Obscene Symphony

Of Blood and Magic

Aaron didn’t linger long in the parlour, serving Eris’ contribution with practiced ease and taking his leave cleanly unnoticed. He was almost a little bit tempted to loiter a moment and see the guests’ reactions to Max’s blood—Aaron recalled Eris claiming once that it tasted like battery acid, and it was hard to imagine anything could get Max in a good mood long enough to siphon off an entire bottle—but given he had the dismembered remains of an alarm clock hidden under the kitchen counter, witnessing a social train wreck was pretty low on his priority list.

Instead, he made a beeline for the kitchen, crouching down in front of the cabinet to assess the damage. Ugh, there was no way he’d ever get the clock into anything even resembling one piece; he’d just have to mail it as it was. He’d told Lilie that Malek wouldn’t be angry, but he really had no idea how the man would react. Would he be angry? The task he’d assigned had been done, and Sinnenodels weren’t known to be picky about methods as long as they got results. Would he find it funny? Aaron couldn’t even picture Malek smiling, let alone laughing. Hopefully he wouldn’t say anything at all.

He stood, rubbing his temple as a sudden wave of fatigue passed over him. Whatever, that was a problem for tomorrow. Right now he had to focus on lasting through the night; Max’s blood marked the halfway point in the tasting and he was already starting to lose his concentration. Goodness, only three months away from home and he was this out of practice? It had only barely been over an hour! Of course, it might have had something to do with the fact that Varis’ expectations were tighter than any he’d ever worked under before, but that was no excuse!

Ugh, and then there was that. Aaron leaned back against the counter, closing his eyes for a moment. Right, the reason he had to take care of that clock business tomorrow and not tonight after the party was because of his jackassery with Eris. I’m honoured by your attention, Mr. Samael, he mocked in his head, I’d be more than happy to arrange some time for you once the night’s events have concluded. Was he literally born yesterday?! Sun and stars, his stomach turned just thinking about what was in store for him with Eris tonight. He’d seen more of Eris than he ever, ever wanted to just from the few ill-fated glimpses he got of the man when he stayed the day with Varis, and then there he was inviting that very debauchery onto himself?!

Aaron could have slapped himself if he didn’t think it would be heard from the living room. What was he thinking? He only said that garbage because he’d heard other mages say it in the past and he couldn’t think of anything better, not because he was at all prepared to actually go through with it! Yeah, okay, as Sinnenodel standards went it was probably the best course of action he could have taken—given what Malek told him about show mages, there’d be a lot of similar schmoozing in his future—but come on, that was really the best he could think of? He probably could have stopped at “I must prioritize my duties” but no, like always, his dumb ass just had to go the extra mile.

Containing a huff, Aaron turned around and busied himself with getting Salem’s blood ready; if he didn’t occupy himself, he’d spend the rest of the night running circles around himself like that. He had to get it together. The night wasn’t over yet, he’d… think of something, surely. Whatever he’d gotten himself into after the party would just have to wait. He had a job to do.

As soon as his fingers stopped shaking, anyway.

_{just quietly freakin out in the kitchen no big deal}

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

_{@Hero@Achronum}

With Clarissa cruelly snatching her hands back, Jorah was left to cross his arms over his chest, smirking to himself as she admonished him for his ‘impropriety’. Come on, if anything she should count herself lucky - he was the House Leader! Surely there’d be no shortage of girls fighting tooth and nail for a place on his arm. Actually, that was a pretty nice perk. Maybe this whole “leadership” business wouldn’t be so bad after all.

In typical Clarissa fashion, she delivered a fine, slightly self-deprecating speech before finally giving Jorah the answer he was looking for: a yes! Thank the Goddess, he sincerely doubted he’d be able to handle all this new responsibility on his own. Grin returning in full, Jorah threw his arms around Clarissa’s waist and hoisted her up off her feet into a crushing hug, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a schoolboy.

“Thank you thank you thank you!” he exclaimed, giving Clarissa a spin before finally putting her back down with a grateful kiss on the forehead. “You’re the Goddess’ personal gift to me, I swear.”

“But I must admit, you wound me,” he added, stepping back and clapping a theatrical hand over his heart. “‘False assumptions’? It pains me to hear you so ashamed of our love.” His sad face lasted approximately two seconds before he burst out in a fit of giggles, shaking his head.

“Anyway, don’t you be worrying about me,” he insisted. “Or, well, focus your worrying on my job, I suppose. I’ll figure something out.” Truth be told, he hadn’t considered how he’d make up for Delia’s absence - forethought wasn’t his strong suit, after all. But he wasn’t worried; Delia was the person he went to when the world’s feelings got a bit too loud, sure, but how taxing would a monastery really be? Garreg Mach was busy, sure, but it was nowhere near as dense as the dockyards of Derdriu, and he’d chew off his own leg just to hobble down to his favourite seaside taverns and soak up every spare moment he could find. He’d miss Delia, but he’d be fine.

