Time: 6pm Location: Sorian Park, Princess Sadie's picnic Interactions: @JJ Doe âłâłâł, @Rodiak Mathias/Lukas Mentions: "Hm?" John's response to Mathias was a very instinctual look to the direction the knight was peering at. Ah, it was Count Fritz. A casual friendly look at least, before the count was chased away by his compatriot knight, a very determined and valorous knight, whose prospect was quite bright to become a legendary hero.
"Dragon? Ho!" John played along as well. "No, you would not dare! You mayhaps slumbered, your strength unparalleled, waiting for the moment our knights are weakest, but you have made a mistake! The knights have recovered, and is ready for your undoing!"
As Lukas chased the dragon around, engaging in what would be a fairy-tale fight of his life, the doctor remained in the background cheering for the young knight. And once the 'dragon' was slain, he gave Lukas a thunder of applause, as he returned to his father. "A hero comes home! Praise the fabled Dragonslayer!" He kneeled up from his sitting posture to show respect, before letting his father take the final say.
"Whew." John sighed amusingly after the little roleplay session ended. "Could use a bit of practice with kids." Finally, he could take a bit of breather and continue the conversation. "And yeah, life just finds a way to bug me with work. Though it isn't much for what's technically work. Much needed respite from the trip up north."
Like usual, a warm summer morning was to be spent in the flowerbed that lined the Candaeln courtyard. The soft fragrance lingering in the still misty air, the melodic chirping birds and silent sight of butterflies. It was best enjoyed alone.
The Ingvarr quietly strolled up and down the garden that he (mostly) maintained, quietly admiring the life that sparked in this often ignored corner of the castle, but also on alert for any dangerous invaders that threatened its tranquil bloom.
âAnd there it is.â
Garden weeds. Taking everyoneâs nutrients and harboring dangerous poison and even diseases for the humans too. And yet theyâre everywhere.
Steffen stopped by the patch of dirt containing those pesky grass and, with his immense strength, pulled the grass out completely to its deeply seated root.
Amidst the smell of damp dirt and grass, of flowers and dew, there was another scent mixed in. A pungent smell, sharp and oily. The smell of paint.
The courtyard was best enjoyed alone, but on this morning, there were two present in this little-visited portion of Candaeln. Serenity, dressed in drab blacks and grays that did well to hide the flecks of errant colors upon them, stood before a canvas. A palette in her left, a brush in her right.
Paused, midstroke.
She nodded towards Steffen, once.
âGood morning, Sir Steffen.â
Poking his head up from the flowerbed just in time to see the gesture, a smile was given.
âGood morning!â The Ingvarr waved, before realizing he was holding a patch of grass and dirt. He promptly tossed that into a nearby bucket. âI hope Iâm not ruining the view. Terribly sorry about this mess.â
Steffen dusted off dirt from his hands as much as he could before heading over to Serenity, curious to what she was doing. It was already rare to be seeing her outside of the training yard or the library, not to mention her more laxing outfit too.
âNo,â Serenity shook her head as she set her brush down. âThough I hadnât expected you to be the one doing this, in the stead of the gardener.â
âAh, well.â It was technically not his job. âI just like doing garden work, so I offered to help. Our gardener is also double-timing as a chef, so any help is nice I guess.â
Steffen looked at the painting Serenity was working on. âThat looks pretty good. I also didnât expect you to be out here with the canvas so early. Part of your knight training or?â
Strange, that. They had a good amount of servants working around the castle, and yet one of them performed two roles? One could expect a shortage of knights after the War of the Red Flags, but the castleâs non-military occupants hadnât reason to step on the field. To be lacking hereâŚ
Well. Not that Candaeln was her castle.
