CitrusArms

Umbra Rose Condos

Miyuki? Do work? Yeah right. Yumeiko would go for it. Turn into this guy.

Umbra Rose Condos

Shi, shichi, whichever

Umbra Rose Condos

We did 7 because it can be read as shichi in Japanese, shi being the syllable for death. I guess we could just do 4, instead.

Umbra Rose Condos

Did we do four? I thought we did 7.

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Cannot hug, hug hurts Velvet. :<

Umbra Rose Condos

Right, so it's supposed to go in the OOC first, to get approved before you post it in the characters tab. That tab is for approved characters.

Umbra Rose Condos

Yumeiko no Akame no Kami

Location: Building #1; Ground Floor; Breakfast
Interactions: @Xaltwind Miyuki, @Red Wizard Ryū

If she didn’t at least do a little bit of ground work, she’d be in a tight spot. Her talismans would stop working and she wouldn’t be able to- well, come to think of it. She shouldn’t need to worry about those kinds of defenses here. Maybe she could see if the management needed help with their barriers? Though, they seemed to have things well in hand.

As Miyuki responded coldly to the nearby apparent-human, Yumeiko was reminded of how Miyuki’s earlier scolding, and the rare occurrences before that. Always about how she was too nice or forgiving or kind or not selfish enough. Which she thought was strange, but perhaps now she was beginning to understand. If she’d been less welcoming to the, frankly, nosy intrusion, perhaps Miyuki’s mood would have remained fair. Miyuki had said something to her about, how did it go.. something about giving the time of day to field rodents.

A calling from nearby drew both foxes’ attention. Miyuki was in a sour mood now, and probably wouldn’t entertain this kind of silliness. Yumeiko gave a slow, soft sigh, the kind you give when you measure your reaction. She wet her lips as she chewed the words, “miss, I’m approaching five-hundred years old. I’m not some puppy to be baby-talked.”

When Yumeiko turned back to the beautiful woman across from her, she saw it in her posture. And then her name was used, not some pet name. She listened carefully and nodded, “perhaps you’re right. This is not a small place, after all.” Her ears tucked back and her tails waggled when receiving her kiss, but before she could turn to Nicolas to glare him down, he rose and left, himself.

That left her with the woman who had addressed her so indignantly. This woman wanted to caress Yumeiko’s sacred body like one might a dog? And to demand that the spirit fox go hither to facilitate such an exchange. Hmph! Preposterous. “You may approach me, but I yet withhold permission to touch me.” She might even be older than that. She felt like her tails came to her in longer than 100 year increments.

The waitress came by again, and Yumeiko put in an order for more fruit and a “milk shake.” It sounded delicious, from the menu entry. Strawberry. Ichigo wa ichiban!

Umbra Rose Condos

Ah, so you worked it out with him in DMs? @AlmostEternity

Umbra Rose Condos

Speak dragon? Hmm, well, Yumeiko can speak [divine tongue], but dragon..? Maybe Eastern Dragon, as they would be considered Kami.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

An Enjoyable Duel

Wulfric & Stratya

Year 1737 - Two Years Ago

Outside, the sun peeked over the horizon.

The passage of time, marked by the skies’ changing hues. Pitch black night gave way to the light blues of twilight. Soft pinks crept in, intermingling with fiery orange-reds and bright yellows.

The city was slowly waking up after having fallen asleep the eve before. The squires, and other knights-to-be had been given no such luxury. An hour before midnight, they had to present themselves at the grand cathedral. Each of them had donned a humble ceremonial vesture. Each of them had been cleansed in a pool of blessed water. Each shivering wet body had been led to the main hall. They dispersed among the statues of the seven gods – Triumpheus, Aquena, Imperis, Amora, Tempestes, Vena, and Duedon. All had knelt throughout the night, praying. Standing up was permitted only when changing their positions at the altars, as each candidate had to pray to each god.

The lone woman among the candidates stood out. She’d asked to wear ceremonial warrior robes, an old tradition from her village. It had been made with the fur of the boar from her first hunt, nine years ago, and with other furs gathered that year, so it would be large enough to fit her always. It was a good fit, and kept her warm.

