Interacting with: Olaf the Aged @Force and Fury Opportunity: Everyone feels the earthquake. Feel free to say hello to waking up Arnaud! Event: Defense of Relouse Location: The Beach
The storm raged, tugged by both sides of the conflict with the beach growing in occupation now that the traps had run their course and more Eskandr busied the forces to the point where Aheri had to forgo sentinel duties. War axe clenched tight in his right hand, he stood vigilant over the small peak that overlooked La Plage and considered his next play wisely, as distracting echoes from other fronts were keen on destabilising him. One in particular simply had the Northern man smirk behind his featureless mask, ”Le roi tombe, hein? Tombé sur son cul, oui! Ne laissez pas ces conneries vous séduire! En avant!*” he shouted at his men and those close enough to hear the executioner’s metallic voice.
Arnaud hurled his whole being forward, having since taken notice of the unnatural grove that bled from the Witch Wood. Regardless of what brought it, it was now being used against the Parrench, and thus was an enemy. The fodder was wise to not directly engage Arnaud- No amount of glory justified a swift and pointless end to the axe that could obliterate even the more heavily armoured in a single swing. Leave it to Olaf the Aged to handle these cases, as he did many times before. With a great stomp of his left foot, Aheri unleashed a focused blast of Force toward the mass of unnatural plant life, along with fissures to go with it, in the hopes to compromise the vined structure.
It dented the false forest, although it was far more resilient than Arnaud had initially thought. But the architect of this machination knew full well a few more concentrated strikes could end this peculiar endeavour– and so he attacked. A barrage of strange branches were sent toward Aheri– branches of a wood that very much defied the conventional. The executioner made the mistake of not realising this sooner, figuring a strong air blast from a swing of his axe would do, but he was wrong. Enough withstood the blast with their trajectory barely affected, hitting Arnaud at various points: The left armpit, the cheek and the hip, breaking some of his armour and revealing just a tad of his face, although one would mostly see his dark and greyed beard. Arnaud wasn’t bleeding quite yet, as his armour was endowed by the queen’s Boon. But at this rate, he would exhaust this blessing and rely only on his own power from here on out.
Olaf didn’t stop for a moment and went for his own wind strike. Aheri stands his ground, consolidating his stance to be immovable and with a mighty, lion-like warcry, prepared himself for the oncoming attack. But the elder Eskandr’s assault is far more powerful than he could have anticipated– The blast became far, far more powerful the moment it hit the ground before Aheri, prompting an explosion to completely destabilise the executioner! In this moment of weakness, the shaman capitalised with a closing of distance and tapped his wrinkled hand over Arnaud’s chest. A kneeling Aheri attempted to seize the older man’s wrist, but was too late to prevent his system from being exposed to soporific poisons. The attempt to catch Olaf was met with failure, as vines bound Arnaud’s being and the elder was allowed to retreat to safety.
The Royal Executioner feels his body waver, the poison already starting to have an effect. His size and inclination toward Essence magic delayed the effects relatively well, but Olaf’s poison was indeed potent. Arnaud knew he didn’t have much time before he would be rendered too weak, and so he charged with another war cry, but instead of swinging his axe, he performed a feint and instead stomped the ground when he was right before Olaf, who had been attempting to recover through syphoning energy via the plants. Surprised at first, Olaf’s eyes widen but he does not panic. With a strong exhale, he manages to downright deaden the air near him, preventing the kinetic blast from doing anything beyond serving as an annoying gust of wind passing by.
Left in complete disbelief, Arnaud pauses at the sight of Olaf’s raw power. He hesitated, and that was enough for Olaf to bind the axe wielder with vines and attempt to bury Aheri for good. The poison was making good work too, to the point where Arnaud seemed just about done.
Tomber, sans que mon adversaire ne connaisse mon nom? Foutaise!**
ROOOHHHHAAAAAR!
A great roar echoed throughout the Beach, and could be heard all over Relouse, some parts of the Witch Wood and very clearly for those that stayed near the Cape. A Lion’s roar, which ironically was probably unknown to most present in this conflict. What followed it was like thunder to lightning, a great earthquake that rumbled through the whole beach and the vibrations reached as far as the echoes of the scream. Aheri had slammed the pommel of his axe into the very ground that was ready to consume him, liberating him in the process and leaving the man with ceaseless steam that coated his being. His own sweat was cooking up!
”I, Arnaud Maobe, The Aheri, recognize you worthy foe. Old Eskand Warrior, will you give me your name?”
He says with quite the foreign accent. Olaf first speaks in his native tongue, something the executioner couldn’t understand, but he does honour the request with his own broken Avincian.
”Name. Old. Olaf.”
Arnaud nods. In spite of his clearly empowered state, the poison was still there and his threatening demeanour was thoroughly compromised. A shame he could not go at a strength worthy of such an opponent, but the Zuyr warrior embraced these circumstances of war. With battles continuing around them despite the grand quake, the executioner darts toward the enemy, faster and more devastating than ever, and readies a single axe swing to cleave through the coming projectiles from his equally reactive opponent. Once close, he readied another stomp, one that not only forced the sands and stone beneath to violently rise under Olaf, but was transformed through Essence magic to be as sturdy and impaling as possible. Unfortunately, Olaf was known for his manipulation of sand in particular and easily dissolves the transformed material, creating a cloud of sand in the air.
Aheri capitalises, but ends up outplayed by his opponent once more. Bound by vines through a deceitful counter by Olaf, the Eskandr sought to free the executioner from his tool of justice. The tug was strong, and Aheri’s strength was waning. Thinking it was the end, now that the big man had his mighty weapon taken, the shaman would be rightfully caught off guard by Aheri’s next manoeuvre: He simply abandons his axe and charges in, faster than ever from the lack of burden. Olaf reacts with a sprouting branch to uppercut the disarmed axeman, buying himself enough time to retreat, but Aheri doesn’t give up, even as his age and weight start to get to him along with the poison.
Confident after this swift dodge, the Eskandr taunted the Parrench warrior, ”You no good fight. Weak! Hahaha!” then he drew his own weapon, a typical sword of his people, and went to attempt a Coup de Grâce. Arnaud, too angry and battle charged to die, parries with his silver gauntlets and pushes back with enough force to destabilise the geriatric foe. Olaf stumbles, his own age also affecting his performance, and stares in rightful fear of what’s to come next.
