging low. Cyril jumped, propelling himself forward and using the shorter distance to throw a hard punch, one that nearly cracked into the Blade Breaker's jaw. It did force him back, and then he was under pressure from the Professor's lance, forced onto the defensive. It was a masterful reversal, and a patient one, that had completely changed the roles of aggressor and defender around.

But the Captain was fearsome, and, managing a quick block, retaliated by driving the butt of his lance into Cyril's stomach, doubling him over. The punishment strike missed, though—the professor launched himself to the side and rolled, coming back up to his feet and thrusting again before Jeralt could guard properly.

The practice lance caught him in the side, not quite enough to upset his balance, but he did have to move out of range again to avoid the follow-up.

“Ooh, that look like it hurt," Mercer stated, wincing slightly when the lance made contact. Amalthea merely mirrored his movements, wincing every time someone was hit, however; Senka merely watched. She was following their movements with a strange calculative gaze, but it might have been that she was simply studying their spar.

“I hope that doesn't bruise," Amalthea murmured, folding her hands in front of her as if to keep them from doing something else. Mercer shrugged his shoulders, though. “I'm sure they're used to it, but still," she continued, pursing her lips together.

The spar raged on. And that was sort of a good word for it. Neither the Professor nor his father seemed at all interested in checking their blows, nor in the conventional rules of combat. At one point, Jeralt did in fact throw sand, and Cyril blended lance forms with barehanded ones in a manner that would have seen him thrown out of most weapon-specific tournaments and the like. The way they fought was all about winning. Was all about survival, and they did absolutely everything they could to guarantee it.

By the time it seemed to be winding down, Jeralt had a blossoming back eye and Cyril's lower lip was split, blood dripping down his chin and neck to soak into his collar. Both men's breathing was elevated, but it was clear enough that the Professor had come out of it a little better: his injuries were mostly superficial cuts and scrapes, whereas it seemed Jeralt might actually be nursing a broken rib from a particularly well-placed kick.

“C'mon, kid," he said, shaking his head as if to clear his vision. “Let's finish it."

Without giving any chance to respond, Jeralt lunged, somehow stronger than ever, despite the fatigue and injuries. In an instant, Vridel understood why—a Crest shone on his brow, bright white with the faintest flicker of cerulean blue. His eyes widened. That was—

The blow struck hard, but Cyril's block was there to meet it. Both lances snapped under the strain; the Professor was the first to recover, seizing his father by the throat and twisting around behind him in a fluid motion, placing his head into a sleeper-lock. Jeralt tapped his arm twice, yielding the match, and Cyril released him immediately.

“Vridel, would you mind...?" he asked, shaking his head and losing the coldness to his expression at the same time.

He nodded immediately, hopping the bar and entering the ring. “Of course."

Jeralt was an easy enough patient to treat, merely standing still and quiet while Vridel got to work.

“And that's that," Cyril said, wiping the blood beneath his lip with his thumb. “We're not idiots, so we go easier when there aren't healers around, but any company can tell you that the most common use of vulneraries and things is patching people up after practice. Harder to use effectively one the field, after all." He paused. “If you've a mind to try practicing like this... remember to bring some with you, and make sure you stop the second someone yields."

“Noted," Amalthea stated, nodding her head at the same time. They had all at this time, entered the ring with Cyril and Jeralt, Amalthea making her way towards Cyril with the other two. Senka regarded Cyril for a moment, her eyes slightly narrowed before she tilted her head.

“Do you want me to take care of your lip?" she asked, referring to at least healing it so it would stop bleeding. Mercer must have taken it the wrong way, because he snickered beneath his breath as Amalthea looked vaguely confused. Senka merely attempted to roll her eyes, but she half succeeded and turned her attention back to Cyril.

He nodded slightly, murmuring a word of thanks, and ducked his head slightly to facilitate the assistance.

“Both of you don't pull your punches, do you?" Mercer stated, lacing his hands behind his head. “And I'm sure we'd all like to practice like that, eventually, especially Sofia and Sylvi. They're the ones who are doing mostly the bare-fisted stuff," he stated, sighing softly as he dropped his hands. “I'll just stick to my arrows, thank you."

“Light weight," Senka stated, earning a light chuckle from Mercer.

“I suppose I am."

“On the contrary, Mercer," Cyril said after Senka had finished with his cut. “I've an assignment for you. As Sorcha couldn't be here, I'd like you to convey the lesson to her when she's recovered." It seemed that there was almost a trace of amusement in his tone, but at the same time his expression was perfectly serious—he was really asking Mercer to do it.

Vridel thought he could see the reasoning, too. It would prevent Sorcha from feeling left out, force Mercer to practice his melee techniques against someone who would take things seriously... and perhaps, let him feel as if he'd gone some way to making up for his earlier error. Quite apt, really.

He finished with Jeralt's injuries and stepped back. The captain gave him a nod of gratitude, rolling one of his shoulders and setting his opposite hand on it as if to rest the joint. “You said this was some kinda cultural thing, right kid?" At Cyril's nod, the professor continued. “Any of you kids ever been fishing? Was thinkin' about taking trip out onto the lake this afternoon."

Vridel was struck by a fuzzy memory, something about bad fish and then a boat capsizing in the middle of the night, and exchanged a glance with Mercer, a smile twitching at his lips. “I'm terrible at it," he admitted, “but it sounds... like a good idea."

“I'm offended, Teach, but sure. I can relay the info to Sorcha," Mercer replied with a light shrug of his shoulders. Amalthea's eyes brightened, though at the idea of fishing.

“I've never gone fishing, either! Even though we have a pond, here, I've never been able to go. It sounds like it could be fun!" Amalthea stated as she glanced excitedly at everyone else. Senka merely nodded her head in agreement as Mercer snorted softly, his eyes briefly meeting Vridel's.

“I've been fishing once, but... I guess it wouldn't hurt to try it again," Mercer spoke as he grinned.

“I suppose that means we're going fishing. Perhaps you can instruct us on what the best techniques are for catching them?" Senka stated, turning her attention on Jeralt with a light tilt of her head.

He snorted quietly. “I guess I know a few tricks, but it ain't really that complicated," he said. “Let's get ourselves some boats and go from there."

As it turned out, the number of them meant that two boats were necessary, so Cyril and Jeralt split the students between themselves. Vridel wound up on Jeralt's boat, which didn't bother him. After a bit of an impromptu lesson on bait, he cast his line off the side, and settled down as Jeralt seemed to be, though admittedly he couldn't make himself hunch over quite that far.

Mercer and Thea had joined Vridel on the boat. It should have been an even number, three on one boat and three on another, however; Mercer seemed intent on joining Vridel's group for some reason. That left Cyril and Senka taking the other boat, but they didn't seem to mind. Amalthea seemed to be having trouble hooking her bait, though, and was frowing as she attempted to try again. She glanced at Vridel for a moment before Mercer took her bait from her.

“Let me help you, Thea," he stated, snickering softly as he tried hooking her bait. It took him a couple of tries as well before he succeeded. She beamed at him with a large smile and took her pole back.

“Thank you, Merc!" she stated before finally casting her line off to the other side.

“No problem, Thea," he stated, winking at her. She seemed to be slightly embarrassed by it as a light pink dusted her cheeks, and she cast her gaze away from him. Mercer snickered again.

Vridel narrowed his eyes at Mercer, quite certain that he'd done that on purpose, probably hoping to provoke some kind of reaction from him. Annoyingly, it was at least somewhat successful; he felt a flash of irritation when Amalthea blushed, and pointedly turned his eyes out towards the lake. “So do we just sit until something bites, or what?"

Jeralt hummed. “Well, you can. I think it helps a little to reel it in slowly. Fish can kinda see the motion, and will go after it. If you bring it all the way back in and the bait's still on it, you can just cast it out again. No need to reel too quick, though."

From the other boat, not too far away, Cyril cast his line, propping his feet up on the side and leaning his back against the other. Rather a more relaxed posture even than Jeralt's, but perhaps it worked just fine, too.

Senka had seemed to be doing a bit better than Amalthea had, hooking her bait with some ease before casting her line out, too. She spoke something Cyril, though it was too low to hear what it was. She was probably asking him the same thing about fishing since she began reeling her line in, slowly. Mercer smirked in Vridel's direction, not content on leaving it be, though.

Amalthea had started reeling her line in, slowly, as Jeralt had stated. Mercer had followed suit, but he was sitting relatively close to Amalthea. She might have not noticed how close he was, but the blush on her face had not receded. “Oh?" she stated suddenly, pulling her line a little. “Oh! I think I got one!" she stated, reeling in her line a little quickly. Mercer had placed his down as she tried reeling in her catch, however; it must have been slightly stronger than her as she was losing her grip.

“Here let me help, Thea," Mercer stated, shooting a quick smirk at Vridel as his hands clapsed over hers, and he pulled as she reeled. Her face was a furious red, though it was hard to tell if it was the exertion, or how close Mercer was. The line broke, however, and Amalthea shook Mercer's hands from hers, pursing her lips as she glanced out into the pond.

“Aw, my line broke," she murmured, causing Mercer to raise a brow. “How... um, how do I fix it?" she asked, turning her attention to Vridel and Jeralt. Mercer sat back in his spot, though, seemingly satisfied with his work. Amalthea's face was still red.

“Mercer," Vridel said lowly, aware that his displeasure was probably clear to the two other men in the boat, at least. “Maybe you should worry about your own line."

Jeralt sighed, bracing his line on the small boat bench he occupied and gesturing for Amalthea to hand him hers. “Nothin' too complicated. You've lost the hook and bobber, and the bait, but that's why we brought extra. Vridel, grab me one of each from the box, would you?"

Under many other circumstances, Vridel would perhaps have bristled at being so casually told what to do, but honestly he didn't mind here. Was sort of grateful for the opportunity not to have to take offense at every little thing. Even as much pride as he had, it got tiring after a while, having to posture like that to maintain the appearance of strength. An especially important and difficult task, since his return from exile.

So he opened the lid of the tackle box, handing over the hook and bobber, then dug around in the bait container with no concern for the dirt until he found a blowfly larva, which he promptly skewered on the hook when Jeralt held it out towards him.

“There," he said, handing the line back to Amalthea. “Good as new." He paused a moment, then shook his head. “I can understand the nobles not having fished before, but I thought you might have, being from the monastery and all. This is a great lake for it. Feels like the fish never run out, even though it feeds so many people."

There was something a little sad in the way Amalthea smiled, and clutched her pole closer to her. “I wasn't really allowed out of the monastery," she stated, sitting back down in her spot. She kept her gaze to the floor as she seemed to contemplate something. “I... was only recently able to leave the monastery when I was able to join the Blue Lion House. Before that..." she paused, glancing towards Vridel and Jeralt.

“I spent a lot of my time confined to the Monastery. I wasn't allowed to talk to anyone, or make that many friends. It became dangerous, or at least that's what my sister said. Lady Rhea thought I was putting myself in unnecessary danger, so she had me... locked away until a year or so ago. I know she was only looking out for my best interests, I think, but I wasn't able to experience things like fishing. It's why... it's why I enjoy learning all these new things with you all."

“Sounds rough," Jeralt said, an odd tone to his gruff voice. Clearly it didn't come as especially welcome news to him, but he didn't seem surprised, either.

Vridel was considerably closer to livid. He knew a thing or two about confinement, what it could do to a person, and the false assurances of safety and protection that were so often used to justify it. Sometimes it felt like his life had been nothing but a succession of cages with gilded bars, until they weren't gilded anymore and he'd finally been shown the truth of them.

It's for the good of the Empire, you know. It's your duty as Prince. You would't shirk your duty, would you, Vridel?

Tightening his jaw, he banished the memory.

Mercer's brows were furrowed deeply as he glanced in Vridel's direction. “And I've learned so much because of all of you! Even you, Captain! I'm even able to do this, now!" Amalthea stated in an excited manner, trying to hide whatever sadness she was feeling about it.

He didn't know when he'd lost that. The ability to see anything so innocently. Perhaps ignorantly, even, but he couldn't bring himself to disdain it. Most likely, her cage had only gotten bigger. But Vridel knew even that could feel like a gift.

Someday. Someday the door would open.

Even if he had to tear it off the hinges himself.

Sighing quietly, he settled a little further into his spot, shifting sideways just a bit. The boat was kind of cramped with just the four of them in it, so doing so brought his arm into the slightest contact with Amalthea's shoulder. He doubted he had any words in him right now that meant anything, or would be any kind of real comfort, so... he figured the least he could do was remind her that he was present. Maybe that would mean something.

Or maybe he was just an idiot. It was getting harder and harder to tell.

Amalthea smiled at him, the same bright smile she always wore, when his arm made contact with her. “Well I guess that's what these culture Sundays are for, then. Teaching little Thea about the outside world in order to help her adapt," Mercer stated, grinning lightly as he reeled his fishing line in. Amalthea's smile widened, forcing her eyes to narrow as she nodded her head.

“I'm grateful to have friends like you," Amalthea stated as she glanced towards Vridel, as if she were directing the statement specifically for him. “I've gotten better with axes because of Vi, and now I'm learning how to fish. Even though I lost it, I still managed to catch one, so that's one more victory for me," she continued, earning a chuckle from Mercer.

“Pretty good for a first effort," Jeralt added, jerking up sharply on his own line before beginning to reel faster. The pole in his hands bent at a rather alarming curve, but he didn't seem too concerned, simply pulling the fish in steadily until it was right at the side of the boat. Hauling it up with both hands, he deposited it, flopping around, in the boat next to him, then picked it up just behind the gills. “Teutates pike," he observed. “Not bad grilled." With a swift cut from the knife at his belt, he ended its struggles, dunking it briefly back in the water to shake off some of the excess blood, then set it in a bucket and re-baited his line.

“So how's the kid doing as a teacher?" he asked, casting again.

“I'd say he's doing a decent job, so far," Mercer was the first to reply, still reeling his line slowly. He didn't have a bite, yet, but didn't seem to concerned about it. “I don't think any of us would be so far along in our training without his guidance," he continued, his eyes glancing towards Cyril's boat. He huffed lightly, but shook his head.

“I think he's doing an amazing, job, though. I was able to pass my heavy armor certs because of him!" Amalthea stated, looking rather proud of herself. “If he hadn't shown me the different pieces of armor I could put together, I'm not sure I would have been able to do what I needed to," she continued.

“Heavy... armor?" Jeralt blinked a little at Amalthea, no doubt confronting the same oddity that almost everyone did when she mentioned that. For a moment Vridel tensed just slightly—while there was some humor in the image, he didn't particularly wish for anyone to laugh at her, even if it was well meant.

Jeralt only huffed, though. “Alois mentioned you," he said simply. “Glad the kid could help. He's pretty good with that sort of thing, but I wasn't sure about his people skills. Don't think I've ever seen him so happy, though. It's hard to tell because he never smiles. Never cried as a baby, either. But he does like you all. I guess I can tell after all."

Mercer grinned, somewhere caught between mischeivous and scheming. “Well," he drawled, throwing a glance back towards Cyril's boat, “rumor has it that he actually smiled. At her," he gestured towards Senka who seemed on the verge of smiling herself. He snickered softly as Amalthea turned her attention towards Cyril's boat, and smiled brightly.

“Oh, wow. I don't think I've ever seen the both of them smile like that, before. Senka usually doesn't smile. She tries, but she's not that good at it, kind of like Professor," Amalthea stated as Mercer snickered.

Jeralt followed their collective eyes and sighed heavily. “Oh great," he mumbled, though he didn't elaborate. Vridel had a feeling he knew what that was about, though he didn't ask for confirmation.

“Good grief, Mercer. Could you make it any more obvious we're talking about them?" Vridel groused, rolling his eyes when the Professor did in fact look rather quizzically over in their direction. Well, quizzically for him. Perhaps, like his father, his students were simply getting to the point where they could tell what his face meant, even though its variants were subtle.

His compatriot was saved from answering, however, by the fact that Vridel felt a tug on his line, and then another. That was more than just the flow of the water. “I think I might have something," he observed.

“Sharp jerk up. You want to get the hook stuck in there as well as you can," Jeralt said. Vridel complied, then started reeling.

“Not so fast. Ease it in first, and pick up speed as you go. Less chance of losing the line that way. Let it wear itself out."

By the time he'd hauled the fish over the side of the boat, Vridel's arms were surprisingly tired. It flopped around on the boat's floor, splashing both him and Amalthea until Jeralt grabbed it in much the same way as the other one, and showed them all how to make the same cut he had on the pike earlier. “Huh. Caledonian Gar. Not bad, kid. This one makes a nice stew." It was quite a large fish, too, something that made Jeralt nod approvingly before he deposited it in the bucket with the other.

“I'm getting hungry, now. All this talk about grilled fish, and now fish stew..." Amalthea stated, pursing her lips together as she stared at the fish. She didn't seem to mind that it had splashed her, though, and merely kept her eyes on the fish. Mercer laughed at the statement, nearly falling out of his side of the boat. Amalthea grabbed his arm, though, and managed to pull him back in.

“And you tell me I need to be careful!" she stated, frowning at him. Mercer laughed again as he merely shook his head.

“How ever shall I thank you, then? A kiss, maybe?" Mercer stated, his lips pulling into a large grin. Amalthea's face turned a bright red before she took one of the fish out of the bucket and shoved it in Mercer's face.

“You can kiss that!" she muttered, frowning slightly and crossing her arms over her chest as she huffed. The blush on her face only deepened.

Vridel couldn't help himself at that one. He laughed outright, unable to prevent the shake of his shoulders as Amalthea brandished a fish in Mercer's face.

“You heard the lady," he said with a sly grin. “Kiss the bad fish, if you want to show your gratitude." He trusted that Mercer would remember what that meant, aside from the obvious.

Mercer, at this point, was laughing uncontrolably until Vridel's statement. He looked slightly sick at the statement, and gagged. “No thanks. I'd rather not be poisoned by the slimy stinky fish," Mercer responded, catching on to what Vridel had meant. “Besides, I'd like to keep my head, thank you," he continued, snorting softly.

“What about you, Vi? I know you'd just love the chance at giving the bad, stinky fish face a big smooch," Mercer spoke as he shoved the fish near Vridel's face. “C'mon, give your Queen Fish a little kiss. I'm sure she'd like it."

Vridel frowned. “I'm not the one who was talking about kissing anything," he replied, face contorting. Even fresh, the fish smelled strongly of its own blood.

And then it occurred to him. Really, he'd been doing a good job tolerating Mercer's nonsense for the past while, and it wouldn't do to leave things as they were, lest he feel he'd won or something. So, with a quick motion, Vridel yanked the fish from Mercer's hand, deftly shifting one foot up and over Amalthea's legs to capitalize on Mercer's thrown balance. At exactly the right moment, he let go.

He didn't even watch the splash, casually tossing the fish back into the bucket and putting his foot back in front of him. “Sorry," he told the others, not really sounding sorry at all. “I might have scared the fish away."

Jeralt looked torn for all of a moment before he chuckled. “Kid's from Derdriu, right? Might be part fish himself."

Amalthea didn't hide her laughter. It was light and bubbly as she tried to contain it. She looked slightly torn between feeling bad about Mercer's condition and laughing at him. Mercer, however, glared at Vridel from the water's edge, not quite fully submerged in the water, but enough so that only his nose and top part of his head was breaching the surface.

“Serves you right, Mercer," Amalthea finally stated as Mercer rolled his eyes and made bubbles in the water as if he were grumbling.

“It does," Vridel agreed, still smiling rather wickedly. “And no, I am not offering to help you out of there. I'm not an idiot."

Setting

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Character Portrait: Jeralt's Journal Character Portrait: Amalthea von Kreuz Character Portrait: Vridel von Hresvelg
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I.Y. 1180 - Blue Sea Moon - Monday the 7th
Lyanna's Personal Quarters - Afternoon - Breezy
Amalthea von Kreuz


Amalthea hummed quietly to herself as she walked down the hallway that lead to Lyanna's room. There was something Lyanna wanted to talk to her about, but she couldn't remember what, exactly. She had just finished her studies for the upcoming written exams for her classification, when she'd remembered. She had to make sure to bring an extra tray of jelly-filled doughnuts for Lyanna, though, as her apology. Senka had made them, and she was excited to try them out. And also share them with Lyanna, of course.

Lyanna's room, however, was located just after the library, and as Amalthea passed it, she smiled. “Vridel!" she greeted, waving at him with her free hand. “Studying for your exams?" she asked, feeling her face turn slightly warm. She inwardly frowned at herself; she thought she was getting better at controlling her blush, but apparently she was wrong. She cleared her throat, though, and glanced back up at him.

Vridel had a small stack of books in his hands, all of which he shifted easily to tuck against himself with one hand, adjusting the strap of his satchel with the other. While more expressive than the Professor or Senka, he wasn't much of a smiler, she'd noticed. At least not the happy kind. But he did give her a small one by way of greeting. “Hello, Amalthea. I was attempting, to, yes, though I've encountered a bit of a conundrum, admittedly."

He clearly noticed the tray of jelly doughnuts, and blinked. “Far be it from me to assume you require assistance in either carrying those or consuming them," he added wryly, “but if you would like any, I'd be happy to offer it."

“Oh, these?" she stated, glancing at the tray in her hands. With the amount piled on, it was kind of heavy. But she had taken it as a sort of strength training, so she shook her head. “I don't need help carrying them. It's like strength training for me, right now. While it is heavy, I should get used to it," she continued, nodding her head.

“But if you'd like some, I'd gladly share them with you! Senka made them for Lyanna and myself, but if you'd like some, too, I don't mind sharing!" she added. “I was just on my way to see Lyanna if you want to come with me!"

He tilted his head, looking rather uncertain for a moment. “I wouldn't want to interrupt your time with your sister," he said, rather solemnly for some reason. “And I doubt she'd be too pleased if the likes of me showed up unannounced."

Amalthea felt herself grin. “That's what these are for," she stated, holding up the tray a little higher. “She'll be in a better mood once she sees these. She's probably a little upset with me right now because I forgot she wanted to see me. If..." she paused to glance around and make sure Lyanna was no where in sight, “If you ever want her to not be mad at you, just get her some jelly-filled doughnuts. They're her favorite and she'll forget she was ever mad to begin with."

Vridel huffed softly. “Is that so? What a conspicuous weakness, for the woman at the Archbishop's right hand." It seemed more like a joke than anything, though, and he fell in step beside her, his hand brushing just above the small of her back in gentle encouragement for her to keep down whatever path she'd been treading.

“And what are you headed to talk to her about today?" he asked, apparently genuinely interested. He didn't seem to realize that his fingertips were still pressed slightly into the back of her uniform.

Amalthea put it down as him being friendly. “I don't know, but I think it has something to do with the last mission when Sorcha was..." she winced slightly and did not continue. She knew Vridel would understand where she was going with that statement. “I think it has something to do with what happened, what I did," she murmured softly. She wasn't entirely sure what happened, but Amalthea knew she played a small part in Sorcha's healing. As far as she'd known, Amalthea had never really learned any healing spells.

She wasn't even sure how she did it, only that she did. “I hope she's not mad," she added, furrowing her brows lightly. She hadn't meant to use a healing spell, but there seemed to be something more about it. “But, again, that's what these are for," she forced a smile on her face as they neared Lyanna's quarters.

“Ah. Actually if that's the case I might have some insight to offer after all." Vridel's touch disappeared; he withdrew the hand to run it back through the white strands of his hair, trailing his fingers to his nape with a sigh. He was still wearing the glasses she'd seen him use for reading sometimes; either he'd forgotten to take them off or they didn't bother him enough that he needed to. “As I'm fairly sure I know what happened. I'm sure your sister could confirm my guess, though."

“Then I suppose it's a good thing you're coming with," she stated, smiling up at him in the process. “You look really nice with your glasses, by the way," she added, turning her attention back in front of her. Her ears were burning again, but she managed to cool them down by the time they'd reached Lyanna's quarters. She knocked on the door frame before entering, shoving the tray in first as she smiled at Lyanna.

“Sister! I brought you some jelly doughnuts to try! Senka made them," she spoke as she set the tray down on the nearest table. She might as well lead with that. The sooner she could get her sister to not be angry at her, the better.

“Thea? What are you doing here? It's not—" Lyanna glanced out the window and blanched. “Oh goddess. I completely—come in." Though this wasn't her office, it looked like she'd brought a great deal of the paperwork back to her quarters, perhaps in anticipation of continuing work on it later. Only knowing Lyanna, 'later' had turned into 'just a few more minutes' and now it was much later than she'd thought.

Her eyes widened upon catching sight of Vridel, but he spoke before the obvious question could be asked, placing a hand to his heart and inclining himself in a crisp, formal bow. “Lady Lyanna. Please excuse my lack of an appointment. I understand I may have pertinent observations on the matter you wished to discuss with Amalthea, and so she invited me to attend." It wasn't exactly the order in which those things had happened, but it was true, at least.

“Your Highness?" Lyanna blinked, clearly confused, then promptly looked down at herself and blanched again. She was wearing a rather informal gown, the kind of thing she used to lounge around their rooms rather than conducting meetings. “I—I will be right back. Please make yourselves at home."

Vridel behaved as if he had not noticed anything odd at all, and like the request was perfectly ordinary, glancing about the room as if to take its measure. This one was something of a common area between their two bedrooms, and was richly-appointed. Most of the furniture had been chosen ages ago by Rhea, but a few personal touches had made it in as well. The sofas were plush and upholstered, but the warm knit blankets thrown over them were Lyanna's handiwork, and there was a vase of flowers sitting in the window. Bookcases and cabinets held some of their favorites, as well as knickknacks from travels her sister had supposedly been on before Amalthea was born.

He took a seat on one of the couches, crossing one leg over the other and letting his arms spread over the back of it, looking for all the world completely relaxed, like he'd done this sort of thing a thousand times before. “I suppose that one's yours?" he asked, arching an eyebrow and nodding at the door opposite of the one Lyanna had gone through.

Amalthea nodded her head with a bright smile. “Yes, that's my room! Oh, I can show it to you sometime if you'd like!" she stated, her smile inching wider. She had a few books in there that he could read if he was interested in that. They were mostly books she'd found in the library ages ago, but hadn't returned them, yet. “I have a couple of books and other things in there that you might be interested in."

She didn't think it sounded inappropriate, after all. He was her friend, and she didn't see the harm in sharing her things with him, even if she did have a small crush on him.

Vridel seemed quite amused by the offer for some reason, leaning back so as to better meet her eyes from his spot on the couch. Almost lazily, he lifted a hand, catching one of the long green locks of hair that trailed down past the front of her shoulders. He curled it a few times around his finger, tilting his head in query. “As intriguing as that sounds," he said, something genuine in it despite the sly tone his voice seemed to have taken on. “I wonder what else you might show me." He gave the lock of hair a playful tug, not enough to hurt, raising it briefly to his lips before letting it slide through his fingers to fall back in its place.

“There's not a whole lot, but I could show you just about everything, really," she replied, feeling the heat return to her ears, and bloom over her face. She wanted to laugh at how ridiculous she was being, but shook her head. She finally took a seat across from him on the other couch, and waited for Lyanna to return. “Oh, there is something you might like in there!" she stated suddenly.

“I made... well I had someone make it because I'm not very good at handiwork like that, but I had someone make a mount for Amyr!" she spoke, taking a breath at the end of the sentence. She didn't realize she spoke so fast.

For a moment, Vridel looked genuinely confused, but then he sighed, the sound trailing off into a wry chuckle. “Well, I'm glad to know you're keeping it safe, but don't forget it on a mission, all right?" He turned his attention back to the door just as Lyanna exited. She was dressed more formally now, the gown a deep blue and not typical of her work attire, but probably suited for meeting someone important.

“Please forgive me, Your Highness," she said, smoothing her hands down the garment's bodice. “Had I known I would be receiving royalty in my apartments this afternoon, I would have tidied, or at least had tea prepared." She shot Thea a rather vehement look, and adjusted her glasses.

Vridel shook his head. “Please, Lady Lyanna. There's no need to think of it in such terms. I'm here at the moment as Amalhea's classmate, and a student of the Academy you direct. If anything, I perhaps should have been a little bit more careful in my interruption of your time. And your apartments are lovely."

It seemed to be the right thing to say; Lyanna visibly relaxed and actually smiled. “Thank you; that's very kind. Thea, if you would please sit, there are matters to discuss and I would hate to waste His Highness's time." She offered her hand across the table between them. “A pleasure to finally meet you, by the way. As you're no doubt aware, I'm Lyanna Von Kreuz."

With a lopsided smile, Vridel took Lyanna's hand, though rather than shaking it, he leaned forward, raising it to his lips and brushing them over her fingers. “Vridel von Hresvelg. The titles are really unnecessary, Lady Lyanna. Please address me as you would any other man. There are no Princes in the Church, after all, is it not so?"

Lyanna's brows raised in surprise, and then the strangest thing happened: her ears turned just the faintest bit pink. “You flatter me," she said, sounding like she wasn't quite sure what to make of that. “Vridel."

He laughed softly, and shook his head. “Not yet, though I could if milady so wished."

Amalthea laughed lightly. “I told you Vi was charming, sister," she stated. She'd never seen Lyanna so flustered before, and it was a new experience for Amalthea. She found she actually liked it, because her sister was always so serious. Not all the time, but moreso than Amalthea had ever seen her smile. She turned her attention towards Lyanna, though, and blinked. She laughed softly at her sister's request and held her arms out wide.