âItâs rudimentary,â Serenity replied. âAnd yes, this is training. Half of martial arts is the arts. Do you not garden for similar reasons?â
â...yeahâŚno? It is art indeed, but Iâm not really doing it for the purpose of knight training.â Steffen glanced briefly back at the flowerbed, his arms folded. âI just like it. Itâs so peaceful to just sit down, contemplate, reflectâŚyou know. Helps to get your head straight sometimes.â
âHm.â She neither agreed nor disagreed.
If one wanted peace in the current state of Thaln, one didnât have to go so far. The very reason why they could be stationed in Candaeln and live at their leisure was because there was no war, only miscreant conspirators and lawless ruffians.
âWhere did you learn to do this?â
âNot where exactly. I taught myself most of them.â Steffen said, his sentiment instinctively getting a bit ahead of his usual word consideration. âMy mom liked to do this, and when I was younger I liked to observe her. So I kinda just picked it up naturally when I got to it myself. The rest is up to experience and my own creativity, I suppose.â
No books, no tutors, it was simply just keen observance, a bit of passion and a respectable number of hours put into it.
âHow about you? Does anyone teach you this or you learn it yourself?â
âPassion and dedication.â That was admirable of Steffen, certainly. There were no diamonds in the rough that could be polished without external help, but while some benefited from the guidance of craftsmen, others were polished through their own efforts, tumbling through the world.
âAs with everything I know, a master lays the foundation, and my efforts build up the rest. Though there is certainly nothing natural about this.â
She gestured towards her work once more. At a distance, at a glance, it was a serviceable painting, but upon further inspection, there was a void of something. It was art that captured an instance, but that instance lacked any particular meaning.
The garden before her was a garden bathed in morning.
And thus, she painted the garden, bathed in morning.
âHmm.â
He tilted his head slightly. Just from his pure artistic sense, reading into Serenityâs brushstroke like a small glimpse into her mindset.
âIâŚyeah.â Wrinkles appeared on his forehead. He wasnât sure how to put it, not only succinctly but also not to make Serenity upset about it. âIt feels a bit ordinary.â
Itâs not that the art lacked or even needed an inherent sense of meaning, but itâs that it felt that this was anyoneâs painting with hours of practice, not Serenityâs. If thatâs her goal to just be able to capture the instance of her memories, then sure, but judging from her tone, she might be unsatisfied with the progress.
âBut I can see your hard work. If you donât mind, I can try, like, adding a bit of advice?â
âI do mind.â
A brusque response, but not an unexpected one when coming from Serenity. She was quick to offer help, but rarely asked for help. And then, there wasâŚ
âIf it looks like what you see, then itâs as I intended.â
A contradiction, mayhaps, upon her emphasis of art just moments before.
âOhâŚâ
Steffen didnât expect that. He felt a little hurt hearing it but reminded himself it was just Serenity. She always had that uptight element to her, maybe a little too inside of a box.
âAlright, alright, Iâll chill.â He said. âDo you intend to go anywhere or do anything with the painting? Or is it just practice?â
âDo you in-â
She frowned. Then smiled. A thin smile. A slight shake of her head, as if shaking off bad habits, worse preconceptions.
âItâs observation. There is more that an artist can see than a common man, whether at a glance or with greater study. As such, it is a useful trait to obtain.â Now, she had answered him, so now she can ask him in return. âBut, Steffen. Do you intend to go anywhere or do anything with this garden?â
âWell, do you like how it looks?â Steffen asked, a more tender smile appeared. âIf you spend a quiet afternoon or a lunch break here, would you like it?â
She took a second longer than her posture wouldâve implied, swallowing the words that came most naturally. Neither of them were close enough for the behavior that she exhibited with other knights. There was a cleanliness to Steffen that was different from the ardent zeal of Gerard. âI like it. Though I question why youâd think I was here, if I didnât like it.â
âWellâŚâ Steffen leaned his head left and right, his words too jumbled in his head to come out immediately. âItâs just to be sure I guess. I donât doubt your enjoyment here.â
âBut yeah, if so, Iâm glad. Thatâs what I want to do with the garden.â He glanced back at the flowers, the plants that were blooming and prospering under his care. It was like his own child. âFor your and everybody elseâs enjoyment at any time.â
âDoes that sound good for intent?â
The Ingvarrâs palm covered his other hand, placed in front of his chest as he asked. It was not out of purview for who Steffen is, but one might still find it comical: a gigantic warrior from the north, looking reserved, demure.