The Parrench crouched before the recuperating Eskandr– to get at his level– and readied his right arm behind him, winding it up with a couple of spins. His left hand rested over his shoulder, keeping his posture steady as he focused on that one, decisive move. It all seemed slow, especially for such a fast paced battle, but it was all calculated, just enough to make for a devastating attack with the window Olaf had given. And then he struck, as fast as a snake thrusting its fangs onto its prey, in an attempt to lay that massive hand onto Olaf’s chest. The shaman knew he wouldn’t have a torso if this was allowed to hit.
With every bit of energy running through his being, Olaf propelled himself back whilst sacrificing a large amount of vines in the process. Aheri’s strike was so that the simple act of his palms and fingers grazing the side and shoulder of the elder caused bones to break: Shoulder and rib. If anything, Arnaud had succeeded in getting this veteran out of the picture for a while, even if it wasn’t through death, as these injuries were certainly dangerous, especially at that age.
In a cold stare, Olaf silently took back the taunting words. Having flirted with death so closely, far closer that an elder of war like him was used to, given his survival thus far, he knew it unwise to call Arnaud weak. Before Aheri can pursue and put an end to a now very wounded Olaf, he begins to lose control of his legs.
”Merde.” he cursed, now on one knee. He could barely see straight, and his armour was weighing far more on him than normal. Before long, he fell unconscious, in the middle of the battlefield, although was conscious just long enough to fall on his back, ”Next time,” calls the shaman, staggering away, ”We play again, big man. Next time, I no play with me food.” Arnaud heard it all, the last words he would hear before blacking out.
One of the most powerful warriors in Parrench was now ripe for the taking. If it weren’t for his squadron arriving on time, now missing two bodies from the initial six, Arnaud would have been a free claim to glory. Although perhaps the fact that Olaf didn’t finish him off was potentially enough of a warning to the lesser that it wasn’t wise to pursue the issue. Regardless, with Olaf out of commission, the Beach was just a tad safer. Safe enough for Aheri’s faithful men to drag him back into Parrench lines for recovery.
*The King Falls, huh? Fell on his ass, yeah! Don’t let this bullshit seduce you! Forward! **To fall, without my adversary knowing my name? Fuck that!
-Big fight with Olaf, Arnaud is a bit too confident -Most of Arnaud's attacks are countered by Olaf, his expertise outmatches Arnaud's raw strength and speed. -Arnaud is poisoned and made weaker, he is slowly succumbing to fatigue at an abnormal rate -He buffs up to buy time and threaten the veteran, causing his roar to echo through Relouse, some of the Witch wood and very much the whole beach, along with an earthquake. -He is disarmed despite his buff, but says fuck it and goes with his bare hands, and Olaf kind of realizes he's even more dangerous like this. -Arnaud nearly obliterates Olaf with a grab (Rolled 19 ayyy), but the elder manages to barely avoid death, ending up with a broken shoulder and a few shattered ribs. -Olaf retreats, Arnaud is unconscious but found by his men. Beach is a tad safer with Olaf tucking tail.
Interacting with: Abdel Location: Tethered Refuge - Stables and Lounge
They made it back mostly intact. Well, except for two guards and half the camels. But the survivors weren’t particularly injured or distressed beyond Jocasta’s exertion from what Zarina could tell. The Virangish took it upon herself to tend to the animals once they had returned to one of the stables, making sure none were hurt and removing the load they were carrying while ensuring they were with food and water. On the side were multiple Tethered children curiously watching– a familiar sight to their first night here, although with less energy. Spirits weren’t as high.
Ayla went on to meet with Laella, and Zarina took notice of the same pre-teen boy that had approached her the other day. She recalled his name to be Abdel and wasn’t exactly appreciated by some of the staff. She gave him a knowing glance but didn’t do anything beyond manifesting her acknowledgement of his presence. The camels were first– they had done a lot of work– and he could wait a little bit.
He did take a step forward, potentially a little shy to take the initiative with such a tall and good looking girl, ”Are you a stable girl?” he asked somewhat sheepishly which prompted Zarina to raise an eyebrow while peering at his direction, ”Do I look like one?” she replied with a loaded question and a focused gaze that could be mistaken for a glare. She didn’t look particularly classy at this moment, being covered in bloodstains and sand, one could confuse her for just about anything. Abdel was wise to fumble with his words and not give an answer, ”Pass me the brush, Abdel.” the imaginary crisis had been averted, her eyes returned to the animal before her and her hand extended out in wait. Abdel smiled– she remembered his name.
With the brush in hand, the Virangish girl went on to clean some of the stains on the beast ridden by Jocasta and Marceline. There was an awkward silence– Abdel didn’t dare interrupt her, not when she looked as bloodied as she did. It didn’t take long, and soon she would be at his disposal, standing straight before the younger teenager with a hand on her hip and the opposite arm rested along her side, ”So, what’s u-” she paused, shifting her eyes from side to side, recalling that the walls did indeed have ears. She spoke in her mother tongue, instead, ”Did you need anything, Abdel?” she asked calmly, gaze peered downward and kept soft to not overwhelm the kid or make him feel scrutinised, ”I wanted to-” he reached for the same satchel he had the previous night, and Zarina cut him off when he made his intention clear, ”Yeah, that. Pass it here.” she stepped closer to him, shielding the item from the view of any potential onlooker.
The medallion was placed into her gesturing hand by a somewhat surprised Abdel and she looked into it. She had memorised the seal, but it was good to get some confirmation that one’s memory served well. Her thumb brushed over the symbol as she got quiet, feigning reflection even though she already had an answer, ”Okay.” she says in Avincian this one time. From this close, Abdel could definitely feel the not-so-pleasant odours of dried blood, sweat and dirt all mixed together, and yet he could also distinguish the unique lavender aroma that almost seemed natural to her, ”I know where this comes from.” she plainly answers, sliding the item back in the small bag for Abdel quickly enough before they’d get any unwanted attention, ”And I’ll tell you. In exchange for something.” she smirked.
Abdel squinted, rightfully suspicious of this proposition and teetering close to the same look of defiance he had given to one of the Refuge’s staff, ”... It’s just soap. And a book for the night. The nights here suck and I want something nice.” she relented on the teasing and just cut to the chase with what was a fairly simple ask to a resident like Abdel, ”O-oh. Yeah, I can do that.” Zarina interjects quickly, ”And a place to sit real quick. Saddles destroy ass, I tell you.” the kid couldn’t help but snort at that comment and nodded in agreement. A spark of hope lit up in his eyes and he got to work. Zarina almost felt bad for making him move with that cane of his, but then she realised he would use the gift to get most of the job done.
