[Date of Birth] 23rd of the Visceral Moon, Divine Year 764
[Appearance Information] The first thing that one might notice about Sherry is the deep, crimson color of her hair. She usually keeps it in a high ponytail that stops just below the middle of her back. Her eyes are a bright emerald green. Standing at 5'8, she's rather slender and more on the lean side. Her skin only holds the beginnings of a tan due to spending time training outside. She keeps her uniform tidy and clean, and wears only a slight amount of makeup.
[Personality] While Sherry's smile can warm the coldest of hearts, she is the furthest thing from a sweetheart. Brash, blunt, and somewhat hostile, it's difficult to have her as a friend. Her heritage drives her to arrogance and overconfidence; as princess of Galbia, she believes she can say whatever she wants, whenever she wants. She is also rather nosy, prying whatever information she can from an individual she's interested in. To be honest, it's kind of hard to see her as future queen of Galbia, with how loud and crude she is.
It's true that Sherry is prickly and stuffy, but she is a very bold and determined young woman. Loyal and brave, she believes it is her duty to stand tall in the face of whatever danger might befall her and her friends.
[Personal History] Born at the end of a particularly harsh winter season, Sherry was fortunate enough to bear a Crest of Grimdall. Her father, Friedrich Aventus Grimdall, promptly named her the heir to House Grimdall and the princess of Galbia. While her mother taught her how to perform womanly duties, her father and uncle taught her how to fight at the age of nine. As she reached adolescence, her interests wavered from womanly topics and towards the military arts. She spent much time in her father's shadow and was determined to become much like him, despite the whispers and rumors surrounding Friedrich's means of succession.
As Sherry grew older, her father made his brother prepare her for her coming days at the Officers Academy. No longer did Sherry spend hours learning how to cook or clean. Instead, she spent her time practicing the lance and bow, often going out hunting with her uncle. She even sparred with esteemed knights of Grimdall and ate in their midst. While Sherry was the furthest thing from a prim and proper princess, her parents were otherwise proud of her, knowing that she would be able to carry on their legacy with ease. When the time came, her father sent her off to the Officers Academy with many blessings.
[Preferred Fighting Style] Lance
[Equipment] Training Lance, Training Bow, Vulnerary
[Learned Spells] N/A
[Interests]
Knitting Mount riding
[Likes]
Stuffed animals Secrets Lizards Hunting Tales of heroism
A long time ago, when Musentia was nothing more than a fledgling realm, darkness threatened to encompass the world. This darkness took the form of wretched, demonic beasts that preyed on the flesh of men. The people of Musentia struggled to fight against these monsters for many years, but they lost more and more ground every time man and beast clashed. These people fervently prayed to their deity, Yhirel. For many years, He remained silent as the beasts continued to ravage Musentia.
Just when the shadows were about to engulf the rest of humanity, Yhirel presented himself to ten individuals whose hearts rang with desperation to help their kind. He bestowed upon them divine weapons that would aid them in their onslaught against the monsters. But even then, victory would not come easily to these heroes.
When the heroes reached the source of the monsters, a vicious creature known as Azaral, they engaged in battle for six days. It was on the seventh day that the ten Divine Heroes were able to slay Azaral and finally bring peace to Musentia. The Days of Ruin were finally over.
The Divine Heroes eventually went their own ways, staking claims to territories all over the realm. With time, there would be conflicts and tension between the three nations of Musentia, as expected. But the Divine Heroes’ bloodlines ran true through history, and their weapons were either passed down from generation to generation or hidden away from the eye of man.
But this story is not one of the past. This story is one of the present, where a new generation thrives for a place in this world. While the Irinduil Monastery maintains its religious influence over Musentia, it is also known for its prestigious Officers Academy. The royalty and nobility of the three nations of Musentia send their heirs to the Officers Academy in order for them to learn the art of warfare and make sure they are ready to succeed the previous generation. Even commoners are able to attend if they have the coin or are spurred by sponsors. The Officers Academy is divided into two academic houses, the Scarlet Foxes and the Ivory Serpents.
Our story will focus on the Scarlet Foxes. Our characters will strive to hone their skills, achieve their goals, pass their tests, forge relationships with other students, and compete with the Ivory Serpents in tournaments. For now, the students have little to worry about, but their bright futures can change at any moment...