He shrugged, shooting Clarissa a smile. “And even if I don’t, I think ‘paranoid drunkard’ looks good on me.”

Before any more nonsense could fall out of his mouth, the courtyard was permeated by yet another crack, Professor Euphemia’s rod having apparently struck metal this time. Jorah’s head whipped toward the sound, and he watched the conflict between the professors unfold for a moment, amusement written all over his face. Man, that Euphemia really had some stamina! There must have been some history between her and that armoured professor to whip her up into such a frenzy. If this sort of rivalry was going to continue, Jorah would have to make sure he had front row seats to the show.

Speaking of which…

“Now seems like a good time to figure out exactly what you’ll be helping me with,” he told Clarissa, flashing her a troublemaking grin before setting off toward the commotion.

At the risk of catching a wayward swing, Jorah walked up behind Professor Euphemia. He was momentarily shocked by the potency of her emotional signature - Cichol's teeth, the really was angry - but recovered quickly, deciding to ignore her aura's warning and tap her on the shoulder. With his best sultry tone (and bracing for a whack with that stick) he asked, “Is that how you treat everyone who misbehaves, Professor?”

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

_{@Achronum@Kestrel}

The journey from Derdriu to Garreg Mach was a lengthy one: with the Oghma mountain range blocking off access from the east, the caravan would have to go south through Gloucester and across the Great Bridge of Myrddin into Imperial territory, then hang a right at Gronder Field and trek back up north to the mountains. The road was well-traveled, at least, but it was a gruelling several days nonetheless; still, even the road-hardened guards of the Riegan caravan were weary of travel by the time they arrived, with only one plausible cause.

Jorah von Riegan was in a fantastic mood.

The weeks leading up to his departure had been an agony of anticipation, and by the time they finally set out on the road, Jorah felt like he could have sprinted the whole distance himself. He was even more airy than usual, not a care in the world as the Riegan caravan lumbered down the road, except maybe to urge the drivers to go faster. Ever averse to closed spaces and eager to drink in the scenery he hadn’t seen since he was sixteen, Jorah spent as much of the trip as he could manage riding alongside the caravan on a horse of his own - albeit tethered to the carriage axle. His father must have given the guards a stern talking-to, because no matter how much Jorah bargained and begged and nudged with his Crest, they wouldn’t let him ride freely. Duke Riegan probably told them he’d flee or something. Jorah supposed that was fair enough; many of them already knew the sorts of stunts he tended to pull on hunts and rides with Clarissa.

But despite being pulled along like a captive, Jorah’s spirits never dipped. When he wasn’t out in the fresh air, he was strumming the lute his father had weakly tried to hide from him, serenading the company with every tavern dirge and sea shanty he could remember. Sure, he might have been the source of the circles under the eyes of the guards, but he knew from experience he’d test their patience whether he was singing or not, so he considered it a net gain.

The crossing into Imperial territory was particularly exciting, and had Jorah straining on his horse’s tether more than any other leg of the trip. He’d never been to Adrestia, but laying eyes on Gronder Field brought to mind the stories he’d heard from his father’s Academy days of the grand mock battle held there each year. Naturally, Jorah was fascinated by anything that could lift the Duke’s spirits to such heights - even if they did always come crashing down once the story was over - and drank in as many of the sights as he could, eyes glued to the horizon until they finally happened upon the mountain keep at the end of the road: Garreg Mach Monastery itself.

While he wouldn’t pretend to be profoundly struck by the age and holiness of the monastery, he was greatly impressed by its scale; the monastery rose from the Oghma mountains like it had grown from the very rock, its own spires jutting into the sky alongside the mountain peaks. The place was more lively than he expected, too, with a busy village at the base and people and animals all over the place. Jorah had expected a painfully quiet, stern, boring church and dormitory, but what he got instead felt like a miniature city all its own. He’d heard the place described as “Fódlan in a nutshell”; if that was true, he couldn’t wait to explore every inch of it.

The address in the cathedral was novel - Jorah scarcely believed that what he’d been told about a twelve-year-old Archbishop was actually true - but what really caught his attention was the feel of the room. It was totally different from the day-to-day buzz of city crowds; the new students of the Officers’ Academy radiated every emotion from excitement to dread, like an elegant bell curve of nervous anticipation that had Jorah with gut aflutter, practically vibrating in his seat. He wasn’t sure if it was a good feeling or a bad one, but the excitement of feeling something different in a crowd eclipsed any of his borrowed reservations.

Oh, and the classroom! Now there was a place he wouldn’t mind going every morning. True, yes, he had originally planned on shirking his classes as much as he could get away with to explore the monastery and adjacent town, but when Professor Euphemia bounded in all bouncy blonde hair and slender legs and high-heeled shoes, Jorah couldn’t think of a better place to start his day.