“But... I'm already sitting, Lyanna. See," she stated, gesturing to herself and the couch she sat on. “Anyway, you said you wanted to see me, so here I am!" she continued, smiling at her sister. Her lips pursed into a fine line, though, as she regarded Lyanna with an unsure gaze. “Does this have to do with what happened?" She didn't need to elaborate; she knew Lyanna would know what she meant.

Lyanna still looked a little flustered, probably why she'd made a request that had already been answered. The fluster faded though, in light of the new question, perhaps. Clearing her throat, she picked up one of the doughnuts and sighed. “Well... it might. But first I need more insight as to what actually happened. Perhaps that was what you were thinking you could provide, Y—ah, Vridel?"

He released her hand with a sly smile, relaxing back against the sofa. “I believe so, yes. As it happens, when our... comrade was injured on the field the other day, Amalthea here did much of the initial triage, with very little spellwork. If I were to venture a hypothesis—" He narrowed his eyes, tilting his head at Lyanna. “I would say she activated a Crest."

Lyanna's lips parted, eyes widening in alarm. “How did you—" Briefly, she touched a hand to her chest.

Vridel shook his head. “Let's just say I have a certain... sense for these things."

She sighed quietly. “I suppose there is little point in trying to hide it, then. Yes, our—our family bears a Crest. And it functions more or less as you expect. The mark appears here." She tapped her sternum. “Over our hearts. It's the Crest of Cethleann. Mine is the major. I have every reason to believe Amalthea's would be the same."

“Crest of Cethleann? As in the Saint, Cethleann?" Amalthea questioned, giving her sister a puzzled look. She had a Major Crest of Cethleann? “Does that mean our family is descended from her?" she asked, perplexed at the news. If she had a Crest, why didn't her sister tell her about it? Why did she keep it a secret? If she'd known sooner, learned to activate it sooner, maybe she might have been more help on the battle field.

“Why didn't you tell me?" she questioned softly, turning her gaze to the floor. They had a Crest of a Saint in their family. It's not as if Amalthea cared about those things. Crests were just symbols of power to some people, but they didn't mean much to Amalthea. She spent most of her life growing up believing she didn't have one, nor had any ties to such a Crest. To find out that she had a Crest of Cethleann, no less, was a bit overwhelming. How was she supposed to process that, properly?

“Even when such things run in families, they do not appear in every member," Vridel said quietly. “I had eleven brothers and sisters, and of them, I was the only one born with a Crest. Perhaps your sister simply didn't know whether you bore a Crest or not?" His eyes locked with Lyanna's, a strange tension seeming to snap through that contact.

She swallowed, parting her lips to speak, but Vridel kept going.

“Or perhaps... it was safer for you not to know. Safer for it to never manifest, lest the wrong eyes land on you?" The words were about Amalthea, but he was quite clearly speaking to Lyanna, who flinched.

“It's true," she murmured, setting down her doughnut with a strange expression. Her lips were curled up, but the shape they made could hardly be called a smile. “What they say about you, Vridel. You really are too clever by half, aren't you?"

He was silent, but he did dip his head, as if in acknowledgment.

With a sigh, Lyanna turned to Amalthea. “I kept it from you because I hoped you did not have it. We are... related to Saint Cethleann, yes, and that brings with it a certain amount of... scrutiny. Scrutiny I'd hoped to keep away from you. You've... you've already endured so much, because I brought us here. I just wanted—" She swallowed. “I just wanted you to be safe."

Amalthea could understand that, wanting to keep someone safe. It was how she felt about her friends and Lyanna. She managed a small smile for Lyanna and nodded her head. “It's okay, Lyanna," she spoke, her smile inching just a little wider. “If anything, I've learned that it can help me with healing people. I'd like to learn a little more about what I can do, but..." she paused to keep her gaze with her sister's.

“It's alright, about the scrutiny, and whatever else comes with this Crest, because I have you. And I have my friends. Who cares what anyone else has to say about my—our Crest! It's just... a stupid notion, anyway," she continued, furrowing her brows. “You've taught me a lot already, and Crest or no Crest, that's not going to change who I am. If you want me to, I can pretend I don't bear one, and it'll be easy to conceal. The only people who know are my friends, and I," she paused to glance in Vridel's direction.

“I trust them."

Lyanna looked down at her hands, clenched hard in her lap, and pursed her lips together. “I understand. And if you want to use this power, then... then some part of me is very happy. But Thea, you have to understand. It's not just what people say that will matter. It's what they might do. The blood of a Saint—it's special. If people find out that you have inherited this Crest... I need you promise me you'll be careful, and never use it in front of anyone you do not trust absolutely. Can you do that?"

Amalthea wasn't so sure what that meant. How was the blood of a Saint any more special than anyone else who bore a Crest? She could tell it made Lyanna uncomfortable, and that was the last thing she wanted to do. “I promise," Amalthea finally stated, nodding her head in Lyanna's direction. “And besides, I've never really been good at those things, like using white and healing magic. I'm a bit... uh, slow on the uptake," she admitted, laughing at herself. It was true, though. She'd never been really good at a lot of things, and magic was by far her worst subject.

“Maybe if I have you help me with it, Lyanna, I can manage it better so that I don't accidentally activate it when I'm around people who might need my help," she certainly didn't want to break her promise to her sister, either. And Lyanna was the only person she knew who could use white magic and she trusted her sister.

“And what am I, chopped liver?" Vridel quirked his eyebrow. “You do know who actually finished healing Sorcha, don't you?" He didn't seem to be genuinely offended or anything; more amused than anything else if he was as he seemed.

Lyanna laughed quietly, an almost mirthless sound. “As talented as I'm sure you are... I am in fact a master of the art. Perhaps..." She paused, narrowing her eyes assessingly at Vridel. Picking the doughnut back up, she ate through half of it while steadily staring him down. Amalthea had never seen quite this look on her sister's face before. Her earlier fluster was gone, replaced by something resolute, almost keen-edged.

“Perhaps, if you can prove yourself a worthy and discreet student, I could instruct the both of you in the art."

Vridel smirked, spreading his hands as if in invitation. “I invite you test me any way you desire, my lady. I promise I shan't leave you wanting."

She coughed, swallowing the bite she was working on and flinching. Probably she'd swallowed too soon.“Hmph. I'll work you hard, Prince. Are you certain those pretty hands of yours don't mind a little blood and dirt?"

“They've been soiled with both already. More times than I care to count."

Lyanna nodded. “Sunday mornings. Early. Very early. It's the only time certain eyes are sure to be closed."

Amalthea groaned lightly. She really didn't want to wake up that early, but she supposed that Lyanna had a point. Though she wasn't entirely sure who she meant, about who'd be asleep. Even Mercer wouldn't wake up that early on Sunday. “Alright, Sunday mornings it is. And no, Vi, you're not chopped liver. I honestly forgot you could use white magic," she admitted, glancing away to look at her hands which were much more interesting at the moment.

“Is there anything else you need me for, sister?" she asked, glancing back up at Lyanna and refusing to glance in Vridel's way. “I have a couple of things I'd like to do before the day is over with, and I'll need your help with it, Vridel!" she stated as she forced herself to look at him.

“I'm offended," he grumbled, but the sideways look he gave her, paired with that tiny smirk, suggested that no offense was genuinely taken.

Whatever it meant instead, though, seemed to put a furrow in Lyanna's brow, and she frowned. “I—no. I suppose that was all I needed to say for now. If you have other plans, feel free to see to them, I suppose." Clearing her throat, she gave them a small nod.

Vridel stood first, bowing again and then crossing to the door to open it. He stood to the side rather than passing through, inviting Amalthea to go first with a gesture.

Amalthea smiled as she made her way towards the door, but paused before she exited. “I'll make sure to bring you more of the doughnuts!" she called out after Lyanna before exiting her quarters. Once they were further down the hallway, Amalthea glanced up at Vridel with a smile. “Senka told me that Sorcha's birthday is coming up," she started, tilting her head from side to side. “I was wondering if you and the others would like to help plan a surprise for her. After being on bedrest for so long, I'm sure a little surprise party would help make her happy."

Amalthea wasn't too sure if it actually would make Sorcha happy, however; she wanted to try. “Senka and Professor are going to make the necessary food for that day, but I want all of her friends to be there, too, for it. Do you think you can help us with that?" she wasn't sure why she was so nervous about asking him that.

Vridel seemed to consider this, expelling a soft breath and reaching up to remove his glasses from his face. He tucked them away in his pocket, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “Sorcha's always been uncomfortable with attention," he murmured. “But I don't think she'd mind, if it was just the group of us. What exactly did you need me to do?" he looked down at her with a quizzically-cocked brow.

She hadn't thought about that, honestly. “Well, food is covered, but I'm sure she'd like a gift or something. It probably doesn't have to be something extravagent, but maybe... something small? I just thought since you two are pretty close, that you would know the kinds of things she'd like. And maybe... help me pick something out for her?" she asked. Amalthea wasn't even sure if Sorcha would like gifts, but if it was from one of them, maybe she would?

“And also make sure everyone is there. I hear Mercer is quite hard to wake up from his sleep and I just... well, you seem like the best person to wake him up," she added. Senka and Professor would be busy preparing the food, and that left just her and Vridel to prepare everything else. “Oh! And also maybe convince Mercer to keep Sorcha busy while we prepare things? I heard she'll be able to leave the infirmary soon, and I don't want to ruin the surprise."

Vridel hummed quietly, giving the matter some consideration as they walked. “I don't think there's much of anything she needs or wants," he observed. “But if you see something that makes you think of her, or would like to make her something, I'm sure she would appreciate that." He pursed his lips, then huffed softly. “Do you know how to braid, Amalthea? I think if you do, we could all work together to make her a little something she might like."

He lifted his hands, folding them together behind his head. “As for convincing Mercer to be the distraction... I'll do my best, though he might rather listen to you than me." A sour expression crossed his face for some reason; he made a quiet hmph sound. “He certainly does seem fond of you."

Amalthea smiled, “You really think so? I'm fond of him, too, but I'm fond of all of my friends." She hummed a quiet tune, though, as she chewed her bottom lip. “I do know how to braid, but nothing as elegant as what Senka does. Have you seen her braids? Oh! I can make her a floral crown! Those would look really nice with her and bring out the shine in her eyes. They're so pretty, kind of like yours."

He really did have pretty colored eyes.

For whatever reason, this comment seemed to catch his attention; he was looking at her from the corner of his eye again, at least until he took a long stride and spun around, leaning down so as to be just about at eye-level with her, looking directly into hers with the very same deep purple irises she'd just confessed to admiring. They were ringed with long, snowy lashes, too, and as close as he was, she could make out subtle variations in the color—there were actually little flecks of indigo ringing each pupil, almost like tiny, irregular flower petals.

“Are they?" he mused, catching her chin between his forefinger and thumb. His expression was hard to read—the smile he wore was strangely ambiguous. “And what about the rest of me, hm? Do my eyes redeem an ugly face, or fit with the rest, you think?"

She felt her heart skip a beat as she blinked at Vridel. “Of course you have beautiful eyes, Vi," she stated, feeling a bit of heat rush to her cheeks. “And of course you're just as pretty as your eyes. Everything about you is lovely; I don't think anyone would disagree with that," she was rambling now, she knew it. But she didn't want to be dishonest with him. She thought he was one of the most beautiful people in the Academy, but she could at least refrain from saying that.

She felt her breath hitch in her throat as she swallowed thickly. Why was it suddenly hard to breathe? What was wrong with her? Was she dying? She was dying, it felt like, but that didn't seem quite right, either. She took in a sharp, sudden breath, and blinked. “I, uh... at least I think so." She could feel her ears burning, now. Stupid crush.

As if her words had broken a spell, that strange, ambiguous intensity shattered, and Vridel exhaled in a soft huff, the breath close enough to ghost over her cheek. “To be able to say something like that so simply. Really, now." He shook his head faintly, releasing her chin with a softer expression. This one, Amalthea knew. It was something like fond exasperation. “You really ought to be careful, Amalthea. People will take advantage of you, if you're so open about that kind of thing. Wicked people, with wicked intentions."

He tucked a little piece of hair behind her ear and straightened. “Anyway. Senka can and should help with the present, too. I was thinking we could all make her a bracelet or something. I have a set of very small beads from Brigid that can be used for such crafts. If we all pick a color, and weave them together for her, I think she'll like it."

She pursed her lips in confusion. Wicked people with wicked intentions? She wasn't entirely sure what he meant by that, and nodded her head. “That sounds good. We can make her a bracelet and it'll be lovely on her," she stated happily enough. She folded her hands behind her back before glancing back up at Vridel

“And... for what it's worth, Vi," she paused to glance at the floor, “I don't think you're a wicked person. I think you have a very good heart, but... you just don't wear it." From the time they've spent together, she honestly believed he was a good person, no matter what anyone said about him. Crush or not, that was how she felt.

“And that, my dear, is the sound of you proving my point." He half-smiled at her, wry but not upset, and then fell silent.

“Let's go see that idiot about the surprise, shall we?"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Cyril Eisner Character Portrait: Mercer von Riegan Character Portrait: Senka Rinaldi Character Portrait: Amalthea von Kreuz Character Portrait: Vridel von Hresvelg Character Portrait: Sorcha Blaiddyd
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#, as written by Aethyia


I.Y. 1180 - Blue Sea Moon - Wednesday the 9th
Infirmary - Evening - Drizzle
Sorcha Blaiddyd


Sorcha sighed quietly, leaning back against the headboard and staring at the rain running down the windowpane. It caught the lights from the nearby buildings, giving each drop a little glow, a reminder of the life going on all around her while she languished here, in recovery.

She hated it so much.

Professor Manuela had gone back to her rooms for the night, with only the customary instructions for Sorcha to call if she needed anything, and so now she was entirely alone with her thoughts. As a child, she had often been left such, but it wasn't so bad, then. When she still had hope. Now, though, what started up in these moments was an endless recitation of her every failure and inadequacy, and there were many. As of the end of last month, she had even more to add to the list. Her failure to kill that man, to notice when he reappeared. The way she'd worried so many people. The way she couldn't seem to recover fast enough. She was putting Professor Cyril out, the way he visited every afternoon, just to give her the same lecture, discuss the same subjects with her, as he already had with the rest of the class.

Senka was wasting too much of her time visiting, too, filling her in on basically everything else. Sometimes they came together, and that was maybe the one little highlight—watching the way they interacted. It was so nice to see her friend trusting someone else. Opening up to people again. The others visited too, of course: Vivi and Thea and Sylvi and Deirdre and Sofia. Devon, too, even though he was going through just as much as she was. Sometimes they talked about it, when Sorcha could bear remembering. Even Reynard had been by a couple of times, usually with an interesting book or funny anecdote about someone else.

But of all her friends, Mercer alone had not once shown up. And somehow that was sticking in her memory most of all. So here she was, on her birthday—an occasion she'd never really celebrated, but one that was usually at least acknowledged—and she was alone, and miserable. And life was, as it so easily always did, going right on around her.

Because no one in the world really needed her at all.

“Stupid," she muttered under her breath, fingers clenching in the blankets on her lap. What a stupid way to think about it. No one had ever needed her, not really, so why should she expect it to be any different now? It was a useless thing to want, because she was never going to get it. So why—?

Sorcha closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the wooden panel behind her, and tried not to think about it.

“I think I've been called worse things than stupid," it was obvious who the voice belonged to. There, leaning on the door frame with a casual smile, was Mercer. He knocked on the frame first before he fully entered. “Should have done that, first," he muttered as he took a seat by Sorcha's bed. He stared at her for a moment, his eyes searching for something, though it seemed he could not find it. After a moment of silence, he sighed heavily, and glanced at his hands.

“Sorry I haven't visited you since... you know," he spoke, his eyes remaining glued to his hands. “I did try, though, but..." he paused, finally lifting his gaze to meet hers. “I guess I was being a coward; I can't really give you any excuses." He remained quite for a moment longer before he shook his head.

“And you're probably upset with me, aren't you? Since I haven't visited and all," he murmured, furrowing his brows.

“I'm not upset," she said softly, dropping the eyes she'd opened from his down to her hands. “Not much reason to come see me, is there? I'm not a whole lot of fun right now." It probably wouldn't be interesting to poke at or tease her right now, either: when she was like this she knew she had a way of draining the energy right out of a room. She probably wouldn't want to be around herself, either. It wasn't anything she could blame him for, even if her chest clenched at the sound of his voice.

Somehow, it didn't surprise her even a little that she was happy to see him. Her heart was a stupid, stubborn thing, after all. And some part of her was still the little girl who'd followed him around all week in Derdriu all those years ago.

“But I've sworn off crying, you see. A few days ago. So you don't have to bribe me this time. I'll be fine."

He smiled at her, though, softly, and shook his head. “It wasn't that I didn't want to see you," Mercer began as he reached over towards her hands. He grasped them gently, and tapped them a few times before he released them. “I actually did, but you had a guard with you who was very upset with me. I didn't want to incur her wrath, further, so I just... I dunno, stayed away for the time being. I think she's forgiven me, for now, but I don't blame her. She was very worried about you. I was worried about you. I was just lousy in the way I showed it, I suppose." He heaved a heavy sigh and leaned back in his chair.

“And where would the fun in that be if I couldn't bribe you every time you cried? I take great pride when I know it's me who's drying your tears, you know," he added, giving her a lopsided grin.

Entirely against her will, her heartbeat stuttered, and she felt her lower lip begin to tremble. “That's not—that shouldn't be your job," she said, trying for certainty, but probably only succeeding in sounding as miserable as she felt. “A Queen has to be strong enough to dry her own tears. To not cry in the first place. I can't—" She swallowed thickly.

“I can't keep being this weak. This time, it nearly got me killed. Next time... it might be someone more important. Someone I care about." She shuddered to think about what she'd do if it were Senka, or Vridel. Or Mercer.

If anything, the smile on Mercer's face softened at her words. “And who's the idiot who told you that, hm? That a Queen has to be strong enough to dry her own tears? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," he stated, quietly taking one of her hands and rubbing his thumb over the back of it. “That's not true, Sorcha, and you know it. A Queen who believes she has to be strong enough to do that doesn't have any business being a Queen. It's okay to cry, you know. It just proves that you're still human, that you still feel things. If you hardened yourself up, well... I'm not sure I could ever like a person like that. People would resent you for not being open with them, and I know you wouldn't like that, right?"

“It's okay to cry if you want to. Just... even if it's just me, you need to let things out. It won't do you any good to hold it in." His hand was still in hers and he was staring intently at her. “And you're not weak, Sorcha. Far from it, actually. All the progress you've made with your lances and the bow? That's all you and your hard work. I wasn't lying when I said I was proud of you, Sor," he added as he pursed his lips together. “I really am. You've improved so much, and it's these hands," he grabbed her other hand and lifted them up to her, “that have done all the hard work. You should be proud of yourself. Your friends count on you just as much as you count on them, you know."

He didn't understand. Maybe he couldn't. The things he said—she'd always wanted someone to say those things to her. To tell her it was all right to be the person she was. So why, now when he'd said exactly what she needed to hear, did it still feel so empty? Maybe it was always a doomed enterprise. What was one voice against the tide of her entire life, shouting her down? Maybe some Queens didn't need to be that way... but a Queen of Faerghus did. To be the first Queen in the line of Kings, she had to be more than better. She had to do more than improve. What did it matter if she was better, if where she'd begun was pathetic?

But none of these were things she could bring herself to say. Instead, she smiled, tremulous and uncomfortable, and gently extracted her hands from his. They were warm, Mercer's hands, and some part of her was afraid of that.

“Thank you," she said gently, expelling a soft breath. “It means a lot that you think so."

“One of these days, Sor, you're going to believe the words are genuine when they are said to you. You don't have to keep up a facade of being okay when you're not, but," Mercer expelled a heavy breath, and withdrew his own hands to his sides. “I won't bug you about it. I, actually have something for you. Give me a second, I left it outside," he stated as he stood from his seat and walked out of her room. He was gone for a minute before he returned, carrying something wrapped in cloth. It was rather long, about the length of a bow, and he was carrying it gently. Like it was something precious. Perhaps it was, to him?

“A little bird told me that today is your birthday," he began, grinning at her as he set it down on her lap. It was somewhat heavy for its size. “But I already knew that, so, I had this commissioned about a month ago. Took them forever to get the Crest just right, but I think you'll like it. Happy Birthday, Sor," he stated as he sat back down.

Eyes wide, Sorcha carefully unwrapped the cloth from around the object. It did, in fact, turn out to be a bow, one of the elaborate sort reinforced with silver typically only carried by master snipers and bow knights—people, in other words, with much more training and expertise than she. What was more... the Blaiddyd Crest was carved into the front of it, just above where she'd nock her arrows.

She swallowed thickly, tracing the engraving with her fingertips. “Mercer, it's beautiful. I—" her breath trembled a little on the exhale. “I surely don't—" She bit her lip. She didn't deserve it, to be sure. Her skill hardly warranted such a beautiful weapon, and besides that it must have been expensive, and some part of her quailed at that, uncertain of her right to anything beautiful or costly.

But the last thing she wanted was to seem ungrateful, not least because it was such a lovely gift, with thought put into it and... and ordered so far in advance. He'd been planning to give her this for so long?

“Is it... really all right?"

His grin spread into a wide smile. “Of course it is. I know what you're thinking, too," he stated, his smile turning back into something more mischievous. Oh how did he know I wanted such a thing? It's too beautiful! Oh what shall I ever do to repay him?" he mimicked her, or at least he seemed to try and was doing a horrible job at it. Huffing lightly, he shook his head and met her gaze again.

“I expect to see more results from you so that you can grow with this bow, you know. No shirking your training, either. Lady would be mad at you if you did that, and I would certainly not be mad, just upset at losing my training partner," he stated, his smile softening somewhat.

She snorted softly, unable to help herself. Somehow, even though the ugly thoughts were still there, lurking in the back her mind, they'd faded to something dull and distant, at least for now. A crack in the stone wall, perhaps, letting just a little light through. Even if she couldn't fit through herself, she could at least stand in that light, and let it warm her, just for a little while. Couldn't she?

“I've never shirked a day of training in my life, Mercer von Riegan. And if you never believe another word I say, believe this: I'm going to keep getting better. So you'd better work, too, or I'll leave you in my dust." She lifted her chin, just a bit, and this time her smile—little half-smirk that it was—at least reached her eyes.

“I mean, I wouldn't mind if you left me in the dust," he started, grinning at her. “But you do that, and remember that feeling of when you do finally leave me in the dust. I'll be the happiest guy in the world to know that you, Sorcha Blaiddyd, my star pupil, finally beat me," he chuckled lightly as he shook his head.

Sorcha narrowed her eyes, shaking her head. “I don't want to know what that feels like," she said simply. “Even if I beat you sometimes, you better keep practicing to beat me the next time. It's no good if I go past and never look back. So get used to working, because you're stuck with me now, and I'm not going to let you slack off just because I'm getting better." She sniffed.

“Those are the terms. I'm only accepting this if you accept those." Lifting the bow, she poked him in the chest with the end of it. “You're my training partner now, no take-backs past this point. Last chance to get out while you can."

Mercer snorted before he started laughing. “Yes, love, of course. I'll accept the terms. I'm not happy about it, mind you, because I actually have to work, now, but I suppose it'll be fine," he stated once he calmed down. “I do have another surprise for you, though," he continued, blinking slowly before glancing towards the door. “Should be here any minute, now." He stood up from his spot, though, and walked so that he was standing at her side. Lifting both of his hands, he abruptly placed them over her eyes, not so hard that he hurt her, though.

She almost didn't have the wherewithal to think about it, what with the way feeling has just shot through her insides like a bolt of electricity. Had he just called her—? But no, wait, he called Vivi that sometimes too. Just a joke, nothing to get all... stupid about. Right.

I'm an idiot.

She tried not to feel disappointed at the rationale.

“Alright, guys! She's blindfolded! Quick!" he shouted, keeping her eyes covered. There was a sound of shuffling feet, a light giggle that could only belong to Amalthea, and the sound of plates being placed on the table.

“You can release her now, Mercer," Senka spoke, something akin to amusement in her voice.

“Sen? Thea? What are you—?"

“Is this the part where we say surprise?" That could only have been the Professor.

Comprehension abruptly dawning on her, Sorcha took hold of Mercer's wrists and lifted his hands away from her eyes. There, all crammed into the infirmary, was the entire Saturday group, From her stepbrother to Sylvi and Devon to Sofia and Dierdre to Reynard, who waggled his eyebrows in a conspiratorial fashion, to those she'd heard—Sen and Thea and the Professor.

“That would be now, if you're so inclined," Vivi advised, and a jumbled tangle of mis-timed 'surprise'-es burbling through the room on his cue.

Sorcha's eyes went wide, but then her smile broadened to match. “You guys," she said softly. “You didn't have to do this."

“Of course we did," was Amalthea's reply. “You've been in here too long, and today's your birthday!" she continued, earning a light chuckle from Sylvi.

“I think what she means to say is that you shouldn't be alone cooped up in this room by yourself on your birthday," Sylvi spoke, earning a nod from Senka and an enthusiastic one from Amalthea.

“Happy Birthday, Sorcha," Senka spoke softly, her face pulling into one of her rare smiles.

“Teach and Sen helped make food for all of us, though I think Sen did most of the work on your cake," Mercer spoke, folding his arms across his chest as he remained in his spot. “And she's already said my birthday gift was the best, so sorry guys," he added, causing Dierdre to roll her eyes.

“That's not fair, Mercer. We haven't even given her, our gift," Amalthea spoke, pursing her lips in his direction.

“I said no such thing," Sorcha protested. Admittedly... it was hard to believe anything would match it, but she'd cherish anything at all she was given. Even the thought of her friends getting her a gift at all was profoundly warming.

Vridel snorted through his nose. “You do it, Thea," he said, gesturing her towards Sorcha's bedside. “The rest of us will get to work on serving up the food."

“Okay!" Amalthea replied in her enthusiastic manner. She held out her hands, though, with a light blue cloth covering something small. “Vridel, Senka, and myself made this for you, Sorcha! I hope you like it. It can't compete with a lot, but... well, it's something we made with all our heart and I hope you like it the most!" she continued, sticking her tongue out in Mercer's direction. He laughed, as Deirdre snickered.

“Careful, Thea, you might make me jealous," he stated, causing her to shake her head.

“You're so strange, Mercer. One of these days you'll make sense."

“Ouch, I'm wounded, Thea."

Sorcha accepted the object, unwrapping it as carefully as she had the bow still across her lap. Inside was a beaded bracelet, each individual thin strand glittering where they were woven together. The colors were an interesting mix for the three people who'd apparently made it: there was a rich green that she figured was Amalthea's choice, Faerghus blue, and then an intermediate color somewhere between them, a sort of blue-green hue very reminiscent of—

Well, it reminded her of her necklace, actually, a thought which made heat rise to her cheeks that she tried furiously to dispel. Even the green was like his eyes—ugh. She was such a ninny.

Still, it was beautiful, with an intricate pattern that had to be Vivi's influence; he had an eye for things like that, she knew. When they were kids, his embroidery had been a million times better than hers.

“Thank you," she whispered, touched. “Really. Thank you all, for all of this. I'm—I'm grateful."

“You're very welcome, Sorcha!" Amalthea spoke, grinning at Vridel and Senka before turning her attention towards the cake. There was a hunger in her eyes; it was no secret that Amalthea liked sweets. She was probably anticipating the cake to be cut, however; Senka shook her head and huffed lightly.

“Wait? So... isn't this the part where we're supposed to sing happy birthday or something? Because I have to tell you now, I'm a horrid singer," Mercer stated, making a light gagging noise as Amalthea shook her head.

“If it's all the same to you guys... please don't," Sorcha agreed with a grimace, earning her a few laughs. She grinned, and gestured at Sen and the Professor. “It all looks amazing, but that's no good if we don't eat it together, right?"

“Finally she mentions food. I'm starving," Mercer stated as he made his way towards the table. Senka, however, lifted a knife in his direction, a blank stare on her face. He held up his hands in defense before she spoke.

“You will give this to Sorcha, first, and then you can have your own plate," she stated, handing Mercer a plate as he grumbled. “Everyone else is free to get their food," she added, nodding her head as Amalthea smiled and gathered her own plate.

“Your friend is very bossy, you know," Mercer stated as he handed Sorcha the plate of food. “But that's alright, I suppose. Happy Birthday, again, Sorcha. Hopefully this year will be a good one for you," he stated in a genuine manner and smiled softly in her direction.

Sorcha found herself smiling right back at him. “Thank you, Mercer. I... I think maybe it could be."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Senka Rinaldi Character Portrait: Vridel von Hresvelg Character Portrait: Sorcha Blaiddyd
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I.Y. 1180 - Blue Sea Moon - Sunday the 13th
Garreg Mach Monastery - Early Afternoon - Overcast
Senka Rinaldi


Senka sighed softly, closing the book she'd been reading as she turned to glance around her surroundings. They were talking again; speaking of her and how she'd become so close to the Imperial Prince, now. Was she not allowed to make friends? Some of the students claimed that she was sleeping with him, that she was his lover on the side, or some other nonsensical thing. It didn't bother her, let them think what they will, however; she felt bad that Vridel had become the newest victim to the foul rumors going around. When she first came to the academy, people scorned her for being so close to Sorcha. Said that she'd used some dastardly deed to win Sorcha's favor, but she didn't mind. She took their insults and harsh words in stride because they were always directed at her, and never Sorcha.

