Gideon was drinking. He'd smuggled in a bottle of Schalberg Alpenbitter and passed it around to the others in the truck bed. It was a good way to stay warm in the early spring. He knew the place they were going and knew to dress warm for the early spring chill. Of course, he had a military poncho on because he knew that the wind could cut when it got darker, and the poncho...well, he could sleep in one if he had to. It was essential equipment for any sort of camping and like all his other cadet field gear, it was beaten. Under it, he was wearing a fleece pullover, a fleece cap over his blonde hair and a pair of faded jeans, along with his favorite pair of boots, well broken-in. The memory of winter clung to the place well into spring, and the nights got cold.

"Yo, Setzer, you think you can hit all the bumps in one pass or what?" he called out sarcastically.

Still, getting rattled around in the back of an old truck, creaking axles and grinding transmission, and the prospect of camping in the cold night was vastly preferable to the fate that would have awaited him if he hadn't agreed to slip out for a party among friends. There weren't any reporters back here.

It was just as well the Vangars decided to push peace talks now, it meant that he got to dodge the bullet of going to the obligatory visit to Orestia, pose for the obligatory photos...and answer the obligatory questions. The pomp, the circumstance, the PR hacks circling like vultures. The family obligation, and all that rot. He had a contentious relationship with the press corps that covered the Royal Family, particularly as there was a war on and these parasites were clearly the leftovers of the press corps, but they were still annoying. He somewhat hoped a few of the reporters, busily covering the war rather than contributing in a meaningful way, would eat a Vangar sniper's bullet. Maybe they had some common ground. Make peace and hunt the reporters down after the war.

If only.

But it wasn't worth getting upset over or even worrying. Whatever was going on in Orestia, he was forgotten and therefore able to smuggle himself out in this truck with some of the other squadmates. It didn't bother him that Zimmy invited an entire company's worth of people, but most everyone else found somewhere else to be. They would have had to boost a lot more trucks to move that many people...and would have been noticed. This was better, really.

They were in the truckbed with the beer and the camping gear, which was to say good field boots and the other necessities of roughing it. There were elk and some streams with fish here. They'd run out of alcohol long before they ran out of food in what was a typical alpine vista of beauty; meadow, forest and mountain, everywhere one looked. Rough terrain, but Fenris and his father liked to hunt up here, and he'd learned some of the terrain pretty well, for a kid. Even with the hunting lodge torched, it was family tradition to hunt up here.

Rudolf Blackeye, the most infamous of the rebels, torched this place with Crown Prince Petrus in it. The nature of the murder made the Nationalist cause unpopular. Rassvet's two sides came to the table, perhaps shaken by the callousness of the killing, and negotiated settlement. Old story, old news. Rudi's story got trotted out when politics got too partisan in the Kingdom as a cautionary tale.

Rudolf was hanged some ways away. Even by daytime, that particular acre of the wood was an unpleasant place for a magic user to linger. Luckily, it was far enough away and he knew exactly where that was. It was said the ghost still haunted the site of his execution.

Another slug of the bottle meant the spread of a little warmth in his belly, but he was just sipping at it. Once they got to the campsite, it wouldn't be hard to build a fire, since they had firewood piled up from the last hunting trip, and get this whole thing underway. It felt good to slip the net for what was, undoubtedly, the last time.

He tilted the bottle toward Trent, "Vorslav winter coat."

He didn't always say much to Trent, because the guy was sometimes a little overawed by everyone else's story, but they were going to war after this, and it was best to settle everything on a good note. That wasn't necessarily fatalism, but a realistic assessment that things could go wrong.

Once the bottle was handed off, he moved through the door and into the cab, wriggling through the space to get himself settled into the seat. That took talent, because he wasn't a small guy, even if Setzer had a couple inches on him. He peered ahead into the darkness once he was settled in.

"Yeah, there's the spot. If you turn left there," he pointed, "That's where the firewood is. We laid some down after last trip." The royal "we" perhaps, or he just meant, he and his family. It was one and the same. But at the same time, royalty had one perk -- this wasn't land that anyone else was supposed to be on. What he didn't tell them was that this was land that even they weren't necessarily supposed to be on. It's not like Gideon asked permission.

The gravel crunched under the wheels of the truck, and there were the skeletal ruins of scorched stone for the curious to gawp over. The jutting spurs of the lodge's remains, scorched by magic, stood mutely, long since overgrown with moss and grass.

More importantly, they stored wood in those ruins, covered in a tarp and stacked against the remains of a wall. Dry, well-seasoned.

Daryll was the first one out the back of the truck when they started slowing to a stop. He was better friends with Zimmy than most, but even he had a limit on how long he could last with her when both slightly drunk. Aside from that, he just needed to move. An entire day sitting was tough, especially when you were stuck paying attention to the road for the first half - at least in the back there was enough space to move around a bit. There were also no seat belts, comfortable surfaces, or pauses in the bumpy ride, so an afternoon nap was completely out. Also the music. Daryll was a fan of rock music, but not quite so much the volume Setzer enjoyed.

Step one after exiting the vehicle was to stretch. Step two was to realize he had no idea where to start with clearing a campsite, so instead he started to help unload their small hoard of junk and junk food. He tried to ignore his lingering questions on how quickly malnutrition could develop and instead made some small talk.

"So, where exactly are we doing this? The ruins or the woods? Or are we gonna set the tents down in the middle of the road like the idiots we are?" He didn't intend the question for anybody in particular, but was hoping for indecision he could use as an excuse to walk around and explore.

The others launched into a discussion he didn't really care to follow the details of, instead continuing to lug their things out and into a pile. After a bit, and realizing that he was the only one really focusing on the task, he started an internal debate on trying to magic some of the stuff out. On the one hand, it'd be faster and use less energy. On the other, he'd only ever really practiced such magics for use on himself, and didn't like the prospect of mix and matching containers ranging from water, to chips, to spare gasoline and whatever "materials" Lee and Zimmy thought they might need.

For that matter, he wasn't sure he liked the idea of several days in the middle of nowhere with those two in close proximity.

With a deep breath, Daryll calmed his apprehension once more. There was plenty of space and relatively few bystanders to get wrapped up in it all. Worst case scenario he could make it out of here faster than anyone but Theta, and he really wouldn't mind her company, out here in the middle of nature. Maybe they'd make a picnic out of it.