“I’ll make sure to take good care of you!”

Ah yes, nothing could spoil Jorah’s mood today.

“...and the lucky one...is future Duke Jorah Riegan!”

Wait. What?

Jorah blinked, sitting up from leaning his head on his hand and glancing around the room. Okay, he hadn’t really been paying attention to the Professor - not to what she was saying, anyway - did she want him for something? He’d normally be thrilled for a lady like her to call on him, but the very distinct crash he felt in Clarissa’s mood next to him told him that she might have been saying something important. He was left to puzzle over the address and Clarissa’s rapid, concerning decline from anger to melancholy until the papers Professor Euphemia was circulating around the class explained everything.

Jorah von Riegan - House Leader, Golden Deer

“What?!” Jorah blurted out, clutching the paper closer to his face and reading it over again. Surely this was a mistake. She’d said Jorah Riegan, and he was Jorah von Riegan, so there must have been another student with a curiously similar name who was chosen for House Leader, right? He looked around the room for anyone who looked like they were thrilled to be in charge, but saw no one. Cichol’s teeth, no wonder Clarissa was pissed!

Jorah could empathize, fuming in his seat with as much potency as a whimsical delight like himself could manage. His dastard father set this up, didn’t he? Ugh, he should have known better than to think he’d get an entire year away from the Duke’s iron clutches! The man probably thought this was brilliant, a great way to whip his son into the leader he always wanted him to be. It was just perfect, make him responsible for the students of the Alliance and get an extra set of eyes on him to keep him from slinking out of class. Fucking ideal!

Jorah was contemplating methods of begging the academy coordinator for reassignment (even though he knew it was impossible - his father probably dropped a literal boatload of money into the Archbishop's lap to make this happen) when a ray of Almyran sunshine broke through the cloud above his head in the form of a face he’d barely seen these past five years: none other than his only aristocratic partner in crime, Raimund Kent.

His mood spun around like a weather vane, Rai’s high spirits throttling his own joy at finally seeing his old friend again. Jorah leapt out of his seat like he’d been launched off a spring, and returned Rai’s arm around his shoulders by dragging the taller man’s head down for a very loud kiss on the cheek.

“You Gloucester dastard, how dare you not tell me you were coming?!” he loudly demanded, a grin splitting his face from ear to ear. He could feel the disapproval dripping off Clarissa behind him, but took it as a good thing - she knew exactly how happy he was to see his old friend again.

Raimund’s little quip of encouragement, however, reminded Jorah of the absolute tragedy he was facing, and for once, he was happy to take the sideline as Rai and Clarissa made their introductions to the rest of the class. But man, barely five minutes in and Clarissa was already acting more the part of Leader than he ever could; why in Sothis’ name didn’t they pick her?

Ugh, well, he supposed he knew why, and that dip of sad acceptance he’d felt in Clarissa a moment ago told him she had the same idea. But that didn’t mean it made any sense, or that he agreed with it - sadly, it did mean that it would probably be impossible to get... whoever was in charge of appointing House Leaders to change their mind on the matter. Of course, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be leaning on Clarissa’s expertise every step of the way.

Heaving a sigh, he supposed he should try not to disappoint her right off the bat, and cleared his throat, raising a hand to get the room’s attention.

“Alright, I suppose I can’t let myself be outshone here,” he began, taking on the same familiar storytelling tone he used in taverns by the docks. “My name is Jorah von Riegan, heir apparent to the Duchy of Riegan, but if you bother with all those titles, there’s a good chance I won’t realize you’re talking to me.” He grinned, hoping that comment would get back to his father. “Apparently, I will also be House Leader of the Golden Deer this year. I’ll go figure out what that entails in a moment, but for now, please don’t hesitate to come find me if you’re looking for a drink, a dance, or a good time! I am happy to provide.” Grinning wide, he offered the room a grand, theatrical bow, before waving to the students and promptly taking off for the courtyard, dragging Clarissa behind him by the wrist.

“I know, I know,” he tried to mitigate the outrage he knew was coming, pulling Clarissa behind a pillar. He could hear Euphemia arguing with another professor, probably over that dashing chalk drawing on her board, but paid her no mind for the moment. “Listen, I don’t like it either, I think this is a horrible idea, but I’m pretty sure Duke Riegan set this up and I don’t think we can undo it. So pleeaaase,” he took both Clarissa’s hands in his and held them to his heart, giving his friend his best ‘pity me’ face and a little nudge with his Crest for good measure, “please help me out? I desperately need your sage wisdom.”

