Obscene Symphony

The Shattering of Aegis

_{✧ Location: Lord Mystralath's Office ✧ Purse: 12 copper ✧ Collab with @Achronum ✧}

Silence was the worst answer Vivian could have given; it left Kyreth alone with his thoughts to conjure up the most terrible of fates awaiting him as they made their way up to the Lord’s office. Scanning the corridors and rooms as they walked, the grandeur of the House was lost to Kyreth, reduced to a two-dimensional map of doors, windows, and pathways in between. The cozy tavern space was a series of obstacles to be thrown in the path of pursuers; the windows looking over the gardens a passable but unappealing egress point. The walls of the corridor on the third floor pressed in on him like the shoulders of guards, stifling his path in the likely event that he needed to quickly escape. It wasn’t the worst situation Kyreth had ever been in, but unless there were some windows in Lord Mystralath’s study that he could leap out of when the local authorities came for him, he feared he wasn’t going to have a lot of options.

Vivian stopped; Kyreth, caught up in his inspection of the place, nearly bumped into her. The look on the older woman’s face could have curdled milk, and Kyreth was briefly impressed she could hide her disdain so well downstairs. That was a good skill. Her words, of course, made her opinion on the matter very clear. Funnily enough, it was practically a comfort to hear Vivian hissing threats at him - if nothing else, distrust and disdain were much more familiar territory for a Tainted than the strange and foreboding generosity he’d been shown in the Bounty House so far. At least when he was being threatened, he knew where he stood.

Still, he took Vivian’s “advice” to heart: hands in your pockets, eyes on the floor, keep your mouth shut. That worked great for him; he had no idea what to say to a Lord anyway. Well, until the point where he’d inevitably have to throw himself on his knees and beg for mercy, but that was usually pretty straightforward. The mention of Cerric’s “pet” did put a shiver up Kyreth’s spine, though. Could that have been the source of the lights in the water? It might have been a relief that those apparitions weren’t actually the warnings of dead sailors, but it wasn’t much comfort when the alternative was a beast stalking the lake. Dammit, that meant swimming was out of the question. The bridge would be his only way out if things went sideways.

Too soon, Vivian opened the door and motioned for Kyreth to enter. Sticking his hands under his new cloak and into his pockets as ordered, he dutifully stepped inside, sparing only a glance backward as the door closed behind him before jamming his eyes firmly to the floor. On the way down, though, he caught enough of a glimpse of the room to be impressed; furnished in rich colours and softly lit, every surface covered in some sort of esoteric trinket or bauble glinting in the firelight. Everything looked extravagantly expensive; the rest of the House was well-appointed enough to stun him on its own, but this room trumped it all.

The one thing he didn’t see at first glance, however, was the Lord himself. Kyreth mused that he might be coming in after him until he heard the faintest clink of metal from across the room, rising and falling with the rhythm of breath. He risked the quickest glance up and almost jumped when he realized that the man himself was behind the desk, his extravagant costume blending into the room itself. Unnerved, Kyreth’s heart took up his throat for a moment, but he bit down hard, staying resolutely silent as instructed while he willed his pulse to slow.

Lord Mystralath regarded the frightened thing in front of him silently. Aleka’s note suggested ill intent in the boy’s omission but he certainly doubted the terrified child in front of him was interested in crossing anyone, let alone a noble whose services he required. “Welcome to my House, Kyreth Bertasson. I hope the journey from home proved pleasant.” The Lord spoke softly, as if speaking to a spooked animal and kept his tone even and light. He gestured to the drinks next to him. “Would you care for a drink? I have a pleasing selection that should satisfy the need to wet the tongue while you regale me with the tale of your and your traveling compainion’s journey. Soft Haven is a long way from Buscon after all; nearly far enough to start anew, if that be your interest.”

To Kyreth’s surprise, the voice that rose from the masked figure behind the desk wasn’t the ghostly whine of a phantom haunting a statue, but a normal man. More than that, a rather kind normal man, whose gentle delivery and double-edged question had a way of putting him at ease and on edge in equal measure. Which, he supposed, just put him back where he started.

Still, the Lord got one thing wrong. He came here from Straithmoor, not straight from Buscon; maybe it meant nothing, but it did give Kyreth some hope that word of his… involvement in Straithmoor hadn’t gotten all the way to Soft Haven yet.

“Thank you, but I’m fine,” he refused the offer politely, if a little tightly, casting his eyes somewhere on the carpet. He gripped the contents of his pockets. With his luck, a guard - or that woman - would burst in the door the second he laid a finger on that nice, expensive glassware. “Oh, uh-- my… lord?” he added quickly, the thought of Vivian bringing her threat about disrespect back into sharp relief.

Best to move on. Not that the prospect of regaling his journey was much more attractive.

“I’m sure a lot of your workers come looking for a fresh start…” he stated noncommittally, focusing on a rug tassel that was flipped upwards. One advantage of having Tainted eyes was that it was a bit more difficult to tell what one was looking at, and he needed a moment to think. Whatever lie he was going to have to spin to get out of this needed to be solid; he’d hate to get Lilann in trouble along with him.

“True. This enterprise offers a high degree of animosity for a reasonable pay. I can appreciate its appeal.” Lord Mystralath agreed easily, ignoring the brief stumble in favor of Kyreth’s noncommittal response. “I have no interest in prying into your background, unless you present yourself as a hardened criminal with a penchant for the disturbing. I may have a few thoughts on the matter then but if Cerric hasn’t escorted you off the property and Aleka only has a single misgiving, I trust you are a credible person.” The Lord tapped a large blank spot in the book in front of him.

“My apologies, I did not intend to cause concern, only offer an opportunity to relax before we addressed my concerns but for that, I’ll need you to stop admiring my office and raise your head. I’ll be more than glad to offer you a look around if our conversation reaches a mutually beneficial agreement.” The Lord nodded his approval as Kyreth compiled before reaching a gloved hand out, palm up. A murmured word and a rush of aether in the room followed before four candle sized flames appeared above his palm, dancing in a lazy circle like will-o-wisps. Lord Mystralath hummed, satisfied with what he saw.

“Tell me, Kyreth. Do you know what an aetherborn is? There are a hundred hundred stories of their potential, of their abilities great and terrible, of their ambition, greed, and selflessness in equal measure. Aetherborn are romanticized and villainized in equal measure. They are often living legends, even if they’ve done nothing with their power.” The Lord closed his palm, the flames vanishing, as he spoke. “But the truth of the matter is that aetherborn serve a purpose in the grand cosmos far more important than any sage of our era can possibly comprehend. Even I, who has dedicated my life to delving into the ancients’ understanding of aetherborn, barely have seen a fraction of our potential and purpose. We are burdened with a gift worthy of gods with all the flaws of mortality, which makes us dangerous to others and ourselves when we do not have control and understanding of ourselves.”

“Considering this, do you see why I am concerned about you, Kyreth?” Lord Mystralath asked, leaning forward and propping his chin on steepled hands.

Kyreth’s heart jumped a little when the Lord asked him to raise his eyes, but he complied, unwilling to give the man any more reason to dislike him than his presence already invited. But he couldn’t ignore the shiver crawling up his spine when his eyes met the Lord’s porcelain gaze.

He was even more discomforted, though, when little flames materialized in the Lord’s palm. Kyreth’s eyes were drawn to the fire in uncomfortably familiar fashion, watching unblinking as the little flames danced. Was Mystralath playing dumb? Did he know Kyreth’s history, and this was his way of teasing him? Kyreth backed up a step, eyes locked on the fire. Open flames were… risky. He didn’t appreciate how they made a giddy energy rise in his chest - or they way they got so easily out of control.

For a mercy, the flames were soon snuffed out, and Kyreth could breathe again. But by the time he came out of his trance, the Lord had launched into a speech about the aetherborn, of all things. A demonstration, then, but why? Kyreth knew passing little about aetherborn - certainly not enough to draw any real meaning from the Lord’s flowery words. If it was aetherborn Mystralath was worried about, why did call up the only person in the lobby who wasn’t one? No - there was something else going on.

