Today, Imogen learned a valuable lesson: knowing an attack is coming doesn't always mean she can avoid it. Case in point, Professor Mik, who had technique and experience in spades. Every time she was able to dodge an attack, he repositioned himself so that she had fewer opportunities to avoid the next. Eventually, she had no choice left but to brace for the final sweep, pouting at the inevitability of her loss although she took pride in lasting against the merciless professor longer than most. She will best him one day!

With Professor Euphie, it came down to a battle of speed. Imogen was fast. In her village, no one can outrun her, not even Caius, and he had strides twice as long! She held the record time of going up and down the mountain, although she supposed no one actually bothered trying to best her time, those lazy butts. Anyway, however fast she was, Professor Euphie was faster. Dogberry gave her just milliseconds to react, enough time to block (even if the professor didn't actually try to connect her attacks) but not to dodge. The challenge made her blood sing with excitement, fueled her even as every inch of her body protested its exhaustion. She never got the upper hand, but boy, did she move faster than ever before.

Magic seemed to be a glaring weak spot of hers. Dodging was easy when she didn't get distracted. Unlike most physical strikes, magic had an innate buildup time. It didn't matter if this accumulation lasted as fleetingly as a blink or a heartbeat; as soon as magic is being called upon, Dogberry doles out his warning and she gets more than enough time to scurry out of the way. She figured eight out of ten times, she'd be able to dodge. Twice she had gotten distracted and forgot to move out of the way—first by the neat glyph that appears when the magic was being cast, and then later by the shimmery lights that appear. Getting hit by a magical attack even once debilitated her much more than any regular attack, it seemed. It hurt worse than getting mauled by a bear eight seconds after having just been stomped on by a horse who just the night before, ate all the hay in town and so he barely fit in the stable.

Professor Mal kept telling her to focus her magic, but how the heck do you do that?

Despite her usual surplus of energy, even Imogen was beaten into an exhausted heap of fresh bruises and sore muscles, barely able to trudge to the sauna along with the others after their training ended. Imogen tried to follow after Iz, but she seemed mad. Actually, she had seemed upset ever since their earlier discussion. She should probably ask her what's wrong. But later. Right now, all she could think of was a nice, hot bath.

After an incorrect turn into the boys' side almost led to an awkward situation—luckily, a finicky fellow student dragged her out before anything scandalous happened—Imogen found the showers and cleaned herself as quickly as she could while still being thorough. She'd been caked in mud and sweat for a while now, and even she couldn't stand being filthy for too long. Usually, after a long trek through the mountains, she would just jump into the first body of water she could find to cool down and clean up, but she supposed she would get scolded if she did that here.

That didn't stop her from diving in the bath anyway, though. As soon as she finished rinsing off, she made her way to the end of the bath, furthest away from the others already in it out of respect, and dove in, relishing in the relief the hot water brought. Imogen noticed Lin huddled in the corner a moment too late and could only grin sheepishly in apology after she had resurfaced. "Oops, sorry, Lin! Didn't see ya there!"

Of everyone in the Rose Unit, Lin seemed the frostiest—uh, no pun intended?—even around her fellow Lions. Always irritated, always hiding behind a wall. Imogen wondered if like Iz, she was just shy and unused to being around people. There hadn't been many opportunities for them to get to know each other, but Imogen could smell the mountains on her and she had quickly accepted her as a kindred spirit.

After the water settled from her disturbance, Imogen waded next to Lienna and gave a proper greeting. She could glean from how warily she scanned the room that she was on edge, although how she could be anything but relaxed right now escaped her. Leaning in close, Imogen lowered her voice to a whisper, guessing at the root of her concerns. "If you're worried about Ronnie attacking you or something, don't worry, I can give you a heads-up."

---

Rudolf let out a startled yelp at Kayden's acknowledgement, muffled into incoherence by the water that submerged his mouth as bubbles frothed up on the surface of the pool above. Why? Of all the times for his unfortunate curse to fail him, why did it have to be when he was naked? The boy curled in on himself tighter, hugging his knees to his chest and squinting in concentration, as if willing his Crest into being would make everyone miraculously forget he was there. Unfortunately, it seemed the blood of Saint Noa was not his to command, and Kayden's eyes lingered too consistently for Rudolf to have shifted from an insecure little boy to a nebulous bathhouse phantom.

"I'd rather not talk to her at all if I can avoid it," Rudolf murmured in Kayden's direction as he finally lifted his mouth above the water's surface. The pool was too full. Too many eyes would have picked up at least a vague sense of his person. Any one of those strangers could take a direct interest in him, and then even ducking into the foliage wouldn't suffice to fully conceal him. He was stuck in the midst of an uncomfortable conversation between strangers about Veronica - which he might be expected to have an opinion on as an Adrestian student.

But it wasn't just strangers. Crown Prince aside, a head of black hair across the pool looked awfully familiar. He wasn't one of the Varley kids that Rudolf could recall, unless the count had a bastard running around that the Adrestian gossip sphere wasn't privy to yet. No, he'd definitely seen this guy before. Formal wear was involved. Probably. Something with a V... Vlad von- no, that sounded like a cheesy play. Victor! Victor von Varley. That still didn't sound right, but Rudolf was out of V names. He'd try it.

Rudolf sunk low in the water again and awkwardly shifted away from the House Leader triumvirate and the probable Gautier bastard, keeping his back to the edge of the bath and his knees up high to cover his... everything as he approached the arguing trio from outside his class. Whether his escape went unnoticed or not didn't concern him; he had nothing to say to Kayden with an audience present and even less to discuss with foreigners. They'd forget about him in a moment and he'd only have to evade the already-distracted students in the corner to slip away back to his room.