But now...

“Did you hear? She's probably seeing their professor, too. She has no shame..."

“I know? And to think that she's been with the Prince. It's so awful..."

Let their words be heard, but never felt. It was how she managed to deal with it for so long. She cast a glance at the two young men who were speaking about her, and immediately they tensed. They shuffled away from her and continued their conversation well out of range. It's alright, she kept telling herself that. She stood from her spot, intent on finding a quieter place to study. The written exams were, after all, coming up at the end of the month. She wanted to pass her exams so she could take Libi out on missions, and she was certain Sorcha felt the same thing about Lady.

Oddly, the first person whose path she crossed was Reynard. He was leaning against one of the many garden walls, casually reclined in a way that meant most people probably wouldn't even notice him as they passed by. He raised a finger towards her as she passed, though, bringing the green apple in his hand to his mouth and biting down with a crisp sound. Only once he'd swallowed did he speak.

“Tired of hearing you're a harlot yet?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow in a way that suggested he didn't really expect an answer. “His Highness and Sorcha are under the usual gazebo if you'd like some better company. I think he's trying to cool her off—she heard some of those idiots talking about you."

Senka shook her head. “She shouldn't be overexerting herself. She's only been out of the infirmary for a day," she replied. “Thank you, though, Reynard. I'll go see to her, and..." she paused to regard him for a moment. He was still foreign to Senka, but he had yet to prove himself anything other than an ally. “It is fine if they say anything about me, but if you hear anything about Sorcha, could you?" she didn't feel the need to finish that sentence. She knew he would understand.

With a nod, she walked to find Vridel and Sorcha. When she did, she pursed her lips together and sighed softly. “Sorcha," she called out glancing towards Vridel for a moment. “You should be resting, not worked up over something so trivial."

“Trivial my ass!" Sorcha grumbled. She usually didn't use even slightly-rough language unless she was angry or flustered, and she appeared at the moment to be a bit of both. “They have no right to talk about you that way!" She almost stood up out of her chair, but Vridel's hand on her shoulder forced her back down again.

“You of all people know that fools are always going to talk, Sorcha," he said, letting her go only when she grumbled under her breath and slumped back into her chair. Turning to Senka, he smiled wryly. “So which version did you hear? I'm curious what the popular options are this week."

Senka shook her head lightly at Sorcha. She couldn't really blame her friend; that's just the kind of person Sorcha was. She glanced back at Vridel and grimaced slightly. “This week's options are either I'm your side lover, or somehow involved with Professor; take your pick. Though I do apologize for getting your name into this. They believe the amount of time I spend with you, anyone in general, is enough to warrant accusations such as those." People just didn't seem to care to look past all of that. To get to know who she was. If only...

She shook the thought from her head.

Vridel chuckled, a dark sound accompanied by a slight shake of his head. Raking his hand back through his hair, he gave a nonchalant shrug. “Honestly, I might be the one who owes you an apology for that one. I'm quite a well-known libertine, you see. The rumors have at various times put me with most of the female students and a fair few of the men; they're not even always wrong." He said this as if it were of little concern to him, leaning back in his chair and crossing one leg over the other.

“I can understand being offended by such speculation, but I assure you, I am not. Besides," he shot Senka a sly smile. “Either the Professor or I could hardly do much better, eh?" Though it could have been a come-on, the tone in which it was delivered suggested a friendly observation more than anything.

“Ugh, sometimes I forget you're like this now," Sorcha said, making a face at him. “You used to be such a little dork, with big reading glasses and your nose always stuck in a book."

Vridel arched an eyebrow. “Precisely. And now I am a well-spoken, learned, cultured man. People tend to go for that, believe it or not. And some people like the glasses."

Senka huffed lightly, but she felt the corners of her mouth tilt up, somewhat. It almost felt like a smile, but it didn't quite form all the way. “He does look handsome in glasses, Sorcha, you cannot deny that," she stated, smiling a little more at her friend. “But in all honesty, what they say about me should not reflect on you, regardless of your reputation. Being associated with me has... it only," she couldn't bring herself to say it in front of Sorcha, but she winced regardless. Sorcha was a bright girl; she would know what Senka was referring to.

Sorcha sighed quietly. “Sen, you've gotta stop thinking like you're a blight on everyone's reputation. There's bad rumors about everyone in our group. Have you heard the one where Sylvi's a hussy trying to break up Deirdre and Sofia to take Sofia for herself?" She directed the question at both of them, and Vridel nodded.

“There's also the one where I'm grooming all of you to be the next imperial harem." Vridel made a vaguely-disgusted face. “That one's my father's fault, considering that he did in fact have about ten concubines and a wife." He started to tick things off on his fingers as he continued, leaning back in his chair and glancing sidewards as if trying to all of them. “There's also the one where I'm sleeping with Mercer, the one where Professor Cyril favors the pretty girls in his classes, the one where Professor Jeritza is actually a werewolf, the one where Thea of all people is actually a scarlet woman... everyone says stupid things, because they're jealous or ignorant or want to be the center of attention for a while. It's no more your fault than ours."

Less than yours," Sorcha said jokingly to him. “Since, you know, you actually do sleep around all the time."

“Why thank you, Sorcha. I was unaware."

But wasn't she, though? Wasn't she a blight to everyone, not just their reputations? Even before she'd learned of her Crest, it always felt that way. Her Crest only makes it harder because she is cursed and she feels that so deeply. Maybe it was her fault that her country suffered the way it did, the way her parents died, and how she took away Sorcha's. She pushed the memory down, though. It wouldn't do any good to bring it up, and she didn't want to concern Sorcha any further.

“But you are the leaders of countries, and I... I am nothing. What they say about me shouldn't reflect on anyone," she stated. She wanted to say more, however; she could hear people speaking again.

“Yeah? You heard that too?"

“Supposedly Sorcha is the reason they almost failed their mission last month."

“Let me guess, she was being useless?" Senka didn't know when or where her feet were leading her, however; she was standing in front of a young girl and a young man, perhaps a year older than Senka. Her brows were furrowed as she stared at him. “What do you want?" he stated as he sneered at her. She could ignore people talking about her. What she could not ignore, however, was people talking about her friends.

Without much thought, Senka punched the young man in the face, hitting him with as much strength as she could muster. He yelled something incoherent as the young girl he was walking with, screamed loudly.

“You stupid—"

“Don't you dare speak of Sorcha that way," Senka spoke, her voice oddly calm. “You know not the meaning of useless. She is far better in every way than you will ever be," she continued, watching as the young man tried to get his nose to stop bleeding. It looked like he'd also bitten his tongue since there was a light trail of blood coming from his mouth. Senka's eyes narrowed as he scrambled to his feet. He wasn't much taller than Senka, perhaps an inch or two taller, and he tried to make himself seem more intimidating than Senka found him. She'd faced death; this boy certainly wasn't even close to it.

“Well now, I think that's quite enough of that, don't you, Petros?" Vridel's tone was not unlike a ball of ice: smooth, hard, and cold, bu he kept it light in a way Senka could instantly recognize as false. “Perhaps you should get your nose attended to at the infirmary; I'm sure Rosalind would be happy to take you, wouldn't she?"

The woman blushed at his smiling face; at some point he'd appeared right next to Senka. He did nothing to interfere with her, but he seemed to irritate the boy as much or more than Senka did, especially when he noticed the girl with him was nodding a little hesitantly.

“No one asked, you, puppet-Prince."

“No," Vridel agreed. “But you'll take my advice. I'm only thinking of your health, after all."

With a muttered oath, the boy let the girl lead him away. Vridel sighed at their backs. “Fortunately, Professor Manuela's more likely to laugh than offer him sympathy," he observed, turning his attention to Senka again. “But it's rather unsporting of you to pick a fight with a pup like that."

She pursed her lips at Vridel. “You'll forgive my abruptness, Vridel, but as I've said. I do not care what others think or say of me. I will not, however, tolerate such slurs against Sorcha," she stated, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Sorcha was not in earshot. “You know how delicate she is of those matters. If I can, I'd like to spare her of those rumors before they reach her," she continued with a light sigh. Sorcha was not a delicate person, but she was sensitive. Senka knew how much words affected Sorcha, because they affected her the same way. At least she could ignore the words, pretend they didn't sting, and continue on with her existence.

With Sorcha, she was likely to show how it hurt her rather than keep it bottled up. “I apologize that you had to interefere and see that, though," she stated as she glanced back at him.

“Sen." He caught her elbow with a hand as she started to move away; it wasn't aggressive at all. “Can't you see it? She feels the same way about you. We all do. When you say things like that, about how you don't want to tarnish our reputations..." He sighed through his nose and shook his head.

“It makes it sound like you think we care more about our reputations than you. But we don't—your argument is based on a faulty premise. Sorcha might be sensitive, but even she would rather hear all kinds of horrible things about herself, with or without you in them, than lose you. Maybe you should respect that we've all made that choice."

He tilted his head at her. “I know who you are. It didn't bother me then, and it doesn't bother me now." He released her with a faint smile and a shrug.

He made it sound so easy to believe, though. That she could be that important to them, that she was. His words, however, loosened something inside her, and she felt something hot pricking at her eyes. She blinked a few times trying to clear her vision, unsure of why her vision was slightly blurry, and cast her gaze down. Maybe one day she could believe it, but for now, she could at least try.

“You make it sound easy," she finally spoke, shaking her head mostly at herself, “but I do respect all of you. Even if it doesn't bother you now..." She didn't finish that sentence. There was no point in making them see what she already knew. Things would not last like this. She believed that with all her heart, but maybe...

“Thanks Vridel. You are a good friend, I hope you know that."

He huffed gently. “No one's ever accused me of being that before," he noted, his smile turning a fraction melancholic. “For the record, you are as well. Though really, don't feel the need to punch people on my behalf. You'd never be finished if a bad rumor was all it took."

She laughed, the sound still strange and foreign to her as she shook her head. “I promise I will not punch people on your behalf, only if they deserve it. Although..." she paused, her brow tilting slightly upward, “speaking of rumors. I did hear a very interesting one about Sorcha and Mercer." She wasn't usually one to listen to such things; she'd spent enough time ignoring them.

“I will admit that there is some merit to the ones that say they fancy each other. What say you? Should we lend them our services?" she asked, a small grin on her face. She wasn't used to this, being expressive.

Vridel arched an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Well, well, Sen. Are you proposing mischief? Perhaps even... shenanigans?" He flashed a bright grin a moment later. “I'm in. Sorcha's dense, but Mercer can be surprisingly perceptive, so we'll have to be subtle. What did you have in mind?"

“Perhaps," she replied, her smile softening somewhat. “Mercer is perceptive, I give you that, but he is no match for this," she stated, pointing to her own face. “I have been told that I wear it well. As for what I had in mind," she paused to give it some thought. “Sorcha doesn't need much of a push, but Mercer might be. Perhaps they should start spending more time together, places where they won't necessarily be disturbed by other people. And not in the training sense, either. They need to be put in a situation they are not quite ready for. If it's for training, then that is all they will see it as."

She didn't think she'd need to explain further. It was quite simple, really. Use their free days as much as possible to get Sorcha and Mercer alone together. It would, in her opinion, serve Sorcha well. While Senka might have been angry with Mercer, she will not deny the effect he has on Sorcha. And more than anything she wants her friend to be happy.

“So you're saying we need to con them into dates that don't look like dates. Classic strategy, and for a reason." He nodded slightly. “I think perhaps we give them the rest of the month to... reacclimate, after that last mission, but then start looking for opportunities."

“Seems fair enough." she was, oddly, looking forward to it.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Amalthea von Kreuz Character Portrait: Vridel von Hresvelg
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I.Y. 1180 - Blue Sea Moon - Friday the 18th
Training Grounds - Afternoon - Cloudy
Amalthea von Kreuz


Amalthea huffed lightly, pursing her lips as she held her hand out for Amyr to return. She was practicing throwing her axe; she wasn't proficient enough in it, yet. She had been at it the last few days, after classes were finished. She used whatever free time she had in order to train, or spend it with her friends. Lately, though, she'd been spending her time on the training grounds. She needed to get stronger, better, so she could be of more use to them. Even her trainings with Lyanna and Vridel were occupying much of her time, lately, but she didn't mind. She enjoyed spending time with her sister and Vridel. For obvious reasons. She liked her sister, and she was immensely helpful, and Vridel, well... she wasn't going to dwell on that thought, for now.

Once Amyr was back in her hand, she glanced back at the targets, huffing lightly as they continued to move. At least she was hitting them more consistently, now, and she wasn't having too much difficulty aiming. Vridel had taught her a lot about that, actually, and just thinking of him seemed to summon the same, strange warmth in her cheeks and ears. She really needed to get that under control. Sorcha had told her it was called a blush, and that it was usually visible. She didn't need to be red in the face every time she saw, or thought, about Vridel.

“Crushes are ridiculous, they shouldn't make your face do that!" she shouted to herself. She was, after all, alone on the training grounds.

“Oh? What's this about a crush?"

Of course, at the very worst moment, the object of her wayward thoughts appeared, as if by thinking of him, she'd summoned him. That was impossible, of course, and to be fair he used the training grounds a lot, too, but still.

He came into view not a moment later, hopping the fence without using his hands, which were both occupied: one carried a cloth bundle of some sort and the other a canteen. He landed smoothly, approaching her with a raised white eyebrow and half a mischievous smile. His hair, longer than that belonging to most men but not yet sufficient to reach his shoulders, had been pulled back into a small tail, from which many strands had already escaped to lay aside his face.

“What? What crush? Who has a crush? Certainly not I, no sir." She shook her head violently, feeling her face burning, now. Oh, goddess, why of all moments? she thought as she turned to fully face him. She was blushing, she knew she was, but there wasn't much she could do about it. She hadn't quite learned how to tone it down, so to speak. She blinked a few times and puffed her cheeks lightly. She was doomed, wasn't she?

“What brings you here, Vi?" she decided to ask, trying to get control of her blush that seemed to be going against her wishes.

“I think I like it when you call me sir," he replied, apparently unfazed by her denial and topic change both. His eyes narrowed with the force of his amusement, and he laughed softly, perhaps at whatever shade her face had turned in the meantime. “As for what I'm doing..." he held up the bundle and extended it towards her.

“Your provisions, milady," he declared, inclining himself in just the shortest bow. “If I'm not mistaken, you've been at that for quite a while, so I brought you something to tide you over until dinner." It was his turn to look faintly embarrassed, somehow; or at least she thought there was the faintest bit of pink to the otherwise unyielding porcelain of his skin.

“Oh? Thank you, Vi," she stated, taking the bundle from his hands. “We should, uh, probably take this to the table over there," she stated, pointing to the table on the far side of the ring. She started towards it, glancing over her shoulder to make sure he was following, and placed the bundle on the table when she approached it. Carefully, she undid the bundle and her eyes went wide at the sight of the pastries.

“Oh, goddess, I love you right now," she stated, taking one of the pastries and mostly shoving it in her mouth to keep her from saying anything else embarrassing, never mind what she just said. She wasn't paying too much attention, after all, with the pastries in sight.

Vridel, on the other hand, gave her a look that said he'd quite caught that, and the smile inched just a little wider. “Just right now?" he inquired blithely, taking a seat across from her with obvious relaxation. “How unfortunate for me; I must not be the lucky crush-ee." His tone was light, something about the words not quite as they would have been in a more serious inflection.

He huffed softly, reaching forward and smoothing the corner of her lips with his thumb. When he brought it back towards him, she could see that there was a smear of chocolate on it—probably from the pastry she'd just scarfed. He winked at her and popped it nonchalantly in his mouth, humming as if in thought for a moment.

“Not bad."

Amalthea swallowed thickly, adverting her gaze from Vridel as she shoved another pastry in her mouth. She was careful not to smear any chocolate this time, though. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest, and she felt a little light headed. It felt like she was going to faint, but it wasn't an entirely bad feeling, she didn't think. Clearing her throat, she forced herself to glance back at him, well aware that her face was probably a scarlet hue.

“I would hope it was good. You chose them, after all," she replied, referring to the pastries. She decided against commenting on the crush statement. If she did, she'd only further embarrass herself, or worse, she'd admit to him that she had a crush on him. She furrowed her brows, though. Would that be a bad thing, though, if she told him?

“Vridel," she stated, glancing at him with lightly puffed cheeks. Would it be okay to tell him? She pushed a sigh through her nose, though, and inwardly shook her head. “Thanks for the pastries! They really are good," she stated, instead. “But... you didn't have to come all this way just to give them to me. I'm sure you had other things you needed to do. Oh, but... I hope it doesn't sound like I'm ungrateful or anything, because I'm not! I am grateful you... I'm just gonna stop talking now." She couldn't look him in the face now.

He chuckled, low and rich, and in the corner of her eye, his posture shifted so that he was leaning on the table with his chin in his hand. “Worry not, Thea," he said, tapping her foot underneath the table with his own. “I assure you this has been a perfectly good use of my time. I got to see something quite interesting, after all." He did not specify what this interesting things was, though.

Apparently taking mercy on her, he changed the topic. “Are you finding your training productive?"

She smiled and nodded her head. “I am, actually. I've even learned to summon Amyr back using the enchantment," she was very proud of that fact, actually. She'd spent a lot of time running back and forth retrieving it before she'd learned the enchantment. She felt a bit bad, though, because she'd seen him use it before, but she just... forgot. She did that a lot. “As for other training," she pursed her lips together and furrowed her brows.

“I'm not really all that good with magic. I've never really been, and even with Lyanna's and your help, I just... I don't know. I can't seem to get it quite right?" she questioned. “It just doesn't flow the same way, I guess. It's a bit different than throwing an axe or... you know, moving around in heavy things and stuff like that," she murmured, taking a slow bite from another pastry, deciding to savor this one, at least.

Vridel tilted his head. “Your sister's fairly demanding," he mused. “I think I'm used to learning that way, but it's certainly not the best for everyone. I take it you haven't done much healing before, have you?" He didn't seem to be judging her for it; on the contrary there was something almost melancholy in his tone. The mirth had faded from his face a bit, too, and his brows had drawn together.

She shook her head, pursing her lips together. “I haven't. I've... never had the need to, I suppose." She'd grown up in the Monastery where it was safe, and no one ever required it. “I told you I grew up here. I've never had the need to heal anyone. I've studied white magic and healing magic but... studying and actually practicing it are two very different things. I'm afraid all I did was learn about it, but I've never really applied it to anything. Never had a reason to," until she had friends. She smiled softly at that thought. They were her precious friends, and she wanted to do whatever she could to help them.

“It's why I appreciate you and Lyanna taking the time out of your busy schedules to help me with it. It means a great deal to someone like me," she stated, smiling brightly. It really did. It meant she would be able to use it if she ever needed to, but she needed to practice, first.

“Someone like you?" he echoed curiously. “A bit of an odd thing to say." With the hand not holding his chin, he set the canteen down in front of her. “I only brought one, but it's tea. Feel free to have some."

“Of course," she stated, glancing at the canteen. “To someone like you, or even Sorcha and Mercer, I'm just..." she pursed her lips together, unsure of the word she wanted to use. She was, technically, just a commoner. She wasn't as special as the three heirs. Not that she minded, though. She rather liked her simple life. “I'm just a simple person compared to you, Sorcha, and Mercer. I don't have the weight of an entire nation on my shoulders, but to someone like me who can have someone like you, spare their time for... it means a great deal to me."

“I mean, like I've said, I'm sure there are more important things you have to tend to than spend your time with me, but..." she giggled lightly, unsure why she did, “I'd like to think that's being a little selfish of me, but I'm glad. I... don't want things often for myself, but this, what we do, I actually value it. Our time together has been fun and I don't... I don't want that to change." She smiled at him as she took the canteen and drank from it.

He gave her a strange look, then, eyes narrowed almost suspiciously, before all at once he sighed and relented, expression softening to something almost... bemused? “On the contrary," he said, tapping a light rhythm on the wood of the table with his empty hand. “I think that simplicity of yours is exactly why you're worth spending time on."

Before she could respond, he shook his head. “You know... I won't pretend I've had it as hard as some people. I've never been at risk of dying from starvation, or had to worry too much personally about whether there's a drought or it's a good or bad year for trade. But one of the challenges of being someone like me is that people almost never show me their true face. They always want something, and usually they hide what they want until they think they can get it, because I like them enough or because they have the right leverage over me. It's exhausting." He said it flatly, dully, expelling a soft breath from his nose.

“To be quite honest, when we met I thought you would be much the same. But I could never figure out what you wanted from me. When you finally did ask for something, it was for book recommendations about plants." He snorted softly. “I thought you were strange. Still do. But to someone like me... well, your lack of ulterior motives means a great deal. So I could hardly see you as a waste of time, now could I?"

Amalthea felt her eyes widen slightly. She never thought about it that way. She pursed her lips and let her gaze fall to the table. She didn't know why, but she felt... sad? Not for herself, but for him. It was a strange feeling, really. Now she felt slightly bad about having a crush on him and not telling him. She opened her mouth, but found herself saying no words. She sighed softly, willing her heart beat to calm. Funny, when had it become so erratic? Shaking her head, mostly at herself, she smiled at him.

“Well... would it be too late to ask for something else?" she stated, glancing at him with hopeful eyes. “Would it be too much to ask for you to be my friend? And... to stay my friend? I don't have many of those, but I feel like I do... with all of you and especially you, because," she paused to take a deep breath, “well I rather like you, Vi. You're a good person. And no one can say otherwise because I have proof!" She was referring, of course, to the pastries that were left, and Amyr. She would keep her crush to herself for just a little longer.

He gave her an odd little sideward smile at that. “Aha," he said, eyes narrowed this time in something like amusement, it seemed. “So you did want something after all." He paused, as if considering her, or the offer, and then shrugged.

“Then again... I suppose I like you enough to grant the request. Friends it is."

“I promise I want nothing else!" she stated, smiling and almost standing with the force of her statement. She was rather content to leave it at that. Friends. For now.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jeralt's Journal Character Portrait: Cyril Eisner Character Portrait: Mercer von Riegan Character Portrait: Senka Rinaldi Character Portrait: Amalthea von Kreuz Character Portrait: Vridel von Hresvelg
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I.Y. 1180 - Blue Sea Moon - Thursday the 24th
Library - Early Afternoon - Light Rain
Senka Rinaldi


Senka sighed softly, closing the book she'd been reading and crossed her hands in front of her. Things were becoming more lively in the monastery; the knights were making more patrols, seemingly almost stretched thin by the looks on their faces. With the possible assassination attempt, everyone seemed to be getting worked up about protecting the archbishop. The woman didn't seem to need protecting, though. Senka knew strength and power when she saw it; the woman held herself in high regards, and it was clear that hardly anyone else mattered. Anyone not the professor, at least. She felt a light shiver go down her spine. She still hadn't forgotten the way Rhea had glared at her the day they were studying in the library. It was unnerving, however; her thoughts were occupied elsewhere.

Why would someone go to the trouble of making an assassination plan, but leave it on their person when they knew there was a possibility of death? It was just... too poorly planned. It didn't make any sense to Senka. She wondered if her friends felt the same way. She knew Vridel and Cyril were not particularly fond of the archbishop, but she knew they wouldn't allow the woman to come to harm. They had a mission to complete, and they would do it without fail as they always have. It still felt strange, as if the assassination attempt were smokescreen for something else. Something more important, but Senka did not know the monastery well-enough to know what it was. Perhaps that was why she had asked her friends to meet her in the library. The rain made it difficult to meet outside, light as it was, and the library wouldn't seem as suspicious if they met there.

Written exams were coming up, after all, and it would simply look like a study group to most people who cared to look. And she knew there was one person in particular who would. Even though she was the first one there, she would wait patiently for her friends to finish whatever it was they were doing. She wanted to see if they shared her suspicions as well. Maybe her lack of sleep was causing her to see things that were not there, though?

Sorcha, of course, was already there. It wasn't clear exactly what had happened, but she seemed to be doing better in the last few days. At least she was sleeping enough that the dark circles had lifted from her eyes, and though she rarely smiled, that wasn't so unusual. She wasn't as inexpressive as Senka, but true smiles from the Princess had been rare in all the time Senka had known her. Part of it was of course what had happened to her family, but she knew part of it was also pressure from the court, to be many things that she was not in order to make herself a more suitable ruler for Faerghus.

It wasn't too long before Vridel and Reynard appeared, speaking about something in low voices. It was almost certain that they'd share her suspicions; they seemed to have the demeanors for that kind of thing. Devon wasn't far behind, carrying an overstuffed satchel full of books as usual and entering with Sylvi, a genuine grin on his face at something she'd said, it seemed. He was still mourning his foster father, and all of them knew it, but the news that his siblings had both survived the uprisinghad come as a great relief to him, and enabled him to keep up with his studies.

It wasn't long before Mercer appeared, hair disheaveled as if he'd just woken from a nap. For all intents and purposes, that was what he wanted people to believe. Senka knew him a little better than she'd like to admit. Amalthea was next to him, smiling as if she'd found out something entertaining. She waved at the group, though, causing Senka's lips to twitch just slightly upward. It wasn't quite a smile, but she knew they would know she was. That had still been a little strange to her; having people who could read her expressions as if they were clear as day was... nice.

Dierdre and Sofia were next to arrive, Dierdre grinning as she had her arm looped with Sofia's. Senka thought they were a rather lovely couple. Almost complete opposites as far as their personalities went, but it was obvious enough that they cared deeply for one another; loved one another. When everyone was settled at the table, Senka glanced around to make sure everyone was present.

“Is that everyone?" Sylvi seemed to ask, as Mercer shook his head.

“You invited Teach, didn't you?" he asked, glancing towards Senka. She nodded her head. She invited everyone that she could, including their professor. He just hadn't arrived, yet.

It took Cyril another few minutes to appear. He entered the library slightly damp from the rain outside, reaching up to slick his hair back away from where it had fallen in his face. As often seemed to be the case, one particular stubborn strand of inky-black fell in front of his nose anyway, but the rest stayed mostly put.

“I apologize for my tardiness," he said quietly, glancing back over his shoulder with a slightly narrow-eyed expression. He didn't elaborate, however, merely moving towards the tables. The seat left was rather far from Senka, but he along with everyone else was in view, at least.

“And I thought I was usually the late one," Mercer murmured, causing Dierdre to elbow his side. “I kid, Dierdre," he stated, rubbing at his side. Senka merely pursed her lips together as she shook her head. “So I take it we're all here for the same thing?" he asked, earning a nod from just about everyone around.

“Good. This will make it that much easier, then," he began, leaning his forearms against the table. “What do you think the real target is?" he asked, his voice low so that it wouldn't be overheard by unnecessary ears. Senka shook her head, though. She had not the slightest clue.

“Why wouldn't it be Lady Rhea?" Amalthea asked in a confused manner.

“Because they're not actually targeting Lady Rhea," Sylvi spoke, glancing towards Devon for a second before turning her attention back to the others. Senka nodded her head in agreement.

“The assassination plot is a cover for something else, but we don't know what that is, quite yet. You grew up here, Amalthea. Is there anything that comes to mind that would be of importance to this place?" she asked, watching as Thea shook her head.

“I can't really think of anything. "

“What about the timing?" Sorcha asked. “What happens on the day of the Rite of Rebirth that doesn't usually happen?"

Vridel hummed quietly. “The Archbishop and Lady Lyanna spend much of the day in the Goddess Tower, I know that much," he said. “I think... maybe other parts of the Monastery open to the public also?" He looked to Amalthea, as though he expected her to know this. Probably not an unreasonable instinct.

Amalthea pursed her lips together and seemed to be thinking about the question that was asked. “There are a few places that will open up, yes," she finally answered. It seemed that all eyes were on her, now, and she fidgeted a little under their gazes. She took in a deep breath, lips still pursed as she still seemed to think about it. “The Holy Masuoleum, for one, will be open to the public," she finally spoke.

“What's that?" Dierdre asked, narrowing her eyes as she did. Thea chewed the bottom of her lip in a thoughtful manner, and Senka sighed softly.

“It's where the tomb of the divine Seiros, lies. It's said that she slumbers there, eternally," Amalthea finally answered. “It's mostly just a rumor, though. Only Lady Rhea and, occasionally, Lyanna are allowed down there. During the Rite, the public is allowed to go in there, but usually not for very long."

If that were true, why open it at all? Why not just keep it closed off to the public? If Seiros truly slumbered there, why would they risk her being exposed to people?

“After all, it's just an ancient coffin down there." Still, it seemed important enough to warrant being closed off through most of the year. “Oh, the Goddess Tower might also be open to the public," she added.

Cyril shook his head. “The way Lady Lyanna described it to me, she and the Archbishop will be in complete seclusion, there. Not even the Knights are allowed inside. It's why there was concern about the legitimacy of the threat—because if someone could get in there, they could attack those two alone."

“I suppose it would also be a good chance for people to go unnoticed other places, even if they're strangers," Devon pointed out. “On the average day, an outsider in the greenhouse or the library would be obvious, but on that day there are visitors all over the place, so no individual one would be that noticeable. If I wanted to steal something from the Monastery, for instance, I'd pick a day like that."