A nearby couch in a lounge was chosen for Zarina’s little break while Abdel made his way to the library to handpick a book himself. The gift was used to nab one of the better soaps used by the staffers, a soap that would fit nicely with the subtle smell he caught from Zarina’s figure. When the ingredients were gathered, the goods were offered, ”Shit, you’re fast.” Abdel grins, and even blushes a tad at the compliment from the clearly pleased older girl. She first smells the block of soap and happily fits it into her bag she dropped by the couch, ”The Marvellous Vagabond, Don Canas del Molino.” she read, a Torragonese book by the looks of it and quite a popular one, ”Fast, efficient and an intellectual~” she winked at the lad, adding fuel to the fire within as his heart beat a little faster, ”Thanks.”
She tapped by her, inviting the Tethered boy to join her. He sat normally, letting his cane lean against the couch’s arm and rested his hands over his knees, ”Are you … Happy?” Zarina was letting her side lean against the backrest, elbow just over it and supporting her cheek. Her golden gaze was fixed right on him as she stayed silent for a brief moment, ”Very.” she answers plainly, taking mild amusement at the subtle reactions that came from the poor boy. It was cute, ”And I’m a lady of my word.” she peers downward and muses for a moment. Abdel’s legs grow increasingly restless– he is eager to know the answer to what’s been working his mind for so long. As long as he can remember, actually.
”Every year I see that emblem. One of four, I think, that lead the pilgrimage to Inipor for the Annual Festival.” her features soften, her gaze vaguely directed toward the boy, ”House Bukhari. Imam Buhkari is particularly known in Northern Virang. I’ve attended a couple of his prayers.” she exhales from her nose while Abdel listens with great attention, ”Well-known? My family is … Important? Is he my dad?” clearly excited to get some answers, Zarina didn’t quite share that enthusiasm, ”I’d say they’re important. I don’t know if he’s your dad.” it looked as though there was more she wanted to say, but she kept it to herself.
Abdel had taken the medallion back out and stared right at it, clutching it close. For a moment he seemed happy, but as this newfound discovery mellowed in his mind, the unjust reality of it all hit the young teen’s sensitive mind. He started to clench the item, a squeeze tight enough to nearly break it. Zarina could feel it– his frustration and disappointment, ”And they were ashamed of me.” he said in a mumble. Zarina pursed her lips, knowing full well the signs of growing rage, and reached her hand out to his shoulder, ”They’re assholes.” she says with the driest of tones, ”They preach about you, y’know? The Tethered. How your bodies are bound to an endless dream.” she squeezed on his shoulder, and in turn his own grip on the medallion loosened.
”But that’s not enough to be accepted, is it?” he aggressively retorts, his eyes burning with an anger he had likely bottled up for a long time, but couldn’t quite articulate it nor have a direction to hurl it toward. Zarina exhales from her nose and keeps her body language open, letting her hand slide down his arm and just gently rest over his hand, ”They’re no different than anyone else, important or not.” she replies, eyes locked into the teen boy’s, ”Do you want to meet them?” she asked, but before he could answer out of emotion after hesitation, they’d be notified of the meeting at Amanda’s room, ”Raincheck,” she stands and uses her hand over his to help him up, ”don’t get too pissy over this. Most parents are total fucking assholes. Focus on getting through the next few days, then we’ll see what you feel and what you want, yeah?” she gives him a final expectant stare which he responds with a nod. He clearly was still distressed by this inevitable truth, and he likely knew it deep down, but now it was given form– a name.
Abdel approaches Zarina for information on his past. She knows the family, informs of who they are after he gets her some quality soap and a book. At first he's glad to know, but then grows frustrated at the reality of it. Before it can go any further, the meeting at Amanda's room takes place.
Interacting with:@Dao Ma Maerec @Pirouette Camille - Any Parrence Aligned at the Beach! - Any Eskandish wanting to take on the Big Guy. Opportunity: Arnaud is leading the defence of the Beach and using a squad of Force Mages to blast away the Mist and obliterate ships with waves of force. Anybody is welcome to attack or help! Event: Defense of Relouse Location: La Plage
The Silence before the storm– A storm he was keen on ushering in himself. Many were already praying before the horizon was littered with the enemy, high and low-borns alike. Aheri never wasted his energy on such things, not from a standpoint of superiority, but rather he would never consider the possibility of falling to battle. And should he meet his match, the euphoria would be immense and the clash grand enough to shake the five moons themselves. The featureless, armoured executioner who bore the title many more noble than him spent a lifetime to earn stood tall at the top of a stoney hill bordering the sandy beach and the green lands surrounding Relouse. With him were a recently arrived troupe of men and women, all clad in an armour similar to his barring the lion symbol and the extra decorative touches. They were the few of his people that followed him, and all bore the gift of Force with them.
One that stood out was none other than one of those that did earn his title. Maerec de Solenne, a man Aheri would have remarked on how ‘pretty’ he looked, just like Asier, had it not been for his scars. They had never formally met beyond crossing eyes on various occasions in the King’s court. The stoic Arnaud stood at the peak of the small hill, just barely turning his head to acknowledge the younger man, ”Oui. On m’a informé de ton arrivée*. I’m all ears.” he mixed his Parrench and Avincian in a cocktail of accents that were honestly quite difficult to makeout for those uninitiated, and many rarely dared to make him repeat, if only due to his size and a lack of facial features to gauge his metallic tone, slightly muffled by his helm.
Maerec proposed a plan that coincided nicely with Arnaud’s own standards. To sabotage the enemy through drainage of Force energy, and feed it to Arnaud and his squad of mages to retaliate full-force. An interesting position to have as a Knight, being a full-on support, as most had the tendency to simply want to prove their worth. Many of which would attempt and fail in the coming Cap battle. Perhaps Maerec’s wisdom would be what keeps him alive through the coming ordeal. The Blood mages and the Yasoi female were preparing the beach, some of which were specifically designed by Arnaud. The sands at the extremes of the beach were made into quicksand, similar to the many he had encountered in his treks in the West to claim the land that would one day be Virang. Most fodder and weaker mages were essentially doomed without a plan to handle them, and how often did the Eskandr ever raid the deserted lands of the North and West? The only safe landing area was at the centre, where troops were already positioned, and the shoring ships would be funnelled into.
”Dame Camille de la Saumure.” he called out in the ranks, ”Come.” the massive figure extended his hand out and gestured his fingers for her to come. From her position she likely only saw his back, and would only find a fully-armoured giant the closer she got with no distinguishable human features, ”Quand ils mettront les pieds sur la terre sacrée de Parrence, je peux compter sur ta volontée? Ainsi de m’aider avec tes paroles divines?**” he turns his head ever so slowly to look into her direction, gauging the youngling’s reaction and resolve. Such a young Knightess, so clearly out of her depth. It reminded Arnaud of his own youth. Thrust into battle as a prodigy, and perhaps she too would become a war-bound hound like he did.