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

_@Hero

For Lienna, the past few weeks had been a torrent of firsts: first time sleeping in a keep, first time eating pork, first time having her hair cut by someone who knew what they were doing, first time having her measurements taken, and more. So much had happened it was hard to believe it was real; in fact, just about the only thing reminding her she wasn't dreaming was the horrible stone in her stomach.

Indeed, among her other ‘firsts’ since finalizing her engagement to Count Francis was a decidedly unpleasant one: her first time riding in a carriage, and consequently, her first realization that she got roadsick. The few hours’ ride from Hima to South Gautier had been awful enough on that rickety fur trader’s cart, but the trip from the Count’s keep to Garreg Mach took days and wasn't any smoother. Lienna had always thought a real carriage would be more comfortable, but the wretched thing pitched and yawed with every bump in the road, the horses stank, and the walls and roof that were supposed to protect her only made her feel like she was suffocating. Her single attempt to ride alongside the carriage on horseback ended before it began when the beast was too spooked to let her mount it, so she'd been doomed to spend the whole trip trying to keep her dinner down.

By the time they finally arrived at Garreg Mach, she was as white as a sheet, trembling, and vowing never again to set foot in a carriage. She’d had the driver stop a ways off from the monastery walls so she could stumble out and finish what the last leg of the trip had started, and spent a good few minutes in the shade of a tree by the roadside, nursing a waterskin and waiting for her head to stop spinning. Her uniform jacket had fallen casualty on the way, not that Lienna missed it; the stiff collar felt like a hand around her neck, and the trim fit of the thing greatly contrasted the ratty furs and smocks she was used to. The shoes were no better with their hard soles and heel, but that couldn’t be helped; commoner or not, even she wasn’t about to stumble into Garreg Mach Monastery with bare feet. At least the skirt was agreeable enough, long enough to reach her ankles and only snug at the waist, and the shirt would probably become a favourite. She’d been apprehensive about the breathable cotton at first, but the loose-fitting sleeves concealed how bony her arms were and now that she was here, she didn't expect the cold to be a problem. If this weather kept up, she could probably stow that jacket away for good.

She eventually felt well enough to stand again, but her stomach was reluctant to settle, and she’d be damned if she met her new classmates and professors holding her belly like a woman with child. The solution was found in a gift from her new fiancé: a long, deep brown sash, made of fabric that shone in the light and thin enough to see through. The gift perplexed Lienna; she didn’t understand why the Count bothered trying to woo her when their engagement was already finalized, and the sash itself would be useless against the cold, thin as it was. But as it turned out, it could serve a purpose: she wrapped it tightly around her abdomen, binding her belly from waist to ribs, and tied it off to the side in a limp bow. If nothing else, it might stop her stomach from quivering.

Not that it didn’t try. Lienna hadn’t been to church in years, but even she felt the weight of history and piety when she set foot in the cathedral. It wasn’t like she remembered the church back home; the church in Hima had been a second home for her until her grandmother fell ill, but every step here felt like an unwelcome intrusion on holy ground, the eyes of the saints heavy and judgemental when she passed under them. It was so bizarre and uncomfortable that it even distracted her from the unbelievable scale of the place, and when the young Archbishop’s speech finally concluded, she was one of the first ones out.

Luckily, that strangeness seemed to end at the threshold of the cathedral. She was able to relax a little once she got to the Blue Lions classroom, discomfort nudged aside by awe that Garreg Mach managed to transform even something as humble as a classroom into the stuff of fairy tales. The stained glass windows were unlike anything Lienna had ever seen, casting a rainbow of light across the ancient masonry; she couldn’t imagine the price of the books lining the walls, bound in leather and etched in gold, far finer than any she’d seen at the church back home; hells, even the tables and chairs were crafted with skill beyond anything Lienna had ever hoped to lay eyes on. It took a conscious effort not to drop her jaw at every new furnishing or artifact that caught her eye; she knew students of her means were probably the minority at the Officers’ Academy, but surely the rest must have been at least a little impressed by what they saw.

The cavalier professor clashed with the focused atmosphere of the room, but he was brief enough; he simply introduced himself and the House Leader before scurrying out the door. Said House Leader wasn’t much better, quick to take Michail’s place at the front and launch into a flowery introduction about securing the Kingdom’s future. Lienna looked on with lidded eyes, waiting to be dismissed; the boy carried himself like a storybook general and spoke like a priest, and Lienna was far too weary from the road to entertain his pageantry any longer than necessary.

It would probably be prudent to get on good terms with His Excellency Heir Presumptive Auberon von House Leader at some point, but for the moment Lienna was more interested in the names on the board. Moving to the front of the room, she roved over her own name and the name of the House Leader, as well as a few others. She recognized “Galatea”, but not its origin; she could infer from the boy’s attitude and his appointment to House Leader that it was probably one of Faerghus’ noble families, but she couldn’t think of anything about them save a vague, sourceless familiarity with the name itself. The only other name she recognized was Fraldarius, the name of the territory bordering Gautier to the South. From the crash course she’d had Hima’s priest give her, she recalled that Houses Gautier and Fraldarius often intermarried, and made a note to acquaint herself with “Kellen” on the off chance he or she proved themselves useful to her in the future.