By the time Daryll had finished this train of thought, he was practically done pulling everything out except the aforementioned "materials," which he decided could remain out of sight and, hopefully, out of mind for a little while.

Trent had NO idea how he got invited to this, but put off his grand escape from the WARDENs. Sitting in the back of the beat up vehicle a book in hand on magical theory he swiped out of Galahad's pack snacking on an apple he had swiped from the food stash he got more reading done with the chatter of friends around him than he did in the quiet libraries back at the Citadel. He held said borrowed book in one hand, apple in his mouth and his free hand making mini icicles dance around his middle finger. When Setzer took over driving, he quickly abandoned the book, threw the apple core past Setzer's head out the window with a grin, and held onto the bottom of his seat for dear life.

He wasn't much of a drinker like the rest, but from being dragged out by Zimmy and Setzer. He learned how to hold down what his body could handle. The first case of booze was gone and Trent cursed at Setzer's driving again. "RIGHT, NOT HARD RIGHT SETZER!!!" Trent scowled as the driver hollered back they were arriving and quietly agreed with Gideon when he teased their star pupil about hitting every pothole in the back road. Taking heavy breaths to get his stomach to stop it's dance inside him he blinked when Gideon thrust his bottle into Trent's hand.

At first, with bottle in hand, he wasn't sure how to take the symbolic gesture from the prince. His eyes watched him as he moved to the front of the vehicle, looked at the bottle and smiled. "I don't need a winter coat, but thank you." He called cheerfully and would never admit it, but he would take the offered flag on their rocky relationship at face value for now. He never knew how to approach Gideon, whether as a royal or as a comrade. Tilting the bottle he took a swig and enjoyed it's taste. He was a sucker for decent booze, which he blamed Galahad as well! With the radio giving it's announcement, Trent couldn't help but shiver as he passed the bottle to Lee with a grin on his face. "Gideon do you know the Imperial Princess?" He asked head tilted to the side and a grin on his face. He wasn't expecting a reply so went back to looking at the others. "Freedom from this Hell Ride!!"

Finally, the car ride from hell was over with and Trent couldn't help the words coming from his mouth, "Setzer, whoever said you could drive, remind me to tell them NEVER AGAIN!" He laughed as he looked at the young man and went to help Daryll take the stuff out of the back and start setting it around for the others to grab. When his unpacking companion mentioned the woods, Trent went a little pale.

"Please no where near there..." his voice trembled slightly as he cast a glance in the woods direction. "It gives me the creeps. I say right in this area." Said area was near the covered wood and Trent walked by it placing his hands on the scorched lumber and stone. Faint traces of old magic lingered, his eyes scanned it. The others knew he did this, he liked their stories and wanted to hear them to their full extent. His fingers traced worn grain and cracks, trademarked smile firmly in place as he used the ruins as a buffer between him and the woods. "Plus, if we go into the woods, someone's going to make a crack at my height and getting lost. It gets old." His eyes went to the three self proclaimed "bros".

Reluctantly letting his hand drop to his side he jumped, putting a little amount of magic into his feet, and landed gracefully atop the cab and sat down, smiling at the group as they mingled. "So Zimmy, now what?" He waved to Theta and Lee. "You ARE the princess of party planning, so now what?" He pulled his long sleeved button up tighter around him, summoned the bottle from someone's hand that Gideon had passed to him and downed the contents. The breeze felt cold but refreshing from the city smell. It reminded him of home.

"Heeeey Daryll," Lee said jovially, one arm wrapped the boy's shoulder, the other clasping onto the bottle Trent had given him with his free hand. "Well aren't you the responsible little boy scout today, you already pulled everything out for us." He leaned in to whisper quietly as he added, "I see you didn't bring out 'the stuff'...good, good, I wanted to keep it on the down low anyway. Good thinking." He leaned away and flashed a grin, his cheeks a rosy red. There was no denying it, he was already more than just a little buzzed. To be honest, he was an incredibly light drinker, but he could handle his alcohol well and really it just meant he got to reach the fun part of being drunk faster than the usual person.

He went to take a swig from the bottle, but before he could down any more of it, it disappeared from his hand. Confused for a moment, he looked around and eventually saw that Trent had taken it back with his magic.

"Huh, what the...Hey! Come on Trent, not fair! You had your turn!" He pouted as he pointed at the mage accusingly. But it was too late, as Trent then proceeded to finish off the rest of the bottle in one gulp. "I knew that Winter Coat was too good to last..." Lee sighed in defeat. It was probably for the best, since he probably shouldn't get wasted before they even set up camp. They could all use some of his spells to help make things easier, and drunken spelling casting admittedly wasn't the best idea. He was still good to use magic at the moment at least, so say, if someone wanted him to make the firewood lighter for easier carrying, he could do it. Though he figured Setzer would want to do it on his own without any help, hell he might even ask to make it heavier just for the challenge. That guy was a bit of a freak of nature.

Though speaking of firewood, a fire did sound good right about now. It wasn't too cold yet, but a definite chill was beginning to brew, which caused Lee to draw his jacket a little closer to him as he pulled his pony tail out his hood. At some point during the ride someone had tied a ribbon to it, probably as a joke, but he hadn't bothered to take it out and just left it there. Besides, he was rocking the hell out of it so why not keep it?

"Oh yeah, Zimmy, what did you have planned?" He asked once Trent brought it up, and soon a grin spread across his lips once again. "You're the party princess planner, or, whatever Trent said, right? You basically set this whole thing up, so you've probably got something cool in store for us don't you? I don't mind spoilers, so if you need some help setting anything up, I'm your guy." Knowing Zimmy, so it was likely something flashy, which was right up his alley.

There was one person in the merry band of damned soldiers who had consumed approximately a third of the alcohol they had brought along with them, and her name was Zimmy. Through what was probably a terribly complex form of black magic, she was still conscious, chatty, and energetic. Maybe she had a magical liver. Who knew? It was the only explanation anyone had ever come up with, and it was a half-assed one at that.

That wasn't to say she was totally...functional. For the past fifteen minutes, she had been staring out the front window, leaning-cross-standing in the door between the driver's side and the cabin. She had been humming tunelessly and tapping the empty bottle in her hand. Like the rest of them, she was torn free of her peaceful reverie by the right turn, so sharp it almost metaphysically stabbed her in the gut.