"Hi. Sorry. Uh. Victor, right? You probably don't remember me. Rudolf von Bergliez. I think we met at Count Hevring's ball a few years ago. Well, we didn't really meet, but I was there... in the corner... um. That- that sounds creepy, ignore that." The pallid boy fumbled awkwardly through his words, only able to maintain eye contact for short intervals before his gaze drifted back down to his knees. "Anyway," Rudolf continued nervously upon the realization that nothing he'd said so far actually had a point, "I just wanted to introduce myself and... say hello. I'd shake your hand but we're... uh... disrobed at the moment."

Saints have mercy, a conversation about Veronica would've been a million times less awkward than this. The limits of his own stupidity always managed to astound him; Rudolf had no idea how no one else saw it.

---

@POOHEAD189@Obscene Symphony@Hero

---

"As far as I'm concerned, he can have her," Kayden remarked to Auberon, seeing the bathhouse filling up now. A few of the boys he swore he had seen before, likely nobleborn fellows who had been introduced to him. He had just been about to respond to Jorah, but Auberon's comment was like a lifeline. If only someone else here would steal her, he would be elated. Shrugging his fair shoulders, fashionably tanned from his sword drills and afternoon horserides, he turned his head Jorah's way. "Not all of them, no. I'm just lucky, I guess. I won't be one of those highborn assholes that complain about his lot in life as if being royalty is a vast burden, but when you're a prince, you do have to make some sacrifices. And she's not my wife, yet."

That last bit was pointedly targeted at Auberon.

Kayden actually felt very at ease here, and not simply because the water was just the right temperature to relax his body in its entirety. Speaking of which, he let his arms slip off the stone sides and he sank in a bit deeper, letting the water reach his neck. The prince expelled a satisfied breath. Gods, he missed the palace. Suitably warmed, he glanced at Derec and chuckled. Not maliciously, however. He simply couldn't help but be a bit amused. This was the perfect place to talk about women, when the women couldn't hear them. It wasn't uncouth to have a private conversation after all, and none of the guys present were sleazy in anyway, at least as far as Kayden knew.

"Why not? Girls are fun." Kayden replied, and he knew Jorah would at least agree with him. They didn't always see eye to eye if the battle with the bandits was any indication, but this was a subject they could probably talk on for hours. "I'm interested in one or two here, though I'm hesitant." He seemed saddened for a moment. Not overly so, but as if he remembered a relatively that had died many years ago, a feeling of loss, though there was little sting left. "My only concern is my position. If I start dating a woman here with Veronica snooping about, she'll either make the girl's life hell or they'll think I'm just using them for a short time before I toss them out. Maybe I'm over thinking things. I guess we could change the subject if any of you would rather speak on something else."

He regarded Rudolph, noticing him speak up. Good! He wasn't hiding like Kayden had expect, though truthfully he had nearly forgotten he was there until he spoke.

And the conversation had already begun to crash and burn before it began...

"Yeah, it's weird how people meet like that." Kayden piped in, trying to steer the conversation in a more nonchalant manner. He wanted to say more, but honestly he didn't want to betray the fact that he didn't remember when any of them had met him before, so he didn't pursue the subject.

The Goddess must have been suffering just as much from the stifling awkwardness in the sauna as Jorah was, because it could only have been by Her grace that the sauna started filling up before Kayden could even get a word out in response. First came Auberon, apparently blessed with a Crest power that notified him when his fellow House Leaders started waxing inappropriate, then Derec with a question so strange and innocent it was downright cute, and finally, a whole host of rowdy young strangers, bringing with them a pleasant background of voices and emotions to fill the small yet emotionally cavernous space. No longer obligated to focus on making conversation with the guy who nearly killed his friend or on the other boy’s nagging self-consciousness, Jorah was able to properly relax, his antsy Crest and puzzling mind finally calming down to match his body.

“What else is there to talk about?” he finally asked, raising an incredulous eyebrow at Derec. Was it just a thing that redheads were prudes, or were Derec and Clarissa separated at birth or something? Unless Faerghian peasant Derec was about to break out into a thrilling tale of exotic, faraway lands, Jorah could think of nothing more engaging to substitute. “Besides, it’s an earnest question; unfortunately, my travels never took me as far as Adrestia, and most of their trade comes over by land. I’ve never really had the chance to sample their ‘finer goods’, if you catch my drift.” He shot a mischievous grin in Derec’s direction, although he couldn’t help but laugh. “Unless you count Brigid as part of Adrestia, I guess – in that case, I’m quite the connoisseur!”

Jorah chuckled openly to himself at the thought, picturing the ocean of differences between the wild and free Brigidese she-sailors he used to chase all over the docks and shrill, stiff, supple-as-a-nettle Veronica, before Derec reminded him of Auberon’s proposal. “I don’t know; how badly do you want Saint Cethleann sizing up your nethers?” he shrugged, not too keen on the idea himself. He shook his head. “Better to do it the Almyran way; I hear they put mosaics of dancing girls on the walls of their bath houses, in various states of undress. Then again, those ‘dancing girls’ turn into female warriors half the time when Rai tells the story, and he couldn’t have been much older than twelve when he left the country – for all I know, the Almyran bastard was probably lying to me all along.”

Jorah’s wide grin fell a little flat; that was the point where Rai would usually butt in to defend his unimpeachable honour on the topic of honesty and nudity, but of course, such a retort never came. It was certainly a shame that Duke Gloucester pulled him out of the Academy, especially so suddenly. It was probably for the best, considering all the “fun” he missed at Luin, but Jorah still mourned the loss of his friend to the gilded cages of Gloucester. It was a wonder Duke Riegan didn’t pull him out, too, but Jorah wouldn’t lament that decision; Rai or no Rai, Luin or no Luin, he didn’t need to be clapped back in irons back in Derdriu again too. Even if it seemed like his father was less concerned about the fate of his only son and heir than Duke Gloucester was for a foreign orphan he’d adopted.

