And just like that it was over. The necromancer's machinations falling apart like a summer breeze.
"Mmngh, aaagh, all this hard work makes me want a drink~" She'd chuckle to herself as the rest of the knights began securing the area, the archer putting away her remaining arrows and returning her bow to its proper place. She'd have mentioned that Serenity needed to lighten up a bit more once again, but she'd leave it at that for now. Instead, she'd leave the cleanup to them. After being so long in this stuffy tomb, she needed fresh air. "Alllright I'm gonna go buy a victory toast! Last one there's buying a round for everyone!" She'd shout, before swiftly exiting the tomb ahead of everyone else.
Whether or not they all followed or not, was up to them.
Cecil fell out of her bed, head pounding, pain rippling through her skull.
"...Shael?"
"I don't know what uncouth prank that was, Cecil, but when I find who did it I'm going to flay the skin from their bones."
"For once, I don't think I'd stop you...ugh..." She'd sit up, having well overslept. "Haa...maybe I can ask for a vacation." Getting to her feet, Cecil would assuredly get dressed, though much slower and without her usual energy in the mornings. The dream had been troubling to say the least. Fighting a horde of enemies, as if she was watching a memory of the past. She wasn't sure what it all meant. The death and rebirth. She just knew, she really didn't fancy getting cleaved in two.
"Urf, lets see what everyone else is up to." She'd walk out of the room, stopping briefly by the kitchens to grab an apple, hearing a commotion out in the courtyard. "They're being awfully loud, ehh...oh, is that Lilia?" Looked like they were having a duel. Cecil hummed lightly to herself. She did feel a bit bad about just leaving the elf on her own at the ball...but she couldn't just ignore the Autmere. "Looks like they're having a duel, eh?" Cecil would quietly enter the courtyard, watching the bouts of duels ensuing, eyes settling on Lein. "Everyones pretty lively today, eh Lein?" Cecil greeted the Hundi.
"No magic?" Renar echoed, his head tilting just slightly in mild curiosity. Hm. Despite her own misgivings, Lilia's movements were certainly those of a trained swordfighter. Good. Hopefully, she was at least close to her mother's might. Anything less wouldn't serve for his goals.
"I never said anything of the sort. It matters little what I can and cannot do: use whatever methods you have at your disposal. I certainly will." From his stance, his left foot shot forward, kicking up a not insubstantial amount of dust to conceal his footwork. Renar charged, using the same techniques he would have used with his poleaxe while holding a quarterstaff instead. He raised his stave and moved to smash it towards the side of Lilia's head, only to feint and draw back, aiming for a high thrust instead.
The elf gave the impression of almost being frozen, seeming to not respond at first--but then she ducked. Fast; not as fast as the ridiculous creature on the other side of the courtyard, but still faster and more graceful than the awkward elf had given any hint of being. She'd also started singing, some sort of nonsense verse in Elvish, a word that might possibly have been loaned into Talderian about the cold--
And, even rising out of her crouch and moving forwards, she was swinging at Renar's ankles. But it wasn't just the sword he had to watch out for, another of the hilt's many gems was lit up in response, and even faster a faint mist spread out from the weapon, turning his footing into an unexpected sheet of ice.
Nor was this the limit of her attack, regardless of its success. Now that she was moving, it was clear Lilia wasn't a stationary fighter, and she was following up to stab at his side, the song continuing to another line. This one had no loanwords to give a hint, but the turbulence building around the blade itself was a warning--along with the stab, a shock of wind. Destabilising, but not dangerous.
At least the magic wasn't adding any extra lethality.
Lein had expected some kind of impressive trick. Perhaps swordplay so sophisticated it may rend through dragon scale, or extraordinary footwork to make up for the lost limb. He did not expect common sense to simply bend under 'the soul'. Lein even had a couple seconds to just process what Rui was even talking about for a proper translation. Even as Steffen asked for the very same movement to be repeated over, as the scamp paladin whined about destroying the yard, Lein found himself watching with intense curiosity.