"Oh shi--" she didn't get to finished before being thrown to the side. Her arm smacked hard on the opening, and she howled with indignation. "Son of a BITCH! Setzer, I swear I'm going to waste you." Luckily for her, him, and the rest of the truck, the pain was dulled somewhat by the alcohol in her veins, otherwise she would have paid them all hell. As it was, all she could afford was some semblance of reality, and hell was well out of her pay-range.

She stumbled over to the bench, trying to cradle the throbbing limb in her lap. Of course they let the stupid playboy drive. She had offered, but no, why let a logical, safe person drive? That would have made too much sense. She stayed there for the last few minutes of the trip, trying to preserve her meager pride by cracking lots of jokes and punching anyone nearby in the shoulder, all in good fun.

If anyone asked, yes, she was fine. No, she did not need anyone to coddle her. She glared at anyone who came close. It was just a little bump. By the time they finally stopped, it had more or less faded away. That was good: Zimmy hated asking Theta for medical aid over shitty small things like this.

Now they had to move. She sighed and closed her eyes. A colorful world of Astral sparks opened up before her, and she reached out to grab some of those pinpricks of light with both hands. When she brought them close to her and set them spinning, she felt friction's hold on her lessen, then disappear, and a fierce grin stole onto her face.

After Daryll had finished unpacking, she just barely let him get out of the way before she slid across the bench and kicked off from the ground. In a flash, she had zipped out of the truck's cramped interior, ignoring the chilly shock across her face. "Hah! We are in this, kids!" She whirled around as she spoke, once again reaching out to Mist as she skated backwards across the ground. She dropped a ball of light from her hands as she went.

Next she pulled down on the Mist from above. Everyone interacted with magic a little differently, and Zimmy saw a sea of sparkling light when she closed her eyes. By manipulating the light, she manipulated the real world in turn. She bent her knees and exploded upward. Gravity's hold on her streeetched thin as she climbed higher, before finally holding firm as she began to descend.

She landed on a thick limb of one of the trees. "WHOO!" she crowed, the alcoholic courage giving her voice. She dropped a crackling ball of energy in the tree limb, mentally pointing it toward another tree. Then she kicked off again, arcing above the trees as she aimed toward another branch. When she landed, she dropped another magical firecracker.

This was just a taste. "How many of these do you think we can set up in a row?" she called down at them all.

Zimmy dropped off the branch lightly, catching it with her hands and swinging herself to the ground, some thirty feet down. As she fell, she snapped her fingers. The ball of energy on the ground blasted off in the direction of the first branch, which in turn set off the firework resting there. In a pinball effect, the whizz of light and sound traveled from the ground, to the tree, across the clearing to the last one, which shot up into the sky with a scream of freedom. It all took only a few seconds: she hadn't even hit the ground yet.

If she had been sober, she would have landed perfectly. As it was, she slipped, planted her hands poorly, and rolled end over end for a good fifteen feet. Eventually she came to a stop, face down and grumbling. "Fuck me," she muttered, before rolling over to admire the aftereffect of her handiwork. Louder she said, "Well. That was unpleasant."

"Fucking hell." Galahad grumbled as Setzer drove their shitty truck over yet another bump in the road, waking him from his half slumber in the shotgun seat of their borrowed military truck. "Borrowed", was one way to put it- Galahad had convinced his father that he and his squad were taking a trip into the countryside at the behest of the Royal Family, and required transportation that wouldn't bring too much attention to themselves. While his father was somewhat suspicious about the idea of the Royal Family sending a squad of rookies- because even if they were the best of the best, they were still just 'rookies'- as opposed to a trained detachment of WARDENs, he eventually relented, and conveniently 'lost' one of his supply trucks from what could only be written off as logistical inefficiencies. Even with Rassvet's relatively small military, when your supply chains got long, things got lost. Another lost truck wouldn't hurt anyone that much.

Incidentally, it all worked out, Galahad had been shocked when Zimmy had told him that she had invited near a quarter of their class out and needed transportation for some 50 people, nevermind obtaining food, water, and booze for them. So Galahad was relieved when the final headcount was just their squad- despite the meager turnout, it meant that it was a lot easier to obtain the necessary supplies to keep some 8 olympian athletes properly fed. Just like the old days of swords and knights and steel, the only thing that held back the WARDENs was food- with almost all of them being the pinnacle of fitness, with a large portion of them being even moreso; each and every single one of them required ridiculous amounts of calories to keep them going.

Taking his feet off the dashboard, Galahad watched with mild amusement as Setzer slammed his fists into the radio unit before it started working again. "Its a good thing we don't have to return this." Galahad mused as he adjusted the dialer on the radio to make the voices more clear. "With the light where it is I assume we're almost-"

Turn Right.

The car swerved to the right, throwing its contents over to the left, Galahad snatching the fondly named "oh-shit" handle by the door to keep himself upright. There was a general chorus of displaced and disatisfied squad members in the back, likely resulting in spilled drinks and fallen gear.

"There." Galahad finished his sentence with some manner of finality. To confirm his statement, Setzer turned his head over and yelled at the contents of their truck bed. That meant it was time for Galahad to switch out, Sidling himself out of the front seat, and into the rear chamber by the door, Galahad returned to the bed of the truck, only pausing to bump fists with Gideon as the man took his place in the shotgun seat. A few minutes later, the crew had reached their destination and the squad began dismounting and unpacking their gear- mainly booze and food.

Several of their companions regarded the forest they were camping out at as "creepy", it wasn't homely, sure enough, but it looked no different than the forests they did land-nav and field exercises in, granted, it seemed considerably less walked through, and the abandoned lodge probably added to the aforementioned 'Creep' factor. Galahad stood next to Theta as they watched Zimmy bound around on top of the trees. Using magic like some sort of pseudo firecracker, she set off a few flying, exploding, flashing things, the loud pop from the explosion echoing through the empty woods, with only the sound of a couple startled birds to reward them with. He also noted with mild amusement as the somewhat drunken girl fell to the ground without her usual gracefulness.

While not terribly interested in the idea of large and bright explosions himself- most WARDEN mages were capable of fully eclipsing conventional fireworks with little more than a snap of their fingers, he understood the appeal of them to others. Taking a flask from the inner pocket of his leather jacket, he took a swig of whiskey. It was good, the strong spirit sent a small warmth into his belly with the slight taste of honey. The whiskey was a personal supply from a cask of the Quaid family brewery- his father fancied himself a whiskey snob, and bought a orchard and brewery midway through his military career. If he didn't make it in the military, he could always retire and be a brewer, Galahad figured.

