Force and Fury

O R I F L A M M E

Hey all! Sorry for the slight delay. Work, life, and THO have kept me a bit busy this week. I should have Chapter Three up either tonight or earlyish tomorrow. Thanks for your patience!

The Hourglass Order

@Tackytaff Awesome character! Pending the couple minor edits that I mentioned in discord, feel free to post him over to the Characters tab and come out with an intro post. Welcome aboard!

Code Vein Inspired Roleplay

I will say that, as someone who's joined this RPG, it's been a ton of fun so far!

The Hourglass Order

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_{^{Art by acidlullaby}}

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🙨 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🕱 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🕱 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🕱 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🙨 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🕱 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🕱 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🕱 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🙨

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Nobody would've seen her from where they were. Marceline was behind her. The camel's head blocked the others. They would not have seen the fear that slipped through Jocasta's mask of very real exhaustion. They would not have noticed her pawing at her lower midsection with a sort of resigned desperation. She was, though. Another piece of myself, she thought dully, lost for good. The numbness had risen, another centimeter or so past her hips, and more of Jocasta or Consuela or whoever she'd been before that was gone. Why had she done it? She'd overdrawn - the worst possible thing for a Tethered - to save people she hadn't even known twenty-five hours ago. She'd taken months off of her already-shortened life for them. Yet... a lot could change in a day. She knew it better than most. People who'd meant everything to you could become part of the past. People you'd never even met could become part of your future.

Yet, now, Bitch was stealing hooded glances back at her and whispering in the ear of Ayla, foolishly unaware that a trained assassin would notice and that it was second nature for Jocasta to play harmless in whatever form was open to her. You, I should've let be froabas food, she thought darkly. Zarina would always be an implacable enemy, she decided then and there. One out of five wouldn't be too bad, would it? Yalen, too, had said not a word, but he'd been looking. Inwardly, the Tethered shook her head. One day, it had been. She'd gotten carried away. These were not friends, and they never would be. Some were good people, she allowed, and would help in this undertaking so long as they did not truly know her, but only a fool gives of herself for others: only a fool, unless there is something in it for her. There was not. This had all merely been some diverting attempt to play-act at being a 'normal' teenager.

Jocasta took a handful of deep, steadying breaths and Marceline twisted to look at her concernedly. "Sister?" she asked in a quiet voice. "Sister," the older girl responded.

"Are you alright?"

"I was not," Jocasta admitted. "Now, I am."

"That sounds... anomynous."

"Ominous, Marci."

"Ominous."

"And it isn't," the Dorvalishwoman assured her. "Most of these aren't bad people. I think they'll even help us. They're..." she trailed off for a moment. "Just not friends: not people we trust with our deepest secrets, alright?"

There was a bit too long of a pause. Jocasta had been deadening the air to sound, subtly enough that it would be difficult to even sense. "Sister, you haven't said anything about Father, right?"

"Never, on my life!"

"Shhhh, Marci."

"Sorry, Sister."

"It's alright. I'm glad I have you." Jocasta leaned forward, hesitant for a moment, wondering how much she would feel the loss of a bit of core strength. She rested her chin on the teenager's shoulder and smiled. "Besides, they heard nothing."

A shared vision?

True or not as that may have been, the group's conversation did not end there. Ayla stretches out as she provides an unamused smile, rather grumpy as she soon discovered that sleeping on a camel is near impossible feat. Not only does she feel she is going to be thrown from the humps, the coarse hair seems to stab her repeatedly like needles, and the smell... if there was an alternative reason her family raised horses and not camels, it would be this. It didn't help the regular Ptooey of the camel spitting was as unflattering as the rest of the animal. After the camel ride caused her to endure an experience of becoming far more intimate with the girl behind her that she ever planned on being, she moves her hands upon the reins. “Can we pull up alongside the others?”, she tilts her head to look towards Zaz as she points towards the rest of the class. The ranger seems to be scouting ahead at this moment of time, would allow a good opportunity for a class reunion after the multitude of events that led them to this point.

His sense of duty was the only thing that kept Yalen from fainting on the ride home. Kaspar appeared to have fallen asleep the moment the two of them saddled up, and was now drooling on his shoulder like a baby. This meant that despite being on the verge of collapse himself, Yalen had to control their camel.

Unlike Kaspar, the young monk had escaped mostly unscathed. His body was just sore and exhausted from back to back life or death scrambles. He had a few scratches here or there from falling down so many times, but nothing serious. In order to make the ride more pleasant for his friend, Yalen was using whatever energy he could spare to numb Kaspar's pain. Freecasting a simple chemical spell was not too difficult when the other person was so close to you.

Everyone else was beaten up in some way or another, but the one that stood out the most was Jocasta. She and Marceline were riding a ways behind the boys camel, engaged in a conversation that was strangely inaudible. It was obvious to anyone who cared to notice that the tethered girl was not doing well physically. After going over events in his head, he began to fully realize what she had done and what the consequences of her actions would be. Regardless of what he suspected of her, Yalen was one of her kind. He knew more than anyone here the kind of debt they owed her.

Spurred by these feelings of gratitude, Yalen slowed his camel's pace a bit so that he and Kaspar were alongside the two tethered girls.

"You and I share the same curse, so I know what is happening to you right now. I know what you had to sacrifice to save us. I don't even know how to begin thanking you..."

Zarina had no issues staying up. She had her little, dreamless naps before the adrenaline rush back at the canyon, and now she was diligently keeping guard at the back. The small lion rested before her had shifted a bit too much for the journey to remain comfortable for everyone, but the Virangish kept quiet. She made sure Ayla wouldn't fall over during some of Daoud's more uncertain stomps on the sand, which prompted the large saddle to move a little, ”Hmmm?” she remarked the Torragonese girl's hands springing to life and seizing the reins Zarina had been holding until now, ”Uhm.” she looked over at the group, giving particular attention to the Tethered wagon before pursing her lips, ”... Fine. But we stay behind, just a little.” the camel was steered toward the group and pace picked up with a couple of taps from Zarina's leather heels against its sides. She kept herself quiet, as Yalen began to express his gratitude.

Kaspar’s awareness was swimming in and out of the desert sands. He could feel the movements of the camel beneath him and was faintly conscious of another shape in front of him, but it took much more effort for him to focus.

He blinked a number of times before recognizing the blonde hair before him. Yalen? …Unless they’ve put me with Jocasta, but… No, not with the way she was just after, he thought, words broken up in his mind.

It seemed the priest was in the front, guiding their beast, and Kaspar felt a smooth burn of shame on his cheeks at being so incapable of caring for himself. But rather than act on the shame, he shoved it away. He’d felt enough for today—the overwhelming fear that preceded death, the near-intoxicating power of creating energy straight from the flesh of another being, and the shame that followed that as well.

His arms twitched, and tightened a bit around Yalen’s waist. Kaspar turned his hands so they could clasp his own wrists, avoiding any contact with the other boy’s skin. It was strange, to feel the body heat of another so close, and he knew it would be alarming if he had consciousness enough to care. For now, his primary concern was staying on the camel by whatever means necessary.

He registered when another camel came into view—had it just appeared, or had it been there the whole time?—and heard Yalen speaking softly. Talking of shared curses and… Jocasta? Is… does he mean the Tethering? Kaspar knew little of the affliction, but Yalen seemed to believe there was some detriment in the actions Jocasta had taken. Somewhere in his fading mind, the binder made note that he would need to thank her, after they had rested.

Jocasta had made up her mind. She was ready to conk out now and recover as much as one could from overdrawing. Marci's shoulder was a nice place.

Then, Yalen decided to be not-afraid of her and she wished he hadn't. It was easier when people were things to amuse you instead of things that you cared about. For a moment, she mulled his words over. What she had done to herself for these... borderline strangers had been... so many things, really: stupid, selfless, necessary, and utterly unnecessary. She looked over at him dumbly, unsure how to express all that she was feeling and all that was begging to be said. Instead, something else came to mind and she got away with saying precious little. She grinned tiredly. "You can start by lettin' a girl get some sleep," she chirped. Hmm?"

Yalen smiled sadly, unsure if she really was tired or purposefully trying to distance herself. Maybe he'd talked her head off for too long last time and annoyed her.