Jorah clued back into the conversation as the topic went back to women of flesh rather than ceramic, and once more, despite his lingering distaste for Kayden, he couldn’t help but offer his two cents.

“First off, no thanks; I’d take a romantic evening with one of the mares in the stables over a night with that viper,” he joked, referencing Veronica. “If I were you, I’d worry more about her coming for you than whatever poor unfortunate you set your eyes on. Secondly, it’s not like you can take any of the girls here home to Enbarr anyway. Even if they weren’t all wrapped up in diplomatic strings of their own, how well is the Empire going to take to a homewrecker for a queen?”

It wasn’t usually Jorah’s way to worry about such trivial matters as duty and propriety – and honestly, the civil war that would start if the Adrestian Crown Prince blew off his fiancée for some chick from the Officers’ Academy would probably be pretty fun to watch from a distance – but for Kayden to act like taking a lover at Garreg Mach for a year and then dumping her, marrying Veronica and going off to rule Adrestia was anything but using a girl and then tossing her aside was ludicrous, even by Jorah’s standards.

“That’s why you find a girl just as bogged down with obligations as you are for your fling,” he continued, concluding his reasoning out loud. “No broken hearts, no political nightmare, no pitchforks and torches; just some innocent, unattached fun before you go chain yourself down forever. Then who’s to say she’s not just using you, hm?” Jorah crossed his arms triumphantly, though the laugh bubbling out of his chest betrayed him. “At least, that’s what I used to tell the Gloucester girls before Rai and Clarissa came to kick my teeth in.”

---

Auberon sighed as everyone predictably noticed the issue in his mosaic idea. That's what he deserved for trying to pass himself off as a patron of the arts, he supposed. What else would fit? Landscape art? It was a church; religious iconography was a given. Not that he particularly wanted Saint Macuil to stare at his undressed form either. Depictions of violent events like the first Battle of Tailtean would be visually impressive but hardly conductive to relaxation, and most of the other key scenes from the scriptures would have the same failing of Saint Seiros oogling his naked ass. He hoped the Count had a seneschal that was skilled in interior decoration already, because Auberon was wholly out of his depth.

"Yes, thank you, I saw the flaw as soon as I said it. Not that naked women frolicking about would be any better in a place of worship," The blonde muttered in a deadpan. Saint Cethleann would probably weap if she bore witness to this conversation anyway. Taking a secret (or not-so-secret) lover in the face of an arranged marriage wasn't underheard of, but Auberon always assumed such acts were crimes of passion spawned from the heat of the moment that progressed into extended affairs, not an unvirtuous soul deliberately hunting for gullible courtesans. Couldn't Kayden just eat a potato or something?

"I'm not condoning any of this," Auberon leveled a stern glare at his fellow House Leaders to make it patently clear he had nothing but scorn for the idea, "but Jorah's right. If you absolutely must engage in some pointless tryst, at least do so with someone who fully knows what she's in for." Otherwise, the Empire was likely to surpass Faerghus in uppity bastard rebellions. "Or you could find a nice girl, walk her down to the cathedral, and remember the wages of sin is death and those shallow pleasures of the flesh will be little comfort in a lake of eternal fire," He suggested with a flippant perkiness in his tone. This was why the bathhouse needed to be churchlike - people like Jorah and Kayden had to be reminded where they were anytime the topic of women came up - which it often did for some reason whenever people were naked.

The blond lowered himself further into the pool as he sprawled out in a full body stretch that he held until the heat from the water fully soaked in. Might as well loosen up before he ended up all tense again from matters that didn't even concern him. As nice as the bath was now, Auberon was certain this feeling would be absolutely heavenly in the winter. Every village beyond the most irrelevant hamlets in Faerghus should have one of these, as far as he was concerned. Though heating the water might've been an issue. Was this a natural spring or did servants have to maintain a constant fire in the basement like those pretentious southern villas? Or maybe there was a spell for it. If Lienna could figure out icicles in her dirt hovel, surely one of the more well-off yeomen could figure out heated water.

---

@Obscene Symphony@POOHEAD189

---

Interacting with: @Hero

“Men find such an atrocious degree of joy in combat. I’ve often wondered if they just see it as high risk roughhousing. I understand the necessity of training but I agree, I’ll never understand the pleasure he sought from it.” Clarissa agreed. She watched Lienna enter the bath, choosing to find a quiet spot by herself rather than seek out conversation. After the disastrous display the Blue Lions put forth and the intensity of their training, Clarissa couldn’t fault her. She made to call Lienna over so she could distract her from whatever thoughts had her staring into the water like that but Imogen got to her first. There wasn’t any better distraction than the chaos that the other Deer seemed to revel in so Clarissa let them be and turned her attention back to Veronica.

“Considering the ordeals of the day, I think we can do away with worries of formalities, Veronica.” Clarissa laughed, slipping down a little further in the water so she could rest her head on the edge of the pool comfortably. “I’m only here for my recovery and good company and personally, I think I’ve found both so I’d loathe to sacrifice either of it over propriety for the moment. It has it’s time and place but I think it best we leave that at the door with our clothes after a long day of being repeatedly and violently introduced to the ground.”

“With the water around me, it’s easy to forget I’m half a world away from home. I didn’t think that was what I’d miss the most but I miss the ocean most of all. Even when I’d travel as a child, we mostly stuck along the coast between our home and Derdriu. It’s been a strange change of pace not to wake up to salt in the air and the sound of waves lapping at the pier.” Clarissa spoke with her eyes closed, relaxed. “Is there anything you miss from home being sheltered away up here at the top of the world?”