He tossed the flask of honeyed whiskey towards Setzer, among their merry little band, Setzer was one of the few who appreciated the taste rather than just guzzling everything down. Granted, Setzer also enjoyed guzzling everything down.

As the others went about their tasks, Galahad waved Trent down, it was time to undergo the extremely important tasks that only mages could do- the very complex but tediously dull setting of perimeter security and lights. While they didn't have to worry about enemy forces creeping up on them in the night, they did have to worry about animals, large and small, getting into their supplies. The security charms were time consuming and difficult, but all of their supplies were in one place, putting up lights on the other hand was extremely simplistic, but they had a lot more lights to place, including the abandoned overgrown lodge.

Unloading and setting tents up was second nature and the whole process was kept well in hand. There was firewood stacked in the ruins themselves, because the ruins provided some shelter from moisture, and that was covered in a tarp. Gideon was probably the guy that had some of the best marks in the survival courses and was able to take an e-tool and quickly dig a pit, assemble the firewood and get it going so that it wasn't easily obvious. It wasn't hard when the firepit was the same one that family dug in the past. It was just basic operational security, ingrained into them.

Actually, it really wasn't -- any fire whatsoever would draw attention, but they were taking smart precautions to hide theirs and they were well away from where the fighting was...and there were no juicy targets for any Vangar raiders out there. In essence, the fire was a safe bet and they'd all frozen their asses off in the cold plenty times in training before earning the beret. They could do with just one night of fucking around like normal kids and not worrying about drawing sniper fire or some shit.

It was a point of pride that he could set a fire without having to resort to the mist; though when he did pull it down just to take a look at things, to see what the magic looked like around here, he saw multicolored clouds of mist with lights glowing, flickering, within. They could be seen through, but they were still there, overlaying various areas. It was as natural as blinking to flick back and forth. He called that astral overlay of the area 'peyoteland' to the irritation of more serious mage types. But Gideon was a devious and inventive user of the mist, and therefore felt entitled to work up new names for things. It was his bend of mind.

In any event, with a few matches and his body shielding it from the wind, he got the fire going, mostly by rubbing some of the kindling in cooking oil and setting it all alight. "Gather round and bring the drinks, training's over and there's no sense freezing our dangly bits off in this fucking cold!"

He always enjoyed the cursing; it was decidedly unroyal, and of course those stupid press types that were royalty experts would go, "pooh-POOH" at the concept. But he'd picked up some doozies in his time in academy life.

"Someone bring something with a little kick? I think Country and Trent drank the Alpenbitter all by themselves." Not true, Zimmy probably killed a third of it on her own.

"Yep, definitely flashy," Lee commented as Zimmy set off her fireworks show, and flashed a thumbs up. "Nicely done. Though your landing could've been better, you've had waaaay better wipeouts in the past." Zimmy's not-so-graceful landing was why Theta then began to say how she wouldn't heal anyone who got themselves hurt, which Lee could only raise an eyebrow at. It wasn't as if he completely knew her, but still, he couldn't imagine her not taking the opportunity to show off her on-field healing capabilities, though maybe "show off" wasn't really the correct phrasing here. Besides, seeing as Zimmy was her friend she'd probably be at her side in a heartbeat if she was ever seriously injured.

"I'm up for a spooky ghost summoning party," Lee replied to Theta when she brought it up, "But...I don't think anyone here specializes in spirit channeling. Besides you, I think Trent and Gal are the only other ones with an impressive enough connection to the Mist to be able to take a shot at it, but they're kind of busy being productive right now." He himself hadn't even lifted a finger to help yet, he was too lazy for that, but everyone else was fine doing all the work so it was all good. And, let's be real here: nobody expected him to pull his equal weight on this trip. Though that made him wonder why he even was invited, he didn't bring much to the table besides his humor and amazing personality (if he did say so himself), unless everyone was just friendly enough with him to want to bring him along regardless. If that was it, well, he supposed he'd take it.

Soon after this, Gideon called for everyone to gather around a campfire he'd made. Thank God someone had the bright idea to get a fire going, he hadn't been looking forward to dying of frostbite during the night.

"About time, you took so long I thought you were gonna make us freeze our asses off all night," Lee grinned as he took a spot beside the campfire, "And sorry Princey, but you can't blame me for all the good stuff running dry. Believe it or not, Trent's one hell of a drinker, I couldn't get more than a swig out of the Winter Coat before he took it back. And with Setzer and Zimmy here too, I'm surprised we didn't run out of drinks on the way here. But no worries, I came prepared." He still had a trick up his sleeve, or in this case in his jacket. He reached inside of it, and pulled out a rather large and almost full bottle of expensive-looking vodka.

"Ta-dah, or whatever! This is some of the good shit: Black Onyx, agely fined and everything." He blinked, then laughed a bit, having meant to say "finely aged". "A-Anyway, I took it from some party Setzer dragged me to. Somebody only took one shot then basically left it alone all night, so I figured what the hell, I'll take it. I've been saving it for a night like this ever since." He offered it up as he added, "So, who wants the official first-but-technically-second drink?"

Trent lay back peacefully on the cab, bottle in his hand with maybe two mouthfuls left in it, feeling nice and fuzzy inside. When Lee hollered at him, Trent lift his head up and grinned at Lee, "Ya snooze ya lose buddy!" He tapped the bottle against the roof and went back to laying down. His ears picked up the soft musical notes of the Mist being used and turned his head to watch in awe as Zimmy did what Zimmy did best. She floated in the sky and with each drop of her magic he heard the pitch and tone of the song the Mist sang change and become louder. As she glided across the ground it had been like the beginning of a string quartet, into the air sounded like trumpets and when she set off her magical fireworks, the Mist's music was drown out by light and fanfare. He clapped and laughed in turn as she hit the ground, knowing full well they could all take a hit like that, get back up and not have to worry about Theta getting on them for healing.

Speaking of, "OI! Theta! I'm only what an inch taller than you!" It was massively delayed and his head swam when he pointed mockingly at her in horror. "Galahad and I could possibly summon the spirits," he continued as if he hadn't missed a few minutes of time whilst he indulged himself with Gideon's alcohol. "I wouldn't want to know what would answer though... speaking of which..." He slide down the truck's windshield, off the hood and laughed like a little kid the whole way down. He grinned stupidly at Galahad, bowed mockingly to him and stepped away. Taking a deep breath of the crisp clean air, he listened intently for how you could always find the Mist. Notes to a song he didn't know the words too. Notes that he couldn't describe even when he had wanted to. Perhaps that was why he liked hearing this groups stories. Where they were from, how they became who they are, because this song felt old to him and it wasn't even near the end of it.

