---

The Bishop’s garden was in full, verdant bloom, the scents of pistil and pollen thick in the warm air so that even the bees wandering there seemed to do so lazily, resting often in the throats of flowers. Osanna turned her gaze away from the busy gardener and weighed both the rose and the coins in her hands before slipping them into the pockets of her sadly misused cloak.

Duke Wulfric of Kressia. Rarely had Osanna been set to such an important target, but she felt less nervous than she had settling into her position as a spy in the Eskandr keep. She did not understand what he had meant by tools and assurances, however.

“Is there anything else I should know? Anyone I need to check in with?” she asked.

His Eminence smiled beatifically. “I know you are under no illusions as to the danger of this task that Mother Echeran has set before us, but know also that Father Oraphe has set an Angel at your shoulder to guide and protect should it become necessary.” He reached out where they sat and patted her gently on the hand. “You will know more when it is prudent,” he added reassuringly, if not a bit cryptically. Meanwhile, the flowers continued their Stresian bloom, and the gardener continued to clip away with his shears, hardly looking up from his task.

Osanna just stood and bowed. She would get no more out of him, and pressing a leader of the church for information wouldn’t do her any good. She didn’t know that Oraphe even saw the little dark pawns of Death, but she had escaped in hard circumstances before. “Thank you, Your Eminence. I will go at once.”

At those words, the gardener rose and placed his shears aside. With little more than a silent smile and gestures, he led her through the verdant maze he had created at the Bishop’s behest and out to a small gate and stables. A horse awaited her there, and a narrow back street beyond.

---

Osanna did not like the horse she’d been given at the bishop’s residence. He was a gelding, tall, young, and high-spirited, and though the streets of Saint-Jean de Glane were thick with people, he pressed constantly for more speed, tossing his black mane and worrying the bit in his mouth. There was, she supposed, something rather on-the-nose about being given a black horse, but she much preferred one that had to be urged to go over one that needed to be constantly held back. It was enough to make her miss her gray mare, Shade, left with King Arcel’s army before she departed for Meldheim.

That felt like a lifetime ago now. Osanna was young, still, but getting old for a Black Rezaindian. It was not a calling that often led to long life, and neither was it something one might retire from, though she had heard of black-cloaked siblings who took to other branches after injury or illness. She had most of a decade of experience as an assassin and had occasionally served as a spy or burglar as well, but never in all that time had a mission affected her like this last.

She had made too many mistakes, been discovered, and come so close to death that it was a wonder Aun-Echeran had not plucked her soul purely out of the temptation of having it so near. In the wake of that near calamity, she felt altered, as though the fire that had burned her skin and eaten away her hair had left marks that a healer’s magic could not entirely erase. She now looked the same as she had before, if a little thinner from seasickness and tattered from the journey. It didn’t quite fit. Like she should by all rights bear some outward sign of the inward change.

Exactly what made her different now, Osanna did not know, but there was no more room for blunders. The fact that she was still alive was a blessing from her god, another chance to serve and serve well. Echeran had given her a place and a purpose in this world, and she meant to repay that kindness until her body could no longer perform the work.

Osanna said a soft prayer beneath her breath as she tied the silly gelding to a post in Saint-Jean’s small mercantile district and went about her rounds, exchanging her old flame-scorched cloak for a new one as well as buying traveling supplies, food, a change of clothes, and the ingredients to make her poisons. It took rather less time than she expected, even navigating the crowd, and she soon turned the horse’s head to the docks, where she dismounted and paid a boy to take him back to the bishop’s abode, promising more coin upon his successful delivery. Benedict would have it to spare.

The docks were every bit as lively as the rest of the town had been, less touched by the war than she had expected except, perhaps, for the influx of common people fleeing from more war-torn areas of the country. It did not take long to find the woman she was looking for. There was so much bustle between the ships that her stillness gave her away long before her features did, but even though she matched the description the Bishop had given, Osanna hesitated.