The people of Musentia worship a single deity, Yhirel. The Church of Yhirel is composed of many devout followers who believe that they are to be granted a peaceful, fulfilling afterlife if they are to follow his word. The Church also revere three Saints-- Saint Baranbe, Saint Lileth, and Saint Tharae --who were said to have spread Yhirel's word in ancient times. In the Irinduil Monastery, both students and faculty are expected to stick to Yhirel's teachings, for they believe that the deceased can achieve a peaceful afterlife (called Elysium) if they adhere to his word. If someone is accused of going against Yhirel's teachings or is witnessed committing a transgression against the church, the archbishop has every right to punish them as he sees fit.
Azaral is considered the demonic opposite of Yhirel. A cursed dreadwyrm that wished to consume all of the world, its presence spurred the apparition of beasts that almost destroyed Musentia. The Ten Divine Heroes, headed by Marlon, were able to slay Azaral. Despite its death, its said that those who turn their backs on Yhirel and let their hearts become black with malice spend an eternity suffering in Azaral's realm, which is deemed the Abyss.
Those who have Crests have the blood of the Ten Divine Heroes flowing through their veins. In Musentia, Crests are desirable to have, as they are the bonafide symbol of status. A person who has a Crest, whether a Major or Minor one, have certain aptitudes for fighting, the arts, or so forth. However, those of noble blood do not always have Crests; sometimes, the presence of Crests can skip generations or appear in one sibling and not the other. Lords and ladies of Houses are often interested in marrying their children off to Crest bearers in order to increase the presence of Crests in their bloodline.
Located on a plateau, the Irinduil Monastery was built roughly five hundred and fifty years ago. It is perched on a mountaintop from which one can see the three nations of Musentia. At its base lies forest lands and a bustling town that bears a lake and hot springs. Students and faculty are free to visit the town as they so wish. The Irinduil Monastery is divided into specific areas, which are listed below.
Beyond the Main Gate of the Irinduil Monastery lies the Main Courtyard, where the Monastery’s markets and main entrance can be found. The Main Courtyard is heavily protected by guards.
Branching to the east of the Main Courtyard, the Training Grounds are where seasoned soldiers and students go to perfect their fighting skills. It is a sandy arena complete with areas for people to spectate.
Beyond the Main Courtyard, the Mess Hall is located adjacent to the Dormitories. It is a hall that bears two sets of long tables. This is where everyone in the Monastery comes together to share meals.
The Dormitories have two floors; the first floor is reserved for students and divided into sections for nobility and commoners, while the second floor is where professors, knights, and other faculty members reside. Each student gets their own room where they are granted a fair amount of privacy, but esteemed Monastery faculty have every right to search a room with due cause.
The Library branches off the Dormitories to become a segment of its own. It is a place where all of the Monastery's books are kept. There is a variety of books that one can find here, ranging from fiction to history to tactics. Any books deemed inappropriate by the Monastery are confiscated and then burned.
Across from the Dorms is the Officers Academy. There are two rooms, one for the Red Chimeras and the other for the Green Falcons. Classes are held from Sunday to Friday from 11am to 3pm. Saturdays are usually a day of rest, both for faculty and students. Sometimes, professors may take their students to complete minor missions, such as clearing out an area of bandits, helping out a local town, practicing with the Monastery knights or the other House, and so forth.
The Faculty Quarters reside near the Officers Academy. Here, one can meet with faculty members within their offices.
The Cathedral is located at the very back of the Monastery. A place where people come together for religious celebrations and services, it overlooks the rest of the Monastery and is its largest facility.
The Divine Calendar is used all over Musentia. There are twelve months, and each of them bear between twenty-eight and thirty-one days. It is currently the 28th of the Traveler Moon, Divine Year 781.
With the coming of the new year, the people of Musentia begin to honor their goals for the coming months. They shed their past follies and instead look towards bettering themselves. During the New Moon, the people’s morales are at their highest as they look to the future with bright eyes.
Winter embeds itself deep into the land; the deep frost can be almost be felt in the south. During the Withered Moon, much of Musentia is penetrated by dangerous blizzards that have been known to tear down trees. Many people, especially the impoverished, struggle to survive the winter.