“I… I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” Kyreth answered suspiciously, resisting the urge to turn away. Mystralath’s voice was soft and even, but this line of questioning felt dangerous. He was suddenly very conscious of the lamps on the walls, their formerly soft glow getting sharper as the flames within started to grow. That buzzing feeling he’d been enduring all morning was back with a vengeance, skin tingling with something bordering disturbingly between fear and excitement.

“Okay, okay,” Kyreth finally blurted out, pulling his hands out defensively. He resolved to take the loss - this charade clearly wasn’t working, and it needed to come to an end. His fingers twitched. “Listen, uh, my Lord-- If you don’t want me here, I’ll go. Okay? No problem. You’ll never know I was here. Just don’t kick Lilann out - she has nothing to do with this, I promise.”

Lord Mystralath only shook his head, letting out an amused huff. “That is one way to answer my question. I don’t imagine you’d dare wrestle my own flames from me otherwise.” A dismissive gesture at the lamps and the command to settle had them dimming to their original gentleness once more. “And it is quite the opposite, Kyreth. I would much prefer you remain here, though that decision will be up to you once you understand the implications of such an action. Regardless, your traveling companion will be treated as her own person. The Bounty House will not penalize her for your mistakes.”

“You are an aetherborn, Kyreth Bertasson, and your ignorance is dangerous. Have you ever looked in a mirror, or a window, or even a still pool of water and caught your reflection? Perhaps Buscon’s aetheric density wasn’t strong enough to eclipse the light of day but I can assure you, normal mortals do not have glowing spots on their face. All aetherborn have an abnormality that marks them as one and you are no different. Cerric boasts an additional digit on each hand and foot, Aeowyn’s eyes glow with amethyst light,” He flipped pages, going through each of the people he entered with. “Ceolfric’s tongue is strangely colored, Elia’s eyes change color, Ermes’ has shadows for hair, your companion seems to glow to some degree, and your freckles shine in relation to aetheric density. You are one, there is no denying it.” Lord Mystralath made a note in Kyreth’s page, dried the ink, and shut the book with a heavy thud. He pushed it to the side as he leaned forward once more.

“From your unintended demonstration, we share an affinity. We command the greatest gift, and the greatest curse, of the mortal races. Fire, when controlled and guided, brings warmth, light, and the power of creation to our fingertips. We forge weapons, armor, technologies that have improved the races and permitted us to prosper beyond the common animals. But should those flames be left unchecked, forest fall, cities burn, and mortals die in ashen graves.” Mystralath paused, considering Kyreth carefully before he continued. “Aetherborn who command elemental power are known as Primordial aetherborn. Ours is instinctive and reactive, our emotional state intrinsically tied to our ability. Fear, sorrow, joy… all in uncontrolled excess can find our abilities slipping from our fragile control without the proper training. I’m sure you’ve experienced that: fires roaring to life in unexpected places, candles and fireplaces surging or waning without warning. Even here, your concern fed the flames in this room. Had it gone unchecked, you and I may not be alive to have this conversation right now. Do you understand now, Kyreth?”

The Lord’s words hit Kyreth like a sack of nails; his brow furrowed, hands pawing at the thick fabric of his cloak to find the iron crescent of Selene on his chest. There was no way what Mystralath said was true. It couldn't be! Aetherborn didn't pop up in the Dregs, they kept to their grand schools and ivory towers - they got whisked away as soon as anyone even suspected them, didn't they? And besides, wasn't being aetherborn supposed to be some gift from Aziaza? She hated his kind, no way she'd grace one of them with the power and prestige the aetherborn were blessed with. They wouldn't want it anyway!

Or at least, that's what he thought before today, if he ever spared the aetherborn any thought at all. But proof otherwise was right downstairs; some little street urchin, a brigand, even Lilann - by some cosmic coincidence, they were all aetherborn. The first he'd ever seen in the flesh, for that matter. With the possible exception of himself, if Mystralath was telling the truth.

Kyreth turned sharply, searching for something reflective. He found a jar on a shelf and peered at his reflection; sure enough, his face looked like it was pockmarked with stars, his freckles and eyes glowing brightly in the darkness. Shocked, he pulled his hood down, turning his head to see the reflection of his horns. The freckles on them glowed, too. He touched them gingerly, expecting a swarm of fireflies but finding only skin. Obviously he knew he had freckles - they were the butt of many jokes back home - but they never looked like… like that! Come on, the Tainted were known for their strange features. No two looked the same, they came in every colour and every shape. He wasn't any different!

But Kyreth found it more and more difficult to deny as the Lord kept talking. Fire that fed on emotion, strange and unexpected bursts of flame… would that explain his outbursts, then? The fire at Straithmoor raged in his mind, and others before it: the time as a child that his clothes caught fire and he had to jump into the harbour, singing an outsider who kicked him from his path, a bully’s hair lighting up in the middle of a scuffle… All his life, he thought his little “accidents” were a curse, a mark of his kind’s unholy union with the dragons all those centuries ago. Was it really him being aetherborn all along?

Kyreth backed away from the shelf, pulling his hood back up over his horns. Lord Mystralath’s words rang too true to deny it. He was aetherborn; the violent, unpredictable power he had that made flames spring to life was magic all along. A “primordial aetherborn.” But that didn't change much when he thought about it. In a way, he'd been right all along - this wasn't a gift from Aziaza, it was a curse. A curse that got him into trouble. That got people hurt. Mystralath said as much; he had destruction and death at his fingertips, always threatening to break loose. This was the Lady’s way of punishing him - all he wanted to do was live quietly and honestly, so she gave him the power to burn down his whole life at any moment. What a sick trick, to give a Tainted a power activated by fear.

“I see,” Kyreth finally murmured, his tail twisting with discomfort around his waist. It ached, sore from being wound up for so long, and he realized as he tried to relax it that it was holding a death grip on his abdomen this entire time. He looked back up at Mystralath. “But… why bring me up here just to tell me that? Are you worried I'm… dangerous?”

"I needed to determine the genuinity of your obliviousness. I'm glad to find you were honestly unaware of your condition; otherwise, we would be having a far less pleasant experience." Lord Mystralath sighed still. "Yet, the fact remains you are dangerous. Untrained, your ability to separate your natural reactions to danger and your aetheric control threaten every person, every home, every life you cross. That includes your own."

"I am aware your kind suffers a great deal of social prejudice and while I harbor no ill will towards the Tainted myself, I cannot say the same for everyone in my employ. Any situation you become targeted in runs the risk of an outbreak and the longer this outbreak takes, the worse it will be. As a noble of Finnagund, you are now a threat I am obligated to handle. So the question becomes how do I handle you?" Lord Mystralath drummed his fingers on the desk as he spoke. “I have two solutions that come to me immediately but what are your thoughts, Kyreth? This is your future we’re discussing, after all.”

Kyreth nodded grimly, clutching his crescent under his cloak. Really, it was just a confirmation of something he knew all along. He was dangerous. Whether or not he wanted to be, he was born with something malevolent inside him, and no matter how hard he tried to suppress it, it would always be there. Lurking under the surface. Waiting for him to slip up, let his temper loose. Just like last time.

Worse still for the moment, he was a threat that the Lord was obligated to “handle.” Those words reminded Kyreth of how dangerous this situation was, and his pulse quickened. What were his thoughts? What did that matter!? “Ill will” or not, no Lord was taking his orders from a Tainted. The sound of his name in that refined of an accent was scary enough already, but that sounded like an excellent way to dig his own grave.

But it was better than nothing. “Alright, you've made yourself very clear,” Kyreth pleaded, inching toward the door. “I know what's going on now, I don't want any trouble; I can get out of Finnagund where I won't be your problem anymore. I can go back to--” he was about to say Relfin, but since that path would take him back through Straithmoor, that wasn't an option. “--Somewhere, I don't know, but I assure you you'll never have to worry about me again.”

“I don’t care much for that solution. See, I prefer solutions that reduce the risks significantly and that one leaves too many variables unaccounted for. What happens if someone assails you on your travels and the Snakeburrow woods burn for your inexperience? What if you find a resting place near fields and a nightmare brings a lapse of control? What happens if your self loathing turns this power in on yourself?” He asked seriously. “Letting you quit this place means blood will be on my hands, be it yours or another’s. So in my eyes, I can only see two feasible, safe, and responsible approaches.” He held up a finger.