Here they were. The Southern Armada. An army bigger than anything Aheri had ever seen, whether it was in Rettan or Belzagg, he had never seen such a fleet in one place with this level of coordination. It was impressive, but nothing that would make the metal-clad executioner flinch. He stood firm in place, stalwart to the cause he had taken and unmoving in his resolve. He brandished his axe from over his shoulder and roughly slammed the pommel over the stone below him, causing a mighty thud to reverberate throughout the Parrench lines and the lines of sand they had carefully prepared for the occasion. It was a signal: The enemy was here, and they had to step up.
Archers and ranged mages went first, blasting away at one another. Lightning strikes from a considerably powerful Thunder mage terrified the many, even some of Arnaud’s close men, but he didn’t budge. Should he be struck, his own accumulated Force energy was enough to repulse a stray bolt, and he could perhaps even draw from it to return the favour to the source. But then came the Mist and the visible destruction of Redane from even Arnaud’s position. Something had happened, something that would have made a younger Zuyr king rush into battle, but he knew better now. Only by holding his position would they have a chance, and he made sure neither his men, nor Maerec, nor even the young little Camille would seize the misguided initiative.
”Trickery already, eh? Very well.” he chuckled while clenching the metal bar that held his weapon together.
Dark clouds began to form above them. A bad omen or maybe a signal? In any case, as the battle commenced and longboats began to make land, the experienced warriors on the beach would not be the only ones to notice a major discrepancy. Arnaud could feel it ever since the mist came about, but now that he could witness the Eskandish tactic unravel, he wordlessly raised his poleaxe, holding it as close to the pommel as he could. He swung it in a circular manner over his head, prompting a considerable amount of air to unleash from the motion. And then another, with the accumulated air getting bigger and bigger. Aheri’s men began to draw from that very air while simultaneously slowing the enemy on the beach with similar forms of drawing with Maerec spearheading the endeavour. With more and more gusts of air concentrating over Aheri and his men adding to it and ‘containing’ it in a small area, it was becoming more apparent that his goal was to conjure up a small storm– a very localised hurricane to not only attempt to dispel the mist with violent winds, but also focus enough of it to unleash a devastating blast to the fleet.
Projectiles were beginning to lose efficiency on both ends, as the winds became more violent in the Beach area, while those in Relose and the Cape were definitely feeling powerful drafts coming their way. Arnaud had no issue continuously drawing and unleashing more Force via his axe’s movement. And when it was time, his second hand came to hold his poleaxe as well. The massive weapon, readied and now still with a great concentrate of energy and air held together by his men and Maerec right above it, was to descend down the same manner he had always done to exact the King’s Justice. He purposely aimed it toward a ‘trapped’ area of the Beach, aiming slightly to the direction of the Cape where there had been a confirmed assault already. The blast was massive, more than what a Third Wheel could normally unleash. Although he was not only a Leadvein, but it was a group effort too. A straight, vertical wave of pure force blasted through the sands and waters alike, unleashing a horizontal shockwave in its wake akin to multiple explosions occurring in that one slash.
Any boat in the way would likely be obliterated, those just shy of the main blast would be propelled so harshly, survival was unlikely, and those far enough to survive but feel the full might of the shockwave would capsize and be devoured by the ocean’s waves prompted from the mighty attack. With that, Aheri banked that the blast would be enough to dispel the mist, if only temporarily, and get proper sight of the Eskandish machinations. The blast went as far as about 200 metres, matching many other mage attacks, although the shockwave extended much farther (albeit losing its lethality beyond a 15 metre distance from the epicentre).
The conjured mini-storm had made communication difficult for that brief moment, and would only be now that word would come to Arnaud regarding the Cape and the Witchwood, ”Hold. Your. Post.” he called out for all those nearby to hear. Without an order from the King, or a high ranking official, it was foolish to expect anything good from questioning authority and battle strategies now, ”If Le Lion needs help, he can come and get it.” he bellowed out as he raised his weapon once more, going for another round of storm conjuring with his battle-induced laughter of excitement muffled by the gusts of wind surrounding him. So long as Arnaud remained at the top with his support, safeguarding La Plage, the divided Eskandish had little chance of breaking through the middle by brute force. Not without a proper mage to take charge.
*Yes. They’ve informed me of your arrival. **When they will put their feet on the sacred land of Parrence, I can count on your will? As well as conferring me your divine words?
-Maerec proposes to support Arnaud as a Force Saboteur on the Beach and enhancer to the berserker. The latter also has a small troupe of lesser Force mages from his Tribe to assist. -Camille is beckoned to join Arnaud, and then encouraged to show what she's got when the battle starts. -The Mist's deception gets everyone, and Arnaud conjures a 'storm' of wind with the help of Maerec, his squad, and perhaps even Camille's 'prayers', creating a localised hurricane to begin to dispel it and hinder navigation. -He then swings his axe to unleash all the accumulated winds and force into a single, vertical wave to 'cut through' the veil and blast it it away, scrambling the boats in the process and probably destroying quite a bit. -He can continuously do this if not pressured by a strong force. -Arnaud will likely pressure the Cape if he is allowed to mow through the Beach with his team of mages and the bulk of the army, but is contingent on orders from Arcel.
The stables held a good dozen horses, bred for the desert and slightly bigger than average. Most of them were brown with long, unkept manes, except for a couple which Zarina had just recently brushed. There were also a few goats in a pen near the entrance, likely for a steady supply of milk. There were four, all sticking their heads out of the wooden planks that kept from leaving, curiously looking over at the new human that had entered their home and giving them head scratches beforehand. They weren’t calling for her– they just stared and flocked together, like they enjoyed her presence. The horses were also calm when she approached them, some even stretching their necks and flapping their lips to get her attention and hoping for some food.
Zarina was currently kneeling behind one of the mares. An older beauty, still in shape for duty but one could tell her age by the shape and colour of her teeth. Quite yellow and beginning to ‘split’ in a way. The mare’s hoof was over her knee, hoof pick on one hand and her other holding the strand of hair just over the foot. A routine cleanup, one she really put her back into. It made her happy, and even better: It calmed her down. In turn, the beasts were serene, without a single neigh of protest. But then she heard an all too familiar squawking from the nearby window. The Virangish girl’s features distorted from a composed and relaxed neutral to a mild scowl.