Heathen indeed. The blond woman was tall and statuesque, more like one of the famous Eskandr warrior women of the past than the Drugundzean her accent said she was. She was pale, her long hair loose but for a few braids, and she wore two swords with her plate. Osanna had fought her in the Battle for Relouse, and at the time, Hildr’s blades had dripped red for Eskandr.

She gritted her teeth. No Bishop would have sent her to meet this woman unless she had turned to their side, but that did not mean she was now trustworthy. Who knew what she had done to convince them she could be trusted? Still, Osanna was not so stupid as to show she felt any discomfort. She was to travel with Hildr, and she didn’t want to wake up to a knife in her back.

The rose was a little rumpled when she drew it from her pocket, but Osanna smoothed its petals and made her way to Hildr. She bowed low before the taller woman before proffering it to her like a gift of riches to royalty, a crooked smile skewing her features. “I do believe we’ve met.”

---

---

The Drudgunzean knight still did not know why they’d asked her for help. Had they done it out of trust? Or was she perhaps a useful asset for the time being? Not that it mattered. She was asked. She would help. The voice of the other woman combined with that smile pissed the knight off, though.

“Are you the one I am meant to escort?” Hildr asked plainly, rather irritated by her assignment.

“Escort?” Osanna Lenoir, because that’s the name she’d given on the battlefield, only grinned wider and tucked the rose that Hildr hadn’t taken behind her ear. “I am, though I’d not have called little me important enough for so lofty a task. Escort indeed. Well, I suppose you know where we’re off to?”

Hildr’s left eye twitched. “I suppose I know indeed.” The knight spat on the ground. “This better reward well enough… To think I have to help out that imbecile Otto. Wulfric was bad but this is even worse.” She was too busy in her own thoughts that she did not even realize she was speaking aloud. “But yes, I will be your escort for the time being.”

“Hmmmmm. It’s been a long time since I’ve been anywhere near our destination. Can you tell me what Wulfric and Otto and the other Dukes have been up to?” Osanna waved her on and turned towards the north end of the docks where the river barge waited.

“That Wulfric is just kissing up to Hrothgar at this point, or he might just be scared. I’ve known the man since I was a child, but I can never truly figure him out…. And Otto has just been riding his righteousness of being the only duke of your religion.”

“My religion? You’ve taken our side without converting?” Osanna’s brow rose, her look more frankly curious than teasing for once.

“Taken your side?” Hildr’s expression was one of confusion. “I did not convert, all I know is that the Father abandoned me when I needed him.”

“And that is why you are aiding Hrothgar’s enemies?”

“They left me for dead. I have no reason to aid them any longer.” Hildr looked somewhat conflicted by her own words. “Besides, the only reason I am willing to aid you is because I am indebted to one of your own.”

“Well, if that’ll keep you from slitting my throat in the night I’ll take it.” They had reached the barge, and as they approached, its captain hailed them and welcomed them aboard. It was a simple craft—more raft than ship— but sturdily built and manned by a handful of people who had the look of professionals. They stepped aboard and stowed their things in the simple passenger cabin—little more than four bunks and a table. Osanna turned and stretched out her hand. “We might as well start off on the right foot, don’t you think?”

“I have no reason to slit your throat. It would be honorless to kill outside of combat.” The knight grinned as the other’s words piqued her interest. “And besides, I think slitting someone’s throat at night is more your thing.” Hildr grabbed the hand and shook it. “Might as well.”

Osanna laughed and let it ring through the cabin. “A girl disappears one time… I offered you an honorable fight, didn’t I?”

The Drudgunzean sighed. “It was only once… but it still pissed me off. Next time, none of that illusion stuff, you hear?”

“Not a chance, friend. Not a chance.”