“The first is you attempt to escape and before you cross the threshold, jump out a window, or attempt to knock me unconscious, I reduce you to a pile of ash from the inside out. It will be agonizing for only a few short moments but you are no longer a threat to yourself or anyone around you with only my poor rugs as collateral damage.” Mystralath shrugged as he explained. “I doubt any would mourn you and those who came asking questions would understand why such drastic measures had to be taken, if they did not praise me outright for acting with such conviction and mercy. I assure you, I would take no pleasure in this but I would feel neither guilt nor remorse as Vivian swept your remains out of my office.”

He held up the second finger. “The second option falls in line with your original interests. Aleka marked you as interested in a contract job and it is within my power to offer you one as my apprentice. You’d receive a monthly stipend, lodging, food, clothing, an education, and training in all things ranging from statesmanship to aetheric manipulation and I’d have someone to alleviate my workload. This seems a much more pleasant arrangement than the first, no?”

Kyreth openly grimaced, showing off a rarely-seen mouthful of pointed teeth. He didn’t bother to hide his terror anymore, not that he ever succeeded in the first place. But by Moon’s Light, had Mystralath spent some time in Buscon when he was younger? It had the delicate refinement of nobility, but the substance of that threat could have come straight from the aftermath of a bar fight in the Dregs.

The offer, however, was even more staggering. He was awed enough at the prospect of an apprenticeship when the trade was going to be thatcher or coffin builder, and now this! He ran a hand under his hood, fingers twisting through his damp mass of uneven hair as he let his weight fall against the wall at his back.

“You’ve made your point,” Kyreth replied, very much in a daze. He stared somewhere in the middle distance for a moment, trying and failing to scrape a coherent thought together. All he could muster through the fuzz of his brain were far-off, unbelievable words like “statesmanship” and “aetherial manipulation” - nothing at all that made any sense offering to the likes of him.

“Is this a trick..?” he murmured to himself, brow furrowing as he let his hand fall. He fully expected a guard to burst through the door any moment, laughing at the Lord’s marvelous performance as he clapped Kyreth in irons, never to be seen again. But moments passed, and no guard came; the room was still, but for the flicker of the lights and the soft clinking of the Lord’s fine costume.

“But… why?” came his answer at long last, falling out of him on a breath almost as if by accident. His eyes finally came back into focus, examining the Lord’s porcelain mask for any hint of his motives. He found none. “Why me? You’ll be ruined.”

"Ruined? Absurd! You either think far too highly of yourself or far too lowly of me. Taking a Tainted apprentice is likely one of the tamest things I've done in my life." Mystralath laughed. "Tis true I am considered an eccentric even in my own family but the Mystralaths are not overly concerned with race nor creed nor background. Those gifted with aetheric ability are charged with the duty of advancing our knowledge through study, experimentation, and practice. Those bereft of such talent are given the solemn duty of allowing us privacy and protection so that we may do so without interruption or scrutiny. My family is an experienced hand at navigating the unusual and dangerous. Publicly, you'll be written off as little more than an object of study, an experiment, a fleeting whimsy at worst. All the while, you'll receive the full benefits of our resources and knowledge safely away from the public eye until you prove yourself ready to carry the Mystralath legacy. But we'll cross that bridge if we reach it."

Mystralath paused as he continued to drum on the table, considering before he answered the question. “Taking you as an apprentice solves a problem. My family has been bothering me to take a formal apprenticeship since the beginning of the year. I have supported and guided a number of students and family members but I never found the spark of curiosity in them that I hold myself. Certainly they were interested in growing their skills, ambitious, driven, but there was always a wall holding them back they could never quite scale. Promising but never strong enough to escape their families, social expectations, material pleasures, the list goes on. They lacked dedication, their cushioned lives blinding them to possibilities.” His tone, even and light before, grew more excitable, more passionate, darker. “You, however, aren’t cut from the same cloth. You present an entirely new experience for me to mold and shape and grow, ideally succeeding where others have fallen short of even my most basic expectations. Plus, accepting you as a pupil satisfies my family and they’ll finally stop sending me passive aggressive notes and setting up meetings with every charlatan in Finnagund.”

“And how could I pass up an opportunity to mentor someone who shares my own affinity, dropped into my lap like a gift from Lady Azaiza herself. I feel like I’d be denying fate not to offer you the opportunity.”

As Mystralath spoke, Kyreth pulled his hood down, all sense of propriety gone in the face of his incomprehensible circumstances. The room felt like it was spinning, the glinting of firelight on the room’s accouterments like stars in a vast, dark cosmos. His tail, sore and exhausted from clinging to his ribs all day, slithered out from under his shirt and fell limp, its tip resting on the floor like a lifeless length of rope. In the back of his mind, Kyreth noticed that the freckles at the end of his tail were also glowing.

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The Lord spoke so casually, as if something as life changing as an apprenticeship under a Lord of Othard was little more than a common chore. Or perhaps, a pet project. But for all Mystralath’s new, foreboding enthusiasm, he still sounded more like someone who’d finally found an exciting book to read than a man proposing to turn a Tainted boy’s life around beyond his wildest imaginings.

While the words “object of study” and “experiment” didn’t sit especially well with Kyreth, he was smarter than to look a gift horse in the mouth - especially when said horse was his only way out of a fiery death. He dared not even begin to let himself think this could possibly work out, but went along with it anyway. If he was to be a noble’s passing curiosity, he only hoped the Lord wouldn’t lose interest in him too quickly.

But for all his misgivings, Mystralath’s mention of fate stuck in his mind. His Crescent of Selene felt heavy on his chest. Was this in Her plan, too? Is that why she brought him here? Maybe he should be more open to the possibility - after all, Selene could only help those who deigned to take Her proffered hand. Hadn’t he spent all morning telling himself to leave his old doubts behind and trust in Her guidance? His old ways had kept him alive up to this point, but they also kept him and so many others chained to their suspicious, guarded way of life, treating any opportunity like a trap only to trap themselves in dishonesty and sin. It was terrifying to let his guard down, but maybe it was the only way he could ever move forward. For all Selene had done for him, he owed it to Her to follow the path She laid out for him.

“I see,” Kyreth finally answered. He was conflicted, but he pushed through it. “So then… what do I need to do?”

“Normally, I’d have a contract prepared and ready for review but as this is impromptu, we’ll need some time before this becomes official. In the meantime, we need to see about your supplies. Do you have more than what you are carrying?” The Lord pulled out parchment and wrote in small, tight letters as he spoke. He looked up when he heard no response, nodding as Kyreth shook his head. “Very well, then that is where we start. Although the quality isn’t quite what I prefer, Six Spools in Soft Haven can make you something sensible for travel until we can go to Wilree and find you something more suitable. A couple of tunics, breeches, a winter cloak since you already have a summer one, and I haven’t had the opportunity to inspect the quality of any Soft Haven cobblers but beggars can’t be choosers on such short notice, I suppose.”

“As for lodging, you may stay here unless you have other accommodations. Once you’ve returned from the errands you’ll be running today, I’ll have Vivian show you your room. I’m quite fascinated by the normal “adventure’s” lifestyle so please don’t mind the others that may come and go. We rent the rooms out to some of the other mercenaries in the House. They’re an energetic group but entertaining nonetheless.” He put the letter aside for a moment. “On the subject of your education however, have you had any? Do you know your letters and numbers at the very least?”

Kyreth’s eyebrows floated up as Lord Mystralath rattled off a shopping list. By the Lord’s prior fervor on the topic of molding him into some model aetherborn, Kyreth expected the first step to be some kind of blood ritual, not a new wardrobe. Then it was on to lodging, and the mental image of Vivian welcoming him into anything other than a casket might have been funny if it wasn’t going to be true. Kyreth couldn’t even imagine the cost of everything Mystralath was writing down, but even his conservative estimate rose to dizzying heights only a few items in. How many shopkeeps would even let him cross the threshold?