“Hide in plain sight," Reynard agreed, tipping Devon a respectful nod. The younger man looked genuinely pleased.

“I think we can safely eliminate the greenhouse and the library though," Vridel said. “If they just needed to wander into one of these places, which aren't usually even under guard, they'd want the patrols and guard postings to be normal, not to stir them up with a fake assassination threat. Now there will be moving patrols everywhere. We need to think about places that means fewer guards."

“The crypt," Sorcha said quietly. “If people are only allowed down for a short time, it follows that they're supervised. Someone has to enforce the time, after all. But if the guards are being shuffled around to protect Lady Rhea, then chances are there will be fewer there to do that."

“Giving someone more time to search the tomb," Cyril finished, lifting a hand to rub at his jaw. “But for what? Is anything kept down there except the dead?"

“As far as I know, it's only the tombs. Ah," she stated abruptly as if something just came to her. “I overheard Lyanna say that there are Crest Stones down there," she stated.

“Crest Stones? What are those? I know that people who are descendants of the ten have Crests, but what are Crest Stones?" Dierdre asked, confusion written over her face. Amalthea smiled as if she could answer that question with ease.

“Well, you remember Catherine wielding Thunderbrand?" Dierdre nodded her head. “That was a Crest Stone in the handle. It's like a physical representation of the Crest you bear, if you have one," she explained, though she pursed her lips together. “I don't know much about how they work, but your Crest has to be compatible with that Crest Stone. Catherine said only she could wield Thunderbrand, which means she has a Crest," that was obvious enough for everyone around.

“What is so important about Crest Stones, though?" It sounded as if not just anyone could wield it, so why would they be important if someone had a Crest?

Vridel sat back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Every Hero's Relic is fitted with a Crest Stone," he said, his voice quiet, almost as if he were reluctant to speak. “It helps synchronize the relic with the wielder's Crest. It's possible to wield a Relic without one, if you have a particularly strong major Crest and you're willing to risk overtaxing yourself. It wouldn't especially surprise me if the Church had extra stones, though I suspect this is something the nobility would be interested to know..."

He looked almost ill for some reason. “They can also be used to... well, never mind. Suffice to say they interact with Crests and allow their power to be tapped more efficiently. Thus they are fitted to Relics."

“Are they of any use without a Relic?" Cyril asked.

Vridel pursed his lips. “Not... to most people. There are a few in the Empire who might have a... different use for them, but those people already have what they need." He fell silent, eyes on the table in front of him, clearly not interested in saying anything further on the topic.

“Okay, so..." Sorcha carefully picked up the thread of conversation, shooting Vridel a concerned glance before continuing. “It's at least conceivable that someone might want to steal the Crest Stones. If they help power Relics, they're certainly worth having. At the very minimum, I'm sure most noble families would jump at the chance to own a spare, just in case something happened to the one in their Relic. That makes the Mausoleum seem like the most likely target to me. How about the rest of you?"

Vridel nodded tightly.

Senka had to agree as well. The Mausoleum was looking more likely to be the place that the culprits truly intended to ask. It wouldn't do any good to notify the knights, or Rhea, about it. Senka doubted that they would believe them. Mercer seemed to agree as well since he nodded his head after Vridel had. Amalthea looked vaguely sick, but that could have been because there were people who would desecrate a sacred tomb. Sylvi pursed her lips tightly, but didn't say anything. Dierdre seemed to acknowledge the statement with a light nod before she turned her attention towards Devon, shooting him a sympathetic smile before she dropped her gaze to her hands.

He smiled back, a little awkwardly—that much was obvious. But he nodded, too, clearly unwilling to let his personal circumstances interfere with getting to the bottom of this.

Senka could understand why, though. The people who planned on targeting the Masuoleum used Lonato's rebellion as a means to do it. They planted the assassination note on him; there was no doubt in Senka's mind about that. Whether or not it he was carrying it willingly or not, the fact remained that those people knew Lonato was not going to survive the battle. Senka clenched her fists tightly at the thought. Those people were despicable.

“I suppose that means that we will focus our efforts on the Mausoleum when the time comes," Senka stated.

Cyril leaned forward there, picking up a piece of parchment and a charcoal pencil. “We'll split into three groups..."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jeralt's Journal Character Portrait: Cyril Eisner Character Portrait: Mercer von Riegan Character Portrait: Senka Rinaldi Character Portrait: Amalthea von Kreuz Character Portrait: Vridel von Hresvelg
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#, as written by Aethyia


I.Y. 1180 - Blue Sea Moon - Saturday the 26th
The Holy Mausoleum - Midmorning - Clear
Vridel von Hresvelg


The morning of the Rite, Cyril's class had assembled as planned. They were split into three groups, with instructions to concentrate their patrols in the area of the Holy Mausoleum. Vridel's group consisted of Reynard, Amalthea, and Dierdre, a rather varied mix of approaches to combat designed to be flexible. The other two groups were more specialized: Sorcha, Mercer, and Devon had found higher ground within the Mausoleum, concealing themselves among the columns and figures carved into the walls with bows at the ready, watchful.

The Professor, Senka, Sofia, and Sylvi were the frontline distraction team, and as soon as Mercer had fired the signal arrow, they burst through the front door of the Mausoleum.

Vridel, who had never seen the inside before, followed with his team. The room was enormous, a cavernous space with stone caskets arranged in two columns, one to either side. The center was mostly empty, but let up to a large dais, on which was perched a grander sarcophagus still. He could sense the magic in the air, thick and pungent enough that it was almost a taste on the back of his tongue.

The thieves they had interrupted were clearly surprised to see them; Vridel couldn't exactly blame them. He wondered, sometimes, how it was that of all the people in the place, it was sometimes only this group who seemed to bother thinking things through. But they had, and here they were.

“Keep them busy!" one of the thieves demanded. They seemed to be dressed largely in black and red, the style of the robes vaguely Imperial but not officially so by any means. He wasn't sure exactly what, if anything, to make of that. “I need time to complete the ritual!"

Probably to break the seal on that casket—even from across this huge room, Vridel could tell it was a strong one. What on earth these people would want with what was probably Seiros's corpse wasn't totally clear to him, but he figured it was better to make sure they didn't get it and ask the questions later.

The Professor had given them permission to act autonomously if the situation demanded, and it seemed to at the moment: while Cyril's group kept the main force of the enemies busy, Vridel's could rush the magician, to try and cut him down before he could complete the unsealing.

Drawing his sword, Vridel strafed to the left, gesturing the others after him. “We're stopping that ritual," he said simply. “Trust the others to cover—just take down anyone in our way."

Amalthea nodded, following after him. Dierdre wasn't too far behind, either, however; they were intercepted by a few of the soldiers who were intent on protecting the magician. Amalthea reacted rather quickly, throwing Amyr at one of the soldiers and rushed him. Her attack had been anticipated, and the man dodged out of the way, however; she summoned Amyr back as she forcefully shoved the handle into the man's stomach, causing him to double over.

Dierdre threw a fireball at one of the other soldiers who tried to attack Amalthea from the side, causing the woman to jump back, but singed her robes. It was hard to tell what expression the woman was wearing, but her attention was on Dierdre as she attacked with a magic of her own. Dierdre countered it with a strong wind spell, but it left her defenses open, which another soldier tried to take advantage of.

Reynard was there immediately, sinking his knife into the man's side. With a twist, he brought him down, tearing the weapon free and ducking the broad swing from the next in line, a swordsman, by the look of things.

Knowing he'd be fine, Vridel focused down the mage, so that Deirdre and Thea could work together to handle the remaining soldier. A blast of light drew her attention from Deirdre, who immediately switched her focus to Thea's opponent. Vridel threw another, following it up with a jolt of electricity he'd picked up from studying with Senka and Cyril, and the mage was down.

The last soldier followed, and after checking over everyone to ensure that no emergency healing was necessary, they continued forward.

Cyril's group were making fast work of the unprepared thieves elsewhere; they'd even begun to advance up the other side. Mercer's team, still unseen, was providing steady cover fire, suppressing any enemy attempts at major charges or flanking maneuvers by harassing those who tried to get strategic advantage over the others.

They made some progress, Amalthea disarming a soldier every so often with Dierdre finishing them off. It seemed to be that Amalthea still did not wish to kill anyone, at least not yet, and was leaving that to Dierdre who seemed to have no problem finishing off their opponents. She turned her attention towards a mage who seemed to be throwing a lightning bolt in random directions, perhaps trying to locate Mercer's group, and threw Amyr at the mage. It hit the mage's arm, nearly cutting it off, however, it still hung off by some of the flesh. The mage screamed, causing Amalthea to wince lightly as an arrow pierced the mage's heart, silencing them.

He was going to have to talk to her about that.

When they'd managed to move up again, they were confronted by a small ring of soldiers, trying to act as a wall of sorts. A barricade so that Vridel and the others couldn't move any further. They were with a rather large and brutish looking man. He had gauntlets in his possession, perhaps a brawler. Amalthea pursed her lips together before she glanced in Vridel's direction. With a light nod, she and Dierdre were charging the group, Dierdre readying what seemed to be a miasma spell and Amalthea trying to get the attention of the others so that Dierdre had the time.

Reynard didn't need to be directed, really, and darted to the side, no doubt to begin whittling down the edges of the grouping. Keeping an eye on the other two, Vridel decided to do the same from the other side, and lunged, slashing a lightly-armored fighter over the abdomen. When she doubled over, clutching her wound, he followed through with a hard stroke to the back of her neck, blade cleaving into her spinal cord between two vertebrae and killing her instantly.

Flicking the blood from the blade, he shifted aside from the next incoming blow, a downward lance-stroke. The reach advantage would normally bother a swordsman, but Vridel was even before this a mage, and he shot a blast of fire directly for the spearman's chest. He reeled back, smoking, but did not quite fall. A well-placed arrow to the throat from somewhere behind Vridel finished him off.

This was taking too much time. Hopefully Cyril's group was having better luck.

From the looks of it, they were still making steady progress. Senka was wielding her sword, only resorting to magic when it looked like she needed to, however; Sylvi looked to be having a somewhat harder time against the mages. When she would advance, a mage would force her back with a lightning spell, and another would try to flank her with a fire spell. Senka looked like she was trying to cover Sylvi, but was dealing with her own opponents. An axe-wielder swung in her direction, forcing her to duck, however; it seemed that one of the mages took the opportunity to attack with a wind spell, Cutting Gale, from the looks of it. Sylvi was barely able to move in time, however; Senka repositioned them so that she took the hit, and not Sylvi.

The attack cut into the skin of her back, but she looked mostly unfazed by it, quickly turning around and summoning her Blizzard. Sylvi covered for her, hacking away at a soldier with the axe who attempted to take advantage of their distraction, and pursed her lips into a fine line. Dierdre looked worried for a second as her eyes landed on Sofia, but she managed to push back a mage who tried to take advantage of her brief distraction.

Amalthea was mostly still, defending against a taller, more muscular brute who seemed to be wailing on her with his own axe. She seemed to be able to take it, though, as she was still standing, defending as her eyes glanced for an opening.

Vridel found himself with a conundrum, and as ever decided to try both. Summoning up his magic, he called a spell he'd never used in a real fight before, directing the healing all the way across the field to Senka, and then again to Sylvi. The concentration required left him open, but Reynard covered smoothly, taking down the last of the opponents who wasn't Thea's.

Across the room, Cyril was juggling several soldiers at once. He managed to get some breathing room, though, hurling his javelin for the troublesome mage, hard enough to impale him rather entirely, before falling on the ones in front of him with his fists and his magic.

That, along with continuous suppressive arrow fire, was enough to get their group through and onto the top level of the dais first, where Vridel lost track of them. They'd be fine, now. They were mostly healed, and the Professor was in front. If anyone on the field was safe right now, it was them.

In the meantime, the rest of them had this fellow to deal with.

Dierdre turned her attention to the man who was still attacking Thea. She summoned a fire spell, and hurled it at the man. He didn't seem to have any trouble dodging it, though, and whirled around so that his attention was focused on Dierdre. Amalthea took the opportunity to hurl herself onto the man's back, digging Amyr in as well. The man didn't seem fazed by it, though, and merely reached behind him, grabbing Amalthea by her arm, and flipping her over his shoulders. Amyr was still stuck in his back as she landed with a hard thud.

He swung his axe downwards in a finishing motion, however; Dierdre mimicked Amalthea's earlier actions, flinging herself into the man's side in time that his axe missed Amalthea by a couple of inches. She rolled from underneath the man, and summoned Amyr back to her. Dierdre seemed to have abandoned her magic, though, in favor of her fists. She wasn't a physical fighter, though.

Fortunately, Reynard was there to assist, and while Vridel helped Thea back to her feet, Aymr in-hand, the other man got several quick stabs in on the enemy soldier, who miraculously still seemed to be standing.

Knowing that Thea was likely to balk at the idea of finishing him off, Vridel stepped forward to do it himself, plunging his blade into the man's lower back from behind, hard enough that emerged out the other side with a gout of blood. Setting his foot against the man's spine, he pushed him off at the same time as he pulled the sword, freeing it from his body as he toppled forward.

There was little time for relief. The ritual—

Vridel whirled even as the Professor landed a hard, barehanded blow on the mage attempting to unseal the casket. The robed man staggered backwards, but it seemed he'd already accomplished his aim. The lid of the sarcophagus was cracked, and he reached inside quickly, yanking out what seemed to be—a sword?

It had a longer blade than most, slightly serrated along one edge, with a thick crossguard. Vridel had seen enough relics to know one when he encountered it, and this seemed to be made of the same unusual material that all of them were. He doubted Cyril recognized it for what it was, but it had come out of Seiros's casket, so anyone could tell it was important.

The man attempted to swing it at the Professor, but he sidestepped the blow easily and caught one of the fellow's wrists, twisting and forcing him to drop the blade. Cyril caught it easily, but just when Vridel was going to warn him not to try and use it, the whole thing took on a crimson glow, one that seemed to catch the entire room by surprise.

The mage was the first to recover, trying to use this as leverage for a surprise attack, but the Professor caught him by the throat almost automatically, it seemed, a large hand applying pressure to the man's windpipe until he went slack. The glow of the sword died down at the same time, leaving Cyril looking rather, well... perplexed.

Vridel couldn't blame him for that.

Before anyone had a chance to say anything, Catherine and a couple of soldiers burst into the tombs, Thunderbrand at the ready. “Is the intruder here?!" she shouted, blinking in a confused manner at the group. “Oh," she began, her posture relaxing a bit, “looks like you have this under control." She turned her attention to both of the soldiers and gave them a command: “You! Round up any stragglers. We can't afford any more mistakes." The soldiers nodded their heads in unison and went to do as she commanded.

Amalthea walked next to Vridel, and touched his elbow lightly with her hand. “Are you alright?" she asked, clearly worried for his well-being and not her own. She had a streak of blood on her face, probably from when she stabbed the man in the back or when he'd flung his blood-covered axe in her direction. Senka was tending to the professor, Sylvi, and Sofia, and Dierdre was making her way towards their group, as well. Probably to check on Sofia.

Vridel exhaled quietly, nodding his head. Thoughtlessly, he reached up and dabbed the blood away from her face with his sleeve. It just didn't look right, there of all places, though he was sure he was wearing a fair bit of it himself. “I'm fine," he said quietly. “Didn't even get hit. What about you?"

She nodded her head. “I'm fine, too. See? Not... not a single scratch," she spread her arms out as if to show him that she was, indeed, fine. She winced slightly, though, but smiled through it. Her back was likely sore from when the man had thrown her to the ground. “I should probably go check on the others, too. Make sure they're alright. I'm sure Lady Rhea will want to see Professor," she stated, her eyes going towards Cyril.

“You're right, Amalthea," Catherine cut in, glancing between Vridel and Amalthea. “We're going to escort the prisoners to her; she wants your professor to come along as well, but," she paused, moving her gaze towards Cyril before she looked back at Vridel. “Perhaps you'd like to ask him to come. The others can tend to their wounds and get them looked after if you want to come, too," she seemed to suggest, directing the last part of the statement towards Vridel.

Brows furrowing, Vridel nodded slightly at Catherine. It wasn't a bad idea for someone to be there. Since he and Mercer were sharing information, it didn't much matter which one of them it was, but it might be slightly less suspicious if it wasn't always the same person. Calling a touch of healing to his hand, he placed it gently at Amalthea's back before stepping away smoothly.

“I think I will," he said, making his way towards the Professor.

Cyril showed not even the slightest inclination to disagree, and the two of them split off from the group to head for the Archbishop's office. She'd almost certainly be called away from the Rite for this, but it might take some time for that to be possible. Vridel wasn't exactly sure what was involved.

They took seats outside the area, Cyril still loosely holding the sword. “Be careful, when we're in there," he said, staring straight ahead with a rather flat expression. “The Archbishop doesn't seem to like you all very much."

“It's mutual," Vridel grumbled. “Though I can't imagine why she'd bother to form much of an opinion on most of us."

The Professor grimaced. “I think it might be my fault," he admitted. “I've... mentioned your merits, on more than one occasion. I don't think she likes it, for some reason."

Ordinarily such a thing would have seemed unbelievable, but Vridel had been there, in the common room that time. The Archbishop really did have some strange fixation on the Professor. It sounded like the sort of thing an obsessed lover would do—not want that someone to have connections of import with anyone else. Not healthy, by any means. But why the Archbishop, and why the Professor?

He doubted Cyril had any more idea than he did. “Sounds unnerving," he said quietly. Vridel understood a thing or two about obsession and being the object of it. Whether 'romantic' or not, it was disturbing in the extreme, and uncomfortable.

“It is."

There was no time to say more about it, though, for the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall. Both of them stood as the Archbishop approached, a small group of the captured being led behind her in chains by some of the knights. Lyanna did not seem to be with her this time—maybe she was still in the Goddess Tower, doing whatever the Rite of Rebirth required.

Rhea's eyes were immediately on Vridel, a look of displeasure quickly flashing across her face before it disappeared. There was a different woman with her, this time, deep violet hair similar to the shade Senka had. Her eyes were rich, deep violet as well, nothing like Vridel's or Senka's. The woman glanced at Vridel, and then towards the archbishop before her eyes went to Cyril.

“Good, you're all here," she stated, inclining her head towards Cyril. “No time for proper introductions," she continued, speaking directly to Vridel and Cyril before her attention went to those in chains. “As all of you have committed a breach of faith, the archbishop will now pass judgment," she spoke, her voice and demeanor oddly calm. “Inciting a Kingdom noble to rebel, unlawful entry, the attempted assassination of the archbishop, and an attack on the Holy Mausoleum," she listed off what seemed to be their crimes. “It is unnecessary to go on, followers of the Western Church."

One of the priests looked shocked at the statement. “What?! We have nothing to do with the Western Church!" he shouted in defense, it seemed. The woman merely shook her head, though.

“You have already been identified, there is no need for your second-rate theater," Rhea spoke, her eyes narrowing at the priest. “Dishonoring a holy ceremony is worthy of death for a member of the church," she continued, pausing only to shift her gaze slightly towards Vridel and Cyril, “You are well past the hope of redemption. If you have any grace remaining, you will willingly offer your life as atonement for this crime."

The priest's face turned white as he tried to take a step back. “No!" he shouted, anger in his voice, “This isn't what we were told would happen! We've been deceived!" This statement seemed to anger the other woman, and she glared at the priest.

“It's no use arguing. Whatever your excuse, the punishment stands."

Vridel thought it was rather stupid to go ahead and pronounce such a judgment so swiftly. Even looking at it from the most brutal perspective, saying it now removed much of their incentive to talk, to explain who had hired them to do this, or tricked them into it, as they claimed. Unless, of course, the Archbishop had no need of such information because she already knew what they were going to say.

“Should we not at least hear them out?" The Professor inquired quietly. “Surely it's important to know if there are... further people targeting the Church?" He was careful to couch it in terms that would likely be acceptable to Rhea, Vridel noticed. Not at all a simpleton, their teacher. Certainly far from the typical thickheaded mercenary stereotype. But then, he'd known that for a while now.

“Wait! Please!" the man begged, his eyes almost pleading. “Listen to him! The goddess would never forgive you for our execution!" The other man to his side merely grimaced, though, and took a step forward.

“Monster!" he shouted, pointing a finger in Rhea's direction. “We know you've already slaughtered many of our fellow brethren like this!" he seemed to be accusing of her of murdering people before. Rhea did not look pleased with the accusation, and lifted her hand in a silencing motion.

“This concludes the investigation," she stated, malice in her voice, though it seemed disguised by a calmness she was known for, “Please remove these poor, lost souls from my sight." It was clearly a command. The soldiers bowed their heads and took the prisoners away, to await their fate. Rhea turned towards Vridel and Cyril, disappointed, perhaps, at Cyril's statement.

“They are from the Western Church. It is well-known that they have never appreciated the Central Church," she stated, her brows still furrowed.

Vridel barely avoided a skeptical snort. More like they tried for an iota of independence from the Archbishop. Not that he had any fondness for the Western Church. Not in the slightest.

Cyril pursed his lips, shaking his head faintly but apparently knowing better than to argue the point. “Ah, Archbishop. They were trying to get this, I think." Adjusting his grip on the blade, he extended it carefully towards her, handle-first.

Frankly, Vridel admired his courage. He'd have never handed the Archbishop his weapon, no matter how good he was with his hands.

She didn't look at all surprised when Cyril presented the sword. She merely smiled and shook her head. “I cannot thank you enough for defeating those invaders in the Holy Mausoleum, and especially for protecting the Sword of the Creator," she stated, inclining her head towards the sword Cyril held. “That sword is one of the Heroes' Relics, and the most precious artifact in the church's possession," her expression hardened for a second before she continued, “It is also a weapon of terrifying power." She smiled again, and glanced towards the woman still at her side.

“For now... I will entrust the sword to you. Please, use it wisely. I have faith that you will not be corrupted by the wickedness that once took Nemesis." She seemed to believe her own words. “Since his death, none have been able to wield the Sword of the Creator. None... until now. After all those long years of being sealed away, it has returned and found a new master," this seemed to please her, as her eyes softened with the smile on her face as she glanced at Cyril.

The Sword of the—

That Relic was the Sword of the Creator? And she was just letting the professor keep it?

Moreover, that he could even use it meant... well it meant he must somehow be related to Nemesis, the King of Liberation. Crests were hereditary, after all, unless...

Unless. Vridel would have to think about that one. The Professor's hair wasn't white, but his memory wasn't good, either, and maybe... hm. For the moment, he kept his silence, as the Archbishop surely expected.

“Since the two of you are already here, an update for next month's mission should suffice. Lord Kleiman of Faerghus has requested our aid. There have been unsettling rumors of late in the Kingdom near the Duscur region," she paused to regard Cyril before she continued, “of an unsightly beast. It has killed countless of the Lord's men and you and your students will go to eliminate it."

“A beast?" Cyril echoed. “Like wild wyvern or a bear or something?"

Vridel wasn't exactly sure what she meant by it, either. What a nonspecific way to put something like that.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Not exactly," she began, turning her attention towards the sword the professor had. “It is nothing that you will not be able to handle, especially now that you wield the Relic," she continued. She seemed to be putting a lot of faith in Cyril. “They claim it is a demonic beast, but none have returned alive to confirm this report. Nevertheless, I am certain there will be interested parties in visiting Duscur, after all." Her eyes narrowed slightly at that statement as if she were displeased with it.

“Unfortunately, most of the Knights of Seiros will be away from the monastery, purging the apostates of the Western Church. We are entrusting this mission to you, after all. The Sword of the Creator is a powerful weapon, well beyond the other Relics. If it happens to be a demonic beast, you have nothing to fear," she stated, her eyes glancing towards Vridel.

Demonic beast... those words had once been used to describe what had happened to the fallen hero Maurice, but even then he wasn't sure exactly what they meant. Besides that, that legend was from a thousand years ago. It was possible the Archbishop meant something different, but then why be so squirrelly about it? Something wasn't adding up here, though Vridel didn't know exactly what yet.

It may well be that there was only one way to find out.

“Duscur," Cyril said, his brows drawing down faintly. “I see. As you wish, Archbishop."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Cyril Eisner Character Portrait: Mercer von Riegan Character Portrait: Senka Rinaldi Character Portrait: Amalthea von Kreuz Character Portrait: Vridel von Hresvelg Character Portrait: Sorcha Blaiddyd
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I.Y. 1180 - Verdant Rain Moon - Friday the 1st
Dining Hall - Early Afternoon - Humid
Amalthea von Kreuz


Amalthea couldn't keep the smile off of her face. She was excited about the results of the written exams they took last month. Of course, they took the exams after their mission, and Amalthea had been extremely tired that day, however; she was excited to know how she did. The results had not been released yet, and she assumed that they were going to do it after classes, or after their lunch period. She supposed she could wait until then, however; she was looking forward to eating lunch with her friends. They didn't often sit together during their break, mostly because they were either busy studying at the library during this time, or getting some practice in.

Since they no longer needed to do that, Amalthea had suggested they meet in the dining hall for lunch. She grabbed a plate of the day's special, dried plums and fried gar, and happily made her way towards a table. From the corner of her eye, she spotted Professor Jeritza, and tilted her head curiously. He was hardly in the dinning hall; she assumed it was because there was always a lot of people. Thinking nothing much of it, she waved in his direction and made her way to a table, waiting for the others to appear. Mercer was the first, strangely enough, and he grinned at her, plate in hand as he set it down next to her.

“Hey, Thea," he greeted as she smiled at him. “Waiting for the others, I take it?" he continued. She nodded in response and hummed softly.

“You're the first one, here," she replied, watching as his grin shifted into something more mischievous.

“Lucky me, that means I get the best spot right next to you," he stated, bumping his shoulder into hers. She giggled softly at his statement. Sometimes he said the strangest things, but she didn't mind. They weren't enough to make her blush, at least.

Professor Cyril was next to arrive. As with the certifications the month before, he'd had to take these exams too, just to get caught up to speed with the Academy's other professors. He picked up a tray as well, exchanging several words with the head chef, who smiled brightly at him for some reason that Amalthea couldn't discern.

Making his way over to them, he took the seat across, giving them both a small nod. “Thea, Mercer. Excited for your results?"

Amalthea nodded her head at Professor, and hurriedly swallowed the plum that was in her mouth. “I am!" she stated, coughing lightly. She choked a little at the end of it, but managed to recover well-enough. “I'm a little nervous, too. I'm either going to be classified as an armored knight, or..." she pursed her lips together as she frowned, “I might have to take the exams again. I think I did well-enough, though, that I might have passed! What about you, Merc?"

“Hm, well, all things considered, I think I did really well. Written exams are way easier than the physical ones. They require less work," he replied, grinning in Amalthea's direction. She supposed that was true, but they did require a lot of studying. Didn't that count as work?

The Professor regarded Mercer with a slightly-raised eyebrow, but ultimately didn't offer comment on that. “I happen to have been given the results," he said. “For my class at least. I checked with the others, too, so I know how everyone in our Saturday group did. I thought perhaps we might wait and see who comes to lunch, so we could all discuss it then. I'd like to try something in advance of this month's mission if you're all so inclined."

No doubt if some of them had passed, they'd need to work on additional strategy to accommodate the fact that some people would be mounted, others flying, and so on.

It was at this point that Vridel appeared, visible first as a white spot in the corner of her eye. His hair really was easy to spot, even from all the way across a room. He took up a tray and the spot next to the Professor, frowning slightly.

“Not to suggest that you have a second unwelcome admirer, Professor, but Professor Jeritza is watching you."

“I know," Cyril said. “I believe he wants a duel."

Amalthea blinked in a confused manner. Professor Cyril had admirers? Unwelcomed or welcomed, she supposed that made sense. Professor Cyril was a handsome person, not as handsome as Vridel, of course, but nonetheless. She cleared her throat awkwardly, at best, and nodded her head. “I suppose that makes sense. We can wait a little longer for the others to arrive," she stated, earning a raised brow from Mercer. He seemed curious about something, but Amalthea refused to glance his way.

“Hopefully you have not waited long," Senka spoke, taking a seat next to Professor. It left little room for anyone else, and the next person either had to sit next to Mercer, or on Amalthea's other side. And Amalthea knew Sorcha was never far from where Senka was. “Has anyone received their results, yet?" she asked, apparently missing Professor's earlier statement.

“Nope, we're just waiting on everyone else. Teach, here, has our results so we're mostly just playing the waiting game, now," Mercer answered with a light shrug of his shoulders. Senka seemed satisfied with the answer as she huffed lightly and nodded her head.

Sorcha was indeed the next to arrive, looking slightly surprised when there was nowhere to sit next to Senka, perhaps. She hesitated a moment, then sat on the other side of Mercer with a soft hello to him, glancing around the table. “Sylvi and Devon send their apologies," she said, mostly speaking to Amathea, it seemed. “He has dish duty in the kitchen and she apparently needed to write her dad a letter about something right away. It seemed kind of urgent."

“Reynard's fishing," Vridel added, as if just remembering it. “He said he already knows what his results are, but thanks for checking for him, Professor." It was apparently unsurprising to him both that Cyril had checked and that Reynard already knew the fact.