"Nothing special? Rui, I've shot a bow hundred thousand times and more, and I've never shot an arrow of mere air - and certainly not from a sword!" Lein had, in fact, seen this sort of...trickery? Mastery, as Rui would call it. Weapons with scales and weights far beyond what mere muscle should allow. Lein had always cautioned himself, however, that his distant memories of the Hundi duels had been riddled with inventions of the nascent mind, back when he still fantasized about standing atop the podiums and performing his own wild demonstrations. Dragons roaring plumes of orange-black fire into a glittering night sky, the vast sea murmuring his name in the folds of its waves; always with the re-inventions of his circumstance. Lein had steadily grown to accept that he knew very little of what was possible, each step outside of his sequestered lands a showing him the great divide of his own fantasies and capabilities.
Rui's mastery of the sword was yet another surpassing of his expectations. But underneath his veneer of enthusiasm, Lein yet questioned why this confirmation did not alight a sense of wonder within him. It was the same kind of buzz, the same twitch reflexes in his phantom limb that desired, as it ever did every so often, to will itself to move, to inhabit the prosthetic that had replaced it. Yet it felt caustic, lingering with a bitterness. Lein tracked the leporine swordswoman's movements hungrily, dissecting every movement in her limbs as much as he could allow. No comparable experience with a sword, yes, but the tension of her muscles, flow of balance, pacing as she drew her sword, up and - swing. Simple, she says. Hmm. Lein had planned to use Fleuri's duel as a distraction to shift some cargo hidden in the yard. He did not expect to have drawn in by this new fascination.
"Everyone's been through hell and back last night, apparently. Nothing like a nightmare of getting your teeth kicked in by the First Knights to make people scramble for an extra swing or two." Lein replied, then taking a moment off watching Rui's movements, meeting Cecil's greeting with the usual fanged smile. "Guess you're also in the same camp. Who's the one to have gutted you? Must've been some real high kicker to have drawn you out here."
Fanilly had heard of things like this. Not necessarily specifically from Akitsushima, and certainly not in this specific form. But she had heard of the idea.
The warrior who is so utterly devoted to their craft that, even if they possess no magical capabilities of their own, the laws that hold the world together become weaker. That they become an existence that surpasses such things entirely.
The Gentle Blade's sword that could strike in manners that seemed impossible, even without the use of magical enhancement. A training, a honing of one's skills, to the point of obsession. And then tempering oneself even beyond that, surpassing the material world entirely. It was as if there was a blade in such a person's soul.
She had never witnessed an example, of course. But someone who could manifest a spectral limb entirely for the sake of swordplay, then swing their weapon with such speed that objects dozens of meters away were damaged from the mere release of pressure...
Surely, that was the sort of person who fell under such a definition.
A dragonslayer with capabilities like that... Just who had the Knight-Witch sent to them?
"Er... yes, Dame Tyaethe is correct," she managed, realizing that she absolutely needed to comment on the damage being dealt to their surroundings, "It would be best if you aimed for training equipment, that's far easier to repair and replace."
So distracted by the nearly surreal demonstration was the Knight-Captain that she nearly forgot why she had come out to the training yard to begin with, until Serenity reminded her.
"Ah, r-right, er..." Fanilly paused a moment to place both hands on the hilt of her training blade, "No, I think I'll stick with this one."
As soon as the Arcedeen took another step, she was confronted with a substantial risk of tripping. A series of bags, without any warning or notice, had appeared in the courtyard... not one pace away from Serenity. Fancy bags, at that, with extremely foreign patterning--no doubt the luggage of the warrior that had shown up slightly earlier.
Even if that had been in doubt, the quickly-scrawled note on top explaining just that with a hasty apology made it pretty clear.
Fast. Almost too fast. Almost. The fact that he still had room to react surprised Renar more than the actual sequence of attacks, but he shoved his mild disappointment aside as he processed his next few moves in sequence. The ice limited his options severely, and combined with an attack at his ankles, it was a good tactic to hamper his mobility. The lack of lethal intent, even in training, was an expectation that fell short, though.
Renar slammed his quarterstaff down into the ground, simultaneously blocking Lilia's ankle sweep while cracking the ice at his feet. Her follow-up move was much more in line with what he'd been expecting. She didn't relent, and it was damn near impossible for him to evade completely at this range and with his available options. Good. Very good. This was more in line with what he'd been looking for. A desperate twist of his waist saved Renar from the stab, but the wind magic running along the blade was a far different story. It still grazed him, sending him skidding back on the remains of the ice and leaving a bruise in his side as he planted a hand on the ground to brace himself.