"Sorry about that. I'll let you rest." With that said, he flicked the reigns of his camel and created some more distance between them. Without even trying to, he somehow directed the animal to pace alongside Zarina and Ayla.

"How are you two holding up? Do you have any wounds I can help with? I'm not as good as Kaspar but I do know a little binding. I can also treat your wounds the good old fashioned way."

Ayla arrives up to the scene as she with a cheery “Hola” though quietens as she listens to the conversation already happening. She decides to share a joke to enhearten the spirits, “Only if the fleas allow us to sleep on these things, cannot wait for the comfort of a good bed. Perhaps a warm bath for our saviour too... might not able to send you to Varrahasta with a click of my fingers, but got my own ways to recreate that experience.”, she moves her hand to tug lightly upon Jocasta's hand in an affectionate way.

She shakes her head towards Yalen, “Thankfully the one targeting myself is probably singing 'Green Perrence' right now.”. Her smile continues towards Jocasta as she gives a squeeze of her hand, whether she is listening or not. She does twist the air with her other finger as she causes that tell-tale echo sound.

Ayla's voice does drop into a more quieter tone, “More seriously, we need to consider coming up with a plan. Don't think these events will remain quiet for long.” she indicates with her head in a certain direction as she speaks, “Might be worth grouping up tonight whilst we sleep. You join us as well, Marci”.

Zarina kept to herself, watching the others express themselves toward Jocasta. She could only watch in silence, marinating on the words she had exchanged with Ayla just moments ago. The overwhelming thoughts kept her mind occupied, to the point where she had left the planet, so to speak, until Yalen addressed both her and her travel companion, ”Oh, no. Thank you, Yalen.” she shook her head, although the thought of injuries prompted her to brush her hand over her abdomen. There would likely be some bruising there, as she had taken one of the Forabass' tails there.

”They won't. They'll have to know about the Wyrm at some point. Preferably right as we arrive.” she tugs on the reins to slow down her steed just a tad, encouraging the others to back off a little more, away from the odd one out at the head of the troupe, ”And what about you, mini-Padre? All good? Body and soul?” she nudged her chin in the young Priest's direction, eyes trailing through his being to assess how he was, ”And you, Kaspar?”

Ayla shakes her head towards Zaz's comment, making a point of correction, “My concern is not for Shai-Aberração, though there is a plan for that. There are other concerns...". She keeps it somewhat cryptic at this point as she looks towards Marci, as indicating their previous discussion in the aqueducts with current events.

Jocasta had intended to separate herself, but it would not stick. How genuine any of this was, she could not say, and much of her training told her to either avoid or destroy sources of uncertainty. She couldn't. She was so fragile that, in one day, years worth of purpose was coming undone. "Normally I would make the fleas sing Green Perrence too," she laughed, "but I'm a bit tapped out at the moment, and I fear there are too many anyhow." She turned to Yalen with a smirk. "Or perhaps we can get Padre here to regale them with an earnest entreaty. How would they resist?"

The blonde girl's smile was back. There was something about these people that... stabilized her. Well, most of them. "Kaspar!" she called. "Yooohooo!" She straightened, still feeling a bit strange and weak. "By Vashdal, I wish I could sleep like you, big guy, minus the drooling."

Then, things became serious and Marci looked her way. Jocasta sighed. "We were sent out here not just to find the aberration and report back, I think. Weren't we, Marci?"

The fourteen-year-old shook her head and swallowed nervously. "We were supposed to absorb it." She looked pained. "That was why ten of us were sent."

"That would've driven us mad," Jocasta replied, shaking her head. "We were sacrifices!" Her eyes burned into Escarra's back. As if sensing them, the ranger twisted to look back at the gaggle of teens conspiring.

"I will say only this," Marci added quickly, before gesturing for Ayla to drop the sonic dampening. "Escarra is a good man, and we did not take the fastest route there."

Indeed, Jocasta had not noticed those distinctive hoodoos on the way back. They had avoided the ruins too. "Hola!" the ranger called, shifting back to draw in close. His eyes told them that he knew much, but his voice did not say so. "We are..." He squinted. "An hour and a half out. When we arrive, you let me do the talking. There will be danger. Now, I will take the rearguard. Zarina, you to the front."

"I'm doing fine surprisingly, though I'd like to avoid negotiating with fleas if at all possible. Their terms can be rather one-sided." Yalen joked, his attention divided between Zarina and Jocasta.

He was about to say something else when he felt Kaspar stir at the back of the camel.

It was Ayla's voice that shook Kaspar first, and the boy straightened as though he had flinched, mumbling, "Don't sleep well with others," before he even seemed to be conscious of his reaction. He blinked, bleary crimson eyes swinging to face the girl, barely registering her form before his forehead came to rest on Yalen's shoulder. His back seemed to heave as though he were inhaling deeply, and he heard other voices but his mind was processing their words slowly.

It had all just been so much. He felt like he was falling out of his own head now, mind trying to flee as though this were simply a nightmare. As though he'd been good at escaping those, too. Some part of him, a part he deemed childish and naïve, longed to bury his face in Yalen's back and just soak in the presence of another person. Not for the priest specifically, but for the comfort of physical touch. His arms tightened, ever so slight, as he let himself have this one moment of weakness. But they loosened seconds later, as Jocasta's voice registered in his mind.

He laughed something breathless and humorless. "Not so much sleeping," he replied, voice soft and slightly lisping around his bitten tongue. "More like... Falling, without ever leaving your seat." He glanced to Yalen's shoulder, eyes taking in the small spot he had left there, and huffed in amusement. "It's more blood than drool, I think," he muttered. "But looks like more blood than it is." His lip was split and swelling a bit, as they could likely see, but thanks to Yalen's chemical intervention, it was not causing the boy too much pain.

Zarina conferred a brief glance toward their head of the line, and then to the two tethered after Ayla had considered another issue at hand, ”Right.” she inhaled until her lungs were full and sighed from her nose without any sense of manners.

Jocasta's more upbeat attitude, and the mention of the Dreamer, allowed Zarina to limit the plague of overthinking that ruled in her mind at this very moment. Perhaps she had been a bit too cautious with this one, or maybe her position was what they would need to get through this endless streak of conspiracies and secret. And now, another one of those unraveled, ”Students from Ersand'Enise are that expendable these days?” she raised an eyebrow at Marceline's observation, ”I'll fully admit to you guys, I wouldn't throw myself away over some horror in the middle of a shithole desert.” she claimed boldly.

The Virangish nodded at Escarra's order and raised her hand to manifest her okay. The fact that the Tethered vouched for him did not appear to appease the tall teen's mind. She brought her camel to the front, unhooking the supply carrier from Daoud and passing the rope over to the ranger for him to safeguard, ”Keep it South-west? I don't recall the landmarks. The Desert never was my terrain of choice.”

Escarra nodded. "The ridge down that way." He pointed. "Stay parallel until you see the Refuge." With no further words, they switched places.

Ayla couldn't hide the wry smile as Zaz mentioned about 'expendable Ersand'Enise' students. Who would have thought that as she reflects upon her own story of arriving to the academy. It appears that her concerns were somewhat founded and yet at the same time dismissed as Marci vouched for Escarra's integrity, lowing the sonic dampening naturally as he approached to minimise the obviousness of her actions. She wishes to have greater opportunity to talk more, but perhaps that will come later for when they meet Amanda. Her fingers gently release from Jocasta's own as the camel is being brought forward by Zaz towards the front, taking her away from the others. Perhaps in an act of defiance, raises her voice, "Last one there is huevo podrido!".

"All this talk of a conspiracy has me lost for words... I feel like I'm the only one here who doesn't fully understand what's going on here, and it frightens me. I hope one of you will be willing to enlighten me later." Yalen commented. It didn't feel good to be so out of the loop. Perhaps he should have spent more of his free time investigating the refuge on his own. There were so many things he wanted to talk about but didn't know where to start. Zarina and Ayla surely had more information to share with him, and Marceline and Jocasta were on an entirely different wavelength. Yalen was clueless in comparison.

