Lyen'Ivhere'Zulc

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Tall Trees, Long Shadows I
_{Loriindton Forest - Night's Camp
Seen & Mentioned: Talit'yrash'osmax, Otios'yyia'thala, Eliis'qarmena'luunetar, Calitan’Viszar’Telrontelios}

Lyen's mood continued to improve the closer they came to arriving in Loriindton. The uptick in alcohol consumed by the part had little to no correlation. She was almost certain of it. Their journey had begun quiet, but the announcement of a celebration near their arrival had heightened spirits. At least for the older two Yasoi. Talit sought isolation more often the further they traveled, and it wasn't difficult to presume why. It was neither Lyen's place nor desire to provide comfort; she instead joined Jaxan, their new arrival, in attempting to stir excitement and cheer through games and drink. It was pleasant to have something to occupy the night other than thoughts of Relouse.

She hand't intended on getting drunk herself. At first the wine had been to chase the bitter taste of Thundersludge that lingered on the tongue long after the pride of success had worn off. It wasn't until much later, when they'd begun to move through the forest again at Talit's summons, that she noticed just how affected by it she was. The play-yard tune continued to play through her head, and unprompted further versus spilled from her humming lips as they came upon the other group.


"Niico fayil luun'ithan, eloi juup tuum tiin?" She stayed in the trees above, blinking down at the strange collection of Yasoi below. The exceptionally tall woman commanded inspection first, and Lyen was struck with a memory of the words fantôme rouge. Vague whispers of superstition among the Perrench common-folk. The details remained clouded by a fog of wine she worked to clear with her gift as Talit hobbled towards the strangers leaving Lyen to finish the rhyme on her own:
"Eloi juup tuum tiin? chel o'tuum ithan diidoin."

Once satisfied with her sobriety she joined the others in full view of the group, sill allowing herself to sway slightly as she landed. At eye level they were even more conspicuous; a disfigured dervish, obvious jam'bys addict, and a wraith of a girl easily mistaken for a child accompanied the giant. Lyen made the sign of the pentad following Talit's introduction. Her form could have shamed a blind apostate, but the intended mockery eventually became clear when her left fist opened after signing Dami to make a rude gesture beside the right.

"Word of a mette-stiroi brings all kinds in these strange times."
She said with apparent congeniality, her eyes watching for weapons and spells above an open smile.

---

Interaction: Lyen, Talit, Otios, Calitan
Scene: Tall Trees & Long Shadows
Location: Loriindton Forest - Night's Camp

---

Eliis had made an impact at Relouse, at least in some way. She'd definitely not killed nearly enough for her liking, but she had evened the stakes of the war by saving quite a few of the Eskandr, and thus prolonging the conflict. There was no doubt in her mind however, that the Parrench had secured their position in the fight, and perhaps this is why she had ended up heading to Loriindton. There was no qualms to be had about getting a vacation and spending some time with her people, and attending a mette'stiroi, and eating starlight snails, but she hated the fact that the command had come from a human. The idea of it made her not want to go at all, but she felt opportunity. And so she went with the motley crew of others that had decided to come with.

Of course, she couldn't go as herself. A tar'ithan in the midst of Parrence would stand out like snow on a summers day. She had a reputation and a name that had begun to precede itself in Relouse, so she became someone else. Her hair was braided and put into a shawl, and her garbs were changed for more traditional wear. Scars and Tetsoi were hidden with balms and for her trip, the only thing that would remain would be her height, though there were many of her kin who were tall and imposing, and it certainly wouldn't give her away. Indeed, for the time of this trip, Eliis would cast aside her demonic alias and become 'Vishvel', the lucky fighter. After all, she'd survived the battle of Relouse as a medic.

And although the travel wasn't the most comforting, the tall forests of Loriindton definitely were. The tastes, the flavours, everything brought to her tongue was pure bliss. She could not understand those who didn't have a penchant for the variety of foods that they had up north. Tiims'archa and the liquor they had brought with them were a match made in heaven, and the droplets of moonlight that managed to sneak through the tall canopy of the forest made it even sweeter still. The only thing that would make it better would be song and games - and that is when sweet little Jyluun won Eliis over by starting an old favourite of hers, Niico fayil luuni'than! It was a little of her namesake after all!

The words finished back and forth, and the alcohol danced from her mind to her mouth as she began to join, surveying those who spoke. She felt an eerie caution from them, and almost a sense of bloodlust. Did they know? She felt her nails sharpen and her hands tense for just a second, but she knew that if she held the same worry, then it would only affirm suspicion. Though, as she made out the different silhouettes, one in particular stood out. It all clicked for her - the thing that the big yanii was talking about - the spider, it all made sense. She chuckled a little looking at the visage of the woman that just responded to her - truth be told she felt like an idiot. While a few of her compatriots might have felt intimidated by this sudden appearance, she was excited. A lady of the gift - nay, of prophetic strength if her aftermath was anything to go by was standing right in front of her ready to share song and drink. Perhaps if they were on opposing sides of the battlefield, then she'd feel a bit more worried, but there was naught to worry about, as long as their cover remained in tact.

"Color me surprised! I didn't expect to see the lady herself here so soon before the mette'stiroi, and especially not with such lovely company!" she spoke, turning to face Talit from her seated position on a nearby log. "I am Eliis and the cute one here is Jyluun, though I'll give the others the privilege of introducing themselves." she uttered softly, patting the small ones head. She'd gotten a little too attached for her liking to this one, though perhaps the drink and song had made her more friendly than usual. And perhaps bolder. She looked at the three who'd spoken since coming close, though her eyes sat a little longer on Lyen and her collection of trophies imbued in her clothing, and touched the left of the log she was sat on, gesturing them to come and sit with her with a gentle smile.

---

Maëlle readies her bow, raising it up towards the perched squirrel. She makes herself perfectly still in her position, anchoring the pull and with a deep breath, steadies her breathing. She releases her fingers as the arrow flies and misses the mark. The squirrel sniffs at the air, before scampering along the branch as a second arrow makes the creature drop down.

“Don’t rush, mi fresa - ma fraise)”, Gisselle lowers her bow, smiling sweetly towards the pouty faces her daughter is making, “Patience will ensure you strike true”. Maëlle looks towards the squirrel upon the ground, “Da always says to strike quickly and decisively”. Gisselle looks towards her, and now in a chiding tone, “and who is the best hunter in the village?” clearly referring to herself. Maëlle grins up mischievously, “Papi~”. Gisselle blinks then laughs, “Maybe Pa in his heyday. He did teach your Da, and myself, of course”. The pair picked up their prizes as they made their way back home towards the small town they call home.

Gisselle was glad it was Père and not Asier that Maëlle looked up to in this regard, her father is still the towns huntsman despite his waning years, and he continues to entertain the children with a tall tale or many of the strange and wonderful creatures he encountered in the fables. It is not as if she disliked Asier, but he hasn’t been the most reliable role model, especially one with a daughter who pines after him constantly. Now with another blessing on its way, perhaps the gods grant them their wish that their family will grow larger despite the challenges and tribulations they have faced. Perhaps after the battle with the Eskandr is done, she will have the opportunity to have a serious discussion about his responsibilities back at home and not for the Parrench King.

As the pair start to approach their home, they notice the horses, Espirito and Fresa outside of the gate. Gisselle starts to eye this up suspiciously as Maëlle gets excited. “Da is home! Look Mamá, the horses are here…!”. Gisselle tugs upon Maëlle to prevent her running off, “He may be weary from battle, he hasn’t put the horses away. Go and do that first”, Maëlle shoots up a look as questioning this with some choice words, though notices the expression upon her mother’s face, “Mamá… … will make sure they the horses are fed, they must be tired”.

Gisselle moves towards the door as she is greeted by a messenger, the man opening his satchel as he bears a letter with the king’s seal upon it, “Baroness Herbeumont, I presume?”. She clicks her tongue at the use of the Parrench name, “Baroness Hierbamonte”, the man looks rather uncomfortable for a moment before proceeding. “Important letter from the King”. She offers her hand as she accepts the letter, moving to her pouch as she offers the man money to stay at the tavern, “Inform them of my name if there are any outstanding expenses, feel free to rest up before your return journey”. The Parrench man looks a little sheepish, as he gives a small bow before disappearing, Gisselle politely pointing into the appropriate direction. She makes her way inside as she uses the knife to break the wax seal.

Maëlle slowly makes her way through the door, moving in an hesitant manner, “Da is not coming home again, is he?”. Gisselle gently hushes her daughter, gesturing for her to come close as she pats upon her lap, and when she climbs on, gives her daughter a warm embrace.

---

Asier learnt that being tied to the bow of the longship had its perks, mostly that he got a good view of the journey and a chance to breathe in deeply of that fresh sea air. The other perk was that the Eskandr had to put up with the smell of sea sickness as well, as the motions of the longship caused him to rock up and down in a see-saw fashion along the sea.

Asier’s experience only grew more intense with the passing of time as the waves licked up and crashed over the front of the ship. The sky started to brew, darkening as storm clouds began to populate the horizon and the Eskandr raiders headed to a nearby island to camp for the night to wait out its passing.

After the customary beating that always came with changing positions, Asier now at least had the comfort of wood to sit upon as he was hauled to the mast and left tied upon it in the open rain. Not as if he had to worry about his clothes getting wet, but at least his skin would be able to shed itself of its accumulation of salt. Outside of the repeated punishment, the Eskandr had treated him well with food, less a gesture of their generosity but more that he would maintain his strength for the journey. Not through any compassion as his hosts were performing the duty out of preference for keeping their prey alive rather than having it perish during the trip for the punishments that laid in wait for him when they reached the capital.

As the rain batters through the night and the thunder crackles through the sky, dark shadows bend and twist along the deck in strange and unusual man-like silhouettes. Between the flashes of light and boom of the thunder, a scurrying as hands are fiddling, the sound of feet scampering through the puddles. “If you are after the good stuff, they stick it in the strongbox on the left under the deck.”, Asier owes the Eskandr no loyalty and doubts these imaginary shadow creatures would be taking off with their treasure even if the idea of it amuses him greatly. The shadows bob and weave in response as they currently stick to the edges, their attention focusing on the said location. “Should be quite a lot in there, the brutes tend to gather as much as they can find, haul it on these ships, then store it up in great big piles in their frozen homeland. Should be enough for you and your friends”. He gives a wry smile as he is convinced he is being driven mad from this experience.

Then, violence: sudden and decisive. Coinciding with a great crack of lightning, one of the small figures rushed up and cracked open the chest not too far from where Asier had been lashed. The Eskandr had taken most of the good stuff ashore, ever wary, even in a place like this. They had been weary, though, and sloppy. The lid slammed open, nearly breaking its hinges. Inside was silver, frankincense, and sugar in great quantity. The shadows rifled through it eagerly, very much corporeal beings, apparently.

If they were saying anything, it was hard to make out amid the crash of waves, wind, and distant thunder, but they plucked eagerly from the chest, filling slings tied across their shoulders. They conferred with each other as they did so, nodding, pointing, and gesturing. They tied their slings into sacks and tossed these overboard. If there were individuals waiting below to receive the stolen bounty, Asier could not see them from his angle.

Then, all at once, a couple rushed up to him, leaping the distance in a pair of nimble bounds, very much yasoi-like. The larger of the two - a young woman by the looks of her - tilted her head to the side. “Yeen ik-k-k Queeyan?” she exclaimed, turning to her counterpart. He shook his head. “Yeep ik-k-pap Queeyan.” Very obviously not human, though something not completely removed either, both turned large, dark eyes to Asier, their surfaces reflecting the light. “Hyou speek-k-k Essk-kaam?” asked the second in broken Eskandr, jabbing a finger at the prisoner.

Asier has most definitely lost his mind when being confronted by these beings in some kind of delirium, though his lack of companionship has made this journey rather dull other than examining the glares, hisses and spitting of the Eskandr. Asier would raise his hand in greeting if he could, simply making do with a nod towards the strange creatures of the night, “Hello there.”, he gives them a warm smile as the rain drops run down his face, unable to quite make out what they are. ”Do you happen to be Yasoi?”, he peers to them inquisitively, ”though either way, the Eskandr most likely have more of those boxes on the shore, but they are most likely stored with their axes and foul tempers.”. He offers the pair a toothy grin as he doesn’t fully understand their speech, ”Not sure about Essk-kaam, but my Parrench is not too bad by their standards”.

“Yeep ik-k-pap Essk-kaam,” said the older male. His clothing was of a single piece, mostly smooth, but festooned with little bits and baubles. “Yeen ik-k-k!” insisted the other. “Yeen owuuik.”

“Ak. Kikoo.” He shook his head. “Kikoo.”

“Ahooi yeen ik-k-k Paahreck-k,” suggested the woman, and the sea-man made what may have been an annoyed face. “Keepah keepah!” she prodded, but when he was slow, she shoved him aside.

“Hi!” she said, in Avincian, waving exaggeratedly. She extracted some silver coins and a chain from her sling and held them up in Asier’s face. “I wike!” She grinned, and her mouth was full of sharp little teeth. She pointed at the chest and nodded, and then indicated the general area with further gestures, perhaps indicating confusion or curiosity. “Fwiem!” she announced. “I fwiem. You fwiem.” She held up some more silver and kissed it, turning eagerly to Asier.

Asier raises an eyebrow as he watches the display, still unclear, however the female appears to be the smarter of the two strange beings. “It suits you very well.”, he gestures with his head towards her silver and then towards her.

“Ferry Weww!” she mimicked, nodding eagerly and then blinking. She tilted her head to one side.

“We could always do with having more friends out here, wherever here is.”. He takes a look towards the older male, simply trying to give him a respectful nod. “There must be four other ships with more hoards like that as well, reckoning from my last count”.

“Fouw…” she repeated, stewing upon the word. She held up four fingers and gave a questioning look.

He nods in return to the gesture, using his head to bob as if counting. ”One, Two, Three, Four. Four Ships.”

“Wum tkoo fwee fouw ssipss!” she chirped, pointing at him, greatly pleased with herself. “Ssipss!” Her older counterpart shook his head adamantly. He stomped on the deck with a webbed foot. “Ssip,” he insisted, but she shook her head and pointed with equal certainty to Asier. “Ssipss!”

The sea-man rolled his eyes. “Pooka. Dee axi pooka.”

“Dee pooka. Dee papa pooka. Dee mama pooka. Dee oumaf axi pooki!”

Asier gives her a guilty look, especially as she is full of confidence as he shakes his head. He follows the others' gesture as he stamps upon the deck as he reinforces the word ‘ship’ as meaning the longboat. ”Ship.”. He looks to her again, when he has her attention to look down to himself using his chin to point as he indicates ”Asier. My name is Asier.” He tries to make sense of their language as he gestures towards her, “Pooka?”, he asks in a questioning manner.

“Woo woo woo!” shouts the sea-man. “Kee pooka!”

Encouraged, Asier points towards the other with his chin, ”Papa Pooka?”.

“Woo woo woo!” shouted the younger one. “Papa pooka!” She grinned wickedly at her counterpart and he scowled. She turned that same smile on Asier. “I Akeenah. You Assiew.” She pointed to the sea-man. “I Hoomak,” she announced, using the wrong pronoun. “I -” she grabbed silver and gestured “wike.”

Asier gestures with his head towards the bindings coiled around him, wiggling his body to show the suggestion of perhaps untying or cutting him free from his bondage. ”Going to be difficult without my hands. Are you able to free me?”, he wiggles in an exaggerated manner as tugging at the ropes, as he repeats ”Free friend?” in a suggestive tone.

Hoomak rolled his eyes at Akeenah, but withdrew a wicked-looking dagger from his pouch when Asier spoke. Akeenah’s eyes widened momentarily, but then her partner was slicing the human’s bindings and the ropes were sloughing away. “Hyou go,” said Hoomak. “I wike-ke-ke.” added his partner eaerly. “I tkake. Hyou tkake.”

Asier rubs his wrists as he can finally feel his circulation going towards his fingers, rotating them to get the blood flowing as he nods towards Hoomak, stating ”Thank you”. Asier redoes the introductions to confirm what they have learnt so far. He points to himself, ”Asier”, he points towards the girl, ”Akeenah”, he points towards the male, ”Hoomak”, then he reaches down to knock upon the ship, ”Ship”, he raises his fingers to signal ”One Ship”, then closes his hand, then points towards the distance, ”One ship, two ship, three ship, four ship”, and shows four fingers towards them.

Once the refresher class is completed, he notices their attention upon the silver, as he reaches out towards it, ”This is silver. Silver.”, even prodding it to make the point if allowed that close, ”Akeenah like silver?”, as he points towards her then the silver in her hand, ”Hoomak like silver?”, doing likewise.

“I siwfer!” Akeenah hisses when he got too close, baring her teeth, but then it turned into an impish smile. “Hehe, I ghak-k fowee!” She made a thinking face for a moment, and a flash of lightning illuminated her surprisingly humanlike features. “I, hyou, hyou go siwfer.” She paused and pointed. “Ssipss.”

Hoomak jabbered something quickly back in their language and Akeenah nodded. Then, the older sea person was gone: springing overboard with surprising nimbleness for his apparent age. “Hoomak go.” She makes a gesture of pulling or gathering something. “Go peepwe: wum tkoo fwee fouw…” She bit her lower lip. “I, hyou go ssiips. Peepwe go ssipsss. Siwfer!” She nodded and smiled conspiratorially. “I, hyou go wum. Peepwe go tkoo.” She winked. “I, you, wum, tkoo fwee, fouw siwfer.”

Asier smiles as he thanks the heavens; the basic universal concept of wanting more applies to these creatures too. He does a big gesture with his hands, ”Lots of Silver. Lots.”

Akeenah is an awkward walker when not bounding or leaping, her long-toed webbed feet evidently not well adapted to moving quickly on flat ground. She turners on a heel. “Wotkss,” she tries gamely, stumbling over the word and having to twist her mouth in a strange way to pronounce it. “Wum, tkoo, fwee, fouw.” She pauses, psyching herself up for the challenge. “Wotks.” She arches an eyebrow, annoyed, and shakes her head, gesturing to Asier to follow her overboard. “I, hyou…” She points to her mouth and mimics speaking. “I queeyan: eeaiko queeyan. Wotks,” she continues, “Kohkah!” She pauses, swinging over the edge. “Wum, tkoo fwee, fouw: kohka!”

“Asier,” she says, poking her head back up. “Hyou…” She clambers up a bit and hooks her elbows over the edge. Poorly, she motions swimming. “Okay?”

Asier questions the language, pointing towards Aleekah. ”Eeaiko?”, then pointing towards himself, ”Human.”. The main reason for clarifying is the fact he is realising what is going to be asked of him. Being a horseman on the steppe, his contact with water is infrequent, even if it is a butt of jokes about bathing. He moves towards the side as he tries to estimate how deep the water is, though during storm conditions as the waves crash against the side of the boat, this is impossible to tell, and even if he could paddle a little it would be vastly inadequate. He probably looks rather meek when looking towards the water, offering a shrug of his shoulders, as he starts to draw upon the force energies of the storm, so if he starts sinking towards the bottom, he might be able to get his way back out if he manages to push himself towards the direction of land.