She held back a groan, reminding herself to stand straight. The smart thing would be to get her first impressions out of the way before classes started, but the thought made her head spin. All she wanted to do was collapse into the nearest bed and sleep until she forgot about the swaying of that stupid carriage. She’d earned that indulgence, right? She was certainly owed something after days in that awful box. Yes, that was fair. She could sleep the afternoon off and meet with her classmates at dinner, hopefully feeling well enough that it wouldn’t be a total chore. She wouldn’t make a very good first impression sick and exhausted anyway.

Choice made, Lienna made a beeline out to the courtyard, nearly stumbling when the thwack! of a rod against armour made her jump. She didn’t breathe for a moment, clutching her chest as she watched, wide-eyed, what she could only describe as a children’s argument fire between her professor and two others. Was this going to be a regular occurrence? She’d expected the same boring air of reverence from the professors as she’d seen in the clergy, but after Michail’s performance in the classroom, she supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised. Monastery or not, it seemed there were people everywhere who refused to grow up.

She brushed a long lock of ivory hair back into place before approaching a purple-haired man on the edge of the skirmish. She recognized him from the cathedral and vaguely recalled him being named some kind of overseer, but most importantly, he seemed to be the only professor around acting like, well, a professor.

“Pardon me,” she tapped the man’s shoulder - Lysander, that was it - and put on her best ‘personable’ voice. “Could you please point me toward the… um…” her eyes fell to her crossed arms, a scowl threatening behind her mask of politeness. Dammit, what was that stupid word?! Just what she needed, her first ten words at the monastery and she was already outing herself as some kind of… of... ugh, dammit!

“Ah—student housing,” she finally decided, knowing that wasn’t the word she was looking for but reluctant to make any more of a fool of herself. She faked a little laugh, touching her head in an attempt to play it off. “Sorry, I’m just so tired from the trip.”

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

@ThatCharacter Don't forget to join the discord!

Of Blood and Magic

Aaron grinned at Maddie’s comments on extra classes, knowing that was straight where his major was sending him next semester, but didn’t comment. Her information about “pranks” on vampires was far more interesting. The idea sat like a stone in his stomach, and he could only hope whatever idiots were behind them had the good sense to stay far away from Varis. He looked over his shoulder enough after that lecture from Malek; he didn’t need any extra garbage to worry about.

“And what exactly do they hope to accomplish?” Aaron scoffed. “Whatever wrongs they think they’re righting, I assure you they’re only liable to make things worse. Her Highness would do well to put an end to that foolishness.” He shook his head. He could have groaned at the thought; if the vampires these righteous prank vigilantes were targeting were anything like Varis, then anything done to them would only ricochet fourfold onto their mages. Hopefully Salem didn’t get enamoured to such a ridiculous scheme, but Aaron wouldn’t hold his breath. Making things worse in the name of ‘justice’ seemed right up his alley.

At least Salem didn’t seem to be paying attention to the story for the moment, so that was a good start - not that it didn’t take some Herculean effort on Aaron’s part not to roll his eyes at his suggestion. If Malek was going to get angry about the clock - which Aaron wasn’t even entirely sure if he would, since his task had technically been carried out - there was no way a replacement would satisfy him. It wouldn’t be about the clock, it would be about Aaron’s despicable failure to secure his Master’s property, or something similarly demeaning. “No sense in worrying about it now” he said. He’d think differently if he had Malek breathing down his neck.

Lilie’s concern pulled Aaron out of his stewing, thankfully. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m sure Mr. Abadi will understand,” he assured her, brushing the last few broken pieces onto his tray and standing. “I’m sure he knows you can’t just spawn a foreign object into the middle of a room full of guests and not expect a reaction.” He offered her a lighthearted smile and a shrug for good measure, then left for the kitchen, storing the clock pieces out of sight and making ready for the next round of serving.

_{@Hero@Achronum}

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

In case anyone is interested, I found some great resources going over the male and female Officers' Academy uniforms and alterations from the game. Should be very helpful if you want to figure out how your character wears their uniform!

EDIT: doesn't cover House leaders, cause their outfits are unique.

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

Please excuse the readability for the time being, I'll work on the formatting and such tomorrow. I just wanted to put a sheet up before I went to sleep to give the Golden Deer crew some extra time to think of relationship hooks should my dude be accepted.

@Kestrel

Oh god, Jorah's going to love him and Clarissa is gonna have an aneurysm

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

Lienna Orhneaht | Minor Crest of Gautier

“You won’t survive the winter.”