“Aw, I was hoping everyone would be here," Amalthea murmured, furrowing her brows lightly. She supposed that it couldn't be helped, though. At least Sylvi and Devon would know later on in the day when they returned to class. “We'll just have to tell them when we go back," she stated happily. Mercer huffed lightly in his spoon, but didn't say anything. Senka glanced at Sorcha for a moment before she began pushing on her dried plums with her fork. It almost looked like she was either playing with them, or not at all hungry.

“So, Teach, how'd we do?" Mercer finally asked, glancing in Professor's direction.

“You all passed, of course," Cyril replied simply. “I wouldn't have wanted to tell you publicly if you hadn't. Everyone in the Saturday group has the classification they applied for. Including me, actually. I qualify as a grappler, now." That was a level above where they'd all tested into, but that made sense, of course. The Professor was an experienced mercenary, after all.

“Exellent," murmured Vridel. He'd actually taken exams for both the mercenary and mage classes, Amalthea knew, being unable to decide between the two. It had been rather a lot of studying; lots of times when the others had left for the night, he'd remained to keep at it. He always seemed to do things like that: like no matter what, there wasn't enough time for everything he wanted.

Sorcha, on the other hand, grinned brightly, a rare sight these days, and nudged Mercer with her elbow. “I guess this means we can apply to have Sir and Lady officially assigned to us," she said, referring to the wyvern and pegasus they'd taken to.

“Yep. We should probably do that as soon as possible. I mean, not like anyone else will put in for them, but the sooner the better, right?" Mercer spoke as he grinned in Sorcha's direction. He turned towards Senka, though, and tilted his head. One of those rare smiles Senka had, bloomed on her face as she heard the results. “You applied for cavalier, right? Did you decide on a mount, too?" he asked her. She nodded as her way of response.

“Libi," she replied, the smile still on her face. “His name is Libi," she seemed to clarify even though they knew what she was referring to. Amalthea, however, had a large smile on her face, and she couldn't resist the urge to do a little twirl. Since she was sitting, though, she opted for an excited giggle.

“I'm gonna be an armored knight! I can't wait to tell Lyanna!" she stated, bouncing a little in her seat.

“Congratulations," the Professor told her, before shifting his attention to the others. “All of you. Don't forget to pick up all the equipment they're issuing you. That'll be steel weapons for some of you, uniforms, and the like. Thea, you'll want to make sure to get them your measurements as soon as possible so you can have armor and a shield fitted accordingly. Piecemeal might be fine for practice, but you should have a full set for the actual field. We're not sure what we're up against this time, so everyone should be prepared."

Though that note was a little solemn, he seemed to relax a moment later. “As for what I was hoping to try—I thought it might make sense to reorganize ourselves a little. I want to try a battle-partners system. Obviously there will be times when we need to split up, but if you can all get used to working in minimal units of two, it should better our odds of success. It will take some extra work—I'll want to run each pair through extra drills, and since some of you aren't Blue Lions I won't be able to use class time for it. So it's only if you're willing."

“I don't see why that should be a problem. We don't have the exams or certs to study for, any longer, so we can use the days after our chores, or even Sundays as those days to practice," Mercer seemed to suggest. Amalthea nodded her head in agreement, and she knew Professor was right. The sooner she gave her measurements to the armorer, the sooner she could have her armor fitted to her, and she could train with it. She would have to get used to it, as with anything new that came there way.

“What is the mission, anyway, Teach? You said we're not sure what we're up against. What does Lady Rhea have us doing, now?" Mercer inquired. Amalthea would admit that she was curious. They hadn't been told their mission, yet.

“Apparently some sort of wild animal or creature is causing trouble in the Duscur region," he said quietly. “The exact nature of it is unclear from the reports. It's one of the reasons I want to start this strategy now: we don't know what we're up against, and so we need tactics that are good for most anything."

Sorcha chewed over a bite, looking at Senka with wide eyes.

The smile had disappeared from Senka's face, and she was staring intently at her plate. Amalthea didn't quite know why she seemed so upset. Senka was from Faerghus with Almyran ties, did she have some ties to the Duscur region, as well? “Hey, Sen, you alright?" Mercer was the first to speak, pursing his lips in her direction. She didn't regard him, and merely continued staring at her plate. She stood abruptly, though, grabbed her plate, and left without saying a word.

“Senka!" Amalthea called after her, but she was gone before anyone else could stop her. “I hope she's alright. Sorcha," she stated, turning towards Sorcha. “Is she alright? She looked... pale, almost." Sorcha must have known something, right? She and Senka were best friends, after all. She'd certainly known Senka longer than anyone at the table.

“Probably not," Sorcha said quietly. “Excuse me, everyone; I'm going to go talk to her."

“I'll take care of your tray," Vridel said with a small nod. Sorcha returned it before jogging off after Senka.

Cyril looked perhaps more troubled than Amalthea had ever seen him: his brow was furrowed, and a look of something akin to guilt crossed his face. “Perhaps I should have mentioned it to her first," he said lowly.

Amalthea was vaguely confused. Why would the professor have to mention it to Senka, first? She sighed, though, and shook her head. If there was a reason, she was certain Senka would tell them, eventually. They were all friends, right? Amalthea had even told them as such, if they needed someone to talk to, they could talk to her.

“She'll be fine, Thea. Don't worry too much about it. She has her best friend looking after her right now. She maybe has an upset stomach from the food she was playing with," Mercer stated as if trying to provide a reason. Amalthea didn't quite believe him, but she wasn't going to push the issue any further.

“Well, we should probably start planning our practice sessions, then. How about, we start them next Saturday after chores?" she suggested. Mercer groaned lightly.

“How about next Sunday? I'm still kind of sore from the last mission, you know," Mercer replied, grinning lightly.

“You barely did anything," Vridel groused.

“Hm, that may be true, but I did save your ass a couple of times with arrows, you know. Those aren't as easy as they look to pull back."

Amalthea rolled her eyes and turned her attention to Professor. “When do you think we should start, Professor? You're the one who will be training us, after all."

“Saturday might be preferable," he said. His tone was distant, as though he were still distracted by something. “As I believe the Sunday is an exchange day, yes?" He glanced up at her then, clearly referring to the cultural exchanges the others were doing to help her learn more about the outside world.

“Oh, that's right. I forgot," she replied. She seemed to forget things like that. It's not like they weren't important to her, because they were. She supposed her mind was on other things... other people. And she could feel a blush burning her cheeks. Mercer must have noticed as he grinned in her direction.

“Oh? Pleasant thought, there, Thea? Maybe... about something, or someone in particular?" Mercer spoke. Amalthea pursed her lips.

“You hush, Mercer von Riegan," she replied, puffing her cheeks out in his direction.

Vridel snorted softly. “And now the lady's said so. No gentleman could refuse, Mercer. So are you going to shut up or prove yourself a cad? Decisions, decisions." Though the words could be interpreted as harsh, he seemed to mean them in a friendly sort of way, if his light tone was anything to go by.

“Hm, indeed. Decisions, decisions. Guess I'm not as much of a gentleman as you thought," he replied, grinning in Amalthea's direction. At that moment, she wished she had a fish to throw at him.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jeralt's Journal Character Portrait: Cyril Eisner Character Portrait: Mercer von Riegan Character Portrait: Amalthea von Kreuz Character Portrait: Vridel von Hresvelg Character Portrait: Sorcha Blaiddyd
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#, as written by Aethyia


I.Y. 1180 - Verdant Rain Moon - Sunday the 3rd
Professor Hanneman's Office - Afternoon - Hot
Cyril Eisner


Cyril knocked lightly on the doorframe leading into Professor Hanneman's office, clearing his throat expectantly. It would seem news had gotten around about the whole 'Sword of the Creator' business, and while he wasn't entirely sure what to make of it himself, it had apparently granted the other professor some insight into his Crest. He supposed that made sense, since Relics and Crests were closely related.

Peering inside, he could see that Professor Manuela was present as well, draped sideways over Professor Hanneman's chair and apparently quite contentedly filing her nails while their colleague searched through some of his research notes. She looked up and smiled when he knocked. “Oh, Cyril! Please do come in; don't mind him, he's just getting his thoughts together. At his age, it takes a while." She smiled, genuine and bright, rolling her eyes playfully at Hanneman's back.

“I'll have you know my ears still work, Manuela."

“That's news to me," she drawled.

He stepped in, sure enough that Hanneman wouldn't mind Manuela asking him in on his behalf. He'd noticed they tended to bicker a lot, but there seemed to be a trust underneath it. He'd assumed them married when first he met them, though he'd since learned this was not actually the case. He didn't know if they were involved or not, but in either case there was a certain harmony to the way they interacted that belied the surface-level contradictions in their personalities. Perhaps that was just what happened when two people worked closely together for long enough.

“Please, ignore her. It is her birthday today and she has seen fit to spend it harrassing me," Hanneman spoke, clearing his throat as he regarded Cyril. “Thank you for coming, Professor. I've heard much about you, lately," he began, his eyes narrowing in Manuela's direction before he continued, “Specifically, that you were able to awaken the Sword of the Creator's power. Thusly, it seems the true nature of your Crest has been uncovered."

“I had, of course, seen your Crest before, however; I faild to recognize its true nature, at first. Eventually, it dawned on me that what is visible is perhaps merely a small part of a greater whole," he paused to shoot a glance in Manuela's direction, eyes narrowed slightly before he turned back to Cyril.

“In other words, your Crest is too significant to be detected when using normal instruments."

“Do mark the moment, Cyril," Manuela said with a sniff. “Hanneman's just admitted he doesn't always know best. It probably won't ever happen again, so you really should consider this an occasion. I, for one, will be considering it a little birthday gift."

They were certainly... something. “Happy birthday, Professor Manuela," he said first.

She grinned at him. “You don't have to use titles with us, dear. We're colleagues, after all. Please, do just call me Manuela."

He nodded, which seemed to be sufficient to satisfy her, then turned to Hanneman. “I don't really understand," he admitted. “The Archbishop said the Sword was much stronger than other Relics; can Crests be more or less significant as well? I know there are Major and Minor ones, but I thought that was just variance within the same Crest."

“Yes, well," he began, folding a hand beneath his chin. “It is speculated that Major Crests and Minor Crests differ depending on how strongly the bloodline runs in that particular person. The stronger the bloodline, it is more likely that a person will inherit a Major Crest. Minor Crests usually mean that the bloodline is present, but distant."

“After this discovery, though, I began researching Crests that might fit the description of yours. It allowed for a temporary hypothesis," he stated, inclining his head towards Cyril. “I could not be certain, however. The Crest my conclusions led me to was far too unusual." He closed his eyes for a moment as if some inner turmoil was plaguing him. “A Crest thought to have disappeared from this world in the millennium since the fall of Nemesis, the King of Liberation. What you possess... it's the Crest of Flames." He opened his eyes, a strange mirth to them, as he grinned at Cyril.

“Your ability to wield the Sword of the Creator has unequivocally proven my hypothesis. A legendary power, dormant since time immemorial, and now resurrected..." Hanneman sounded rather excited about the prospect of such a Crest existing. “There can be no doubt that this ancient power resides within you."

“Well, aren't you special?" Manuela sounded more amused than anything, perhaps at Hanneman's excitement. “Don't go letting it get to your head, now."

Cyril certainly wasn't planning on it. As far as news went, he wasn't so sure this was the good kind. After all... Maurice's Crest was considered a curse, and all he did was overstrain himself fighting for the side the Church considered right. According to the story Sorcha had told him, Nemesis was quite literally the thing all those people were fighting against. He could understand why Hanneman would be so interested—he likely didn't care—but why on earth would Rhea treat this as though it were good news? Especially considering the way she treated those she believed were against the Church?

Manuela regarded him sympathetically, perhaps sensing the direction of his thoughts. “Try not to let it bother you," she said simply. “There are very few people who believe the ancestors who first bore Crests have any impact on the kind of people their descendants are today. Honestly not everyone cares about Crests at all in the first place; I certainly don't." She glanced almost mischievously at Hanneman there, as though she were expecting an entertaining response.

Hanneman regarded her with a flat stare. “Don't be absurd, of course they have no impact on their descendants. You cannot pass on personality traits through a Crest, after all," Hanneman retorted, pursing his lips in Manuela's direction. “And you wouldn't care about Crests because you do not bear one. I study them so as to see how we can achieve a way not to rely on them," he answered, his eyes narrowing lightly in the process.

“For what it's worth, having the Goddess' Crest is not entirely without merit. How you came to possess it, though, is a rather intriguing detail. I must research, further. Could it be that Nemesis had a descendant, lost to the pages of history?" The idea seemed exciting to him. “But do not let us keep you, Cyril. If I come across anything further, I will be sure to let you know.

“I suppose we should go and see about your birthday cake, Manuela," he stated, a faint color dusting his cheeks. It disappeared just as quickly, though, as if it were never there to begin with.

Manuela smiled the cat's own grin, putting away her nail file and standing. “Hmm, I could get behind that idea," she replied. “See you around, Cyril."

With a wink, she took her leave behind Hanneman, and Cyril exited as well, so the other man could lock his office door. Choosing a random route through the monastery, he began to walk, seeking out the place in his head the girl resided. It was difficult, for him to find her, whereas she seemed to be able to speak to him whenever she wanted.

As it happened, she seemed to be interested enough now to answer the summons.

The Goddess's Crest, she said, sounding more perplexed than anything. Why would you of all people bear such a thing, I wonder. And what does it mean that this Nemesis person had it, if he was supposedly the enemy of this Church's founder?

There's also the fact that the Goddess's name meant something to you. Or me, or... us. Sometimes, the distinction wasn't entirely clear to him, to be honest. Especially considering that they were both missing what seemed to be large pieces of their memories. And that one or both of us recognized that canyon...

Where the goddess supposedly alighted, yes, the girl replied, sounding almost distracted to him. I feel as though the answer is close, and yet... I fear that if we push for it, it might be like last time. She could only be referring to the splitting pain in his head; it seemed she didn't want to put him through it if it were avoidable. He supposed that was something to be grateful for, although—

Perhaps tonight, he said, expelling a breath. If there's no one around and I can sleep afterwards, it shouldn't be that bad.

He felt her silent agreement, and then she receded to the back of his mind again. He'd wound up in the courtyard, unsurprisingly, and at the moment it seemed to be occupied by a few of his students. Sorcha and Amalthea were there, along with Mercer and Vridel. The others must be elsewhere.

Immediately, he felt that strange sense of warmth that seeing them so often provoked, though it felt as well like something was missing, and he identified the cause with a stab of unfamiliar guilt. Senka. He really should have pulled her aside and told her first about the mission—he felt like a fool for not doing so.

“Professor!" It would seem that Sorcha had noticed him; she waved him over with a small smile.

Without any reason to refuse, he joined them, taking a seat beside Vridel. “Perhaps you might have some input, Professor," the prince said by way of greeting. “We are attempting to plan birthday festivities for Senka. Apparently hers is three days hence."

“I'm thinking it should be small," Sorcha said. “Maybe just us here, even, but... I'm kind of stumped on what to do. She's not really much of a party person, usually, and I don't want to make her do anything she's uncomfortable with. Normally at home we'd just go out in Fhirdiad for a day but... there's not really much of the same stuff to do here."

"Would she enjoy an afternoon outside the Monastery?" he asked. "The far side of the lake might be a peaceful area."

Sorcha's eyes widened. “There's a field," she murmured, glancing once at Mercer before quickly looking away. “With lots of wildflowers. We used to swim a lot when we were kids, maybe... maybe we could pack a lunch and spend the day by the lake?"

“Would there be swimming involved?" Amalthea asked, her brows furrowed lightly. Mercer snorted softly and nodded his head.

“I'm sure there would be if there's a lake," he responded, causing the furrow to deepen. “Why, Thea? Afraid of the water?" he stated, raising an amused brow in her direction. Amalthea narrowed her eyes at him.

“I can't swim," she murmured.

“Well I'm sure some of us can teach you, if you'd like."

Cyril nodded his agreement, as did Sorcha. Swimming was something he knew how to do, though oddly he couldn't remember learning, exactly.

“And you don't have to swim," Sorcha pointed out. “We can bring other things to do, like field games and things." She seemed to be getting excited about the prospect. “I don't think Senka's ever really been a gift person, but I saw this scarf down at the market the other day if anyone wants to chip in for a group gift. It's really colorful—I know she'll like it."

“Certainly," Vridel agreed.

Cyril made a soft noise of affirmation, though he thought he had another idea as well. He didn't think both would be too much; he'd gotten Sorcha something for hers, too, though he'd waited until after the others had cleared away from the party to give it. He planned to make sure everyone he taught got something on their birthdays, or at least at the end of the year if he missed the right day.

“Oh, I'll chip in, too!" Amalthea stated. Mercer nodded his head as well in agreement. “We should probably not surprise her, though. Senka doesn't look like the type who likes surprise birthdays. How are we going to convince her to come with us?" Amalthea asked. Mercer seemed to have an idea as he grinned rather widely.

“We get Teach to do it. Or Sorcha, one of the two," Mercer spoke, causing Amalthea to smile. “I'm sure she wouldn't refuse Teach if he asked, and of course she wouldn't say no to Sorcha at all, right?" he continued, winking in Sorcha's direction.

Sorcha seemed to consider this for a moment. “Well I don't want to surprise her on the spot," she agreed, “but I would like it to be kind of spontaneous, for her. But that means I'll have to do a lot of the setup earlier in the day. Maybe if the rest of you can help me, Professor Cyril wouldn't mind explaining the situation closer to the time and asking her to come?"

He was sort of surprised so much confidence was being placed in him, here. Persuasiveness was not a trait he'd ever been accused of having before, but he supposed Senka was a reasonable person and probably wouldn't mind a quiet afternoon with a few friends like this. It shouldn't be too difficult to convince her, he hoped.

"I'll try," he said with a small nod.

“Oh, trust me, Teach, you won't have to try very hard," Mercer retorted, rolling his eyes slightly before he turned and grinned at Vridel as if the Prince would catch on to what he said. “So, we have three days to do this. Thea, I love you and all, but please try not to get too excited about it and accidentally let it slip, alright?" he stated, causing Amalthea to give him a flat stare.

“I'm not the one who admitted to trying to kiss a fish. It's no wonder you and Sir Ladon get a long so well," was her flat response. Mercer laughed at the response, either not ashamed of it or taking it in a completely different way.

Vridel snorted, far more amused by this exchange than it seemed to really warrant.

Cyril figured it was something only he and Mercer knew about, but in any case he was... oddly happy to see them enjoying themselves. It had a way of making the rest of it seem to matter less.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Cyril Eisner Character Portrait: Mercer von Riegan Character Portrait: Senka Rinaldi Character Portrait: Amalthea von Kreuz Character Portrait: Vridel von Hresvelg Character Portrait: Sorcha Blaiddyd
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I.Y. 1180 - Verdant Rain Moon - Wednesday the 6th
Garreg Mach Monastery (Courtyard) - Late Morning - Clear
Senka Rinaldi


Senka took in a deep breath, clearing her mind as best as she could. Today was not a particularly fond day for her; her birthday never was, after what happened. It was only two years ago that she'd told Sorcha when her day of birth actually was. Sorcha had been rather adamant at finding out, and Senka had finally given in. Part of her hoped that it would be forgotten, that Sorcha wouldn't insist on celebrating it in some fashion, but she never did. This year, though, perhaps would be the year. She had not seen Sorcha all day, nor any of her other friends. She was highly suspicious at first, but then she began to think that they finally wised-up; that they no longer wanted to spend time with her.

That was for the best, perhaps.

She was worthless to them; she didn't matter. That thought alone brought a strange, cold comfort to her. Shaking the thought from her head, she made her way across the courtyard, ignoring the way the other students were staring at her. She was used to it, she had to be. Spending today, alone, would be for the best, or so she thought. With that in mind, she decided to make her way towards the Greenhouse. She had heard that they had received a shipment of Duscur flower seeds, and weren't exactly sure what to do with them. She knew that certain flower seeds required certain environments, and a part of her wanted to share those beautiful flowers with the world.

Maybe that could be her gift to herself?

When she reached the greenhouse, however, it was to find that someone was already at work planting the new seeds in a far corner. Cyril was sitting on his knees, a book open in one hand and the drawstring of a seed pouch dangling from the index finger of another. He glanced up as she entered, expression softening in that way that was almost a smile.

“I thought you might be by," he said with a small nod. “I only just heard about this shipment yesterday, but I suppose you can imagine why they caught my attention." He extended the bag towards her, as if inviting her to take it for herself. “I read that these need special conditions to flourish, so I asked the greenhouse keeper to make sure this section doesn't get over-watered, and the soil type should be right for a cold, mineral-rich desert."

Senka was genuinely surprised. She wasn't expecting to see Cyril in the greenhouse, let alone planting the seeds from her country. She felt her eyes narrow slightly as she took the bag from him. “Why... you didn't have to do that," she murmured softly, holding the bag closer to herself. It would have been fine if no one else did this, but that he was doing it, well... it seemed to warm something in her heart. She wasn't quite sure what it was, so she shook her head, instead.

“Thank you," she opted to say that, instead. “A few of these flowers do not require water, though. They thrive in dry soil," she decided to explain. “If you water them, you'll kill them," she continued, placing the bag down.

He inclined his head, pointing at the section of soil closest to the wall. “Well then if you'll teach me which those are, we can plant them here, and tell her not to water that part at all."

He paused a moment, looking back at her with something akin to hesitation. “I... wanted to apologize," he murmured. “I should have mentioned the mission to you before everyone else. I'd even thought to do it, but then it came up at the table and... I'm sorry." He seemed genuinely contrite, a line appearing between his brows as he regarded her steadily.

Senka shook her head. “It is no fault of your own. You shouldn't have to apologize for something like that, I... I shouldn't have reacted that way. I am sorry," she stated, bowing deeply as she did. She stayed that way for a moment longer before she straightened her posture back up. “It's just... it's been a long time since I last saw Duscur. I... didn't know if I was ready or not to see it again, but I want to," she muttered softly. She wanted to see her homeland, where she grew up, and to see how the people were doing.

There were only a handful of survivors, but she didn't know if they were okay, or if they were suffering under Kleiman's rule. It hurt to know there was nothing she could do for them. She was their princess, and she could do nothing. “You shouldn't put it that way, though," she added, trying to smile softly in his direction. “I am no one special that you should have mentioned anything to. The fact that it was related to Duscur should have had no priority as to whether or not I was told first."

She didn't understand why he would think that, in the first place. She had told him of her heritage, but not because she wanted him to be delicate around the matter. On the contrary, she trusted him enough to tell him that because she wanted him to know who she was. If he knew, then maybe... maybe he wouldn't have wanted her as a student or a friend. But that did not seem the case.

“Of course you are," Cyril replied bluntly. “You deserve the same consideration as anyone else. It's the right thing to do—people have all kinds of different stories, backgrounds. To not pay attention to that would be..." He pursed his lips, evidently searching for a word and not coming up with one. Instead he shrugged. “Well, it's not something I'm interested in doing. Especially to you."

He stood, then, closing the book over and setting it carefully on the small shelf of horticultural references the greenhouse kept. “In any case, those are all the new seeds, and this patch is reserved for them now, so if you'd like to plant them sometime, you're welcome to it." He tilted his head slightly. “I was... sent to ask you something, though. If you say yes there may not be time to plant them today."

Senka wasn't entirely sure what he had meant by that, but she decided to ignore it, for now. Instead, she focused on his last statement, immediately becoming wary. “Ask me something?" As much as she wanted to plant the seeds today, she would admit that she was slightly curious about what it was. What could possibly take up the rest of the day that she would not be able to plant the flowers? “May I ask what it is?" she decided to ask, still slightly wary. Part of her wondered if Mercer put Cyril up to it, whatever it was.

“Sorcha and the others have arranged an outing," he explained. “Nothing too crowded or busy, but they wanted to invite you to a field on the other side of the lake. For a picnic, swimming, field games, that sort of thing. Because of your birthday." He dusted off his trousers, regarding her with a subtle curve to one side of his mouth. “They've been setting it up for most of the morning; I dismissed class early and asked for permission for Vridel and Mercer to leave theirs as well. Only had to give Hanneman a couple inches of hair for it." He picked up a piece of hair on the side of his head, holding it out so she could see that it was, indeed, about an inch and a half shorter than most of those around it.

“You don't have to come—Sorcha was quite insistent about that, and I think that was right of her. But... we'd like it if you did."

Senka felt the corners of her mouth tilt up at his statement. Before she knew it, her shoulders were shaking slightly, and the strange sound of laughter was escaping her. She was touched by how thoughtful they were, though. Here... she was thinking the worst thoughts of them and all this time, they were doing something for her. On her birthday.

“I think... I think I would like that," she stated once she managed to speak properly. “And Professor Hanneman is a strange man to request your hair. I would..." she paused, blinking slowly before clearing her throat. She wasn't entirely sure where that thought was going; she was grateful to stop it. “I suppose I should let you lead the way, since you are aware of the location."

He huffed softly, something that might not have been far away from laughter itself, and nodded. “Of course. This way."

It was a bit of a trek on foot, but Cyril didn't suggest that they take horses or fly. The day was balmy, too, but that only made it more suited to swimming, perhaps. After a short stop by their rooms to outfit themselves for their activities, they were on their way.

Shortly after they exited the monastery, Cyril removed something from his pocket and handed it to her. “Sorcha said you're not much for gifts," he said. “But if it helps, I didn't spend any money on it. It's just sort of a hobby of mine." Whatever it was was wrapped in a pristine white cloth, perhaps meant to protect it, for the object inside was light and quite possibly fragile.

Unwrapping it revealed what seemed to be a handmade hair ornament, though the end that went into one's hair looked suspiciously like a lockpick. The other end was a delicate silver lotus flower, seemingly made of many fine filaments of metal bent into just the right shape and wrapped around one another to give the impression of petals and leaves arranged around a center. “I... didn't really know what you liked," he admitted. “So if it's not to your taste you don't have to use it, but I figured a backup might be useful. Especially disguised as something no one would pay attention to."

He lifted his shoulders in half a shrug, but his eyes were fixed on the path ahead.

“It's lovely," she responded, keeping her eyes on the ornament, and trusting her feet to lead her. It was beyond lovely, though. Without much thought, she loosened the tie that held her hair, and pulled it into a half-up style so that she could place the ornament in it. “Thank you, Cyril. I... appreciate it," she stated, offering him another smile as her way of thanks. She hoped she would never have to use the secondary purpose of the ornament, though. She didn't want to ruin it.

“I like it, quite a bit," she admitted, feeling a strange warmth in her cheeks. Perhaps it was the weather becoming slightly warmer?

It didn't take them much longer until they arrived at the destination. Indeed, Sorcha, Mercer, Vridel, and Amalthea were all waiting for them. Amalthea was the first to spot them, and she waved excitedly in their direction. It really did warm Senka to see her friends gathered as they were.

“Told you, Teach!" Mercer shouted, causing Senka to purse her lips in confusion.

“I wasn't sure I was the best person to bring you here," Cyril explained in a low voice. The gold of his eyes was warm in the sunlight, or perhaps it was some trace of emotion?

To Mercer, he only shook his head.

“Happy birthday, Sen!" Sorcha said, beaming brightly. “And welcome to your party! Well... it's not exactly a party, because I know how you feel about those, but it's a day for you, anyway. We have food, and the lake, and uh... game things. Anything you feel like doing first?"

The smile, soft as it was, caused Senka to shake her head. “I think it would be nice to eat, first. And then, perhaps," she paused, glancing between her friends. She felt something warm in her eyes, but nothing came of it. For the first moment in a long time, Senka considered herself lucky to have these people in her life. They were truly... something. “Perhaps we can enjoy the lake?" she stated. They didn't need to go swimming, but she thought it would be nice to just sit on the dock and sink her feet into the water.

“Oh, good, I was hoping you'd say food, first," Mercer stated, giving Senka a lopsided grin. “I'm starving," he continued, causing Senka to huff lightly.

“But, Merc, you ate before we came, how can you be starving?" Amalthea stated, clearly confused. He chuckled lightly at her, and placed a hand on her head to give her hair a quick shake. It was in an affectionate manner, it seemed.

“I'm always hungry, Thea."

“Well let's get to it, then. What did you even pack, Sorcha?" Vridel opened the large basket that was centered on one of the many large blankets spread around, peering inside curiously.

It turned out to be mostly food that could be assembled into sandwiches, and sweets, which made a certain kind of sense. Vridel loaded his bread up with an absurd amount of tomatoes in addition to the other ordinary sandwich materials. Sorcha, as usual, opted for mostly vegetables and cheese on hers. Other than an interesting preference for the spicy cured meats available, Cyril's was quite sane.

When everyone was settled, Sorcha nudged a small, wrapped package over towards Senka. “Happy birthday, Sen. From all of us."

From all of them? She took it gingerly, and held it in her hands for a few moments. They gifted her something for her birthday? She glanced at the others, Mercer was too busy trying to shove a rather large sandwich into his mouth, and Amalthea seemed to be interested in the large amounts of tomatoes in Vridel's. Glancing back towards the gift, she slowly unwrapped it to reveal a rather colorful scarf. It wasn't the coloring that caught her attention, though.