He was about to jump into the water when he got an idea. Stopping himself, and using the open flat of his hand to symbolise ‘stop’ or ’wait’, he moves over to grab some rope, returning to the Eeaiko girl. He moves the rope around him, as he begins to tie it into a knot, then tugging upon it to show how it doesn’t come undone. ”Asier rope.”, pointing down towards it, then offers the other end to Akeenah, ”Akeenah rope? Asier Akeenah rope together.”, trying his best to communicate with his hands.

“A.. aha… ahahaha! Asier uh-uh ik–k-k ahee!” She was laughing at him, but she clambered back aboard and accepted the rope, tying it around her waist. “I, hyou, go!” she prodded, hopping nimbly up on the gunwale. “Okay?”

Asier gives a thumbs up in an act of fake confidence. ”Okay.”, as he moves upon the edge of the gunwale, then with much reluctance, even with the rope, pushes himself into the water with a splash, sinking in underneath then trying to kick himself up so his head is above it. Thankfully, he is not wearing any armour, considering it all got confiscated as part-payment for his act of arson.

Akeenah more or less drags him to a nearby longship, her eagerness to reach it not giving Asier much chance to be anything but a passenger. Once his hands have grasped the side, she untethers herself eagerly and leaps aboard. “Silver?” she demands, but she’s already going for a chest. There’s a brief buildup of energy and then the lock shatters and she’s opening her prize. What she pulls out is not silver but gold. She waggles her eyebrows at Asier and grins, but it quickly fades in favour of inquisitiveness. “You uh-uh Eskaam?”

Asier shakes his head to the question, assuming it meant she was asking if he was Eskandr. “Me Parrench. From Parrence. Not Eskandr.”, he works up some spit as if to give a demonstration of disgust towards Eskandr. He does change the subject as he points towards the gold, ”Gold. Worth more than Silver.”, he points towards Akeenah’s silver, then using a gesture with his arms symbolising a lot of it, then pointing towards the smaller pile of gold. ”Gold is lots of Silver”.

Akeenah, busy scooping gold into her sling, just kind of looks strangely at Asier and where he spat. “Paareck,” she repeats, apparently solid on it, but there seems to be some deeper confusion there. She stares briefly at the spit again, already washed away by the rain and then shakes her head as if to clear it. Then, from the water comes splashing that doesn’t seem like waves. Hoomak and seven to ten other Eeaiko clamber and leap aboard. One - a particularly large man in what would appear to be fine clothing for Eeaiko - takes the lead, grabbing Akeenah by the hand. “Akeenah, reek awoom ak-k-k oomum.” He looks Asier up and down, scowling.

Asier was helping to find other treasure upon the ship, bringing it as an offering towards Akeenah as she was storing things within her sling as he built upon that rapport. Though the arrival of her friends is met with some perceived hostility by what appears to be perhaps the leader of this group. He motions towards himself, ”Asier, Parrench Human.”, then towards the wealthy one, ”Silver, Gold, for Eeaiko”, he gestures the box towards the group, as if offering them the opportunity to partake in the spoils. He keeps an eye upon the dynamic between Akeenah and the leader, wondering if there was deeper connection, or simply general suspicion towards strangers.

“I speak your worzz, Parreck,” the apparent leader replied. He pulled Akeenah close. “I am Auvam, of Akamaz. I see you have meh my betkrove, Akeenah.” He did not make any move towards Asier, for either good or ill. Instead, he crossed his arms. “So, you are a prisomer, we have freeh you. You give us goww and siwver as thacks. You wook for more?”

Asier smiles brightly as this one speaks his tongue close enough, a perfect opportunity. ”Glad that your fiance introduced us then, we need to share words that involve you getting a lot of gold and silver.”, he hopes the words take the interest of Auvam, making him more willing to hear his ideas. “Your Akeenah likes her silver, so let's make your wedding full of it. Does that sound interesting to you?”.

”The Eskandr,” pointing towards the ship, ”have sent a great many to Parrench. Around a thousand it seemed, they filled the waters off the coast.”, he nods towards Akeenah to gesture a really big ‘lots’, definitely a lot of fours. ”You are talking to Asier, the man who burnt them all, nearly.”, he gestures a big poof of smoke, like an eruption. ”The Eskandr are stuck in Parrence. Their homes are missing many of their warriors.”, he moves towards the chest of silver and gold. ”Eskandr takes gold and silver from everywhere, to bring home. Their halls are filled with this.” he takes out the gold and silver, offering it out to the group. ”If Auvam of Akamaz, and his many friends wanted an opportunity to have a wedding filled with silver for his lovely wife”, gesturing towards Akeenah, ”Asier the Parrench will help him, and he does not want gold or silver.”

“You say this ouh of the goohess of your hearh or for revenge?” Inquired Auvam. “I will noh brig my kig a requess for pickig awwies ih a humam war.”

Asier shakes his head, ”Justice, not revenge. We do not desire bloodshed or their death, nor would this be requested”. ”Tell me. Given what we see of the Eskandr, they are brutal, cruel, and warlike. Your people must have met their ends early at their hands. Yet, despite their threat, you are here on their ship, for their gold and silver, in a peaceful manner as they sleep on the shore. This tells me that gold and silver are important to you.”, he gestures towards the shoreline. ”Their warriors are on a shore called Parrence, whilst they leave their city like this ship. Like this ship, Asier will offer to help you claim what you need, taking those riches in payment for their crimes against the Eeaiko, past, present, and maybe even future. All we desire is justice being served, my friendship on this is your wedding gift.”

“Tell me, humam, why are you sayig your nhame, nhoh ‘I’?” Auvam tilted his head to the side.

Asier scratches his head for a moment, ”Bad habit which was picked up when trying to converse earlier, we were learning each other's names, and mistakes were made. Hoomak ended up as Papa Pooka by accident, we were trying to familiarize ourselves with correct names by repeating them. Also we Tourrare Parrench are a communal people, we aim to serve and contribute to the family, not the individual.”

“Hah! Papa Pookah!” Auvam laughed. “You are fummy, Asier. I will give you thah. Now…” He twisted, cleared his throat, and began shouting orders in his language. Akeenah flashed a little smile Asier’s way and took the lead as eeaiko spread out across the ships. “You shouh be correc, though,” the leader amended. “We are’t the omes who fear Eskaam. Eskaam fear us!” He crossed his arms. “I will bring this projec to my king. I have his ear. Perhaps he will lissen.”

The last moments Asier can remember is that big toothy smile of Auvam as the world goes dark around him.

As the morning sun breaks through the clouds, Asier looks up from the ship mast even more worse to wear than the night before. He groans as he seems to woken from a very strange dream about the events that transpired during the night. He is roughly greeted by a charming Eskandr brute of a man who enjoyed greeting him with a slap against the face each morning, though now, that permanent scowl seemed to twist to show how his heart grew three times smaller at this present moment. “Hvor er sølvet? - where is the silver”. Asier spat out blood as he was struck again, looking towards the side where the strongbox laid open and the lid broken off. "The sea demons were real…?” Asier questioned for a moment, as he looked up towards the man. The man fumed as he started shouting out in Eskandr. “Havfruene! havfruene var her”. He looked down towards Asier, grinning as he prodded upon the strange mark scratched upon him. “You were lucky boy, they didn’t eat you. They left you a parting present to remember them by.”

Asier looks down to see the mark upon him. It was regarded as a curse for those who have been in contact with the seafolk by the Eskandr after he had outlived his usefulness in taking the Eskandr’s treasures. Perhaps his willingness allowed him to remain with his life, even though it won’t be much of one once he gets to his destination.

Next time, he might have had better luck in attempting to trade silver for Auvam’s wife than encouraging them to raid a city.

Let’s hope the gods bless him with an opportunity to end up with his Parrench compatriots once again.

---

---

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Tall Trees, Long Shadows I
_{Loriindton Forest - Night's Camp}

---

There are tales that are told many times.

Tales of which mushrooms are safe to eat, which frog will stop a heart if you touch its poison skin. Cautionary tales for the the children, the tribe.

There are those raucous tales that braggarts so enjoy, about such manly things as muscles and where the prize always seemed to be some poor soul’s maidenhood. There were the subtle stories mothers told.

And there were the tales everyone knew, about the rock that jumped, or the first fire, or how six gods became five.

All these would be told at the mette-stiroi. As they had been told many times before.

Calitan had now killed for stories, caught up in one, a side apparently chosen for him by circumstance. The Yanni had been novel, gone now, as had Lyen, when she had spoken at all. He knew what stories would be told, yet Calitan went for that special chance of a new story, one told only once.

Thus he sat there in the hollow bough of a tree, silent as the game was played around him. He would only lisp with his scarred lips, so saved himself the mockery as the drink soured in his stomach.

Then there was the lady, Talit. Yes, there had been tales of her. Calitan nodded his greetings, let the drink wag the other’s tongues because it had taken his legs. Perhaps he mumbled his name.

---

On the morning of their departure, Osanna waved goodbye to the red sisters in camp, tied a black ribbon around Dame Sabine Dupont’s scabbard, and headed to the city gates. This would not be her first time in Eskand. Osanna’s work had taken her into the Quentic areas of Drudgunze for months at a time, and on occasion, the northernmost reaches of the enemy’s lands. She was grateful to those trips now, for the practice in Eskand’s language, though she was well aware she didn’t speak it like a native.

Because she’d only visited Eskand through Drudgunze, this would be Osanna’s first sea voyage. She looked forward to it from descriptions in stories and the mouths of sailors. They called the sea a tempting mistress— unpredictable in her moods, but beautiful. Osanna could just see the red of a sun sinking below a watery horizon, feel the playful lapping of wind through her hair. Even Sabine called it “bracing” and she under exaggerated everything.

Osanna didn’t experience any of that.

She spent the voyage hanging over the ship’s rail, spilling bile into rolling water. Salt caked her lips and hair, and if someone spied her from the murk, she did not see them.

When the Parrench landed in Eskand, Osanna was one of the last to rise. She scraped herself off the bottom off the ship’s deck with pale fingers, several pounds lighter now than when she’d left. Never had she experienced anything so miserable as the sea, and she found herself dreading the return—stuck in a strange land with that misery her only way home.

The fishing village of Rigevand was a gray place in twilight. The black mass of Eskand’s capital darkened the sky above rock facades. The village was little more than a collection of longhouses and a few scraggly docks. Even the land was dull, lacking the green they’d left behind. Yet Osanna blessed the dock’s soft, salt-eaten wood as her feet came to rest upon it even if the world still seemed to sway.

She’d ended up at the end of their little party next to a slim girl. She had a wealth of green hair tucked into a rich brown cloak, and her boots seemed several sizes too big. Osanna remembered her, vaguely, from between bouts of sickness. She’d stuck with the tethered girl in the bow during the journey, but now that Maud was at the front pretending to be ‘Captain’ Gerard’s daughter, she looked very young and very lost.

Osanna smiled at her even as she stumbled, trying to re-find her balance. “How’re you holding up? I think I hate the sea.”

The overture didn’t elicit any response but confusion. Osanna looked away, her brow furrowed. From what she’d understood of this mission, everyone selected had distinguished themselves in the battle for something or another, so the girl was powerful or clever or both. It was possible that she was choosing not to respond out of dislike or temperament, but that felt unlikely, so the simplest reason was that she did not speak the language.

“Hello,” Osanna tried again in Drudgunzean, hoping that the girl didn’t speak anything further afield. “You look like you fared better on the journey than I did.” She smiled, to show she was laughing at herself.

---

Nettle herself looked up at the woman trying to engage her. Though a number of the crew had on occasion tried briefly in vain to speak with her there was no understanding of what they were saying. When the woman re-stated her words again in a language she could, albeit poorly, speak she still looked confused but at least the light of understanding could be seen in her eyes.

”Hhhm- mayh be?”

The woman cocked her head to the side, as though listening. “I’m Osanna. What’s your name? Have you been to Eskand before?”

The man at the docks waved them towards the village proper. Dark was falling in earnest now, the silhouette of the city in the distance disappearing into the sky. There was little light to see by other than torches at the end of the docks.

Though the environment darkened Nettle was no stranger to the dark, the swamps barely letting light through the canopy even on clear days. She was well accustomed to moving around in little lighting, getting by on more than just her eyes.

”Hh… HNettle ihs name. N-hh, I hhhave noht.”

“What do you think? I’ve never been this far into Eskand, but I suppose one shouldn't judge a kingdom by its fishing villages.”

“Ehhh…” Nettle looked around at the twilight lit silhouettes of the humble village and what buildings lie further off.

”Hhhit iss hh, villhadge? K-khhinghome? Hhhh… Hhit hhass p-perhsohnss… Ahnd b- bhoatss.” She was quite unsure of what to make of this place. It wasn’t much different from the fake caverns of the drudgunzeans or the parrancians for that matter. Not as tall as their ‘Castles’ as they call them but quite similar to the smaller places she’s seen along her brief travels.

“I guess by that logic it's pretty much the same. Ah well, we’ll get to see a lot more of it, if everything goes to plan. Of course, we’ll be burning it down, but, hey, got to enjoy it while you can.” Osanna smiled at her like she was telling a joke, though she kept her voice lowered as they slipped through the village. A couple of their designated captains stopped to talk to villagers from the largest longhouse.

”Hhhburn?” Nettle questioned, canting her head to the side. She didn’t quite know fully what she meant by that given the tone and the context. Was she being literal, was it a figure of speech? Who would want to set more fires? Aren’t those dangerous? She was starting to get worried. Well, more worried than she already was around man-beasts.

Osanna blinked, and she glanced around before speaking in a whisper. “Do you not know why we’re here?”

Nettle simply shook her head to indicate that she did not.

“You know that the Eskandr attacked Parrence. We did not completely win, so now they’re in the Parrench countryside. Some of our people are working to make them leave, but we’re here to save our friends taken as prisoners and to attack Eskand back. If we do enough damage, maybe they’ll come running back home, eh?”

”Hhhwe… Hsavhe friehndss ahnd fforhce Essskahndrhh t- to rheturnh?”

She asked to confirm if what she understood was correct. It made some sense, they needed to save the friends the other man-beasts took and then force them to return home. She wasn’t really clear on why fire was needed in any step of this process but rescuing their friends made sense.

“Precisely! I don’t think the others realized you don’t speak Parrench. But I’ll translate when we finally gather to decide what to do.”

Nettle simply nodded. While uncertainty was abound she couldn’t argue with the idea of rescuing the man-beasts these other ones captured. What else they had planned she did not know but at this point a lack of knowing what was happening around her seemed to be a perpetual state of things. One can miss the simplicities of life in the swamp once they realize it’s gone.

---

It was sometime later that they reached Birger’s grotto, a cave tucked into the mountains near Rigevand. Osanna’s eyes felt tight and itchy, the torches swimming through her vision like fireflies trailing streams of light. She wanted nothing more to find some quiet, dark place and sleep for hours to make up for the long night and the miserable journey that had led up to it.

Instead, she followed the line of Parrench into the cave and gathered around the fire with the others of the inner circle, peering down at the map of the area. It matched others that she had studied before, though was crude and lacking in detail. Osanna yawned. What strange turns her life had taken lately—from a near-solitary existence as one of Echeran’s assassins, to fighting in battles and working as a team. It was different, but not entirely unwelcome. Constantly traveling alone got dull.

This next part, though, felt familiar.

”We’ve got a lot to do,” she said, first in Parrench and then in Drudgunzean. “But I think the worst thing we can do is go in blind. I volunteer to scout the most important targets unseen so that we can better put together a plan. In the meantime, we need to lay an escape route—traps, misdirections, anything to stop the Eskandr from following when it's time to get out of here. For those of you from this are, it might be useful to meet with any contacts that remain loyal, though only if you trust them with the fate of Parrence, and even then, don’t tell them why you’re here.

---

---

Interaction: @Dao Ma
Time: Morning, Location: Solenne
Mood: Unstoppable by The Score
Current Event: Fields of Fire

---

“Six on one? Not fair!” 9-year-old Caelum shouted after being pushed to the cold stone in one of the slum alleys of Solenne. He dusted himself off and got up to meet the young boyish street thugs, each standing 3 to 4 heads taller than himself.

“Life ain’t fair, kiddo.” A tall, blonde-haired boy spoke above the rest. He indeed appeared to be the one leading this misfortunate band of rats. Caelum had already taken two square knuckle licks to the jaw and a kick to his abdomen while he was down, and each time he tried to stand back up in defiance against these cowardly kids. Deep down, there was a small titch of fear that they may decide to go overboard if he continued to show them that he would not submit. But, he could not help himself, “all of you are cowards.” Caelum said underneath his breath, just loud enough for the blonde-haired boy to hear it.

“What did you say!” The blonde-haired boy’s hair began to stand on the back of his neck and forearms. He was charged and was not about to let a 9-year-old Caelum insult him in front of his gangly miscreants. Instead of submitting, Caelum repeated himself in all its foolishness, “I said…YOU ARE ALL COWA-” Caelum could not finish before a right hook connected with his face. One moment he was gazing into the eyes of his bully, the next, he was spitting up blood folded on the ground. Caelum rolled over to see the silhouette of a boot about to stomp down, but then out of nowhere, a shape of a body came charging forward, pulling the boot with it.

Maerec, only twelve years old by now, had been roaming the streets, twirling the long stick he had been known to carry around. It was an extension of himself. It was his sword of Solenne, or at least in the boy’s mind. However, it had helped on plenty of occasions against the hoodlums that had nothing better to do than to pick fights with the smaller and weaker boys. When he was passing an alley, he heard some unsettling sounds. A familiar voice yelled out, and Marec knew that voice was up to no good.

They had gotten into several scuffles before. The blonde boy might as well have been his foil at this point. Maerec knew he couldn’t just pass by now. Stopping at the entrance of the alley, he’d gone unnoticed. All six of the boys seemed to be circling something. It allowed Maerec to sneak forward.

Another boy! He heard the boy cry out in defiance, and Maerec’s heart reached out for him. He was a strong soul. And it was at that moment, Maerec sprung into action. Without a second thought, as he saw the older blonde begin to bring down his foot, Maerec shot off with a speed he barely recognized. Shoulders down, he speared into the side of the blonde boy, sending him and himself tumbling across the ground. “There we are! Two against six has much better odds.” Maerec called out, rolling away and onto his feet. As he stood, he reached out for his stick, but it had scattered off too far away, and a boy had placed his foot upon it, effectively taking it out of the fight.

“Well, well, look who it is. The never-be-knight Maerec!” the blonde boy spat as he stood and checked himself. “I’ll show you not to interfere in my business.” He raised a hand and pointed at Maerec. “Get him!” Instantly, two boys began to inch forward towards Maerec. “Him too.” Eyes had turned back to Caelum, and another couple of boys started to circle.

Maerec shuffled his way to stand before Caelum and briefly glanced back at him before training his eyes on the boys circling them. “Can you fight?” He asked the crumpled boy.

Caelum looked up to see a hero stand before him. More than rats and monsters were hanging out in the alleys of Solenne. Caelum got up onto his two feet and responded as he wiped his blood-stained lips, “I can try.” Caelum was not going to lie; his experience in fighting was limited, at best, within the boundaries of playful scraps and wrestling with the other monastery boys.