Name

Lienna Orhneaht

Age

18 _{Born the 17th day of the Pegasus Moon, 1476}

Country of Origin

The Holy Kingdom of Faerghus

Social Standing

Commoner - soon to join a minor branch of House Gautier

Crest

Minor Crest of Gautier
_{Lienna's Crest grants her the ability to passively reflect a portion of damage dealt to her back at her attacker, making her an unattractive target.}

Starting Class

Monk

Weapon of Choice

Black Magic

Strengths

Reason & Bow

Weaknesses

Heavy Armour & Flying

Starting Spells

Blizzard

Personality

The far northern reaches of Faerghus have a way of imprinting themselves on the people who live in them; frigid, thorny, and severe. Lienna is no exception. Aptly described as “cold”, Lienna looks out for herself first and without exception - everything and everyone else is secondary. She’s not the person to go seeking compassion, and definitely isn’t the caretaking type, more likely to watch you wither and die than take on any extra burden. Still, she can be bargained with, if something of adequate value is offered in return.

As such, Lienna judges things (and people) by how much they can help or hurt her; the beneficial are kept, and the malignant or burdensome promptly abandoned. Socially, she’s attentive and sharp, willing to say or do whatever she needs to to get what she wants, but not an breath more. A hardened air of bitterness from a life hard-fought is apparent in everything she does, but she has no interest in hashing out the past. At the same time, she sees little value in thinking too hard about the future: to Lienna, what matters most is surviving the here and now, and anything beyond that can be dealt with later.

History

In the Northern reaches of Gautier territory there sits a small village by the name of Hima, best described as a motley assembly of shacks huddled around a small church right on the border of Faerghus and Sreng. Sandwiched between Srengese aggressors and Gautier defenses, the village felt the full brunt of their endless struggle for territory, often caught up in the crossfire of battles or raided for supplies by Srengese forces. Infertile soil, harsh climate, and continued regional unrest made the battlegrounds of Faerghus and Sreng all but unlivable, but nonetheless Hima stubbornly persisted, its people clinging to their inhospitable birthplace like weeds on a cliffside. It was there, in stubborn Hima, that Lienna was born.

She was an only child, left in her elderly grandmother’s care when she was just days old by a mother who wanted nothing to do with her and a father no one could name. With little money to care for a baby, Lienna’s grandmother, Oma, was forced to pick up whatever extra bit of work her old bones could manage, sewing and mending for pennies to make ends meet. Lienna eagerly helped when she was old enough, picking up odd jobs and hunting small game, and the two of them together managed to get by. There was no time or money for school, but Oma did her best to teach Lienna to read, write, and add numbers together; when the child exceeded her own knowledge, she sent her to the village church to learn from the priest and read the scriptures. It was at that church where, at the age of nine, Lienna first discovered she bore a Crest: the Minor Crest of Gautier.

Lienna was excited at first, told by the Priest that her Crest was a blessing from the Goddess, but to Oma, the news was unwelcome. Having heard the stories of how Crests destroyed lives and ripped families apart, she impressed upon Lienna that she must keep her crest a secret, that the nobility of Faerghus would kill, steal and die to add Crest bearers to their ranks and that if anyone found out about it, she would surely be stolen away. But word of a Crest bearer among the commoners of Hima was bound to get out, no matter how closely guarded the secret; soon enough Lienna heard townspeople talk about it, heard it discussed among the Gautier soldiers who often passed through. A few offers of adoption eventually came in from minor nobles, no doubt eager to claim ownership of her Crest, but Oma always forcibly denied them. Lienna didn’t want to go, anyway; from Oma’s stories, Crests sounded more like a curse than a blessing, and she wouldn’t see her little family broken for anything.

If only such things were within her control.

When Lienna was twelve, Oma started changing, her great age manifesting in ugly ways. It was subtle at first; she’d forget where she left her sewing or trail off in the middle of a sentence, simple mistakes easily attributed to the ravages of time. But her decline was fast, staggeringly so. Soon, she was forced to retire from her little mending business when she could no longer reliably tell the difference between shirts and pants. She began missing meals, and started wandering away from the cabin at all hours of the night, searching for places and people Lienna had never heard of. One evening, Lienna came home to an Oma who didn’t recognize her, speaking of things fifty years past as if they happened just yesterday.

There was nothing for Lienna to do but take up the mantle of caretaker. Within a few months she was transformed from child to parent, her days and nights stretched thin as she scraped together all she could to care for a grandmother who’d forgotten who she was. The townspeople were no help; they were sympathetic at first, but when the true nature of Oma’s condition got out they avoided her like the Imperial plague, thinking her madness was contagious or a divine punishment for some horrible sin. Whatever their reasons, it was quickly apparent to Lienna that without her Oma to turn to, the only person in the world she could rely on was herself.