If it wasn't for a hunt, or there wasn't immediate danger, the huntress wasn't one to hold herself so still, nor was she in the habit of praying. She found the mental and spiritual exercise settling, as she found herself in front of the statue of Vena. Thoughts of her first hunt entered her mind. Had the Goddess smiled on her at that moment?

Raynor had taught her about the Pantheon, but she could only remember so much. As she prayed, however, she remembered more, slowly. What each God or Goddess stood for, how they had once warred with deities Raynor hadn’t spoken as much of. That they’d all been created and united by something yet higher that was gone now.

The leader of the gods, Zivitas, was depicted in a grand statue at the front. Throughout the vigil, the crown prince had stood there to observe the rites, so still and silent, he may as well have been a sculpture himself. He wore a ceremonial armour of fine make, proudly bearing Caesonian colours, the royal crest engraved upon his breastplate. He moved only when strictly necessary; when it was time for the knight candidates to move from one of the god’s statues to another, he clapped once, paced a few steps to one side, then to the other, then returned to his station as a silent sentinel.

As the person who was considered to have been handpicked as the next divine ruler and placed on this world by the God of Light, the crown prince’s sheer presence was sublime. He exemplified virtue, radiated holiness, and embodied perfection.

Or so the tales sayeth.

But with him standing there by the altar, overseeing his worshipful supplicants, it was all too easy to believe it. An instinctive response when one gazed upon him: the surety that they were in the presence of the divine.

As she prayed, the lone woman found her eyes wandering, though the itch to move had gone. The church was an amazing structure like she’d not seen before. It was so grand, and the statues so awe inspiring. Her eyes went to the Statue of Zivitas at the front, and then down, to the Prince before it. Oh, they’d done him up marvelously. The armor was beautiful and glimmering, clearly glamored with the Glory of the Gods. And the man, Stratya could have mistaken him for a divine statue, himself.

The warrior had to admire his control. It wasn’t everyday you saw someone who could control their impulses and muscles so well to stand so still, not even sway or shuffle. Her father had always shown her understanding, and knew that she could listen just fine, even if her hands or eyes were busy, so he'd never bothered to force her to stay still when she didn't want or need to. What kind of training did the prince undergo, she had to wonder?

She caught herself staring and looked instead to the statue she was in front of. Surely, he’d noticed her staring. It wouldn’t do to give the wrong impression, like she was some star-struck bumpkin or something. No, she was just impressed. She’d been dubious whenever she considered what they said about the royal family and the Gods, but seeing the crown prince like that made her think it might not all be hogwash.

Only now that morning broke could the applicants approach the central altar. They knelt once again, arranged in a neat row. The final stretch of their night-long prayer was dedicated solely to Zivitas. At the very least, the knights would have company. Scarce guests had attended the vigil, but now that morning mass approached, more and more people began trickling in. Nobility in their finery, members of the militia, and curious commoners alike were in attendance.

Once the bell tolled quarter to nine, the queen appeared, her royal visage thoroughly dazzling. She walked in through the side entrance, an entourage of attendants following her. Prince Wulfric, who up until then seemed to have been frozen in place, finally moved. He turned to her with a courteous bow, awaiting her to join his side. As he rose smoothly to face the crowds once again, a servant announced, “Greet Her Majesty, the queen, and His Royal Highness, the crown prince!”

At once, the congregants rose, men bowing, ladies curtsying. The squires instead changed their kneeling posture, rising to one knee while bringing a fist to their chests.

The head priest entered from an adjacent chapel, and the guests sat down. The candidates who awaited the moment they would take their oaths returned to both knees.

“We are all gathered here to observe the knighting of these fine gentlemen – and lady – celebrating the virtues of honour, loyalty, and courage. He is no knight who is not ordered nor virtuous…” A long-winded sermon began, elaborating on the nature, conduct, and duties expected of knights.