Two boys came charging Caelum, and another two went after Maerec. As the two approached Caelum, he ducked a straight punch and threw a punch to one of the attacking kid’s ribs. It was a never celebrated victory because as Caelum connected with the older boy’s rib, the other boy hit him square in the jaw. Once again, a strike rattled Caelum’s consciousness with flashing lights as he fell 90 degrees to the ground below. Maerec had been holding his own against the two who attacked him, but once Caelum was down, one boy disengaged to attack Maerec while the other boy continued to attack Caelum by kicking him repeatedly.

“Give up!” Another shot from the attacking boy’s boots crunched against Caelum’s hip. The force behind the kick peeled Caelum over onto his back, “Do you give up?” The ugly boy asked. Caelum spoke below his breath to entice the nasty boy to lean down to hear his answer, “What did you say?” The ugly boy asked. Caelum muttered again; the ugly boy got onto one knee and leaned toward Caelum’s mouth to hear his submission.

Crack.

Caelum had been hiding a stone in his left hand after being sent to the ground. He scooped it up before having been peeled over by the ugly boy’s kick. The rock ripped across the ugly boy’s temple. He dropped right next to where Caelum was lying, out cold. Caelum rotated to his chest to push himself up and join Maerec; about halfway up, another boy came sundering in with a shin kick to Caelum’s stomach. Air burst from Caelum’s lung. He began gasping, trying to find air.

It was one thing to fight just a few by yourself; it was another having to keep an eye on your partner as well. Being attacked by two of the six boys kept Maerec preoccupied, and he couldn’t come to Caelum’s aid as the poor boy crumpled to the ground.

Maerec had easily dodged out of the way of sloppily thrown fists. A duck down allowed him to force an uppercut, clipping one of the boys on the tip of his chin. As the boy stumbled backward from Maerec, another moved forward to fill his place. The fight turned into three on one at that point. It became a barrage of punches and kicks, and Maerec was forced to raise his arms to protect his head. He was pushed back and took a few steps to keep his footing. Caelum was up now, but Maerec could tell it was just barely. If they could knock down another boy or two, maybe they would have a chance…

Caelum was assaulted with a nasty kick and so was Maerec from behind. He blocked a kick to his side with his arm, but with only half as much strength. It caught him off balance, and Maerec came tumbling down. Two of the three instantly took the opportunity to jump onto Maerec, pinning down his arms and attempting to pin down his legs, while that third stepped in to make clear kicks to his side.

Maerec thrashed, refusing for his legs to be restrained, and managed a nice kick to the chest on one of the boys. He sent the boy flying onto his back, then attempted to rip his arms away. With the boy using his knee to put weight on Maerec’s chest, it was difficult to determine when the next kick would come.

“Just give up. You’re pathetic–Both of you.” The blonde-haired boy sneered, stepping forward to shove one of his own out of the way so he could land a few kicks on Maerec. “You’re not so special, so stop acting like it!” The other boys moved out of the way, giving the blonde clear shots.

With each kick, Maerec was sure that his ribs would break. But he couldn’t give up. It just wasn’t in him to give up because it hurt. He turned and curled, grabbing hold of the blonde’s planted food while using one of his arms to guard his head. He held on as tightly as he could, which made the blonde stop kicking to try and pull Maerec off. There it was! An opening! Maerec reached out and grabbed hold of the blonde boy, pulling his arm with a forceful jerk and sending him off balance. He came tumbling on top of Maerec, and Maerec quickly rolled to top the other. Fists flew down, trying to get in as many punches as he could before the other boys pulled Maerec off.

He was thrown back onto the ground, and all boys staggered to stand in a final standoff. Maerec reached for Caelum, trying to help him before the others could launch their next attack. “I have an idea,” He whispered to Caelum. “Get behind the big one and crouch down.”

Caelum took Maerec’s hand. A final stand, without hesitation, Caelum listened to his new “friend,” a concept he never had until today…someone willing to sacrifice their own self-preservation for Caelum’s. When the boys approached, Caelum dove behind the big one and got on all fours. Maerec sprung into action, pushing the big kid back. The big kid tripped over Caelum tumbling head first to the ground and hitting his skull on a medium-sized loose rock. The luck of the Pentad was with them…but only for a single breath as the others showed how superiority in numbers outweighed their cleverness. Before Caelum and Maerec could turn the tides of battle, one boy jumped on Caelum and subdued him. The other two pinned Maerec and the big bleeding kid got up and took turns beating Caelum and Maerec into pulps.

“Hey! Stop that!” A woman’s high-pitched voice snapped in the air, and in an instant, all of the boys stopped. Then a deeper, commanding voice followed, “All of you stay where you are!” A man dressed in a knight’s tunic boomed his voice down the alleyway. The antagonizing boys felt fear split their hearts, and before any of them said something, they all broke into different directions leaving Caelum and Maerec to swell up in their spit.

The man came running down the alley to inspect Caelum and Maerec; before he arrived, Caelum, stretched out on the cold stone path, asked with shallow breaths breaking each word, “Di….d….we….w….win?”

Maerec’s chest heaved up and down as he gasped for breath. Surely if the two adults had seen them a moment later, the two would have been more than just a mess on the ground. Hearing Caelum, Maerec let out a pained chuckle. He raised a hand as if to try and pat Caelum where he could, only to have his hand fall short. “Well… we didn’t lose..!” he winced in pain, but the grin on his face didn’t falter. With a loud groan, Maerec forced himself to roll so that he could face his companion.

“I say… we won.. Did you… did you see his face? When he fell?” Another chuckle escaped him, and he curled to keep his suffering sides in place. “He’ll think twice.. Before messin’ with us again…” Another force, and Maerec propped himself up enough to reach around himself. When his hand came back, he produced a small coin pouch. “This is yours… right?”

Caelum smiled as he let his clenched fingers roll out to Maerec as if to acknowledge his gesture of friendship. He wanted to laugh, but only a smile could cross his badly bruised face. As Maerec presented a small coin pouch, he rolled his head to the side to meet Maerec’s eyes, “Yes…I guess…you…ar…e…right. We did win.” The knight’s shadow cast over the two beaten kids who struggled to find comedy in their tragedy, “Are you two ok?” Caelum looked at Maerec and then tilted his head back without moving any other limb to meet the knight’s face, “He said we won.” Caelum pointed to Maerec. The knight’s look of concern transformed into a grin, “It looks like it, can you two manage on your own, or do you need me to help you both to the healer?”

The smile on Caelum’s face was all that Maerec needed to feel like a job well done. When the knight came to their aid, he looked up at the man, only to turn his gaze back to Calum at his comment. He laughed until the pain forced him to lay back for a moment longer, then pushed himself up again.

“I can manage.” He said finally, slowly picking himself up off of the ground. “I think help to the healer is a good idea for you, though.” He accepted the knight’s offer for stability as he carefully grabbed Maerec’s arm when he began to waver. Again, Maerec reached out for Caelum to help him up. “I am Maerec. What’s your name?”

Caelum took his new friend’s hand, and with no strength of his own, he was raised to his feet by Maerec. Caelum felt every bone in his body crack and stretch; thank Pentad for being young.

“Caelum.” He took a few shallow breaths, “Thank you for saving me, if it were not for you, I’d be dead.” The knight lowered his head to squeeze between the two boys, “Dead?” Caelum looked at the knight, “Yeah, there were six of them and only me…until Maerec showed up, then we had a real chance until you showed up.” The knight took a step back, “Until I showed up?” Caelum rolled his eyes, “Yeah, we had them right where we wanted them…until you shouted.” A deaf silence followed, then all three broke out into laughter until Caelum’s laughter transitioned into wheezing.

When the laughter calmed, the knight questioned Maerec, “Well, you two took on six, huh? I can admire that, and Maerec, you stepped into a business that wasn’t your own; what possessed you to risk yourself like that for a stranger?”

Maerec was glad Caelum seemed to have a similar sense of humor. Or was it that he believed what was said? Regardless, Maerec felt as if he’d just found a long-lost brother on the streets of Solenne. His thoughts were interrupted by the knight looking at him expectantly for an answer. “Why not? He was in trouble. How could I just walk by and turn a blind eye? You wouldn’t have done that. No knight would do such a thing!” Maerec would have puffed out his chest if he had been in better shape. It was known around the area that Maerec was open about his dreams. As silly as everyone believed it to be. Maerec continued to dream and live by his standard. Many laughed and rolled their eyes at him, but it didn’t falter his determination. “I could never turn against someone that needed help.”

The knight was impressed, “No knight would do such a thing? Do you consider yourself a knight?”

“Yes!” Maerec almost hopped a little in how sure he was in his response. He winced a little and seemed to humble himself after realizing exactly how he responded. “Well… not yet. But I will be someday.” It was a dream that had stuck with him since he was old enough to stand. His mother and father, though immigrants, told all kinds of stories of the knights that protected Solenne. He grew up on them. And somehow, he’d gotten the idea that one day, he too would become a knight. Everyone around told him it wasn’t in his birth that he’d never become a knight. He wasn’t born to be a knight. The words were shaken off just as easily as dried mud on the bottom of a shoe. He’d always been a stubborn child, believing in standing up for what was right. The best knights' stories upheld a chivalrous code, and that was something Maerec was drawn to. It was the ideal man and the perfect picture of someone to aspire to be. And it was the best way to give back to his parents, who suffered constant prejudice from their neighbors. A Drudguzean born could become a great knight. If anything, Maerec would will it into destiny.

“I will be the greatest knight of Solenne.”

“Aha! My boy, so you shall!” The knight encouragingly slapped his hand on Maerec’s shoulder, “I believe it if you do; I mean, look at what you did today!” The knight saw the boy was not of noble descent, but it did not stop the knight from having an idea, “Say, if you are serious, then you would be wise to try out for the Circuit.” Caelum asked, “What is the Circuit?” The knight leaned in between both boys, “The Circuit is where all the knights of Solenne hold an open competition between boys all across the land to see who will become their next squire.” The knight uprighted himself, “And you, Maerec, should be there.” The knight dug into a small pouch at his belt, pulling out a coin; he flipped it to Maerec, and Maerec snatched it from the air. The knight spoke, “Take that to Sir Dufort; he will know who you are.” The knight closed with, “Good day to both of you.” Before returning to the busy street.

“Wow!” Caelum turned to Maerec with his jaw slightly dropped, except this time it wasn’t because kids had broken it open; he was merely shocked to watch a knight offer a chance to a young kid to become a knight, “What are you going to do?” Caelum asked excitedly; this was Maerec’s dream, which fired from his lips not just a minute before.

“Whooaaah…” Maerec awed at the same time as Caelum as he looked over the coin. Excitement bubbled in him, and had he been in better shape; he would have been jumping and hollering. His eyes were bright, and his expression couldn’t be happier. What was he going to do? “Well.. firstly, I will train. I can’t make a fool of myself there now, can I?” He glared at Caelum before wrapping an arm around the boy’s shoulders. “Will you be there to watch me at the circuit?!” He jarred the boy but eased up, remembering that he probably hurt quite a bit more than Maerec at the moment.

Maerec let Caelum go and started to lead the way to the healer. “My new brother, I’d love for you to be there!” Though they had just met, Maerec couldn’t help but believe this wouldn’t be the only time they would encounter each other. “Are you from Solenne? We could train together… Since… you may need a little help, to not get so beat up next time.” He teased, snickering a little as he tossed the coin up and snatched it out of the air.

Did he call Caelum his new brother? His heart pounded; he found a true friend outside the monastery. Caelum nodded to Maerec’s invitation, “Let’s!” He followed up next to Maerec, “No, I am not from here; I live at the monastery outside of Solenne; they send me to get stuff, and that coin in the pouch is to buy food at the market.”

The two reached the main street and stopped after noticing the other head in the opposite direction. Caelum walked a few steps back, “What do you say we meet here at this time, on this day, every week?”

---

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---

Queen Eleanor stood at the face of her knights and trusted advisors, “Ideas?” That was the magic word used by her majesty. Port Morilles was billowing up in flames, the caves were undermined, and the town was on the brink of slipping into the seas. Caelum believed a plan of action in his mind might work if he had the right help. He stepped up to meet Queen Eleanor’s presence, bowing before her in a sign of respect and revealing the symbol of the Pentad with his gesture of hands.

“My Queen,” he said respectfully, “I have traveled to Port Morilles before; the caves below butt up against the sea where large rocks rest on its cliffside.” He continued, “If there are Force users to spare, we can evacuate the people and fill those caves with the rocks to support the cliff from crumbling.” Caelum paused to let his idea process before adding, “This will not stop the cliff top from breaking, but it will buy time for our Blood users to seal the cut that is causing the cliff to buckle beneath the weight of the castle and town.” Caelum paused again; he hoped the Queen would approve such a plan. He knew deep down this would split their force, but it would work.

”You will need to act quickly,” Eleanor kept herself straddled onto her horse and overlooked the situation at hand, ”sir Maerec de Solenne.” the Queen called for the Skyborn veteran to come forward, “Your mastery of Force would be crucial to this endeavor. Do you agree?” quick to get things done, all she needed was an answer before she shifted her attention to the next step of the plan, “With no time to spare, I will lead a small group of Blood Mages to correct the foundations of the cliff. Now-” she looked over at the massive black cloud over the village with the castle bearing most of the flames.

Camille de la Saumure’s stance was evident to all those who knew of her ties to the port town, “Arnaud,” she called for her husband’s executioner, “accompany Lady Camille.” the hulking beast of metal merely nodded. His recently displayed feats in Relouse made him a good pick when dousing flames was in demand.

Standing nearby, Maerec had heard Caelum’s plan of action. Splitting forces was risky, but he understood the consequences if they did not. Far too many innocents could die if the cliff beneath the town fell away. Hearing Queen Eleanor, his eyes turned to her. He gave the nod, then bowed his head to her as he made the gesture of Oraphe. “I agree with certainty. I will assist.”

As the Queen’s attention turned to the next plan of action, Maerec slipped closer to Caelum, a hand reaching out to clasp on the other’s shoulder. “We meet up again, brother,” He muttered. “A little more than a few weeks in between….” He gave a small chuckle. “Let’s make haste, shall we?” Maerec let his hand slip from Caelum’s shoulder and took a step back, waiting for Caelum to take the lead on where to go.

”Oraphe keep you both.” the queen solemnly blessed the two Perrench knights before mobilizing herself and the available blood mages to exact her part of the plan.

Caelum felt the paws of Maerec rest on his shoulder. Turning to meet Maerec’s eyes, Caelum acknowledged his warm gesture, “Thank Oraphe, brother.” The two were bonded beyond blood, having practiced every week those years ago. Caelum could remember watching Maerec compete in the Circuit right before they were separated. Caelum was sent to the Uncoqunered Suns, and Maerec not shortly after became a squire as he promised one day he would. Eventually, Oraphe brought them together again.

Caelum walked out from the gathered knights and Queen’s presence. He whistled for Mathieos and Dieudonne to bring his new horse; upon their approach, Dieudonne held the reigns of Caelum’s fresh steed, “Thank you.” Caelum hoisted himself up onto his horse using Force. He looked back at Maerec, “You got my back, like old times?”

By the time Caelum was on his horse, Maerec had his own prepared to mount. He returned his gaze to Caelum just before pulling himself onto his horse. A smirk crossed his lips as he reflected on the two in their younger years. Ever since the fateful day they met in that alley, whenever they saw each other again, Maerec always had Caelum’s back. “Always.” He replied almost matter-of-factly as if that was the obvious answer and resolute.

The warmth Caelum felt from his brother-in-arms could only be described as spiritual, beyond the material realm. This true soul understood what it meant to be willing to sacrifice their own life for another. It was a raw understanding that life is precious and protecting it is the highest order of responsibilities and rewards as a living being in a fallen world.

Brotherhood was indescribable to those who did not share it; for those who did, it was phenomenal. Caelum slipped a smile to Maerec, his question was rhetorical, but the response was deep. He cracked the reigns of his steed, and they took off toward Port Morilles’ caverns directly below the cliffs supporting the castle and town. Their strides were all amplified by their ability to use Force, a weapon that would be extremely necessary for what they all were about to do.

The beating hearts and hooves of Parrence pounded toward Port Morilles. No one knew what they were in store for, but all of them knew that they’d step up against whatever it might be. The plan was clear, rescue the people from the caverns from being crushed, fill it with rocks to buy the blood mages time, and if all aligned under Pentad, the blood mages would seal the schism, which would stop the cliffs from slipping Port Morilles and it’s castle into the sea.

Caelum spotted the cavern entrance as they rounded over the last crest of a hill. The sheer power of waves bashing against the cavern and cliff walls must have been magnified inside. He thought of all those people who must have been terrified for the lives of their loved ones and their own.

“Hurry your steeds; we are losing time!” Caelum roared back to the band of Parrench protectors. The horses picked up speed and chucked mud as each leg reminded each soldier how much power was between their girdle. As they arrived 100 yards from the entrance, Caelum signaled to slow their horses. They were 30 yards from the entrance when they came to a stop. He assessed and called out to Maerec, “We need to collect as many large rocks as we can outside and get who we can out from the inside. I trust you to lead either; which do you think is best for you?”

“I will find the townspeople inside and escort them out. Make a clearing for them to gather.” Maerec looked back towards the path they had come from. “Far enough away to stay out of harm’s way.” He motioned to a larger path clearing that might suit a large group of people. “Station a few men leading from the cavern to that clearing so that we may guide the townspeople. Also,” he turned his attention to Dieudonne. “I would like your assistance in the cavern. I have seen your skills on the battlefield, and I feel you may benefit me inside.” He waited for the notion of agreement before turning to Caelum. “We will alert you when everyone is out of the cavern.”

Maerec hopped down from his horse and looked up to Caelum again. “Stay safe, brother. I won’t keep you waiting long.” He tilted his head to Dieudonne, gesturing for him and a handful of men to follow him into the cavern. Maerec took off before Caelum could respond. Beneath his breath, he prayed, “May Oraphe keep you Maerec, return alive.” Caelum gestured to the hourglass of Pentad and reoriented to collecting the rocks from the sea.

The darkness of the cavern grew the further the group went in. It was fortunate that some of the Parrenchmen could cast fire to illuminate their way. The cavern was large, tall, and had an energy about it. It was as if one could feel the fear and anticipating dread emanating from what lay within. It was fuel for Maerec, though, and he trudged forward, noting which points were highest and which areas seemed best to reinforce first. Only the sound of crashing waves outside, his footsteps, and the men with him accompanied his thoughts.

Eventually, the group came upon an area that seemed to open up further. Through the darkness, they could see a few spots of firelight scattered along the floor, with nearly dozens of people huddled around them. These must have been the townspeople waiting to hear back about their fate. The group halted and looked to Maerec to call the townspeople first. Most seemed too focused on keeping warm to notice them.

“Good people of Port Morilles…!” He started, loud enough for his voice to echo about the cavern but soft enough not to startle them into feeling too threatened. “I am Maerec de Solenne, and we are of the Queen’s Army. I do not have much time to explain, but we will be escorting you out of the cave and to safety.”

Instantly there was a rise of murmurs and concerned chattering. “Aren’t we safe here?” “Have the Eskandr come for us?” “It’s not safe!” “We will be killed out there!” were only a few things the group could hear from the sequence of concerns. The waves crashed outside again, and the sound of falling rocks came soon after.