---

Asier spent the first days arriving in Saint-Jean de Glane taking the time to feel more Perrench. He was frequently being seen as an Eskandish spy with his appearance which started to grate, so slipping into some tourrare leathers made him feel more comfortable even if he was now seen as a different kind of stranger in these parts. Snorri, now also dressed up as a Perrench priest boy to disguise his origins, the pair make their way towards Solenne to prepare the capital for war from the advancing Kressians.

Along the road, the pair come face-to-face with the all too familiar sight of the walking mountain of iron with a kitten perched upon its shoulder. He waves towards the kitten knight, ”Sasha, you are a sight for sore eyes!”. He moves close to give the big hunk of metal a big embracing hug.

The kitten wasn’t so much an infant as it was just minuscule - The sort that was found on that island North of their lands - and it meowed at the sight of Asier. It seemed Segu had come for the ride and took a backseat when big dragons were involved. It was funny that Asier noticed the cat and not the massive monster of a horse Sasha had been travelling upon, along with two Tourrare envoys behind them with quite large beasts too. And of course there was Sasha, clad in layers of iron that were frankly overkill.

The not-so-big pseudo-knight hopped off the mighty steed with a loud thud that cracked some of the stone beneath their feet. A quick strut toward Asier made it seem as though the kitten knight was coming for a hug, but just as they got in arm’s length, they snatched the bearded knight’s wrist and attempted to hurl them toward Arriscat, Sasha’s steed, ”You are required in Hierbamonte, Asier.” there was a LOT of power behind this ‘assault’, ”The King and Queen are gone. Your duty is elsewhere.”

Asier takes the throw as he is hurled towards Arriscat, taking advantage of the situation to start taking a hold of the squires horse for himself as he leads it by the bridle. ”As much as you are lovely to greet as always. My duty is in Solenne. We have to deliver the boy and warn of the impending advances from Kressia.” He guides the horse to come alongside his own. ”Now as your superior, you are instructed to follow my commands.” He offers Sasha the biggest toothy grin he can muster.

The bundle of metal remained stoic, whilst the little cat appeared unbothered by the increase in movement, scurrying to the less active shoulder, or even onto Sasha’s massive chestplate if needed. Again, Segu meowed, ”Lovely?” Sasha paused, head tilted as they witnessed Asier’s usurping of Arriscat, ”And a boy?” and then they acknowledged the previous inconspicuous Pentad representative, ”Who is this? What is his name?” the tone was almost as accusatory as the gauntlet pointed toward him, ”It was told you would only have a small, armed entourage. What is this?” they definitely seemed agitated. The stress of being outside the routine was already bad enough. This was enough to let Asier’s attempt at a jab get lost to the aether.

Asier pats upon the squire’s saddle as he encourages Sasha to stick their big metal behind on it. ”Hello brother, it is so good to see you. Hope the Eskand slave owners treated you well.” he mimicked in a gruff voice with a notable tone less stoic than Sasha themself. He responds to himself, ”Thank you for asking. The Eskand didn’t appreciate my big bonfire, so they hauled me off in chains. Managed to break free with some fellow prisoners, raided the Palace, and made it out with the crown prince of Eskand, Snorri. The boy wishes to know more about the Pentad in Solennes and meet Arcel himself.” He put his hand in his pocket as he pulled out some ration to hand over so Sasha may feed Segu for comfort and simply waved his hand as he instructed Sasha to follow him. ”The boy is important to our mission, prioritise his life.”

Sasha just stood there, shifting attention between Asier and Snorri, ”You’re talking to yourself again.” remarked Sasha with a very implied deadpan face behind that big helm. Segu was very curious about Snorri, enough to actually crawl off his owner’s shoulder with a calculated hop that came with a few butt wiggles, and gave the kid a few sniffs, ”An Eskandish. A Royal. A Hostage. Segu!” a high-pitched whistle followed the call, a change from the metallic and very slightly distorted voice coming from the mass of metal. The cat obeyed once the whistling happened and hopped back onto its safe space, ”He shall not leave this one’s sight, then.” and with that, Sasha ascended with the help of the gift back onto Arriscat.