Stepping away slowly at first he drew his hands to the sides and let himself dance. If the other's teased him for this, he'd claim it was the alcohol, for now he danced to the music only he could hear. It didn't have steps to it, he just moved with it, weaving in and out his hands moving around him pulling at the notes to help him keep beings out with ill intention and yet still allowing his friends in and out if need be. To make sure this was better understood by his magic as he passed out wards he'd dance back into where the truck was. He brushed Gideon's shoulder and listened to his quiet note for a moment, he traced Lee's eyebrow and grinned with his eyes closed at him. He tapped Theta's temple and did a few quick steps away from her, Daryll he poked his sides trying to get a chuckle from him as he went. He passed by Setzer and didn't need to touch him to hear his note, the note he was most intrigued by resounding in his head as he moved and danced away again. Last he dipped backwards to Zimmy's still prone form and ran his forefinger up her spine laughter still in his voice.

Their tones didn't harmonize. Some of them had the same feeling to them, whilst others clashed against the general sound they emitted singularly as a person. He couldn't put his finger on any of them, but he enjoyed their sounds. He wanted this warding done, so he pushed himself towards their sounds and the sounds of the area. From the cries of the woods which to him had the sounds of a flute playing slowly, to the burnt out lodge that had a harp tune playing it's melancholic tone for anyone who would listen. He dipped, skipped, and just fell fully into his being that could hear the sounds around him. He loved it, and was terrified that he would never come back from it. Dead for having burned himself out.

He continued this for a bit, just dancing around to the music he could hear knowing Galahad was probably right behind him, making some excuse for his sudden touching of everyone. Trent had only told Galahad about how he perceived the Mist. A symphony that didn't feel complete, like pieces of it where missing in his head and it bothered him. At the Citadel he could hear the song of their Bonding Crystal so clearing it drown out almost all other noises, so he had turned to Galahad for help in getting his magic reigned in. He didn't regret calling the other Teacher when they were alone. It made things interesting and if anyone asked Trent, he would say Galahad was wasted on being a warrior.

Coming back around to where he started, he could feel the sweat covering his body and shivered even though he felt warm. He sat down by the fire and the others and lay on the ground. He was breathing heavy and trying his damnest to get the music to go back into being background noise. He'd wait here, in the grass, for Galahad to help him get it out of his head. Lee would notice too and probably drag him over to the other's as well. Unless he was already drunk and passing around bottles of booze. He stared up into the sky, silly grin on his face, listening to their sounds resonate with each other and was glad Zimmy had invited him to join their group.

Gideon popped open a bottle of beer, since his Alpenbitter was already sucked down. It was a pretty traditional hunter's drink here in the back country, the sort of thing bored monks mixed up and perfected because monks got bored. Beer did the trick, however. There was the whole Lily conversation but they'd heard that one over and over. Lily Krieger was basically one of the objects of lust in the entire class, but Gideon never went there. The truth was that the training, especially the last couple years, was a lot of hormones. Everyone was in peak physical fitness and were thrown in with each other away from parents. Citadel command stopped pregnancies from happening, but banning fraternization was pointless. Humanity was designed to find a way.

The musing would have gone on, but it was cut off by the appearance of flame in the sky.

"Shit. That isn't one of ours. Fuck." That was beneath the public image of the royal family, but Gideon had spent a decade and then some training to be a soldier, and it was the divine right of the grunts to cuss and complain. He started to douse the fire, mostly out of the sense that it might be problematic to leave it unattended. There went the party and the campout. If that wasn't a Rassvet airship, stood to reason it was a Vangar one. And it got shot down this far in. Something was going on.

"Think we better grab medical supplies and check it out. Might be survivors. Anyone got a connection? My phone hasn't got a thing."

He was already estimating how far they'd have to hump it along by terrain, as he knew it pretty well. "Whatever's there got shot down, see those aircraft in the sky? And that wasn't one of ours..." The phone thing worried him; this place had cell service, hell it had a tower real close by as a provision of being royal property. It wasn't supposed to just go freakin' down like that. Something was up.

"Better saddle up, this here's now a goddamn combat patrol. We can take this truck some of the way down the road, dismount and proceed on foot to reconnoiter. Priority is to find out what the hell is going on there, and get in contact with regional forces HQ for further instructions. If there's more than one running around in the back country..." He shook his head. He didn't want to imagine the consequences. The idea of a major Vangar incursion in the wake of the peace talks was a possibility and it didn't sit well with him. Until they could contact higher HQ, they basically had a duty to do what they could. It was getting darker and colder, but at least they had plenty of firelight to guide them right to where the crash site was...

Zimmy had spent the last minutes since her ungainly collapse pulling herself back together. Her liver was easily superhuman with the way it chewed through alcohol: actually, it may very well have been superhuman, since her father had told her a story many times of a mission he was involved in, where the end result had been a strange wizard-type man granting each of them one moderately sized wish. Zimmy's father had promptly asked for an immortal liver. Priorities, she supposed.

So when Setzer challenged her ability to seriously kick his ass in a fight, Zimmy was ready to go. "It's not teleporting, you muscle-lunk. It's gravitational manipulation. Teleporting is boring and over in a second and if you even cared you would know..." No one was listening, of course. She was still leaning against a tree while the world slowly phased back into focus. By the time she was able to look up and sneer at the man with ridiculously poofy hair, the moment had passed, and Setzer had gotten his one sassy remark of the entire year in.

And before she could even retaliate, a deafening sound shook them all. Gunfire. Not just gunfire, airship cannonfire. These weren't the kind of things they were supposed to be hearing on The Greatest Party Trip Of All Time^TM. She looked up with the rest of them, tracing the low-flying comet as it screamed overhead. Not good.

Before the fire had even disappeared overhead, Zimmy was reaching out to the Mist around her, grasping it, tugging it, crushing it to meet her needs. It formed a sparkling path beneath her, and she kicked off from her place at the tree, skimming across the surface of the clearing toward the tallest tree she could find. Behind her, the flaking specks of light exploded, sending her hurtling forward toward the tree at breakneck speeds. She'd only tried this trick a few times before, and it was a little bit stupid. In the heat of the moment, though, she couldn't think of anything else.