The Lord asked about his education, and all he had to offer was a meek shake of the head. “I can count coins and read signs, but… not much beyond that,” he offered, hands finding his pockets once again. He could hold all his worldly possessions in the palms of his hands - suddenly, that felt so small.

“A private tutor as well, then.” Mystralath muttered to himself at the response. He picked up his quill again and wrote anew on another sheet. “But that will be a longer process. For now, there are some errands I was going to send one of the servants on but this will serve as a gentle introduction to the town for you. I’ll send with you a letter to the Six Spools vouching for your identity, have them begin working on suitable clothes for you, and you can fetch the items I commissioned in town upon your return.” He folded the set aside letter neatly, melting wax and sealing it with a signet ring on his hand.

“I am expecting a dagger from Red Mane forge, three vials of goldenseal salve and 10 ounces of of powdered boswellia from the Hawthorne Apothecary, and a bottle of Sapphire Ambrosia from the White Lion. All of it is paid in full, you simply need to offer them this as proof,” Lord Mystralath pulled off his signet ring and offered it to Kyreth, “And they should release the product. Can you remember all this or do you need a list?”

It was a little embarrassing, but at least his lack of education didn’t seem like a deal breaker. But errands? That was something Kyreth could do, even if the laundry list this time was significantly more exotic than he was used to.

“Oh, um…” Kyreth rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. Red Manes were cut with daggers, Hawthorne cures gold seal with salve and powdered bones well, and the White Lion drinks Sapphire Ambrosia… He nodded. “I think I’ve got it.”

The list would be okay, but then the Lord offered his signet ring, and that reeked of problem; he was suddenly reminded of Vivians comment about his supposed “sticky fingers.” He looked between the ring and the Lord’s mask suspiciously, caution written all over his face. “What if they think I stole it?”

"None in the House will accuse you of that. As for the good people of Soft Haven, well…"

Mystralath shrugged. "You will need to overcome more than false accusations and persecution as a Tainted Aetherborn. I've given you all the resources to succeed with little trouble in this endeavor. It's your task to solve the issue. As this is your first challenge as my apprentice, I will offer you a bit of advice. My commissions are your saving grace. Complete them in the proper order and while I would not suggest you'll be warmly received, you'll elicit far less suspicion. I trust you can handle that much.”

Kyreth considered the Lord’s words. At least he was under no illusions about the nature of the task he assigned, but he still seemed a little more confident than he probably should be. But hey, this was his town; maybe he knew something Kyreth didn’t.

“...Understood.” Though he maintained his misgivings, Kyreth finally approached and accepted the letter and ring, the latter feeling like a priceless jewel in his hands in a way he absolutely did not like. He tucked them safely away in his shirt pocket, sewn extra deep for this very purpose. He could feel both items press against his chest; more difficult to steal that way.

He trailed his hand over the imprint of his Crescent, offering a quick, silent prayer that the letter and ring would stay where he put them. Satisfied, he looked to Mystralath expectantly. “Is… that all?”

"For now. We will touch on appropriate terms of address later and I will have your first aetheric exercises prepared upon your return. I will need some time to develop a curriculum but that is not for you to worry about immediately. Unless you have any further productive questions, return this to Aleka and complete the tasks I have set for you." Mystralath pushed the heavy book to the side of his desk for Kyreth to grab.

Kyreth nodded. He had about a million questions, mostly about whether that maid actually knocked him unconscious when she came to fetch him and if this was all just a concussion-fueled fever dream, but he doubted those qualified as “productive.” He supposed he’d find out soon enough if this was all a big elaborate trick if an army of guards were waiting outside the door for the Tainted who stole the Lord’s signet ring, so in the meantime, the best option he had to him was to assume this was real and hope he didn’t come to in a dungeon somewhere missing a few fingers and an eye.

Or maybe he was already dead and this was Aziaza’s way of tormenting him, showing him this incredible opportunity only to leave him wondering when the illusion would be shattered. Well, it was working, but there wasn’t much he could do about that, either.

Mind made up, Kyreth took Aleka’s book, surprised by the weight of it, and hugged it to his chest, securing it like it was worth its weight in gold. To him, it was. “Um…” he murmured awkwardly, pulling his hood back over his head as he tried to think of some intelligent way to express his gratitude. When he came up with nothing, he settled for “Thank you,” and took his leave in a hurry, closing the door firmly behind him before he finally let himself collapse against it.

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

_{@Scribe of Thoth @Achronum}

For all the confident crowing coming from Clarissa and Prince Hresvelg, the sight that greeted them in the brief moment when the fog cleared wasn’t made much better. It was as daunting as they come: Surrounded on all sides by mages on rooftops, brigands in the mist, and capped off with the eerie thrumming of pegusi churning the air above their heads. The nurse raised a shield in time to stop a rain of fire and arrows from bearing down on them, saving their lives but also demonstrating the sheer might of the force that met them here. Or rather, ambushed them. Dammit. Lienna rarely took any pleasure in being right.

No wonder Kellen looked like his knees were about to go out from under him. By the looks of the rest of the party, he was the only one with any sense.

The fog closed around them too soon, concealing the bandits before Lienna had a good idea of exactly where they were. In an instant, she was alone, mist pressing in on all sides, her comrades reduced to dark silhouettes if she could see them at all. Without a weapon, she felt strangely empty-handed – but of course, she was here with a different arsenal. Drawing a deep breath, she stretched her hands out in front of her, frost crawling over her fingertips as she readied a spell. Her magic felt taut, like a bowstring held back by a pinky, ready to fly at the slightest twitch – and not made any easier by the knowledge that her magic was reluctant to cooperate on a good day.

Sounds of confrontation clamored around her, their origin distorted by the fog; the ring of clashing steel, grunts of effort in voices both familiar and foreign, the heavy thuds of bodies hitting grass. Add in a little more screaming and some fire and she’d feel right at home.

Lienna might have smirked if she wasn’t gripped with fear. She peered frantically around at the fog, forearms twitching with the effort of holding back a spell that increasingly wanted to escape. She was reminded too much of Luin, too much of home – were there woods nearby? That could afford her some cover, if she could make it, but damn her, she hadn’t paid enough attention when they—

“Gah-!”

All of a sudden, Lienna’s shoulder exploded with pain. In the space of an instant, she registered a few things: the flash of a symbol instantly recognizable as the Crest of Gautier in the air before her; a painful yelp in the fog somewhere off to her left; and, most importantly, the forceful snap of her spell going off halfway through her turn to see what had hit her. Just like in Luin, chest-high spikes of ice erupted from the ground before her, ripping a curved, jagged path into the fog until they found purchase in her enemy, as confirmed by a much louder – and wetter – cry of agony.

Stunned and pissed in equal measure, Lienna pawed her freezing hand – the one whose shoulder wasn’t killing her – at her shoulder, finding an arrow twisted in the fabric of her robe. She struggled a moment to free it from the thick fabric, casting it aside in disgust before exposing her shoulder to assess the damage. The wound oozed blood and hurt like hell, but fortunately, it wasn’t very deep; she figured the arrow probably would have kept flying past her if not for the robe. A shiver wormed up her spine when she realized the wound was mere inches from her throat.

Off to her right, the fog flashed gold; that had to be Clarissa. She recognized the colour from their magic classes; it was some kind of hybrid healing spell. What shocked her, though, was that Clarissa was not at all where Lienna thought she should have been. It was so easy to get disoriented in this mess, she must have gotten turned around.

Wait. Where did Kellen go?

Lienna’s heart jumped in her throat, and her feet moved before her brain could quite catch up. Dammit, as turned around as she was, she had no idea what she just shot at – what if she hit Kellen by mistake? The arrow almost got her, but it was a clumsy shot. So where was their clumsy archer?

Pulse filling her ears, Lienna followed her spell’s path of destruction through the mist until a huge, dark figure loomed before her. After swallowing her heart attack, she realized she’d come up to the side of a house – ah, and there was her quarry. It was a gruesome sight, much like the ones that haunted her nightmares from Luin, but there was enough left of the man to tell that it wasn’t Kellen. The relief allowed her to come back to the present, and immediately, she pushed her back against the wall, looking left and right for more bandits, for all the good it did.