A savage grin crossed Renar's face as he rose a good distance away, taking up his stance again.
"Just so you know, I don't expect to win this. I only wish to learn as much as I can from facing a superior foe. So come at me with the intent to kill, I'll not mind the bruise to my ego."
He surged forward once more, engaging in a series of practiced thrusts, closing the distance with each one. After getting close enough in arm's reach, Renar shifted his grip on his quarterstaff. His left hand flew off the grip, the handful of dirt he'd grabbed while skidding along the ground earlier flying straight for Lilia's eyes. His right hand whirled his staff around, coming around in a one-handed swing for the side of her head while she was distracted dealing with the blinding move.
Before that word could be completed, luggage appeared, as if manifesting from the aether itself. Perhaps not 'as if', but 'actually just'. For a moment, she stared at the bundle of bags, the scrawled note pinned to it, and then closed her eyes. Just very briefly. Long enough for her to marvel at the sheer weight of the magical potential the Knight-Witch possessed. Cross-continental spatial magic, whereas others would exhaust their life just fueling the ritual for leaving a city without walking its streets.
It was mere marvel though. It was not a path to aspire towards.
"Lady Rui," Serenity called out. "A moment. Your bags are here. Lein, Sir Steffen. Perhaps you could assist her with them?"
The training field was large. Large enough that after that declaration, the Arcedeen girl gestured towards Fanilly. Strode ten steps away from the pile of bags. Raised her shield. Nodded, ready.
The elf-girl looked perturbed at the suggestion, like coming at someone with killing intent when she didn't want them dead was unthinkable. But as she was still singing, there was no actual answer given to the idea. Instead, the girl kept fighting defensively, proving extremely hard to get close to with a thrust, everything just missing. It wasn't an obvious way to win anything, especially not when the dirt achieved its obvious goal of forcing her eyes shut.
It would seem almost disappointing that such a trick should get an obviously experienced enemy, but at the last her ears seemed to twitch slightly, Lilia using her blade to actually deflect the attack--a shockwave rippling through the wooden stave, rippling unsettlingly. Much as if he'd slammed it into a wall, not had it pushed away by such a delicate looking blade.
Now there was a frown on the elf's face. Possibly because that was the second time Renar had gone for trying to smack her in the head with a big hunk of oak.
Now the position of aggressor and defender was swapped, everything the darting elf doing just enough to inflict a slight cut on a battle. But the threat of getting hit at all was made more alarming, with every blow still carrying some magical trick, another line of her song a simple spell. A crackling field around one thrust that would make an entire limb frustratingly numb. A swing that, blocked, came with a sudden crack as the ground beneath Renar's feet. An unexpected layer of greasy oil forming along the shaft she was holding.
The blade eventually slipping past to rest on his throat after the barrage of attacks just to wear down his defences was the only thing without some magical payload.
"Mum always tells me to not use anything in practise I can't fix..."
Fleuri watched Rui perform the weapon's swing in slower motion. Could one really perform such feats simply by martial mastery? What other sorts of feats could a master of swordplay achieve.
His thoughts were interrupted by Serenity speaking up and informing Rui that her bags had arrived. Fleur looked over and indeed, there were several foreign-looking bags that were not here a moment ago. Another of Merilia's tricks?
"How long do you intend to stay with us, Lady Rui?" Fleuri asked. "I think we can all agree that it'd be a great boon to the order to have a combat instructor of such sword mastery." If he had to guess, it'd be that Merilia had decided to send someone to help bring the Iron Roses to a higher standard of martial skill. Even if she wasn't going to fight, the Iron Roses could definitely use an instructor. If she was sticking around for the long haul, it might be a good time to start training with a messer sword, Fleuri mused.
"Would you like to continue sparring? If not, I can assist with your bags."
"Then practice a hundred thousand more," the girl said blandly, giving Lein a look, "Improvement can stop when you die."
Her response to Fleuri's question came with a sheathed sword, phantom limb disappearing without a sound. Rui headed over to the bags, looking briefly into them to check what was there before looking over her shoulder, "I expect to be here as long as my lord feels my task is incomplete. It seems this must be expected to take some time, otherwise I would not have been sent so many of my things." After another moment's consideration (or perhaps translation), she added. "I believe I should pack these away first."