Stratya Durmand, at first, listened intently, but as the words arriving at her ears began to resemble the similarly long-winded lectures from the village elders, her attention began to slip. By the time she was fifteen, she'd become quite accustomed to only giving them half an ear, and picking up on their questions and cues.

Stop that. Pay attention. This is an important day. It won't do for you to mess it up by being inattentive.

An hour later, the speech was finished, and the queen began calling up the applicants to knight them. She did it in alphabetical order, so there were a few people up before the lone woman. The procedure was the same for each person, the variations only in what the queen said to them, and the pledge they gave.

When it finally came time to be knighted, the woman in ceremonial furs had approached the Queen as those before her had, and knelt. The Gods had offered her mind respite from her previous years of trouble. She was presented to the queen by her sponsors then gave her pledge.
“On my ‘onor, I pledge to up’old the Virtues of Th’ Gods within t’ lands o’ t’ Kingdom. I vow ta always perrsuue Peace and Prrosperri’y for i’s people. I will defend t’ lives supporr’ed by t’ Kingdom’s borr’ers, and conduct myself wit’ digni’y and compassion. I will respect th’ lives I take in hunt, and the lives around me ev’ryday. I pledge my feal’y tae you, Yourr Grrace, Queen Alibeth Danrrose. May th’ Light guide my blade.”

“A fine pledge,” the queen proclaimed, cool satisfaction colouring her tone. “Stratya Durmand. You have cleared out a scourge plaguing this kingdom. At a young age, you have shown exemplary dedication and ability to protect Caesonia. I expect great things from you.” She subtly gestured to the woman’s sponsors, who respectfully passed her the weapons and the shield with its coat of arms. Alibeth took the sword first, ceremoniously raising it only to lower it into a tap on the woman’s shoulder. She tapped her other shoulder, then passed the equipment to the kneeling commoner. “Accept your new station,” the queen commanded. She kissed her own knuckles - a strange gesture, if one didn’t know what was coming - then backhanded Stratya across the cheek. It was a swift, resounding strike, stinging her skin red. “I dub thee ser Durmand. Arise.”

When Stratya did so, she was presented with the armour she now had the right to wear.

“Welcome to the ranks, Captain.” The first prince acknowledged her the same as he had everyone else. He inclined his head, and locked gazes with her. A moment passed, and then she was sent off. Now, the newly minted knight could enjoy her well-earned perks.

The queen gave her a home within the interior walls on the castle grounds. And land. Her mother, brother, and sisters, who had come with her for support, didn't want to move from their ancestral home, and she understood that, but herself, the new city she found herself in was refreshing. No painful memories. No thoughts lurking around every corner that made her question herself and if there hadn't been more she could have done to save him.

She had only a few hours to appreciate her shiny abode, however. She was supposed to mount her steed, and go join the parade. All knights were to ride around the city, then gather in the athletic stadium for a day of feasting and games. King Edin opened the event, the watchful queen in attendance at his side. The second prince Auguste joined the fresh knights, welcoming them along with his very own Knights of Dusk. The men - and woman - of the hour had food, drinks, and plenty of fun. Jousting tournaments, horse races, swordsmanship duels, boxing matches, and more. Hundreds of people gathered to watch, cheering them on.

Late in the afternoon, the crown prince joined them again. He had disappeared after the mass, and it was anyone’s guess as to what he’d been doing. He had changed armours, now donning a more practical leather armour. The celebrations had winded down, but matches were still ongoing. After catching up with his brother, Wulfric went into one of the arenas in the stadium. Without further ado, he joined in, challenging the occasional knight to a duel.

One of the ones he was interested in was the lady knight. So few women ever did make it to knighthood in Caesonia. Unfortunate, but it was what it was. When she caught his gaze, he nodded at her, and beckoned her closer.

The knight in question had been having a bit of fun competing. Well, not that she was very focused on how well she was doing. While her showings in jousting and horse racing had been, say, lack-luster, her abilities with her own two feet on the ground shone much brighter. She’d been a notable contender in the boxing matches and had a fair showing for archery, but she’d not lost a set of three in swordsmanship spars.