"Does anyone have eyes on Rudolph?" Clarissa’s voice rang clear through the fog.

As if on cue, the sickening sound of retching drew Lienna’s attention up the wall to the roof. It looked like her spell didn’t stop with the archer; the spikes clawed their way up the wall, throwing stones from the masonry as they went, until they came to a stop at the edge of the roof. They were beginning to melt now, but strangely, the water dripping off the topmost ones ran pink…

She stepped away from the wall for a better view, and was greeted by the sight of a black-clad figure slumped near the edge of the roof with a body lying prone next to him, the hilt of some blade still embedded in its back. That was Rudolph alright; scarlet eyes wide with terror, vomit on his chin, and transfixed on something she didn’t need to see to know was probably the reason blood was dripping all over her icicles.

“I found him!” Lienna shouted, before turning her attention back to Rudolph. “What are you doing?!” she called, “Get down! You’re Pegasus bait up there!”

As if to prove her point, the air above was disturbed by the intimidating whump of wingbeats. She crouched down instinctively and backed up against the wall, frost gathering on her good arm as she readied another Blizzard.

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

_{@Scribe of Thoth}

Jorah’s chest tightened as Auberon stepped forward, but he steadied himself, focusing on the bow in his hands and the beat of his heart to still his flighty reflexes. The plan held more water than some other House Leaders he knew; surrounded by comrades on high alert, Auberon wasn’t an unwitting target. Using a human as bait didn’t sit nicely with him, but Jorah tried to think of it another way and was reminded of his hunting dogs back home, rushing into the weeds to flush out game.

Of course, birds didn’t usually bite back.

His unease didn’t last long, though. Stick in the mud that Auberon was, you’d never know it to see him now. Feet planted in the middle of enemy territory, voice ringing sharply against the steel of his own helmet as he issued a holy challenge to any who would answer, the head of the Lions was true to his name. His attitude was contagious; Jorah felt his chest swell with… was that excitement? He went from defensively scouting the alleys to hoping some fool would dare step into his line of sight, where he could visit some holy vengeance of his own on anyone stupid enough to show their face. Damn – with this kind of zeal, Auberon could stand on tables and tell drunken war stories with the best of them. The thought made Jorah grin – maybe there was hope for this one yet.

As luck would have it, it seemed someone did answer the Lion’s call. The silence was eerie after Auberon’s speech, but soon, the rhythmic whump of heavy wingbeats swirled the fog around them, and out from the mist burst a wyvern, barrelling straight at them.

Jorah’s bewilderment at the sight slowed his reflexes; Euphemia shot first, but missed, throwing the wyvern into a spin. The redhead swung as well, clipping its leg. Jorah quickly composed himself and loosed an arrow of his own, taking advantage of the creature’s confusion and landing a shot to its centre of mass. The arrow buried deep into the unarmoured flesh under the wyvern’s wing, disabling the beast; it let out a spine-chilling shriek and tumbled into the fog, the sickening thud of flesh and bone on stone signaling its collision with a building.

Another arrow was nocked before Jorah even realized he’d done it, and though his eyes remained transfixed on the blurry silhouette of the beast he’d just felled, he was vaguely aware of talking behind him, much too calm to be appropriate for the situation. He whirled around, drawing as he went, fixing a sight picture on two bandits across the way – and Auberon in between.

“Auberon!”

The Shattering of Aegis

_{✧ Location: Soft Haven Bounty House ✧ Purse: 12 copper ✧ @Hero @Achronum @McMolly ✧}

Although the questions posed about mercenary work had no bearing on him, Kyreth still listened with interest as Cerric and Aleka explained the House’s handling of contracts, savoury or otherwise. It was surprising to hear how their operation was run with so little oversight; Kyreth was well accustomed to the honour system, but he was under the impression that that arrangement only really worked in a tight-knit community where your employer knew where you slept in case he ever had to come collecting. He’d have thought things would be more… formal, he supposed, in the civilized world, but apparently the logistical difficulties of managing a fleet of adventurers was a dilemma that spanned the classes. All the better he’d be keeping away from it; he didn’t need that halfling lady or anyone else accusing him of falsifying a token and running him out of town. Again.

The creaking of the large Bounty House doors interrupted the explanation, revealing a woman in well-used armour lugging a sack. One of their “tokens” no doubt, but she was gone before Kyreth had the chance to speculate what might be inside. Probably for the best. Apparently she was a respected member of the House, so it really could have been anything.

Kyreth wondered absently if the House provided the room she went to or if she rented it from them as another woman descended the stairs. It was the same woman who took Aleka’s registry book, all prim and proper like before, and she addressed the room to— wait, was she asking for him?

Eyebrows flying up, Kyreth actually looked behind him at first, just to make sure there wasn’t anyone she had somehow mistaken him for. But no, that was his name, alongside the fake surname he’d literally just adopted, so it seemed there was no mistake. But… really? What would a Lord want with him? And why was he even here and not off in a castle somewhere ruling from afar like nobles were supposed to?

Kyreth stood on reflex, feeling even more awkwardly tall and out of place than when he came as he noticed several eyes in the room turn in his direction. Dread crept up his throat like bile; this was about Straithmoor, wasn’t it? A fake name couldn’t hide him forever, it couldn’t even hide him for a day – his crimes followed him all the way to Soft Haven and now the Bounty House Lord himself was going to detain him and see that justice was done. Dammit! How did he ever think this was a good idea?!

Before he even had the chance to follow (or run – he hadn’t yet decided), someone stepped in his path, effectively trapping him. It was the highborn woman – Eila? – and she clutched her breast as she looked up at him, eyes brimming with… concern?

"Forgive the rudeness," she said, unwrapping her cloak from her shoulders and holding it out to him. "Why don't you use this? It isn't every day one can meet with an esteemed figure, after all!"

Kyreth blinked at the woman, utterly speechless at the inexplicable act of kindness unfolding before him. The second of the day, in fact. What the hell was a well-to-do Elven woman doing handing an expensive cloak to a complete stranger, and a Tainted at that? What was more, while her tone was gentle enough, the way she did it really felt less like an offer and more like a demand. Her spot in his path, the way she smiled, the way she looked at him as she held out the cloak – it all made very clear that the gesture really wasn’t optional.

“Oh— um, thank you,” Kyreth said hesitantly, his tone coming out somewhere between a statement and a question. He couldn’t very well refuse, but something in the back of his mind was wary. It felt like a trick; like the second the cloak left her hands, she’d run to the guards and call him a thief. But she was so sincere – so… naive, even – that he couldn’t help but take the cloak anyway.

As soon as the heavy fabric hit his hands, he looked like it was the first time he’d ever seen a cloak before. Thick, wooly, and expertly dyed in deep, rich green, its quality was clearly in a league of its own. Hells, the clasp alone could probably buy a few nights’ stay in a nice hotel, assuming any ever let him cross the threshold. It made his own cloak, ratty old square of canvas that it was, look and feel like garbage – or, more aptly, even more like garbage than it already was. And this woman handed it over like it was little more than a handkerchief. Was she crazy?

Accepting the cloak seemed to satisfy her, and she even went so far as to smile and pat him on the shoulder like a well-meaning relative. Kyreth returned her smile as best he could in his abject confusion before quickly and quietly taking his leave, tossing Lilann a telling glance on the way. He dreaded what he’d find in Lord Mystralath’s study, but at least it couldn’t be any weirder than what was going on in the lobby.

He waited until Vivian led him around a corner before changing into the new cloak, not wanting to show his horns in front of so many people. Not that hiding them did much good, since they all already knew what he was, but that didn’t make much difference to him. He’d been hiding them so long it felt borderline indecent to reveal them now. With a fancy new cloak to hide in, he could pretend to be an upstanding citizen for a little longer, before the local authorities dragged him out in shackles.

He ran a hand through his hair to smooth it as he changed, absently wishing he’d have had the chance to bathe before being lent something so immaculate to wear. Even just touching it felt wrong, the contrast between his rough hands and the soft fabric all the more striking when he noticed a bit of dirt on them from his night in the graveyard. Eila had a point there, at least – he certainly couldn’t go see a Lord looking like he’d spent the night literally sleeping with the dead.