Over to the side, the vampire moved her head back and forth a few times, thinking, before asking, "That accent... did Merilia teach you her weird Talderian dialect first?"
"Then I'm glad you'll be here for my first thousand." Lein scooped up Rui's luggage, balancing the bags in a precarious stack on his back and head with experienced casualness and swaying back and forth to keep them aligned. He examined Rui's reaction carefully from under the bags slumping over his ears as she received the news. Excited? Disappointed? It didn't seem like she was expecting to stay for long. But if she was indeed an asset to the Knights, Lein will have to make sure to extend her mission as long as necessary. And that meant excusing himself from the training yard - more than his already planned aloofness.
Rui claimed that this phantom limb was the product of simple repetition, but Lein himself witnessed how hard some of his compatriots honed their craft. He alone had to help out ferrying out carts of broken training dummies splintered from the single-minded dedication of the likes of Serenity and Gerard. Repetition was not enough. And if it were, she could still demonstrate exactly how exactly her training regimen was set out to have achieved such heights. Lein turned his head to 'nod' at Fleuri, a harrowing endeavor to anyone who doubted Lein's confidence in his balance, lingering a little with an eye on Steffen and Cecilia as if to solicit an offer of assistance. "Don't you worry Flowers, I'll drop these off. You go ahead with the duel and do the Knights proud, eh?"
It was almost unfair how strong someone could be while being so evidently coddled. The bladework he could handle. Just barely, but it wasn't what took him out of the fight. The spellwork accompanying it was perfect, grinding Renar down until Lilia's blade found purchase right next to his throat.
"So be it. Victory is yours." Renar casually held his hands up, dropping his staff. "Well played. I've been sorely needing experience against both spellcasters and fighters just better than myself in general. We all have been, really. I don't suppose you'd care to repeat this with us for the duration of the time you're here at the keep, Lady Lilia? The practice ought to do you good as well, especially if we improve quickly enough."
At mention of his name, Gerard's gaze perked up from the dull feder he'd been halfway through yanking free from the rack— had Fionn been more insistent on pulling Sir Renar into a spell of back-and-forth bickering about his absence earlier in the day, the younger of the two ex-mercs was indeed planning on kicking off the circuit directly himself. If nothing else, his own approach would have been tailor-made to feed the pair that were better schooled situational insight, with the emphasis on aggression forcing exchanges and drawing Lilia's pressure responses forth. Giving them a rough preliminary on how she worked by simply forcing work onto her—
But all things being equal, he welcomed Renar to take it for himself, indicating as much with an compliant lift of the hand as he marched over to Fionn's side, and set the ad-hoc blade onto the soft grass before him as his frame dropped to meet it shortly after. One elbow propped onto a knee, he leaned forward and let his chin rest upon the palm as the bout commenced— seated, but far from languid. His amber gaze, so often clouded by the rolling fog of overthinking, was sharp and alert.
Too often, he let instinct and repetition do most of the heavy lifting when it came to the heat of battle, as there was little room for anything else beneath the rushing sensation. Training, similarly, drew upon leveraging his conditioning and fierceness in spars while he continually strove to polish form on his own. It had gotten him this far. It was growing clear that it wouldn't get him much further— much to the imminent vindication of the other three in their nascent circle of iron sharpening iron. They'd get their ribbing in soon enough.
His gaze flicked back and forth between the dueling pair as the opening salvos were loosed between them. Those instincts had been a crutch for very good reason, it was worth noting— the hunch they'd given him was correct. The girl was quick. Were it not for how he'd dialed in his focus, he might have lost the motion within the burst that had begun it. With her rapier, a low swipe for the ankles, cloaked in mist that melded into hoarfrost into rime.
"That's..."
Let them if they chose, then. His unwitting stubbornness had begun to chip, they'd earned the gloating.
"Kinda the same thing that I do, in a sense of offensive effect."
This was an opportunity to learn the lesson everyone had been trying to pound into his head— and gain those insights for himself. His focus had centered upon that task, and those thoughts were drawn forth as they were formed by mind and tongue in equal measure, floating through the air in a low murmur even as his eyes continued to dart from fighter to fighter.