Despite her own best efforts and the sauna’s dogged attempts to relax her, Lienna was still on edge – enough that a movement in the corner of her eye and sudden splash of hot water made her yelp, startled, as she shrank back against the wall of the tub. Expecting some cloaked assailant ready to drag her from the Monastery to Goddess-knew-where, Lienna couldn’t decide whether to be relieved or angry when her frenzied search for her attacker revealed nothing but an all-too-nonchalant girl with a half-amused apology on her tongue. She couldn’t remember the girl’s name – even if the girl somehow had a nickname for her already – but the fronds of pink hair clinging to her forehead did ring a bell. She was one of the Deer, not a crazed and impossibly stealthy murderer abducting people from the holiest place in Fódlan.

Probably.

The thought made Lienna scan the room one last time, revealing nothing, before slicking the water off her face, once more telling herself to relax. By the time she opened her eyes, the pink-haired girl was much closer, sliding right up next to her and whispering something in her ear. What? Attack her? Who was Ronnie? The girl’s words were relevant enough to her conversation with that pegasus woman to put her on edge again, but the tone with which she said them was way too casual for them to be talking about the same thing. A joke, then? Great, that meant her discomfort was visibly obvious to everyone. Awesome. But wouldn’t they be watching their backs too, if they heard what she had? Should she be spreading the word?

A desperate glance over to Clarissa told her no one would come to her rescue for the moment; she seemed much more interested in chatting up Veronica of all people than reining in her Housemates. Lienna had to admit some surprise that someone as seemingly decent as Clarissa would waste her breath on a piece of work like that at all. Maybe she was just playing politics – Veronica was some kind of foreign princess or something, wasn’t she? – or maybe Clarissa was just good at acting nice when she wanted something. Or maybe she was one of those infuriating people who just somehow got along with everyone, although given the number of times Lienna had seen her put the screws to her own House Leader, that probably wasn’t the case.

The pink-haired girl, however, fit the bill perfectly, gleefully occupying huge swaths of Lienna’s personal space, buck naked, with nary a blink at the sharp look she was given. She reminded Lienna of a puppy, all playful exuberance and thinking everyone was her friend. Of course, dogs liked her about as much as horses, pegasi, and any other livestock did – which was to say, not at all – so Pinky over here was even exceeding that comparison.

Resigned to a conversation with the girl, Lienna slid aside a bit, putting some respectable speaking distance between them. “Who’s ‘Ronnie’?” she asked in a sharp whisper, not sure if the girl was telling her the name of the killer prowling the Monastery or some mythical sauna monster. “And who are you again?”

---

Rudolf was quite certain Victor remembering him was a far more commendable feat than the other way around. Well, he could've been politely pretending to recognize him instead. Or maybe he vaguely remembered one of the other Bergliez boys and assumed one of them had lost weight. He had no idea why Victor assumed mophead was the source of his discomfort though; he was still naked whether Isaac was the highest nobility in the land or some serf that floated from Brigid on a log. Maybe because Isaac had flailed so much. Why did Faerghians always have the worst reaction to his Crest?

"Nice to meet you. Both. Bo-both of you- Uh," He stuttered as he debated which arm to raise in order to wave without revealing too much of his body. In the end, he simply let his arms drop and resume the hug around his knees. Smooth. If everyone's kids were acquainted, maybe he'd underestimated the amount of effort invested in the Western Church. He couldn't fault House Varley for wanting to spread its influence to the Empire's neighbors, but how hard could it be to erect a few buildings and appoint a bishop or two? Then again, his idea of a chapel was a bit underwhelming; Bergliez holdings were often too fortified for such frivolous defensive liabilities like stained glass windows or expansive cathedrals that sat on prime real estate better used to house a castle. Outside of a few trips to Enbarr or Nuvelle Harbor, he prayed - if he found the time - in a quaint little room tucked against the outer wall of the local fort.

"Inter-house relations must be going well in your unit. I think the Lions imploded in ours." Rudolf shrank back into the not-very-deep depths of the pool from whence he emerged abruptly as that overzealous blond glanced over in tune with the conclusion of his statement. Thankfully, no scornful castigation emerged from the mouth of the Goddess' favored son, and Aubrey or Aubin or whatever his name was simply trailed his gaze along the wall in search of a place for that mural he'd rambled about. Probably didn't even notice the Bergliez boy was there; must've been an unlucky coincidence. Raising his mouth back above the water after the danger had seemingly passed, Rudolf continued, "Though I guess I can't really say I've been keeping to the Eagles myself either..." Kayden was... fine. Not the type of person Rudolf usually associated with - least of all because he was a prince and the ruby-eyed boy should've been beneath his notice anyway. But he probably knew the Edmund better and he'd talked to her exactly once.

---

@Hero

---

The past few days had been relatively uneventful; at least for Kayden himself. Some sword practice here and there, a fair amount of sleep, a team meeting or two. Veronica and he seemed to have come to a small understanding, thankfully. They had not suffered through a grueling argument or fight in a week, which was a first. Perhaps their talk, along with Kayden venting some frustrations with the boys™ helped ease his mind. He was glad he could break bread with Jorah and Auberon, if only for a short moment. Kayden was all for friendly rivalries, but they were all in the same gilded cage. Unfortunately the gaoler had let a rabid beast into the cage, by the looks of it.

Kayden had gathered a rumor of something strange going on, but he paid it little mind, thinking it a normal whisper after Luin and the other ominous news from afar they had heard. He was confident enough in his own skills and those of his peers that nothing was truly dangerous in the walls of Garreg Mach, but the Archbishop's words and Michail's stern visage showed him he'd made a wrong assumption. This Captain Kalliope certainly had thei-

_"Wow," he whispered when he saw her. His well-formed jaw went slack for a few moments until his mind caught up with himself and he cleared his throat quietly. He had known of Captain Kalliope, but he'd yet to see her until just today and Goddess she was attractive. He immediately knew he would go and speak to her, because he was a reckless fool like that. But that would be later. For now, the room erupted into a buzz of commotion and his team was just beside him. He crossed his arms and turned on the wooden aisle, glancing at the others, which of course included Rudolph and Veronica.