Though she’d been in that heavy iron and steel stuff for the parade, Stratya had changed into a set of hardened leather armor supplemented with chainmail, and a buckler on her forearm. Both lighter and cooler, though just a little worn. Since she had, her record had only strengthened. She bore a short sword and her dirk on one hip, and a dagger with a prominent hand guard on the other. The crest on her dirk matched the crest on the metal piece, on her chest.

“Good day, Captain. Auguste told me you have an unusual fighting style. Care for a match?”

“Prince W’lfrric,” the lady knight studied the Prince a brief moment, “I only ‘ope y’ve nowt rreservations o’ losin’ tae a woman, y’r ‘ighness. Some o’ these po’ lads take it a wee bit ‘arrd, y’ken.”

“What a boastful knight you make for,” he smiled, but it wasn’t pleasant. “Talking about winning before we have even done anything? I do hope your confidence is merited,” he drawled.

No, the prince didn’t seem like the kind of man who would challenge someone and then back down for much of anything. That wasn’t the sense she got of him when they locked eyes at the ceremony. “Well, Your ‘ighness backin’ oot now seems worrse’n losin’, don’it. I accept y’ challenge. Bes’ two o’ thrree? Morre?”

“Best two of three is fine.”

As Stratya took her starting position for their duel, she turned to face the prince by altering her stride and, instead of planting her foot and turning with her joints, she used the swing of her leg for momentum to spin on the ball of her foot and turn to face the prince, and land smoothly into her ready stance. She led her stance with the buckler, which she slid down onto her left fist, and drew the short sword into her right hand, to the back of her stance, pointed forward across her body.

Perhaps this fighting style was plain. Prince Wulfric had mentioned he’d heard from Prince Auguste she fought unusually. There were more interesting ways of fighting she’d shown today, but he'd have to hit her first, same as all the other knights who had seen more than this.

Wulfric withdrew his sabre, shifting into position as he did so, left foot to the back, right to the front, hips angled so his body presented less of a target. His first slice was swift and powerful, no announcements made. He had an impeccable sense of distance, showcasing his awareness that reach was to his advantage, striving to keep his opponent out of her optimal range. He had great control over his footwork, born of years of practice. Given each of his movements was measured, he was a surprisingly fierce combatant.
The prince was no slouch, she could see from his stance. Good, he'd make a fine opponent. This wasn't a confined alley or the woods, either. There was only the dirt, herself, and the prince to consider. He was likely more used to fighting in an open space, and he certainly seemed like he'd be ready to face real combat, if the need arose.

The knight noted Wulfric had brought a saber to spar with, something with more reach than her short sword, and leather armor. He understood speed, then? He wouldn’t be easy to overcome with maneuverability, but that was also how she understood how to fight. Metal armor was expensive, and the Barony of Encia had better things to do with their steel. The leather armor, gifted to her by then-Lord Raynor Lancaster during her investigation over the previous years, had been plenty good.

The crown prince opened their spar with a slice. Like second nature, Stratya's body reacted to the incoming blade. Her buckler swung out to meet his blade and knock his stance open for her opportunity. She took a step forward with her right, changing her stance to put her sword arm forward. She came back with her own forehand slice, attacking the flank she opened, a quick strike. He’d called her boastful and given her a smile she didn’t quite like. She had to earn her boasting, then.

The knight parried, and Wulfric withdrew his blade back before it was knocked too far away. He edged back slightly, inviting…Suddenly, the edge of his sabre was sliding along the short sword’s, shifting the course of its path. He drew the point of his sabre towards the woman’s chest. If she continued advancing for her strike, all she would manage was to get stabbed.

Watching her movements, her body, the sword, and the buckler. He knew she would not get so easily skewered, and prepared a follow-up slash. Since they’d ended up a bit closer together than was convenient for him, he aimed a quick kick at her abdomen, only to transition into his planned sabre maneouver.