"The distance is different given the weapon and stance, stretches the ranges out to something more even with most polearms than other swordsmen. Speed's higher. Magic's offering additional lines of attack, but the theory's all the same. Starting by trying to kill the base and mobility, initiating with surprise by shifting vertical levels, and then it's immediately lateral movement and going for pokes while the enemy's still navigating the first range— and then getting dirt in the eyes, too. That one gets everyone once."
The prattling was clearly more for his own benefit than anyone else's, but Fionn Mackerracher lived and breathed the finer details on a scale that seemed to be beyond even intuitive— no better sounding board Gerard could think of, and he was right next to him.
"Different details and method, but same principle. Seizing the initiative and adding a new problem every time it looks like he's got a chance to breathe. This is one other way to do that, work to end."
He frowned thoughtfully, then let it fade— glancing to his friend with a wry, almost needling smirk.
"You wanna lecture me about the part where she sat in indes before the dirt though, don't ya?"
"Nach," he corrected, almost unconsciously. "And not quite. You're not entirely wrong but I don't think she ever lost her own control of the situation, which is the real danger getting stuck in such a situation. What I want to lecture you about is that bit about going for the base, for the legs. How often do you really get a chance to make a properly covered attack at someone's leg? Too easy for them to smack you in the head while you're going for their knee." Or any number of other such attacks taking advantage of how open any significantly low strike could leave the person making it.
"You're bigger than me and you use a bit longer sword. Bind and wind around their defense, don't treat it like you're a low wolf aiming for someone's hamstrings. It's not worth it unless they've clearly overextended their stance and you know for sure you aren't in harm's way attacking their leg, or if the contact is incidental after they failed to entirely void from a cut you were making."
"Um... are you sure? I don't mind at all! Really! But, I'm not sure how much use I am, when you get better I'd have to use dangerous spells to keep up, and then someone might get hurt..." Now that the fight was over, all the awkwardness was back, the elf fiddling with her sword rather than looking any of them in the eye. "I don't know anything like a blunt sword for fire..."
Her gaze lifted and swivelled between Gerard and Fionn. "I only went for the legs because of the ice. Sometimes people slip immediately, and... well... or I can freeze their legs entirely. Shattering their weapon is easier, though, if it's metal... I don't know one for breaking wood so quickly."
She didn't have to do it slowly, but she did. Steffen was at least thankful she didn't damage the training ground further. He'd need to check that roof a bit later on once everybody was done with their day.
On the more technical aspect, the number of little details in her movement was quite mind-boggling. This wasn't a trick or magic. She was right that this was attainable from practice, though to be precise it was more of the right technique and executed few hundred thousand time to perfect and improve it. She likely wouldn't be able to do the same feat if she had just swung the sword mindlessly now, would she? If he were to find a comparison, a martial art technique that was taught by his mother utilized pretty much similar concepts, one of which was the perfect coordination of the muscle groups to create fast acceleration, which translates to power. He might not have used swords to expertise, but those ideas could have been transferred over to his own weapon style.
Now that he had ideas, he was pumped to hit the field, but alas, Rui's presence seemed to invoke more work than it seemed. So much for training in the field with the others.
"Alright." Serenity would receive an obedient nod as he took some of Rui's heavier luggage from Lein. If there were someone fit to handle the boring part of a guest arriving, it would be Steffen. "There are vacant rooms in the southwest corner of Candaeln. I'll leave a sign to which one I used, but they should all be the same." Whether Rui wanted to continue the duel with Fleuri or proceed to settle in was up to her. "My office is down the hall for any issue, or if you just want a chat. You're always welcomed there."
As for training, he'd probably go to his usual spots in the forest later at night. Or that reinforced statue in the courtyard. It's quieter and he could enact his own training methods that he normally wouldn't be able to for regular dummies.
It took a few moments for Fanilly to comprehend what just happened.
Teleportation was, of course, a type of magic she was aware of. The process of instantaneously moving from one location to the other wasn't impossible with magic. But it did have limitations, even if she didn't fully understand them. Surely, moving something from a distance as far as Akitsushima fell far beyond such limits, didn't it?
Or was this simply what such a legend as Merilia was capable of?
Regardless, it was hard to focus on things when Dame Serenity seemed quite intent on their training duel. And Fanilly could hardly deny that practice was always a good idea.