The glowing path in her mind curved upward as it approached the tree trunk, and she felt her insides press down against the circle of G-force as her feet skated from the ground to the tree, surfing up the bark. Her feet nearly slipped out from under her, but sheer force of will--and the diminished amount of alcohol in her blood--kept her steady. She broke away from the branches with a series of sharp cracks, and soared above into the sky, passing Setzer while he perched there watching the collision.

In the few seconds she had, she tracked the fireball as it had gone. Above the trees as she was, she could see a few things that weren't really clear to anyone else below. The ship's Mist reactor was toast. It had scorched a circle of black char in the middle of the wreckage, and smaller fires surrounded the clearing. It was tough to see much of anything from the view she had--it was practically a bird's-eye look at the wreck.

There was something very interesting, however: a much smaller piece of wreckage past the main conflagration. It wasn't on fire, and it looked almost like there was a parachute attached to the thing.

Then Zimmy was falling straight toward the ground. Not that she was worried. The Mist congealed beneath her into a pile of sparkling jello, and she landed softly in the puddle of sparks before touching down again gently. She landed just in time to hear Gideon barking orders. Pretty much his point in life, being royalty and all. Normally she'd give him endless shit about it, but it wasn't the time.

"About that, Gid," she began, tucking as much of her wild hair back into place as she could. "It looks like there's a pod out there. Something really small past the main wreck. I'd bet all the drinks here that someone made it to that escape vehicle before it all went up. The mist reactor on that thing is fucking wrecked, though. Not sure how many people could survive that."

Her hair was not going to go back where it belonged, she decided. "The trip there looks pretty straightforward. You probably know all this shit anyway, I guess, but I'll say what I saw anyway. Looks like there's a pretty straight route through the trees to where the crash happened, but there's a decent-sized river between us and them. And no, no cell reception." She glanced back at her phone to double check, but there was nothing.

"Ugh, Lily," Lee groaned when Setzer brought her up, "I seriously don't get why you all pop wood for her. I mean yeah she's hot but have you even heard her laugh? She sounds like a jackal that had its voice box replaced with a squeaky toy! That's not even mentioning the rumors about her snoring, I hear the poor girls in Barrack 3 have to wear ear plugs! You guys can have her, I'd probably kill myself if I had to spend a whole night with her!" He took a swig out of the bottle since no one else seemed to want the first-but-not-really drink, before then letting out a sigh as he continued his rant. Setzer had started climbing a tree but he continued regardless, making his voice grow louder the further Setzer climbed up and away from them. "Is it the boobs? Do you guys just like her boobs? They're not even that special, you've got a bigger chest than her, Setzer! What've you got there anyway, some double... double..."

His voice trailed as he saw the fiery affair that occurred in the sky above them. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped as it crashed beyond the horizon in a destructive magical explosion.

"Holy shit..." Lee managed to say in awe, hardly able to believe his eyes. He'd been trained for situations like these, but to actually see it and experience it, it was overwhelming. "That was a Vangar ship, right? The hell's it doing all the way out here?" He nearly dropped his bottle when Gideon said there could be more than one flying around. "Dude don't even say something like that! Ugh, what the hell, this was supposed to be our last golden day of fun. I didn't want to have to deal with this crap..." Seeing as their trip was now basically over, he half-heartedly sealed and put away his bottle. He really wanted to drink more of it, it was almost too good, but unfortunately he did have a duty he was supposed to keep to.

"I don't have any reception either," Lee then commented, having checked his phone once the others began to notice communications were down, "You think they maybe shot a tower down? Whatever's going on, communications going down like this kinda suggests that was all more than just some random firefight. That's some Tactics 101 type shit, whoever did it probably didn't want their enemies calling for help. Unless...there's an ulterior motive, but it's probably nothing we can figure out from here." He folded his arms over his chest, not in irritation, but in ponderment. He could definitely agree with Setzer's statement: What the fuck was going on here?

Lee listened once Zimmy returned from her short recon session from the tree tops, and was able to paint a better picture thanks to the information she'd given.

"A pod, huh? So there's at least one survivor, then. Did you see anyone escaping from it? Because if it's still unopened, then the person in it is either trapped, unconscious, or dead after all. Just more of a reason to hurry up and get over there already." He looked over at the others. "Anyone got a plan that can get us over the river? I'm not really fond of the idea of just swimming through it, not at these temperatures." He drew his jacket even closer for good measure.

"Trent what the- fuck it. I don't know why I bother sometimes." Galahad groaned as Trent began dancing around. The boy tired him out sometimes- which was an ironic thing to call him, because they were all within a year of each other, but sometimes he felt more like Trent's caretaker than his peer. Trent was... different, than the others. Everyone saw mist in their own way, though it wasn't unheard of for several people to share the same view. Several saw it as colors, or as twinkling lights, others like Galahad, felt the mist more than saw it. For Galahad, the mist felt like water or clay, something for him to mold and bend to his will- in fact, part of his considerable talent for magic came from how easy it was to quickly translate actions with the mist to actions in reality.

Trent on the other hand was the other way around- unlike others who saw or felt the mist, he heard it. The fact that he was a mage at all was quite impressive- it was no easy undertaking to be able to translate the sounds of mist into actions in reality. As Trent laid down, trying to get catch his breath, Galahad approached him and thwapped him on the temple. Galahad had tried many ways to get Trent off of his "high" over the years. He found that the simplest- and most gratifying, was a blow to the temple. While normally not enough to break a dedicated spellcaster's concentration, while in his "high", a blow would sufficiently cut Trent off from the Mist long enough for him to recollect his surroundings. Trent would be fine for a while, so Galahad let him catch his breath whilst he set up the security systems himself.

Breathing deeply, Galahad opened his eyes and saw the world, no different than how he normally saw it, but now, he could feel currents of the Mist swirling around the world. Some of it swirled around like uncontrollable gas, some sat muddled in once place like muddy clay. Galahad reached out for the muddy clay and molded it into a tiny bead, with which he packed a complex spell into. The spell itself was fairly standard for most WARDENs, it was the specifics of the spell that made it difficult. The spell beads created a perimeter, that projected an invisible field between each individual bead. The spell was weaved specifically for each squad, to allow members of that particular WARDEN team to pass through without tripping the alarm, whereas any other living being would. Galahad went about his business, systematically placing the beads in a wide circle around their camp. Luckily enough, this spell- like most of Galahad's iterations on spells, were mostly self-powered once created, and used ambient the ambient mist to keep them sustained for several hours at a time. Galahad preferred this method to limit the amount of mist he exposed himself to. While his tolerance for mist was abnormally large compared to most, it still never hurt to be careful, especially with something as dangerous as the mist.