The Vermilion Moon’s skies bring less blizzards and freezing rain, allowing the realm to start recuperating from the harsh, past months. Days become slightly warmer, but every so often, a cold frost drifts across the land to remind the people of Musentia that winter is still here. 03/15- THE GRAND IRINDUIL FEAST: to celebrate the foundation of the Officers Academy, the Irinduil Monastery holds a feast celebrating its students. 03/29- THE VERMILION BATTLE: Irinduil’s yearly tournament between academic houses, the Scarlet Foxes and the Ivory Serpents.
After a brutal winter, the first winds of spring spur dreary hearts as previously barren tree boughs come alive with buds. No longer is Musentia clutched in a long and dark winter-- during the Visceral Moon, birds chirp from their perches and lovers elope as sunlight floods the land. 04/12- SAINT BARANBE’S DAY: a spring celebration honoring Saint Baranbe. It is a day where friends and lovers gift each other small sweets such as chocolates and pastries, to show their affection. It is said that kissing someone on Saint Baranbe’s Day brings good luck.
Just as quickly as it had come, the sunlight that briefly warmed Musentia is covered by drifting rain clouds. During the Whiterain Moon, rain quenches the parched land and helps blooming flowers grow. With the passing showers, Cretus’ fields are flooded with beautiful white flowers that can be seen from the Irinduil Monastery.
Days become longer and nights shorter as hunters take to the forest in search of game. During the Hawk Moon, many large-scale hunts are held all over Musentia. 06/23- RUN OF THE HAWK: Irinduil holds its own hunting tournament within its forests.
During the Soaring Moon, pegasi breeders welcome their pure-blooded broods into the world. As summer reaches its peak, one could turn their sights skyward and see pegasi in the process of teaching their foals how to fly. The sight inspires weary hearts and drives them to new heights.
The fields start to change from green to gold as the sunny days begin to grow overcast. To the east, in Cretus’ capital, the Muse’s Forum brims with the most treasures anyone has seen in a year. From the snowy north of Mordlind to the sandy grasslands of Galbia, people travel to experience the rarity of such wares during the Traveler Moon.
During the Amber Moon, men and women take to the fields in order to reap what they have sown months before. Working together to gather the grains and crops, they rejoice and give thanks to Yhirel for the bounty of the earth. 09/25- HARVEST FESTIVAL: Musentia celebrates its annual crop pull. Such festivals are held throughout the three nations and involve copious amounts of eating and drinking.
Cold wind from Mordlind begins to seep to the south as autumn takes its hold. As nights become longer, both humans and beasts prepare to brace for the long winter. During the Hallowed Moon, the people of Musentia begin to reminisce about the past year and the losses they have suffered. 10/29- HALLOW’S DAY: Musentia holds festivals honoring their departed. It is usually a day in which people dress up as spectres and ghouls in order to ward off vengeful spirits.
The brisk autumn breeze turns into gnawing, early winter winds. To the north, deciduous trees are stripped of their leaves-- to the south, the heat dwindles to a comforting warmth. Despite the change in weather and the coming of cold snow, the Radiant Moon is when people come together to praise Yhirel and the Ten Divine Heroes. 11/11- THE DIVINE FETE: Musentia’s holiest day, people gather together to celebrate the Ten Divine Heroes’ victory against Azaral. It is a day of unity, family, and friendships-- and, of course, grand feasts and gift-giving. The Irinduil Monastery holds its annual Divine Gala, as well. 11/25- SAINTS’ DAY: A minor celebration in which Musentia honors its sibling saints, Saint Lileth and Saint Tharae. The Irinduil Monastery holds a feast and a vigil to praise them.
Winter tightens its grasp on Musentia, but so far it does not deter people from work and merry pastimes. The young frolic in the powder snow and creatures brave the cold weather as they trek through forests and icy rivers. At the end of the Twilight Moon, men and women celebrate the end of the year and the beginning of a new one. 12/31- EVENTIDE: The last day of the year, Eventide is spent in festivities. Friends and family gather together and wait until the moon reaches the halfway point in the sky, which marks the beginning of a new year. Much of the day is spent drinking and partying.
Please note that this is a 18+, high-casual/semi-advanced roleplay. While I don't expect novels for posts, I would like for you to please take your time creating your characters and writing your posts. We all make mistakes, and that's fine, but if your post gives me a headache to read, then that'll be an issue.