The hoof was allowed to drop and she stood up, giving the brave horse a little tap on the behind and a kiss to the side before she moved to the front of the pen so she could see the inevitable frame of her sister and attack the muck under the front hooves, ”Kol Khara*.” she responds with a restrained but whiny tone. She rolled her eyes and exhaled from her nose in frustration. It didn’t stop her from going about her task. The animals noticed the newcomer, and some of them stomped in light agitation. A couple of goats even ‘baah’d a little loud and the nearest horse grunted. Maybe they sensed something strange? Nothing Zarina would find too odd– maybe they had the same tastes as her.
”So,” she too spoke in her mother tongue, ”You come to the stables, for once, as a sort of unpredictable move to get me, huh?” she gives a glance to her sister from under the pampered horse, a gaze that didn’t hold much annoyance or even anger, though she definitely didn’t try to be even remotely welcoming, ”Pass me the brush, to your left.” she directs her eyes to said brush to make it clearer, and the order wasn’t heavy or loaded with any emotion. A mere routine request.
Ysilla maintained a lifeless expression from her sister’s snap. She had grown accustomed to rude receptions and made a habit to never give them anything. This was different in a way and a mild annoyance began to surface. Why did she even bother with her sister anyway? Why now? What exactly did she want to do here with her?
Unknown. It was a compulsion that just took over and now since she made the bed, she was going to lie in it.
It was Ysilla’s turn to respond but she carefully considered her words and opted to buy herself time. The puppeteer would raise her hand in acknowledgement at the request and would send Hoopoe to fly over and grab the brush with her talons and fly over to dump the brush in Zarina’s hand. The stable held silence, aside from any audible discomfort of the animals or Hoopoe’s flight and cawing, imitating a real bird.
To get her? The wording of her sister’s comment was simmering in her head as she considered the meaning. ”Such a trifling conspiracy to waste your breath on.” A scoff but with Ysilla’s emotionally muted tone, it was hardly noticeable but there was indignation in her tone. She never liked when her sister accused her of something. ”Do you feel threatened? Like I am about to get you.” She aired snidely.
The unnatural clanks from the wooden puppets broke Zarina’s focus on her current manicure endeavour. A glance of subtle revulsion was dedicated to the marionette and she swiftly nabbed the brush from it. She did not like the imitation, not one bit, ”Thanks.” she then passes the brush over some of the fur near the horse’s knee, scraping off some dried dirt that had accumulated there before standing back up. The next task was the mane, and she’d use the underside of the brush to begin straightening the knots and removing the scarce debris.
”Threatened?” she shakes her head, her tone matching the monotony of her sister’s, ”Just wondering what you want. For you to come alllll this way to the stinking stables to talk to me. I must’ve fucked up real bad, or something’s up.” variation in her tone returned, showing some degree of frustration. But she also seemed a tad intrigued, as her gaze deviated more and more from the animal and dedicated more interest to the twin, ”I’ve been doing good, by the way.”
Once more Ysilla stood still, her form tucked under cloak so even her idling finger taps on her thighs would be unnoticed. Her glare never leaves her sister. She was silent but without something to act as an excuse to delay her response, she answered after a few moments. ”Guilty conscience?” Ysilla robatically asked, tilting her head to one side inquisitively. ”Or do we only converse amid peril?”
”Bit dramatic.” Zarina is snappy in her response, ”We got through the worst. I think.”
A question that Ysilla didn’t care to hear answered. She knew her sister stormed to the stables for a reason. A reason she was not forthcoming with and the lack of trust was bothersome. ”The former, I suspect. You did, afterall, retreat here.” She jabbed, ignoring her sister’s wellbeing comment as that was only a poor attempt at distraction, she surmised.
Zarina exhaled from her nostrils, lips tightening and her repeated strokes coming to a stop. There was still some mane to go, so she clearly wasn’t finished, ”If it’s the case, what can you do about it, Ysilla?” her gaze is now hidden behind the beast’s long neck, her expression barely distinguishable, but a very good listener could hear a brief grit of the teeth and slightly heaving of her chest, ”You never were a people person.” she pauses, ”But I guess neither was I.”
Ysilla had no mare in front of her, no task to distract her. When she spoke, she wanted to know all about them. Her sister was no exception and the little, unseen reactions betraying Zarina’s apparent composure.
She knew not to push her luck too much. They were at least talking, though Ysilla’s own composure started to crack. She was hurt hearing her sister immediately discount the opportunity that she provided. A space to vent freely like any true sisterhood in the plays she had seen. How could they be called sisters like this? On edge all the time. Ysilla stood in silence, her mind rapidly shuffling through responses that she could say. She couldn’t think of anything to offer, creating the lengthiest silence in their conversation so far. That was until Ysilla finally offered something that was on her mind.
”The Torragonese have a stage play with a narrative around horses.” Ysilla began, diverting into reciting a play or story she knew, most relating to the situation she finds herself in. She often did this when she couldn’t find anything to say. ”Finding the finest horse, fit for a King. Specifically a replacement for his old war steed.”
Ysilla finally moved and began to shuffle over the nearest horse and she watched it as it began to rustle nervously. ”Gran Dia. You remember this one?” She announced the title of the play just as she reached out for the horse. It jumped and snapped in clear agitation, prompting Ysilla to recall her hand and fold herself back up in her cloak. A quiet resignation that she wouldn’t be able to pet the horse. The horse calmed but was still visibly disturbed.
”He never found a better horse than the one he had.”
Without any proclamation, Ysilla turned and began to head out. Hoopoe dropping for her perch and flying out the window that she had come in.
The long pause had given the time Zarina needed to finish pampering the mare. The mane was clean and made ten years younger, while the rest of the fur was brushed. Ysilla then began to speak, mentioning a play that both of them knew, although she didn’t stop her sister from retelling it. It was one of her favourites. She reached for a sachet she left at the corner of the pen, taking half of an old carrot from it. The now cleaned horse turned her head, likely recognizing the dull smell and the sound of the bag opening, and began flapping her lips in anticipation. Zarina didn’t tease the beast and offered her flat palm to be felt out by the lips. The carrot was quickly gobbled up and munched away, as a reward for being such a good girl.
Ysilla attempted to connect with one of the horses, or at least get a little closer, and was rebuffed. Zarina watched curiously, still silent. But when her sister had finished her story with an ending that warmed the teen’s heart, she stepped out of the pen, ”Hey.” she called out, her voice loud but tone softer than what she had been using during the exchange, ”Come.” she beckons her sister with an inviting gesture and then offers the other half of the carrot, ”Flat hand. Go slowly. Talk to her quietly.” she forced a mild smile, trying to be encouraging, and stuck by her sister’s side. The horse remained docile for now, although it was clearly eyeing Ysilla with caution.