”A higher authority has set a new mission upon you, Asier.” said Sasha whilst bringing their mountain of a horse onto a trot to match the Knight’s pace, ”Solenne does not need two Tourrare. Leave the burden and return with your escort home. That is the mission given.”

Asier waves his hand dismissively at the instruction, ”Your sister would simply send me to bring you back home as well. It will turn into a never ending cycle of escort missions till we are both there at the food table.” Sasha was quick to cut off Asier, ”Giselle is the higher authority. Family first. Tourrare first. Home first.”. He simply smiles, “Giselle is the highest authority in my heart, but render to the King which is owed to him.” takes out a neskal and flicks to the metallic hulk. The coin sticks onto the piece of armour it falls upon. ”Safety of Parrence is important for the safety of Giselle, family, and the Tourrare.” Asier does muse for a while as he mulls on thoughts of his family, ”How does my wife fare? How is Maëlle?”. Sasha answered promptly, ”She is well. She has brought young Timéo to this world during your absence.” they mentioned without a hint of social tact or consideration, ”Your presence would be greatly appreciated by the family.” Asier scratched his beard as he cringed a little, ”Is how you are going to tell a man that his wife bore him a son? You are now bound to tell me all about the little Horselord and describe him well for me.”

They continued marching forward, with Sasha keeping behind Snorri with their concerns and suspicions made clear from the very start. They would, eventually after pleasantries that were entirely one-way, arrive at Solenne with minimal breaks. They were there before the Kressians at the very least, and they were to have an audience with the higher nobles that ruled in Arcel’s stead during his wartime absence. The Tourrare were seldom welcomed with open arms in the Grand City, especially with the King and Queen away from their thrones.
”Solenne! The Capital of Parrence and the seat of power. You will probably be spending some time here, my young devotee.”, he smiles warmly towards Snorri as the boy continues to keep a low profile, whereby his true identity could cause trouble if discovered. “Some food, some lodgings, then we approach the palace to speak to the lords that rule in King Arcel’s stead.”

---

The decision makers in Solennes behaved as one would expect when the fate of their King was a gamble with a lot to win and just as much to lose. Asier pleaded his case - they needed to pull in reinforcements and seize the initiative against the Kressian rising. However, the lack of good will the horse people held toward at court and the politics that ruled Solennes led to a slow and ineffective processing of information. Before long, scouts began to report the breaching of their border by a Drugunzean army they had believed to be stonewalled by their ally Otto.

Most of the decorated fighters and Generals were in Chamonix or at the front against the main Eskandish threat, leaving Solenne, a capital thought to be far too remote and grand to be touched, was in great peril. Asier was one of few that could potentially lead this, with Gèrard Castel bolstering their ranks. They did have another weapon at their disposal, although Sasha had omitted to mention it, until now.

”We have a dragon.” they claimed out of the blue, for what seemed to be no apparent reason, as they stood by Asier. ”A Monsigneus-turned-Gehenna Tyrannus. Tamed by Maerec de Solennes. He is on his way here.” Segu was busy grooming himself while Sasha overlooked the fields beyond Solennes from the top of the city’s walls. Fields that would soon be flattened, scorched and repainted with blood. ”They cannot be trusted - The men and women you spoke to. The way they look at us puts me off.” the armoured Squire reached over to give a couple of pets to the cat with the leathered underbelly of their otherwise massive gauntlets, ”Be prepared.”

Asier twirls the moustache part of his beard, “There is doing this the Tourrare way, of course, dear Sasha.” He smiles brightly towards the chunk of iron and its kitten, ”We appeal to the people directly. Brother Castel can get the church on side. We get the commoners, and the nobles would be swayed into action. We will get some of the locals on board, then we will go out to slow down the advance and by the time they reach the walls, we will have an army fit enough to face them”. He gives a wide mischievous smile, ”What do you say to that, my squire?”