Serenity raised a brow.
âIf I say no, would you stop?â She picked up her brush once more, guiding it over the rays of light cresting over the ramparts of the keep. âDonât ask for approval if itâs your answer. And if it isnât your answer, donât speak as if it is.â
âIt is, it is, donât worry.â
Ever so serious Serenity...
âSure, Iâll take up on that advice.â
He didnât want to aggravate her further. The response felt a bit instinctual, as if this was not the first time he had heard of it. It was best that he just maintained his cordiality rather than pushing back. At least for now.
Silence fell after. They were stubborn in their own way, set in their ways either by nature or conviction. Gradually, Steffen peeled away from Serenity, attending to the garden once more, while the lady herself remained where she was: back straight, eyes focused, brush moving forcefully, purposefully.
And thus, time passed, in this silence neither comfortable nor hostile, the sun rising higher, the insects roused by the warmth of day, the vibrance of life granted further vivacity by Reonâs blessings.
Serenity stopped.
The shadow she cast was one that only remained beneath her. She set her brushes down, rose from her seat, collapsed her easel, and wrapped up her palette. Three examinations to check the dryness of the paint, thirteen steps to bridge the distance between her and the Ingvarr.
âDo with it as you wish.â
In a garden bathed in morning light, there was the suggestion of an individual amidst pastoral scenery. A study that began in observation and ended in motion.
And without pause, the knight with flaxen hair left, heading into the shade of corridors and stonework.
Holding the painting by the back, not letting his dirt-covered hand ruin the knightâs dedication, Steffen gave a little smirk. âNothing natural, huh?â
Eventually, a painting ornamented Steffenâs office. An otherwise average painting, but nonetheless appreciated.
Time: Morning Location: River Interactions: None Mentions: None Equipment: Longsword and Plate Armor After that ordeal with the dark elf in town earlier, surely nothing would happen from now on, right? Well, he was surprisingly correct, for the most part. He just ventured to where he was supposed to go, did his business and quickly, as he physically possibly can, left. Now he could breathe relief for a moment, having something to live for a bit before the next inevitable menial labour he needed to do to keep his belly fed and equipment in check. In a way, it wasn't too different from his old clan's way of life: living on what they have until they inevitably have to raid for more. But at the very least, the self-exiled orc would not be causing any terror upon others. It's a civilized alternative to life, even if it was ultimately frugal and unfulfilling.
Speaking of a fed belly, Barrock remembered that he hadn't had a meal yet.
He didn't want to waste his money on the expensive shops and restaurants in this city. In fact, there was nothing here that could be considered cheap to him, being quite a prosperous town and all. The orc would simply get his own food instead, and to that it would be fishing.
Sitting down by the riverside near the town, Barrock set up his little 'picnic' corner - a lone fishing pole and a nice flat area to sit, contemplate, reflect. With any small thing in this world instinctively triggering every desire to rage, to tear down whatever those annoyances are, these moments of silence provided much needed respite to combat such cursed roots.
Barrock went fishing in the nearby river, sitting there to meditate.
The rest of the Lions disappeared into the tombs leaving Irian and a number of guards just outside the stone gate, on alert, but with chatters here and there. Something something goats vs cows when it came to its milk taste. A conversation Irian would join, if not for the relative importance of making sure the entrance was clear of enemies in case of any evacuation were to be had, and absolutely not that he absolutely despised cow milk for giving him all sorts of discomfort, and joining that would just trigger bad memories. Just hope that things don't come to a boil with the guards.