The worst came when Lienna was fourteen. After being forced to run from a routine village raid, she returned to find her grandmother unharmed, but absolutely hysterical. Lienna was shocked; Oma had long since lost touch with reality, seeing and hearing things that weren’t there and prone to bouts of paranoia, but this episode was the most intense Lienna had ever seen. Oma was inconsolable, howling and screaming for Lienna to get away. Like countless times before, Lienna tried to tell Oma who she was, but Oma was unusually stubborn, insisting that she looked nothing like Lienna and that her granddaughter had been taken away by evil things that had been chasing her. She hurled unimaginable abuse at the so-called “imposter”, screaming horrible things Lienna never thought she’d ever hear pass her Oma’s lips. When Lienna finally managed to calm her down, it was like Oma was asleep with her eyes open, staring blankly and not uttering a word.

She never spoke again.

For Lienna, the years that followed were like living with a corpse she couldn’t bury. She did her best to care for her, sure, but to Lienna, Oma was dead; the body left behind was just an empty husk, a cruel mockery of the wise and vibrant woman she loved so dearly. Alone in the world, she grew bitter and distant, calloused from the pain and grief that shook her every time she looked at Oma’s hollow stare.

Lienna had just come of age when Oma finally passed, and she didn’t pause to mourn her. Instead, Lienna resolved to get as far away from that sad little cabin as she could manage, determined to use whatever methods she could muster not to spend another second shivering in Hima with a belly full of snow. She knew her Crest was her best shot at escaping, and was fully prepared to take advantage of it; Oma would have hated the idea, but the hells would take Lienna before she let a long-dead ghost control her any longer.

After a short stay at the village church and a lot of prodding the Gautier soldiers, Lienna learned of a Gautier Count, the current Margrave’s brother, who was struggling to produce a Crest-bearing heir. Seeing her chance, Lienna got in contact with the Count, who was expectedly welcoming of the chance to absorb another Crest-bearer into his family. Marrying a Count, Lienna reasoned, would solve all of her problems: she’d leave Hima and live in an estate, never to worry about the roof over her head or her next meal ever again. So what if the Count was more than twice her age; marrying him and bearing a few Crest babies seemed a small price to pay for a guaranteed life of comfort.

Still, Lienna was no fool - she wouldn’t agree to lock herself away in a far-flung Gautier keep without insurance. Oma taught her to read and add because she insisted that if she wasn’t educated, she’d be swindled for the rest of her life; this was no exception. Lienna needed to learn more about the world she was entering, understand their politics and make connections of her own lest her new husband or any of his highborn peers try to take advantage of her ignorance. Thus, she agreed to marry the Count under one condition: He would sponsor her education at the Garreg Mach Officers’ Academy. After insisting that he’d keep an eye on her so she wouldn’t take his money and run, the Count agreed, and arranged for Lienna to attend Garreg Mach for the year preceding their marriage. Lienna didn’t care; she’d accept an army of chaperones if it meant getting what she wanted.

Trivia

• Lienna stands about 5'3" with a thin, willowy frame. Her hair is long, straight, and the colour of ivory, usually either braided or worn down. Her skin is fair and generally clear, and her eyes are a deep amethyst purple.
• Her favourite dish is Beast Meat Teppanyaki. While simple, it was a special treat enjoyed on the rare occasions when her village could get their hands on Noa fruit.
• Having broken a leg as a child when she fell from a tall tree, Lienna has a potent fear of heights.
• “Orhneaht” is pronounced or • nay.

Jorah von Riegan | Crest of Riegan

“Let's dance!”

Name

Jorah von Riegan

Age

20 _{Born the 20th day of the Harpstring Moon, 1474}

Country of Origin

The Leicester Alliance

Social Standing

Heir Apparent of House Riegan

Crest

Crest of Riegan
_{Jorah’s Crest gives him an uncanny ability to read people’s emotions, and makes them more receptive to suggestion - that is, until they realize what he’s doing.}

Starting Class

Lord

Weapon of Choice

Bow

Strengths

Bow & Riding

Weaknesses

Reason & Authority

Personality

Perhaps his greatest virtue and flaw all in one, Jorah may be physically incapable of taking anything seriously. He’d call it an asset, being that he doesn't suffer long from heartache or disappointment, and it's nearly impossible to get under his skin. A little too sure of himself, Jorah doesn’t see much beyond the moment, often blind to the consequences of his actions. His impulsivity can often end poorly when his urge to push the envelope overrides his common sense, but he offsets his occasional bad luck with a near-insufferable ‘could have been worse’ attitude. He's laid-back and playful, with a devil-may-care outlook on life and an easy confidence that often strays into cockiness; a born performer and avid show-off, Jorah is generally happiest when all eyes are on him.