Do not ghost us. If you need to step away from the RP, please let me know.
I will listen to people's suggestions and ideas for plot development and etc. However, my final decision is law.
Please read the OOC. There is a ton of information that is already set in stone.
While we do have a handful of people, I don't want you guys to constantly pump out posts. Thus, we will be running on a semi-cyclic posting schedule. This means you should try to wait for a couple of people to post first before typing another post. If the person we're waiting for doesn't post in a week or so, then we may move on.
Not all characters are going to have Crests or be nobility.
Characters must be 15-19 years of age at the start of the RP. This rule does not apply unless you are making a professor or some sort of older NPC.
Fill out all portions of the character sheet, please. Also, please follow the format of the character sheet, though you may color it however you so wish!
I am a fun-loving person. I love it when we talk about things and make fun of characters, create ships, theories, and relationships. Don't hesitate to reach out to me for anything you need!
Have fun~
[Full Name] Their full birth name.
[Alias] Nicknames, etc.
[Affiliation] One of the three nations that they come from.
[Starting Class] Commoner or Noble to fit their status.
[Status] If they hold any form of social status (ex: Heir to a noble house, heir to a merchant company).
[Crest] Only Nobles from one of the Ten Houses may bear a Minor or Major Crest of their respective House.
[Age] Their age.
[Date of Birth] Their date of birth (ex: 20th of the Pegasus Moon, Imperial Year 1163).
[Appearance Information] Their appearance details (height, weight, hair and eye color, notable features, unique uniform modifications, etc).
[Personality] Brief overview of their personality.
[Personal History] Brief overview of their personal history.
[Preferred Fighting Style] Their one preferred method of fighting (from Three Houses).
[Equipment] Their current set of equipment. Should only be a Training weapon or two at the start.
[Learned Spells] Any learned magic spells (from Three Houses) that can only be used by a magic-wielding class.
The mystrel woman was not interested in much deliberation. Neve winced as their prisoner’s life was cut short in a haze of crimson. Swallowing roughly, she glanced away from the man’s shuddering form in an attempt to ignore the post-mortem tremors that wracked his body. No matter how many times she had witnessed death before, there was simply no getting used to it. The smell of blood, tarnished steel, and burning gunpowder was still fresh in the air, though all she could focus on was the sour stench of excrement that wafted from the corpse at her feet. Bile rose into her throat as she watched scarlet gather into a thick pool upon the verdurous sheen of the malachite.
A hand set itself on her shoulder, earning its owner a flinch of surprise. Neve cast her gaze over at Galahad and tightened her lips. ”Right.”
The rest of them were quick to follow Leifur. Armored cadavers lined the corridors, each of them bearing the viridescent hue of Edrite soldiers or the black colors of the strange men’s mail. Neve took in the sight as she kept to the center of their group, her eyes wide as platters. Her knuckles burned white around the base of her staff. Rivers of blood marred the brilliant floors with their sanguine chroma as they gathered into stagnant, foul smelling lakes along the hem of the walls. Nevertheless, no one said anything as they winded around the labyrinth of hallways. Even if she did want to say something, she was sure that all she could muster out was silence.
Slowly but surely, the clamor of battle once again swelled in the air, its rhythm matching the violent thrumming of her heart. Leifur had guided them down a long, cherry-wood stairwell whose walls were painted a golden yellow. They reached the bottom and pushed through another hallway and a set of heavy doors– and it was there, in the royal garden’s courtyard, that they came face-to-face with another skirmish. Many enemy soldiers littered the cobblestone grounds, frozen stiff in the face of death, as heavily-armored Edrite knights effortlessly weaved around the rain of gunfire. Their emerald platemail rippled under the moonlight as they struck down their foes with the ferocity of a lightning strike. Many of their enemies were felled under the brutal blows and bulletfire of their gunblades and greatswords. By the time Neve and the rest stepped out from behind the door, their numbers already dwindled.
A keen ripple of movement from the middle of the throng caught her attention. Neve’s eyes widened when she saw a young man with sunset-golden hair tied back in an entourage of azure ribbons. Clad in sapphire armor, the lord of Edren raised his lance to the center of his body as he ran through his opponent without a hint of hesitation or fear. The king is fighting? she thought in alarm, Shouldn’t he be somewhere safe?