The elf simply kept tabs on his surroundings with his bow resting on his thigh, his feet tapping on the ground to a melody in his head, something he commonly does whenever he needs to keep watch of the forest to ward away boredom. But the melody was quickly overridden to a high-pitched squeak. To the fortune of the recipient, Irian recognized that voice, and so knew to not have his weapon up upon arrival, but not without pain as the high-pitch continued onto the explanation.
"Wo-wo-woah, what murder doll? What witch?...Wait..."
Witch...Doll...Doll Witch?
"Stay here, yall." Irian gestured immediately upon suspicion towards the guards, who seemed just as confused as he was a few seconds ago. But the keywords Lirrah blurted out let him knew what his opponent might be, and the arrow he drew from his quiver glowed a cyan color. "Chill, I'm here. Just guide me there, alright?"
Time: 6pm Location: Sorian Park, Princess Sadie's picnic Interactions: @Tpartywithzombi Violet @JJ Doe âłâłâł @Potter Sadie, @ReusableSword Roman, @Rodiak Mathias Mentions: Her name is Violet. It really is her.
"My name is John. Dr. John Williamson of the Varians."
Contained behind the friendly and polite greeting, his mind continued to run amok. He knew it was virtually impossible to medically revive someone. He knew it was possible to even heal from such an injury within a single night. He knew something weird was going on with some of the people around him. This made too little sense.
A metallic taste formed in his mouth. John barely was able to contain his panic as he took a gulp from the cup of water he had. Thankfully, the taste went away, or it was made up by his own mind.
'Why would anyone be dabbling in this? Don't they know how dangerous it is?'
Speaking from first-hand experience, this was looking very serious, even if people around him hadn't realized it yet. Maybe except for one individual.
"Oh yeah, now that we're both here, Lord Ravenwood. Is it alright if I can see you later tonight? There's something I want to discuss with you."
Two even...but that person John didn't have much trust in.
"Anyway. Hope you'll enjoy the picnic Lady Violet." John gave the lady a bow before excusing himself to a different area of the picnic, exchanging a glance with Count Fritz inbetween. He stopped by Sir Mathias and offered the man a cup of water.
"Good evening Sir Mathias." John greeted. "It's been a while, eh? How's your trip been so far? And Lukas too, how's he been doing?"
In his trusty and comfortable oak chair, Steffen laid his head on one palm and the other holding a white quill, occasionally slipping the paper he was writing on onto a stack of them, moving almost automatically just from muscle memory. He had lost count of how many times he had to fill this document out just this quarter, so much so that he wanted this form pinned on the training yards for members to do it themselves. But given certain âindividualsâ they had in the Roses - a certain opportunistic Hundi, mischievous rogue, lazy vampire, or just people who would just plain forget about due process - he wasnât sure if this was such a good idea.
Finishing the last of the form, Steffen cracked his knuckles, twisting his wrists a couple times before rearranging the pile neatly and heading out to Sir Renarâs office. The Ingvarr knocked on the door upon seeing the light from beneath.
âItâs me.â Steffen said.
"Enter," Renar glanced up from his desk, tucking the letter heâd been drafting off to the side. Fortunate that it was Sir Steffen, which meant that the following conversation would likely be something of substance, even if it was just regarding the day-to-day administration of the keep.
âThe broken training equipment is documented. Can you write the smith the order to make new ones?â Steffen said, peeking in from the door. âAlso, if you donât mind me asking, what happened to that order about the squeaky door in my office?â
"Very well," Renar nodded in response to Steffenâs first request, reaching for another sheet of parchment to do as he was asked. "Who was it this time? If it was Fionn or Gerard again, I apologize on their behalf. They tend to underestimate their own strength at times. As for the door," He sighed, dipping his quill back into the inkwell.
"The request to oil the hinges has already been sent in. If itâs not been done by now, either someoneâs marked it as low priority or the culprit has intercepted the message. Knowing Lein, I give it even odds."