He struggled a little with the clasp, nervous to break it, before finally replacing the hood and addressing Vivian. “Sorry to bother you,” he apologized instinctively, “but… did the Lord say why he wanted to see me?”

He was a little scared to hear the answer, but at least this way he could maybe scope out an escape route before he was locked inside.

The Shattering of Aegis

_{✧ Location: Soft Haven Bounty House ✧ Purse: 12 copper ✧ @McMolly @Scribe of Thoth ✧}

Lilann’s uncommon confidence shone again as she answered his hushed question with a perfectly audible response, decrying the Silventria woman as a bigot for all the room to hear. She even cracked a joke, as if they were lounging in a Dregs speakeasy in the company of their own kind and not surrounded by strangers of dubious intent in a place they most certainly didn’t belong. Well, he didn’t; more and more, though, Lilann seemed like she really did.

Despite his lingering unease, though, Kyreth had to agree with the sentiment. How many Tainted could say they landed a chance like this? He’d wager his few coppers the number could be counted on one hand, if at all - at least for the ones he grew up with. Apprenticeships, training… not only would they never be offered the chance to begin with, but they’d quickly be laughed out of the Dregs if they ever dared to accept. Back home, making an honest living was a fool’s errand; why slave away for someone who hates you when you can strip them of their ill-gotten gains and knock them down a few pegs in the process? It wouldn’t make them any fonder of the Tainted, fine, but it wasn’t like the Tainted of Buscon were in the business of making friends.

“Only on account of you,” Kyreth shyly replied, doing his best to hide his sharp teeth behind his burgeoning grin. But before he could thank Lilann and reflect on his incredible luck to stumble upon the only other Tainted in the world who would think working for a bricklayer or a thatcher was laudable, he was cut off by the reappearance of Ceolfric, looming over them with his hand dangerously close to his blade.

"She seems a bit too self-important to waste her time on an entertainer of drunkards and a fence-mender anyway, Aetherborn or not," he said, his withering gaze hinting at some double meaning that Kyreth couldn’t quite decipher. "I think you're in the clear, if you're not feeling particularly retributive."

“Oh, no, I’m... good,” Kyreth replied, averting his gaze and rubbing the back of his neck, hoping that would be enough to satisfy him. Why was he looking at him like that? He thought the brigand had lost interest in them after their little hostage walk up here. Likely he just didn’t like Tainted, but he could have gotten the point across much clearer with an insult than his weirdly veiled words of comfort.

Fortunately, Kyreth was saved from any followup by Aleka’s announcement, launching into a full explanation of how the Bounty House operated.

Kyreth listened carefully, catching Aleka’s look as the half-elf explained the details of contract work. For a mercy, it seemed they were on the same page; safe, regular employment was all Kyreth could ask for, and the possibility of training or even room and board on top of it all would be a sweet deal for anyone, let alone a Tainted. That was, of course, dependent on any contractor’s willingness to take on a Tainted, but he dared to hope the Bounty House’s reputation for tolerance would at least help to temper their clients’ expectations.

For another mercy, it sounded like the mercenary work the House also offered would probably take Ceolfric far away from him and Lilann; after all, he doubted a hardened “former” brigand was looking to apply his highwayman experience to a new career in wagon building. Kyreth could only thank his (apparently multiplying) lucky stars that he wouldn’t have to take any part in the “test” Cerric described, or any of the other grand adventures he seemed so excited about, for that matter.

When the time came for questions, he didn’t have any for Aleka or Cerric. After, though, he’d have some for Lilann; her quick thinking got them into the House without much issue, but it also got them stuck together, it would seem. Not that Kyreth would complain - even if he minded, which he didn’t, he wasn’t about to spurn her kindness - but he was curious what sort of work Lilann was interested in, or what a background of storytelling equipped her for. Someone so worldly must be capable of more than spinning tales, and he hoped his corresponding lack of… well, anything, wouldn’t hold her back.

The Shattering of Aegis

_{✧ Location: Soft Haven Bounty House ✧ Purse: 12 copper ✧ @McMolly ✧}

With Lilann’s help, it seemed Kyreth successfully convinced the bookman of their relationship – that or the man didn’t care enough to press for the truth, either of which was fine by him. The mention of a possible apprenticeship made Kyreth’s eyes go wide; apprenticeship, like under a carpenter or a stonemason or the like? The opportunity to learn a skilled trade was rare enough for most folk, but for a Tainted it was just about unheard of. Could he truly be so lucky? Lord Mystralath was a generous man indeed if this was the sort of employment put on offer by the Bounty House.

Kyreth’s brief moment of hope was interrupted, however, when the shadowy-haired kid raised his voice to ask after the meaning of “Asvari.” Perhaps it was optimistic of him to hope that nobody would question the odd name and he and Lilann could avoid scrutiny a little longer, but of course it was no use. Their eyes didn’t lie; by now surely everyone in the room knew exactly what they were.

The bookman’s explanation, on the other hand, was fascinating. It wasn’t ideal that he pointed them out plain as day to be Tainted, but he spoke of a land named Veraz founded outside the influence of Aziaza’s court, where even the Tainted could find refuge without persecution. Could such a place really exist? Kyreth had heard of no such land, but that didn’t mean anything when he knew little and less about the lands outside of Buscon, let alone the wider continent or what was beyond it. But if a haven like that was out there, why hadn’t every Tainted in Othard already fled there? And why would the bookman – Aleka – ever leave?

That question would be left for another time, if ever at all. A shiver crawled up Kyreth’s spine when a sarcastic clap sounded from the staircase, a tiny woman descending with a fan following behind her and spite on every feature. “The only succor they need is six feet of piss soaked dirt,” she spat, the familiar vitriol ringing like a dull throb in Kyreth’s ears. His eyes fell to the floor out of habit, angling himself away as if pretending she wasn’t there. Honestly, it was a blessing that this was his first such encounter since arriving at Soft Haven – even if he hadn’t actually entered the city walls – and he would take it as such, thankful that cruel words were the only thing she threw at the pair of them before taking her leave.

The Bounty Houses were renowned for their tolerance of all types; Kyreth just had to make sure he didn’t cross paths with that woman outside its walls.

Kyreth stepped quickly away from Aleka’s desk as he called for the next in line, ushering Lilann to follow him to a spot where they wouldn’t be in the bookman’s way. As a show of good faith, he decided to sit in one of the plush chairs against the wall as the blue-skinned elf – Cerric – jovially introduced the spiteful woman as Aeowyn Silventria.

“Wait, Silventria? Wasn’t that— was that just the mentor he recommended you?” he asked softly, looking quizzically between Lilann and the bookman across the room. He had to make a concerted effort not to whisper; no need to draw more bad attention. Of course, given they were also more likely to be overheard, he chose his words carefully. “...Are you okay with that?”

The Shattering of Aegis

_{✧ Location: Soft Haven Bounty House ✧ Purse: 12 copper ✧ @McMolly @Trainerblue192 @Hero ✧}

The shadow-headed kid was just about as personable as a Buscon youth, too; which was to say, not very. He didn’t seem happy about being addressed, and wasn’t about to budge, either. Kyreth wasn’t surprised. If anything, it was a very tame reaction to sharing close quarters with a pair of Tainted.

What was unusual, though, was how chatty the kid was. Kyreth had come to expect little more than silent glares of warning or insults and thrown garbage, not a whole interrogation. The kid was suspicious of the pair of them, sure, and Kyreth supposed he couldn’t blame him; hell, even he would get a little uneasy to see two strange Tainted whispering among themselves. Still, most normal people were either too smart or too scared to confront a Tainted alone.

The boy took a step forward, and Kyreth stepped back, reflexively glancing around for the exits. The boy didn’t look like he could do much damage, but that was irrelevant when Kyreth had no plans of fighting back. But even as he shrank away, he couldn’t deny a little bit of his old self was chafing under the boy’s advance. A familiar indignation brushed him, thinking this kid was awfully confident for someone his stature in a room full of strangers, confronting a pair of Tainted two-on-one. And what right did he have to look at them with that kind of scorn all over his face?