It took some convincing to make the first of the possibly hundreds of people hiding within the caverns move, but through patience that could only be a blessing from the Pentad, Maerec was able to get them moving. It wasn’t as quick as he had wanted, but rather this than hundreds trampling over each other in a state of panic. “Dieudonne, help me speed them up. We will send them out in groups.” Maerec used his Force abilities to help the townspeople move quickly with the apprentice's assistance. Parrench men lined the cavern they originally came to help lead the people out and towards the designated clearing.

With each group that passed Maerec by, the more times he forced himself to quicken another group, the more Maerec’s concern about time became. They could only move people so fast when there were so many of them. It was a delicate job, but he kept most calm. As the cavern cleared out, Maerec took a better look inside.

It was a deep cavern, and Maerec could see a group huddled around an area of collapsed rock across the way. It seemed they had no intention of moving along with the others. The knight made his way over to see what was there. “What is the matter here?” He asked, seeing a couple of women crippled to their knees, sobbing.

“People are trapped, m’lord.” An elderly man answered, rubbing his hand along one of the women’s backs. “We are not strong enough to move the rocks.” “My boy is in there!” The woman cried out, returning to a fit of sobs. “There are many there, m’lord!”

The knight moved closer, putting his hand on the pile of rocks. What to do? As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he could hear the faint whimpering behind the rock wall. He put his ear to the rocks to listen further. There were calls for help and crying. They sounded panicked and weak. He couldn’t tell how many were there, but it did sound like multiple. Maerec pulled back and assessed the situation before deciding the best action plan would be just to start pulling rocks away from the top. Some were small enough to do by hand, others, Maerec was forced to use his gift.

Dieudonne had noticed Maerec was not calling for the groups to advance and turned to see where the knight might have gone. Seeing Maerec in the back pulling away rocks, he began to trot over and called out to him. “Sir Maerec?”

“There’s some trapped,” Maerec called back, grunting as he pushed aside a giant rock and staggered back as others began to slide. “We need to get to them!”

Dieudonne quickly picked up on what Maerec was doing and motioned for the people to move out of the way. The two moved rocks off to the sides to create a pathway. The more they drove, the more Maerec could see an opening for him to squeeze through. He could get to them and then move rocks from the other side.

“Wait until you can hear me on the other side before moving more rocks.” He ordered as he began to test the rocks that created the small space. They didn’t seem like they would move without Force magic. At least Maerec would be safe from being crushed for now… He began to slip through, having to turn sideways to fit. His armor scraped against rock, and he had to strategically push and pull rubble to make more of a clearing for himself to move forward. “Agh– Can you hear me?!” He called out to the people that were somewhere on the other side. “If you can, move the rocks that I push! You will see them move!” He extended his hand and used his ability to start making some rocks shake slightly. If they could, those on the other side could just start pulling at them to make it clearer.

“I see it!” “We can!” He heard faintly and then followed the sound of shuffling rubble. They continued this process for a few minutes until Maerec saw an opening. He heard cries of relief and could see dozens of people crouched and huddled or lying on the ground. They looked weak, some even as if death welcomed them early. Maerec pushed himself into the accidental room and began to tear away at the rock barrier.

“Stay clear.” He told the people behind him as he made clawing motions with his hands, which allowed Force to move more rock than he normally could. “Now, Dieudonne!” From the other side, he could also hear the rocks moving. Eventually, the wall of rock crumbled away enough to allow an opening. “Go now, through the opening! If you can carry the injured, do so.” He ordered as he turned towards the people and checked to see who he should help carry. An older man far too large for any of the women to carry ended up being put on Maerec’s back while simultaneously picking up a child who seemed to be barely breathing.

The more people that went through the opening, the larger the space became. They dragged rock along with them as they stepped out to the other side, which immensely helped Maerec as he went through last. As he was going through, he heard the cracking and shattering as a boulder came falling from the cave ceiling behind him. He heard screams of fright and some stopped in the middle of the pathway leading to where Dieudonne remained. “Keep going!” He called and could hear Dieudonne echo his command.

Maerec pressed forward, ushering the people to move quickly. He prayed they were still alive. “Go, go!” He called, forcing the sobbing women to jolt but rush forward. The men followed suit as fast as they could with their injuries. After an eternity of pushing past the crumbled rock, they saw the light Dieudonne had lit to guide Maerec back.

“It’s the last of them.” Maerec huffed, handing Dieudonne the child in his arms. “We must hurry; there’s been too much time lost.” The sound of shifting rock behind them told Maerec that section of the cavern wasn’t going to hold much longer. It would be helpful to Caelum but certainly not to him now. “Hurry, hurry!”

The two Parrench pushed forward, being the last two to rush out using Force to aid the handful of townspeople and their loved ones back on the now-filled clearing. Maerec took the final people to the clearing. “Do not go back to the cavern, no matter what.” He told some villagers who stared at the cavern almost longingly. It was confirmed that there had been some loved ones lost. Parrench guards assured him they would watch the townspeople, and Maerec met with Dieudonne again. “Hopefully, they have made progress even with our delay….”

The two rushed back to the cavern, heading to where Caelum, Mathieos, and others had gone. “Cavern is clear!” The two shouted out, and echoes of the announcement resounded to meet Caelum.

When Caelum received word the cavern was clear, Mathieos, himself, and others began using their Force magic to drive all the enormous rocks they collected inside the caverns. Wherever there were columns and halls, a Force user was stacking rocks. The idea was to create more columns of stones to disperse the weight that was applying pressure onto the current cavern structure.

Finally, as the last stones were wedged into place deep inside the cavern, the Parrench soldiers exited with only their prayers and the skill of the Blood mages above to depend on.

---

Interacting: Queen Astrid, Snorri @Force and Fury
Event: Best Served Cold | Location: Meldheim + the Grontempel

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While his forefathers may have been great sailors, it didn’t seem to carry through with the camp he’d brought. Drudgunzeans had not been sea born for far too long, and although the rainy weather of his fathers duchy had braced them for poor climate, it did little to settle the shaky hands and sickened stomachs that came from sailing great distances. The journey from Relouse to Meldheim was not a short one, nor an easy one, but they would endure for the sake of their mission. And perhaps it was the long journey that made the arrival into Meldheim so beautiful for the young man. While the many warriors and prisoners were brought to shore, Dietrich took a second to take it all in. The beauty of the stars and the five moons shining upon the jungle of a port was a sight to behold. So rugged. So harsh. Yet, it felt strangely familiar to him. Like a home away from his own. But he couldn’t forget his mission in the face of his nostalgia, so he steeled his stomach from the voyage and walked on land for the first time in far too long, as his brother and the remainder of his troupe began to unpack.

A more sensitive man would have waited to let Queen Astrid’s countrymen deliver her the news, but Dietrich was not sensitive. He was bold and he knew that the best time to seize the initiative would be from the get-go. So he spoke, with confidence, even if his proficiency with the language wasn’t as fluent as his Avincian and his accent still came through:

“Your majesty, I bring great news from Relouse, though I believe a dock is a poor place to tell tales of your husband's triumph. It may be presumptuous to ask, but words should suit the locale” he spoke about as respectfully as he was capable of, First impressions were key and he knew he had to get the news to her first. A degree of honesty between future allies was a recipe for success after all.

“Mm, you’re eager,” the queen muttered. Small, pale, and black-haired, she had a pleasant, friendly face belied by her bearing and expression. She looked Dietrich up and down for a moment and, evidently satisfied enough, pursed her lips. “You would be one of the Kressians.” It was a statement. She knitted her hands before herself. [color=a187be]“Ulf,”[color] she said, directing her voice but not her eyes towards a lanky youth. “You will show Uncle Kol to his chambers in the kongesalan. Inga,” she continued, “You will supervise the unloading of the ships and the preparation of the spoils. If there is not enough, you will go with Hvitserk and retrieve some from the treasury.” A preteen girl nodded and bowed her head respectfully. “Snorri, you will come with mother and her Kressian friend. We are going to show him the city.”

She gave her greetings to those familiar with her and promised to catch up later at a feast in the kongesalan. For the time being, however, Queen Astrid merely flicked her eyes Dietrich’s way. “Come then. I take it you have a name. Tell me of my husband’s newest triumph.” Ushering her youngest son along, she began walking. Among the curious crowd that had grown about the foot of the pier, a keen eye might have noticed a series of individuals, armed and martial in bearing, moving at a discreet distance in escort. The people gave their queen a very wide berth.

Dietrich smiled. He was no stranger to judgment by appearance and although a little scruffier than usual due to the length of the trip, he was still more than presentable. Being cleanly has its benefits. He watched the kids scuttle to their duties, and it brought back flashbacks of home, though it was somewhat odd to him. Ulf, the firstborn, was sent to do a rather menial job, whereas Inga saw to a very practical and fruitful occupation, and Snorri was given the privilege of listening. He didn’t know if he was reading too much into it, but it definitely stuck with him as something that was different. A taste of Eskandr culture, perhaps. Regardless, he began to walk and talk, as was dictated. He was in no place to refuse such an offer. Nor did he want to.

”This one’s name is Dietrich of Sturmfeld.” he spoke, before giving Snorri a friendly handshake and matching pace with the queen. He had sympathy for third sons after all.. And regardless of his armed company, he began to speak. The queen must trust them greatly if they were waiting in the wings, though it made the walk slightly more tense. Still, he waited till they were somewhat away from the crowd before he began to deliver the news. [color=gold]”König Hrothgar was successful, though not in all his aims. The force came ashore, and managed to deal a great many blows to the greenlanders, but were unable to take the city.” he stopped, before choosing his next words carefully. He would be honest, but he must be tactful.

“The fleet was also destroyed, for the most part. They caught the culprit, but alas, many were lost. Though I’m sure that despite this, the König will be quick to return. I believe a man of his character would not want to leave such a beautiful family waiting long, and I saw how he tore through the Quentists like parchment.” he uttered slightly more softly than usual. He remembered a word from his mother, that a wife waiting for her husband to return home is just as troubled as the soldier. And truth be told, he did feel some sympathy. She definitely seemed to care about her husband, and her children looked well mannered, far more humble than he’d seen in a lot of the courts of Drudgunzean lords.

“I see,” she replied shortly. “Thank you for your candor.” Snorri, too, nodded. “And father didn’t ask for more soldiers?” the boy inquired, tilting his head to the side in an almost adultlike fashion. “I’m not sure I believe that.”

”Very apt. That was a request he made, though I’m sure it will not be an easy one to provide. Even still, I believe it may be necessary to win a complete victory. Our nations have more enemies than just the Greenlanders after all.”

Snorri nodded. “The Parrench are strong now.” He furrowed his brow. “They’re going to be even stronger when I’m old enough to fight them.”

“Unless we stop them now,” said his mother. She regarded Dietrich over her shoulder. “You’re not a fool, so you would not be here if you didn’t think we could win.” They were on foot, but winding their way slowly up towards the Grontempel. The darkened streets were fast emptying out, as all sensible people who were not employed in some duty at this hour headed for sleep. Shops, workshops, longhouses, and more private dwellings clustered thick around the roads, some of the largest rising three or even four stories. Banners mounted on bronze posts fluttered lightly in the cool wind and torches lined the large thoroughfare that they presently occupied. “So what is it that you are here to offer us, Dietrich of Sturmfeld, and what is it that you seek?” For the first time, Astrid met his gaze directly, hers very much like a more developed version of her son’s.

What a sight the city was. It was not refined like his home, nor was it sensibly planned or an inviting place to be, but the simplicity and the utility of the architecture really made him wonder. To do so much when the world gave them so little was nothing short of admirable. He almost lost track of the conversation in his inner thoughts, but he stayed focused on the point. They were very perceptive after all. And although his conversations were usually direct, this was a breath of fresh air. No notable subtext or pretense behind it, it made him want to grin. But he held it in.

“I offer friendship. An alliance between our respective nations will do nothing but benefit both of our people in this sacred war. For should we lose, our ways of life will be lost to the wind.” he stopped for a moment and looked out at the landscape before them. “And as for what I seek, it is to save my people from their own stupidity. We may be different now, but it was not always so. One hundred years of madness and acceptance of Quentic preaching has turned our kingdoms into unlit bonfires.. Hrothgar was wise to cull the priests, but we made the error of tolerating them. And now, though they display proud eagles and lions, I see rabbits waiting to be gobbled up by the wolf of the north should we not direct the course” he stated, passion in his voice. Perhaps he had been a bit too honest, but he could not hide his convictions about this matter.

There was a long pause, and they walked in silence. Torches licked and snapped on posts and the boots of three people - including Snorri’s small, quick footsteps - squelched softly in the Spring mud. “Have you ever visited our Grontempel?” Astrid inquired. “Some say that it is the holiest site of our faith: that the Gods walk there.” She gestured almost absently ahead, in the direction where they were now headed in earnest. A colossal stave temple, its bottom floor intricate stonework and all the rest planks and carvings that seemed almost to shift and breathe with a life of their own, it rose two hundred feet upon the final foothill before the Eldfjall. Crows and seabirds perched upon its spars and statues in great chattering, cawing flocks. The queen clasped her hands behind her back and glanced Dietrich’s way.

“I unfortunately haven’t, and witnessing it now, it is a great shame.”he almost whispered into the cold air as he truly began to feel the altitude and the wind bearing down on them. It was not often that he felt in awe of something other than himself, but it almost left him speechless as his eyes wandered from the bottom to the top of the grand structure. He had seen great chapels built for the Pentad, but nothing he’d witnessed gave him the feeling he had stood before this structure. He felt as if only now, he was worthy of his name. He did not see the gods as she said, but he felt them. It took him a small while before he was able to speak another word, perhaps due to the cold or perhaps due to the nature of the place.

“Have you seen them here?” was all he was able to utter, looking back at Astrid, if only to distract himself from the feeling he felt in his heart at that moment. Was he losing it? He couldn’t quite tell. Perhaps he was nauseous from the trip, or the height, or the cold, or perhaps this place truly was sacred.

“I have felt their presence, as you now do,” the queen answered simply, nodding as she walked. “as many do.” They were approaching now, and there were numerous small shops and huts clustered lower down on the hill, hawking products and housing pilgrims. “Just as I have felt it atop the Eldfjall, or staring out across the ocean at dawn.” She turned to him, eyes narrowed against a gust of wind. In the distance, dark wings spread and a series of birds took flight. “As I felt it the first time that I touched the Mother’s Tree as a girl, or when I felt each of my children stirring inside of me.” She took in a long breath and released it after a moment. Snorri glanced up at her, looking as if he wanted to say something, but the boy was silent, perhaps unused to his mother speaking to an ambassador at such length. “You see, Jarl Sturmfeld, the Gods do not confine themselves to one place. There is no such thing as a ‘holiest site’.” She shook her head with a soft, knowing smile. “They live where we make space for them and where we open ourselves to them. Someday, perhaps,” she mused, “They will not have much of a home in Eskand, but in Parrence or some other distant land, where people shall build great monuments to them: ones to stir the heart and mind. I can see that your words are not mere words.” She stopped and faced him as they neared the top of the steps. “You are an ambitious man, perhaps, but your face and your voice tell me not an untrue one. This war is not only for the continuation of our ways. It is for the growth of Eskand: the flourishing. We will conquer the green lands of Parrence for our own use and fill them with our people.” She regarded Dietrich thoughtfully. “It may very well be that, if we win, Drudgunze and its kingdoms shall cease to exist. Encircled, they shall be made part of their mother once more. Is that truly a possibility you are willing to entertain?”

Dietrich stood in contemplation for a moment. Between the dialogue and the atmosphere, there was much racing through his brain at present. It was smart for her to bring her here to talk, for what true believer would be able to fully compose their thoughts in the presence of the gods without being at least a little nervous. Yet, she had a point. It was not so much the building itself that was holy, as it was the reverence of the gods in the city that allowed them to be here. A truly enlightened view in his mind. It seemed that they were more similar than he had previously thought. Yet, the second point rang clear in his mind.

“I see now. Perhaps this is why I do not feel them as strongly in Drudgunze as I do now. The monument may be grand, but it is the acceptance of their presence that truly allows them to be present.” he stopped for a moment, taking another deep breath himself. The cold air bit his lungs but he would not let it stop him. There was more to say.

“What do you believe separates our people? There is the rising threat of Quentism, and I believe this may be the biggest barrier to a re-unification, but I also see much difference in our society from yours in the short time we’ve been separated. Every time you move, you gain and lose a bit of what you were prior. Our people are no longer comparable sailors, but I believe you’d be surprised at our architecture, metalworking and art.” he turned to meet her gaze once more, putting his hands behind his back.

“Your people may experience a change greater than ours were you to settle Parrence. It is just as likely that Eskand births proud new sons that make their own way, than it is that a grand rejoining takes place. However, what happens between those options, is infinitely preferable to being subject to a Greenlander.” he smiled. That question was a tricky one, and it did make him think about his morals. Did he care more about the survival of his people and their ways of life, or the power he could receive from this war? Was it wrong to want both? Or simply greedy? He would have to ponder it more.

They stood in front of the great doors now, a fog creeping up from the harbour and pooling in the valleys and alleys of Meldheim. It drifted over and between silent houses and hills, snaked along the thousand branching roads of the great city like ghostly blood through arteries, and made its way, presently to the beating heart before which Astrid, her son, and Dietrich stood. Ethereal in its grasp, torches flickered.

Pulling her hood over head, the Queen of Eskand reached out and pointed towards the doors. “I have seen you for what you are, Dietrich of Sturmfeld, and I accept you.” The torches scored a line all of the way back to the docks, but here, around the Grontempel, they were as legion as Parrench soldiers or farmers in a field. With a stately groan, one of the doors opened a sliver. A powerful gust of wind whipped at Dietrich’s hair and the torches in front of him flickered and went dark, wisps of smoke trailing off and losing themselves in the encroaching mist. Crows cawed. Inside, torches and incense beckoned. “Drink the water you will find inside and know if the Gods, too, feel the same way,” she said softly, and Snorri stood beside her, trying to remain dignified in his bearing as a prince and not steal glances inside. “I shall speak of alliances and more soldiers to those who need to hear it.” Her eyes gleamed soft blue from beneath her hood. “Brother’s courage, Kressian.”

Dietrich swallowed nervously as he looked inside. A preposterous statement of usual circumstances for the man, but as he looked inside, he felt them more strongly than ever. But there was no shred of fear, merely a feeling of.. unworthiness? Something he'd seldom ever experienced. Yet it built like a pit in his stomach, goose bumps flaring across his skin as he felt the cold wind and smoke of the temple hit his face. He took only a moment to steel himself as he looked back at the now cloaked Queen of Eskand, and giving a nod of understanding, before venturing forth into the temple, past the phalanx of torches that smouldered from the breeze. Slow steps echoed around him as he walked further and further into the inky dark, to where the water was. There was little hesitation in his mind now. He would prove his worth, he deserved to be here, he would show the gods what he could become. A quick recital of Femrigr bounced through the empty halls, filled his mind with courage, and he drank deep.