Now wasn’t a good time to think. Their arrival had drawn the attention of enemy combatants who had refused to succumb to the Edrites’ onslaught. In a fraction of an instant, a cluster of soldiers to their left raised their rifles towards them. For a moment, Neve thought it was their turn to be riddled with holes. A grimace pulled over her lips as she raised her staff and began to channel another shielding spell– but it was too late. Matron above–
Etro must have heard her plea. Another group had splintered off from the assembly of knights and cut through the remnants of soldiers with their gunblades. Blood splattered to the ground as their blades cut through their armor like butter and rent the flesh underneath. There were cries of shock and moans of pain as the helmed men crashed to the ground– and within moments they bled out and lay still. Then, there was nothing but silence.
Neve stared at their saviors. They had turned to face them as they lowered their bloodied weapons. They bore not the emerald sheen of Edrite knights, but typical garb that hailed from elsewhere but there. Team Unicorn members, she realized, recognizing their leader, a tall blond man with a stern face. She offered him a smile, but all she received in return was a toothy scowl.
Frowning, she dipped her head in gratitude either way. ”Thank you for your help.”
”About time you lot showed up.” He bared his teeth at her. ”Make yourself useful, healer. Tend to the wounded.”
His words were like knives that pierced through her robes. Neve averted her eyes to the Edrite knights who had clustered around their liege as they attended to him. Leonhart appeared unharmed as he ducked his head towards his men in quiet conversation. Her eyes dropped to their armor. Though they had been prone to the storm of bullets, the platemail had held up well against their enemies; she only spotted a few dents and scuffs that had marred their armor. From what she could see, no one was injured.
”I don’t believe I’m–”
A flash of steel. All of a sudden, Neve found herself face-to-face with the tip of the man’s gunblade.
”Are you slow or just stupid?” he spat, ”Do you have any idea what we’ve just been through? While you were up there dreaming the night away, we were fighting for our lives. Now do as I say, girl!”
The hallway thrummed with the clamor of battle; gunfire roared and echoed down the corridor alongside the ripple of naked steel and magic that ignited the air. Smoke from a fire spell flooded the hallway and she blinked to dispel the stinging sensation that flooded her eyes. She rubbed her palm into her right eye as she stepped into the hallway beside the companions in the room, nodding her head at Arton when she saw that everyone that she was boarded with was indeed safe. Her staff had come in handy, after all. She released a hefty sigh as she turned her eyes deeper into the corridor. Their battle was over for the time being… at least where they were at. A heft sigh spilled from her lips as she glanced over at Galahad at his statement. From what it seemed, he couldn’t have gotten any closer to the truth.
A sharp voice caught her attention. Neve saw the miqo’te swordswoman threaten one of the Valheimian soldiers that was sprawled on the ground. His hand was clenched around his shoulder, which appeared to have been pulled backwards and wrenched out of its socket. Before she knew it, she found herself walking over to the duo with a frown on her lips.
”I have nothing to say to you, savage!” The armored man spat out his words as if they were poison on his tongue.
His rancor was enough to make her flinch. Neve’s eyes drifted over Izayoi’s long blade and its unforgiving edge that was blemished with blood. She bit the inside of her cheek and reached out to set a hand on her forearm. ”He won’t say anything.” she warned. Humans were fickle things– if he spoke with such hatred towards them, then there was no way that he was going to cooperate. Yet, the way that Izayoi looked at the man writhing in pain, anger, and fear was enough to dissuade the fiercest beast from baring its fangs.
Neve let out a small yelp as she was shoved towards the back of the room. She caught herself before she could stumble to the floor and turned to see that Galahad had leapt into action, his long lance sweeping through their frontline to knock most of them over. Arton doubled up on his attack– blood sprayed the floor as his sword found a gap in an enemy’s armor. Even Arbora acted before she could, her hand calling forth a strange, diamond-like object from her belongings and summoning a small beast with only a string of words. The creature barreled towards one of their opponents and knocked them down to the floor, their armor scorched by vibrant, spectral flames.