The material used to make it and the stitching technique used all belonged to Duscur. Only someone from Duscur was capable of making these kinds of stitchings and patterns. That, or someone who had learned it. She sniffed lightly, feeling something burning at the back of her eyes. She wasn't sure what to make of it, and just let it be. It wasn't until she noticed her cheeks were wet, and that she knew she was crying. Amalthea looked rather alarmed by it, and Mercer looked slightly worried as if they'd done something wrong.

“Oh, Senka, are you alright? Do you not like the present!? Should we not have gotten you something?" she stated, but Senka shook her head. She was touched, actually. Touched that her friends, even if Mercer and Amalthea didn't know, gave her something so beautiful and... well, she didn't know what else to think of it. Cyril's gift had been beautiful as well, but the scarf was from everyone.

“I... am not upset, Thea. This," she stated, lifting the scarf up and wrapping it around herself. It was a little warm to be wearing something like it, but she didn't care. It was a gift from her friends. “This means a lot to me; thank you all."

Sorcha looked to be tearing up just the faintest bit, as well. She had to have been the one who knew, who'd been able to identify the material and craftsmanship as being from Duscur, and convince the others to help. Probably Vridel and Cyril had understood it, too, from the explanation, whatever it had been. She didn't let the tears fall, though, blinking them away and smiling instead. “You're welcome, Sen. Always."

Even Vridel's characteristic sarcastic expression had shifted into something softer, and he nodded, polishing off his sandwich. Perhaps seeking to make sure that she didn't endure much scrutiny or teasing for her reaction, he cleared his throat. “All right, who likes the water? I suppose if we're here we ought to take advantage."

Mercer was the first one up, already heading towards the lake without waiting for anyone, it seemed. Amalthea was running after him, too, something about being taught how to swim. Senka closed her eyes, trying to keep the tears from falling.

This... she could get used to birthdays like this.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Cyril Eisner Character Portrait: Mercer von Riegan Character Portrait: Senka Rinaldi Character Portrait: Amalthea von Kreuz Character Portrait: Vridel von Hresvelg Character Portrait: Sorcha Blaiddyd
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#, as written by Aethyia


I.Y. 1180 - Verdant Rain Moon - Wednesday the 6th
Lake Seiros - Noon - Balmy
Sorcha Blaiddyd


As the group made their way closer to the lakeside, Sorcha remained behind a moment to secure the picnic basket against bugs, then toed off her boots and rolled the legs of her trousers up to her knees. She supposed she might swim, later, but for the moment she just wanted to sit on the edge of the dock and dip her feet into the water.

Settling down at the edge, she let out a sift sigh of contentment as her toes hit the water and sank beneath the surface. Leaning back on her hands, she watched the others. Vridel and Professor Cyril stood on the edge of where the thin strip of sandy shore faded into the lake. The Professor was rolling up the legs of his pants in much the same manner as she had. He also took hold of his tunic by the collar and pulled it over his head, pausing to fold it before setting it down in the grass.

Sorcha knew it wasn't uncommon for men to swim in such a manner, but she'd sort of... forgotten. The Professor didn't seem to think anything of it, heading into the water and swimming out some distance. He was really... quite well-built, wasn't he?

Grimacing, she turned her eyes back to the shore, unsure if she hoped for or hoped against someone else making the same decision.

It seemed that even Mercer was following in Professor's footsteps. He didn't seem to want to roll up his pants, though he did remove his shirt. He blinked before his eyes landed on Sorcha. He waved at her with a grin on his face before he waded into the water. He didn't swim off too far, though, holding his hand out towards Amalthea. She looked a bit perplexed and almost hesitantly took his hand as he guided her through the water. She didn't know how to swim, after all, and it seemed the Mercer was trying to help her. He was nice, that way, always trying to help in some way or another.

“Sorcha," Senka's voice called out to Sorcha as she came into view. She took a seat next to her, and dipped her legs into the water as well, slowly moving them back and forth as she regarded Sorcha with an even gaze. “I... want to say thank you, for this. It... this is the first time I can say I'm actually enjoying myself," she stated, smiling softly in Sorcha's direction.

Honestly, she was glad Senka was there, for more than one reason. It enabled her to focus on her friend instead of the water, an opportunity she welcomed, as the verdict there had been rather... not in her favor. Sen's smile was more than enough to push all that to the background, though, and Sorcha returned it, genuinely warmed by her words. “I'm so glad to hear that, Sen. Really."

She had one more surprise left for the day, and the reason she hadn't already explained it was because, well... it wasn't really hers to explain. She just happened to be the person who'd figured it out. Hopefully it would go as well as she was expecting; Rodrigue was one of the best people Sorcha knew, and perhaps the only noble in Faerghus who'd never looked down on her.

Before she could say anything else, Vridel approached, plonking down on the deck on Senka's other side with a sigh. He glared out at the water for a moment before turning his attention to the other two. “Hello, Sorcha. Happy birthday, Senka. I hope you are finding your festivities sufficiently lacking in obnoxiousness, despite Mercer's presence."

Senka's smile softened somewhat as she nodded her head. “It has been a mostly pleasant experience, thus far. Though I do wonder," she stated, her eyes sliding towards Vridel, “does his presence upset you that much? He is only helping her to learn, you know. Perhaps you'd like to be her teacher, instead?" Senka's brow was lightly raised, almost as if she were teasing Vridel in that sense. Perhaps she was?

“It does not upset me, and I would not prefer that." Vridel frowned at her and sniffed imperiously. Sorcha suppressed a smile.

“Either way, thank you for joining in as well, Vridel. Your presence here, means a lot to me. More than I thought it would, so thank you," she continued, inclining her head in Vridel's direction. “I don't believe this day could be... any more pleasant than it already is." She shook her head, though, and huffed lightly.

That got a little half-grin out of him, at least. “Well, I'm glad I could be part of it then."

“Why aren't you in the water, anyway, Vivi?" Sorcha cocked an eyebrow at him. “You taught me to swim; I know you can." What was more, the Empire was warm enough that he'd have been able to do it much more often than they could in Faerghus, where it was usually limited to the two or three warmest months. She could remember him quite enjoying it, too, back then.

He shrugged, though. “I suppose I don't really feel like it," he replied. It sounded like an excuse for something, but something subtly cued her into the fact that she probably shouldn't ask. Normally Sorcha was terrible at picking up on such things, but this was Vivi. Even after all this time, she still sort of had a read on him, somehow.

“Hm, well you can at least enjoy yourself with us," Senka replied, repeating the slow movements of her legs in the water. She had stopped when Vridel appeared, but seemed content enough to resume. “We can at least enjoy and appreciate your company more-so than the others," she stated, her small smile returning to her face. She remained quiet for a moment, seemingly content.

Mercer and Amalthea seemed to be making progress, though. Mercer was helping her through some of the deeper parts of the water, showing her how to move her arms, and occasionally doing a display of whatever it was he was showing her. Amalthea seemed rather happy at the new experience.

The Professor, meanwhile, had sum what seemed to be several laps around the area, as if reacquainting himself with how it felt to do so. When he was done with that, however, he contemplated Mercer and Thea for a moment before swimming over to the dock instead. He had little trouble hauling himself up and out of the water onto it, pulling his legs up beneath him to cross them.

“This is relatively few people in the lake for a lake excursion," he noted, with what seemed to be a trace of amusement.

Sorcha huffed. She supposed it was. “I'll go in in a little while," she said. “You're not supposed to swim for a half hour after eating."

He blinked, clearly not aware of this rule. Truth be told, Sorcha wasn't exactly sure where it came from or why it was a rule in the first place, but she distinctly remembered it for some reason. “Ah. I see."

“Hm, but that doesn't seem to apply to some people, though," Senka replied, nodding her head in Mercer and Amalthea's direction before her eyes settled on the professor. “I suppose some people are just made differently than others," she continued, narrowing her eyes lightly. She brought her hand up to her hair, though, as if to check something before she dropped it. “I think I might exclude myself from the swimming, though. This is nice, being able to enjoy the water without being in it all the way," she seemed to explain.

“But please do keep swimming if that is what you all want. I can sit here with Vridel and watch you all enjoy yourselves. It'll make..." she paused, brows furrowing slightly before she smiled again, “It'll make me happy to see you all happy."

“Hey now! That's not fair. Everyone is sitting out while I'm here teaching! Teach! This is supposed to be your job!" Mercer shouted from the other side of the lake. He didn't look entirely upset, though, and Amalthea pursed her lips at him. She mouthed something to him, that made him laugh, though, and shake his head.

“Oh?" Cyril replied, arching his brow and raising his voice just enough to be heard. “It rather looked like a party of two. I'd hate to interrupt." The faint edge of amusement to his voice was reflected in his face. Sitting there, with little drops of water dripping off the end of his nose and a stubborn strand of hair refusing to stay slicked back by the water, he looked... like one of them, really. Like someone really around their own age, whose life experiences did not, for once, seem to put him in his own world apart. It was an odd thing to realize, maybe, but she couldn't help feeling it all the same.

Vridel laughed softly at the joke. “Entirely your fault for excluding everyone," he added.

“That is not what it is!" Amalthea shouted back, her face taking on a rather interesting shade of red. She glanced in Vridel's direction, huffed at Mercer, and made her way back to the shore where she plopped down, folding her legs beneath her. Mercer laughed and shook his head, glancing at the others as they all sat on the dock. Senka huffed lightly in amusement, however; something seemed to catch her attention.

“Is that... a banner? From the Kingdom?" she stated, glancing at Sorcha before nodding her head in the direction she'd spotted it. There seemed to be a small company of maybe five to six people. At the front was a man Sorcha easily recognized. It was Rodrigue. It looked like he was heading in the way of the monastery with only a handful of people. “What are they doing all the way out here?" Senka questioned, her head titled slightly in a curious manner.

Oh, he was early. Sorcha supposed that was to be expected from Rodrigue, though. “Ah, actually... I asked him to come visit. Was sort of thinking he might not get here until evening, though." Pulling her feet from the water, she stood. “I should go say hello."

Of course, the trickier part of this whole thing was the bit that came next. “Actually, uh... not to interrupt your day, Sen, but would you mind coming with me? I don't think you've met Rodrigue yet and I really think you should." She hoped this would be enough for her friend to understand the importance of it, though she would have to let Rodrigue do the explaining, for the most part.

Senka seemed confused for a moment, “Rodrigue?" She muttered the name as if she'd forgotten it, but maybe she had? It wasn't until her eyes went wide, and she quickly removed her feet from the water to stand. “I will accompany you," she stated, glancing towards Vridel and Professor. “We'll return soon, but please continue to enjoy yourselves," she stated, bowing lightly at them before walking beside Sorcha. When they were far enough from the group, Senka turned her attention towards Sorcha.

“Is it really un—Rodrigue?" she stated, pursing her lips together as she seemed to correct herself at the last moment. “As in, Rodrigue Fraldarius?"

“You know who he is?" Sorcha's eyes widened. “To you?" It was a curious thing. Sorcha knew both of these people very well, but it wasn't until recently that she'd figured out that Rodrigue's deceased sister was in fact Queen of Duscur, because he was modest enough that he'd simply said she'd married a man from there and died in the Tragedy, and Sorcha had of course never wanted to press. Nor had she pushed Senka to speak more of her family, including what family her mother was from. Sorcha had figured she was noble, but that didn't narrow things down much.

“Because I just figured it out. It's why I wrote him and asked him to come here. I figured he'd want to see you... and I thought you might want to meet him, so..."

“But... I haven't seen him in so long. I didn't even... I didn't even write to him to let him know I was okay, or that I was still alive. I couldn't," Senka stated, her brows furrowing lightly. She took in a soft breath, though, and glanced at Sorcha. “I'm certain he will be surprised to see me, though it has been a long time. I... wonder if he still remembers me," she stated fondly.

“I'm sorry I never told you, though. It's not that I didn't want to, I just..." she paused, pulling the scarf around her neck a little closer to her face. “I didn't trust you at the time. I didn't trust anyone, and... I was afraid of what would happen if I did," she shook her head at herself, it seemed, before she smiled softly. “I trust you now, though. Always will. Rodrigue is my mother's half-brother, which in turn, makes him my uncle."

“I know," Sorcha said quietly. And she didn't blame Senka for any of it. On the contrary, she was just relieved to hear that her friend trusted her now. “And he was surprised to hear you were alive, but you should have seen his last letter, Sen. He's so excited to see you again. He... he lost your cousin in the tragedy too, you know. Glenn. He doesn't have a lot of family left. He's been... he's been really good to me, actually. My whole life, but especially since my parents died. I'm... I'm really glad you two are going to get to meet each other again."

Senka deserved for things like this—good things—to happen to her. And so did Rodrigue. If Sorcha could play some small part in making it happen, well she wouldn't hesitate for a second.

“Hm," was the only reply Senka gave. “He has always been a kind soul. He... mother used to say that he was the epitome of what a Knight should be," she spoke softly, keeping her gaze in front of her. “I am... excited to see him, too," she added. It wasn't long before they approached Rodrigue's group. He happened to glance in their direction, and immediately called for the group to halt. He turned his horse in the direction of Sorcha and Senka, and made his way towards them. When he was close enough, he dismounted. At first, it seemed, he was moving rather fast, his steps hurried and almost impatient.

When he was close enough, he didn't seem to be stopping, and instead, continued walking in a hurried fashion towards Senka. The hug must have caught her off guard since her hands were partially raised to receive him, however; he seemed to tighten his hold on her. From the part of her face that was visible against his fur-lined cloak, Senka looked on the verge to be crying.

“Senka," he whispered, his voice soft and almost raw. “I thought I lost you, too," he continued. Senka finally managed to place her hands on his back, and returned the embrace. “I can't believe it's been four years since..." he didn't need to continue for Senka or Sorcha to understand.

“I'm sorry, uncle. I... I've missed you," she muttered between breaths. It sounded like she was trying to hold back the tears, but she was doing a rather poor job of it. Rodrigue finally pulled away, smiling brightly as he turned to gaze at Sorcha.

“Your Highness," he stated, bowing lightly in front of Sorcha. “Thank you for writing me. I see you are still well," he spoke in Sorcha's direction.

Sorcha felt her heart clench, a little smile for her friends crossing her face and also... also a tiny stab of pain. No one in her life had ever hugged her like that, like it was a profound joy just to see her, to know she was alive. She wished—

But no. This wasn't about her at all. Senka deserved this, and Sorcha was beyond happy that she got to have it, that after everything that had happened to her, she got to get one little piece of happiness back from the jaws of the Tragedy. She swallowed thickly, inclining her head slightly when Rodrigue bowed. “I am; thank you, Rodrigue." She smiled. “I'm sure the two of you have catching up to do, though; please, do not delay on my account."

“There is plenty of time for that," Rodrigue replied, smiling still at Sorcha. “Ah, but I was supposed to meet you at the monastery. What brings you here, to the lake?" he asked.

“It... is my birthday, today, and my friends..." Senka spoke, pausing to glance at Sorcha, “we were celebrating it at the lake. They are still there." Rodrigue seemed surprised at the statement.

“Is it really that time of the year? Well, I suppose I might have a bit of a gift for you, but that can wait until we return to the monastery," he stated happily enough. Senka nodded her head, but glanced over her shoulders.

“I would like you to meet them, when you have the chance," Senka stated, causing Rodrigue to nod his head. “I am sure you will take to them as I have," she continued, smiling just soft enough that her eyes seemed to brighten.

“I'd like that. Perhaps after my meeting with the archbishop, I can meet your friends. While there is catching up to do," he paused to smile at Sorcha, “your letter was not my only summons to the monastery. Lady Rhea has news for me that I must attend to. For now, I will let you enjoy your celebrations." He turned to Sorcha, then, and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“It was good seeing you, Sorcha. And thank you, again," he stated, patting her shoulder before he dropped his hands.

“You're welcome, of course," Sorcha replied, letting out a breath and feeling her shoulders relax. “Please, do come visit us when you're done." She'd have to warn everyone so their clothes would be dry in time.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jeralt's Journal Character Portrait: Cyril Eisner Character Portrait: Mercer von Riegan Character Portrait: Senka Rinaldi Character Portrait: Amalthea von Kreuz Character Portrait: Vridel von Hresvelg
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#, as written by Aethyia


I.Y. 1180 - Verdant Rain Moon - Tuesday the 12th
Derdriu (South Gate) - Midmorning - Sunny
Vridel von Hresvelg


Vridel wasn't exactly sure how Cyril had managed to convince the Archbishop that a field trip to the Alliance capital was a good idea, but he certainly couldn't complain. Given the historical tensions between Fódlan's three countries, it was unusual for members of other royal families to visit such places, and he was well aware that he and Sorcha would both be under a great deal of scrutiny from the nobles here during the trip, but he thought perhaps it might be well worth it. He was scrutinized wherever he went and whatever he did, after all; this wasn't so unusual.

Mercer had seemed rather surprised to learn that the Professor's entire Saturday group would be accompanying him home, along with his mother and Lady Lyanna, but not even they as the future sovereigns of countries generally got to say no to the Archbishop, if he'd even have been inclined to in the first place.

As they approached the southern gate of Derdriu, Vridel scanned the landscape from the back of his borrowed horse. Even at march pace on horseback, it was a two-day journey from the Monastery. The temperature was noticeably more moderate here, and less humid, no doubt the ocean's influence. He was looking forward to seeing the so-called Aquatic City, said to be one of the world's most beautiful places, and more in harmony with the bordering ocean than even the Empire's grand ports.

Before they drew too close, the fliers in their group landed, which mostly just meant Sorcha, Mercer, and Lady Lyanna, who sat sidesaddle astride a pristine white pegasus mount. “Something amiss?" he inquired, glancing between them.

Sorcha pursed her lips. “There is a rather large party ahead, waiting at the gates. They appear to be flying the Crest of Gloucester."

“Flashy bastard," Mercer mumbled as he appeared slightly in front of Vridel. “He just wants to be seen; he's like a peacock who has to strut his feathers. Don't mind him, too much, though. Hopefully you all won't have to interact with him, much," he continued, not bothering to hide his disdain. Mercer didn't appear to like the Duke of Gloucester.

“Why is that?" Senka asked, pulling up to Vridel's left on Libi, the black gelding she'd requested. Mercer pursed his lips in her direction.

“Don't be too surprised if he tries to proposition you for... things," he stated, causing Senka's brows to furrow.

“Proposition? Like what?" Amalthea asked, clearly not understanding the reference Mercer had stated. She was on Senka's otherside, mounted on a chestnut mare.

“Don't worry about it, too much, Thea. Just stay close to us, or your sister during the stay," Mercer replied, giving Amalthea a small grin.

Vridel, of course, knew very well what things Mercer was referring to. Honestly someone like that would be lucky to get Thea to understand what he wanted, never mind the rest. He would know—he hadn't yet really succeeded at the first. Perhaps it would have been easier if he knew exactly what he wanted in the first place.

The Professor, riding near the front of the column with Judith, looked rather indifferent as usual, though he did squint a bit at the gate, as if to assess the waiting party.

Sorcha looked slightly upset by something, but nudged Lady forward on foot with nothing more than a sigh.

Vridel figured that was that, and the group resumed its progress towards the gate. He supposed they looked rather less impressive than a company of knights; they were distinctly less unified in bearing, with fliers and pack horses and a small wagon in their midst. If anything, the patchwork of it would resemble merchants traveling with an armed guard, or... mercenaries, perhaps.

He found he didn't hate that so much. Better that marching with Church banners waving obnoxiously over their heads, anyway.

As they drew closer, the figured resolved more distinctly. At the head of the group was who could only have been Gloucester. He rode in polished silver armor, the family standard of a rose crowned with the Gloucester Crest obvious on the bannermen behind him. His horse was an Imperial charger, Vridel was sure of it, a large white one, and he'd foregone the helm of his armor in favor of meeting them barefaced. He was probably quite confident in his looks, as that type so often were. Admittedly, he wasn't unattractive—the dark lavender shade of his hair was unusual enough to be striking, and his features certainly qualified as elegant, in a masculine sort of way.

When the party was close enough, he and his two bannermen detached from the rest of his party, riding forward to meet them. It was all very chivalrous, and entirely unnecessary in Vridel's opinion, though he supposed it was all about knowing one's audience. He knew at least that Faerghus had a great cultural appreciation for this sort of thing. Perhaps he meant to impress Sorcha? He could have done worse if so.

“Hail, visitors!" Gloucester called out, drawing to a stop a polite distance away. “Might I ask if Her Highness Princess Sorcha Blaiddyd is among you?"

There was a beat of silence, during which Vridel threw a look at Mercer, curious as to whether this sort of thing was normal for the Duke.

Mercer mumbled something beneath his breath, but glanced directly at Gloucester. “Couldn't you wait until we were inside? We've been traveling for two days, Matteo, don't you think the Princess would like to rest first? As well as my other guests?" he stated, clearly irritated by something.

“Mercer," the Duke replied, clearly not entirely pleased to be addressed by his first name and returning the insult in kind. “How... pleasant, to see you. As for the occasion, well—that is precisely why I and mine are here. I had thought to give your... party a proper escort through the city, so as to better avoid the crowds and suchlike. I had also intended to invite my intended to board at my estate here in the city. I should hate for House Riegan to find themselves... overtaxed, with such an abundance of guests."

At this point, Sorcha cleared her throat, raising her hand briefly before swinging down from Lady's back. “I'm Sorcha," she said, looking rather like she was bracing herself for something.

Gloucester blinked at her, perhaps slightly taken aback either by her directness or the fact that she had in fact made the journey astride an 'unlucky' beast. He swiftly dismounted himself, and approached her.

“Ah, so the rumors of your exquisiteness are true, Your Highness." Gloucester delivered the line with perfect sincerity. Looked at a certain way, it was almost impressive. Vridel didn't think he could have willingly said that seriously. “No—on second thought, I daresay they have not done you enough credit." Reaching forward, he took up Sorcha's hand, startling her, it seemed, as she'd been about to dip into a bow. Instead, though, he raised her hand to his lips, brushing them lightly over her knuckles. Mercer openly glared at Gloucester when he did.

“Enchanted to meet you, my Princess."

“U—um," Sorcha stammered, flushing a bright pink. “I'm sure it's nothing so—"

“Nonsense!" the Duke cut off her self-effacing reply with a wave of his free hand. “But please—Mercer does have a point. I should hate for our esteemed guests to be kept from the rest they so surely deserve!" Keen eyes swept the group. If Vridel had not been practiced in looking for such things, he probably would have missed the way the Duke subtly lingered on the other women as well, but as it was he definitely noticed.

This, he thought, could get ugly.

Reluctantly parting with Sorcha's hand, Gloucester remounted. “Please: ladies, gentlemen. Allow the Knights of House Gloucester to serve as your honor guard and guides to the fair city of Derdriu. If there is anything you should require during your stay, do not hesitate to ask it of us." Without so much as waiting for a reply, he wheeled his charger and began to lead the way to the gate, his bannermen flanking him.

Mercer didn't say anything, and motioned Sir forward to follow behind Gloucester's company. “This is unnecessary, even if he was being serious about it. This is all for show, is it not?" Senka asked, riding beside Vridel and glancing at him from the corner of her eye. She must have noticed something, otherwise she wouldn't have mentioned it to Vridel. They were close enough that she didn't speak loud so that the others could hear her, though.

“Oh, it's completely unnecessary," Vridel replied, just as quietly. “But he's not doing it because we need an escort. He's doing it to get one over on Mercer. It's plain they don't like each other, even before Sorcha figures into it. And Mercer's all but given himself away with some of his reactions, so I'll wager our 'friend' the Duke just got some information out of this that makes it entirely worth pretending to care about any of us."

This was real politics, not the friendly ribbing they all gave each other at the Academy. And everyone here would be watching them all very closely, looking for weaknesses and exploitable character flaws, anything that might give them any kind of inside knowledge of or leverage over himself, Mercer, Sorcha, or the Church. And like it or not, that meant the others were automatically just as involved.

“This so exciting! We're being escorted by knights, almost. It's... almost romantic!" Thea didn't seem to have any reserves about being led into the city. She was, as usual, very excited about it. She glanced between Vridel and Senka and merely smiled. Mercer had remained in front, though from the way his shoulders were tense, he didn't seem to be happy about any of this. Whether it was because of Gloucester's actions, or the fact that he stated that Sorcha was his intended. It might have been both.

Sorcha hastened to remount, riding a little behind most everyone else. She seemed to be looking down at her hand, as though something about it was suddenly fascinating. Vridel tried not to grimace; he recognized the effect, having intentionally induced it more than once himself. Fortunately, Cyril rode up beside her a moment later and said something he couldn't hear, drawing her into some kind of conversation. That wasn't as bad, perhaps.

“Emphasis on almost," Vridel murmured, a response to Thea that he didn't really intend for her to hear. Of all the people in this group, he figured she was the most likely to fall for even the thinnest pretenses, and made a mental note to keep an eye on her.

They passed through the gate and into the city proper thereafter. It was a lively place; Gloucester had at the very least not been false when he'd implied that the crowds were large. They parted for the knights, though, who formed a protective ring around the group, keeping them apart from those milling on foot. It wasn't too hard to pick out the main threads of conversation, though.

“Duke Gloucester's Knights—"

“Is that young Lord Riegan?"

“That hair—the Imperial Lily?" Vridel frowned at that one, head snapping to the side to glare in the direction it had come from. A cluster of young women startled, then giggled, one or two of the bolder ones waving at him. One of them actually winked. He suppressed a sigh. At least it wasn't meant in insult, he supposed.

“What are they doing here? The Church?"

To his credit, Mercer was back to his normal self, smiling at the crowd and waving. Some of the people seemed to be intimidated by Sir, but the wyvern merely kept his head held high, as if he were strutting. Amalthea had moved a little further up on her horse, and Senka moved with her. They seemed to be spared from any of the chatter. Senka wasn't wearing anything that linked her to the church, save for the fact that she was riding with them. Amalthea was wearing the church's sigil embroidered on her cloak, so that was a giveaway.

Cyril wore only his father's sigils, and otherwise looked exactly like the mercenary he was, so even riding next to Sorcha, he drew no particular attention beyond what an attractive human being in such company would. Sorcha, too, was conspicuously without any of the trappings of anyone who might seem to be the Princess of anywhere, and looked, no doubt, more like she was with the Professor than any of the rest of them.

For his part, Vridel preferred to do what he'd always done; ignore the crowd. He didn't hate commoners by any means; he wasn't the kind of noble who disrespected the contributions of his people to his country. But he wasn't really the kind of bright, open personality Mercer was, and the idea of trying to fake it was... unpleasant.

Mercer had actually fallen back a bit, so that he was now riding next to Vridel. “Man, I hope this goes by fast. I really don't want to be here," he muttered, smile still in place as if nothing was wrong. It was easy to tell, at least for Vridel, that Mercer was upset, and that Gloucester was the one responsible for it. “Sorry you have to be here to witness this little game, though. Maybe you can help a friend out, yeah?" he stated grimly, though not at all serious about the last part.

“It's fine," Vridel replied easily. “I promise you I'm used to them. You want me to stab him or something? I can make it look like an accident. Or Reynard can, whichever."

“I'd say please, but it wouldn't really work that well," he replied, pushing a sigh through his nose. “I honestly don't know what Gloucester has planned. He is laying it on thick, and that's saying something for someone like him. No offense, Vi, but at least you have more class," Mercer stated, his smile turning into a small grin.

“I really don't have to tell you this since you already know, but," Mercer began, but paused as his face took on a more serious note, “watch your back. Closely. People here, you know exactly the kind they are, but they," he nodded towards the others, “they don't know. We should make sure they're at least going to be okay, and... if you could do me a solid. Watch Sorcha. I don't trust Gloucester alone with her. I trust her, but not him."

Ordinarily Vridel would remind Mercer that Sorcha was quite a capable person, and rather able to look out for herself, but... he was fairly sure Gloucester has also attended the Academy, and the years of experience since didn't seem to have been useless. The knightly act was in part an act, to be certain, but the discipline of the Duke's men, the surety of his posture on his horse... he was quite convinced there was real skill underlying that. All the more unfortunate.

So instead he expelled a breath, and gave Mercer a short nod. “Your esteem flatters me," he drawled sarcastically. “But... yes. I will keep an eye on them as well."

Mercer seemed to relax at the statement, almost as if he was not as burdened as he'd been when they arrived. “Thanks, Vi. You're a solid friend," he stated, rolling out his shoulders as he nudged Sir back to the front.

He did wonder about that, but... well, perhaps it would do for now.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jeralt's Journal Character Portrait: Cyril Eisner Character Portrait: Senka Rinaldi Character Portrait: Vridel von Hresvelg
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I.Y. 1180 - Verdant Rain Moon - Tuesday the 12th
Derdriu - Early Evening - Warm
Senka Rinaldi


When they had arrived at the von Riegan manor, Senka had never seen anything so beautiful. The designs of the architecture were beautiful, and not at all like the ones back in Duscur. Not even Faerghus could compare to it. They had been greeted by a few other nobles of the Leicester Alliance when they'd arrived further into Derdriu, however; none of them seemed as elegant as Gloucester made himself. She'd spotted one of the lords, or Dukes—she really didn't know who he was—staring at her, specifically. It didn't make her uncomfortable, though. Senka was used to people staring at her for various and obvious reasons.