He felt Kaspar's arms tighten around him some more, but not uncomfortably so. It was endearing in a way. The monk spent a lot of time entertaining kids and didn't mind the excessive physical contact. Toddlers didn't have boundaries after all. Yalen mentally resolved to have his outfit washed a second time, as it was more sweat and blood than fabric at this point.

After a few minutes of absentmindedly guiding his camel, Yalen had a bit of a eureka moment. He recalled a brief exchange between Marceline and Escarra. The ranger's first name was Manuel. He pulled out a wooden medallion he found earlier while scrambling for his cloak in the sand.

"Mister Escarra, does this belong to you?"

Marceline looked Yalen's way sympathetically. "I promise we will tell you everything, Yalen, when we sit down with m - Amanda tonight." She nodded. "You deserve to know."

When he pulled close to Escarra and asked his question, the ranger went still. He reached into a small satchel and felt around for a moment. Furrowing his brows, he held a hand out in the young monk's direction. "Thank you for finding that," he said softly. "It has great value to me. A gift from my niece," he added after a moment.

Yalen gingerly placed the keepsake in Escarra's hand with a smile. "Of course. We should thank you as well, for all you've done up until now."

The funny coincidence of Marceline's Amanda and Escarra's Amanda possibly being the same person was not lost on him.

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The remainder of the ride back was uneventful: silent and filled with anxiety. The Wyrm had swallowed the aberration and everybody knew, at least in broad strokes, what that meant. People rationed words and water alike, the sun glared at them in hues of orangish-pink, and froabases started to circle overhead as it pulled itself under a blanket of sand.

In the event, the animals did not attack. If they had, perhaps Jocasta would've seen to the tragic loss of a tall Virangish girl. Not truly, though, she told herself, for it would hurt the others, and that was no longer something that she could bring herself to do. She sat up and made a show of rolling her neck back and forth as they neared the Refuge. Its lights burned, yellowed orange, into the burgeoning twilight: a beacon of light and warmth to those who didn't understand the poison that flowed through its halls.

The gates creaked open and men with torches and wary eyes ushered them in. The crowd was smaller than the night previous, made up less of curious children - though there were still many - than of teens and young adults 'on three' or 'on two'. There was an anxiousness. They had either sensed it or Marci had sent them a message. "Did you find it?" they shouted. "Is it headed here?" one pleaded. "Did you stop it?" another begged. Yes, yes, and no, Jocasta thought, as further entreaties poured in. And you had the gall to tell us that these people knew nothing, she thought at Warden Ortega, wherever he was.

The guards ushered the crowd away much more aggressively than before and it was an effort not to say something. It was an effort, too, when they did not place her wheeled-chair beside the camel. The others dismounted easily enough, even Yalen managing after a fashion. Jocasta shot him a concerned look and a little push of Kinetic energy to free his foot brace from the stirrup as it became momentarily caught. She flashed a shy smile and, when a couple of guards approached to help her down, the twenty-year-old heaved herself to the side, gathered the gravity from her fall, and hovered in place, floating over the wheeled-chair and settling into it.

Everyone else stood around for a moment, Ysilla looking... less than right. They had spoken so little to each other and, for some reason, that set off alarm bells in Jocasta's mind. Kaspar, who had suffered the whole way through, appeared relieved. Yalen was adjusting his braces, and Zarina hovered momentarily close to Ayla. Marci was leaning against a camel, retrieving her crutches. Escarra was solemn, like he usually was. A cardinal showed up and handed him a message. "Don Escarra," she said, "Don Ortega requests your immediate presence." But not ours, Jocasta mused. With a nod and a scowl, the head ranger brushed past and stalked down the hallway, saving a brief look back for his companions.

A trio of magpies were there too, as pigeons saw their animals off. "As the hour grows late," said the most senior of the three, "We would like to offer you a belated supper if you are hungry." He bowed his head. "It can be delivered to your rooms, if you would like, where a warm bath is being prepared presently."

Jocasta bowed her head in return. "That would be greatly app-appreciated, caretaker. Should the warden need anything of us, l-let him know that we eagerly await his call."

"The warden wishes you nothing but a sound sleep. Matters of import will be discussed on the morrow, over breakfast. Now," the man in the monastic cut robe concluded, clapping his hands together in a manner reminiscent of the warden, "if you would be so kind as to follow us..." He trailed off, gesturing in the direction of his fellow magpies.

"Caretaker Herrera," Marceline offered, "I don't mind leading them. I'm sure you have many more pressing matters to attend to."

"Thank you, Marcelina," said the caretaker in a kindly, patient voice, "but these orders come from the warden himself. He also wishes you an early and sound sleep."

The look was so quick that perhaps some among the group of young people may have missed it, but Jocasta noticed. Essentially, it said, 'obey... for now.'

So, that was what Jocasta did, good obedient girl that she was. She returned to her room, removed the soporifics from her dinner with a bit of Chemical magic, and did the same for her peers, however secretly. The food was almost always drugged. She ate and took her bath, using the Gift to speed things up and dry her hair. Forty minutes had passed by the time that she rolled silently out into the colonnade and closed her door behind herself with a soft 'click'. She was not alone. Kaspar was there and their eyes met. They gathered the others and then Jocasta put hands to wheels and led the way almost wordlessly to the Red Tower. "Guards," she said, partway through their journey, ducking around a corner and pulling on the tendrils of light around her to fade into the night. She let the cardinals pass before reappearing. Up ahead, from the shadow of a pillar, emerged Marceline. Smaller and less certain than the older teens, she glanced their way as if for reassurance.

The eldest of the group stopped in front of her, eyes darting around warily. "You got away clean, chiquita?"

Marci nodded. "I checked. Don't worry."

"Not even for a second." Jocasta smiled. Backing up a push, she took in the others. "We can get there slowly," she whispered, "through locked gates and doors, or quickly." She reached out again for the threads of time and space, hands of energy raveling and unraveling them. Hundreds of boys and girls flashed by in time's memory: a young Amanda, a little Marceline, and a nine-year-old version of herself, but many more that she did not know. The great orange tree shifted between sapling and elder. Staff changed. She gained visions of the stables, the pool, the secret training grounds, and the Warden's office. Ortega was there with Escarra. The two men looked tense. Then, her mind's eye was in the Torre de la Soledad. It flipped through a dozen dying souls and found Amanda. A tear in spacetime - not so grand and stable as the paradigm's, but just as functional - opened, and Jocasta let out a breath that she didn't realize she'd been holding. "'W-will you walk into my parlour?' said the s-spider to the fly," she asked, rolling through with a teasing smile and a glance back.

There on her bed, leaning cross-legged against a corner, was the slender figure of Amanda. Her room was lit by an oil lantern and a candle. Moonlight streamed in through a small window. As Jocasta entered, a large smile creased the older woman's lips. The palms of her hands, which lay open on her lap, lit up with an arcane glow. "Hello... Jocasta," she said softly, her eyes going to the others, "I take it you're the friends that she mentioned."

Jocasta nodded, coming to a stop. "I see your powers of deduction remain strong."

Amanda smiled and let out a little snort. "Ah!" she chirped, "and Marci!"

"And Marci."

"I'm not a friend?" the girl protested.

"You're much better than a friend, mija. Come here and sit beside me."

Marci more or less threw herself onto the bed, snuggling delicately into Amanda's side, for just a moment so utterly unlike the precocious girl they'd gotten to know to this point. "Mom," she said softly, laying her head on the older woman's shoulder. She grinned. "Hey, isn't it past your bedtime?" Amanda planted a small kiss on the top of it. "Isn't it past yours, precious little pumpkin?"

"You're laying it on really thick," Marci whined, but her mother was already looking out at the others. "The expedition was a proper disaster, I trust?" She raised her eyebrows expectantly. "We have a giant, angry dragon headed our way?" She tilted her head to the side momentarily.

Marceline, beside her, nodded glumly. A limp-wristed hand reached up to stroke her hair. "Don't worry, little pumpkin." The girl flashed her a stink-eye, but Amanda was looking at the others. "There is much to worry about, of course, for all of us, but I think I know how we can overcome this and, dare I say, a great many other problems." She pursed her lips, and the glow in her palms lit her face from below with a certain dramatic flare as her expression morphed into an enigmatic grin. "First, though, I imagine you've questions and ideas of your own and you've received precious few answers in this place. I have lived here thirty-one years and I'm an open book."