“Okay”

---

---

---

Location: Royal palace of Solenne

---

”You’re certain it wasn’t arcane magic?”

”It had a vague resemblance, but I’m sure it was entirely different. The energy came from a source I had never felt before. I was barely able to control the blast before it drained me completely. A few more seconds would have spelled my doom.”

”How frightening… A spell that even you, a Luminary of the holy flame could not contain? What happened when you finally freed yourself from the flow of power?”

”Destruction. Unimaginable destruction. It wasn’t just a ray of fire Misha. The magic changed things... It split the heavens and summoned a great storm in the blink of an eye. Damn near burned their sacred tree down too, though I believe the rains that followed averted certain disaster. I’m sure even that swamp witch was amazed at how quickly the sky darkened that day.”

Gerard and Misha were chatting by themselves at the foot of a long violet table. The conference room they currently occupied was located in the eastern wing of the castle. The size of the room was excessive in the eyes of the ascetic Rezaindian priests. The space could easily fit an entire peasant dwelling with volume to spare. The two of them tried not to let the extravagant decor pull their thoughts astray, for they were here to discuss matters of grave importance. It was not the nobility they had come to hold an audience with however, but a different party entirely.

”Do you think you can replicate the spell? If you were able to teach others how to-”

”No.” Gerard cut off his apprentice. ”I dare not breathe a word of this power unless absolutely necessary.” He took a sip from the goblet placed before him, courtesy of the king’s servants. ”What I produced was a mere fraction of a monstrous whole. I fear the ruin I would bring to the world if I spread this knowledge. I’m not even sure I could succeed in casting it again.”

The two warrior priests sat in silence as the conversation temporarily died off. Misha took a drink from her own cup while her master produced a worn out clay pipe. He poured a sachet of an unknown herb into the bowl, then ignited the substance with his magic. Gerard pulled a mouthful of smoke into his mouth and held it there, content to savor the taste and aroma of whatever he had just imbibed.

”Well, I’m glad you’re back. I feel a lot better when the three of us are together. I can’t help but think of the worst whenever I let you and Tristan out of my sight.” Misha sighed.

”Yes. I am back.” Gerard replied. His familiar bored tone had returned once more. His acolyte rolled her eyes at his apparent lack of interest in forming a reply.

”Ugh. Come on Master Castello. At least tell me you missed me or something. The aloof act gets old you know.”

”Hmmm.” Gerard blew a puff of smoke, filling the air with an earthy and spicy aroma that stung Misha’s nose. She waved her hand to clear the air near her face while sending a dour look his way. ”I suppose I was getting tired of carrying my own luggage.” He flashed a smirk from underneath his hood.

”So mean!” Misha pouted. ”Your jokes aren’t funny master!”

The doors at the end of the room opened suddenly, interrupting their exchange of banter. In came Tristan, the Essence manipulating swordsman and Misha’s partner in crime. Following close behind him was an entourage of robed figures bearing various colors and insignias upon their vestments. It was the delegation from the church that Gerard had been expecting. Now that the attendees were all here, it would soon be time to commence the negotiations.

”Ah, they are here.” Gerard commented out loud. He extinguished his pipe and hid it away, while Misha smoothed down her robes and sat up straight. The procession of clergymen slowly trickled in and filled the seats until a dozen hooded figures were seated across the table.

Very good. Now, how should I go about persuading them to back our reckless plan...?

---

---

---

---

Arnaud had come to this war with around a dozen men that had followed him since he had been converted into the Constantian fold. Only one remained alive. Sidi. A woman that was neither his best nor the eldest. Just one that was lucky enough to not get torched or impaled in the cruel battlefield, but just as loyal as any of his men. It’d come to no surprise that she would be the first to zip through the fields once she took notice of her Lord’s pained approach to Eleanor’s fold. With Sidi’s help, both Sir Bobignon and the Aheri himself would avoid the worst, with the latter’s heart just barely withstanding the strain.