âItâs both. But thatâs fine, if itâs for the cause of improvement.â Steffen entered the room and handed those aforementioned documents to Renar. âYou should bet money on that odds. He did cause the door to be that way, Iâd imagine heâd do that too just to annoy me.â Steffen rolled his eyes, but the Ingvarr sounded more amused than angry.
Renar matched Steffenâs rolled eyes with his own as he took the documents, though his tone sounded more exasperated than anything.
"I will never understand why our better archers all seem to have inane personality defects." He groused, scanning the sheets over briefly before setting them down on his deskâs inflow pile.
"Have I complained to you yet about Dame Cecilia getting exceptionally drunk in the Knight-Captainâs presence? I swear she emptied an entire cask of wine on her own. At that point, it was too much to conceal in the bookkeeping, and Iâd had to inform the kitchen staff."
Steffen burst out a laugh as he stroked his cheek. âReally? Thatâs probably more than I could on any given meal.â Though given that he rarely ever drank in his life, it was hard to accurately determine his limits.
"And unlike you, she isnât seven feet tall." Renar remarked wryly. "In any case, while youâre here, Iâd like to ask a favor of yourself as well." His eyes narrowed slightly as he began to explain.
"To be frank, youâre one of the only knights in administration that bothers to give me the time of day. My birth status does me little favors with several of these parchment-pushers that see no field action. If I could trouble you to deliver some of these requests and suggestions I have, Iâd be very appreciative."
âI donât know if my status is that much better, having none of that noble blood to come along, but Iâll gladly help.â Steffen nodded with a small smile. âIs it alright if I ask what those requests are?â
Renar grinned slightly in satisfaction, gesturing towards the half-drafted letter heâd set aside.
"Merely some thoughts as to how to speed up the flow of paperwork among Candaelnâs administration. Less extraneous requests, shortened orders, abbreviation for common forms. And frankly, better an upjumped commoner at times than a bastard. Youâre here unquestionably on merit and valor."
âHmm, alright. Yeah that makes sense.â Steffen simply agreed, taking the letter, thinking nothing much of Renarâs requests. âThough to be fair, you did do your part on merits as well. Just that the blood in your veins even spilled for Thaln is not enough for some people.â
âThough, just prefacing it, itâs still going to be quite a difficult proposal, with all the traditionalists and all. I know itâs just mundane paperworks, but who knows how many of the traditionalists in our court are motivated by laziness.â Steffen sighed. âI wish weâre a bit more progressive sometimes. For this, andâŚwellâŚpeople like you, getting stained by that.â
"Iâm aware." Renar said in response to Steffenâs first few statements. "The state of things isnât something that any one person can change, even if the crown decreed it so. Royal proclamations donât change how people think, and they can always fall back on any number of excuses to keep the status quo as it is. Creative interpretations of the law are something Iâm rather familiar with." His tone was cold, though turned wry at the last few words.
"Frankly, any dreams I had of the state of things improving died with my boyhood. All I can do is rise as high as possible, no matter what stands in my way. And what of you? As I understand, you arenât Thalnan by birth. Iâm not quite fool enough to believe that crown and country are what binds every knight of our order, but what compels you to stay, outside of a better life than you would have had otherwise? Which is quite a good reason in itself, honestly."
Yeah, Steffen couldnât blame him for that. The society they both lived under created the kind of person he was. Still, he hoped that at the end of the day, his ambitions came with good intentions after all was said and done.
He leaned onto the wall nearby, crossing his arms. âYeah you can say that. Iâve never been into what my âcompatriotsâ are known for: a life of constant fighting. ItâsâŚunfulfilling.â He shrugged apathetically. âNow, I know, it sounds oxymoronic that now Iâm in the knights doing the fighting, but life finds a way to ruin peace. At least here, Iâm fighting for a purpose.â
âI guess that makes us sort of opposites?â Steffen let out a light-hearted chuckle. âN-Not in that sense. Just goal-wise I suppose.â
"Donât concern yourself overmuch about the matter." Renar waved a hand dismissively, unconcerned. "My goals stand at opposites with many knights. You share more in common with most of our fellows than I do, at this point. If I were talking to Fionn about this, heâd give me grief over it." To say nothing of the damned dream. Blasted Merillia, and that shade of Edwin.