Their mounts had been led to the stables, and everyone had been ushered near the foyer of the manor, however; she been separated from Sorcha and the others by the time she'd made it to the foyer. Glancing around, she pursed her lips together until she spotted Lady Judith. The woman noticed her, and grinned. “Hey, kid, you lost?" she asked, making her way towards Senka.

“No," she replied. “I am waiting on the others," she continued, keeping her eyes on the von Riegan woman. Judith huffed lightly, and shook her head.

“You'll be waiting for awhile. Gloucester wanted to speak to your Princess, and the von Kreuz lady and her sister were escorted to their rooms," Judith spoke, causing Senka to purse her lips. “Don't know about the Imperial boy, but your teacher was around here somewhere." She shrugged in a nonchalant manner, reminiscent to Mercer's shrugs. She grinned, then, as if a thought crossed her mind. It was sly, almost mischievous in nature.

“You can join me, though. I'm headed out for a drink, and I'd love to hear all about my future daughter," she stated suddenly, grinning at Senka. She wasn't so sure if she should be seen drinking with a lord of the Alliance, let a lone Mercer's mother, however; Senka thought about it briefly, before shaking her head.

“I couldn't tell you much about them, honestly," she stated. Judith barked a short laugh as if she found something funny. Senka wasn't too sure what it was, though.

It wasn't more than another moment later before Cyril appeared from a side door—one that led into one of the guest hallways. He held it open for a moment, and Vridel stepped out behind him, looking somewhat more irritated than usual. They spotted Senka and Judith, and made their way over.

“Did I hear something about drinks?" Vridel muttered, flicking his eyes between them. “Because I was just going to ask where the nearest tavern is."

“That's right," Judith replied, nodding in Vridel's direction. “I invited your pretty friend, here, for some drinks so that I could learn more about my future daughter," she seemed to explain. “You're her Teach, right Cyril? And you've," she turned her attention to Vridel, “spent some time with her. Care to tell me all about Sorcha Blaiddyd over drinks?" She seemed to be inviting the other two. Senka wasn't so sure that was a good idea, however; some part of her didn't mind.

“I do not mind going if they are as well," Senka stated as she nodded her head in Cyril and Vridel's direction.

“Great. What say you two?"

The two exchanged a glance, after which Cyril shrugged. Vridel seemed to take this as an acceptable answer, because he turned his attention back to Judith. “If you're buying, you can ask me whatever you want about her."

Judith huffed lightly and crossed her arms over her chest. “I can ask, yes, but you better answer them. I know your type, Imperial boy, but yes, I will be buying the drinks," she grinned at them and motioned for them to follow her. It wasn't long before they reached the nearby tavern, and Judith ushered them all inside. They found a table nestled in the back corner of the place while Judith seemed to place an order. She returned not too long afterwards with a large pitcher, and four cups. She placed one in front of Cyril, Vridel, and Senka before she sat down.

“Alright, so, let's start with you since you seem to be glued to Sorcha's hip. What do you know of their current relationship?" Judith seemed to jump right into the questioning. Senka blinked slowly as Judith began filling up her cup, and offering the pitcher to the other two at the table.

“They are friends, however," she paused, her eyes sliding towards Vridel before she returned her gaze back to Judith. “I'm not sure it's my place to say..." Judith pursed her lips together and leaned back in her chair, one of her arms draped casually over the back.

“C'mon kid, take a drink, and then tell me," Judith drawled, motioning towards the cup in front of Senka. Senka furrowed her brows, and sighed. Reaching towards the cup, she lifted it to her face, and breathed in the scent. It smelled fairly strange, stronger than most drinks she remembered her father used to partake in, however; she finally placed the cup to her lips, and took a drink. She immediately regretted it as she coughed, the liquid burning the back of her throat. Judith seemed to find it amusing as she laughed.

Cyril lifted a hand to pat her back, with just enough force to help the cough settle. He seemed to be having no such difficulty with his own drink; half of it had been summarily consumed already. Vridel was a little slower, but he'd clearly had at least a little practice, if the lack of spluttering was any indication.

“It's not that big a deal, Sen," he said with a shrug. “Gossiping about your friends is practically in the rules of friendship. You don't give away anything you were told in confidence, but everything else is fair game if you want to mention it."

That was easy for him to say. Everything Sorcha had told her was in confidence, and if she told... well, she supposed it didn't really matter. Sorcha was, technically betrothed to Mercer, now, and Judith was Mercer's mother. She supposed it wouldn't hurt? “Well, Sorcha has fancied Mercer for quite a while," she began, pursing her lips in the direction of her cup. She took another drink, going a little slower, and winced slightly as the burning sensation in her throat subsided a little.

“For as long as I've known her, which has only been four years." Judith seemed intrigued by that statement.

“But Mercer hasn't been at the Academy not even a year, yet. How could she have fancied him for almost four years?" she asked, tilting her head in Senka's direction.

“She mentioned that she came here when she was a child, did she not?" Senka retorted, causing Judith to snort, and wave a dismissive hand in front of her face.

“Ah, that's right. Sorcha was just a small thing, then. Oh," she seemed to recall something suddenly, and leaned forward to rest her forearms on the table. “Mercer said he lost his stone around that time she was visiting. Does that mean... she's fancied him for that long?" she seemed rather interested in the answer. Senka thought it better to nod in reply, and did.

“She didn't know it was him, I don't think," Vridel added, taking another swallow of his drink. “Her memory's always been sort of patchy, but I met her when I was ten, so she'd have been about nine, and she told me she'd gotten the stone from 'a nice boy who made her smile,' I think were her words. She calls him her 'first love,' though if I'm being honest I doubt she's had a second. And innocent as it was, it meant a lot to her."

He pursed his lips, then, almost as if he were considering whether to say something. He must have decided it was worth doing so, though, because with a soft exhale he continued. “She's never really fit in, in Faerghus. She's too soft in a lot of ways, too radical in others. She's got it in her head that she's not allowed to like anything or be in any way feminine, because she has to be as close to a boy as possible. She used to think they'd like her, if she was. Even asked me how to act more like a boy. Me." He pointed to himself, no doubt an oblique reference to his rather pretty features.

“It was kind of flattering at the time, but only until I figured out why she cared."

“Why does it concern them so much, anyway?" Cyril asked, already refilling his glass from the pitcher.

Vridel sighed. “Since Loog, Faerghus has been a Kingdom. As in, only kings, and all of them with the Major Crest of Blaiddyd. Culturally, they take a lot of pride in being able to weather the harsh conditions of their country, and in being powerful despite their relatively small population. Every man in the country has military training, and they prize physical strength and chivalry, where the Empire favors a mix of magical supremacy and infantry, and the Alliance is best known for their archers, flyers, and cunning. No one says women aren't as important, but..."

“When you consider the average man and the average woman, the man comes out better on the traits they value, in part because he's trained for it," Cyril finished, brows drawing together.

Judith rolled her eyes, hard. “Yeah, well everyone knows Faerghus is ruled by idiots," she muttered, almost as if she were trying to offend the Kingdom. Senka didn't blame her. She knew Sorcha had her issues, but for them to be stemmed that deeply? For those things that were not in Sorcha's control? It made Senka angry. Sorcha was her gentle-hearted friend, the person whom Senka had depended on when her country had been destroyed, and her people killed. To her, Sorcha has always had a strong conviction, and would make a great Queen one day.

In Duscur, that wasn't the case. Everyone who showed the slightest talent, man or woman, in any field was trained for it, however; Duscur wasn't a war-trained nation. They had been much too peaceful, then. Her father had even allowed her to train with some of the knights, and learned the magic of her mother. She was trained in whatever she wanted. It didn't seem fair that Sorcha didn't get that chance.

“Hm, she doesn't have the best confidence in herself," which Senka understood. They shared a lot of those negative traits, but Senka thought that they were working through them. “It is a shame that she doesn't want to be feminine," Sorcha was a beautiful young woman, at least to Senka.

“Indeed, it's a shame. Well, that's going to have to change," Judith stated, throwing back her drink as if it were second nature to her. “There's a merchant in town who specializes in clothes and tunics that are quite beautiful on the right person, but are made in a way that even someone like Sorcha would enjoy them."

“How so?" Senka was quite curious, and Judith grinned.

“Well, there are tunics that shape the figure rather nicely, but they don't restrict movement. They'll make her look and feel like a warrior, but also help remind her that she is, first and foremost, a lady. There might even be a few things that will look lovely on you, kid, especially with your figure," Judith was quite bold in her statements, but it was enough that Senka felt her cheeks warm. She'd never been complimented like that before, and wasn't quite sure how to take it.

“Probably not even necessary," Vridel said with a teasing lilt. “Sen was ogled twice today. Even if you don't count Gloucester, since he stared at every woman with a pulse in our group," his lip curled in a faint sneer before smoothing away. “There was still that other fellow. Redhead, Deirdre was talking to him? I think she said he was her cousin, so that'd make him a Goneril, I suppose."

“Duke Alaric," Cyril supplied mildly. “My father and I did some work for him once, up near Fódlan's Locket. Border skirmish; he wanted it resolved quietly, so it would look like two groups of bandits had a dispute and both countries could overlook it. That was..." he paused, thoughtful. “Five years ago? I think he'd just inherited."

Judith barked a laugh at the remark. “Goneril? Really," she drawled, glancing towards Senka. Senka, however, pursed her lips in Vridel's direction, a strange burning sensation on her face. If she remembered, Sorcha had said that was what a blush felt like. She'd never had a reason to blush before, but now, what these people were saying? They were slightly embarrassing. “Goneril doesn't have a wife, yet, though I've never seen him interested in anyone before. Maybe he intends to woo little Sen, here," she continued, leaning her head onto her fist, her elbow propped up on the table as support.

Senka wasn't entirely sure how to take that. Woo? What did that word mean? “I'm certain he wasn't looking at me," she murmured into the rim of her cup, taking another drink. After all, why would anyone look at her? She wasn't... well, she didn't think she was, anyway.

“Oh, but Vi, here, says he was. It's alright, Sen, you're a beautiful person. I'm sure you've had your fair share of admirers." Judith stated, causing Senka's blush to deepen.

“I... haven't, no." She admitted softly. Her father had never pushed her into an arranged marriage, nor saw it fit to try and find a suitor for her. He wanted her to know what he had known, and fall in love with someone she wanted. She was loved by her people, but it wasn't the same thing. It didn't matter, though.

“Really, now. Well that'll change, I'm sure," Judith stated, her eyes sliding towards Cyril before they landed on Vridel. Senka thought she saw something mischievous in Judith's eyes, but it might have been the poor lighting in the tavern.

Vridel arched an eyebrow back at her, then shifted his attention to Senka with a sniff. He poured himself another drink. “Really. You and Sorcha are ridiculous. It's fine to admit you're attractive, you know. I, for example, am very good-looking. Does it make me a better person? No. But it's the truth; no point denying it." He shrugged. “Lady Judith here is likewise quite lovely, and no doubt partially responsible for the fact that Mercer is." He seemed to have absolutely no issue saying any of this. To him, they really did seem to just be facts.

“Professor Cyril, you'd say Senka's pretty, wouldn't you?" he asked offhandedly.

The table's attention moved at that, but Cyril only blinked, blank-faced as ever, and sat back in his chair, still working on his second drink. “No," he replied with a shrug of his own. “The better word is beautiful." He tilted his head, regarding her with sympathy. “But if you'd rather the topic of discussion change, you need only say so."

Senka could not bring herself to look Cyril in the eye. Her face was burning, and she was certain the color would be visible even against her skin. Judith seemed to find it amusing since she was laughing rather loudly. “Aren't you smooth with the ladies, Cy?" Judith spoke, glancing in Cyril's direction. Senka merely swallowed thickly, and kept her gaze on her cup.

“No?" he replied, seemingly vaguely confused. “Usually people are unnerved by my face. Including women." He pointed at his face, which if the sound of his voice was anything to go by, was characteristically inexpressive still.

Vridel barked a soft laugh. “Oh I'm sure not all of them are. It's a very nice face."

“It doesn't seem to bother the professionals, at least," Cyril agreed with a nod. “But I suppose they wouldn't show it even if it did."

Vridel snorted—hard enough that he immediately had to reach for a cloth napkin and hold it to his nose. He started to cough, interspersed with laughter. “You just—" He coughed again. “Mercer's going to be so mad he missed this."

“Vi has a very good point, though, Sen. Even Cy agrees that you're lovely, so now we just have to show the others how lovely you are. You and my future daughter, and maybe even the little verdant-haired girl. That's, of course, assuming I can steal her away from her sister. That von Kreuz lady seems pretty intense," she stated as if it were the easiest thing in the world to say. For someone like Judith, it probably was.

“I... um. Thank you. Vi. Cy—Cyril," she stuttered. She really couldn't look anyone in the eye right now.

Vridel, still chuckling, shook his head. “No need to thank us for stating facts, Sen."

Cyril, on the other hand, seemed inclined to take mercy on her obvious discomfort. “You were asking us about Sorcha, though? Or perhaps there is something you wish to tell about Mercer?" He seemed to have grasped the concept of gossip fairly quickly, if bluntly. He picked up the pitcher and topped off everyone's drinks as they awaited Judith's answer.

“Ah, you're no fun, Cy," Judith stated, waving a hand in front of her face. “As for the boy, you already know how he is. He's a little shit, but oh, did I tell you he used to be afraid of fish? Couldn't look at 'em at all. He said they were bad, or something like that. The boy was strange in his youth," she stated, throwing her drink back rather quickly. Senka merely pursed her lips together, taking a slow drink from her cup.

Vridel's laughter redoubled, though it wasn't clear why.

“He was also a very chubby kid. Cute as a wyvern, though," she added as if she were recalling a fond memory. Senka couldn't picture Mercer as a heavy-set child. He was lanky, but had strength in him. It was like his frame belied his true capability, but she supposed that might have been the way he carried himself. She could understand wanting to appear less threatening, or even not at all.

“You know, I could see it. Sorcha was this bony little thing—and small enough that she looked like a doll." Vridel shook his head, putting his chin in his hand and bracing his elbow on the table. “She had the fiercest eyes, though. Refused to cry about anything, though I suppose now I know why that is."

“As I remember it, the boy said he gave her that engagement stone as a way to make her stop crying," Judith responded, finishing off her drink. “But it was rather adorable when they were running together. The boy was this little ball of a kid, and Sorcha was chasing after him because of something he'd said. I wish there was a way to have captured that moment. It would be embarrassing to him if I could have shown it to everyone." Senka felt her lips tilting up at that moment.

She missed this. Missed talking with her mother and recalling fond memories with her father. To have her parents talk about her like that when they had visitors. It was nice, and she'd forgotten what that felt like. Even if they were teasing Mercer and Sorcha, she missed things like this.

“Oh, is that I smile I see, Sen?" Judith pulled Senka from her thoughts, and she turned to face the Lady.

“It is," she admitted, though she didn't know why, exactly.

“You really are too much," Judith stated and huffed lightly. “Well now, anything else I should know about the boy and Sorcha? Other than what's been stated? I feel like I have an understanding of my future daughter, but is there anything else I should know?"

Vridel appeared to consider this, then finally shook his head. “Honestly, just watching them will tell you the rest better than I ever could. They're idiots, both of them, and rather oblivious, but I suppose time might wise them up a little."

Judith huffed. “You've a point, Vi. It wouldn't hurt to push them in the right direction, though. The boy is stupid, but he's not dense." She glanced in Cyril's direction before turning to Senka. “I know a couple of people who are like that; they need the right push." Senka wasn't sure what that had meant, but she did not doubt Judith knew plenty of people. She was a Lady, after all.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Amalthea von Kreuz Character Portrait: Vridel von Hresvelg
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#, as written by Aethyia


I.Y. 1180 - Verdant Rain Moon - Tuesday the 13th
Riegan Manor - Afternoon - Warm
Vridel von Hresvelg


Vridel stretched his arms over his head, grunting softly when his spine popped into place. Dropping his arms with a sigh, he contemplated the hallway, trying to pick a direction. Professor Cyril had required only that they spend some time each day doing something that qualified as practice, which most of them had taken care of early in the morning. He didn't doubt the majority of his classmates were now out on the town, enjoying the sights and entertainments of Derdriu. Unlike himself, who was rather annoyingly under the supervision of a much stricter instructor.

Lady Lyanna had only just let him out of healing practice, saying something about needing to talk to Amalthea about something. He hoped it wasn't anything too time-consuming; they'd already been at it for hours. Vridel wasn't certain if he wanted to head out into the city himself or just take a nap. He was feeling rather lethargic, something that occasionally happened to him for no reason at all. He knew why, of course—his body was always overtaxed. It was the same reason he ate so much.

He hated the feeling, and hated giving into it.

Maybe if he stopped in the kitchen and grabbed something, he wouldn't need to sleep. The thought in mind, he altered his course slightly, intent on raiding Mercer's pantry.

He wasn't too far from the kitchen when the sounds of someone running could be heard behind him. The person passed him, however; when they stopped, almost abruptly, it was easy to see that it was Amalthea. She looked slightly out of breath as she regarded Vridel for a moment. She smiled afterwards and made her way back towards him.

“Vridel, do you know where the kitchen is? I told Lyanna I was going to make her some sweets since... well, she's been a little grumpier than usual. I want her to be happy since we get to be in such a beautiful place. Oh, and... well I could try and make something for you, too. I know you like sweets almost as much as Lyanna does," she spoke all in one breath.

He blinked down at her, raising a speculative eyebrow, though he was almost surprised to feel no irritation. He could be a bit clipped himself when he was low on energy like this, not to mention he'd just been stuck in a room with her for six hours with little by way of a break, but... somehow he felt nothing of the kind. In fact, he... was he smiling?

It took a moment to recognize the way it felt on his face, but he was.

“It's this way," he told her simply. “I was heading there myself, but if sweets are on the table I suppose I'd be better off offering my assistance to the chef." He shifted aside a little on the carpet runner, to make room for her to walk beside him, then headed for the kitchen.

It was empty when they got there; the staff wouldn't likely need to use it for another couple of hours. Dinners in Derdriu seemed to be curiously-late affairs, by the standards elsewhere in Fódlan, taken closer to nine in the evening than six.

“I could use the help. I'm not... very good when it comes to baking things. I'm actually not a very good... well, I can't cook very well and I can't bake. But I'm trying to get better at it!" she stated, furrowing her brows almost as if to herself. “I can make very small and basic things, like cupcakes. I can't make the jelly-doughnuts that Lyanna loves, though," her lips pursed into a fine line before she shook her head.

“Oh," she stated suddenly, turning her full attention to him, “I've been meaning to ask! How have you been lately? You... usually look tired and I was... well I was wondering if there was anything I could do to help you with that. I've read a few of the tea books that say certain ones can help you relax and..." she trailed off as if he would understand what she was getting at.

“I usually look tired?" he echoed, snorting quietly. “What a flattering thing to say." He arched an eyebrow at her, opening one of the cupboards to see what was inside. Jelly doughnuts, was it? He supposed he could manage that. The second cabinet yielded flour and sugar, for a start. Bringing both down, he regarded Amalthea from the corner of his eye.

“But to answer your question, I'm fine. I was..." He tried to think of a plausible excuse, ideally one that was also technically true. He didn't much relish the thought of lying to her, woman of the Church or not. “In my childhood, I was sick. It turned my hair this color and occasionally still irritates me in other ways, but it's nothing to worry about." Certainly nothing for anyone to worry about but him. Vridel preferred to take care of his own problems, and it was useless to cause other people concern over things they could do nothing about regardless.

She pursed her lips at him, but didn't say anything. She grabbed a mixing bowl and set it down on one of the tabletops. She made her way to where the utensils were, and grabbed the spoons and whisks she would need to make the baked goods. “If it still bothers you, that means you're still somewhat sick from it, right? Is... can I do anything to help you at least ease it somehow? I don't know what it is that you have, or had, but if it's still bothering you, I would like to help if I can. The monastery has a lot of books on herbs and you've been helping me learn botany..." she trailed off again and grabbed a cup. It didn't seem to be what she wanted, though, and she placed it back.

“Oh, maybe I can ask Lyanna if she knows any healing spells that might help?" Her eyes were wide, almost hopeful for some reason.

“I'm afraid there isn't much to be done. The symptoms I have now are the result of damage to my body that is permanent. Just like no amount of herbs or healing magic can remove a scar, what I have now is irreversible." That was, at least, the conclusion he'd come to after a great deal of research and consultation with dozens of renowned experts. He'd not told any of them what the real root cause of the problem was, because that was information he could not allow to be known, for the sake of the future victims it would mean. But even when all he'd asked for was a way to ease the strain on his body... any solution was temporary.

And still. Somehow he knew this would disappoint her, and somehow he found that he didn't want to leave it at that. “It... helps, sometimes," he said quietly, “if someone casts a restore, or something like that. The ones I can cast on myself aren't too helpful, of course." It was simply an unfortunate truth of healing magic that it never worked nearly as well on oneself as on others, even if one grew to be an expert in the art. “If that happens to be in your repertoire it might make me feel a little better." He almost mumbled the last, feeling rather wrongfooted, to be asking her for such a thing. The battlefield was one thing, of course—everyone did what they could to keep everyone else alive.

This felt... different, though.

“Oh, of course, Vi! I know that spell, and... maybe it'll help even more if I use my Crest with it. Lyanna said that our Crest amplifies our healing spells, so maybe... maybe that'll help you a bit more than just a typical restore?" she stated, the smile crossing her face again as she took a step closer to him.

“That is, of course, if you'd like to try it now. I don't know if you're feeling bad right now, or if... it might happen when I'm not around, but if I can do it now, maybe it'll help you feel better even when it does happen?" she asked, tilting her head slightly to the left in an inquisitive manner. She seemed almost to be studying him with the way she was looking at him, but she was a simple person. She was probably just looking at him and waiting for his answer.

Ugh. If he was going to have to put up with this... sweetness, he resolved that he was at least going to have a little fun with it. Really—he was Vridel von Hresvelg, certainly not the type of person who let himself get pushed so far off-guard by a pretty face. Even if it belonged to someone who was so different from anyone he'd ever known.

“I'd like to try it now," he said simply, picking up her hand and guiding it with his own to settle on his chest, right over the steady thrum of his heart. He kept it trapped there with his overtop of it, though loosely enough that she could pull away if that was really what she wanted. He wasn't a boor, after all.

He did take a step in, though, tilting his chin down to meet her eyes with a hint of challenge. “Unless you'd rather leave me to someone else, that is. I'm sure I could find a volunteer somewhere. You need not go to the effort if you do not wish."

The tips of her ears were turning slightly red, and it slowly spread across her face as he spoke to her. She took in a deep breath, perhaps unintentionally, and shook her head. “It's fine; I can do it here, and now since you'd like to try it. It wouldn't make sense to find someone else if I'm already here," she spoke, clearing her throat softly. She sounded a bit miffed, though, like she was jealous that he suggested he could find someone else. Her eyes went to their hands, though, and she seemed rather focused on them. The blush on her face hadn't receded, though, and she seemed to summon her magic. The faint glow of her Crest appeared where her heart was, perhaps because the tunic she was wearing was a white color. When she was finished, she glanced up to meet his eyes.

“How does that feel? Better? Should I do it again?" she asked in quick succession.

Vridel exhaled softly through his nose. In truth, such spells were only temporary relief, like the kind of herbs one might take to dull the feeling of a headache, but they were a relief all the same. The magic washed over him like cool water, easing what felt like a constant, low-level burn throughout his entire body.

“Much better," he murmured, though he made no move to release her hand, either. It was interesting, the way she seemed now to at least be peripherally aware of the power of a touch, and unless he was mistaken that was at least a little touch of jealousy there. How interesting. Was it possible she was catching on?

Letting his head cant to the side, he arched an eyebrow and narrowed his eyes slightly. “Perhaps I should reward you somehow?" The corner of his mouth turned up slyly. “Is there anything you'd like from me, little one?"

Her face was still as red, but she tilted her head slightly and pursed her lips together. “I'm not... no? I didn't do it so you could reward me, Vi," she murmured softly, her brows still furrowed. She almost looked like she was pouting about something, though she didn't seem to pull her hand away, either. “And... I think I've already received so much from you. I don't think there could be anything else." She smiled a little at that, though.

“I don't want to take advantage of you, or anything like that. It would be wrong," she added, though she didn't seem so sure about that statement.

Like one of the reef sharks off the coast of Enbarr, Vridel could smell blood in the water. Or in this case, a rather delicious, ambiguous uncertainty. He was not, of course, interested in pushing Amalthea anywhere she didn't desire to go, but that didn't mean he couldn't nudge. Unlike other people he had met, who knew what was on the table and what of it they wanted, she had yet, he thought, to really understand the options.

Typically he wasn't interested in this kind of thing, preferring to flirt with those who could flirt back, who had a better idea of themselves and what they were after, so that even if it was meaningless and for personal gain, the terms of it were cut and dried, with no grey areas. But in just this case he thought he might be willing to make an exception.

“I promise you, little one: it's impossible for you to take advantage of me." The thought was laughable, honestly. As though he'd let anyone do anything of the kind since he'd grown old enough to understand the difference.

With his free hand, he took hold of her chin, tilting it upwards and leaning down in a suggestion that should be obvious even to the likes of her. “You're sure? There's nothing you can think of that you want?" His brow inched a little higher. Nothing at all?"

“I..." she paused, looking slightly surprised by something. “I mean, I don't want anything from you, but there is something I want to give to you," she stated, puffing her cheeks out slightly. She raised one of her hands to pull his away from her chin, but she didn't move away. Instead, she leaned in and placed a rather innocent and chaste kiss on his cheek.

“That's... for being a good friend," she stated, pulling away and turning around. She raised her hand and seemed to place it on her chest, as if trying to cover her heart.

Well it wasn't quite what he'd been aiming for, but Vridel could admit there was something novel in being surprised like that. It certainly explained why his pulse had kicked up in his chest, just for a stuttering second. His smile broadened when she turned away; he suppressed a huff of laughter. He supposed that if doing something like that counted as bold for her, he was probably better off not pressing the point too much. Although...

Leaning a little forward and down, he brushed her ponytail aside and over the opposite shoulder so he could murmur into her ear. “That's not very fair," he lilted. “Here I was looking for a way to repay a favor, and you did me another. Are you trying to put me in debt so you can ask for something in particular, little one?"

He straightened, though, figuring that putting the thought in her head was more than enough for now, and set about untying the sack of flour. If she was intent on bribing her sister with sweets, then sweets they would make.

There was a soft thud from where Amalthea had been standing, however; she wasn't standing. It seemed that her legs had given out on her, but she quickly got back to her feet and dusted her trousers off. She offered him a rather embarrassed smile, and cleared her throat. “Ah, sorry, my legs gave out, but that wasn't my intention at all! I promise." She went to the table that had eggs sitting out, and grabbed a couple of them before making her way back to him.

“Oh, we should try adding vanilla inside of the flour! Lyanna likes things with vanilla," she stated, seemingly trying to change the subject.

Laughter and a rather smug smile warred for control of Vridel's features. “Falling for me already?" he quipped breezily, nodding to a spot on the counter where she could put the eggs. “And we could add a little vanilla, but it's not going to show up much in the flavor profile. Doughnuts, especially with fruit in them, aren't meant to taste that way, and for good reason."

He picked around the spice rack until he found a small bottle of the stuff, handing it off to her along with a tiny measuring spoon. “Any more than that, and it's like combining lemons and chocolate. Not everything that's good goes well together."

It was more than a little unusual for someone of his status to know how to prepare food—of this Vridel was quite aware. But in addition to being something everyone had to learn to some extent during their stay at Garreg Mach, he'd sought out lessons in the subject a few years ago, aware of his tendency to eat a lot and preferring to see to secondary meals himself when possible, to minimize the chance of talk. Any oddity was closely-watched, after all.

Amalthea had looked a little alarmed at his first statement, and the expression hadn't shifted until after he was done explaining the measurements to her. She took the bottle and spoon, tentatively and held them for a moment. “How did you know?" she asked, blinking slowly before she seemed to realize something. “Ah, I mean, how do you know about the measurements? I usually just follow whatever is written into the log book, but you don't seem to have that issue," she stated, instead.

Her face was still rather red, perhaps still affected by his earlier actions. “Do you cook, Vi? Oh, that would be amazing if you did! You're... a very multi-talented person."

He rolled his eyes a little at her, though it wasn't derisive, surprisingly enough to him. “If you get enough practice, and pay attention to the taste of what you make, you start to get a sense for these things," he said simply, letting her question pass. “As for me, yes. I do have a rather diverse set of skills, I suppose." He sifted the flour a few times before adding it to the bowl, and shrugged lightly.

“Most of them are things I've been required to know. When I learned I was to be the next Emperor, a lot had to change." He wasn't sure why he bothered to explain; he usually saw no need to do that. What need had he to justify himself to other people, after all?

The color on her face finally seemed to disappear as she regarded him with a softer smile. It seemed distant, almost, as if she were recalling a fond memory of sorts. It didn't seem to be the case, though, when she spoke. “You must have been able to learn and see a lot of things, right?" she stated, keeping her gaze with his. “Are things always this beautiful outside of the monastery?" she continued, tilting her head lightly as she inquired. “Because I think I'd like to see those things. The ones you have, and the others. Maybe... maybe after we graduate, I can convince Lyanna to let me go see the places that all of you have seen."