The massive man whispered to her concealed ear, “Chamonix. They come.” Sidi’s helm nodded as she held her master’s head near her’s and then gently posed it back down onto the ground and delivered the message herself to Queen Eleanor. All the while, the behemoth of a man stared up at the sky, the same way he had as he had slain Olaf. It was all repeating itself again. Him at the precipice of death, bodies littering the battlefield and a maiden to judge whether he would live or die - Here she was again, Sidi. Over his head, her expression hidden but her body betraying her true feelings. She feared for her fallen King’s life. She was no healer too, and the few the queen could dispense were lagging behind the extremely swift soldier of the North.

“You are not destined to die yet, Arun,” she muttered as she clenched the dark man’s cheeks with her leather gloves, “Darhanna has foreseen this fate for you.” she cleared the long, greasy hair that got in the way of his visage, that was itself partially veiled by his since grown and greyed beard. Not the clean shaven man he had been at the start of it all.

“Do not call me that.” he uttered every word with a loud exhale, “I am Arnaud. And only Dami will decide my fate.” he replied with apparent surrender, leaving Sidi with no words. The help soon arrived, and by this point the Aheri had closed his eyes. A wave of panic washed over the armoured woman, prompting her to remove her helm and call out for her lord. He was still breathing, but he had hoped he could finally rest. He had been through enough.

…

---

Neither Darhanna nor Dami would grant Arnaud reprieve, as he was back on his feet in about an hour. Not fully recovered, but functional enough to be equipped with new armour and command the same authority and intimidation he had always done. The Queen had gotten his message, and now he had his own mission to pursue: Ensure the protection of Chamonix, and kill all Eskandr.

An aggressive push was made to gather men, although the success rate was underwhelming. The reputation of an executioner, especially one known to not be originally Parrench, never inspired much trust. His very concealing gear did little to help, as only Le Bourreau Royal wore these colours and odd attires, as well as his soldiers. Well, what remained of them anyway, with the rest of the few men that could be spared to him wearing the flame of Parrence. A low turnover overall, but given they were looking at a siege, perhaps less mouths to feed was a boon in a way.

A call was made for all able bodies to retreat and defend the major city, and he heeded it without hesitation. The doors to Chamonix hadn’t locked yet, and opened gracious to the massive man’s arrival, axe held in one hand while his other hid its wounds that hadn’t fully healed. There were no speeches or theatrics. The Executioner was here, Arcel’s main guard and the one to shed blood for the King’s Justice. He did not need any introductions. He was the death of the enemy. The one that killed an Æresvaktr member by himself, and nearly killed another while facing down their ace. No, this was not a man that needed to assert anything anymore.

---

---

Mentions/Interaction: Lightly with the Æresvaktr, and their Kressian allies.

---

Banners flew through the air, horns blared as masses of Eskandr marched towards Kressia, and Kol watched them from afar as slowly the sight and then even the sounds of the army disappears from his sight. He moved with the many elites that now are going to join the war once more, as he found himself much farther than the soldiery, they moved faster than them to meet with many of the delegates and key figures within the Drudgunzean army. The travel was quick with all things considered, however for Kol, he found some contempt for some in his pressence. Particularly the silver haired fire witch, Thorunn Silverhair. The young hot headed woman who burns everything in her way. Men, women, children, the wounded, and even those who gave up, none are exempt from her flame, even allies if they are to find themselves in the way.

Kol has detested every bit of what made this woman as she was, everything. Her every action is that of what has brought great irreverence to the Æresvaktr, to the point where it felt Hrothgar uses it as more of a token rather than a status of honor or the symbol it should be. It should inspire fear among the enemy and pride and hope in their allies, yet with some of the Æresvaktr who have joined over the years, it made it more and more apparent that it is changing, to that of a tool to instill fear and strike down any, as with Thorunn's and a few other aspirants who follow, they seem to be more far-flung than others. Kol kept to himself mostly, light talking mostly among those he more cared for, a small bit with the Skygge, but mostly to himself.