"But that does make sense. You have no opposition to fighting, you only seek to derive purpose from it. How noble."
â...Thanks, Sir Renar.â Steffen rubbed the back of his neck in response. âItâs more a lesson learned.â
Going back to the topic about Renarâs ambition though. âFor your ambitions. For the state of things right now, what do you expect to rise to? Baron? Count? And what do you want to do once you get there?â
Renar pursed his lips as he considered how to answer the question. After a few moments, he deigned to speak.
"Currently? Any landed title. More to prove certain naysayers I have wrong than anything. In truth? Iâd not put too much thought into what I would do should I achieve that goal. Getting there will be difficult enough as it is."
Spite-driven apparently. It is certainly a motive, just not something Steffen would want to see in a person. But then again, from Renarâs shoes, after having been beaten and dragged through mud his whole life for something he couldnât control, itâs understandable.
âBecause it might entail more work and responsibility than what you would bargain for. And also you canât be proving everyone wrong all your life, right?â Steffen said, lowering his voice again. âYou donât have to decide what you want to do right away though. Everybody has a dream first and consideration later. Just, I guess, sleep on it.â
Renar narrowed his eyes at Steffenâs words, well-meaning as they might have been. Fionn all over again. Goddesses save him from this sort of concern.
"Your consideration is duly noted." His tone turned glacial. "I am more than aware of what goes into managing and administering lands." And like hell he couldnât spend his life defying fools. It was what had gotten him this far in the first place. Though it went unsaid. There wasnât any point in needlessly antagonizing the man. Pressuring him into backing off the topic, though? Absolutely.
"To both of our modest ambitions, then, Sir Steffen." Renarâs face locked up into passive formality. "Iâll be certain to get those forms of yours sent in to the right places. Now if that will be all? The hour grows late, and itâs soon time to sleep on certain considerations."
A rather cold response, he could sense, but Steffen harbored no ill-will against that. If his experience with himself ever told him: doubling down on telling the unwanted what to do would just deepen the wounds.
âTo both our modest ambition, Sir Renar.â Steffen gave the man a friendly two-fingered wave. âThank you, that should be it. Yeah, get some good rest. Who knows when the Knight-Captain would want us bashing undeads again.â
Another wave sent Renarâs way before the door was closed.
Where did that Hundi ran off to? Messing with that door was serious business. It took him too long to get the last one replaced.
It almost made him break his own rules when it came to Candaeln, one he would happily remind to other knights: No running in the hallway!
Still he wondered what the hell Lein was breaking into his office for. He doubted that the Hundi was just there to mess with him: he knew what Lein would've done just for that. If only he knew, he would have remembered which notes or books that had been misplaced, then he could make guesses on what he wanted. Even after the heart-to-heart with Lein, there were still bits and pieces he was worried about from this inconspicuous Hundi. Hell, in fact there might be more to be worried about than his previous image of the mischievous rogue going about in a semi-nomadic lifestyle. It was something expected as he got closer to the lad, but ought not to be ignored.
While his mind was circling thoughts, he turned a corner and speed-walked right into a familiar face. One of the Iron Rose Knights, the same one at the eventful ball the previous week, but also the same one from many years ago too. The first memory served was a tattered, beaten and bloodied face, stumbling and wobbly from his injuries. It wasn't a good memory per say, but the bond between the relatively senior knight and this outlander now turned Iron Rose bookkeeper tightened from such a starting point.
"Oh, Sir Steffen. Didn't expect you to be in such ruffles." Sir Katte, bemused by his friend's appearance, said. "What's gotten you so worked up?"