The puppeteer froze in the threshold of the doorway as her sister called to her. She turned witnessing a beckoning gesture and the offer of a carrot. If there was any way Ysilla could express concern, this was it as her eyes darted back to the horse watching just as carefully as the animal did.
Silently accepting the offer, Ysilla proceeded over to her sister, palming the carrot and following the instructions to the letter. She… didn’t know how to talk to animals and her mind settled on the first thing she could see. The carrot. ”Do you enjoy carrots? I enjoy carrots.” She muttered under her breath, stepping lightly on her approach. ”Carrots are often put in a stew. Those carrots taste best.”
This felt humiliating and a rosy color blushed on Ysilla’s cheeks as she stuck out her hand and offered it to the horse.
Zarina could not help but giggle at Ysilla’s choice of words. Not in a condescending or mocking manner. It was cute. When her sister got close enough for the horse to reach out of the pen’s gate and take a sniff, the more animal-versed of the two stepped forward and stood by the horse’s long visage, one hand rested over the neck just under the mane, and the other over the cheek, ”That’s it.” she whispered to her sister while also providing some comfort to the beast.
It still looked reluctant, but eventually it began to flap its lips and reach for the strange human’s palm. A little bit of saliva was left onto Ysilla’s hand, and if she kept her palm still she would get a little, gooey massage. Zarina did not dare to tell her to remove her hand, as it was quite amusing to see. Munching away, the younger mare appeared to be relaxed now that the odd human had reassured her and given her a pleasant treat, ”I believe her name is …” she squints with her head tilted, ”Fiorella. And she seems to like you.” she didn’t have to force a smile this time, ”Maybe you and Fiorella can become friends when we make the trip, hmm?”
She had never been able to do that. Feed a horse by hand. Even as a child, Ysilla had always put animals on edge and it seemed like she’d always approach them, it would be the wrong way causing them to flee or fight. Fiorella seems to have been the first animal in a long time that was willing to put up with her. The resulting feeling was unexpected.
”Fiorella.” Ysilla muttered the mare’s name, unflinching as she was slobbered on, believing that was expected. Even after the horse had taken the carrot from her, Ysilla never moved her hand and let it sit there as if she expected something else to happen. ”Perhaps we could.” Ysilla trailed off, thinking about her actually riding a horse. She never really rode before. Wait. Has she ridden before? She couldn’t remember, her mind stirred harshly as she tried to recall a memory that just wasn’t there anymore.
Ysilla winced at the feeling in her head, and promptly retreated her hand tucking it under her cloak. ”I have something to do. See you.” She stated abruptly and turned, headed out.
Translation: *Shut up/Eat shit
With Ysilla gone, Zarina could return to caring for the beasts she thought would be their trusted steeds for the next venture in the desert. The sunrays from the window Hoopoe had come from had since thinned, indicating the sun had moved a bit since she had last checked. It was nearly time, and hopefully the staff had the steed ready for them in the next minutes or so. A few more things were packed, notably her two blades and a second gourd containing a nice mix of the refuge’s coffee and the goat milk that had been freshly taken from the livestock. A Café au Lait. Finally, a very brief morning prayer– it wasn’t too unusual to get it done quickly, as few were morning people, and they were not in a place of worship. When Zarina walked out to meet the party, it would not be the guards and the head of the expedition that took her attention, but the animals.
”Camels. Huh.”
She remarked, eyeing one of them that she would claim as her’s, ”Then a long journey is to be expected?” she inquired out loud, to see which one of the three unknowns would step up and present potential plans. It would likely be Escarra in this case, a man that definitely looked the part of a veteran desert ranger. All the while, she slid her hand over the snout of the tall breast, immediately letting the relatively young but strong male take a good sniff of her scent and grow used to her touch. Similar to a horse, it seemed to be more intrigued to see if there was food in her palm, flapping its lips a little over it before returning to its docile state, looking around and awaiting its rider’s orders, ”What’s your name, handsome guy, hmmm?” the camel’s neck got a couple of pats before she walked to the side and eventually hopped onto its back between the humps. Clearly she had rode one before, ”Daoud. That’s your name, okay?”
The caravan was to set off, and Zarina’s experience as a horse rider made it easy for her to adapt and steer the camel to her liking, although she abstained from pushing it before a calm pace. It was also a habit of her’s to keep to the back, especially with inexperienced troop members and supply animals, ”That’s right, Yalen. Nice ‘n’ steady.” she called out to the young priest with a grin, ”Hold the reins tight, but don’t pull unless you wanna stop, yeah?” it looks like she had regained some vigour after spending some ‘alone’ time.
Their first hurdle: The Halassa. Well, as much of a hurdle as they were the previous night. Zarina was ready to act, but the squad leader had his way of dealing with it. A method she approved of quite a bit and took note of the means to efficiently scare off these big beasts. But the real jump in adrenaline came with a Rhinodon of all things charging right for them. Why? It was anybody’s guess, but one would suspect it could be from invading some territory if it wasn’t madness. Without any comment on it being the latter, she started to manoeuvre her camel to steer clear of any path the angered beast would take. The fact that some of her peers were not too experienced with riding, however, prompted her to step up in this mini-crisis.
”Hey!” she called out, tapping the sides of Daoud with the soles of her boots to prompt a trop and maybe even a canter if it came to it. The Virangish girl even whistled to get the Rhino’s attention, but it seemed tunnel visioned. It didn’t help that riding a camel at such speeds for the first time stressed Zarina a tad, but she did her best to at least help her teammates not get run over by the bulky creature. Luckily, or maybe the contrary, a storm seemed to hit them minutes after this issue had occurred. A wall of sand was coming onto them, and it was enough to have the horned animal to cease its assault and seek safety. The group did the same in a mountain of sorts, taking refuge until it subsided just moments later. No casualties so far.
When they emerged, an interesting sight came about from the residue of the storm: Ruins! Architecture Zarina didn’t recognize, although she did not think too much of it either. What took priority in her mind was a little break to eat and drink with plenty of shading to be had in these forgotten stone buildings. The animals were parked and given some feed, with Zarina lagging behind to ensure all was good with Daoud.