"All done here." Galahad said plainly, as he watched Setzer start climbing up a tree in a fashion comparable to a large ape that one would find in a zoo- if Rassvet still had zoos. Most large creatures were relegated to controlled animal preserves.

"Where's he- oh." Galahad began to ask and answered all at once, as he saw the ship crashing out of the sky.

"That's a Vangar ship, right?" asked Lee. "The hell's it doing all the way out of here?"

"Its not one of ours," Galahad mused, "way too big, too unwieldy. Looks more like a luxury civilian liner than a combat vessel." he added as he watched the vessel slowly fall out of the sky. It had too few weapons to be a military vessel, and the aircraft chasing it had no difficulty shooting it down. Zimmy noted another smaller object separating from the vessel, and several of them checked their phones for service- to no avail. Galahad didn't bother checking his phone, if theirs didn't work, his probably didn't either. "Cell tower's probably got hit by the ship, disrupted by the mist explosion, or something is jamming it."

Gideon recommended the group saddle up and go search for survivors, which was of course, the logical course of action. Even if they were Vangar, it was unlikely that they were military personnel, and even if they were, it was the humanitarian thing to do, enemy or not. They were best served mounting up on their truck and taking it closer, where they could then search on foot, as Gideon suggested, it'd also be smart for them to look at the escape pod that Zimmy saw. They'd probably be able to split up into groups after they got closer.

Pulling his jacket around him, Galahad tapped at his side, where a small hard leather case rested, filled with dense tungsten marbles, somewhat relieved that he had brought it. Luckily for him, even if he didn't bring his sidearm, Galahad, as a mage, was always armed.

"And here I thought nothing interesting would happen this trip."

Of course, Gideon said survivors but essentially meant POW's. He spoke Vangar, after all. The mist reactor of that ship likely ensured no real survivors on the site, but getting to the escape pod while the forest was burning was going to be dangerous work. At least WARDENS on site allowed for some degree of immediate firefighting. In peacetime, rescue was a function they performed. In wartime, it was shock troop activities and special operations. He couldn't imagine a civilian Vangar ship being out this far, it didn't add up, unless it was essentially something owned by the Vangar government. They might capture foreign nationals, but if they did such nationals would be detained anyway. Odds were, anyone they 'detained' would be Vangar government and that'd go right to Orestia.

Of course, they were also in peace negotiations, so proof of a Vangar incursion during a truce period was bound to be useful at the table. "Yeah, well we all figured we had a week off before the peace talks got rejected," he told Galahad, "So much for that idea."

He pretty much expected a couple grunts from that fatalistic observation. It wasn't like they never had fun yanked out of them by seemingly-sadistic trainers who would tell them, 'shit happens, be ready for it when it does.' It was practically a sign over the Commandant's desk in the Citadel.

That statement he made wasn't the Royal "We," but Gideon was intelligent enough to read the situation without getting briefings from the intelligence services or diplomatic corps -- as he didn't -- or much in the way of shop talk from the rest of the family. He was, unlike the rest of the royal brood in his generation, in the Wardens, and not going to the Hegen University or one of the similar elite schools and learning economics and politics at that level. He was not sitting in some coffee shop on campus or clubbing away. His lot was to very obviously put on a uniform and carry a rifle.

Trent asked him earlier if he knew the princess; the answer was basically Hell no, you've seen me in the Citadel for ten years. I've been too busy to rub elbows with van Skymning delegations when they've come around to demand another Crystal for their folly. It was also basically a given that Gideon wasn't trained for diplomacy. He knew courtesies, but he also knew that he was a 'keep your mouth shut and let other people handle niceties' kind of guy. His grandmother, Catherine, often liked to say that he was a throwback to the old days of a feudal aristocracy. Trained killers from a young age, taught to wear armor and wield a sword. Times changed, but Gideon was a bit of an atavism.

Sure, Fenris was military, and his father used to be prior to his crash, but they were air force, armor, trained in logistics, strategy, economics...essentially high command and political stuff. Gideon got some of that in his curriculum, but they weren't developing him to take over the big stuff. Lucian was Fenris' heir, and he was welcome to the headlines every time he took a piss in a bush somewhere.

The Vangars wanted to keep what they got out of Rassvet, and the Kingdom wasn't about to cede territory or peoople over to those wolves when it had an obligation to see to it that those lands and those people were accounted for, cared for and defended as they deserved. Giving them up like so many sacrificial pawns wasn't in the plan, even if it made a lot of sense and there were people that liked to act like the moral cowardice of it made good expedient sense. Gideon? Well, beneath his annoyance with the pomp of the Royal Family's press coverage, felt the deep and abiding belief that House Anbruch still existed because they made the right decisions for Rassvet, not the expedient ones. Other nations ground up their Crystals to develop power, Rassvet always undertook a policy of good stewardship with theirs. Now, of course, they were locked in a war, but it'd been predicted for some time. Fenris spent his entire life preparing for it, giving himself an ulcer over it. His father too. Now Gideon found himself, quite suddenly and a few weeks early, thrust into the family business.

There were concessions that Rassvet was willing to negotiate with the Vangar, but it came down to being unwilling to throw their Crystal over to the use of a bunch of idiots that demonstrated such irresponsibility that they'd use theirs up then go to massive war with everyone else to use all of those up too.

He kept eyes on the sky, watching for more airships and anything else...like parachutes. He wasn't sure what to make of the situation but if the 8th Fallschirmjager Division suddenly dropped and this was their LZ, he wouldn't be entirely shocked. No, that wasn't true. Where were the strategic goals? This was back country, it made no sense to be out here. You didn't send a ship out to hunting grounds when you could be taking bridges, disabling power supplies, overrunning airports and other vital strategic junctures. First task was to get to the pod Zimmy found. Second task was to see what else was laying around. Third task was to establish communications.