Especially when her position was so important.
The blonde knight-girl took a position across from her opponent.
The wooden blade raised. Her feet shifted, spreading, as she angled her weapon across her body.
'Your opponent carries a shield and you do not. But your sword is longer and possesses more reach. Use it to your advantage.'
She took a deep breath, then exhaled through her nose.
'Avoid a range in which your reach is no longer effective. Use your leverage. Find an angle from which to strike.'
Taking the lead back into Candaeln with Rui’s baggage in tow, Steffen noted some tonal irregularity around here. Occasionally looking back at Lein trailing behind him, the Hundi was being rather quiet than usual. He often ain’t that quiet around him, always finding something (no matter how stupid) to talk about.
Now that he was around though, the Ingvarr was curious that he hadn’t seen Lein at all the entire week. He wondered if that had anything to do with it.
“Haven’t seen you at all this week. Where’ve you been?”
“Oh me?” Lein’s ears perked up, surprised by the question. Then, as if to cover for his lack of chatter, he slouched and gave a nonchalant shrug, letting the bags shift around on his shoulders. Lein was no stranger to ferrying baggage around, but the unusual shapes within the bags made for a challenging balance. “Been around. Met a couple old friends and had to entertain them for a bit. They’ve been a handful, but I had it covered.”
”Ah, alright.” Steffen nodded. ”Well, like with Rui, if they’re coming to Candaeln, just give me a quick note I’ll give them a warm welcome.”
Given he was away for the whole week, it could have been beneficial from having more than one helper. Though given his Ingvarr blood, it could be a little intimidating depending on who it is.
”Where are they from if I might ask? Fellow Hundis, or others?”
It took half a moment for Lein to come up with a fitting response, considering the possible crossfire he might receive if Steffen ever decided to corroborated with Fionn. “Nah, just a grumpy old Ingvarr actually. Kinda like you, but angrier, dumber and way less handsome.” Lein winked, though there was less of his usual playfulness. “Never asked where he came from. Never told.” Lein frowned. Hadrianus. That much was true. Where did his grim retainer come from? And speaking of, where did Steffen come from? Lein had stifled some of the curiosity in the opportunities that came up. “Had to guess? From err, Barukstaed, I should think.”
”Haha, yeah we do tend to get that bad image.” Having the reputations for being gigantic fearsome warriors was often associated with those attributes despite the honor-bound attribute. It couldn’t be helped that Vos Korvungand’s legacy in Thaln was still quite recent. Some of those still alive today would still have remembered the time of their invasion and the downfall that ensued.
But if it was an Ingvarr, that would be quite fascinating. Knowing modern Ingvarrs, Steffen guessed that they were there for business purposes. Mercenaries, hired guards. Not many would outright choose to live here like him.
”Probably?” Steffen looked up in thoughts. ”I know some who were born outside of our cold wasteland. We do have a lengthy legacy in the region.” Given how many incursions into Velts, Inthillin and Thaln they had.
”I was born in Barukstaed though. One way you can probably tell is the skin.” He lifted his sleeve up, revealing his arm’s bare skin. He tapped on his wrist with his other wrist, his hand being preoccupied with the luggage ”They’re usually drier and thicker. Maybe whiter too but that one also depends on what they eat.”
“Quoi? You’ve come way farther than I have, then? Thought I was the whistle-weed getting all strung up in the Roses, being the only one sweating my tail out with the summers here.” What Steffen said sat well within what he had heard of the snow-blasted deserts up above. Roaring giants rampaging through armored battalions, holding flaring torches against the linen of the Ithillin pennants. Hapless villagers shivering in fear of the two pronged horns in the distance. Or so the history books and red-faced instructors told him. The rest of what he knew were mercenaries and laurel-clad guardsmen, offering blood in exchange for coin.
That is, until he met Steffen. Yes, quite the contrary, preferring to hold a quill between his fingers than the clash of bodies in the training yard. Meeting Lein with a firm but even admonishment over dunking his head whenever the Hundi stole Steffen’s coat. He had a feeling about this dissonance, but it was yet confirmed. “Guessing you’re not missing the weather then?”