The storm had revealed ruins of a time long gone. With the announcement of a small break, it seemed everybody had the instinct of hunkering down under the ancient roofs, away from the merciless heat of the desert in mid-day. The animals did not mind, they were born for such climates, but even the Virangish needed time for siestas during such times. Before she could indulge in some of her packed food and a good caffeinated sip, Zarina made sure that Daoud– the camel she had baptised as such was properly bound in the shade and given food, although water was withheld for now (they were used to conserve it after all). A good few pats, a couple of whispers and then a general inspection of the others’ beasts later and she was off for a lunch break.
She was late, much like another person that had been on the Virangish girl’s sleepless head. Marceline was not having a good time with the sand. Funny they had a Refuge in the middle of an ocean of the stuff, right? Hesitant, the taller teen watched for afar, water gourd in hand and taking in a sip. Sighing from her nostrils, she caved and approached the tethered she had not exactly treated nicely just a few hours ago, ”Wanna sip, Marci?” she asked while keeping a few feet of distance and holding back from directly offering help, ”Haven’t seen many drink up. No point saving up if we all get heat strokes.” she presented the gourd with an awkward smile, now a few steps closer. Now she was close enough to help without it seeming too forced.
For a moment, Marceline only glared at Zarina, and it looked like the girl’s insecurities and stubbornness had won out. She drew upon the immense heat in the sand and was able to put enough bounce in her step to manage a near-normal walking pace. Then, she sighed in the slightly petulant way a fourteen-year-old might when confronted with what they know they should be doing, in spite of their pride. “You don’t… need to give me your water as a peace offering.” She snorted. “Save it. You’ll need it.” She shook her head. “And I don’t think you’re a horrible person or anything. You just… don’t get it. You wouldn’t unless you’d grown up here.” She paused at the steps and reached up to brush some hair from her face. “Plus, I bet you had the traditional first night’s sleep.” Marci grinned. “Nobody sleeps well their first night.”
Zarina blinked, surprised at the reaction. No adversity, only a composed teen that acted far more reasonable than many adults she had known. It left the Virangish speechless for a moment, gourd still presented as an offering, ”Well,” she pursed her lips and shifted her eyes side-to-side before whispering, ”I have a pretty damn good café au lait in my bag, and you know what they say about drinking alone.” she snorted at her own mediocre joke, and the Perrench accent was very much exaggerated. She gestured over at one of the decrepit buildings from a bygone era, there they could probably sit and be safe from the merciless rays of the sun, ”No, no. I was a right cunt to you. Very much a horrible slag at that moment.” she gestures in dismissal with a smile. The exchange with her sister and the time at the stables had apparently done good work on her mood, ”T’was uncalled for. Whether I know what you lived or not. So, er-” she shifts her jaw, prompting a couple of pops, ”Yeah. Sorry.” awkward, but embarrassing enough to be genuine.
The apologetic tall teen found herself a flat, stone surface to rest her rear upon, bag by her side and opened to reveal a packed lunch and a container with the supposed milky drink. Marci reached the same area and plopped down beside her, taking and releasing a long breath. She untied the little sack she’d slung over one shoulder and pulled out some biscuits, dried salted meats, and a couple of clementines. “How about we trade?” she offered. She began peeling her fruit. “I take some of your coffee, you have one of these. I’m more thirsty than hungry anyhow.”
Zarina pursed her lips at the sight of clementines before nodding, ”Oh, yeah, sure thing.” She presented her hand to collect the goods and the exchange was made. “As for sleep, it looks like a few of us didn’t get great sleep, no.” she added, peering over to the direction of the others. If she couldn’t see them, she could probably hear some of them conversing during the break. Zarina shook her head, ”Sleep just doesn’t come easy for yours truly, even on the comfiest of beds.” a small, metallic cup was being filled with the beverage as she spoke, although it had since lost its heat.
The Tethered girl swept some loose hair from her eyes. There was a backdraft coming from inside the cavernous old ruins. She’d been stealing glances inside since the moment they’d sat. She blinked. “Why?” she asked, tilting her head ever so slightly to the side. “Is something the matter?”
The mention of a lack of sleep had Zarina drift for a brief moment. She just stared at the drink she poured and nearly caused it to overflow, ”Ah crap.” she was quick enough to not waste anything, and equalised the volume by adding some to her own cup, ”Why what, again? Sleep? Erm.” she begins to focus on one specific yet irrelevant point of reference: a stray hair of Marceline’s that stuck out near her ear, ”I just- Hmmm. I just haven’t been able to sleep, let alone dream, for like …” she tilts her head and closes an eye, ”Twwwooo years? I mean, I sleep. But they’re more micro-naps. I think. Anyway, it’s basically routine.” she shrugged to downplay the issue, smiling confidently as she took a sip from her own drink. The excessive powdering of her face that served to veil her black circles was becoming far more apparent when one was so close and aware of Zarina’s habits.
For a moment, it looked as if Marci was going to say something, but she paused and took a sip of water. “I never have trouble sleeping,” she shared. “At least… I never used to. They put essence of valerian in our evening tea. Knocks us right out.” She leaned back, posting her hands on the cool stone floor behind herself. Her sea blue dress fluttered in a sudden light gust. “They add honey so we always drink it. Nobody can say no to honey. Thing is…” She glanced at Zarina almost… evaluatively for a moment, “I don’t get the extract anymore - not since I’ve been in training. I guess they need me sharp and I train at night sometimes. You know what the funniest part is?” By the way that she turned to face the older girl, hands knit in her lap, it was clearly a rhetorical question. “I wouldn’t have even noticed. I’d have slept just as well if I hadn’t found out.” She sighed. “Two weeks ago, I did, though. Now that I know, I fear I’m not faring much better than you or Ayla.” She shook her head and bit into some of the jerky.
Zarina indulged in the pieces of clementine that were traded for some of her coffee mix, meticulously nibbling away as she kept her golden gaze on the tethered teen by her. When the drug was mentioned, she narrowed her eyes, rested her left calf over her knee and leaned forward a tad, ”Well, you did call it a prison. Don’t want any of these extremely dangerous ten year olds to wander during lockdown, now.” the sarcasm was as evident as the smirk on her face when she turned her head to face Marceline, ”The training.” her voice lowers, respecting the discretion Marceline sought out the last time they spoke, ”How many of you are in that program-thing?” she takes a sip, gaze focused on the other’s eyes, ”Do you have a choice in the matter?”
Marci’s eyes narrowed - not hostile, but perhaps a bit professionally suspicious. She finished chewing and she swallowed. “Why are you so interested in us?” she asked. “Why do you wanna know?”