"Oh, nothing really." Steffen replied, with a chuckle of his own. "Some troublemakers that's all."
"Can't get away from those folks eh?" Katte laughed kindly. "Makes sense when our knight membership shifts younger, especially after the war."
"Any administrator's nightmare, really." Steffen rolled his eyes. Youngsters and their roguish ways nowadays. "Anyway, what are you up to, Sir Katte?"
"Oh." The knight gestured to an envelope in his pocket. "I'm heading into town. Had to deliver this to May."
"Oh May, how's she doing right now?" He recognized that name. She was someone Steffen called his compatriot and friend, hailing from the same village he was from when he arrived in Thaln, and fought on the same side as him and the Roses during those desperate hours. Last time he heard, she was in Aimlenn, trying to make a living in the capital.
"Eh, not too well?" Katte shrugged. "She's living for now, but hasn't been able to get a stable footing. I heard that the school she was teaching at got closed down recently due to funding."
"Ugh, that's not good." Steffen frowned. Poor girl. Fate hadn't been kind to her.
"So I'm sending a bit of money her way, hoping she'll get back on her feet."
Hopefully that would do something.
"I'll see what I can do over here, maybe putting in some good words for her. I do have a voice in that regard."
He wasn't a political powerhouse by any means, but to some, he was a hero of the War of the Red Flag, and was loved enough that he was given the honor to join the Iron Rose. His words would carry a bit more weight than others, considering May also had parts to play in those days of the war. But she wasn't a knight, and had no nobility connection to speak of, so when it came to state actions it would still be limited.
"Good luck Steffen. I'm sure May would appreciate your effort regardless." Katte gave the Ingvarr a kind smile, a wave before parting ways.
Steffen would take a bit of time back in his office for the aforementioned task. He had told himself to excuse from paperwork for the day, but if it's for a friend, he was fine with breaking his own rules every now and then. On that note, it would be great to send a note to Sir Renar's office about that creaky door that he now knew a particular Hundi had caused.
It is a flashy end to the engagement, isn't it? Kinda boring, but hey it works, Irian didn't have to lift his fingers further. Once the battle moved into its cleanup phase, he was comfortable enough to leap from the tree into the ground, walking into the open battlefield now littered with the Lion's handiworks. Irian was content letting the other members to finish off any stragglers, as he scoured the dead, still remembering the tentative locations of the targets he chose, and the ground beneath his feet for any arrows retrievable. Surprisingly, a lot of those that found its marks were still so, the arrows lodged cleanly in his victims that he could remove them without significant if not any damage. The elf completely expected a follow-up fight in the cultist camp, even with Kayliss tasked with the job.
But turns out, he was wrong.
The camp was completely empty. Desolate, ransacked? Ransacked. Velvetica and Lirrah suspected a simultaneous attack by another party. Gisela thought there was magical in the works with the necromancers. As someone who had some degree of magic capability, she was correct. There was magic at work. While the possibility that both scenarios presented actually happened, Irian considered the former to a bit less probable. It just looked too clean to be an outsider's attack. Just a feeling though, with few physical evidence to back it up.
"I'll need some of you. Let us cover the exit." Irian gestured to some of the Lions staring around the camps. "Last thing we'll need is a counter-ambush with no escape."
David's entry along with the rest of the group matched their awe in tow, but by this time it wasn't a new emotion at this point. Everything about this world had been rather awe-inspiring. He had been the same way when he arrived at the new land, and similarly here as well.
As soon as he got past that, other things began to be evident to him. The origin of the Song that accompanied and blessed his every steps. It stopped briefly as the singer, the princess herself Rulania, greeted her guest with heartfelt fanfare. The emotions of a lonely friendless individual bursting at the seams as she finally got to meet her otherworldly friends made David, and for certainly others, to extend a smile to her. For sure it was dubious circumstances that she did this, but a smile of genuine happiness was easy to forgive her faults.