Leaning back on an ancient desk in the old Tourrare style, elbows propped against it, Jocasta pushed off. She tipped forward and her front wheels hit the round with a light 'clunk.' "For what it's worth," she offered, "so am I, and I used to live here too."

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_{^{Art by Anastasia Ovchinnikova}}

_ __M a n u e l E s c a r r a__ _

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The expedition had been a disaster. This, Manuel knew. The aberration had gone into a wyrm and it would attack the Refuge, sooner or later. If not, it would attack the town of Hosta.

He did not need Ortega's men to lead him to the Warden's chambers, but he said nothing and let them do their job. For some people, there was only duty. They left him at the door and he nodded his thanks.

"Manuel!" came a voice. "Come in!"

"Ortega," responded the ranger, pushing the door open and standing inside of it.

The warden's eyes went to the gap and Manuel quietly closed it behind himself. "I take it there were complications," he stated flatly.

"Froabasses," the ranger replied. "Stirred up by a wyrm trapped in the Devil's Throat."

"And that wyrm: it ate the aberration, no?"

Manuel nodded. Tavio knew these things, of course, so if he was asking for them anyhow, it was not good.

The warden nodded slowly, as if processing it. "And you lost two rangers and six camels."

"We did," the ranger confirmed. "Eshiran have mercy."

"Half of my camels, Escarra, and two of my rangers," the warden said tensely.

There it was. Escarra merely nodded. "We did what we could with what we had."

"And now a crazed beast is out in the wastes, headed here."

"Or for the town."

"You were supposed to get rid of the aberration, cabron! Get the kids to absorb it. Dios mio! You had one job!"

Manuel would risk his life - that was his job - but he would not risk those of children, even if they were almost grown. He shook his head. "I judged it was too much for them. They would've gone mad."

"A tragedy, to be certain, but the sacrifice of a few for the survival of many..." The warden's mouth was making sounds that Manuel Escarra did not like. "Surely, even you can see the necessity in that."

"And if they go mad, are they not a danger?"

"If they glow with that much energy, the wyrm will eat them."

Simple, thought Escarra. The wyrm will eat them. His expression showed only a hint of his disdain. "I did not come here to kill children, Tavio."

The warden waved his hand dismissively, stepping around his desk. "Oh, don't act so holy, Manuel, you know what we do here. You know what the duke would find if he sent his people to the Refuge to save us. Besides, we both know the only reason you're here, and that will be gone in a year, two at most."

A hot surge of anger threatened to spill past the ranger's steely surface. Amanda: my lucky Clover. She was all that he had left of Armida, and she was near the end. It pained him, these days, to see her as she was. Yet, this gilipollas didn't know about Marceline and the girl herself didn't know that Manuel knew. He sidestepped the barb. "Why not call the king?" he advised simply.

"And have us be a bother?" The warden shook his head. "We are allowed to operate only so long as we are a benefit and not a drawback for his majesty, and you may not know his misgivings like I do, but they are a growing problem. We'd best stay out of sight and mind."

The Torraro, who had long ago taken this land from Manuel's people, who had made his family change their names and forget their mother tongue, were unscrupulous people, but very few more so than Tavio Ortega. Escarra scowled. "So then we teach our people how to fight back," he said hopefully. "They can handle it from much further than any of us."

The warden merely looked at him incredulously. "Have you truly lost your wits, man?" Eyes narrowed in reproach, he shook his head. "I know you have a sweet spot for that girl of yours, but do you have no regard for your life? For that of anyone here?"

"We teach some already."

"Handpicked! Biddable, desperate, obedient!"

Manuel already knew these things. He had worked here thirty-one years. Nonetheless, disgust welled up inside of him hearing them spoken aloud. "We teach other children who are not Tethered. All temperaments."

"Eejit!" the warden snarled. "Truly, you are not here because of your smarts, but do you hear yourself!?" Ortega shook his head. "Those children cannot kill you in your sleep, undetectably, from miles away."

Escarra blinked. "Why would a child wish to kill you in your sleep unless you have harmed her?"

"We do what is necessary," Ortega hissed. He stabbed the air with his pointer, skewering the ranger. "And you do too. Remember Joaquin? How you kept your mouth shut? And the many, many others!?"

"I did what I was told."

"Not by me. I try to make these poor lost souls' lives comfortable! Sometimes, that requires sacrifices. Sometimes, it isn't beautiful and the less that they know, the better!"

"Dami, Tavio!" Escarra let it boil forth now. "They could be people! They could have lives to live! Do you know how sad their existence is here?"

"That is a choice their families make. I only do what I can with the cards I am given."

"Well, you don't have enough cards for the wyrm now, do you?"

Ortega nodded tightly, jaw clenched, and there was a glimmer in his eye that Escarra did not like. "The students: how many froabasses did they take on?" he prodded. "I know the Devil's Throat. When they come, they come by the dozen. Those kids are strong. Use them, add a few of our Afortunados... we have a chance."

Manuel shook his head. "Precious little."

"If they die, it is sad, but then the school will send a few Zenos or even an Arch if we are lucky. They are being paid, after all."

"A devil's bargain," the ranger spat, "And an unnecessary sacrifice."

"So long as I am warden, I will be the judge of that."

"A fancy hat does not make you Dami in your judgement." They were standing face to face now, no more than a couple of feet apart.

"You know," said Ortega, "You are forgetting awful quickly all that I do for you, morisco. I wonder what might happen to your Amanda if you did not work for me." He loomed over the shorter man, but Manuel did not flinch. "And her Marceline." He paused. "Marcelina."

It hit the ranger like a bucket of ice water.

"Oh, come on. You think I didn't notice how much you favour her?" Ortega shook his head. "I didn't wonder why you pushed so hard for her to be chosen as Afortunado?" His voice dripped with disdain: the sort that people like him had always held for people like Manuel. "This is why I do the thinking, Escarra. It is why I am Ipte, Shune, Oraff, Eshiran, and fucking Dami here. Comprende?"

"You are not wiser, Ortega. You are a bastard, sending these kids to their deaths so you may hide your filthy secrets and continue to pad your pockets."

"Oh, no no. The money is nice, Manuel, but that is not why I do this. I am protecting these kids from the world out there and, more importantly, I am protecting the world from them. You have to crack some eggs to make an omelette."

The ranger stood there, glaring unflinchingly. He had never cared much for Ortega, even back before the man had become warden, when he was just a spoiled baron's son. He had not expected their meeting to go this badly, however. Amanda was in danger, and not only her. So was Marci.

"What are you going to do, huh?" the noble mocked. "The answer is nothing, dog. Now go. Run along to you little kennel. I will call you tomorrow, when I need you."

Escarra bit his tongue, willing himself to say nothing. He began to turn.

"Oh, and if you even think of doing anything to betray me," Ortega added. "I want you to consider your family first, hmm?"

The ranger's hand settled on the hilt of his sword. In one smooth motion, he drew it, whirled, and sunk it into Tavio Ortega's chest. The warden's eyes widened, flicking in pain and disbelief from Manuel's to the sword and back. Escarra had never had much of the Gift, but he had enough to sense the Kinetic shove coming and brace himself. Weak and desperate, it sent him sprawling across the floor, but he landed as if he were a man twenty years younger. Ortega fell to his knees, opening his mouth to scream, and Manuel scrambled to stop him, clasping a hand over the lower half of the man's face and holding it there while he struggled ineffectually. The ranger's head pounded and his vision blurred and he knew it for Chemical magic, but then it eased off and the warden ceased struggling.

Manuel's pulse thundered in his eardrums. This was not something that could be undone. He had killed Tavio Ortega. He had done it because he judged the threat to his family, the people of this Refuge, and a half-dozen near-strangers too great had the warden remained alive.

Gods forgive me, he thought, pulling the sword from his master's body. Already, the blood was spreading. He rushed to a linen cabinet for the servants and tossed the extra tablecloths on the floor to soak everything up. The body, he dragged from the office to the dressing room and then through to the bedchamber, where he dumped it unceremoniously. Checking himself in the mirror, Manuel rolled up his sleeves to cover the bloodstains. He dabbed at the blood, stuffed a thick kerchief where it had stained his shirt, and adjusted his jacket so that it would not show.