"This looks problematic. I'm sure you'll follow the protocol. Rudolph, you might be safer than the rest of us for obvious reasons, but don't take any unnecessary risks, regardless. Veronica, don't let your head get to you, and before you say anything I'll be sure to do the same. And uh..." He faced forward, statuesque and clearly attempting to seem as if he were some grim commander. He closed his eyes and lifted his chin. "I'll go speak to this Captain Kalliope for um, more information. Guard schedules and what not. It's only responsible."

He glanced at the other team leaders, gauging their reactions and doing his best not to gauge the reactions of his own teammates. Truth be told, beyond his libido and rivalries with the others, he truly was a bit worried. Garreg Mach was well protected, but it held the future of the three lands all in one juicy spot. Anarchists and raiders would gain more than they ever could hope for if they torched the place down with the students inside it.

---

Interacting with: @Hero

The week passed easily in comparison to their brutal training exercises, though anything shy of being mauled by a bear would be considered easy when Professor Michail’s enthusiasm defined the standard. Normally, lessons limited to ink and paper and lectures would find Clarissa itching in her seat despite the determination to absorb anything and everything but she welcomed the reprieve from action with open arms after a week whose highlights included a bloody massacre and their introduction to training exercises. Still, it felt surreal. Ghosts, courtesy of a training camp gone awry, lingered in the corners of her room while she drifted into slumber, the frustrating tug between her loyalty to the Church and her loyalty to her countrymen making smiles just a tad harder, and yet, life went on at Garreg Mach. She still woke before the sun, reveled in the beauty of it seeping through stained glass and filling the grand cathedral, walked the grounds with reverence in every step, laughed at whatever mischief her housemates wandered into, and snapped when she had to stop them from going too far. There were still books to read and assignments to complete and chores to wash up after. She found it reassuring, like the Goddess was reminding them that not everything is as world shattering as it seemed in the moment.

Though today, the restlessness came back (a facet of herself she blamed solely on Jorah’s influence in her life). The Archbishop finally had time for tea! Though she’d suggested the idea on their first day, Clarissa never thought someone as important as Ioannis would reasonably have time for something as silly as tea with students. While it was never a question that Clarissa would become someone important enough to have tea with the Archbishop, she’d always imagined it would be after she took her place on the Roundtable and entered talks on how to best coordinate strengthening the Church’s presence in the Alliance. But it’d arrived so much sooner and Clarissa could barely contain her excitement, even if Jorah was a little put out over the fact he couldn’t monopolize her for the entire day. She had no doubt it’d be over quickly; it was only tea!

She’d thought her good mood invincible to even the disturbing and inappropriate things Jorah thought acceptable to proclaim in public but the Goddess certainly proved her wrong. She’d swept into the cathedral eagerly, never truely needing an excuse to enjoy standing in such a holy place, and took her seat just as quickly. She didn’t know what would warrant early dismissal but it barely took the word rumors to change her attitude. She straightened in her spot, immediately scanning the room for their teacher’s reactions. Not that it was necessary, she doubted anyone believed nothing had happened yet considering the interruption and implementation of heightened security, but the grim set to Professor Michail’s mouth spoke volumes. Clarissa doubted that the Knights of Seiros weren’t doing everything in their power to handle this but the Archbishop’s reassurances that their confidence in the Knights weren’t misplaced echoed Professor Euphemia far too quickly for Clarissa’s comfort.

However, there would be time for speculation later in the evening. “Well at least our education isn’t in danger, just us.” Clarissa joked as she turned to her housemates. “In all seriousness however, I will always be available if you can’t find someone to accompany you on errands. Please don’t hesitate to knock on my door!” She figured she’d regret this decision in the coming weeks but she’d rather deal with the irritation than one of her housemates disappearing unexpectedly.

Fingers of dread had been twisting Lienna’s stomach ever since they were summoned to the Cathedral. Her nerves never had calmed since that ill-fated conversation with the pegasus woman, and she swore that the feeling of being watched had only grown more intense since that day after training, but it only got worse as the eyes of staff and saints bore into her while they waited for the address to begin. She’d tried to remind herself that anyone watching her should be either the wall-top guards or her fiancé’s faceless chaperone and not to start seeing faces in the shadows, but nothing worked; there was nothing she could do to quell the deep-seated feeling of wrongness that she now realized had been haunting her, in one way or another, since her first day here.

And to make matters worse, the Archbishop validated her concerns.

Lienna’s fingers twisted the heavy fabric of her skirt into knots to stop them shaking, holding on for dear life as though a storm were coming to blow her away. So it was true. As ready as she usually was to expect the worst, there’d been some small, silent part of her hoping that woman had been lying, hitting her with some tried-and-true ghost story to get troublesome students in line. But she wasn’t so lucky. It sickened her further to think that all this time, that creeping feeling of dread that always seemed to nag at her was actually right. She brushed it off as a remnant of a lifetime of looking in the shadows for raiders and wolves, overactive instincts from years of having to take care of herself. But she was wrong; maybe danger just seemed to follow her, all the way from the borders of Sreng to the peaks of Garreg Mach.

Was nowhere in this saints-forsaken country safe?

She wanted to stand up and leave, send a letter to her fiancé – surely he’d take her back to his fortress in a heartbeat if she forgave his end of their deal. Her time at the Monastery was supposed to make her safer, help her build a network of powerful friends to call upon if she needed to; no one would fault her for opting out if the very venture meant to ensure her safety was the thing putting her most at risk.