He felt his vision shift and blur, and his mind churn in strange ways, and the world itself began to slow down. He tried to stand, but he could not find his feet, as he felt as if he was falling through the floor that was very clearly there, but his legs were like pigs blood in the moment, and he was brought to one knee. His mind was still clearly his own, but this world was unfamiliar, as if he was new to it. Sensation was overbearing, and as time passed, he felt as if he was born again, forced to experience breathing, swallowing, clenching his fist, thinking all over again for the first time. And more than ever in his now vulnerable state, he felt the gods watching, judging his every action in the stupor he found himself in. But, surprisingly, he felt as if they agreed with him, and respected his moment of weakness before them. And as he got to grips with existence once more, he stood with his arms held high, outstretched in acceptance of their being. And for a moment, just a split second, he would swear to the end that he saw a far too familiar figure in the corner of the hall smiling at him in approval. That was all he needed.

---

Scenario: Best Served Cold
Interactions: None

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Gerard sat still atop the rock with his staff resting on his lap. In order to keep himself awake, he took a bundle of dry holly leaves hidden in his satchel and stuffed it in his cheek. Most of his comrades were trying to make the best of things and rest inside the boats, but the warrior priest found himself suffocated by sea sickness. He chose to wait the storm out by sharpening himself with meditation instead. It was completely dark out now, and the sound of rain and thunder made hearing nearly impossible. Though the rain was freezing cold, his steely nerves slowly grew numb to it. For those of a certain disposition, the deafening white noise gave a measure of comfort. Gerard was truly alone with his thoughts.

Despite his calm outward appearance, Gerard’s spirit was in turmoil. For the past couple of days he thought of nothing but the defeats he suffered in the battle for Relouse. Twice he had engaged in single combat with the Eskandr, and twice he had been cast aside by magic that far outstripped his own. To lose against the king of a nation was perhaps to be expected - but for the same to be true against a girl who wasn’t even his own age… the memory filled him with a mixture of rage and envy. For the gods to grant such power to blasphemers who only spoke their names in curses, Gerard thought he must still be lacking something as a servant. For the moment at least.

No! I have the requisite knowledge. It should be possible for me to use the same techniques they do. I just need more practice! The red Rezaindian extended his sixth sense out to sea, mentally submitting himself to the boundless fury of the ocean waves. It had been a long time since he’d opened his mind to such a massive amount of force. The years he had spent exploring the secrets of Ipte’s fire seemed regrettable now. How much could he have accomplished if he hadn’t been so narrow minded in his arcane pursuits? But the time for self depreciation was over. He had done that plenty the entire way here.

Gerard tugged on the energy current and allowed a sliver of it to enter his body, gradually feeding his manas the sustenance they craved. He had to be careful not to let the waves overwhelm him. While the sun was an endless source of magical power, its intensity was always the same. It was predictable. Here, the mountainous waves ebbed and flowed without a pattern. He had to alter the flow constantly, and it required all his focus to avoid overdrawing.

The priest did not draw himself to capacity. He channeled the collected energy into his staff, causing it to float up to eye level. And that was it. All he did was levitate the magical instrument for the next several hours, persevering through the night until sunrise. It was a very basic, very important form of training that allowed his cells to grow accustomed to drawing on force once again. No matter what technique he tried on the fire witch, it would have to come out fast in order to be remotely effective. This had to become second nature so that he could quickly turn the bitch's magic against her.

---

”Act natural. You and I will be a family during our short stay in this… place. I am just a soldier who came back home to bring his daughter to the capital.” Gerard picked Maud up and allowed her to wrap her arms around his neck. In order to remain inconspicuous, the priest had exchanged his usual robes with more appropriate attire. As the longboat approached the pier, he gritted his teeth. It was important that he opened his mouth only when necessary, for his accented Eskandish would expose his origins if spoken too liberally.

Moments ago, Gerard nearly called the village something else but managed to hold his tongue. The Eskandish converts might be on the side of Parrence now, but that did not mean they despised their homeland. Even he had the good sense not to speak ill of it in their presence.

When the group rendezvoused with the dockman, a posse of children stormed the pier and began to harass them with a salvo of irritating questions. Gerard did his best to ignore the brats and wade past them, but one of the miscreants insisted on tugging on his pants and forcing his attention.

”Hey mister, how many of them did you kill? There was a second where Gerard gazed down at the boy with a look of disdain, but he had to keep a lid on it. Without his hood to obscure his face it would be easy to see his disgust. The zealot closed his eyes and filled his lungs with air. He slowly released the breath. He was calm.

Without letting go of Maud, Gerard knelt down so that he was face to face with the little snot. He curled his lips into a nefarious grin and whispered so that any prying ears could hardly hear.

"I killed at least a dozen of them boyo. Roasted ‘em alive just like this.” Gerard breathed a puff of flame right over the boy’s head. The kid put his hands on his head in surprise and yelped before scurrying a few feet away. Just then the dock’s owner began shooing the children away, and within seconds the disturbance had passed. From then on the ‘captain’ silently nodded along while his comrades did the talking for him. Reassuringly, the man named Birger appeared to be on their side. In order to avoid the rats crawling about, the expeditionary force would hold their briefing in a hideout recommended by the mole. On the surface he was agreeable, but in the back of his mind, Gerard couldn’t help but hold suspicions about a possible trap.

---

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Humans, in their eagerness to see yasoi as some extension of the forest, to define them by and have them embody it, made a dangerous mistake. They looked upon Loriindton as an ideal, formed of the trees and alive in perfect harmony with nature. In the early morning sun, it emerged from the nighttime mists: an apparition of great golden boughs that groaned softly in the breeze and shining silver bells that gently chimed. For seven thousand years, they had looked upon the changing visage of the city in the trees and decided that it symbolized peace, permanence, and beauty: things to strive for. In truth, this was little more than a reflection of that peculiar human need to place everything in neat little crates so that it could be understood.

It was a need that Talit'yrash'osmax did not understand. She and the others were close now. The undergrowth was growing sparse and the animals fewer. The trees towered to unnatural heights, carefully cultivated over millennia by yasoi hands. Their mighty roots drank endlessly of the Ascel River and choked out those of their smaller brethren. The sun beat down through the gaps in the canopy, parching soil and grasses. The sharp hum of cicadas rose in urgency as the day wore on and smoke from hundreds of chimneys filtered, foul and phantasmal, through the branches. In truth, Loriindton was an unnatural place: a blight upon the sanctity of the eternal land picked at relentlessly by the folly of men. Mud and stone covered the forest floor and leaves, maintained through the use of the Gift, remained year-round on their branches. At this time of year, they were transitioning from yellow to green instead of growing anew.

Then, the new arrivals were passing through Athal'riimas, the vast arch and its hundred dangling chimes stretching over their heads. On the other side lay a hive of activity. Milling crowds moved in all three dimensions: back and forth on foot, up and down ladders, stairs, and trees. Dozens of wagons clustered along the network of roads that branched from Athal'riimas. Loud voices filled the air, competing with a smorgasbord of scents and sights: multicoloured banners, cooking meat, spices, sweat, and shit. It was a sensory bombardment thrilling for a human but almost overwhelming for many yasoi.

"Home, ladies and gentlemen," announced Tali in an ambivalent tone, bringing Pishcar about. The horse had been trained to walk in reverse. "Senses keen, bags clasped shut, hmm?" She motioned for them to follow.

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Everything on the ground floor of the market was cleared by the early afternoon and the decorators came out in earnest. By Ypti herself, they covered the great plaza with more ribbons than Talit had thought existed in the whole of the city. Next came the treasure wagons and the long travelers, and they bargained and bartered in the background as long tables and stages took shape along with the throne for the Grand Mockery. Casks of wine, mead, and spirits were arranged in sculptures and bolted or tied into place. Hundreds of hands combined to build a tiims'archa course that snaked around, up, and down many of the lesser trees, through the fountain, and right to the foot of the throne itself. By the late afternoon, bards and music troupes were drifting in and out of the plaza, claiming the plum spots, and vendors were busy cooking up jumpoi and sharring'oss. For those who hassled them too much, there would inevitably be a few slices of jumpoi'asca.

Lifted into place by the magics of the Festive Guild came the swinging post, and then tetsoi booths and Dare Squares. The Chefs' Guild soon had a roaring fire lit and a spit turning with dozens of chickens, turkeys, pigs, rabbits, and boars. Before long, afternoon gave way to evening. Dancers swirled about to music and torches were lit at ground level and many others above as the sun set. Then came the jesters and acrobats, resplendent in their multicoloured livery. Families wound through the thickening crowds and a dozen individual practice sessions and sing-alongs congealed into one great musical ensemble.

The six Festive Masters leapt up on top of the long tables and pranced about. Every single one of them had drank a substantial amount and all were properly, obnoxiously jolly. Pie Man had both thrown and received pies. Frolicking Fish was squirting people from the fountain and the area around her was already a no man's land except for those young men who saw... boobs first and foremost and were willing to endure the relentless humiliation. The Tickler was busy tormenting a waiter who was holding up one end of a massive roast peacock on a glass platter, close to getting him to drop it. Fat Ferit, meanwhile, was huffing and puffing, stumbling and bumbling all over the place in her frilly robes and liberally helping herself to people's food and drinks with a mixture of obsequious apology and barbed jokes. Baron Pecker was strutting around smugly with his great jaw, feathered hat, tights, and even greater... pecker, winking at all the women, chatting them up with the corniest of jests, sneaking up behind people and... poking them, and demanding duels with 'offended' husbands, while shamelessly bending the rules or running away and claiming victory. Peering out from a small window overlooking the plaza, Talit blushed at the sight of him. Aged twelve, she'd asked her mother wonderingly if it was real.

“No more real than the last time you asked,” teased a curmudgeonly old voice from nearby.

The young woman turned. “Old Nan,” she replied, instinctively bowing.

Leaning heavily on a cane, Merit’entasp’osmax shuffled forward. She stopped in front of her triple-great granddaughter and they stood eye to eye, the elder not having to look up very much. “My dear little Tali.” Old Nan pinched her cheek fondly. “Glad you made it back in one piece this time.”

“It was only men,” Tali replied, hovering close behind as Old Nan took a few steps back and settled gingerly onto her armchair.

“Humans,” grumbled the old crone, “and the two worst sorts: Eskandr and Parrench.”

Talit sighed. “I know you’re not half as opposed to the latter as you like to make it sound.” The floorboards creaked in a familiar way underfoot and the air smelled faintly of chamomile.

“Hmm, maybe,” the former Baroness admitted. “But also not half as favourable as you like to think.”

“Then I shall just have to push harder,” the potential future baroness teased. Yet, it was met not with some witty rejoinder, as usual, but with a tired smile. Merit lifted a steaming mug unsteadily to her lips and took a long sip. She seemed somehow a good deal older than the last time they’d seen each other, towards the end of winter. “Your brother pushes me one way and you the other,” she sighed. “It is altogether too much pushing, I fear. The two of you seem determined to turn me into a prune.”

“Why, but you already are, dear Old Nan. Have you looked in a mirror of late?”

“I try to avoid them,” the old woman grumbled.

“I suppose, at your age, I might as well,” Tali admitted, still pacing, but Old Nan’s eyes found her just the same. She shook her head. “By my age, you’ll have been a goddess for over a century, Yrash. You must accept that you are Vyshta.”

The young woman’s eyes flashed. “I am Talit first; not some mere body for the fallen goddess to inhabit.”

Merit smiled reassuringly, but she seemed old and withered these days, and she lacked the forceful glow that Tali was accustomed to. Perhaps ascending as a goddess was much preferable to old age after all. “Each vessel remains herself within the goddess. You should not worry. There will simply be more to you after you ascend.”

Talit sighed. “And how you will love to tell me “I told you so’.”

“Hmmmm.” Old Nan sipped from her mug, silent. It wasn’t like her to pass up an opportunity to poke fun at her younger kin, but she sat there on her chair, suddenly quite still, eyes staring ahead with no particular sort of focus. “Old Nan?” Tali prodded, “What is so interesting about the wall, hmm?”

Merit blinked. “Oh, yes. Nothing, dear. I was just thinking how glad I was that you’d made it back safely. War is such a horrid business.”

“Yes, Old Nan.”

The former baroness paused. “Have I forgotten something? Were we on another topic?”

“Nothing of consequence,” Tali lied, and the old woman smiled. “Ah yes, it just came to me that there was a jest I had wished to make.”

Smoothly, Talit strode up to the padded chest beside where her Old Nan was and sat on it, setting her crutches to the side. “And what was that?” she inquired softly.

“Oh, just that I was happy you’d come back in one piece this time.” She winked.

Tali forced a smile, but her need to do so came not from an objection to jokes about her missing leg. They had been a part of her life for over a decade and she was well used to them by now. Old Nan was repeating herself. She was forgetting things. There’d been hints over the past few seasons, but she was much worse now. “I am supposedly the goddess of fortune incarnate,” Tali replied, probing once more.

“And perhaps you have come to accept that, yes?”

“It is as I told you just now: I shall be Talit first and foremost, always.”

“Oh, but you will be,” Old Nan assured her. “Each vessel remains herself within the goddess. You should not worry. There will simply be more to you after you ascend.” Word for word, it was the same. Something in the young woman’s chest snapped. “And how you will love to tell me ‘I told you so’,” she repeated. This time, however, the elder noticed something amiss. She scowled and set her mug down unsteadily. “I fear I may not have the opportunity, dear one.”

“Old Nan?”

Merit looked her way, eyes sharp for a moment, as they had always been previously. She reached out with a gnarled hand and enfolded one of Talit’s. “I had a conversation like this with Dyric already.” She furrowed her brow for a moment, looking confused and trying to push through it. “At least… I think I did.”

“Granny Merit,” the young woman squeaked.

“No sounds of weakness, girl,” scolded the former baroness. “Those will not do.” She brought her mug up to her lips again and then stopped and scowled. “It is only water in here,” she growled. “The tea is still steeping. I had forgotten.”

Tali rose and hopped a couple of steps to grab the pot, returning in a heel-toe shimmy with it. “It is… a horrid thing to grow this old,” Old Nan admitted, “to be a shadow of oneself, to know it and yet not know it.” She stared ahead in reverie as Tali poured another mug for her. “Things you used to do with such ease drift out of your grasp and you’ve no choice but to accept it. A bitter pill…” she trailed off.

The young woman went silent and tired old eyes found her. More particularly, they found her stump for a moment. “How indulged I must sound, dear girl.” Merit took a sip of her tea, eyelids flickering as she savoured it, and shook her head. “You know far more about loss at your age than anyone ought to.”

“I know a thing or two about perseverance as well.”

“Oh, I have persevered plenty long,” Merti snorted. “When I was precisely your age, I stood there on a hilltop, just outside the forest with a boy I loved at the time and we watched flames consume Old Avince. That is how very much is inside this old head of mine and how hard it is to organize all.”

“Perhaps the Gift of Essence can help?” Tali ventured.

“I have tried it.” Merit waved dismissively. “Three times, apparently. I have written it on a scrap of parchment so that I do not waste what little time I have trying it again.”

“Old Nan,” pleaded Tali, “you must continue to persevere, please, for one more year and hopefully much longer.” She started to rise, but thought better of it, instead shifting to more fully face the old woman. “I understand that it is my duty to ascend, and I would not be so selfish as to shirk that, but I am frightened. For all of the Gift that I have, I truly am. No vessel of Vyshta has made her twenty-fifth birthday in over a millennium. I… do not think that my chances are very good without -”

“You must persevere,” said Old Nan simply.

“And I shall, with every ounce of my being, but…”

“Talit’yrash, there is something I must tell you,” Merit began. “An admission I must make.”

Tali could feel her heartbeat accelerate. She swallowed. “What is it, Baroness?”

“I will not be among the living this time next year. Twice, in the past month, my bowels have failed me. On some days, I need to be carried down the ladder from my home.” She shook her head. “I have been coughing up blood for a week now. So I have taken -”

A long, low sound - impossibly loud - reverberated through the room. Tali leapt to her foot and grabbed her crutches as a second sound, slightly higher in pitch, cut through the elder’s words. It was the hornmaster. Three more notes sounded, each loud enough to be heard clear across Loriindton. Old Nan was covering her ears, muttering something, and then the last of the notes faded. It was time for the guests of honour to take their places. Sunset had given way to dusk and the former baroness would struggle to see much of anything in so little light. Tali drew upon the Gift to set every candle in the room aglow. “It is time for us to appear, dear Old Nan,” she announced, as the elder pushed herself free of her armchair with some difficulty. “Time for the mockery, but first, what was it that you were saying?”
Absently, Tali’s eyes went back to Baron Pecker and his ridiculous display. “Ah, a-hah, yes!” Merit replied, shuffling up beside the much younger woman. She leaned in and whispered with an impish grin. “It isn’t real, Talit’yrash. No more real than when you were twelve.”

Tali was about to protest and remind her of the serious nature of their conversation, but Old Nan seemed so pleased with herself that she had not the heart and, in any event, the old crone had likely forgotten. They could discuss it later. “As if I haven’t heard that one before,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “Come on now, let’s go. It wouldn’t do for the guest of honour to be late.”

Shuffling ahead of her with tiny, uncertain steps, Merit twisted carefully and gazed back upon Talit with fondness. “My precious Talit’yrash,” she said softly. “I want you to know how very much I love you and how proud of you I am.”

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“So, are we still calling her ‘baroness’ because we wish to honour her or because she’s forgotten that she isn’t anymore and we wish to humour the old bat?” People laughed, most of all Merit. “You’ve lived too long, Baroness. Why, soon, there’ll be no one left to check your wild tales of Avincian days. Why, for all we know, you could claim that Avincians could all fly by means of their flatulence and we would have no choice but to accept your firsthand account!” The former baroness was well-known as a storyteller and, at times, as something of an embellisher. “But, of course, we wish you all the best,” continued the Master of Mockery, “many more years to your long and healthy life… and just as many where we have an easy excuse to hold a mete’stiroi!”

Hoots and hollers. Tali smirked guiltily. Near the other end of the dais, she could see Dyric grin. “Ah, and of course, it isn’t just our grand old lady who’s having a birthday today!” The master spread his arms and stalked up in front of Tali. Reaching out, he took some of her plum wine and downed it. “How could we forget our ‘twins of destiny’!?” He made twinkle fingers as he twisted to take in the crowd, “though, let’s be honest, Talit’s the only one people really remember, isn’t she?” She let out a guilty snort of laughter as Dyric’s smile grew pinched. “And a banner month it has been as well for our resident flamingo. Why, with how many Eskandr she sent to their little green building of the afterlife, perhaps people will finally remember her for something other than having one leg!”

“A girl can dream!” Tali responded from her seat.

“Dreams,” replied the Master of Mockery. “Those are good to have and, let me tell you, young lady, that all of us dream with you.” He shook his head and smiled, somewhat serious for a moment. “One more year,” he announced, “and the most obvious vessel of Vyshta we’ve ever had gets to ascend and all of get a whoooole lot luckier.”

People shouted and clapped.

“Don’t fuck it up, Tali.” He winked. “Seriously. I’ve already picked my lottery tickets for next year’s event. Just… don’t eat anything stupid or fight any more scagbiists or Eskandr. Stay away from sharp objects and… for Exiran’s sake, take the bridges and not the ropes, hmm?”