”I don’t know. I think just got used to both.” Steffen smiled amusingly at the question. ”Though yeah, if I were to pick one, I’d rather be in warmer weather. It’s hot, but the sun gives me reasons to go out more. One thing I remember from my childhood was that if rain or snow clouds greet you in the morning, it’ll have dinner with you too. It’s uh…a rather overbearing guest.”
“Aye, and quite uninvited on the road too, with the muck everywhere. Still, have you been on the water in a summer storm?” Lein took a deep breath, mimicking his memory of looking out into the sunless skies, grasping onto the railings as the storm thudded against the rolled up sails, the adolescent Hundi’s screams of wild energy meeting in a frenzied dance with the howling wind. An echo of the briny, seaweed-choked smell. “Ran into a couple back in Velt, got knocked around by them a bunch. Good at rousing your spirits, so long as you don’t get thrown off into the sea.” His momentary smile was hidden behind the luggage. “Heh. Won’t be doing much more of that ‘round these parts.”
”Oh, once. Never again.” Steffen shook his head, looking away to hide the trigger, feeling his stomach twirling. ”It sounds weird for Ingvarrs, but I have seasickness. Normal trip I could try to combat it by being on the oar duty more often, but storm…” It was an embarrassing fact to admit, considering they were just as much naval culture as their warrior’s. It wasn’t the main reason why Steffen turned away from their way so hard, but it certainly helped influence.
”You’re from Velt? Or are you just there from your long travel?” Steffen turned to ask. Lein did mention that Steffen came much further than him. Hundi society weren’t insular at all, so they could be from a lot of places. Lein’s story from speaking to others also wasn’t necessarily consistent to when he spoke to Steffen, so there’s that as well. ”Sorry if you mentioned it before, my memory couldn’t recall.”
“Nah, just,” Lein paused. His usual response of the nonchalant, teasing ‘just been around’ died on his lips. He bit the inside of his mouth in contemplation. “Have you ever heard of the Keening? The uh, Rite of Passage.”
”Umm…” The word Keening was foreign to him, initially thought to be a Veltian town name or something, but the Rite of Passage clicked. ”Oh yeah yeah. That marriage fight thingy that you guys have to do?”
“...yeah. Something like that.” Lein continued. “You grow up all cozy-like till sixteen, then you get kicked out into the grand old world to prove your mettle or some other nonsense. Loop back around, challenge someone to a duel and win your love.” His voice was unintentionally bitter, dripping with venomous sarcasm. “Didn’t want to be in bed with that whole pantomime, so I packed my gear and left Ithillin.” The truth as ever was sequestered into its own monstrous cell. But this much Lein could explain. It was just as believable as any other tall tale he blathered to others anyway. “Landed myself in all sorts of places, but managed to stumble all the way ‘round this forsaken continent, Velt, Chauntessy, Thaln - not Barukstaed, but hey, might end up freezing my other hand off instead in a couple years, hmm?”
Steffen chose to believe it though. His mind could be on an eternal debate with itself about its validity without concrete proof, but his heart, one like a piece of charcoal, having been to similar places and emerged a bit less than it used to be, chose to believe something like that.
The Ingvarr, having arrived at the room in the midst of the conversation, opened the door and let the bunny’s luggage down in an empty space nearby, and sat down on the side of the bed.
”Good choice though.” Steffen joked back, nudging Lein on his healthy arm. He was curious about the arm too, but knowing his own story of his hip scar, it is a line one wouldn’t want to just cross without a toll. But seeing that Lein willingly gave the story, Steffen figured he might want to know a bit of his.
”I know about your story, would you like to know mine?” He still debated what Erich said to him in the dream yesterday against himself, but a good gesture like that was to be returned regardless.
And Lein, having traded stories for many a trail, understood the gesture implicitly. A truth for a truth, no matter how fragmentary. He dropped the bag from his head unto his knee and set it down with the rest of the luggage. “But of course, let’s hear it! What made you stumble all the way down to Aimlenn?”
”Not too different from you really.” Steffen shrugged, planting his chin on one of his knees, wrapping it around with both arms, looking at Lein with a side-glance to hide the dolorousness. ”We don’t have marriage duel, but we do have a family name to fill in the colors. A lot of us take pride in our family name, even though some of the history hasn’t been exactly great.”