This was it, then. It was now or never for the crazy idea that Amanda had put to him. Manuel composed himself and stepped out of the warden's office. He strode down the hall, like he had a hundred times before, stopping before the stairs where a servant waited. "Don Ortega has retired to his chambers for the night," he advised, "and does not wish to be disturbed until he calls for someone."

The servant - Zavada - nodded and bowed slightly. "As you command, Don Escarra."

Manuel nodded in return, already making haste down the stairs and the hallway. He burst out into the cool night air, accompanied by the chirp of crickets and the ping and pop of crane flies diving at torches and oil lamps. His eyes seized upon a distinctive red-walled tower and his feet carried him in that direction.

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Summary

1. The group continued their flight from the desert, many of them in rough shape, but they found time both for camaraderie and conspiracy. Jocasta's low spirits were lifted by the others, Marceline revealed the true purpose of their journey, and Escarra was described as a potential ally.

2. Upon arrival, it seemed that many of the residents had figured out what was going on and were desperate for answers. The crowd was rather roughly broken up and Escarra was pulled away to meet urgently with the warden.

3. After a brief (optional) bath and dinner, which included soporifics thoughtfully removed by Jocasta, the students reconvened, met up with Marci, and made for Amanda's room in the red tower.

4. It was revealed that Amanda is actually Marceline's mother. She and Jocasta promised that they had a plan to extricate everybody from the looming threat and also to be open books in terms of whatever people wanted to know.

5. Meanwhile, the head ranger, Manuel Escarra, got into an increasingly heated discussion with the Warden, Tavio Ortega, in which they disagreed profoundly about the purpose of the students from Ersand'Enise, the treatment of the patients at the Refuge, and how the wyrm situation shouldl be approached.

6. It was revealed that Escarra has a connection to Amanda and, through, her, Marceline, and was responsible for both being trained. When Ortega threatened his family, the ranger murdered him and hid the body. He is currently headed for the red tower and will arrive about fifteen minutes after the students.

Action Opportunities

1. Feel free to have your character notice or do anything on the return voyage that hasn't already been covered. I feel like it's been covered a lot, though.

2. Maybe you see a familiar face in the crowd when you arrive, or in the stables?

3. Do you take the bath and dinner or no? Do you maybe notice the soporifics before Jocasta neutralizes them?

4. Any reactions to Amanda, Marci, and the reveal.

5. Here's the big one: it's time for all of your questions and to air out your plans. Feel free to arrange any collabs as needed or to play this out in #on-campus on discord.

6. Some characters have their own internal struggles going on. Ysilla is becoming unbound from... Ysilla. Kaspar is dealing with some quasi-existential doubts. Zarina is onto Jocasta to an extent, and Yalen is too, in addition to what appeared to be a dream encounter with the Traveler. Ayla is nice.

7. You may find the 'secret' meeting joined by some people you've encountered before but really haven't gotten to know very well yet.

Happy posting!

Code Vein (Closed)

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_{Location: The Crows' Nest // Date: February 25, 2057 // Time: 8:16 // Interactions: Everybbody and nobody}

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The sun hit her across the face and Lys barely stirred. Willing herself back asleep, she managed another indeterminate amount of time lost to its embrace. Then, Erik happened.

She'd been running and jumping from concrete slab to slab in her dream, down by the old collapsed Bank of America tower. Then, a voice had invaded her dreamscape so loudly that it hadn't even gently pulled her out. Lysandra was awake, lying on her back, hating herself. She remained there for what could've been a moment or minutes, unready to sit up or even look down at her legs, which were probably tangled in the covers. Others were stirring, though: getting dressed, opening doors, walking. Fuck off, she thought. Just fuck off. Cerise wouldn't be there. She wouldn't be there because of Lys: because she'd given in to Ajax instead of... What? Standing up for myself?

There were some people who came and went, but Cerise wasn't supposed to be one of them. She was one of the originals: a bedrock and foundation. It was... surreal that she was gone. Even more so that Lysandra had played a role in that. Some part of her mind rejected it - simply would not comprehend or acknowledge it.

She was lying on her back, she realized. She'd forgotten to wake up and turn herself over. Lys let out a groan and pushed herself up, scooting backwards. Her stupid legs were all tangled in the blankets. She'd need to untangle them, sitting here and dwelling on things she'd rather not dwell upon. She'd need to check for pressure sores too because of the way she'd slept. That filled the next few minutes. She let herself be numb to anything deeper, but it was still there, hovering just out of sight but known and dangerous, like a crocodile under her bed.

If she hadn't brought that stupid vestige back, none of this would've happened. Yet, Lysandra hadn't been able to help herself. She'd told herself that it would eventually be good for Cerise to know, helpful even. Lys had assumed that, because she was the most educated person here, it also made her the smartest. She'd made a decision on someone else's behalf and the consequences had been disastrous. To be sure, she blamed Ajax too but, as much as he always tried to act cool, she knew that he was also hurting, deep down. He'd honestly thought that he was helping, like she had. He'd thought that he knew better, like she had. She wasn't going to beat up on him not only because it would make her an awful hypocrite, but because she knew that, beneath his suave surface, he was already doing just that.

The Lysandra that closed her door behind herself and rolled down the hall towards the Telescope Room was a muted one, with none of the sass, goofiness, or assertiveness that she was known for. If there was a mission, she would not impose her deadweight on it. She would bury herself in her actual jobs at the Crows' Nest: building and repairing useful things, caring for the ill and injured, and researching the mistle. She had a live one now. She had no excuses for going off and playing crippled adventurer.

She entered the room and wordlessly took a spot leaning back against a wall some ways from the others, arms crossed protectively, feet and front wheels up off the ground. She waited.

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The Hourglass Order

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B L A C K F L A G

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_♪

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Wvysen is dead. It should've taken Penny like a gut punch. To some degree, it still struck her. Wvysen was the most inoffensive person she'd ever met: just a normal girl from a normal family who'd wanted to spend a normal year at school. And I just left her, too. That also wasn't strictly true, however. She'd tried to convince her now-deceased classmate that it was a bad idea, but her entreaty had fallen upon deaf ears. Wvysen had made her own poor decision.

The larger truth was just that death didn't affect Penny as much these days as it once had. She had watched dozens die during the attack on her father, some at her own hands. Anesin had died defending King Horik. The Perrenchwoman had fought for her life against abductors. She'd had her brain poisoned by chemical magic, her bones broken, and her skin burnt. She had killed to survive: at first out of pure defense and then much as she imagined a soldier would. Kill them before they kill you. The girl that she had been a month ago - kind, weak, and sheltered - would've recoiled at the actions of Penny Pellegrin but, had she remained that girl, she would've died. "I am... sorry that Wvysen is no longer with us," she said quietly. "I tried to convince her to follow me." That was all that she had to say. It was all that she could say.

Trypano continued, at length by her standards, and her Perrench counterpart heard a great many things. She became struck by the pointlessness of it all. One person or another sits on a throne and, either way, other people who don't sit on that throne fight and die. Why should she risk her life for them? On a purely selfish level, what in the five hells was in it for anyone who wasn't directly affected?

The problem was that, while there was little to nothing to gain for Penny Pellegrin, printer's daughter, there was a great deal at stake for Penelope of Perrence, fifth in line - by letter of law - for her nation's throne. Prospero Malatesta was a sworn enemy of Perrence. He had hounded and humiliated her father. His agents had worked diligently in the shadows to spread rumours of her family's 'curse' and those rumours had so influenced her parents that they had rejected her strange body and kept her hidden from the world for her first seventeen years of life. To strike a blow against such a man was to lessen the unrelenting threat that he posed to her well-being.

Then, everything happened at once. Trypano had taken the lamp and was testing it in some manner, finding it to be surprisingly mundane in nature. Ingrid and Desmond were on their way, landing ungracefully. Amelea arrived with considerably less disruption and Onarr... the distinct crackle of Temporal magic was fading from the air, he had disappeared completely, and there was a note tucked into her belt. It was all too much. She took out the note and read it.