"I'm David." The robotic man gave a bow with one of his hand crossed on his chest. "It's nice to finally meet you Princess Rulania. You as well Prince Ralek"
Afterwards, he was presented with a rather (overly?) flowery offer to mend his heart. Or rather make his heart whole? Weirdly enough, David could understand what she said perfectly, despite his mind consciously telling him he had never heard of these Old English words ever in his life. Wait, those are Old English? Or was it Yo'Bikur's language. Now everything is confusing to him again, but compartmentalizing taking effect, David cut through it to get to the real thing he wasn't sure about.
"I guess that's fine? But..." David crossed his arms and looked down at his chest with a sigh. "I know there's something clicking away at my heart, but I don't know how to fix that. How would you be able to help me in this case?"
Time: 6pm Location: Sorian Park, Princess Sadie's picnic Interactions: @Tpartywithzombi Violet @JJ Doe âłâłâł @Potter Sadie, @Mole Felix , @Rodiak Zarai, @ReusableSword Roman Mentions: "Haha, I'm glad to hear!" Any of John's semblance of formality vanished as soon as the princess just jumped right on him and giving him a big bear hug. "I've been going around town, ya know, looking around. It's...well...been a while. Just catching up on stuff around here."
He wasn't sure if the princess was aware of his Caesonian roots, but it wasn't necessarily secret information. Even otherwise, he's willing to let her in on a bit of the past.
The next few Varian compatriots John gladly gave a bow to as well as offer all coming a glass of water (with a bit of confusion seeing Felix, thinking he had already gone back). Not wine or any fancy drink, quite typical of a doctor's stereotypes. But hey, at least he wasn't offering distilled water, a bland and flat brand with any doctor's approval. John knew of that though, and still sometimes offered that to any visitors around as a joke.
And typical of any doctor, he too was worried upon seeing Zarai's condition. He was briefed recently as he took the position of the head of the Physician Corp, but he wasn't sure how serious until he saw her current state, having to be helped by a helper. But given that they allowed her out to the field, it probably was fine. The resident's blacksmith decided to keep her company now, so John held back from interfering with the two.
"I guess I'll go first then." John eyed those still around the princess lively. "I already said to Your Highness earlier, but yeah I basically just hopped around town, looking for cool stuff, catching up with some old pal." He had no intention of keeping this a secret from others either. "There were some hiccups along the way with patients just soooo happens to be along my path, but hey, good ol' me here can't just outright refuse them, am I right?"
He debated if he should discuss the ruckus at the park this morning or the murder that happened the day before at the library. They were trusted Varian compatriots, so it's not like it's terribly unsafe to share that, but this was also princess Sadie's picnic. Shouldn't ruin the mood with it. "Other than that, yummy pancakes at the park this morning and late night library visit yester-"
Just as that topic was brought up.
He saw Count Fritz, accompanying a hauntingly familiar face. Instinctively, the doctor's eyes twitched and opened wide for just a brief second, right before forcefully readjusted back to his normal friendly face. A trained response, but not one easily recognized.
"Oh no, you're welcomed here, at least on my end." There is active deliberation in his word choices. "Is that alright with you, your Royal Highness?"
But in his head, there was a cacophony of thoughts twirling inside. This has to be a joke. A costume? A look-alike? There's almost zero chance that she would be alive. Almost. He was there when the corpse was discovered. Even if she survived the wounds, there is no way she is back so quickly within a night. That is not medically possible. This lady even looked quite well-cleaned too, in contrast to the bloody mess on the cobblestone. How does that make any sense?
'Calm down.' John thought to himself. The explanation is probably simpler than he feared. But if that scenario turned out true...
"I don't believe we've met." John said to the lady. "May I know your name?"
At the same time, the doctor occasionally looked over to Count Fritz with a friendly smile but a dubious gaze. He had been acting rather strangely this morning.
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