Stratya flicked her wrist and tucked her blade under the incoming sabre, then raised her arm across her body, forfeiting her own strike to carry the prince’s sabre away from herself. When Wulfric kicked her hip, it forced her to step back again, but didn't break her stance. The arm she raised in deflection continued the motion from its follow through, to a chop aimed for his upper torso - his chest or pauldron - but the distance had become too great. Her attack missed and she took another step back, finishing her absorption of his kick. His blade was poised, but she saw his movements. Her sword arm was forward, but she needed to be closer. She couldn't slip for a moment, a fine opponent!

She sprang forward from her rear foot again, her buckler guarding her hand as she swung for another body shot, from low on her left side.
His sabre glanced off the knight’s buckler when she guarded his strike. The captain lunged towards him. She was quick and persistent. But so was he. He sidestepped, guiding his sword diagonally across his body, prepared to intercept her attack. He angled his body just so, repositioning in a way which led her further into his space. A prime opportunity for her.

He was ready to block, of course, but that wasn’t all. He let her sword slide against the false edge of his weapon. He wove the sabre’s tip craftily, as if seeking to bind her blade. While her momentum still carried her towards him, and when she was near enough, he grabbed her left forearm. It was a quick and unexpected pull, striving to disbalance. While she was recovering, his stance was such that he easily stepped past her. His next strike was targeting her exposed back!

There wasn't time to think about why the prince drew her in with his movements, she was already moving toward him. She saw the opportunity, but realized quickly that she had gotten greedy when she found her momentum being used against her. With his sabre, he'd carried her attack up and over him, and used the opening in her stance to grab her forearm from under her buckler and pull her through. It forced her to take another step to keep her feet under her, and still she was off balance. As she stumbled, he was moving behind her! Damnit, she couldn't turn and stay upright like this!

Stratya maneuvered her sword over her shoulder to block but felt the tell-tale impact of a sword against her armor as she chose to regain her footing. Her attempt at a block had missed, and she couldn't tell by how much - he'd hit her in the first bout. Her head turned to peer over her shoulder as she caught her breath, absorbing the fact. If she had pivoted as she fell to block, the distance could have been used to roll back up and ready again.

One bad decision. Ooh.

The knight grinned. This was exciting! She'd been pleased he wasn't a slouch, but this! She laughed as she straightened her posture, “Haha haa! You arre a fine figh’er, Yourr ‘ighness!” She tossed her buckler up and grabbed it out of the air by the edge, before giving it a short toss aside like a disc. Her dagger with the handguard came from its scabbard on her right hip, into her left hand, as she turned to face the prince again.

It was mostly a normal, if perhaps somewhat wide, dagger, except for the teeth along the back edge. It was deep between them, beyond simple serration, each hooked over the gap to catch things leaving. A swordbreaker, she held it as though the toothed back of the blade were the edge. She took her stance, her right foot only slightly back and her short sword held out to the side, edge to the prince and point angled toward him like the curved wing of an eagle. Her left arm and the swordbreaker were kept close to and in front of her body, like a folded wing, and she approached slowly.

There was the briefest appearance of a feral smile at his first victory. “That’s one,” he remarked. He watched eagerly as she took a different stance, changing out her buckler for a swordbreaker. A more aggressive approach, then.

If she was like a bird, a flurry of bladed wings fierce as a whirlwind, he was as fluid as water, a raging, twisting, serpentine torrent when on the attack, yet receding as surely as the retreating waves when evading. He had picked up speed in response to the captain’s two weapons, sabre weaving into a dizzying dance meant to overwhelm his opponent. His footwork remained grounded, and steady, but the knight could see - and knew from experience - that he wouldn’t be able to keep up this pace. Not for long, not long enough to have the first strike again. Stratya let her royal opponent wear himself down for a moment, waiting for the right movement from him as she focused on stepping past or deflecting his strikes. The inevitable moment when he faltered, the split second when he slowed down, she was ready.