But she stayed in her seat, glancing suspiciously around the Cathedral as her classmates filtered out. She’d need someone to write the letter for her, and to read the Count’s reply. Would Auberon do it? No, she didn’t need a lecture on cowardice from the likes of him in these circumstances. Kellen? He might be thinking of going home himself, unless whatever waited for him back there scared him more than the possibility of being snatched in the night, dragged away by dark-clad strangers, screaming into a gag as they recounted their horrible plans…

“Mmh.” Lienna squeezed her eyes shut, pressing a palm to her forehead as if to physically push the image from her mind. Maybe she shouldn’t bother her Housemates with this. Maybe… no, Professor Michail was out, he’d probably shrug off her concerns as silly under the supposedly watchful eye of the all-powerful Knights of Seiros. Professor Tomai would probably do his best to get her to stay, too, given their little “mystery”... Ugh, and that was another problem! Goddess above, didn’t she have enough to worry about?! At this rate she’d have been better off in Hima!

That got her out of her seat, striding to the aisle with hopes of leaving that train of thought behind in the pew. Maybe Clarissa could help her; she seemed put-together enough to keep her judgements to herself, and by the looks of her grinning to her Housemates, she wasn’t too frightened – or at least, she was savvy enough not to show it. Lienna made a beeline to the redhead, but tripped on the way, having to catch herself on a nearby pew.

Glaring back to find whatever she tripped over, she found it was actually another student, that small red-eyed boy from target practice with the weird Adrestian magic. Weird, she hadn’t even noticed him.

“Sorry,” she murmured, looking eager to escape as she straightened her skirt.

---

The advent of an assembly itself wasn't concerning; the administration could've had any number of announcements deemed too important to simply be tacked on the end of a class by the professors. The concern arose from his professor's solemn vigil near the door. Auberon's first thought was that someone had died, since he doubted something like another attack on the church would warrant a public announcement if the one concurrent with the Luin massacre didn't. And if the Central Church itself had been attacked, he certainly would've heard the soldiers charging at the gates well beforehand.

Unfortunately, it seemed his intuition had failed him. Rumors that warranted a curfew and a transfer of guards weren't just rumors, which meant someone had actually disappeared already. How any kidnapper could operate underneath the noses of the Knights of Seiros and the watchful eyes of the Goddess without being immediately apprehended was mind-boggling, and Auberon suspected Michail agreed, based on his dour mood. Then again, that thief managed to get in simply enough. If he applied Clarissa's theory that every recent act against the church was a calculated part of a greater whole - which he frequently did, as the odds of this many unrelated iconoclasts disgracing Garreg Mach in such a short amount of time were slim - that might've been a trial run of their exfiltration plan. If their motive was simple coin, nearly any student here could generate quite the ransom. Otherwise, the next generation of the aristocracy would make for fine political leverage as hostages.

The target on his back almost made him want to go for a midnight stroll so he could ask them. After they'd been rendered harmless - with emphasis on the armless - but before they'd bled out, preferably.

Auberon opened his mouth to address his Housemates, but Lienna was already out of her seat and down the aisle before he could even ask where she was headed. At least she was probably the one he needed to worry least about. If the inevitable giant ice spire didn't tip off the guards to an abduction in progress, nothing would. "Kellen, you're probably the most valuable hostage in the Blue Lions," Auberon started before pausing briefly. The other boy barely left his room to begin with; he'd probably become a complete recluse if he thought he was in genuine danger. Derec was probably worth peanuts, so that just left the other handful of minor nobility to fret over and the mystery bastard who, quite frankly, Auberon wouldn't miss in the slightest. "But you're not the type to go skulking off alone, so I'm sure you'll be fine as long as you're mindful. Derec, don't try to play hero like that blunder with the fat bandit." Or at the very least, send Auberon an invitation before skewering the poor sinner.

Reining his face back into authoritative stoicism, Auberon twisted in his seat to address the remainder of his House within earshot. "I trust no one else will do anything rash either. Stay inside or bring an escort. Your sword isn't an escort."

---

@ThatCharacter@Hero

---

Even before such a grim announcement, Kellen Fraldarius’ face had been a few shades too pale for a healthy youth. For a few minutes following the horrible announcement, it only got worse. Kellen looked a bit like a revenant who had failed to pass on to the next plane. The reassurances of new guards and a curfew were hardly reassuring when the archbishop seemed to have little concrete information.

Though Kellen didn’t know it, he arrived quickly to the same conclusion as Auberon. The Archbishop wouldn’t convene the students like this if the rumours hadn’t been validated in some way. The most optimistic read of this was that they had spotted an intruder. The more realistic was that someone a student had already gone missing. It hadn’t been anyone from the Rose Unit. But beyond that, Kellen wasn’t at all comfortable trying to determine who might have been missing in a sea of students he had hardly taken five minutes to look at, let alone speak to or learn much about. He hadn’t heard or seen anything to cause alarm on the grounds, though it was no surprise given the amount of time he had been spending in his room.

He turned to look at Lienna, who was visibly shaken by the news. He frowned but knew better than to try and offer any sort of reassurance. Not that he was sure he’d be able to come up with anything as it stood. After a few moments, she shot up from her seat and started off. This was becoming a bit of a habit, though Kellen didn’t pay it much mind. He still recalled how their last conversation had gone.

He turned to Auberon as his peer spoke a simple, yet unsettling truth. "Kellen, you're probably the most valuable hostage in the Blue Lions". Kellen didn’t offer much in terms of reaction, beyond a quiet “Oh.” Auberon didn’t dwell on it, but Kellen would. Nevertheless, he nodded briskly at Auberon’s instructions. He was still frustrated with nearly every Lion of the Rose Unit, but in the face of whatever this was, his resentment towards his classmates seemed almost trivial. Almost.

“You be careful too, Auberon.” He tried to look in the blonde’s eyes to determine if he had reached the same conclusion Kellen had, or if the instructions were merely an attempt to secure his authority. His right leg started to bounce a bit, and Kellen rested a hand on it. Only after it stopped did Kellen stand up. As he did so, his eyes turned to the entrance of the cathedral. He could see Michail stationed there, and for half a moment he made eye contact with his professor. He was almost certain his professor would have more information on this, though he doubted getting it would bring him any sort of peace.