Once they had made it to their allies lands, it was a much easier time, for Kol he spoke as he did among the Kressian's however Thorunn seemed to have a new attitude to her. She had taken the 2nd spot among the Æresvaktr meaning she has quite a bit of authority, and with her becoming the Queen of Hegelich, she had even tried to usurp authority of talks even with Kol. Pulling both rank and status on Kol, meaning his Status as King and her as Queen meant the same yet he ranks in the 4th in the Æresvaktr and her 2nd made her a superior, yet seniority still laid with him as he had been among the Æresvaktr for near 2 decades. Giving him some power still, yet often times she took command of conversations, which made Kol's blood boil, at any moment, she could switch, and this alliance becomes something of a shaky agreement. Kol Calmed himself once more, he decided to at least make himself known among those he knew, as he had both travelled her many times and have been known because of his close bond to Hildr. While taking control of conversations to get information on their working forces and to hopfully intermingle himself and the rest of the Æresvaktr with their new allies.

---

---

Mentions/Interaction: Queen Eleanor @Force and Fury Caelum @RezonanceV, and Camille @Pirouette

---

The Dragon was vanquished and brought to heel, and for the victors, each of them took an item. For Arsène he had taken 2 treasures, a mystical hand cannon that was designed by the Yasoi and had found its way to this beasts lair. As the item he received that was much more coveted was that of the egg of the great Sun Tyrant, Rí na Gréine, he was given it by that of the young lady knight, Camille. Once the spoils were distributed and their multiple strange encounters done, the group split off once more, as Arsene, Camille, and Caelum left with Queen Eleanor to give relief to King Arcel at Chamonix.

As once they made it to Chamonix, they found that the Eskandr had surrounded the city, leaving much of the Perrench forces pushed in with a massive disadvantage. Now releif has come, Arsène looks towards the city, the fire, the fighting, his needed to end. Arsène sought council once more with Queen Eleanor, now in wishing to take another small force, fast and furious to harass the Eskandr, stripping away forces to either open them up in trying to deal with them, or allow an opening to strike and offer true relief to the city.

Camille de la Saumure was there again.

White halls, marbled floors, and an endless expanse between her and where she wanted to go. The flowing darkness above had consumed the ceiling of the Cathedral, wanting to get closer but being repulsed. Her steps echoed without a response when she could compose herself enough to walk, but always, the dream would end too soon.

Camille woke with a start, gasping as if she had just come up for air out of the water. She sat up, catching the glimpse of someone peering into the small room of the Victoire that had been set aside for her. Her head snapped to identify merely her squire, Alexandre. It was a force of habit after the war and she likely accompanied with a fight response as Alex scrambled over his words and retreated from sight behind the door.

“Ah my apologies, my lady, but we are due any minute for Brimsholm.” He said, keeping his head hidden for now.

“Thank you, Alex.” She replied softly, her eyes drifting to the mess on the floor. The Victoire had been ripped apart by ferocious winds of a great storm they passed through in the Sound of Enth. Her room was a mess of belongings that lay scattered from last night’s storm swell. There wasn’t much sleep afforded to her passengers, let alone the crew.

Camille could still feel Alex waiting behind the door. “Alex?” She called and without skipping a beat, Alex answered. “Its.. Sorry, my Lady, but the High Somnian has requested that you be in full armor and regalia before we arrive.”

She could see the blush on his face, already. As her squire, Alexandre was tasked with assisting her with her armor and although she was his senior by five years, he was apparently quite smitten with her. Claude had pointed that out not long after meeting him because Camille would have never guessed. Now it made sense, especially when it came to dressing her.