Had the prince been emboldened by his first point, or had he been provoked by her posture which gave an air of superiority? Perhaps both. The knight saw her chance, the kind of movement she'd been waiting for. The swordbreaker flashed out, the toothed edge catching Wulfric’s sabre in its traps. With a quick twist, the teeth ensnared the blade, capturing it and robbing the prince of control over his sabre, the short length of the parrying dagger giving it leverage. Stratya pulled him closer by the blade as she lifted it over her head, spinning herself on her front foot, coming under his sword as though he were spinning her for a dance. She stepped to his side and, as she did, her blade slashed across the chest of his armor.

“And one f’rr me.” She released his sabre and twirled away on her momentum, taking two such spinning steps before landing in the same stance. If he wanted to be cheeky about it, “was mine easierr?”

“We shall see.” He appeared utterly unfazed at her comment as he readied himself for the final match. His approach was similar in essence - aggressive, opportunistic, flowing - yet it was almost like facing a completely different combatant. If he was akin to a deluge before, forceful yet quickly passing, he was now like a snaking river full of hidden depths. His sabre flashed as he wove it in circular motions, attacking, parrying and evading. This time, he was patient and well-paced. He dealt with her swordbreaker by aiming for her wrist in retaliation, or evading into a counter-attack from a tricky angle.

The first time those jagged teeth brushed against his blade, on the verge of catching it, he aimed a kick at her head, disentangling the blade as he whirled around, following up with a strike.

His approach had changed. It was subtle, but he’d learned from the point she’d scored on him. There was something lurking, waiting - Stratya was finding out the prince liked to kick. She abandoned her attempt to grip his blade as she buckled her knees and dropped her stance under his kick.

His left leg swung across the empty space her head had been in. He used the momentum to carry his body into a spin. By the time he had both feet on the ground, he was nearly turned around, his sword-hand extending towards the knight’s thigh, aiming for a diagonal slash from below. However, the captain had been faster. His sabre was inches away from the woman when he heard the clink of steel on steel.

That kick had been aimed for her head! As he spun about for a counterattack, her short sword thunked against his back plate in a sound hit.
“’at’s two,” Stratya reflexively, calmly blocked for the prince’s follow through with both her weapons. Combat experience had taught her that a blow would not necessarily stop her enemies in one, and though the prince was not an enemy, nor had she done anything to injure him or stop his counter attack.

Though it took a lot of strength to suddenly exert the necessary amount of counter-force to stop himself from completing his attack, Wulfric stilled his blade. If he hadn’t done that, the attack might have gone through before the knight had moved to block. Regardless, the fight was over.

A grin painted her face as she sheathed her weapons and straightened herself, “I am impressed, Prince W’lfrric. You figh’ wit’ a ferroci’y I nae anticipa’ed. T’is good tae know ye c’n ‘old yerr own, serr.” She felt like she might have seen something not many were privy to. “’at was fun, we shoul’ sparr again, sometime.”

Wulfric nodded, sheathing his sabre. “It was; my brother was right. You make for an enjoyable opponent. I often spar with the knights, so I am sure we will see each other in due time.” As he tended to do with people who he had had a fun match with for the first time, he offered her his hand. He shook firmly, and professionally. “See you around, Captain.” Without further ado, he went on, to observe and participate in other matches.

Stratya watched the Prince take his leave after sharing a handshake with him, a certain melancholy brewing in her mind. That had been a very satisfying, very enjoyable, fun duel, but there was someone she wanted to have seen it. She lifted her face and gazed up at the sky for a moment before she took her leave of the arena. The captain would go to her new home, and break in her new kitchen to comfort her spirits.

Stratya Durmand, Rural Vermilion, 1737, a week prior

Stratya awoke in the Baron’s infirmary, opening her eyes to the sunlight streaming in through the billowing set of sheer white curtains. She felt a little tired, still. Her dirk was there on the nightstand next to her. Good. She filled her lungs slowly and carefully while taking stock of her memories of the previous night. It had been an absolutely terrible evening, but it also didn’t feel real, the events that had transpired yet to fully settle in her mind. She groaned softly as she adjusted her stiff and sore body, her joints happy to move. She heard feet shuffle quickly from the room, and another pair of feet entered later at a calm, steady pace.

“You’re finally awake.”