Shaking his head, he looked back to his classmates. “If, um. If anyone needs someone to walk with them, you can knock.” He didn’t quite smile, but his eyes looked a bit less cloudy as he spoke. “If - rather, please, say your name or something so I know it’s, well, you.”

---

If Rudolf didn't wish fervently every night that he was back at Fort Merceus before, he certainly did now. The rumors had him nervous enough, but confirmation just left him enervated and mildly annoyed. Disappearances. In Garreg Fucking Mach. Unbelievable; the Knights were a joke nowadays. If they seriously thought he might be a threat when something like this was in the works right under their noses, they must've been. Maybe Theo should've spent less time monitoring him and more time watching for infiltrators. At the very least, Rudolf should be well-protected once that silver-haired psychopath inevitably tried to name him as one of the suspects and stepped up his spying. Nothing could be worse than letting Rudolf von Bergliez, Criminal Mastermind, Serial Murderer, Peerless General, and Sorcerer Supreme run around unmonitored. He might go to the library or something - how positively dastardly.

The boy's momentary grimace was wiped away along with such bitter thoughts as the prince spoke up. Right. He was probably the safest person on campus even without the Knights hovering over his shoulder, not that he ever left his room enough to try his luck. Speaking of which, that sounded like a lovely place to retire to before he was cornered and interrogated for more things he didn't do. Whatever Kayden hoped to glean from Captain Battleaxe up there didn't interest him anyway. Any guard rotation schedules they gave to a student would probably have to be changed to prevent a leak anyway, even if it was one of the House Leaders.

Unfortunately, just as Rudolf went to make his escape, someone's arm slammed right into his face as he rose from the pew, which caused him to stagger into the seat in front of him. It wasn't the first time he'd been literally tripped over and it likely wouldn't be the last, but the fact that it happened so brazenly told him he must've slipped away more adeptly than he thought. His assailant - that ice magic girl from Faerghus - was nice enough to toss an apology back at him but clearly decided he wasn't worth any more of her time than that with the way she tried to scurry off. Not that he blamed her.

"Yeah," The boy mumbled awkwardly as his eyes shyly drifted toward his toes, "Keep an eye out for me next time, I guess..." Why was everyone around here so full of action all of a sudden? It wasn't like they could march up to the podium and nag the administration into finding the culprit. Or was that just what successful people did; threw aside passivity at the first sign of danger and paced around like ants near spilled honey until they found something decisive to act on. Whatever it was, Rudolf wasn't that person. He didn't belong here and now he was almost in danger for it.

---

@Obscene Symphony@POOHEAD189

The cafeteria was a surprisingly fun place to work. It wasn't just because she was surrounded by delicious-smelling food that she sometimes got to taste-test after winning over the cooks, or the really fun and fascinating kitchen staff she got to know. The dining hall, Imogen learned, was a hub of information. Rampant with rumors and gossip, there wasn't a day where she didn't find out something new. Often, it would be something as trivial as two students hooking up after class. Maybe something slightly more scandalous like someone getting caught cheating on an exam. But occasionally, she'd get something meatier.

Like whispers of ghosts, disappearances, and danger lurking in the dark.

Ever since she'd caught wind of the gossip, Imogen had readily volunteered for the late shift at the cafeteria, which no one minded in the least. Some have gotten cagey and preferred to return to their rooms before sundown. Imogen, on the other hand, made sure to be last to leave and took the longest possible route back to the dorm, eyes and ears (and Dogberry) peeled. Sure, her heart would be drumming up a storm and she'd have to drive away a half-dozen scary stories she'd involuntarily concoct in her head. And she supposed it would be nice to have someone accompany her. But in the end, curiosity trumped fear. Imogen wanted to see if these rumors were true, and who better to investigate than someone who could sense looming danger?

Io's announcement all but confirmed the rumors and indirectly enabled Imogen to continue her late-night investigations. If students really are going missing, then they wouldn't get mad at her for trying to help, right? Probably not. The new strict curfew wasn't ideal, but she was confident she could avoid the guards to some extent. She's had experience escaping authority figures back in her hometown. It's practically the same thing. Kind of.

Clary offered to accompany them on errands and Imogen imagined for a second what would happen if she invited her out on her excursions—nope! Her ear burned from a phantom tug and she felt pre-chastised already. Clary was great and all, but Imogen knew better by now than to involve her in any rule-breaking shenanigans. In her mind, she had made her up to be part saint, part badass warrior, part mom. At some point, she had even learned to fear disappointing Clary.

Imogen's gaze swept over to where the Blue Lions sat, watching as Kel offered a similar gesture, although he seemed far less certain than Clary. This time, she imagined asking Kel to tag along and nearly burst out laughing as she pictured the two of them cowering behind a tree, both in tears after they had just seen a ghost. It made her wonder; would she be braver or more afraid in the company of someone who is also terrified?

Okay, so maybe she can just ask Jory instead.

---

Were Auberon a man of less than peerless decorum, Kellen might've gotten a laugh out of him there. Not in mockery - the expression of concern and offer to the rest of the House were both noble sentiments - but from the sheer absurdity of Kellen of all people saying it. The thought of his housemate on shaky legs with a sword - no, worse; a bow that couldn't hit the side of a barn - brandished against an advancing kidnapper that had thus far bested even the Knights of Seiros was hardly the image of a protector one would want accompanying them on a midnight stroll. And yet, he'd still offered of his own volition. That kid made no sense sometimes.

And so Auberon stared in incredulity, as if peering a hole through Kellen's head would offer a clue as to where that selfless bravery was hidden all the time. He seemed more frightened of an unexpected knock than an outright attack, yet allegedly couldn't even bring himself to lift a sword again because of some hellbound raiders.