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<sub>Dear compatriots,

I’m afraid that duty has compelled me to return back to my homelands. Trouble has come onto my doorstep and I must confront what I tried to leave behind in my past. I wish you all fortune in your quest and may you become great mages.

May happenstance favor us to meet again in good tidings.

Onarr Yidlob.</sub>

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Just like that, Penny's hardened shell cracked. Onarr... he'd been one of the first people she'd met, one of the first who'd impressed her and maybe even been impressed by her. They'd shared laughter and drinks and a sense of camaraderie and now... Why didn't you say anything? she wondered. I would've listened. I would've helped! Yet, Penny had only been helping herself as of late: conducting herself in a manner wholly unbefitting of the royalty that she was. She had been petulant, reckless, and self-centered, leaving her allies to die. Without consciously meaning to, she staggered a couple of steps back and sat on the gunwale. You didn't make a real effort to convince Wvysen. You saw her as a burden you didn't want to carry, so you left her alone with potentially hostile pirates. You didn't head back to the others immediately because you were too preoccupied with proving yourself. People died for your inferiority complex.

She realized that, of her original group of four, Anesin was dead, Onarr was gone, and Linah had been all-but pointedly avoiding her. Do I poison everything that I touch? Am I truly cursed to be beloved of Echeran? Penny could feel tears welling up in her eyes. No! she railed at them. Stupid weak girl!

Amelea was looking at her strangely and the Perrenchwoman did not have the energy for it. Dully, she remembered that they had met, as children: Penny, all of seven years old, during that brief period where Papa had come out from under Mama's thumb and tried to introduce her to the world; Amelia a thirteen-year-old exile from her home country, future uncertain, staying as a guest of the Perrench monarchy. "Your highness." The Segonese princess bowed her head slightly to the Perrench one, unknowingly outing Penny in front of her classmates. Something inside of her chest snapped and she responded as an automaton or puppet might, the invisible strings that had controlled her since her childhood returning. "Your highness." The secret, which had remained only among her closest friends - Yvette, Madeleine, and Carmille - to this point, was out and there was no sealing it back in.

If Penny Pellegrin was to give way to Penelope of Perrence, then the latter had best make her presence here meaningful. Further self-concern would not do. "I am who she says: Penelope of Perrence, daughter of King Rouis." Penny paused, and her eyes quickly took in the others. "It is in my best interest to strike a blow against Malatesta, for he has ever sought the ruin of my family and humiliation of my people. I have a clear motivation to support my fellow royal, but I would also pose her the question: what do each of the rest of us have to gain from siding with you? How would this benefit us beyond simple 'riches if we win' - riches that many of us possess or that can be readily manufactured at the Academy. I will risk my life for my own reasons, but I believe that our initiatives, as the ruling class, should burnish our people's quality of life, else they are just selfish and antithetical to our sacred duty. So, in short, I exhort you to be a better sort of royal - the sort that I haven't been but hope to be." She paused, regathering her thoughts. "I ask what you can offer my fellow students beyond an emotional and moral entreaty that is ultimately subjective."

Ismette had quietly appeared aboard during the intervening moments and now turned to Amelea expectantly. The princess took a step back, her eyes darting about the group. They flashed challengingly in Penny's direction. She flipped some hair over her shoulder. "I can promise that Segona will forever be a safe harbour for you and yours," she began. "I can promise to share whatever spoils are ours fairly." Amelea shrugged. "Beyond that, I promise nothing and, instead, ask you a pair of questions. First: why is it that something subjective - a thing that makes people think and feel as opposed to simply answering with a 'fact' - less valuable? It is feelings and opinions that move us to do what we do, not only the facts that they are linked to. Second, and in that vein: why are you here? Unless Ersand'Enise has changed greatly from what I've heard, I doubt that any of you were forced to come. You all volunteered at some point, either for the sake of some personal gain - which you shall receive - or, perhaps, because you wanted to have a positive impact on the world." She was pacing now. "Some agency," she concluded, nodding. "Well, you can make life better for a great many people in Segona because I am a better person to sit that throne than Prospero Malatesta. I am of those people: born and raised among them, and I know their voices and their concerns in a way that some foreign despot who visits twice per year cannot. the Doge views Segona and those who live there as simply another jewel on his crown, another resource to be used in pursuit of some grand design." She turned to them, eyes pained. "To lead my country, my people, is all that I was raised with. To see them thrive is my most sacred duty, by Dami, I swear it. I beg of you to help me set the world right - at least, the one small part of it that is my prerogative - to stop a tyrant from encroaching further, from imposing his will upon more people." She was quite worked up, it seemed. Her chest heaved as she came down from it. "That is all I can say. You are swayed or you are not."

Penny regarded her fellow royal - albeit one who was actually queen uncrowned - and felt something stir inside of her chest. She had come across as cynical, perhaps. She wasn't certain, but she found herself nodding towards the end. "I was perhaps too harsh with you, Amelea," she admitted, remembering the decency that the elder princess had treated her with some ten years prior. "and for that, I apologize, but we've little time to discuss." She pivoted to take in the others. "The Nera was having her hull cleaned in the sea cavern, but I was unable to damage her and she will surely be underway by now and headed our direction. Between our three vessels, we have the flexibility and firepower to overwhelm her. Those of us who are joining the fight had best confer with Captain Falzon and set sail. Ideas are very welcome." Indeed, he was headed over for just such a purpose at present, his skiff drawing close. "Those of you who are not-" Penny cocked her head to one side. "-Kindly remove yourselves and only yourselves from the deck of my ship."

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Action Opportunities

1) This is a simple one: you're either in the fight or you hang around in town and help clean up the mess. There won't be any real storyline or updates for the latter, so you're essentially removing yourself from the remainder of the plot in Black Flag unless you create your own, subject to my approval.

2) Captain Falzon is arriving in a skiff. He, Penny, and everyone else who stays are going to come up with a strategy and then sail off to implement it. We can either propose our ideas here in our posts (you can definitely post more than once or collab, too) and then have the best one chosen at the start of the next cycle, or we can play the discussion out in #on-campus on discord.

3) The lamp appears quite mundane.

4) Desmond has been appointed captain of the ketch. Penny retains ownership of the snow, but is willing to cede actual in-battle leadership if someone clearly better for the job and more experienced wants to step up.

5) we conclude this cycle with setting sail to face the Nera. There is a nasty surprise waiting for us there, but we don't know about it IC yet.

The Hourglass Order

Manfred Hohenfelter von Meckelin-Thandau

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The entire thing was an illusion. Manfred was no master of that particular art, but he was practiced enough that, when combined with situational factors, he was able to figure it out. Carmillia, apparently, wasn't. That may have brought him some satisfaction. It may not have.

Unfortunately, it didn't much matter whether the ship's arcanists understood what was going on or not. Leon had revealed his hand as a... liberator of the Lyre of Ipte-Zept and they were in pursuit. Violence: Manfred would have to resort to it again. At least they're Rednitz scum, he told himself, hating every bit of his flimsy justification even as he thought it. Perhaps they were just distracted. Maybe they hadn't yet registered that allies of Leon Solaire were no longer their allies.

Whatever the reason, Manfred did not hesitate to act. "Leave her defenseless again," he said simply to Zarra, "you will die." He stalked up behind the closer of the two arcanists, reached out with The Gift, and slammed the heavy metal cap that had fallen from a chandelier into a human head. Escheran willing, merely unconscious, he told himself, muffling the noise of his action. Striding forward in pursuit of his ally, the enemy, and Carmillia, he shot a brief, concerned glance back at Dorothea and drew a pair of loaded flintlock pistols.

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O R I F L A M M E

Act One: The Defense of Relouse____ __ _ _

Chapter Two: Cometh the Southmen_________ __ __ _ _

𝅘𝅥𝅮

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It was well into the Hours of Echeran when it began. The sun sat low in the sky, not quite setting, though it would soon begin its final plunge. The people of Relouse - those who remained - huddled in their homes, their cellars and the great redoubt of the keep, deep in prayer. Ringing out across the fields and the deep rolling waters of the Baie de Relouse, came the bells of Notre-Dame du Cap. Footsteps thundered on the wooden stairs as monks hurried up the belltower of the church of Dami, Père Sage. Finally, those of Saint. Defrois cathedral itself sounded the alarm, and the knights, soldiers, and magicians of the Grande Armée knew that the time was nigh. They said their final prayers and prepared themselves for battle. The Eskandr had come.