Much to his father’s chagrin, Jorah has a nomadic soul, drawn to wander and explore all the world has to offer… although, his more level-headed sister might suggest he's only traveling between fair maidens' beds. As a notorious flirt and a devilish charmer, even Jorah would have to admit that such a theory isn't entirely baseless. Beneath the flippant attitude and flirtatious remarks, however, Jorah is a genuinely kind soul, happy to live and let live without judgement and generally averse to doing harm unless he must.

History

When Jorah was born, his father, Duke Rodolph von Riegan, rejoiced. Possessing of the Crest of Riegan, Jorah was the first bearer of a Major Crest the family had produced in generations, cementing his spot as heir apparent to House Riegan’s seat among the Five Great Lords and making him a future great contender for influence at the Roundtable. With the issue of inheritance squared away early on in his tenure as Duke, Rodolph could raise his heir and conduct his business as Duke with a weight off his mind—for a few months, anyway.

As it turned out, Jorah grew into Duke Riegan’s biggest headache, a far cry from the responsible, stately heir he was meant to be. As soon as he could walk, he was difficult to keep still; among other antics, he was notorious for running off in the direction of anything that caught his eye, rules or danger be damned. As a child, he turned escaping his handlers into an art form, and his Crest power was apparent from an early age - he had an infuriating talent for getting what he wanted, no matter how strict his caretakers claimed to be.

His teenage years brought no relief; in fact, the only change that seemed to manifest was when he made the transition from chasing mice and butterflies all around Derdriu to chasing comely maidens instead. Knowing how much of a boon his son’s Crest power could be as a negotiator, Duke Riegan began taking Jorah with him on business trips around Fódlan, hoping that seeing him in action would endear the boy to politics and motivate him to take his role as heir more seriously. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect: it gave young Jorah a taste for adventure.

From then on, Jorah was impossible to contain. What used to be an itch to cause trouble around the Roundtable and the Riegan estate expanded to include all of Derdriu and beyond, turning the boy into a bona fide flight risk. Having finally gotten a taste of the world beyond Derdriu, he was desperate for any chance to experience more of it, driven to distraction by stories told by soldiers and merchants with nary a thought spared for his lessons or responsibilities. Hoping to stifle his son’s wanderlust, the Duke responded by barring him from any travel outside of Derdriu; instead, he simply turned Jorah’s birthplace into his prison.

Chafing under his overbearing father but ever mischievous, Jorah still managed to find loopholes in his sentence. In his later teen years, he took to a habit of walking the streets of Derdriu in disguise, using the creative moniker “Torah” to talk to the commoners without the pretense of nobility. Unsurprisingly, one of his absolute favourite haunts (aside from a number of taverns and cat houses) was the Derdriu waterfront, where he spent countless afternoons chatting up salesmen, sellswords and swashbucklers from every corner of the world. Heedless of the danger of being an unprotected noble heir surrounded by foreigners, Jorah thrived in their company, soaking up everything he could squeeze from them about their homelands and their adventures. Still, while sailors’ stories were enough to tide him over, they couldn’t sate him forever; before long, the Aquatic Capital felt more to Jorah like Fódlan’s Fishbowl, where he could gaze out at the entire world parading through the harbour, but never follow them whence they came.

The ever-present tension between Jorah and his father finally came to a head the year Jorah turned twenty, far past the age where he should have started taking his role seriously and still with his head in the clouds. Duke Riegan had long threatened action if Jorah couldn’t get his act together, and Jorah had long resisted him, insisting that his younger sister Delia was more fit than he for the position. After an explosive argument, the Duke finally gave Jorah an ultimatum: he would attend the Officers’ Academy at Garreg Mach and return a fitting heir, or he wouldn’t return at all.

Trivia

• At 5’8”, Jorah is neither tall nor short, with a lithe frame covered in wiry muscle. His hair is blond and almost always kept tied back in a number of braids; let down, it’s long enough to reach the middle of his back. He gets his wine-coloured eyes from his mother and his deep tan skin from his father, and has taken to painting his face with symbols he learned from Brigid sailors, despite his father's protests.
• Though he plays it off as a "knack", Jorah's Crest ability affects him more profoundly than he lets on. It forces him to feel the emotions of the people around him, good and bad - and there's no way for him to turn it off.
• Jorah is an avid lover of music and dance, and has learned to play a number of instruments. His time on the Derdriu docks also taught him a wide repertoire of folk and sailing songs, which he’s more than happy to break into at any moment.
• His abundant energy (and one embarrassing incident where he inexplicably got stuck on a chandelier) earned him the nickname “Monkey” from his mother.
• Jorah’s favourite food is super-spicy fish dango from the Empire, though he’s generally a fan of anything foreign and anything liable to sear the tongue out of his head.

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

Alright, following suit I have also added a short clarification of Jorah's Crest ability in the trivia section of his sheet.