"You're a good person, Kellen," He finally blurted out, for lack of any other encouraging words, "Even if I don't understand you at all." The blond patted his housemate on the back while he turned his attention to Derec. Right. He'd have to do something about Lienna too, whether she wanted him to butt in or not. He had the strangest notion that she leaned more heavily toward the 'not'. If Auberon offered to keep her safe, she'll call him a patronizing blowhard; if he reassured her she could handle herself and not to worry, she'd spit some more nonsense about the Goddess not liking her. Honestly, what did these peasant churches teach at mass every week? Fortunately, the Goddess saw fit to provide him a convenient escape before anyone talked him into another argument with the countess-to-be.

Tea with the archbishop promised to be an enlightening experience, though with so much going on, it was a surprise that Auberon was still allowed the honor. Then again, would the Goddess deny Her humble servants enlightenment in such trying times?

"I think that's my cue to depart. If anyone has further concerns, no matter how trivial they may seem, I'll be available later. Please seek me out." Auberon bowed his head toward the rest of the Lions before he slipped out of the pew and into the aisle. With a regretful pause, he gave one last look to Derec and Kellen. Just couldn't leave a job unfinished, could he? "If you want to try checking on her, I'd appreciate it, but I doubt she'll talk to any of us. She's -" Needlessly difficult? Then again, so was Kellen, "- headstrong like that."

---

@ThatCharacter@Hero

Honestly, could this day get any worse?

Jorah lurched into the cathedral with the rest of the crowd, their curiosity struggling to permeate his own sulking. It was like the Goddess rolled out of her bed of stars that morning and made it her mission to ruin his day. First, Clarissa abandoned him for some crusty Archbishop on her birthday, and now their school day was being made longer by an assembly called by the aforementioned crusty Archbishop? The dour faces on all the guards seemed a little ill at ease for an assembly, but Jorah took solace in the fact that if he was having a bad day, so was everyone else.

He unceremoniously plopped into a seat along the same pew as the rest of the Deer, making sure Clarissa noticed his refusal to look her way. How could she! The one year they were guaranteed able to spend her birthday together, and she just tossed him aside for a tea party. With some stuffy church official and Auberon of all people. Jorah hadn’t been so insulted since that year she spent her birthday in Derdriu for the official opening of the new garment district. He sold one of his father’s signet rings to hire that male courtesan for her, but did she appreciate it? Of course not! Instead, it was all “Jorah, that’s obscene!” this, and “Jorah, I’m only sixteen!” that. Didn’t even bother to thank him for the man-sized cake the fellow popped out of. It was like she didn’t even appreciate the gesture.

He huffed at the memory, crossing his arms. Sure, he didn’t have any grand plans today, but sneaking out for a ride in the nearby forest could have been nice, right? Not as nice as tea with Stick-In-Ass Auberon and Archbishop Ioannis, Snoozefest in Chief, apparently.

Like a cold wind, a dark shift in the emotional tone of the room alerted Jorah to something important going on, and he reluctantly lent the Archbishop his ear just in time to hear his warning about disappearances. Hm, yep, that’d do it. Jorah was curious why the Archbishop would go so far as to request support from the Northern Church for the sake of some rumours, but then, that was all the evidence he needed, wasn’t it? You don’t take that kind of action unless your “rumours” are substantiated, and if they’re substantiated… well, then they aren’t really rumours at all.

Jorah had a nagging feeling (egged on by the growing nervousness in the room) that he wasn’t as concerned about this announcement as he should be. He wasn’t close enough to the Archbishop to plumb his emotions for hints (and even if he was, the interference of the rest of the room would have made it difficult) but he didn’t think he needed to. The Monastery’s actions alone proved there was something behind the rumours, and yet he still wasn’t really all that nervous. On the contrary, the first thought that came to mind was that once word reached Derdriu of these disappearances, he might be able to use them as cover to get out of dodge. He could fake his own kidnapping; House Riegan would sadly lose its eldest and Delia would take the Dukedom and the Lordship, and the poor late Jorah von Riegan could live his days as Torah, common man roaming and adventuring to his heart’s content. Jorah smirked at the thought, though it soon went cold. The Duke would probably be happy about that in secret, if his lack of concern over the Luin incident was anything to go by.

The Archbishop dismissed the crowd, and Clarissa wasted no time looking on the bright side. Jorah, meanwhile, made a great show out of ignoring her, only to be disappointed when she was pulled away with nary a glance in his direction. Whatever; in a few hours she’d realize the error of her ways and be consumed by guilt for having snubbed her closest friend. Or she’d tell him to stop whining and then gush about having tea with the Archbishop, one or the other. He’d cross that bridge when he got to it.

Standing from the pew and stretching, Jorah noticed that while the whole crowd was starting to file out, the quiet blonde girl whose name he wasn’t entirely sure on looked like she had no intention of getting up. Crap, he was House Leader, he should know her name… she was from that disgraced House Ordelia, was it… Isadora? Isolde! Yes, Isolde, that was it. The one who went up against that giant in Luin with nothing but her fists. Jorah was surprised to find she looked a little rattled; she seemed mousy, sure, but this was a girl who ran up to punch a giant without hesitating – it seemed odd for a few kidnappers to give her pause.

“Not nervous, are you?” Jorah decided to ask, sitting back down next to the girl. As he did so, he realized that his confusion was at least partly correct. She still wore that blank stare, but now that he could single out her aura, he didn’t feel much fear. Just a sort of… tired dejectedness, maybe. She was very subdued, but at least she wasn’t afraid.

Jorah leaned back in the pew, satisfied with his evaluation. Suddenly he felt a little bad for misjudging her as a shrinking violet. “Yeah, curfew’s no big deal anyway. But if you’re ever trying to get around it and want some company, I’m pretty experienced in that area.”