A mile and a half off of Cape Redame, the leading ships of the Great Heathen Army crested the horizon: over a thousand of their striped and patterned sails silhouettes in the light of the dying sun. The waves of the Parrench Sea roiled and snapped at their dragon-headed longships, spitting spray and fury in their faces. It was as if even the very waters of this place were fighting them, the strange gods of the Pentad protecting their peoples.

Clad in the great dark cloak for which he was named, stood Hrothgar the Black, king of Eskandr kings. The deck below his feet pitched and rolled in the heavy seas, but his was the Gift as few others possessed, and he remained steady and planted with a preternatural ease. Yet, this was not some mere show of strength, for on the deck with him were twenty-four of the greatest shamans, magicians, and holy men that his nation could muster. All of them were straining to their very limits in the throes of a duty that they had been training and preparing for months ahead of time. Anyone watching from the cliffs of Cape Redame would not see his ship. They would not see the colossal spell that their enemy had planned, or... rather, they would. Amid the immense strain of the Arcane, the king of kings managed a small, toothy smile. These greenlanders would not know what had hit them.

Yet, up on the cliffs by the monastery, there were some who knew all too well what was coming. Yet they stood unafraid as the enemy fleet drew nearer. They had all lived enough to be skeptical every time they were told that a 'great army' of Eskandr was headed their way. Yet, some glanced nervously amongst themselves. Others made the Sign of the Pentad. The longships just kept coming. The Parrench had expected to have a numbers advantage, as they often did, but there were not hundreds of ships. Not even so few as a thousand. A chill traveled up more than one spine. Were they to believe their eyes, the enemy fleet seemed virtually endless.

The battle was joined some three hundred yards from the grey cliffs. The longships were strung out in a great line, stretching well past the horizon. There were simply too many of them to land all at once. Nonetheless, as the leading edge of the fleet came within range, the catapults and ballistas opened fire, their projectiles empowered by the magic of Chune and Echeran. These rained death upon the Eskandr and their own magical defenses were at a full stretch to deflect or absorb as much of the determined Parrench barrage as possible. A half-dozen of the dragon-headed ships exploded into flames or splinters, masts toppling, people screaming, steam rising as they were consumed by the waves.

Yet, there were so many more, and they unleashed a withering return fire. Fireballs, lightning bolts, and telekinetic slams hammered the dogged defenders, and many were forced to take cover. Hundreds of arrows took flight, many dropping short but many more finding their mark. Great chunks were carved from the cliffs. Rock gave way and hit the seas with an erupting splash. The very ground collapsed from under a catapult and the soldiers and monks manning it fell to their deaths. A fireball struck one of the towers of the old Avincian era church, and it collapsed in a shower of boulders and dust, bells letting out one last discordant cry. Chunks shot out in every direction, spraying the defenders, and the king's banner that had flown atop it disappeared from view. This was far more than they had expected - far more than the defenders closer to the city might be ready for. More than one rider suggested sending word before it was too late and the armies had met.

Meanwhile, the Eskandr had filled the fleeting gaps in their line with ruthless efficiency, each ship's decks loaded with warriors shouting and beating their chests, rabid with the bloodlust of the coming battle and the chance to carve their names into the history books. For those who didn't live to ask in the glory awaited the Visitor's great table at Grønhalle: a fine consolation. Finally, from out among their great many number began to spread a mist: an unnatural one that left them room to maneuver close to shore but that obscured the next waves of the attack.

The small advance party at the Cape found itself significantly outgunned. In particular, there must've been a Thunder Warlock*¹ of extreme power. Lighting flashed down from the heavens with stunning power and precision, striking ballistas, catapults, and towers. It cooked knights in their armour and melted spears to slag. Yet, as the mighty attacks from the sky became more frequent, others began to tail off. A final few ships trickled out from the mists, which lingered, yet to dissipate, and the fleet that had so terrorized the Parrench now occupied the Bay of Relouse in its entirety. Though perhaps not quite so large as the defenders had feared in their initial anxiousness, it was nonetheless an enormous force, far outstripping that of any conventional raid.

Racing back already from the first, indecisive engagement, some hoping to hit the landing enemies from an unexpected direction, came the surviving members of the force from Cape Redame. They watched as the very first of the enemies leapt from their longships in the shallows, struggling to make landfall in a land that was not their own.

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Meanwhile, quite a ways distant, by Bridal Veil Falls and hidden amongst the swamps of the Witch Woods, a rear guard comprised mainly of yasoi and Drudgunzean allies waited, ready to defend the camp against a flanking maneuver or diversionary landing or even to be called to shore up any gaps in the line should they be needed. That the main landing was taking place some ways down the beach was evident. Already, those not too deep in the foliage could hear the sounds of battle and see the flashes of fire, lightning, and other magics being employed. For many of these people, the war being fought was not theirs, but they recognized - variously - the danger that the Eskandr posed to all should they succeed here, the opportunity for profit, or the word of Lady Talit'yrash'osmax, the fifth wheel dervish who would someday likely inherit the title of Baroness of Loriindton.

So, imagine their surprise when, from around the point of the Île Contrefort and the little cabin perched on the rocky islet there, rolled a great, all-consuming mist at an unnatural pace. From it emerged longship after longship, hurtling with immense speed toward the cliffs. The Force magic expended was palpable. Grappling hooks shot out by the hundreds and other warriors - those skilled enough in the Gift - leapt the hundred-plus feet and landed on Parrench ground. The final sliver of sun perched on the sea, its light shrouded and diffused by the mists. Then, an enormous warrior, clad from head to toe in black armour crafted from dragonscale, landed in a crouch, a spiderweb of cracks in the ground spreading out from where he now stood. There were some who did not know who he was, but he nonetheless cut a fearsome figure. Those who did, however, would recognize Kol, the Death's Hand: King of Sturmreef.

Clinging to the tallest tree that she could find with one hand and the heel-spur of her climbing boot, Lady Talit scanned the emergin force. This was it, then: the Eskandr gambit. They would draw off defenders by sending a small force under Death's Hand around the back. Attack the camps, harry the Market Gate, make people panic and commit too many troops to stopping them. Reaching out with a fifth wheel's Blood Magic, she grabbed hold of hundreds of branches within a three hundred yard radius, twisting them into a series of signals:

Fight. Here. No. Backup. Avoid. Enemy. King.

She knew who she had. None of them could match a monster like that, not with four moons in the fast-darkening sky. Better to frustrate him with movement and illusion, pick off his forces, and grind down their will. One did not face yasoi in the trees and survive. She would take out as many as she could. Then, she would deal with their king. Still, she thought, as she pushed off of the tree and latched on with her grappling chains to the next, they keep coming. This was... very large for a diversionary force.

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Sir Rodric Danneman of Lindermetz had come ostensibly to make up for his shame in not besting that pagan woman mercenary in single combat. Indeed, there was still the remnants of a bruise near his temple, nearly faded, to act as a reminder.

Yet, he'd have found a way to be here regardless. His mother was Parrench. The Parrench were a civilized people. The Eskandr were not. Most of all, though, he just enjoyed putting his skills to use.

The first wave landed amid a hail of magic, projectiles, and traps, yet they were not stupid. They began with fire: great cleansing coordinated blasts of it that burned away wooden obstacles, sent defenders reeling, and even dried out much of the ground itself. Eschiran! That's some serious Arcane power! the knight thought. Yet, for all of their flash, they were still ruthlessly mauled. Mostly older men and some women, hair greying, strength fading, sons and daughters well raised, Rodric knew what they were: the sacrificial vanguard, fighting solely to die bravely and take their place in Groan-Hall or whatever it was these heathens called it. So be it, decided the Linderman. He would send many on their way.