”If it’s not being a fierce fighter and a fiercer drinker, it’s not how Ingvarrs are, or at least that’s what my father tells me.” Knowing the conversation was getting heavy, he tried to lighten it up a little, pointing at his face. ”But look at my face, does this seem like a father’s boy to you?” He had always been told that he resembled his mother more than his father, which was more of a common thing to say when there’s nothing to say, but still. ”Anyway, my freedom came after my father was slain, ironically for not being a fierce enough fighter. I wasn’t around at the time, so I just left.”
For that one, he did have to consider the truth told here. It was technically true, he just omitted the fact that it was patricide. Nor that he handed the head of family title to his brother, which caused this to begin with. He felt conflicted saying that, but the act of killing a family member was still a big deal to consider, especially for more loyalty-bound cultures like the Hundi.
”The rest is basically like you, I stumble from job to job till I come here, coincidentally at the doorstep of the Cazt’s bastardly war. After doing some work for them, they offered a place here.” He shrugged again, this time looking at Lein directly, being more comfortable at this point. ”So yeah, that’s how I’m here.”
Lein remained quiet, making space for the story un-spooled before him as he leaned across next to the door, listening Steffen tell his story in one ear and keeping watch with the other. Not too different, indeed. There was always a gravity to every story Lein had listened to, and this one had imparted a gift of trust between them. Could it be a fabrication, just as Lein practiced so frequently? Perhaps - but what he had been told made sharp relief to why Steffen, with his silhouette cutting the perfect figure of an Ingvarr warrior, had taken up ink over blood. If Steffen could fake that veiled moroseness, then Lein would let himself be fooled.
Lein matched Steffen’s return to lightheartedness, acknowledging the redirect with a smile of his own. An undercurrent of regret, still holding its cards as the table closed, but it would remain alone. He propped back up, feeling the wind turn about in the room and whistling into the window. Somehow, he felt just a little easier. “We’re peas in a terrible pod then, aye? Way too stubborn for our own good and far, far from home.”
Stubborn. Yeah he was. Not in the traditional sense, but he was indeed a stubborn fool. It is difficult to fault any other on that.
”Yeah, that is true, but at the same time…” Steffen laid his cheek bare on his palm looking at Lein, an easy chuckle escaped his lips. ”Home doesn’t have to be that miserable place. I like it here more. Maybe one day something happens and I’ll go, but I would be bold enough to call it my home right now.”
That much Lein could agree. But then it brought up another question. The one that yet remained unanswered in Lein’s mind. “So the Knights are your home, then?”
Steffen wasn’t sure at first how to word the answers. In a way, that statement he made was a bit bold, so substantiating that would be a task. ”I guess? Saying that makes me sound like Sir Fionn, but in truth...” He tilted his head back and forth a bit. ”There are knights here that make me feel welcomed. They don’t judge me, so I consider that a homely thing. It’s not about the beds or anything physical.”
But at the same time, there were others. Steffen found that if he were to lag behind, or not to be worthy of knightly behavior, they wouldn’t look at him kindly. For an administrative knight like he is, he wasn’t often prone to that, but there were still some invisible itch of that. Maybe it wasn’t as simple as he thought.
Leaning over to Lein, the Ingvarr lightheartedly joked. ”Does that make me sound a bit mopey?”
Lein punched Steffen in the arm, grinning, “Don’t you go soft on me now, Sir Steffen! We’ve a knight’s honor to uphold!” Lein looked outside to tune back into the distant sounds of the training yard, a far away but assured promise of their compatriots’ presence. Home, huh? Lein’s home remained as the sky opened above him and the wind flowing past him, but at the very least, a rest with some homeliness wasn’t so bad.
No, it won’t be bad at all.
“Steff,” he began. Lein felt a surge of untangled temptation rise. But the very moment he opened his mouth again, his sentence had changed. “I do have something to confess - your squeaky door frame - might’ve been me.”
The Ingvarr’s ever-so-friendly smile turned flat rather quickly. ”Wait, so you’re saying…you caused that? And the weird shuffling of my record books?”
“Guilty as charged.” He winked with a salute.
Steffen puts both his arms together, resting on the bridge of his nose, his posture now slouching forward. A looong sigh was heard mixed in with a raspy throat. Once the 7ft tall knight recomposed to look at his Hundi friend again, his cheek puffed out slightly on frowning lips