Lilann must have been feeling it too. True to their shared nature, she didn’t seem to take kindly to the boy’s display, instead delivering a vaguely intimidating line before taking her turn with the bookman. Then, almost as if Selene herself was looking out for him, the boy’s attention was drawn away by the piano player’s grand display, allowing Kyreth to disengage. He rejoined Lilann near the bookman’s desk. This situation was getting far too dicey for his liking. But as if she knew he was about to make his excuses and take his leave, Lilann pulled him into the conversation with the only words she could possibly have said to make him stay.

“This is my close friend, whose employment is packaged with my own.”

It was a remarkable act of kindness that stunned Kyreth into silence, dumbly stepping forward at Lilann’s direction. It was such a flawless trap that Kyreth might have smirked if he wasn’t so confused. Why would she do that? Was she trying to pin down some security for herself by keeping him around? Or was it really just a selfless act? She’d been so kind to him in their brief time together, but it was so hard to trust a face so much like his own, Kyreth wasn’t sure what to think.

But there was no time to think; Berta told him once that Selene only helps those who deigned to help themselves, and he’d be an idiot to refuse the Mother of Outcast’s guiding hand, no matter his reservations.

“Y-yes, of course – good morning,” he greeted not-at-all smoothly, a little unsettled by the dead tone of the bookman’s voice. He heard him refer to the two of them as “Asvari”, but what the hell was that? He wasn’t about to correct the man – being mistaken for anything other than a Tainted was well in Kyreth’s best interests – but he’d never heard of any race by that name before.

“My name is Kyreth… um…” And he stumbled on the first hurdle. Shit, he didn’t have a surname! “...Berta…sson. Sorry— Kyreth Bertasson,” he clumsily recovered, using the first name that came to mind. Poor old Berta was the closest thing he ever had to family; hopefully she wouldn’t mind him borrowing her name.

“Lilann and I travel together. She finds us opportunities, and I fetch things from tall shelves,” he continued, lying smoothly as he played off Lilann’s lead. He chuckled, an awkward, close-lipped affair, hoping the joke would sell the facade of familiarity between the two of them. And hopefully not insult Lilann in the process.

He cleared his throat. “Um, right. I’m originally from Buscon – erm, in Relfin. No next of kin either. I used to be a farmhand; I don’t have many skills except mending roofs and fences, but I’m a hard worker, I learn quick and there’s no job too small for me.”

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

_{@Achronum@Scribe of Thoth@Salsa Verde@POOHEAD189}

Almost as soon as he volunteered, Jorah regretted his decision. While it was true that the best place for him in this mission (aside from nowhere near the battlefield at all) was at the front where he had less chance of being paralyzed by someone else’s fear, if he had thought about someone other than himself for two saints-damned seconds he would have realized that it was almost guaranteed that Clarissa would volunteer to help the civilians, thus leaving her too far behind for him to protect her. Jorah didn’t like the idea of Clarissa out of his sight on the battlefield at the best of times, let alone after Kayden’s bullshit back in Luin. But it wasn’t so much that he worried about Clarissa being attacked; she could more than take care of herself, that he knew well. That wasn’t the problem. No, what worried the blond was the other students around her, foolhardy or cowardly, putting themselves in danger. Clarissa was too noble, too brave, too utterly unlike Jorah to stand by and let someone else come to harm. She’d step in to protect them without hesitation – that was what he was worried about.

"Professor Lavender, I'd be more comfortable working with the civilians, if for no other reason than to have an extra person comfortable with restorative magic on hand if our front line is outmaneuvered or our enemies have prepared an ambush."

Dammit! For once, Jorah hated being right. He opened his mouth to change his mind, but his efforts went unacknowledged; positions might as well have been written in stone once Professor Lavender put them on the board. Worse still, unlike Jorah expected, Kayden ended up in the rear guard as well. Was the Goddess playing a trick on him? Was this how she taught him to be less impulsive? It was a lesson many years too late, but it stung just the same. Jorah could only pray there wouldn’t be a chance for a repeat of Luin on the back lines, but Clarissa had a point. If the heretics circled around and made it to the rear, it could be Luin all over again. Probably without the giant, but no less dangerous.

Even less comforting was the fact that after that ride the Prince invited himself to, Jorah had zero confidence that Kayden learned anything from his little suicide attempt in their last excursion. Although he had every faith Clarissa saw through Kayden as well as he did, the man saw himself as the reluctant yet noble prince, the magnanimous hero of his own song. It would make excellent storytelling to throw himself into the fray once more for the sake of the smallfolk, and in so doing put those around him in danger. Jorah knew the type well; hell, he fell into that category more often than not. But while he’d gladly label himself reckless, and even appreciate it in others, at least he had the sense to knock it off when lives were on the line!

When the briefing was over, there were precious few seconds before the units were whisked off to their respective preparations. In that time, Jorah only had the chance to grab Clarissa’s attention and urge her, “Be careful,” and then they were off to uniforms and stables and the battlefield beyond.

Once again, there was no chance for Jorah to fetch his own bow; instead, a stiff, standard-issue steel one was pushed into his hands as he scrambled to assemble the gear he was given. The Deer-yellow tunic and leathers were easy enough, although he struggled a moment with the light pauldron and hard leather vambraces.

But maybe the Goddess planned it that way, for by the time he was ready, he emerged from the armory just in time to cross paths with none other than Kayden on his way in. Without thinking, Jorah stepped in his way, their shoulders colliding. His eyes were hard as they bored into the Prince’s, burning with a deadly intensity that was otherwise foreign to him.

Unlike the last time they met, Jorah didn’t bother with pretenses. “Pull any shit like back in Luin,” he growled, “and if the heretics don’t get you, I will.”

~ /// ~

Jorah seethed down the mountain, wondering if the anxiety and frustration burning in his chest was fully his own, or whether it was seeping into him from the group around him. He always struggled to tell; his own emotions and those of others bled together like ink on wet paper, and it was near impossible to distinguish where one drop ended and the next began. Thus, he chose to believe that it was others tainting his heart for the moment – better for his mood that way. Ironically, he did his best to ride close to Auberon; stiff as he was, the guy was damn unflappable, and the aura of holy righteous fire he exuded in battle was a potent draught, intoxicating and invigorating even to the meekest of men. At least, if they had a Crest that let them feel it. His fervor would make a great pick-me-up for any reluctant soldier, and a soothing balm for Jorah’s ailing mood.

The fog along the road didn’t help, but Jorah was surprised to note that aside from his classmates, no one was hiding in the mist; he figured the anticipation of someone laying in wait for an ambush would be clear as day, and even the horses weren’t bothered. Jorah chose to take that as a good sign. After all, if they were going to come back this far, they’d probably do it to ambush them, right? Maybe that meant they’d never bother coming to the rear, and the rear unit would be safe.

They soon emerged from the fog to find the town of Magdred eerily lifeless. It wasn’t empty, though; Jorah came to the same conclusion as Euphemia, sensing some muffled nerves coming from inside the first few houses. Still, the place was unnaturally still for such a developed town. Creepy.

Anticipation hung heavy in the air as they dismounted. Most of it came from the advance unit itself, but if Jorah’s senses were right, he could feel something fainter coming from up ahead as well. The teachers? They seemed too close to feel so faint, but maybe their nerves were just stronger than the students. Otherwise, perhaps more townspeople were still around deeper in. Or it was the tension of a throng of heretics waiting to strike – that was always an option. Jorah chose to assume the worst, and Michail seemed to agree.

Jorah formed up with his group – Auberon and a girl whose name he already forgot – who were meant to take point behind Michail with the other units following. He let the other two walk ahead (melee in front and ranged behind – turns out he did learn something in Tactics) and nocked an arrow, positioning himself between the two and a few paces back. He kept his fingers on the string, bow poised low in front of him.

“Let me know if you see anything,” he murmured to his partners, head on a swivel. He scanned the street with the eyes of a hunter, watching for any sign of movement.