Like a hot knife through lard, he scythed through these Eskandr, the power of illusion allowing him to step past one's guard and the next. They died screaming the names of their bloodthirsty gods, some crying tears of both fear and joy and Rodric found himself disgusted. All around him, the first line of the Parrench king's forces were engaged with the Southmen, and the line was holding. The Drudgunzean knight reached out then, with the Gift, to search for what was next. So chaotic was the battlefield that he did not trust his more mundane senses. It was hard not to feel confident. There were many more Eskandr to come, but they were being effectively funneled and had not yet gotten past so much as the beach itself.

Then, Sir Rodric blinked. He redoubled his efforts, blinking again in confusion. He cast about and, already the clamour of battle seemed to be fading. People normally had energy: essence, force, and arcane most simply, and he had sensed a great deal of generalized energy from the onrushing ships as they had approached, but he sensed none from their direction now. A cold, icy ball congealed in the pit of his stomach just as a distinct pattern of lightning strikes flashed in his far right peripheral, up near Bridal Veil Falls and the Witch Wood. We've been taken, the knight realized, as the first of the ghost ships hit shore and dissipated. Just like Vitroux: Hook, line, and sinker.

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In the lee of a series of great boulders, both ancient and recently carved from the cliffs off of Cape Redame, Hrothgar the Black smiled between his gritted teeth. The first of his ghost fleet had reached shore and the hardest part was over. They'd released the miasma of heat and essences they'd conjured in the water to fool those looking for energy among the nonexistent ships. The king took a moment to let his eyes dart about. Two of the warlocks had collapsed. A shaman was throwing up over the side of the boat. It had worked, though. He breathed a bit, still focused on reaching out and bending the light. Let the illusion continue. Let them grow accustomed to it. Let it make them uneasy and afraid to commit. Kol would've landed about now, and many of the outstanding warriors his old brother in arms had drawn to himself, like the Twice-Born and that huntress of Ulven, would be with him. That his other old comrade from the days of Mørkt Fjell were here, he did not know. Things were more complicated with the Drudgunzeans these days as their kings turned sour and they fought internal struggles for the soul of their nations.

What was not as complicated, however, was what would come next. Soon, the illusion could be dispelled. The landing would be complete and he would join the battle. That Parrench boy-king with his disgusting beardless face that looked like a young girl's would be met with Hrothgar's sword. This, he swore to Brother, that the Parrench kingdom might be destroyed and his people left to live the way that they always had.

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Posting Information

The Battle for Relouse has begun! The following is a primer on what to expect and how to play this.

Factional Goals

1) The Parrench are seeking total victory. They will neither give nor expect any quarter to be given. Their central goal is to protect Relouse and keep the town from falling. Their secondary goal, if possible, is to repel the Eskandr landing entirely.

2) The Eskandr are also seeking total victory. Their central goal is to take Relouse from the Parrench and consolidate control over the South of Parrence. Failing this, they at least aim to land successfully and break out across the countryside.

3) The Parrench's tentative allies in Lindermetz and Enthal have sent small forces in support and are evaluating the Parrench response. If they think that their neighbours to the northeast have a solid chance at victory, based on what they see, they may throw their full support behind the war effort.

4) The Eskandr's allies in Kressia are supporting the war effort in the hope that the Eskandr will recognize their strength and not attempt to interfere with their claims in the southwest of Parrence.

5) A small group of yasoi within Parrence have allied with Arcel's forces, though it is more simply because they do not trust the Eskandr not to also attack yasoi living within these lands. They have no real loyalty to the crown, for the most part. There may also be a small number of yasoi on the Eskandr side, though they're much less likely to go out of their way to spill their blood in human wars.

Personal Guidelines

1) Many characters have secondary characters attached to them. If you wish for these to fight other players or their secondary characters, please list your secondaries in a hider at the bottom of your post. Speak beforehand with any other player you wish to interact with - enemy or ally - and work out what you'd like to happen.

2) In general, you may place your character where you would like her or him to begin, also contingent upon your opening post. This can be in either Eskandr force, or by the beachhead, on the city ramparts, at Cape Redame, or in the Witch Wood.

3) Please consider what your character, in the place and moment that an action is happening, would know when posting and not what you've learned as you read or know from the discord chat.

Action Opportunities

1) Feel free to have your characters take part in the actions described. Any unnamed NPCs are cannon fodder. Make them up, fill them out as much as you'd like, and blast 'em. Show us what you can do!

2) If you want to engage with a named NPC like Rodric, Hrothgar, Arcel, or Tali, you may. However, you should not write any outcomes for actions taken that affect them without first consulting me.

3) Describe the tense moments before battle and during it! Describe any injuries you took or inflicted.

4) There are decisions to be made by Parrench and allied players regarding whether they'll rush over to the Witch Wood or remain at the beachhead. There are mixed calls coming from above. Some lords are urging their people to defend the second front. Others, mostly generals and some lesser knights, are claiming that the king says to hold their positions.

5) This cycle will end on Wednesday, June 22. Remember that I'll be away until this Friday evening and only available to a very limited degree on discord. After that, I can help out with any questions of collabs. Happy posting!

_{1) Sweyn Thunderspear is one of King Hrothgar's ten elite warriors: the Æresvaktr. A fifth wheel thunderchild warlock, he specializes in thunder magic, with secondary abilities in blood and force.}

SANDSTRIDERS: A Lost Land

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Azar was normally... a light sleeper. She'd learned to be over the past few years. So, when her door reeled open and the guards marched inside, she was already leaping to her feet. The good things didn't last. They never did. She stood there, robe gathered about her and fists clenched as she listened to the Imit's - or rather, his servant's - accusation. You stupid, lying maggot, she thought, but her eyes turned not to Mamuno, but rather to the servant girl. Her temperature rose. Flames quietly licked and writhed along her skin.

For a moment, Azar was about to angrily protest her innocence in the traditional way. She had not done the deed, of course, even though she'd briefly considered it. Yet - Damn it! - she knew a setup for what it was. She knew it because... in other capacities, she had done nearly the same thing. She glared unflinchingly at the servant through a gap between two of the guards' heads and her rage built. She let out a quick, angry snort from her nostrils and her gaze flicked Mamuno's way. "Your worship," she admitted, struggling to keep her tone composed and just about succeeding, "If you have your men check this room right now, you will almost certainly find jewellery stolen from this household." Her chest heaved with anger and anxiety. Her fists clenched so tightly that they hurt. Lying bitch! screamed a voice within her. Burn her to ash! Make her suffer! Some of that anger even leaked over onto the Imit himself, but she had enough of a primary target that she could deflect it - hide it. "I cannot say where: maybe even under the pillow, if this thief or her accomplices were stupid. Unless they are merely trying to frame me out of personal vendetta, there will be more that they do not find."

Azar took a couple of steps forward, but no more. If she could get around the guards... if she could, her mind's eye visualized what she would do, how she would burn this lying wretch alive, how the girl would scream and beg for mercy and regret her ploy in her final moments. The ayiralite's hands trembled with fury. She unclenched and clenched them again. "I say this because I have done it. I am ashamed to admit that I have not always followed the Gods well, may they offer me mercy, but I would not abuse the generosity of a gracious and - more importantly - powerful host." Azar shook her head. "It is the oldest trick in the book, your worship, and a man of your wisdom should well know it." It killed her, grovelling like this, but something within her burned with a desire to be exonerated, to see the one who deserved it and not herself be punished. Then, everything else could rot, for all she cared. She spread her hands. "You sssteeeaal something," she hissed, eyes locked on the cowering servant girl. "When you find a guest who looks... conveniently untrustworthy." Her voice slithered and snapped like a snake's. She paused and her tone changed for a moment as she glanced toward the Imit. "And let's be honest: I look like a thieving wretch; I well know it. Then," Azar concluded, raising a pointer in the air, a lick of flame flaring from its tip, "you blame that innocent person for what you or your accomplices did. Profit!" she snarled.

She began to draw, then, from the plane, fire and fury filling her veins. "I am not your enemy," she began evenly, "Truly, and I make no claims to whatever you may find in this room, but should anyone seek to harm my person, the ayiralite warned, her eyes flashing at the guards like those of a very dangerous, very cornered animal, "I will return his violence thousandfold!"

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O R I F L A M M E

_ __ ____Battle Map of Relouse____ __ _

Full Interactive Battle Map of Relouse and the Surrounding Environs