“I shall expect a healthy cut of your winnings,” she teased, and he made a strange face, twisting dramatically on the spot and regarding the crowd. “You see, this is how you can tell she’s not Shiin.” He shook his head and tapped his temple with a finger. “Not very bright.” He turned back to her. “Missy, it’s my job to mock you, not the other way around.” He paused again, twitching on the spot and taking in the revelers. “So… it’s just occurred to me that it’s been so bloody long since we’ve had a real live Vyshta, that nobody really knows how to use the damned thing!” He skipped up to her and leaned in. “I mean… Tali, what do we do? Are there… magic words?”

She shrugged. "'Please', perhaps? I dunno." He tilted his head. “Do we… rub your head for good luck?”

She glared. “Try it, bub.”

He leaned in conspiratorially. “Bribes?”

“Well, I never!” she gasped in mock horror.

“Ah, yep. It’s bribes,” he announced. “When they get indignant, you know.” He nodded knowingly, looking disappointed, and shook his head. “Typical Vyshta.”

Following his brief skewering of Talit, the Master of Mockery moved on, setting his sights on Dyric: “a proud yasoi nationalist who extols the virtues of all of our traditions… though he’s never actually tried any of them,” and “a politician who won a resounding victory in the last race he ran in: a footrace… against his sister.”

The Master of Mockery was finished before long and it then became open season on whoever sat on one of the three thrones. Many tried their hand at the honoured craft, though there were other pursuits for all different types. The long voyagers continued their trade, music belted out across the plaza, and people leapt and swirled in dance, Tali joining them more than once. Tetsoi were applied liberally, the dare squares saw plenty of use, and a Mez’Qadurat ring played host to some particularly exciting combats. Food and drink flowed liberally. Couples stumbled out to shadowed alcoves and hidden booths, magic shows lit up the sky, and people covered their bodies in exotic glowing paints of the tiims’archa. Tired children bounced and bounded around, hopped up on sugar and excitement, before congregating with a heterogeneous mix of parents, snail enthusiasts, and lifelong gamblers around the racecourse. Tali had sponsored two snails this year - Blue Number 8 and Mondo - though she’d been out of town and not seen them in action. As was customary, she chose two children to release her racers onto the course: a boy named Anthan for the former and a girl named Vaidii for the latter. Tali watched the start, of course, for it was always spectacular with a crowded field of collisions, attack, and jockeying, and both of her snails were still in it when she wandered off. Races could take a good few hours, and she had other things to do.

Setting off, Tali wound her way through the crowds, stopped every few yards by well-wishers, sycophants, or others who simply recognized her and wanted to talk with her. Jaxan: she wanted to find him. She hadn’t had the chances she’d hoped for to spend some time around him, but he was… many things that she liked and those who knew her - and some who didn’t - were always advising her to stop thinking so much of Arcel: a married man and - more importantly - a human. Still, as she walked, a tightness hovered about the top of Tali’s stomach, and she wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was the war, or maybe it was sharing a space, once more, with Dyric, who was family and who she was not on speaking terms with. It could have been the looming threat the Eskandr posed to her people. There would almost certainly be Tar’ithan looking to slip into Loriindton and an army hovered somewhere nebulously nearby, she had been told. Most likely, however, it was Old Nan and the strange conversation they had shared. It was the old woman’s precipitous decline and unusual thoughtfulness.

A stabbing pain shot up Tali’s thigh and she grimaced and hissed, freeing a hand from a crutch handle and reaching down instinctively to rub at the spot. Instead, all that she encountered was the end of her stump. “Stupid thing,” she hissed under her breath, gingerly grabbing it and trying to massage away a feeling in a body part that didn’t exist anymore. She knew this phantom pain for a symptom of stress and worry, so she grit her teeth, took a couple of steadying breaths, and reminded herself that it wasn’t real. After a moment of conspicuous stillness, she decided that her best course of action was to go check in on Old Nan, who’d last been seated on the very comfortable Prime Throne of Mockery, lapping up the abuse.

Shouldering her way through the swirling throngs, Talit came upon her three-times-great grandmother being set upon by Lyen. The young woman had fought alongside the maledict and knew well her occasionally sharp tongue, but Lyen seemed utterly jolly, prancing about, slinging barbed jokes, laying hands on people - including the nearby Dyric and the tall red woman Tali had run into on the road last night - and consuming copious amounts of wine. Tali smiled despite herself and blushed a bit. She was just about to call out for either mocker or mockee's attention, because they seemed engaged in some sort of interaction that she wished to take part in, when Lyen reached out and laid a hand on Merit’s shoulder.

For a moment, there was nothing noteworthy about it, but then Old Nan froze, and a look of sudden and conspicuous pain filled her. Her eyes flashed Dyric’s way, having not yet noticed Tali, and she slumped dramatically to the side, eyes still open, unmoving. “Old Nan!?” Talit shouted, barreling through the crowd. People clustered round or drew back, and voices rose. “She isn’t moving!” one shouted. “She’s… she’s dead!” hollered another. Finally, Dyric: “It was her!” he accused, pointing straight at a shocked-looking Lyen. “That maledict! She touched the baroness and this happened.”

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Mentions/Interaction: Vali, Twice Born @Wolfieh, Queen Astrid, Snorri, Ulf, Inga, Hrothgar the Black @Force and Fury

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Kol watched the sea, the fog was strong and the air was cool upon the day they were to voyage. The waves in Parrence were calm and pleasant, much nicer and seemed much more giving than what Strumreef has had. Yet to him it connected Kol to his home. He sighed as he looked to the sea, it was nothing more than the sea, a home that he has known since he was able to remember. As Kol watched the sea, he saw the ebbs of the sea and knew, his home was going to be so close, yet so far, as they would pass it barely and move along the Meldheim. A reluctant sigh left Kol as he relegated himself to his task, he had to complete his mission and then make it back to the war front, his people were left to fight without him, and it made him nervous. He could feel the waves almost shake as he touched them, they were hiding their anger, and he was soon to feel them.

As they travelled, Kol knew the many things that were to come, the first few days were calm, upon nearing Strumreef, Kol felt the wave bare their teeth. And Kol felt trully at home, the Sea was unkind, it was angry, temperamental, she fickle, and Kol felt on edge when he was in calm waters. Upon reaching the shore for shelter against the rough storm, Kol saw the small fishing camp and made proper preperations to best compensate those who were here. Sadly they knew not who'd be here, but Kol made preperations of materials and other things. For the prisoners, Kol could do quite a bit for them, as his status amongst those here is the highest, he can quite easily make sure they were treated at least somewhat well. Yet he was unable to go against all things, if he were to do so he could be called out as a traitor and have to then defend himself in a court unfavorable to him at the moment. So he bided his time and did as he could, before they were to leave again.

Once they were to leave again, Kol left one final gift for the possible inhabitants of this island, if it was Móður's beloved Sea folk, Kol made some additional preperations. He did not think of the gods as the reason why they exist, yet Kol has heard stories since he was a young child of the Sea Folk, what to do with them, what gifts to give, and what precautions to take. As Kol left them beautiful cloths, gifts, and the flag of his Kingdom. As once given his offering, Kol made way, as they once again now headed towards Meldheim, Kol focused his powers to speed up their travel, as once they made it to the waters they all knew. Eskandish waters were something Kol has traversed all his life, and so following the currents, the winds, the stars, and even the clouds to guide them through the waves of Eskandrs very own sea.

Along their travel, Kol heard the many idle chats, many spoke of what they were to do with their new found gains. Many spoke of laying women, others spoke of gambling to maybe get enough to buy their own kingdom, others spoke of drinking themselves enough to look more like Father. While some spoke of the trio of ships they said they spotted on their time on the island, yet they did not respond to any form of communications. Kol felt a strange tinge in his stomach like he just saw something that would come to haunt him. As even when night fell and they saw land, this same looming feeling still held him.

Once they made it to dock Kol began seeing as the captain of the ship began barking orders and calling to the sailors to begin their work. As Kol watched the sailors his eyes landed on the face of a woman he had known for many years now, Queen Astrid. Her beauty was something to behold even after these years, Kol even remembered their wedding and remembered the gorgeous ceremony. The smiles on not only the face of everyone around, but of his old friend and his wife. Kol took steps to the edge of the boat and once he made it to the edge, he set his foot on the very edge of the ship he could and took a step and set his other foot onto the dock of Meldheim. Once he stepped off he looked to each those whos very eyes seemed almost asking him every question that could be conceived, yet the first he was to do was to make sure that everything was settled. He answered questions with a quick and swift order that he would answer more soon, yet he had buisness to attend to.

Once the ship was cleared of what he needed, he made his way to Queen Astrid, as he stood maybe 5 feet away to allow the height difference to not hurt her neck as he placed his hand over his chest and bowed his head. As she commanded to know of the news of the war, she also commanded to know everything. The news he was to tell and the news he was told to keep hidden. Kol raised his head and gave Queen Astrid a smile as he said in a calm voice, "Of course".

As Kol gave the news that he was told to, the words he was to say and make the fighting seem well fought yet more than winnable. It was going to be tough yet victory was within their grasps and new green lands were well within their grasps. He then gave the news of the 3 new Æresvaktr who were to be inducted, Arne'altan'jaros, Ufhild, and one he was least wishing The Skygge. After which now came the news she also wished to know, everythign left out. Kol was much more candid when speaking now. He had emotion in his voice, he had many things about what he believed were failures. The attack was much tougher than they imagined, they summoned many of their stronger forces, as they were unable to take Relouse. As with such forces, the reason they needed to induct new members into the Æresvaktr, was that Hrolf Bloodaxe, Olaf the Aged, and Horik the Golden all dying upon the battlefield. The very tough warriors, and the many yasoi who had sided with them.

Kol began to speak more, of the many things Hrothgar had tried to keep away form his people, yet from his Queen? Kol knew this woman for years, Queen Astrid, Kol knew her before even that, before the very many times they have met in meetings, the very many talks they have had, and the many times he had to speak with her about what Hrothgar wishes for his people to hear and what actually has happened. Even now, memories flowed, yet it felt almost distant, as they spoke of war, something that would not be easily changed. Something where loss would have been great, yet the reward could have been even more so. As Kol spoke, he was setting his heart out, everything he knew, and he felt, for the only time he can let this out, would be now.

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Coming soon, posted with GM permission. Check Summary for quick notes.

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It was morning, and a glacier - a great white mountain of ice - drifted past the harbour of Meldheim. It had begun its journey, some months prior, in the lands of everwinter, and now that the water was warming in earnest, the current had carried it here: to the capital city of a people known as the Eskandr. By the Hours of Mother, the first few boats had already approached it, and soon people were crawling all over it like ants over a dead bird. By noon, they were picking away at the great white corpse with picks and hammers. Sheets of ice slid down its faces into the deep, cold waters that surrounded them. At least a dozen boats had hooks and ropes in it now and, with the aid of the Gift, for some had brought wizards and warlocks, they tamed the giant and brought it gradually towards that part of harbour near to the lumber mill. It was the season for ice harvesting, after all, and Meldheim's inns and boarding houses had filled with the rough men of the surrounding countryside who were often in search of seasonal work.

Once ashore, chunks of the behemoth would be coated and combined with sawdust from the mill to make them last through the coming warm months. Carved into blocks, they would reside in cellars, caves, and cold-houses, preserving the foodstuffs of the people who lived here until the cold returned. Of course, the ice was ancient and, once in a while, some treasure or odd thing of the past would be found inside of it. Indeed, some of the water frozen inside was many thousands of years old. Last it had been exposed to the lands of men, there had been no city here, no grand temple where the gods were worshipped, and certainly no fight over what those Gods looked like or what their names were. There had been no such people as the Eskandr, the Parrench, or the Drudgunzeans. Perhaps, the next time that it reached this place, there would also be naught but a memory of those peoples. It was difficult to say.

There was a great deal more happening in the harbour, however, even with the great berg being a subject of idle observation and conversation for much of the day. News of the war in Parrence had begun filtering back. Last night, some longships that it was rumoured had been sent by the king had slipped into port, and they now had guards surrounding them. There were whispers of a great bounty of treasure that had been brought to Hrothgar's reserves and those of the raiders who had won it. Word circled that the underking Kol, ruler of Sturmreef, had led he delegation back and was even now in town, along with the storied ranger Vali, the Twice-Born, and an embassy from Kressia. Indeed, it appeared that rich plunder was to be had from the lands of Green Parrence, and not-inconsiderable was the number of people who began wishing they had joined the expedition.

It was precisely noon when the delegation from the Kongesalan made its way into the Market-on-the-Hill. With hammer and nail, a scribe made known his writing upon the great wooden obelisk in the center of the square. As few could read, however, it was up to the royal crier as he stepped onto the dais surrounding it. For a moment, the bustling activity of the market stilled and faces turned his way. Among these was Trygve, who had lived much of his life in and around the great city. He leaned against a post, arms crossed, waiting to hear what would be said.

"Hear ye, hear ye!" the crier shouted, blessed by Mother with a voice that carried loud and clear. "I bring to you people of Meldheim news of our brave warriors who fight even now against the Parrench encroachers!" Business paused or concluded quickly and the crowd around the obelisk thickened. "This previous night, a delegation from the green lands returned to us, covered in glory and heavy with riches." Voices rose in excited conversation. A couple of burly men hauled a large chest up to the platform and left it there with a thud. The crier reached down and, with some effort, pried open its heavy lid. His hand filled with treasure and he let it spill down like a waterfall as he lifted it. People flocked to get a look, a quartet of guards forming a perimeter in front of the raised area. It was a fool's show, Trygve knew. He had been on the same island as the raiders during that storm and he had seen the sea people. There was no way they wouldn't have taken at least half of what had been left aboard the ships.

The crier was storytelling now, spinning tales of the great heroes and villains - the latter all Parrench or Lindermen, of course. He spoke at length of the epic clashes, the cruelty and craftiness of the enemy, and valiant fighting of the Eskandr. How they had broken out! How they had taken two Parrench for every one of them but how many Parrenchmen there were! There was no mention, of course, of Relouse still standing. Why, even now, five great armies of Eskand were racing across the rich green countryside, looting to their fill, eating, drinking, and merrymaking. It was a place of opportunity, that Parrence. Legends were being made and land was being claimed. The enemy was doughty, though, and fighting back hard, so perhaps the great army could be convinced to let in a second wave of recruits.

Trygve sniffed and pawed at his nose. During his years away, he'd grown more accustomed to the Parrench climate than he'd have liked to admit. The crier was good. He was a performer much blessed by Sister... or Ipte and Chune in equal measure. Sometimes, the old gods still came to the convert, easily to his thoughts and his tongue, but they were false gods - mere stories, even if nice ones - and he had never felt their power like he had that of the Pentad. He shook his head to clear t and pushed off from the wall. "Are you going, greybeard?" asked an eager youth from nearby, and it took Trygve a moment to realize that the boy - for that was what he was, in truth - was talking to him, for he was a man of nine and thirty and not so old in the grand desiin of things. "There is much to be won!" The fool continued. Perhaps he could tell by the scowl on the older man's face, though he was likely misplacing its origin, that he needed more convincing. "You will either end up a rich man or else make it to Gronhalle after all!"

"I am not much of a fighter," Trygve said simply, crossing his arms. His size, musculature, and a handful of noticeable scars easily put the lie to his words, but the young fool did not press any further. "You are missing out!" he called back, winding his way to the front of the crowd. Trygve leaned his head to the side and spat, pushing off from the wall he'd been leaning against. His people were determined to reject the light of the Pentad and so they would suffer in darkness instead. Were he braver - but he was not - perhaps the veteran warrior would've spoken for the true gods then and there. Perhaps he would've challenged the crier on his lies. That would have served nobody well, though, and if he were tortured, his resolve might fail him and his tongue might let slip matters that needed to be kept to utmost secrecy. His portion of their agreed-upon information gathering complete, he began making his way back to the Dragehale Inn.

The others, it had been agreed, were to spread out and begin scouting. Gerard, in the guise of a Kressian pilgrim, was to acquaint himself with the Grontempel, for it was Trygve's understanding that the Parrench wished to plunder it as their own churches had been plundered. Svend was to appear before Queen Astrid in the Kongesalan with an offer to outfit three fine drakkars for the raid, but he was to make demands designed to lure her or at least one of her two older children to Rigevand, where they could be kidnapped and later ransomed. After great effort from Osanna, it had been communicated to the mossy-haired girl, Nettle, that she was to accompany Lazy Eye Jacques and investigate the docks before splitting off to seek out the Parrench captives recently brought ashore. It would not be easy to break them free, but she had been tasked with seeking out the weaknesses of their prison and devising the fundaments of a plan to bring back to the rest. There were rumours that, for some reason, the Gift was unresponsive in that area, and this was also something that she had been asked to look into. The Black Rezaindian, meanwhile, was to stay with Svend in the guise of a servant girl and tutor offered to Astrid. The hope was that her obvious status as an outsider, her skills and apparent guilelessness, and her status as a gift would allow her to work her way into the queen's service. She was to render Astrid and any remaining children unconscious following Svend's reappearance, so that they could also be spirited away. There was more that they had assigned Nettle, as well, but Trygve did not know it, and even Jacques' continued mission was also a mystery to him. A few of the Parrench had talked late into the night in hushed tones and he had made the trek down to their accommodations with Maud, who was simply to remain in the market as a beggar and listen in on what people were saying while sweeping the city for any unusual buildups of energy or mobilization of soldiers. He supposed that they could not be too careful. That was why many of the others were to remain in and around Rigevand, nondescript, out of the way, and playing the role of the usual pirates or plunderers. Such rough and common figures would do little to invite the locals' attentions.

---

---

Konge Kol had told Ulf enough that he had thought it wise to bring back to his mother immediately and, once she had finished with the Kressian ambassador, she had spoken at length with the Sturmish king and Vali. "My son," she had told him, late in the night, "you will go with Vali and thirty of our soldiers to Rigevand tomorrow in the midday to investigate reports of pirates and smugglers."

Ulf knew the reputation of that 'fishing village' well, and he would do much more with his father's soldiers than simply 'investigate' some pirates. It was long overdue that the notorious hive of scum and villainy was brought under the king's justice, and even more urgent that the Quentics who hid out there were dealt with. He had been given Vali: a powerful warrior, and one who was unlikely to use hiis right to override the youth due to his quiet nature. Ulf would be a fool to waste this opportunity and, to that end, his mother did not need to know the extent of his plans. She would forbid him from pursuing such decisive action if she did. Caution and prudence: she always counseled these things and he increasingly found that it grated upon his nerves as he grew older. That was the problem with women, he supposed: they had been made to create life and, even when blessed with great power, were naturally overcautious and far too forgiving. This would be a man's job, and Ulf was nearly a man grown, after all.

Prove himself fully enough, and perhaps he would be allowed to leave with Kol, Vali, and the new Æresvaktr to join his father in Parrence. There was still Snorri back here as the spare heir should Ulf's time to join Gestur in Gronhalle come early. It would not, though. Of that he was certain. The gods had made him strong in the Gift and so it was clear that they had great things in store for Ulf Hrothgarsson. He merely needed to reach out with faith and strength to seize them.

---

Inga stood beside her mother in the courtyard, the last of the morning dew disappearing from training dummies, railings, and the ground as the rays of the resurgent sun reached out for it. She knew that, within minutes, Onkel Kol would join them. She knew that he was to evaluate the two new Æresvaktr who'd been chosen by her father and induct them into the legendary group of warriors. In truth, Inga was not much of a fighter, but she had still grown up with the sagas and the Æresvaktr had long played a prominent role in them. She still imagined herself a great huntress, shaman, or shieldmaiden at times. That was folly, of course. Her job was to marry into another kingdom and work to bring it under the sway of her father or, someday, Ulf or Snorri. There were many ways other than brute force to conquer.