What the fuck was going on? was a big question burning in his mind. Another voice back there, more sarcastic and sounding like Uncle Fenris, was saying, Welcome to war, Cherry, you never get the whole picture. That was how Fenris talked sometimes, too many years commanding the 1st Rassvet Guards Armored Division, soaking in the gung ho macho of the armored corps. Publicly, Fenris was a different guy, confident, reserved, ramrod straight. In private was a crusty guy, but he was right. They had to make decisions and hope things worked out. No luxury to sit there and figure out the perfect solution.

In any event, he started going over his inventory of equipment, because they were going in it, but he did have one thing to get off his chest, "You know, Country," Lee, "We're about to go in the shit and I gotta level with you..."

"You're wrong about Lily. She might have a jackal's laugh, and that's just your excuse for giving up before even trying, but she's got a sense of humor. Setzer was pick #2 and you were pick #1, you jackass. You wouldn't even have noticed the snoring after what she would have done to you if she'd gotten her hands on you. I don't know what is alluring about you in a lampshade and a sock, dancing on a table, but hey, that's taste."

The rap to the temple brought Trent back with a groan and a few curse words. He rubbed the sore spot and felt more like himself. He was suppose to be helping Galahad not bringing him down to his level, but the sounds, the music out here made him feel like he was home again. Still rubbing at his temple he watched the others interact and felt a little self conscious of that. He really only knew Zimmy, Galahad and Lee. The others he had interacted with inside the classrooms, or in Setzer's and Gideon's case when the former felt like dragging him out for physical activites or a random party to get the smaller boy to be more social. He grunted as he lifted himself off the cold ground and looked a little confused when they were looking skyward.

"Zimmy... please tell me that's your fireworks..." he knew better of course. He couldn't hear the tone he always associated to her. It was odd looking up and seeing the airship in a fiery inferno of destruction. He let out a sigh whilst the other's where inspecting what best to do, Zimmy giving her report on the escape pod. Gideon and Galahad pointing out there weren't their nations ships. Trent didn't know what to really do, he did well on magic classes. Almost everything else got by with good graces and tact when answering questions. Shaking his doubts away and putting his grinning face at the others he couldn't help but laugh. "I didn't bring my phone..." He pulled at a tune in the mist and summoned ice to his hands as he walked towards the firepit and felt bad for Gideon he'd be destroying his project.

"Poor Lee," Trent called out laughing. "You should have had your fun." He stretched. Again he called to the Mist, this time to actually use it and not become it's pawn. He would PRAY no one asked about the dancing, the touching, the need to hear their notes played out. This time, he would control it. He brought his left hand down, his right hand he made in a grabbing motion at the flames of the fire. Exstinquished. The light he pulled from th e flames, letting the heat die out and called to his now teammates notes. Their clothing he weaved the light into, his hands making smaller motions as if threading a needle. He kept his eyes open and on his work. If there was other planes up there besides their own, he'd make them smaller targets. Ghostly if he needed to.

"Gideon, remind me to thank your ancestors for the ghost stories of this place. There," he nodded at his work and smiled. "Try not to ruffle your clothing too much, it's a minor spell, won't last for long but it'll give you enough light of which to see enough in front of yourself to not run into a tree." He walked towards Lee, snagged the bottle out of his hand and took a sip. He handed it back, and walked towards the Vehicle of Evil. Did he mess with this enough to get the god awful sound it made to dissipate? He knew little of the monstrosity and decided to leave it to Galahad. He laughed when Gideon mentioned the party of Lee dancing. He had heard wild tales of that party to end all parties. He had stayed in the library, camped out with a book. By the Crystal, his life was boring until now.

He turned to look through the forest towards the blaze and suddenly wondered something. Didn't the radio just mention the princess or something coming for the peace talks. He turned his attention back to the sky and decided this once, he'd lead and deal with the irrate group.

"I'd suggest getting into the vehicle now," he let the magic in their clothing go, allowing for what little he understood of Galahad's innate magic whatever theory take over. He still kept tabs on it, since if he fully turned his attention away from it, the light would wink out. His mind still raced, thinking along the lines of the books he was always reading. What if it WAS the peacetalks being stopped before they could begin? He couldn't shake the thought, he was possibly overthinking the talkshow radio DJ's words over too much. Things like that happened in books and short films, not real life, right?!

He didn't wait for a response, he got into the truck, took his seat and leaned his head back. Let them decide on what to do. When and if they needed a major magic attack done, they'd need him. For now, he felt the urge to just drink and forget their evening was interrupted by a giant ball of death.

Daryll wasn't in shock, but he was shocked, simply standing and staring as the carnage soared down into the tree line. Once the spectacle was over, he started keeping an ear on the conversation.

Later on, he'd be disappointed in himself for taking so long to act, but he got himself moving by the time their car was mentioned. Zipping into the driver's seat, Daryll was both pleased and disappointed in Setzer for leaving the keys in. He supposed that it could have been a convenience thing, but here was no time to seriously ponder why Setzer had been so careless. Instead, he turned on the engine, getting it to work on the second attempt.

"Y'all fucking shitwads gonna move your lardasses the hell over here?!" Daryll was yelling, louder than he should have, even given the window between him and everyone... Except Trent. He panicked mentally for a moment before noticing the young man already in the van. Daryll then reflected on how much deeper the docks cursing apparently ran in him while flipping into gear and turning on the headlights.

That gave him pause. Headlights. They were dealing with probable foes that could very well yet have no idea they were around. The headlights went off. Instead, Daryll took a moment to steady himself mentally and opened his 6th sense to the Mist while the others clambered in. Attention back on the road, everything seemed foggy. It wasn't weather or someone's spell, but rather, how Daryll perceived the Mist: as mist. He supposed several great mages saw it similarly some great time past, but had never bothered checking if his sense was actually tied to the name.

Thankfully, everyone had their shit together and grabbed the actual essentials from all the junk they had unpacked. Declining a couple offers to drive, Daryll set forth at a speed above the speed limit, multitasking to sort of swish the mist before him, feeling the road from how it moved, instead of relying mostly on sight. The disturbance was negligible, so far as any sort of scanners were concerned, and didn't actually involve taking in any Mist. It did, however, have the issue of imprecision. If Setzer's driving was like a bus, this was a bus on a road sprinkled thoroughly with potholes. Fortunately, none of the tires blew while Daryll waited for a signal from someone who actually bothered taking more than the basic tactics classes.

((Accidentally quoted entire previous post while trying to edit on a phone. Cannot find delete button. Will remove ASAP.))