Her fingers curled tightly around the metal of her staff as she swallowed the lump in her throat. Steeling herself, she raised her staff towards the enemies that stood before them. There were definitely four or five now, and more than half of them were incapacitated by the others’ attacks– save for one. Her eyes widened as she spotted one of the soldiers closest to the door raise his gun towards Arton. ”Look out!” she cried as she lifted her staff higher. Fulgence radiated from its tip as a bubble of magical energy quickly formed around their small cluster. The rifleman’s gun sprayed bullets in their direction, but they rattled against the barrier she had created. Whether their foe was surprised at the inefficiency of his gunfire or simply had to reload, Neve didn’t spare him a second of respite. Narrowing her eyes, she raised her staff again and pointed its tip at the man that had been caught off-guard. A fierce torrent of water shot straight towards him and slammed into the center of his chest, knocking him into the two men behind him and sending them crashing into the wall of the hallway.
Somewhat breathless, Neve turned to the other three as her eyes scanned them up and down. ”Everyone alright?” she asked. ”Perhaps we should check on the others…”
That in itself was enough to make Neve blink. She had been the target of certain… flirtatious men and women back in Cascarona Landing, though she never expected to be honed in on during a prestigious ceremony. Nevertheless, Zeidgram’s words further darkened the crimson that had tainted her cheeks. No words dared to leave her pursed lips– that was, if she even had any words to spare him. She wasn’t keen on figuring it out. Instead, she spooned the rest of the lemony-brothy trout into her mouth as her gaze shyly swiveled towards the rest of their number. Someone else– another rambunctious, flamboyant man– had tumbled to their table in order to join them. Was that even allowed? She sent another glance towards the lordling as if in silent question, but he had since returned to his jovial tidings with the rest of the nobles at the front of the room. Leonhart didn’t seem too bothered… if he was ever bothered by anything to begin with.
Table Kirin turned to introductions. Her curiosity peaked as she realized that they actually did come across all of Ibros– from Osprey, from Midgar, from the west, and so on and so forth. Several of them had already been hardened by war and battle and grief and strife. She suddenly felt out of place; what made her so special? She could cast magic and mend splintered bones, but that was all, and there were a handful of others that could weave spells. Neve shrugged away the thoughts as they came. If the Grovemasters believed she was worthy enough to accompany their troupe, then they were far from wrong.
Soon after the commotion with the passing of the butter, flagons were drained and platters were scraped clean. Little by little, bellies swollen with drink and warm meals were guided out into the polished olive malachite corridors and ushered towards the upper floors. Awaiting them there were dozens of decently sized dormitories that had been clearly reserved for esteemed guests– each of them had shimmering wooden floors and cherry-oak beds that were lined with fine fabrics and ruby-hued covers. Their respective luggage and weaponry had been neatly piled up in the corners, near the cabinets and away from careless and befuddled footsteps. Each bedroom had only been built for three or four people, max– that much Neve could tell, for there were only four beds in each room– and heavy curtains that obscured views of the midnight-cloaked grasslands and hills that stretched far beyond the walls of Balmung.
Neve stared out into the darkness dotted by the lights of the city, amazed. Back at home, most of the homes were lit by candlelight and fireplaces. Here, it was obviously different. She had heard of the marvels of electricity and how it was much more powerful than the light of fire. Even now, the stars seemed to have fallen from the skies and landed in the midst of the lands below the heavens, leaving the sea of black above their heads untouched by any remnants of their previous inhabitants. There was something haunting about it, and to be honest, Neve wasn’t sure what it was. If Balmung was as beautiful as this…
She pulled the curtains shut as she turned to the others. She had been boarded with Gal, Arbora, and Arton, to which she didn’t have any complaints. It wasn’t rare for her to sleep in the same room as a man, especially when such a man was ill or terribly wounded and it was of utmost importance to be at their bedside. Neve cast a tender look towards Arbora and gave her a smile. She hoped that the Viera was as unbothered as her– besides, if the men did try something, she was sure that the guards stationed in the hallways would be quick to intervene.
”Best to get some rest,” she murmured as she shuffled towards them. ”We’ll have to wake early in the morn–”
Something loud and violent tore through the hallway outside of their room and left behind a monstrous echo that droned on and on. Bristling, she stared up at the others in alarm. What was that? Though no answer came to her mind, she couldn’t help but creep towards the wooden door. Neve swallowed as her trembling fingers curled around the knob and cracked the door open. A form sprawled on the floor right next to where she stood. Though the light was poor, her nose twitched with the all-too-familar scent of blood. Already, she could see the fluid, thick and black, pool underneath the armored man.