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

_{@Scribe of Thoth@Hero and the whole back 9}

It was a good thing only the advance unit was expected to ride to Magdred Way on horseback; not only had Lienna never put a foot in a stirrup in her life, but by the way the carriage horses fussed when she passed them to board (not to mention pretty much every other animal she’d encountered in her life), she would probably have gotten half the unit killed or injured when she sent their mounts bolting at the sight of her.

It was hardly the most relevant thought as she stepped down from the carriage at Magdred, but it was the first one that came to mind which didn’t feature gruesome memories of the last time she’d been forced to fight in the fog. The situation at Magdred was too similar for comfort: a now-empty carriage, an unnatural fog, and a foreboding sense that whatever was to come would not go according to plan.

"We're walking into a trap."

Rudolf’s voice from somewhere off to her side startled Lienna, but he stated the obvious. The mist was definitely unnatural (granted, she wasn’t entirely sure why she was so certain about that), not to mention the temperature – wasn’t it supposed to get warmer as you descended a mountain? There was definitely something else going on here. After all, the last time she conjured a fog, it was to set up an ambush. Contrary to Rudolf’s opinion, why would this be any different?

Rudolf’s rattled off theories went over Lienna’s head for the most part, but his voice in the fog was a reminder of one key difference between here and Luin: this time, she had more than a brooding princess on her side. The thought wasn’t much comfort – with the exception of Tomai, who was bound to their protection, and maybe Clarissa, who seemed noble and foolish enough to stick her neck out for any comrade in danger, Lienna didn’t trust a single soul among her unit to protect her – but at the very least, a few more bodies between her and approaching death would probably open up an opportunity to escape if things got ugly.

Still, the fog had a way of messing with her senses. Unsure if the figures in the mist were allies, enemies, or her own mind playing tricks on her, Lienna chose simply not to look at them, focusing instead on adjusting her sleeves. The heavy black robes she’d been given served an adequate distraction for the moment; the thick fabric hung poorly on her frame, never sitting quite right and restricting her movement. She’d been told they had some defensive capability and would help enhance her magic, but seeing as she’d only just gotten used to the stiff fit of her school uniform, the added weight and mass of the robes felt more like a death shroud than something meant to protect her.

But she could only focus on ill-fitting robes for so long, and as they stood in the mist, Lienna got more uneasy by the second. It was nearly impossible to stop her eyes from darting around at the fog, imagining brigands in strange garb bursting through at any moment to finish what they started back in Him—no, Luin. Ha. Lienna might have cracked a smile at the dark irony of that thought if she wasn’t so on edge. What a joke; her life was so defined by danger that her encounters were starting to bleed together.

“Let’s just get moving and be done with this quickly,” she suggested, still suspiciously eyeing the fog.

The Shattering of Aegis

_{✧ Location: Soft Haven Bounty House ✧ Purse: 12 copper ✧ @McMolly @Trainerblue192 @Hero ✧}

While Lilann kept her awe mostly in check, Kyreth had no such skill. On the contrary, his eyes were saucers of featureless white and his jaw nearly dropped when he saw the inside of the House, gaping at the ornately carved wood and stone, the plush rugs and tapestries, the fine furniture, and just how clean and pristine everything was. By Selene, there was even a working piano! He’d only laid eyes on a piano a few times in Buscon, and they were always long broken and carved up with lewd graffiti, relics of optimistic owners who thought you could bring something that sophisticated into the Dregs without it getting destroyed. Of course, this was nothing like those hole-in-the-wall joints; the closest thing he could liken the Bounty House to was what he imagined the common room of an expensive inn would look like, but that he’d never seen firsthand.

As Lilann led the pair toward the desk, Kyreth started to feel even more out of place than usual, the typical self-consciousness that came with being Tainted amplified. He’d definitely never been somewhere this nice, and the sight of it all made him feel filthy, like he would soil anything he touched. It took him a moment to realize he was tiptoeing.

But his swivel-headed Buscon instincts wouldn’t be ignored for too long, and Kyreth soon snapped out of his stupor when the half-elf behind the desk to which Lilann had navigated them started speaking. The bored-sounding man credited the Bounty House to “Lord Malcer Mystralath”, and the name sounded familiar. Of course he recognized the family name – everyone knew the names of the major families of Othard – but Lord Malcer particularly stuck in his mind, and he didn’t think it was because of the Bounty House itself. Kyreth’s brow furrowed. Where had he heard that name before?

He stood by with Lilann to the side of the desk as the hedgeman – Ceolfric, apparently – gave the half-elf his details. Brigand from Dranir, eh? The only things Kyreth knew about Dranir were embellishments from bards’ songs about a harsh and frozen mountain range filled with warring factions and monsters, and by his experience with Ceolfric, that all seemed true enough. Strange to hear about the brigand’s supposed power to make people obey; in lighter circumstances, Kyreth might have laughed. He seemed pretty good at making people do what he wanted by pointing a blade at them, if that was what he meant.

As they stood there, presumably waiting so Lilann could give her details next, Kyreth struggled mightily to stand still, feeling very ill-at-ease. Not only did he feel like he stuck out even more than normal in such lavish surroundings, but that nagging agitation from before still hadn’t left him; in fact, the longer it went on the more he suspected that the feeling wasn’t nerves at all. He’d been scared out of his wits before – hells, traveling as a Tainted could put a man on edge for weeks at a time, and it definitely had for him – but this just wasn’t quite the same. No, the longer this strange nervous feeling clung to him, the more he suspected that the thrum of his heart and the quivering of his stomach were something else entirely. Excitement? He doubted that very much. Was hunger getting to him? He’d barely eaten two meals over the past two days, but this didn’t feel like hunger. Whatever it was, he didn’t like it. Even if it wasn’t organic nerves, the fact that the feeling only cropped up on the way to the Bounty House didn’t endear him much to the place.

He thought about leaving again, but decided against it. Yeah, he’d technically satisfied the bargain he’d made with himself and gotten Lilann safely to the House. But as it seemed there was lots more formality to go through before she was set up with the House, and he still didn’t entirely trust the place, Kyreth figured it was best to stay until Lilann was settled. Then he would leave.

“Well, what do you think? Charming, isn’t it? There are certainly worse places to find work. Pity about the company, but I believe this might be the safest we’ve been all day.”

Even though he was actively thinking about her, Kyreth was surprised to hear Lilann speak up, realizing only then that he got lost (unwisely) in his head again. Although he felt markedly less comfortable than Lilann seemed to, Kyreth couldn’t help a hint of a smile at her quip, the expression looking almost foreign to his face as he nodded.

“It’s definitely beautiful,” he answered honestly, keeping his voice down as if afraid that speaking too loud would bring the stonework crashing down around them. As for the comment about safety, Kyreth wasn’t so sure. It was certainly nice to be around a few more witnesses, the House denizens didn’t seem to wish them any harm (if anything, the blue-skinned one at the piano seemed pleased) and he’d heard of the Bounty Houses’ policy of not turning out Tainted, but that feeling gnawing at his gut wouldn’t let him put his guard down so easily.

Besides, it seemed he wasn’t alone in his suspicion.

“I hope so, but…” Kyreth replied quietly, trailing off. Gesturing to the door, he pointed Lilann’s attention to the richly-dressed woman who stood rooted at the entrance, stiff and pallid. She looked like she saw a ghost, and seemed to be the only other occupant of the House who looked as uneasy as Kyreth felt.

At that moment, though, Kyreth became aware of a body behind him; the shadow-headed boy, who was glaring at him from his place at the wall. Kyreth had to give the boy some credit for sneaking behind him without him noticing; another reason not to let himself get awed into a stupor every time he saw something expensive.

“I’m sorry, would you like to go ahead?” Kyreth asked the boy, gesturing for him to move past the two Tainted. He understood unease, but the kid looked almost angry. Had he done something to offend him? Kyreth looked between the boy and the woman by the door, suddenly wondering why they had separated.

“Is your… friend alright?” He asked the boy quietly. It dawned on him that maybe the woman was afraid of him; she probably saw through his disguise by now and responded the same way many women did when faced with a Tainted: muted fear. Maybe that was why her charge was so annoyed with him.