For now, she watched the yasoi at his practice. Arne'altan'jaros was his name, and she found it a pleasant mix of her own culture and his. The way that he struck so blindingly fast and how he simply appeared in new places, attacking his targets so differently from humans: truly from three dimensions. She liked it. She thought that he would do well and that Kol would like him too after sparring with him. The process was supposed to be a formality. As one of the Æresvaktr's senior members and a lesser ruler himself, the King of Sturmreef was merely there to add a stamp of approval and lend weight to proceedings and Inga imagined that he knew it. Still, he could technically refuse should circumstances come to absolutely demand so, and the induction of a filthy creature like The Skygge would serve as sore temptation to invoke that right. Why father wanted her - a vile sorceress who experimented on human bodies - for such a noble group was beyond Inga, and she reflected that perhaps even her great father, the king, was not always right in his judgement.

Then, presently, Onkel Kol arrived. Before yesterday, she had not seen him for two years and she always found herself impressed with the size of him. She knew that she was to accompany him on his rounds today, so she hurried up to him, even as the yasoi ceased his training, and both of them bowed. "Good morning, your majesty," she greeted him, to her mother's approval, "the first of your new recruits awaits." She gestured at Arne. The yasoi twirled his weapons and regarded the Sturmish king eagerly.

---

Snorri's job, he knew, was to watch and learn for the eventuality that he might one day rule. On his last birthday, mother had confided in him that she thought Ulf a fool, and the younger boy had agreed, after some consideration. Also after some consideration, he had told her that he did not think it wise that such a fool should be given command of thirty soldiers and sent to deal with what Onkel Vali had reported were pirates or smugglers seeking refuge from the laws of the land in Rigevand. She had cryptically replied that sometimes you needed to give a fool the right tools and then you would benefit instead of him.

As he moved another piece on the chessboard, Snorri thought about this too. He was doing his job, the boy reflected. It is your turn, Jarl Sturmfeld, he thought, but he did not say it. This Kressian was ambitious and a little obsequious at times, but he was not stupid. "They say you drank the water of the Grontempel," the prince began. "What was it like?" He tilted his head to one side and could not resist a further question. "Do you feel it was really necessary?" He would not have much time to take further measure of this man and to learn both of him and from him. Truth be told, he was also just curious, as many nine year olds are. In particular, he wished to learn of how the Quentics had spread their faith for, vile as they surely were, they were effective.

Soon, Snorri knew, they would join mother at court as she received supplicants, petitions, and news. He was to be Jarl Sturmfeld's shadow as the Kressian observed her in matters of state and gained a feel for the legal workings of Eskand. Then, they were to sit down for their own negotiations over dinner. The prince knew that he was likely to be sent to bed at that point, though he secretly hoped it would not be so, and mother sometimes allowed him to join the adults when she was pleased with him. Snorri hoped very much to please her but, secretly he also wished his foolish brother success. If he was to win the throne from Ulf somehow, someday, he hoped that it would be a fair contest against a competent rival. Such strength would bode well for the future of his people.

---

---

It was, Maud estimated, some two hours past midday and, since arriving at the market early in the morning, she had overheard little but gossip and speculation from the godless heathens that were supposedly her people. They signed up so eagerly to kill and be killed that she could not help but judge them collectively, culturally insane. They believed so blindly in their gods and in their king that she'd had to work to keep a scowl off of her face more than once.

The youth had found much to scowl about over the past little while, though. Shortly after the sun had peaked, she had sensed a gathering of some thirty-two people leaving the fortified longhouse that sat beside the Kongesalan. Not yet wanting to cause a panic and confirm, in everyone's minds that she was no more than a useless, crippled little girl, she'd held off on raising the alarm. She had instead followed the soldiers' energies as they'd wound their way down from the hill and even as they'd collected briefly in the marketplace. There were many things that they might be doing, she'd told herself, but now they had reached the outskirts of the city and the cold feeling in her gut congealed into certainty. They were headed for Rigevand and those left behind would have to either hide or confront them. The latter course risked everything.

So, she had sent the agreed upon signal to Birger, Osanna, Svend, Gerard, Jacques, and Trygve: two sharp little pinches behind the ears. The first of those allies would know to prepare and the others to head stealthily back. The last of them was to meet her by the inn and carry her. Truly, Maud was grateful for it. The harsh wooden braces and leather straps bit at her legs and the crutches at her armpits as she hurried along, making an awful, awkward racket. It was, she reflected, the opposite of stealth, but it could not be helped. Matters had taken a turn for the worse.

---

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---

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Mentions/Interaction: Queen Eleanor @Force and Fury, Caelum @RezonanceV, Maerec @Dao Ma, and the others I have missed.

Arsène came alone in his travels, many who would have answered the call were already called far before him. Arsène was not a knight, he was to be but his titles and honor was stripped from him long before he was able to be knighted. So he made travel alone upon hearing the calls for King Arcel of Parrance like most commoners would. Yet Arsene did not make his way to Relouse immediatly, however, he decided to start rallying and focusing his resources towards getting people ready to leave. The Eskandr were not a horde to be broken upon Relouse, they would rather burn the lands, gain something from this before returning to their home. Either Relouse Breaks or the Eskandr horde will break out into the mainlands of Parrance.

And Exactly as he thought, Eskandr spread across the green lands, yet they found nothing they were searching for. They found no great bounty, no great wealth, those were to come long after their arrival. So in the same fashion he lost his ancestral home, a home loved by his mother, Fields of Fire covered all that was Parrance. Arsène made way to meet the larger forces that were to be found chasing the Eskandr down. Arsène made his way toward Port Morilles, as he met with Queen Eleanor and rode the rest of the way toward Port Morilles. There he found the destruction that he was used to, Eskandr break through like varmint, creating a small hole, and soon they infest everything they touch, eating and rotting everything else, while shitting and stinking everything.

Soon it came to what is to be done, should they chase the Eskandr down, they were no farther ahead than a solid travel, while there are fires burning and people under the cliff to fall. Arsène wished he could complete it all, yet it was time they had nothing of. Arsène was not gifted enough to be able to assist in a meaningful way with the cliffs, nor the fires, so he did what he could to assist. Blood mages and force users were to be deployed to stop the cliffs from falling, masters of the flames were to clear the burning castle, so Arsène had nothing other than to do what he could. He asked the Queen to travel forth, even with an army or on his own to track the Eskandr and report all that could be found, if not harass them a bit.

---

Whenever Otios entered some place he believed he might have seen before, he tried to remember the occasion and in particular the time when that had occurred. Knowing where and when oneself had been was an important thing for anybody who had to live in the steady, subtle fear of being remembered by somebody whom one might have pissed off a little too much -- even if said fear was very much one voluntarily accepted by oneself. Also only the greatest fools thought that people's pockets and houses would just refill themselves with valuables as if by magic, no matter how often one returned to loot them.

Already on first glance however, Loriindton gave the impression of being an exception to this rule: The whole place looked as if conjured out of nothing and with said nothing then having been sealed away behind an unnatural, evergreen curtain that required gods knew how much magical practitioning to maintain. Could a city bristling with such an overabundance of carts, wagons, crago, traders and artisans ever be depleted of oblivious people one could still steal a lot from ? Maybe not. And the fact that there was no lack of huusoi only added bonus points to this for it would absolutely save him from the questionable morale of stealing from his own people, just in case...

In fact, the density of this settlement almost felt a bit too intense. The light would drown out what little starlight had a chance to come through the oversized canopy at night and for something like true, fresh and untouched air one probably had to wait for the next violent storm to force its way through the maze of streets and hanging walkways. There certainly was a bit of irony to the fact that a city that was literally built in and out of a forest smelled as if burning through a whole forest in its many furnaces each day.

---

If there was something that had serious potential to outline the vast difference between human and yasoi approaches to life, then it was what the latter tended to do with the fancy snails of their homeland. Only a species with a life expectancy greatly increased and, at the same time, a lot less of that inherent creed for combat, violence and drama could honestly arrange for something that involved no speeds greater than the abysmally small and still call it a 'race'. And only such a species could then even go so far and sort of professionalize the whole thing.

Just how much time did it take to breed tiims'archa ? And then to sort out which of the snails was good for racing and which not if every test run did take several hours to complete ? Okay, one could attend to other stuff in the meantime, but what about actual training if anything like this was actually possible with these creatures ?

Despite being a Yasoi himself, it just felt unimaginable for Otios to ever join this kind of business -- even assuming that he would cease living among humans and thereby stop being influenced by their much more fast-paced style of living immediately and for all time to come. Frankly speaking, he had had not the slightest clue about which of the snails in the competition to put his money on, but he had just done so anyway even if just for honouring the fact that there was at least some activity that didn't involve eating those innocent beings.

Okay, and he had needed at least some thrill, too! And he did remember than the reason they had come here was not to endulge themselves, but to avert a potential disaster. The actual race track was a bit less crowded than the humongously large banquet and it also was a bit out of the Master of Mockery's range so people's ears just had to be less saturated and more open for his own words. The more widespread the probably false belief that loud talking would make the tiims'archa nervous and less performant was, the better! Noticing something out of the ordinary here, from an elevated position on the stands, was just more feasible.

About half an hour after the probably least flamboyant of all racing starts he had ever witnessed, Otios could see the bright red snail of his chosing tugging along nicely. It was not the first one, but clearly in the leading part of the overall field which was now approaching the first water section. He felt ready to cheer just like the rest of the crowd, but as the huge Yasoi readied his arms to do so he noticed something thought to have been left behind in the small room he had rented: one of the wires was still in his pocket.

An idea flashed through his mind: water! He had to get closer to it... to the outer edge of the other stand that had been placed a mere couple of feet away from the pond! Many other spectators had the same idea at the same time, but simply because they wanted to stay as close to the 'racing' snails as possible. Otios had to dig his way through the crowd employing his size advantage shamelessly enough to trigger some serious complaints, but he could hardly care less about those few anonymous bystanders right now for he felt thrilled about his own mental concoction.

There, at the very corner of the stand and almost in danger of accidentally being pushed off it and falling onto the track, he was delighted to see that around the water was just plenty of grass, stones and even mushrooms. A lot of stuff to conceal the nasty little connection he'd now establish between his hand and the pond the tiims'archa were headed for. It merely took one sudden move of his hand which he had retracted back into his sleeve to give the small loop of wire enough momentum to start unfolding and rolling along until its end submerged into the water.

He knew the ground connection here, on the stand an in his boots, was anything but good, but for what little stimulus he intended to apply hardly anything better was really needed. Now he only had to wait until the red snail was out of the water and the rest still in. The big question was however: Would his gentle 'stimulus' work as intended and slow down the competitors or at least disorient them so they'd no longer go the straight route, but try to get out of the discomfort zone sideways first ? Or would it make them actually creep along faster ? And, depending on what would happen, would then anybody notice that something was just a bit too odd and become suspicious ?

There always was a way of making things more interesting!

---

Interaction: None
2.1: Fields of Fire / An Unexpected Farewell

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"What?"

Camille found herself stunned. The first meeting of the Red Table had concluded, of which, she was shockingly a member of. Yet Claude believed it was right. He had even told her that he was proud of her for that just minutes before. She liked to hear that but now, he was telling her something she didn't want to hear.

He was leaving her.

"That's the way it is. Gabriel wasn't too happy that the King was taking his best and with the Eskandr headed North, he's naturally concerned about Morilles."

It made sense. Somewhere in Camille's head, she could understand the logic behind it. Claude was being pulled to help the defense of her hometown, but she didn't want to be left alone. Her, Claude, and Armand... they always stuck together before. Why did he have to leave, too? She wanted to scream. Demand he stay with her. Do something other than stand there, dumbstruck and silent. Why couldn't she do anything? Was she really this pathetic?

Claude must have seen something in Camille's face as his expression softened, offering a sympathetic look. He reached out and gripped her shoulder. "It'll be alright, girl. Gabriel is pulling everything he can to add to the defense of Morilles. We'll hold if it comes to that. You and the army will catch up smash them from behind. You'll see."

She didn't believe him. He said several months ago that the Eskandr wouldn't attack with their full army. He said before the battle they would win. He said they'd all make it out of the battle alive. Now he was saying this. She couldn't handle it and found her hands curling into fists. "Liar." She muttered. Yet Claude didn't look deterred.

"Reckon my calling isn't an oracle." He joked with a light chuckle, but she was only finding his attempts at easing the mood to obstruct her real feelings. "Stop! Stop it! This isn't all some funny joke! Armand died. I almost died. Now you're leaving to what? Relax at home? Or maybe the Eskandr do attack home so maybe then you'll just die?" She protested, her face souring almost instantly at how crude it sounded. She saw it for a moment, Claude looked hurt but he quickly pulled her in to an embrace.

"I'm sorry this the way it has to be. I can't change that, but you'll be fine." He muttered, tightly squeezing his arms around her back. Her lip quivered but she didn't break down into tears, holding that urge back. She felt awful about what she had said but couldn't bring up any words to apologize. "I'll protect everyone back home and you, make sure you watch out for yourself. Come back to us in one piece."

Camille couldn't bring her arms up and around to return the hug. She felt frozen. Useless even now. She wasn't sure how long she was embraced but Claude pulled away, looking calm. "Goodbye, Puce." Camille stood there, looking defeated but she couldn't find the words. She didn't know how she felt. Angry, sad... It was all stirred in her, freezing her tongue.

Claude nodded, curling his lips in a weak smile. He turned quietly and grabbed his bag, headed out of the Cathedral. Camille was now alone.

---

Interactions: None
2.2: Fields of Fire / Siege of Port Morilles

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THUUUM

The double wide doors of Gabriel's keep quaked from the Eskandr outside trying to break in. Claude had strangely found it be melodic like a drum considering everything else. He stood at the center of the entry hall to the keep. Shouts of panicked orders for assistance to sure up defensives. Chaotic stacking of debris and men to keep the door closed for as long as possible.

THUUUUM

Splinters of the door cracked and sprayed out into the hall. A Force mage was out there throwing enough behind it that it didn't matter. The double doors were being battered from both sides and despite its sturdy construction, certainly wouldn't hold. There was hope. The Grand Armee was approaching to reinforce and in a way every second counted that they could hold.

"Claude!" Remon, Gabriel's court mage ran up to him from behind, clasping a hand on his shoulder.

THUUUUUM

The bracing around the center of the door started to cave in. Claude could see the Eskandr outside, huddled and ready to kill the moment the door broke down. Claude turned from this and looked at Remon. He had with him. His daughter, Marion was with him. He gave her an easy smile though the return smile he got was uneasy.

"We had a lot of people run for the caves along the beach. They've been noticed and I think the bastards noticed and a portion of them have diverted to the beach."

Claude frowned, knowing what that implied. There was no escape in those caves and all those people would be butchered senselessly. He also suspected where this was going.

"You're going?" Claude asked. Remon nodded.

THUUUUUM

Wood shattered and men called out to keep that door closed. It was holding but they'd break in soon. Claude caught sight of his son, Marc, running past with a wooden bench help brace the door. "I'll go alone. You'll need everyone to keep the Eskandr out. The Grand Armee crested the horizon. They are close." A relief, however...

THUUUUUM

A bloodlusted Eskandr leaped through a hole in the deteriorating door, hacking at the first Perrench soldier he could. The berserker slashed into the man's neck before a spear from another soldier lanced him through the chest. "Go. We will hold." Claude called out, turning back towards the door. It was going to be blasted open in the next volley. "Sword in arms! Let them come through!" He commanded, and the men retreated from the door forming a line around him. Remon slipped away, as Claude glanced around.

THUUUUUM

The door burst open easily now that there wasn't the strength of man and magic behind keeping it closed. Bloodthirsty Eskandr rushed in. Claude swiped with a slash sending a lightning wave of magic through his sword towards the Eskandr. Two of them fried, staggering back. Claude felt the heat and saw the wave of fire spew out from Marion's hands, catching one Eskandr in a blaze but deterring the others to stay out of range. Instead, they funneled around to the sides, clashing with the line of Perrench troops.

Battle was met and the exchange of steel, blood, and magic happened quick. Claude was lost in the chaos for a time before he heard a dire shriek he didn't want to hear.

"Marion!" He called, knowing there weren't too many women in his battlegroup. He dropped back, glancing around the entry hall, looking for his daughter. There. She had shifted to side, back against the wall as an Eskandr raised a dagger. Claude shaped his free hand with two fingers pointed at man's dagger. He shot a bolt of lightning out that connected with the metal, zapping it from his grip. Marion, covering her eye, had enough time to realize she was in danger and lashed out with her Arcane magic, freezing the Eskandr's sweat, encasing him a layer of ice. She waved her hand as she slipped back to more friendly lines causing the Eskandr to burst in a collection of ice shards that back towards the doorway, showering the horde of Eskandr who were unlucky enough to enter in fragmentation of their former comrade.

"Marc!" Claude turned, finding his son by his side. "Watch your sister!" He nodded, moving off to find her.

Claude felt a lump in his throat. They were going to lose and he didn't want to lose it all. He looked back to the doorway, witnessing the Force mage that had broken the doorway. With him out of the picture, then he might just be able to buy a little more time. "Hold men! The King is coming to purge these invaders!" He found himself shouting, maybe he was heard. "Do whatever you can! Keep the Eskandr out! Dami guide us all!"

Not much of a final farewell, but to be fair, he didn't have much time to prepare.

Cranking up his Thunder Magic, he felt bolts arch around his body. He was going to overdraw for sure, but it would be worth it. "Rrrrrraaaaaaah!" He felt his body burning as she sprang forth, running towards the door. Electricity bounced from him to any Eskandr that approached him, frying them instantly. The Force mage easily caught sight of him and moved to blast him back, but he was far too slow to the draw.

Electricity pumping through his body, Claude's reactions were sped up. He felt himself juiced enough to slap his hands together sending a violent arch of lightning towards the Force mage. The Eskandr ignited in a burst of energy before falling gracelessly to the ground. Claude felt his body giving out and his dangerous aura of electricity was quickly closing in, letting the Eskandr get closer to him. He fell to one knee, cursing.

"Damn. Echeran... empower me." He muttered, glancing up at the doorway's threshold above him. With everything left, he channeled all his power into attracting the damaged doorway around him. Lightning shot out impacted the stone of the keep pulling in chunks to drop in around him.The debris of the keep piled around him, mainly behind him, forming a wall of debris that prevented access into the keep. One last act, he believed. One last attempt to protect his children and the people still inside the Keep.

Claude could feel himself collapsing, eyes closing with one last thought. How long did I give them?

---

Interactions: None
2.3: Fields of Fire / Close to Home

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Smoke.

Camille could see and smell it. Riding up with the advanced Queen's guard, she was dreading the image of her hometown burning. Yet here it was. Had her parents made it to safety? Claude and his children? What of sweet El's bakery? Or Laurent's gallery? Everything she had cherished, could they all be gone?