”My staff,” she breathed out, her right hand reaching behind her to grasp at the air. ”Someone pass me my staff.”
A long nozzle materialized from the depths. Sleek and crafted of cool, malicious steel, the gun edged closer and closer– and with it, the heavily armed and armored figures of faceless individuals. Their features were partially hidden by helmets dotted with red lights, though the rancor behind their scowls was enough to convey their intentions.
Like a frightened beast, Neve took a step back into the room. The five strange men followed, their guns raised up to eye level, their sights trained on them, their fingers flush against their triggers. Neve’s gaze searched them for their identities, their reasoning. No matter how much her breath burned in her throat, she was only met with silence.
Just as her fingers were about to wrap around the handle of the ceramic flagon, one of the table’s inhabitants– a dark-haired man with a delicate face– handed the container to her. Neve blinked up at him as he spoke to her with words drenched in honey. They were enough to dust her cheeks in a rosy hue. Warmth swelling in her chest, she turned her eyes back to the flagon as she poured herself only half a mug of the golden liquid. Neve placed it back down with a quivering hand as the red mage turned his attention towards a pale-haired man that looked very much like Leonhart. A nervous, dark-haired man critiqued the other mage for his pompous speech, and Neve gave the three men a small, lop-sided smile. At least they’re lively, she thought to herself as she nodded at the noble-looking man upon his request. She carefully handed him the platter of the quillback before she returned to picking apart her trout. The flesh was sweet, delicious, and melted in her mouth. It was enough to make her toes curl–
Neve flinched when the older mystrel on the other side of the dark-haired sollan suddenly rose up and lashed fire-fueled words towards Leonhart. Her eyes darted between her and the lord, who appeared to be as surprised as she was. The banter that had flooded the dining hall had dwindled to a few mere whispers. For a moment, she worried that the woman would be thrown out from the feast, but Leonhart had instead risen from his chair and took a few steps towards the head of the room. He swirled a bejeweled goblet in his right hand as he offered Izayoi a frivolous bow.
”My apologies, fair lady.” He appeared to be genuine as he smiled at her. ”Perhaps I should have made a statement before everyone became so engrossed with the festivities.”
Neve swallowed a mouthful of fish before she washed it down with a small sip of the honeyed mead. Now that he was closer, he seemed to be much younger than she previously thought. He couldn’t have been too much older than she was.
”As we all know, it has been some time since the Mothercrystal has fallen dark. Strange beasts lurk across the countryside and outskirts of cities alike and even now, shadows encroach upon the purest of soils. Every day, we lose more and more to this foul miasma, with little hope to defeat it– until now, that is.”
She was so engrossed with the king and his speech that she hardly heard the ruckus on the other side of the table. Absent-mindedly, she handed the robed man a small platter of butter before she resettled her sights on Leonhart. He had strode to the other side of the room and held out the goblet towards those who sat here.
”Feasting within these halls are those who believe that they can make a change– that they can save our homelands from destruction. Some might say that they are naught but thieves, brigands, wayward travelers… but all I see are warriors of the continent, fit to carry out a crusade against those who wish to lay waste to Ibros. That is why I gathered all of you within these halls– that you, the Divine Mother’s champions, will search for her Light anew and return it to the Mothercrystal.”
Neve blinked again.
”I have divided all of you into four separate teams,” Leonhart continued as he began to motion his goblet towards each table, starting from where he stood. “Unicorn, Seraph, Fenrir, and Kirin– the first who returns the Light to the Mothercrystal shall not only be seen as the saviors of Ibros, but will also receive a generous sum of ten million gil as a reward.”
The trout must have gone down the wrong way, because her throat stung with the intensity of a hornet’s strike. Coughing, Neve scrambled for another draught of her goblet. Ten million gil?! She raised her gaze to the others as murmurs of surprise and calls of excitement echoed around the hall anew. Did Leonhart even have that much money?!
”We will emerge victorious from this storm of shadows!” Leonhart’s voice became a fever pitch as he raised his goblet far above his head. ”We shall restore the Light to the Mothercrystal and purge the darkness from the land!”
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