He didn't quite know how to answer that. There was the blunt truth, of course—that deep down things were ugly everywhere and the world was rotting from the inside out, but... that was a hell of a thing to tell someone. Instead, he expelled a soft breath. “It depends, honestly," he replied. “There are places that have much to recommend them. Enbarr, for instance, is the oldest city in the world, and perhaps its most beautiful, though that could simply be my bias speaking."

After graduation, though—he didn't know so much about that. Where would he be, in another eight or so months? Who would he be? He couldn't say. “If you'd like to visit at some point I'm sure it could be arranged." He settled on something that sounded... likely to be true, at least. Perhaps she would no longer want to see the heart of the Empire by then, but he suspected the offer would still be open, anyway.

She smiled brightly at him, though. “I'd really like that! I'd like to see Enbarr because if you think it's beautiful, bias or not, then it must be. Especially if it produced someone like... you," she cleared her throat and glanced away for a moment. “But... I think I would like to see it. If... if you're not too busy by then, maybe you can show it to me? You don't have to, of course. I know you'll probably be busy by then, running the Empire, but... if you could, and you did, would you?" She looked at him expectantly, much like the naive child she was.

He shook his head faintly. Sometimes she could make him feel like a cad just by existing. It was the eyes, he thought: big and bright amber, with those long, long eyelashes. “If I'm able, I will," he promised. He couldn't promise he'd be able, though not for the reasons she was citing. Still—

Maybe it was something to look forward to.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jeralt's Journal Character Portrait: Cyril Eisner Character Portrait: Mercer von Riegan Character Portrait: Senka Rinaldi Character Portrait: Amalthea von Kreuz Character Portrait: Vridel von Hresvelg
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I.Y. 1180 - Verdant Rain Moon - Sunday the 24th
Old Duscur Border - Midmorning - Hazy
Senka Rinaldi


It had taken almost four days to reach Lord Kleiman's lands after the incident with the Crest scholar, however; the scholar's accusations had managed to spread like wildfire through the academy. Students had been looking at her like she was a beast; that she was as dangerous as the man claimed her to be. Senka knew, without a doubt, that she could be if she didn't learn to control her Crest, but she also knew that she wasn't. She would never hurt people that way. She never wanted to hurt people, but even she knew that sometimes, you had to. But never the innocent. Her people were innocent, and she had seen the kinds of faces they'd worn when they were blamed and attacked.

She would never want that to happen to anyone. It was why she was learning, fighting, doing everything she could so that she could rebuild her home, and, perhaps, have peace. She pushed the thoughts from her head as she gripped Libi's reigns. Most of them were a mounted division now, but they moved at a reasonable pace for those who were not. Cyril had positioned everyone as they had practiced: in pairs. Sylvi walked with Devon, Sofia and Dierdre walked close together, Sorcha and Mercer took to the skies, and Vridel and Amalthea were trailing along as well. Reynard, as he usually was, was no where in sight, but Senka knew he was around somewhere.

That left her traveling near the professor. It made sense, she supposed, that they travel like this. They didn't know what they were up against, and with the fog in the woods, it made it difficult to see anything too far ahead. At least if they were attacked, they would have the advantage of being together, already.

The Professor walked rather close; enough so that one large hand actually rested on Libi's neck, just in front of where the saddle ended. He was looking out into the mist, though, possibly using the point of contact so he didn't lose track of them. Already, the members of the group that were further away were almost impossible to see; Sorcha and Mercer had vanished entirely.

Abruptly, Cyril's eyes snapped slightly to the right. He turned his head, slowing Libi to a stop with his hand. It wasn't for several more seconds that the reason became clear. Out of the mist, Reynard materialized. “I think I found what we're looking for," he said without preamble. Unusually for the rather collected Black Eagle, there was a perceptible anxiety touching his features, pinching his expression.

“Explain, please." By this point, the others had caught on to Cyril's signal and halted as well.

“I'm not sure I can," Reynard replied with a grimace. “They look like... well I saw two things that looked like wolves, but the size of two, maybe three horses, easy. And this other one... might be the size of the greenhouse. I have no idea what in the world it is, but it wouldn't shock me to learn it eats people, to say the least. We might be in over our heads on this one, Professor."

Cyril considered this for a moment, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. Eventually, he expelled a breath, then looked up at Senka, speaking low enough that only she could hear.

“I'll fight this for you," he said simply. “I'm sure the others would be willing, too. But that's what it would be—for you. Are you all right with that?"

She shook her head. “No," she began, pulling in a soft breath, “they are fighting this with me. I believe in them and their abilities. And I believe that they also possess sound judgement. If they cannot handle it... I trust them to get away, that they'll be able to." She knew that it was a very real possibility that they could get killed. The descriptions alone of the creatures were enough to put a touch of fear into Senka, but she had to do this. She must do this.

“I'm alright with that."

The smile that spread across his face then was perhaps the truest one she'd ever seen there. Shifting his hand, he patted her knee, giving it a gentle momentary squeeze before releasing it. “Good. You understand now." It wasn't said condescendingly at all—he seemed to be genuinely pleased with the answer. “You can form them up, then. Keep them in their pairs, but otherwise, the initial strategy is yours. We'll adjust if something's off, but you know what you need to."

Senka felt something strange in her heart, like it skipped a beat, perhaps? She pushed the thought out of her mind, and nodded. She opened her mouth to say something, however; the sound of a copse of trees being knocked over caught her attention. She snapped her eyes forward. There, just beyond the mist of the fog was a large creature. It looked like an overgrown lizard, teeth grotesque and sharp points. There were horns, or spikes, protruding through its nose and back, almost as if it were growing straight from its spine.

Glowing red eyes pierced through the fog, and Senka felt her breath catch in her throat. “You... you bear our Crest. For what purpose did you come here?" the creature talked, the sound deep and guttural. It surprised Senka as she glanced in its direction. What did that mean? Did this creature bear a Crest of Maurice as well? Its head lifted, as if sensing something before turning its attention back to her. “It appears that your presence has been detected by bloodthirsty beasts..." it continued speaking. Senka furrowed her brows, though, and shook her head. She couldn't allow this creature to shake her.

“You'll be lucky to make it out alive in this den of beasts." Almost as if on cue, a shrill cry echoed over head where Sorcha and Mercer were. There was also a low rumbling sound, coming from behind where Vridel, Amalthea, Sylvi and Devon were. The beast, whatever it was, disappeared back into the thick of the fog, though, as a giant wolf appeared, charging Amalthea and Vridel's group.

“Everyone, on your guard!" she shouted, pulling her sword from its sheath and glanced at Cyril. “We focus on that demonic creature. Everyone else will deal with those two beasts," she spoke, glancing upwards for a moment. That shrill wasn't anything a wyvern or pegasus could make. They must have encountered a sky creature.

“Uhhhh, yeah I think we can handle this, maybe!" They still couldn't see Sorcha, but a moment of relative quiet yielded the twang of a bowstring, so it was likely she and Mercer had spotted... whatever made that shriek, and were now engaging it.

“There's another!" Reynard called out, ducking past them to reinforce Vridel, Thea, Sylvi, Devon, Sofia, and Deirdre. At least they had a decent number to split the creatures between.

“Straight ahead," Cyril said, swinging up behind her on Libi. They'd sort of practiced this—maneuvers where she'd carry him a short distance on horseback so they didn't get separated by enemies or terrain before they reached their destination. Though the Sword of the Creator was slung across his back, he gripped his javelin in his free hand instead, the other arm banding around her waist to keep himself on Libi. “I can... feel it, I think."

Senka spurred Libi forward, moving in the direction the beast had disappeared to. The fog was becoming airy as they went further in. They didn't have to go too, far, though, that Senka could still hear the fighting between the others, however; the beast merely glowered at them. This is what they'd called a demonic beast, what they thought she would turn into. She could feel something stir inside of her, but she pushed the feeling down. She wouldn't allow herself to answer the calling, whatever it was that was bubbling beneath her skin.

She was stronger than that. She had to be.

“So, you've decided to meet your end, here, inheritor of my Crest," the beast spoke, causing Senka to furrow her brows. Its Crest? What did that mean? It turned in their direction, though, and bellowed. “Then come, oh inheritor of my Crest! My beastly blood is roused! You will not be able to stop me!" it shouted as it charged in their direction. Senka readied her sword.

With a firm squeeze to her shoulder, the professor slid off Libi, probably so the horse would have full speed and maneuverability. As the Beast charged, Cyril threw his javelin, lightning crackling along its length, but did not stop to watch it land, instead sprinting towards the creature's left side.

The javelin struck the beast in the side of the head, burying several inches into its cheek and jerking its face to the side. Despite its prior focus on her, it swung towards him, rearing up onto its hind legs and trying to smash the Professor with one of his massive forelimbs. He was, in fact, nearly the size of the greenhouse, just as Reynard had said. Cyril darted to the side, but the monster seemed prepared, bringing its other arm down, shaking the ground and cracking the earth with the force of impact. A frustrated growl echoed from its chest, and it repeated the smashing actions, apparently unable to catch Cyril. Its snarls of rage and frustration only grew louder, almost enough to put a tremor in the earth on their own, things that could be felt as much as heard.

It was certainly distracted.

It did, however, seem to notice the sword strapped to Cyril's back. “That sword... it's the sword of the king!" it shouted almost in a relieved tone. “Are you the one who can liberate me?!" it continued, thrashing towards Cyril. Senka needed to use this opportunity to attack, though. With the main focus on Cyril, she spurred Libi forrowed and clutched her blade. She didn't know how thick the creature's hide was, nor if she'd be able to penetrate it much with her blade.

She could feel the wind rushing her face as she attacked, bringing the sword down on one of its hind legs. It roared, though it seemed mostly unfazed by her attempt. Pursing her lips together, she directed Libi away from it. The creature didn't seem to like that, though, and began charging a rather large fireball. Once the fire ball was formed, the creature released it in Senka's direction, causing her eyes to widen as she did her best to stir Libi away from it. She narrowly dodged it as the beast turned its attention back to Cyril, attempting to use its tail as a means of attack.

He jumped aside, managing to avoid its blows and peppering it with quicker bursts of magic, though there simply wasn't enough time for him to build up the more powerful strikes of which she knew he was capable.

Senka summoned what she could of her magic, sagittae. The accuracy was low, but she had to try something. Pulling in a breath, she focused on her Crest, willing it forward as best as she could. It would make her magic slightly stronger, and that was all she needed. She needed something stronger, something that would manage to get through the beast's hide. Nearby, she could hear the others struggling with their own beasts. From the sounds of it, Mercer had resorted to using his sword, and Amalthea was shouting something incoherent, perhaps at Sylvi, who'd responded.

Once she could feel her magic strong enough, she directed it at the beast, watching as the arrows penetrated its side. At least Cyril would have the chance to counterattack, now, it seemed, as the beast cried out.

The moment in which it flinched seemed to be all he needed; he shot heavy blasts of magic for where he'd already injured it in the face, driving the steel javelin deeper in the process. The lightning he used first left blackened scorch marks around the pole, the searing heat enough to blind it in one eye, it seemed. It reeled, staggering backwards and shaking its head frantically. The javelin refused to dislodge, though, and the second attack, a heavy miasma spell, came in behind, knocking it almost to the ground before it managed to recover.

Cyril, in the meantime, had made his way back to her. His face and arms bore heavy scratches from debris; one near his eyebrow was bleeding heavily, but he was steady when he spoke. “Do you have anything that can hold it for a bit? I have an idea."

She wasn't entirely sure if she did. The only thing she could think of was to try and use blizzard to freeze it in place, or at least its legs. It wouldn't be for very long, but if she could combine it with her Crest, it might just do the job. “I don't know how much time I can buy you, but I'll do what I can," she responded, kicking Libi gently to spur him towards the beast. Summoning blizzard, she drew on her Crest once more, feeling the magic intensify. When she was close enough she released the spell towards the creature, watching as it wrapped around its legs, creating thick blocks of ice.

“Cyril," she shouted, turning her attention towards him. “Now," whatever he had planned, now was the time to do it as the creature tried to free itself.

He was already running, sprinting past her and Libi at what seemed to be reckless, breakneck speed. When he reached a certain distance from where the beast was trying to tear its limbs free of the ground, he jumped. Maybe it was his own Crest, or just the sheer amount of training and practice he'd had, but he seemed to fly higher and further than any human had a right to, catching onto one of the armorlike plates on the beast's shoulder and using it to swing astride its back. It shook, frantically trying to dislodge him as though it sensed what was about to happen, but even when one of its legs came free, it simply couldn't break his grip.

Grabbing the sword from his back, Cyril stabbed downwards just as the second leg cracked free of the ice. The Sword of the Creator glowed a heated red-gold, sinking into the beast's hide to the hilt, and it gave a massive shudder and a deafening roar, pitching forward to the ground with a massive thud that felt like an earthquake. The rest of the ice cracked off and disappeared; the Professor withdrew the sword and jumped of, flinging hot blood from the blade with a powerful stroke of his arm.

Not more than three seconds later, there was another thudding crash as an enormous birdlike creature fell out of the sky, snapping dozens of tree branches on its way to the ground. “Flames take you!" Sorcha shouted, her voice raw with some kind of strain. She was not yet visible, however.

There were faint whimpers in the direction of where the others were, their beasts falling as well, it seemed. Senka released a breath she did not realize she was holding, and watched as the demonic beast breathed heavily. Its body began to dissipate, as if it were evaporating into the air.

“Well done... Finally, this nightmare of a thousand years is at its end." He seemed almost satisfied, relieved even, that he was no longer going to live. “Inheritor of my Crest... if this body is to decay, then the sword... I leave it to you." He heaved, his breathing becoming labored and difficult, and Senka could only watch as his life faded. His eyes locked with hers, and he spoke his final words, “That vile woman... do not trust her; do not trust Seiros." Seiros? Wasn't she already dead, though?

“Wait, what do you mean?" she spoke, her eyes frantically searching the creature's. There was a strange smile to his beast-like face. The color was fading fast from his eyes, and he lifted his clawed arm with what little strength he had left, and pointed. It was hard to say which direction he pointed in, but it looked like it was in the direction of the monastery. His hand fell limp after, and Senka knew he was gone. They would get no more answers from him. His body dissolved into ashes, a strange phenomenon, however; when nothing was left but human bones, Senka spotted the sword he had referred to.

Gingerly, she reached out, grasping it in her hands and stared at it. The blade itself was slightly curved, and looked almost like a spine. It made her shudder, however; it had to have been one of the Relics, judging by the Crest stone that resided near the hilt. Why would he leave such a thing to her? And did that mean this creature was truly Maurice? From the way he spoke, the way he reacted, it seemed as if this was truly the disgraced hero of legend.

A hand fell gently on her shoulder; Cyril stepped to her side and gave it a squeeze. “You all right?" he asked, blinking mildly as though they had not just been fighting desperately for their lives. Only his lingering injuries gave the difference away; he'd taken more of them this time than she'd ever seen on him, while she had none at all.

“I'm fine, but..." she was confused about what the creature meant. “That beast... it... it was truly Maurice. And he said not to trust Seiros. I'm... confused, but," she paused to regard him, lifting a hand to rest it on his cheek. “You're injured," that much was obvious. “Do you... need me to take care of your wounds?" she stated. The others were making their way towards them, she could hear, and the flapping of both Lady and Sir's wings seemed to disperse some of the fog around them.

He smiled slightly, lifting his own hand to rest it on hers and leaning slightly into the touch. “Only if you're not feeling too depleted," he replied. “I'm in no danger from them."

Amalthea looked relatively untouched, though she was sporting a few pieces of grass in her hair. It was almost difficult to tell with the color. Mercer looked like he was bleeding from his left shoulder and had a large cut on his cheek, perhaps from the bird-like creature they had defeated. Sylvi looked rather worn as did Dierdre, but they were also mostly unharmed. Senka smiled slightly; she knew they would be alright. Sorcha's arm seemed to be broken, which was a little more alarming, and she had a lot of drying blood in her hairline, but Vridel seemed to be taking care of it. He was spattered in so much blood his hair was turning pink, but relatively little of it seemed to be his. Devon was out of arrows and knives, but otherwise seemingly fine. He was helping support Sofia, who was walking with a limp where part of her armor had been torn; perhaps one of the creatures had bitten her leg. Reynard had nary a scratch, which was somehow unsurprising.

“What happened here?" Sorcha asked, blinking at the obviously-human-sized bones and the new sword in Senka's hand.

Senka smiled as she summoned what healing magic she could, and applied it to him. “We felled the demonic beast, but," she began, allowing her eyes to drift towards Maurice had once been, “he has finally found peace after a thousand years." Mercer seemed confused as did Amalthea. Before she could explain further, the sound of a snapping twig caused her to grip her newfound sword, and turned it in the direction of the source. Were there more?

“Wait," a voice called out, as a man approached the group. His eyes were sunken, and his hair was slightly matted to his face. He seemed familiar to Senka, but she couldn't quite figure out why. “That beast... it is finally gone. You have rid us of a plague we were not able to combat," he spoke, staying a safe distance away, it seemed. “We are grateful for your... Senka?" he stated, stepping forward as Senka furrowed her brows in confusion. As he approached, his face came further into view, and her eyes widened in recognition. She was glad he'd whispered, though, as he took another step forward.

“There is no need to thank us," she stated quickly, hopefully enough that the others would not question his hesitation. She thought Espera was dead, that he'd been slaughtered along with the others. As General of her father's army, he'd been one of the first to lead a counterattack against the Kingdom's army. She thought he'd died in the ensuing chaos.

“I am Espera, and we are grateful for your assistance," he spoke, placing a hand towards his heart and bowed. It wasn't a traditional bow, though, and Sorcha would be, perhaps, the only one to recognize it as one of Duscur. Senka wasn't going to pretend to not know her old General, but there were other things to consider. Mercer and Amalthea did not know of her Duscur heritage. Sylvi, Devon, Sofia, and Dierdre were not aware as well. She couldn't risk it, not yet.

From the way Sorcha's eyes widened, she did in fact recognize it. She returned it the same way. “We were happy to help, Espera," she said, throwing Senka a look and pursing her lips. Clearly, she was thinking through something. “Our leader today was Senka, here, so the credit goes mostly to her." She nodded towards Senka, smoothly making it so that the two could refer to each other by name without the need for unnecessary introductions, and if Senka preferred for the others to remain none the wiser, it would be possible.

“We are in your debt, Senka," he stated, bowing once more, and keeping it. Senka felt her lips twitch slightly upward, but she shook her head. “As a handful of Duscur people, we feared that beast would wipe the last of us out. Now that it has been defeated, we can hope to rebuild ourselves. And as natives of Duscur, we always fulfill our debts. Should the need ever arise, please do not hesitate to contact us. Despite what others might say," he paused, his eyes glancing over the group, “we never forget our debts."

“Thank you, Espera. I will... keep that in mind." Part of Senka was overjoyed, and part of her was pained. They were still struggling to keep themselves alive, and there was nothing she could do to make it better. Even with Maurice gone, that was only one hurdle for them. There would be more, and Senka was partially sure that Kleiman would turn his attention on the last remnants of Duscur now that the beast no longer plagued his lands.

“Stay safe," was the only thing she stated as he straightened his posture, and nodded.

“May the Gods of Duscur watch over you," he spoke before departing.

Sorcha edged over subtly to fit her hand in Senka's and give it a squeeze, no doubt understanding at least part of what she was feeling right now, and offering the only support she could in front of people who didn't know what this meant to her.

Cyril, on the other hand, turned, his arm brushing her shoulder for just a moment before he was speaking, setting the others to prepare for their departure, and in so doing, removing their attention from Senka and what had just transpired.

She was just glad to know that her dearest friend was still alive. And she was glad for the comfort of her best friend. Without them... well, she didn't want to think of it.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jeralt's Journal Character Portrait: Cyril Eisner Character Portrait: Vridel von Hresvelg
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#, as written by Aethyia


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.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jeralt's Journal Character Portrait: Cyril Eisner Character Portrait: Mercer von Riegan Character Portrait: Senka Rinaldi Character Portrait: Vridel von Hresvelg Character Portrait: Sorcha Blaiddyd
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I.Y. 1180 - Horsebow Moon - Monday the 1st
Common Room - Midmorning - Raining
Mercer von Riegan


Mercer did not bother hiding his displeasure. Amalthea was missing, and no one seemed to know where she was. And that was to say nothing of the rumors he'd heard in town about a Death Knight stealing people's souls. He was certain that wasn't quite the case, but he had noticed how paranoid the people were in town when they'd arrived after last month's mission. He didn't blame them; he couldn't really fault them for fearing something they had no control over. But this... Amalthea missing was something else. It boiled his blood, and he was angry. Why would anyone take Amalthea? She was, perhaps, one of the sweetest people here.

Maybe that was why she was taken? She wasn't quite aware of people's intentions. If someone had asked her to be their friend, or find their lost pet, she was exactly the type to say yes, and not second guess it. Sometimes he wished she were not so naive, but there was nothing to be done about it, now. He caught his chin in his hand, resting it against the table as he waited for everyone to arrive. Cyril had asked them to meet in the common room, seeing as it was the only place they could speak freely without too many prying eyes, or ears.

Senka and Sorcha were the first to arrive. He felt a small smile cross his features, but it disappeared when he noticed Senka's expression. She looked about as well as he felt. Her eyes were slightly hazy, and she looked like she hadn't slept well that night. Sorcha's expression was drawn, but if anything there was a sharpness to her, like she was angry and not containing it well. Her eyes might well have been shards of ice.

“Hey," he greeted, watching as Senka's eyes landed on him. She nodded in way of greeting, but didn't say anything. He didn't blame her. She took a seat at the table, though, and folded her hands in front of her.

“Hey," Sorcha replied, her tone brittle. It wasn't directed at him, of course; he could tell that much without having to think about it. She took the seat next to Senka, eyes falling to the surface of the table.

The others filed in pretty quickly after that: Reynard, Devon, Sylvi, Sofia, Deirdre. Teach and Vridel entered together. Though their professor looked mostly the same as usual, there was a tension in his normally relaxed carriage that gave him away. Vi, though... he looked like he'd seen better days. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his hair looked like he'd raked his hands through it in frustration several times too many, the normally-disciplined white strands askew. He was, oddly, wearing his reading glasses, though not carrying any books. Less-oddly, he was outright scowling, though probably not aware of it.

Teach waited for everyone to be seated before speaking. “I won't waste time," he said simply. “By now, you all know that Amalthea is missing. We've been tasked with searching the Monastery for her, while the Knights are supposed to handle the town of Garreg Mach."

“Bullshit," Vridel snapped. “What assurance do we have that they even care enough to look with any effort? You heard how Rhea sounded. She's doing this from obligation, not desire. They're probably the same."

Mercer pursed his lips together. “I'm sure the knights are going to do what they can to find her. Whether Lady Rhea is doing it from obligation or desire, I know that some of the knights were fond of Amalthea. Even Alois was fond of her. They often ate together when he was around; you all know this," Sylvi spoke, her brows furrowed deeply.

“That doesn't mean anything, though," Dierdre spoke, her eyes narrowed as if she were glaring at the table. Mercer knew she was upset as well, and that she probably felt as helpless as they all did at the moment. Amalthea was a friend to everyone here at the table. He had to agree with Sylvi, as well. Amalthea made it very difficult to not want to be her friend, and she was always talking with the knights. She often made them floral crowns, or some other strange object to lighten their spirits.

“But where are we supposed to check in the monastery? There are not many places here to hide someone," Senka spoke, her voice soft and hoarse as if from wear. “The last time I saw Amalthea was a couple of days ago after we'd returned," she continued. The same with Mercer. Even though classes were on those days, they had been given those days off to recover. They had to make up their missed notes, of course, but Mercer hadn't minded the extra day to rest.

“When was the last time any of us saw her?" he asked.

Cyril looked immediately at Vi, for some reason, and he sighed. “I'm pretty sure I was the last person to see her," he said. “Or at least the last person who will admit it. Saturday evening. We were at the practice grounds, working on her axe-throwing. She had Aymr with her." His frown deepened, and the reason why was obvious: if Thea had been armed, then the options narrowed: either she'd left on her own, or the person who had taken her had been able to overpower her even with a weapon, or she'd been tricked into going with them somehow.

“We split ways at the dining hall. She said she was going back to her room." The dining hall was quite close to Thea and Lyanna's quarters, and actually meant Vridel had gone farther than he needed to, as the turnoff for the dorms was earlier. He'd walked her far enough that it was obvious he had been walking her back—but not far enough. Mercer could almost see it eating at him.

“At this point, we are reasonably certain that she was therefore taken on her way back. And we do think she was taken. It's a very narrow window of space and time, suggesting either someone familiar with Amalathea's routines or someone who spotted them and followed long enough to see her separate from Vridel. And who was prepared to act on that opportunity, short as it was. It seems unlikely that she was not taken in some way or other."

“Especially if she told Vivi she was going back to her room," Sorcha added. “She'd have no reason not to be honest about that."

Sorcha had a point. Mercer didn't think Amalthea was capable of lying. “Who could have taken her, though?" he mused out loud. He couldn't think of a single purpose as to why she would be taken. It was Amalthea for goddess' sake.

“She's the sister of the archbishop's advisor, but I don't see any other reason as to why someone would want to take her," Senka stated, pursing her lips together.

“I have to admit, Senka has a point. Amalthea doesn't have much use to anyone. Unless someone wanted leverage over Lyanna, or even the Church, considering the position Lyanna holds," he stated, tilting his head lightly. “Amalthea's just a regular person, otherwise."

“That's not quite true," Teach said, shaking his head. “According to Lady Lyanna, her blood has some kind of special property. It's not clear what it is, but—"

“She has—" Vi grimaced. “Don't go spreading this around, but she has the Major Crest of Cethleann. That's the only thing I can think of that makes any sense."

“You think someone wanted her for her Crest?" Reynard asked, sounding vaguely skeptical. “I suppose that's possible, but then why say her blood is special? Crests are carried through bloodlines, but the way that's phrased makes it sound like there's something important about her literal blood."

Vi refused to make eye contact with anyone. “Crests and literal blood are related," he said flatly. “I don't know exactly how, but they are. You can take my word for that or not; it probably doesn't matter. Whatever the exact cause, it's something about Thea in particular that made her a target."

“Unless..." Sofia hesitated. “I don't mean to be bringing up unsubstantiated rumors, but there was all that talk of a Death Spirit last week. It's too fantastical to be real, but it could just be a criminal. And he's supposed to be stealing away young women so... so maybe it really was just a matter of opportunity. He saw a young woman and took her."

Vridel's jaw tightened, but he didn't deny the possibility.

Mercer furrowed his brows, as did Senka and Sylvi. Dierdre glanced at Sofia, but didn't say anything. “If that's the case, then it is possible that, whoever this Death Spirit is, is responsible for taking Amalthea. She wouldn't have gone willingly, if that were the case, I don't think. She might have put up a fight, the only thing is," Sylvi started as her eyes went to Vridel and Cyril. “There was no sign of a struggle, was there?"

“I don't think there was," Dierdre spoke. Mercer rubbed the sides of his temples. The only logical thing would be to investigate the rumors, however; how were they going to do that? People in town were already frightened, and when he had asked some of them about the rumors, they became tightlipped and turned him away.

“But why would they take someone from the monastery? The rumors were that the Spirit was taking people from the town. Why try to take someone from a guarded area where they are likely to get caught?" Sylvi mused out loud.

“It could be that they were feeling bold, or... they knew how the knight's shifts worked," Senka stated, finally lifting her eyes to gaze at the group. “It would have been someone who was familiar, who wouldn't have seemed out of place at the monastery."

“Or someone who lives here," Sorcha said softly, biting her lip uncomfortably. “Think about it. In order to move in or out of the Monastery, you have to either use the front gate or fly. The front gate is always under guard, and can't be open or shut without at least two people. Someone would have seen them leave, but no one did. That means... whoever did this, Death Spirit or not, had somewhere within the Monastery to put her, and can come and go from the town without arousing suspicion, if it was the so-called spirit. Either way, they live here."

It seemed to be a sobering realization for the group; Devon shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

Cyril sighed quietly. “There are three avenues of investigation before us," he said after a moment, crossing his arms and shifting his eyes slowly over the group. “These rumors of a death spirit in town, and the people within the monastery itself. Of them, we should be most concerned by anyone who might have knowledge of or use for Amalthea's Crest. That means the people she knew the most and the people who knew the most about her."

He let that sit for a moment; many of those people were in this room, but he regarded none of them with any suspicion. “From now on, no one does anything alone. Not just the women—anyone. Don't go to class, or lunch, or to practice, anywhere without at least one other member of this group. Trust no one else, no matter how well you think you know them or their intentions. And if I have to tell you not to go anywhere alone at night, then I've failed to teach you anything about tactics."

Pursing his lips, he expelled another breath. “Senka, Reynard, Sorcha. You and I will spend the next week investigating the town. It is of paramount importance that the knights do not catch on to what we are doing." He shook his head faintly. “Everyone else will ask around the monastery as discreetly as possible. Mercer, Vridel, and Devon should focus on the Crest angle, but be careful. Sylvi, Sofia, and Deirdre: figure out who Amalthea was closest to and get what you can out of them."

“Understood," Mercer stated as everyone seemed to nod in unison. “Don't worry guys, we'll find her."

No matter what, they were going to find Amalthea.