Her heart sank, seeing her city like this. Queen Eleanor had managed to pull Camille's eyes from the carnage with her call to action. Ideas? Did Camille have any to be helpful? She was never too smart for tactics. Claude had always been the one to come up with strategies or ideas. So with him gone, what could she really do?

She glanced back at the city, remembering the last time her home was attacked. How that changed her fate bye hearing Dami's call. Maybe if she had taken a different route to the... keep!

"The keep..." Camille muttered, her admission settling in as she thought of what the keep meant to her. People ran to the keep that day over a year ago. Most of everyone would be there. Including her parents, Claude, Marion, Marc, and all the others. If they could get there then maybe they could be saved!

"Everyone tries to run for the keep in Morilles." Camille spoke louder, trying to catch the attention of everyone around her. "It is protected and stocked enough for a siege. There is an underground cave to keep more people protected than it looks. We should go there. We'll save as many people as possible!"

Perrin stirred under her, likely feeling Camille's tension. She wanted to ride now. Minutes wasted could mean everything!

---

Asier was at least provided a blanket upon the final leg of the journey south as even the sea had lumbering mountains of ice as the approach the homeland of the Eskandr. What surprised him was more the familiarity of such a place, where the city hasn’t been overtaken by stone but wood, closer to the traditional tourrare yurt’s, outside the more established fortifications upon the steppes.

Despite the constant torment, the Eskandr have actively tried to keep him alive on the way there, being one of the lucky ones when it came to consistently being fed and well treated, and in the cooler climate, they kept him by the mast, a little too close to the small fire, but this kept him warm as he listened to the stories and conversation of the others, picking up the odd word and phrase from their interactions.

As the longboat approached the port, there were crowds starting to appear as news of their arrival brought excitement and those eager for the latest from the war. Crowds brought opportunities he aimed to take advantage of. As the men on the boat go to greet their loved ones, and bring out what treasure remained after the Eeiako had their fill, the dockhands came on board to start herding off the prisoners and supplies.

Asier ends up being released and dragged over to the others. The various prisoners fared differently, out of those severely neglected in the hold, what came out were scrawny creatures barely resembling humans. The ones who were captured and deemed prizes were far better treated, generally those strong and could be used as labourers. The man in front of Asier must have an ancestor who was an Ox, still looking strong even after this journey. Though whilst his body was strong, his spirit was broken, very servile, good for a slave, what the Tourrare call an hombre muerto, a dead man walking.

There were shouts towards the dockhands by one of the crew, “Ikke ham! Hrothgar beordrer at han skal være forberedt på blót”. Asier realised they were talking about him, a mistake had been made, this was the opportunity. One of the dockhands came over to where he was standing, trying to decide if it was him or the Ox that was to be the blood sacrifice. Asier looked towards the back of the Parrench man's head, repeating a term and gesture often given towards him, as he spat against the back of it, “níð”. The dockhand stared for a moment, processing what was said, then moved to unfasten and drag the Ox away. With the bindings lightened, Asier seized the moment, using the sharp shell he was given, cut loose his hand bindings, unfastened himself, then moved off quickly into the Eskandr crowds.

Asier didn’t have long as the mistake would soon be spotted as he made his way over to another crowd of people, hoping to use the opportunity to hide out amongst them. As he approached and mingled in, there was an Eskandr man giving out instructions. The man paused for a moment as he saw Asier come near, then held out a baton-like instrument, barking towards him. “slaver er til høyre”, the crowd started to disperse around him, revealing his position, though a few unfriendly shoves directed him towards another sorry lot looking just like him, the thralls. Asier was soon in bondage again as he was directed towards the glacier.

Work was slow going, but having the opportunity to use pick on the axe did get the blood flowing again, rather too well when it came to the otherside of that batton, but it his placement amongst the thralls allowed him to escape the notice of the port authorities which were on the lookout for him. As it grew dark and the fires for the night began to light, Asier started preparing for the next step of his second escape. He had begun to dig out a makeshift tunnel with his ice, enough to provide some cover as he drew the overseer’s attention towards a discovery he made. A simple distraction as he used the gift to lodge the tool into the back of the man’s skull. He quickly started to exchange clothes for the far warmer furs, taking his place as the overseer, as he went to free the other thralls upon the ice. They will most likely not get far, but they will serve as enough of a distraction for his escape as he makes his way back across to Meldheim.

Asier was behind the curve on his own plans, and trying to get to locations based on verbal instructions alone was a difficult task. He stumbled through the streets as he attempted to survey the area. He was able to make out the major landmarks as they stuck out like a sore thumb in a place like this. With the fur wrapped around him and his hood up, the scraggly unkempt beard blends him in with the rest of the folk, with enough words to grunt his way through any one who tried to stop him. He makes his way to various points around the coastline as he begins to disable the sea locks.

---

“Der er du en hestejävel”

It should be a rather seamless task with celebrations of Eskandr’s victory over the Perrence, but there were far more vigilant eyes on watch than he gave credit for, as the one who has made his life out at sea a hell. Ragnarr walks up as he drags his axe drawn as it scratches along the ground behind him.

“Ragnarr Rakfiskson”, Asier said with a groan, “One would have thought we were rid of your wretched odour”. He continues to pull upon the chain as he finishes lowering the sea lock.

“Hestejävel, you thought you could ride away with the waves?” Ragnarr clenches his axe, the gift channelling through his very being, “You’re no longer in Parrence, little man. And Hrothgar was foolish to capture you with both your legs intact.” he telegraphs his next action well as he sprints forward and attempts to descend his axe onto the Tourrare’s right leg.

Asier was lowering his guard as a feint whilst he allowed the Eskandr to approach. He starts to pull the slave-batton out of his furs whilst he has his back to the man. “By any chance do you have a longboat to lend? Promise not to burn it like the last thousand or so”. As the telegraphed attack can, with a touch of thunder magic, he hits it away with the slave-batton, knocking it to the side, then moves to thrust it against the mans shoulder to push him back.

Ragnarr’s attack was deflected and Asier successfully repulsed him a few metres away, “You’re Rakfisk, horse man.” enraged, the axe he wields ignited thanks to the gift! A flashy display of swings follows as he attempts to downright cut down Asier, forgetting his initial goal to simply incapacitate.

Asier finds himself a hot headed opponent who seems to be in a frenzy already, and isn’t going to take this lightly, especially as he is only armed with a stick. He starts to duck and weave as he uses the environment to his advantage, moving towards boxes, kicking up dead fish, and even throwing a crab pot with one of the creatures still inside of it towards the man. “Is it true that they consider you as one the Æresvaktr? Heard they will bestow you the honorific of Utrolige Stinken“, couldn’t resist giving another low punch to this man’s hygiene habits.

The crab is instantly prepared and cooked for the occasion the moment it meets the axe. The Eskandr doesn’t escalate in his anger much further, as he charges forward in an attempt to seize Asier by the neck with his free hand, “I’ll shut you up for good, little horse man.” His breath stinks of garlic, bringing some truth to Asier’s taunting, but now he is serious and readied his axe for a decisive blow!

Asier was running out of places to run, moving onto the small kayak that was tied up along the side. With nowhere to go, Ragnar takes a firm grasp of the Tourrare horseman, holding in close. Asier really did struggle to breath as the man appeared to have eaten the looted cloves of garlic and onions like apples. He is held by that hand as the axe is ready, moving backwards. As the blow was about to strike, the weight of the kayak grew too much as it sent them both over the side and into the water. Asier fully intending this came prepared, grabbing upon the side of the boat whilst Ragnarr falls into the water ill-prepared, the load hissing as the axe evaporates water into steam upon contact. The Tourrare man pulls himself upon the underside of the Kayak as it floats upon the water, using it to drag himself up along the pier.

Now Asier has done it, Ragnarr was furious. Wailing an echoing warcry, he downright shatters the kayak before him with a single swing of his now extinguished axe. Drawing even more with the Gift, he then flung his axe, causing it to swirl in the air, and manipulated it remotely via concentrated force magic. Rows upon rows were being destroyed with Asier having very little place to run while Ragnarr appears to have no issue dwelling in the water.

Asier curses as he tries to pick himself up, stumbling as she was making haste along the pier as he was being chased by a madman with an axe. Wood and splinters fired around him as the planks cracked and broke like twigs. Asier, having drawn during the thunderstorm on their travels here, was already brimming with thunder energy, one he had been reserving for a specific purpose. “Better now than never”, the air starts to become stilted but alive with energy as he starts to cast his spell. Asier managed to secure his footing as he managed to get ahead, buying enough time to turn around, the axe coming far too close for comfort as he finally delivered a charge of lightning into the water where Ragnarr appeared to be. Expelling a sheer amount of that energy to put an end to the Eskandr for good.

As the residue energy dissipates, the area appears silent and lifeless. The axe nestled into the wood between Asier’s feet as there is a bob in the water. The body of Ragnarr floats to the service, charred severely by the lightning attack.

Asier after using a moment to recover stands up and pulls the axe free from the wood. Claiming it as his own for now. “Time to find some fresh clothes. This is going to be a long night”.

---

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---

Hildr, along with a company of Krissian knights were sent to raid along with some of the Eskandr, arriving later due to Wulfric’s speech “Do not disappoint Hrothgar, I wish to stay in his good graces for a while longer, you all got that? Don’t embarrass me in front of the Eskandr.”

---

---

Was this the glory Hrothgar promised? Burning houses, viewable from miles. Corpses, some even deviled to the point even the gods wouldn’t recognise them any longer. “All of this is appalling, these men, women and children have nothing to do with this Crusade. . .” The knight mumbled to herself, using her foot to check if some of the bodies still had a semblance of life in them. ‘Is this truly what the Father wanted? Is this justice against the non-believers?’

‘No, there has to at least be some survivors around somewhere. I have to repay the mercy I have been granted a thousandfold’ “Ma’am, what are your orders?” One of the knights questioned her, snapping her out of her thoughts. “Look for survivors! There have to be at least some. . . There has to be. .” “What do we do with them, finish them off?” The same knight questioned their commander with a confused look on his face. “No, I wish to see them alive. They shall become prisoners of war, do not treat them with hostility.”

---

---

After some time passed a couple women, some boys and girls were rounded up. “Is that all? Is that truly all that’s left?” Hildr questioned in a rather irritated tone. “Yes, there have not been any more among the living here.” One of the knights replied. Hildr sighed before confronting the survivors with a soft smile and the little broken Perrench she learned from a time past. “Not worry, are safe now. I not hurt you.” that damned language is such a pain to speak. But it seemed to do the trick somewhat as most of them calmed down enough to escort them back to the camp.

There was one boy that looked at her with more than just contempt. It was more akin to hatred. Did he lose his family? Poor kid must try his best to act tough. “What about this one? where did you find him?” Hildr pointed towards the boy. “We found him hiding underneath a trapdoor, he was quite the pain in the ass to get him to comply.” “Any other survivors?” “No ma’am, we only found more bodies in the home.”

Hildr squatted down in front of the child and tried her best to comfort him. “Parents gone? kept you safe? Parents good people.” It was with that something in the boy and caused him to go in for a jab right against the knight’s face, causing her nose to bleed from the impact. Hildr smiled and did not retaliate. “Good hit for child. What your name?” The boy, shocked at the fact he wasn’t cut down on the spot calmed down somewhat and replied. “Aldéric, my name is Aldéric.” Hildr patted the kid on the back. “Strong name you has, Strong man you will be. I protect you from evil men.”

---

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Mentions/Interaction: Queen Astrid, Inga, and Arne'altan'jaros @Force and Fury

---

Kol had spent much of his time in menial tasks, he needed to make sure his supplies were prepared before they were to head off again. After speaking to his quartermaster to prepare the items needed and to get his armor repaired, Kol did what he must do, he needed to make his pressence known! So he did light bit of travel in the early morning, he walked Meldheim, viewing the many wonderful things it held as it was quite rare for Kol to be able to visit Meldheim. It may be the home of the King of Kings and also the capital of his land, but it was not his city. His home was beyond the horizon, over the great waters where he would find his people waiting for the news to travel to them from Meldheim. He wondered how many of his Jarls would be left, how many were home waiting for news to enter the second wave. Yet those thoughts left as many young men and women threw themselves at Kol for any number of reasons. As a King who has take no wife, many younger women threw themselves towards the Strumish king in hopes to catch his eye, while the men crowded him wishing to hear the news from the under King himself.

Kol entertained the crowd the best he could, he was never known to have been the greatest actor or crowd pleaser. Kol live a very different life to those ideas, he was a Warrior and a King. His body and mind hardened on the battlefield and at the political table. Yet to act as the face, he was almost too kind, too innocent of a man from what many expected. Many expected this man to be almost demanding, hard and stern, yet Kol was very polite, as his time almost seemed to be taken up by the constant crowds and the occasional wreck or fixing that Kol seemed to almost put off all else to help with.

With such commotion within the city, Kol almost forgot the most important bit of buisness, he had to meet little Inga and Queen Astrid in the courtyard to meet one of the newest recruits of the Æresvaktr, Arne'altan'jaros. Kol made his way to the courtyard and found one of the woman he cherishes most in this world, as Kol gave a light smile and a light bow himself to acknowledge Inga as he spoke, "Ah, I see. Well Inga let us greet him then". Kol made his way over to Arne as his size began to become apparent, Kol stood well within the range of Yasoi men, yet his body was much larger than almost all men of their kind. As Kol gave a nod to Arne and said, "It is good to meet you, you know who I am and I know who you are, how about instead of formalities, we give our true greetings in a spar?"

Kol spoke with a smile and calm demenor as he slowly took off layer upon layer of his clothing. His large red cape, his heavy cloak, his thick more ornamental clothing, all revealing a much tighter thin layer of cloth that seem to tightly hold onto the kings body. Some would call it a tunic yet the arms are cut off and the thought of thick cloth seemed thin on his body. Once he set his items aside, he folded up his cape and kneeled down to Igna and said to her, "Here you are little flower, I must ask you, may you please take care of my banner 'till I return?" Kol spoke as a light jest and allowed Igna some form of feeling in the spar that is to occur, it was Kol's Banner, it was something dear to him, so he wished for it to stay safe.

Once Kol had finished his little talk, he then stood back up and turned to Arne. Kol began walking forward as he said, "Ah, you waited, well, I am ready whenever you are". Kol took up a loose stance as he looked at his sparing partner, as he rolled his shoulders while continuing to speak, "Let's see if you can provide more than a nice little stretch". Kol spoke in jest to see the head that is on his sparring partner, Kol was here to see how capable these people were and give approval. He had no clue what he was expecting from either Arne or the Skyge, but he needed to be ready. So for Arne, Kol will be taunting Arne the entire time while only using his fist, as the usual, yet he wanted to be showy, after all the Queen and Igna were watching him, so he had to put a bit of a showing.

Lyen'Ivhere'Zulc

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Tall Trees, Long Shadows II
_{Loriindton
Seen & Mentioned: Talit'yrash'osmax}

It was a common claim among the Yasoi that the only mette'stiroi worth attending was that with too many festivities to attend altogether. Lyen took it upon herself to put the phrase to the test; as well as the hospitality of Loriindton. She moved through the lower levels of the town as a whirlwind, drinking, talking, eating, dancing, flirting, and gambling were all done in equal measure and her spirits and glass were filled with each circling. The people of Loriindton were happy to have her, and before the first evening was over it was as though she'd never left her people at all.

There were stark contrasts between Lyen's old homes and Loriindton; staying in such an isolated place surrounded by humans had affected the Yasoi. It was the oldest curiosities from her collection they were most interested in; those from the western lands and the grand forests of home. Lyen traded them freely, quickly plundering flora and fungi unique the the region. The starkest contrast was how most fell quiet when she spoke of the war, Parrence, or humans at all. Their curiosity on the subject marred by fear and weariness, as they suddenly became disinterested in her offered trade.

Refusing to let it affect her good time, Lyen continued her dance through the nights events; joining the Tiims'archa race, yelling on her own small snail and getting in a mockingly heated argument with Otios as theirs came head to head. But even the chance at winnings couldn't hold her attention for long. It was a snail race after all, and when it took nearly an hour for them to move much past the starting line, she reached for Talit's arm.

"Come add to your Testoi with me suunei, your bravery needs commemorating." Some time and a good deal of convincing later the two Yasoi woman walked out of the tent clutching their shoulders. They binded each-other's skin until the bleeding of their twin fluer-de-lis stopped.

"You saved my life twice." She stated plainly, lifting her gaze to stare intensely in the other woman's eyes, searching for understanding. "Whatever else you become, Talit'yrash'osmax will forever be my friend and kin. Bound to me as I am this mortal world."

The sincere moment passed quickly and was almost forgotten by the time the two parted ways, each notably more intoxicated than when they'd first crossed paths. Talit left to attend her place of honour at the roasting ceremony and Lyen joined the audience in their cheers and laughter at the former's expense.

Only the mez'qadurat lost on her participation. Lyen watched a round from a distance, but decided she'd seen enough fighting and bloodshed for some time, and turned down the offer to enter the ring. Instead opting to join in for another round of dare-squares.

She persisted in her goal throughout; spoking with anyone who would listen about the ongoing war among the humans and in turn eventually began to hear the concerns of the citizens of Lorrindton. Their fear of Perrence armies, masked with mocking scorn, and the bitter resentment that remained from the past king's transgression. In vying to better their opinions, she eventually found herself a regaling the battle of Relouse for the fourth time, and began to draw something of an audience. After a few cheers for her to begin again, Lyen was corralled towards the head table, markedly absent of Talit, to share the story properly.

"Let me tell a much more recent story of our dear Vyshta," she said slowly, giving a mocking crusty to the two present guests of honour as she her cup was filled. "And how the foolish Eskandr walked into the web of the one-legged spider."

More than a few embellishments were made in her telling: Death's Hand was no human but a beast that turned to a monstrous bear at the height of the five moons. Talit had wheepingly vowed to sacrifice her remaining leg if it meant the King's heart would beat again after his fall from the ramparts. For each barbed joked planted there was a grand act of heroism carried out by her staring character, who may has well have single-legged defeated the entire army by the end of the dramatic recounting.

"To your sister," She nodded to Dyric from behind his left, raising her glass in a final toast. "And your great ..." She paused, pretending to count on her fingers, which irked out a few final laughs, "great granddaughter Talit'yrash'osmax. Our lady luck caught between worlds." She placed on hand on Merit's shoulder as she finished and downed the cup to the sound of applause. Only for it to end too soon, and far too abruptly. An earsplitting scream surprised Lyen enough to make her drop her glass, and when her eyes followed those of the stunned crowd she saw the sight causing such sudden change in atmosphere. Merit had slumped forward in her seat, her face white but for the black blood leaking from her mouth, eyes, and nose.

“That maledict! She touched the baroness and this happened.” Where the first words that became clear as all of Lyen's senses swam in disorientation from the shock. This wasn't right, everything had been going so well. Instinctively she pulled away from the swarming arms making to grab her.

"Liar!" She spun, screamed back at Dyric, horrified at his accusation. It did nothing to stop the half dozen hands reaching to grab her. Instinctively, she pulled away and pushed them off.

"Don't be ridiculous- I couldn't - It wasn't me!" Her words fell on deaf ears as the crowd began to stand and screamed out for justice- or out of confusion; Lyen couldn't tell. All she noticed were their faces as every one of her own people turned from her own gaze as she searched the crowd for a sympathetic face.