“Very well.” His head slowly peered in, becoming visible and the hesitation was obvious. “You may enter, Alexandre.” Camille smiled, holding back the bit of laughter she had. She threw off the blanket and stood up and in her simple nightgown, she watched as Alex averted his eyes. She let out a silent chuckle as she walked over to the chest in the corner of the room. In it was her armor and all the bits and clothing she needed for this trip. She picked up her linen undershirt out of the chest before turning to catch Alex averting his gaze again. He still hadn’t entered and likely fully realized Camille would have to undress entirely. Poor boy, she thought to herself with a touch of giddiness.

“I can dress myself at least for this part, Alex. You may close the door and wait a moment.” He nodded and retreated back, closing the door this time. Alone, Camille took off her sleepwear and threw on her undergarments for her armor. She opened the door and let Alex proceed with the rest of the dressing such as the arming coat and armor. Camille gave him knowing looks to put Alex on edge.

He was cute, timid for a squire, but he was very kind. He had soft features, clean shaven and slightly rounded like his favorite food was glazed croissants. She liked to torment him a little like this but the truth was, Camille didn’t see herself in a relationship. With anyone for that matter. Her calling was to a devotee of Dami and many in the Faith believe she shouldn’t distract herself from her duty. She understood and for Dami, she vowed everything, but there were times where she liked to pretend she wasn’t anything other than her duty. She’d dream of that simple life back on the sands of Morrilles like she never left, but Dami took her dreams, too.

“Alright, my Lady, that should be it.” Alex said, stepping back to retrieve Camille’s sword from her bed. She never let Dami’s holy sword, Persévérance, out of reach. It was far too precious to her. Alex bestowed it to her and she took it with a grim expression. Her leave of absence was over and she had to go back to her duty.

Her and Alex emerged on the deck of Victoire to the rising sun, clear of the horizon on this cloudless day. You wouldn’t have even believed the Victoire had nearly sunk in a storm only a few hours ago if you were to go by the weather. Yet as Camille looked around, she saw the dogged crew working on repairs to the ship’s hull and masts. Whatever storm it was, it certainly felt like an omen of what was to come.
Camille passed by some sailors muttering as they caught their breath. “Shouldn’t even be making these voyages anymore. The Eskandr are beaten, we should leave them be.” The man was young, maybe around Camille’s age, but she scowled at him as she passed. He didn’t understand what Perrance lost all because the Eskandr were given their liberty to invade. She, along with the Quentic Faith, were seeing to that never happening again.

Her hands tightened into balled fists as she reached the bow of the ship where a few stairs offered an elevated viewing position. From there she looked out upon the calm waters to the shore ahead where the large Eskandr city of Brimsholm sat. Traditional wooden Eskandr houses and buildings sat in a disorganized cluster with the more distant, perimeter buildings being seemingly half-buried in the dirt, but as Camille had been told once, it was a way to keep the house warmer during winter. It seemed, to her, an easy way to track dirt into the house.

Her gaze shifted up to the overlooking cliff that the Victoire was soon to pass near. On top lay the impressive stone arches and walls of the Quentic cathedral and missionary, dedicated to Sant Eleanor. Although Camille knew it as Sant Eleanor’s Bastille, on account of the robust fortifications. It was an operating base for Quentic missions deeper into Northern Eskandr and it wasn’t the only one built up in the past six years either.

Camille sighed as she thought of home. This had been her home ever since the war but she thought of her real home back in Perrence. It was nice to see it again, at least. Even if the circumstances of her visit were not the brightest.

“Hooo! Steady!” A sailor called as he ran up to the bow leaning over the railing to look ahead at the stone dock. Camille followed his eyes but eventually found a familiar figure. Towering above the Eskandr and Perrench was a man in full armor, his helmet hid his face but she could tell he was meeting eyes with her. Ser Laurent of Relouse dutifully on time which meant they were being summoned.

Camille raised her hand and rubbed her tired eyes. She was way too tired to deal with his eminence Arch Somnian Osric….