Stratya recognized the voice, though he sounded tired. She turned her head over and looked only briefly for the source, “Lord Raynor.”

“It’s Baron, now.” It was just a fact to Raynor Lancastor, at this time. He didn't really care about correcting her, but she should be aware of the results of her actions. He had much to do, and could not dwell on the tragedy. He just knew not to blame Stratya. He could mourn and lament later.

“.. aye.. rrigh’.” Yes, that was right. Baron Maximilian Lancaster and Heir Lord Donovan Lancaster had been killed. Stratya propped herself up to better face Raynor, but he motioned her to relax and lay still, not to strain herself. She lay back down. “... ‘Finally awake’?” Stratya watched as Raynor produced a book from his garments and examined it.

“You slept the entire next day. News of your deeds has already reached the Royal Family. You didn't have any obvious wounds, so the most we knew to do was let you rest.” The man approached her nightstand with the book in his hand, gazing at it thoughtfully before he let it down to rest the edge of it on the piece of furniture.

“Wha’ abou’ t’ crown?” Stratya avoided the question of why or how she'd needed so much rest.

The Baron looked at his friend with confusion and concern; he’d spoken quite clearly, “you must be tired, do get some more rest, Stratya. The Crown has already been informed about-”

“Nae, nae, no’ the Rroyal Family, the- Maximilian ‘ad an iron crrown or.. circlet. It was plain, with a little nubbin’ at the frron’. Must'a been magicked, the way ‘e trea’ed t’ thing.”

“Oh.” Baron Raynor seemed surprised, then perturbed, “right. The circlet McLeary mentioned. There was nothing like that in the manifest; I reviewed it myself. Books, mostly. Some scrolls bearing crests. Nothing like an iron crown or circlet.”

Stratya was silent for a moment, thinking about the weight of the thing she'd felt on her head, before changing the subject, “Analise?”

The Baron was silent for a moment before offering, “we have not seen my mother, no.”

“I’m sorry, Barron.”

“It's not your fault. I know that.” He took a sad, slow breath, finding it his turn to change the subject. “I managed to squirrel away one of the books looted after the raid.” Raynor held up the old grimoire he’d been looking at, “I've read its secrets. I've not the nerve to try anything.”

“Burrn i’.”

“I thought you’d say that. I read it, so I can say confidently I don't think it's the one you're looking for,” the man studied the book for a moment, turning it over but not opening it, “but, I think you've earned the right to see for yourself. I will leave it here, with you.”

Not the right one? Stratya watched the book for a moment, like it might get up and wander off on new legs.

Raynor gave her a moment before protesting, “Stratya, you never used to call me with a title.”

Stratya gave a single, soft scoff with a sad smile, “I'm par’ o’ t’ army, now, y’ goof.”

The Baron chuckled softly. He needed a nice little laugh, and managed a weak smile, “I've received word you are to be knighted, and moved to the capital. Please, Captain.”

The woman looked at the Baron suddenly, “Captain?” She stared at him for a moment, feeling well enough to prop herself on one arm and point at herself with the other. Raynor nodded and Stratya sighed, sitting herself up properly..

“.. Gwen?”

“I shoul’ be t’ one comfortin’ you.”

Raynor came to sit at the side of the bed, “McLeary told me about your father, though we could not find his body. I will arrange for the service. You are to be knighted in a week, you'll go by train. There is time to bury him and be with your family before you go. Travel by train is quick, less than a day. You focus on resting, I'll have food brought to you anon.” The Baron picked up the book from the nightstand and put it inside the drawer. “This room will be yours privately to recover in, so you don't have to worry about intrusions, except meals. They'll knock.” The bloody conclusion to the past few years had left them both hurting, but he had been safely at home. She had put herself in danger to see things end.

There was a silence between them. At last, Stratya spoke, “I’m sorry, Rraynorr.”

“Don’t be. You did what had to be done. I only wish I did more, sooner. Maybe then, things wouldn’t have come out like this.” They comforted each other with an embrace, and the Baron left the new Captain to her thoughts.