Zarina didn’t back down when she met the girl’s cautious gaze, keeping hers focused while her body language remained relatively composed, “For the numbers? Just so I know how many could potentially be helpful if things don’t go so well with the mission.” another contingency, something she had been preparing since her exchange with the warden, “As for your choice-” she averts her gaze, arms crossing under her chest and fingers drumming over her bicep, ”I’m no stranger to being put in a situation where you’ve got no choice, as a kid.” a quiet pop can be heard when she shifts her jaw, ”The little flip out I had back in the Refuge wasn’t really because of what you said- Well, it was, but this whole thing reminded me of something that hit close to home, I suppose.” she sighs and returns her attention to Marci, ”It pisses me off to no end, that the people trusted to care for the young and defenceless, would put them in such … Fucking impossible situations. To use them, instead of nurturing. Ugh,” she pressed her fingers against her temple, ”Sorry- It’s hard to articulate without me heating up.”
“We have a choice,” Marceline said quietly. She gazed out over the ruins, the camels, and the sandy floor of the deepening canyon. “But it’s a pretty easy one.” She shrugged. “I think it's designed to be.” She stretched her legs out in front of her, braces and all, and there was no missing the atrophy in her calves, the bunched up muscle in her knees - at least until she pulled her fluttering dress back down over them. Her body was losing the battle, same as Jocasta’s was and even Yalen’s to a lesser degree. She turned to the Virangish girl earnestly. “We don’t know who we are. My name isn’t really Marceline. It was just something I chose after I woke up with no proper memories of who or what I’d been in the ten years I lived before the Refuge. On the surface, this is a paradise for us poor, doomed souls.” She rolled her eyes and glanced down at her knees. They were pressed together, her feet splayed apart, knock-kneed. “But there’s no purpose. There’s no excitement. There’s no reason to live. We’re just… things that… exist.” She sat up straighter, fingers bunching and unbunching the folds of her dress. “Every week, it just repeats: the same thing again and again. The caretakers get a little older and you get a little older and the other Tethered you looked up to as a kid get more and more crippled each year until they disappear into the red tower and you just know…” She trailed off, her face scrunching up. “That’s gonna be you someday.” Tears started to bleed out of her eyes. “And there’s no point to it all. Nothing to look forward to, only things to fear. You did nothing. You were nothing: just some tragic girl who nobody wanted or remembered who sat there by a pool in some little corner of the world, numbing herself with prayer and drinks and drugs and-” She blushed. “Sex,” she whispered. Quickly, she began to gather herself. “So that’s why I did it. That’s why we do it: it’s a chance to have done something, anything that’s real.” She sniffed, wiping away the few tears she’d cried with the back of her hand.
Zarina’s extremities felt more numb than usual. It was far from being cold despite the adequate shading, and she wasn’t scared or anything. She had begun feeling this when she admitted to her own issues that prompted her outburst, and now that Marceline was painting a proper picture of her situation, the Virangish girl felt a little queasy. And then Marci began to cry. Hairs rose in reaction, Zarina’s heart rate intensifying and her gut cramped ever so slightly. How easy it was to cause a visceral reaction to this girl with a show of emotions. It ate her soul so much more when she was forced in situations where she had to be the cause of these. The cold extremities began to shiver, though she’d hold one hand with the other to hide it. The more Marceline spoke, the colder it felt.
Awkwardly, she found the courage to raise her hand and rest it over the Tethered’s shoulder with the same hesitation she had shown to Yalen, but this time exacted it. She did not want to be too invasive, and Zarina was clearly not too experienced with positively dealing with emotions, but she offered her hand nonetheless, ”I don’t see you as a thing.” her voice was unusually mousey, even a little difficult to hear with a couple of words swallowed by her trembling form, ”You’re this new friend I made, that thinks a tangerine is worth my awesome café au lait.” she lets an awkward giggle escape her.
Marci sat up a bit straighter. “I was only gonna pay half a tangerine at first,” she teased, popping another slice into her mouth, “So be grateful.” Zarina grimaced, waving her hand in dismissal, only to laugh right after, ”Revolting. They don’t even teach you manners!”
“You know,” the younger girl giggled, “the tears and boogers actually add a nice bit of saltiness to it…” She grinned impishly, mock-horrified at the inappropriateness of it.
“But how ‘bout that?” Zarina offered, “I’ll teach you the value of such a delicacy, so we can open a little brewing gig. These places make BANK, I swear. Doesn’t that just sound a quadrillion times better than that not-choice, hmm?” her Virangish accent had briefly mellowed out there.
Marceline’s face became sad again, for just a moment, and she went still, aside from absently taking a bite of her jerky and the final sip of her coffee. “I’d love that, someday,” she said quietly, with a faint smile. “You're a good person and I’m sorry for misjudging you.” Finished her food, she tied up the knot at the top of the bag. “But that’s a false comfort.” She reached for her crutches and, with a bit of kinetic assistance, stood. She pivoted to face Zarina. “There’s no getting out of here for us.” She shook her head. “They’ll never let it happen. You know the truth?” She narrowed her eyes. “They’re scared of us.”
As if the hand of Dami himself was at work, Jocasta emerged from the darkness of what looked to have been a small temple, drifting above the ground like a ghost.
”Oh, yeah, they’re scared. Anyone would be, if what you said is true.” Zarina straightens herself too but remains seated. The moment they had quickly reverted to the darker, depressing tones they started with, but the Virangish girl didn’t let herself sink into that mood. Then, she noticed Jocasta. She was a little surprised, almost jumping in place even, but the timing was too good for her to make it a scene, ”But she got out.” she gave the blonde Tethered a glance and nod, ”Why can’t we make it happen for you too?” she then narrowed her eyes back toward Marceline, leaning forward a little, ”Should you want to leave, of course. We talked about choices, after all.”
“I do,” Marci replied “But…” she hesitated, mouth open to continue speaking, but found herself pre-empted instead by Jocasta, who whooshed over and ‘stood’ beside them. It was a bit jarring to see her at eye level. One could feel the kinetic gravity loop that kept her off of the ground. “Hey, s-sorry,” she cut in. “I don’t mean to i-interrupt. I just overheard the last bit while I was back there.” She glanced at both of the others. “G-gods willing, if all goes well today or… at least not disastrously, I’m going to be meeting with Amanda to-tonight.” She took a breath. “I think we should all sit down and discuss these things and…” She looked down for a moment, meeting Marceline’s eyes and glancing at Zarina as well, “If you want to know how I g-got out, I will tell you everything.”
“I can only speak for myself,” replied Marceline, “But it sounds good, sister. Very good indeed.”
”Amanda …” Zarina focused on that name, eyes squinting downwards toward a small pile of sand, ”She’s one of the clover names.” she recalled upon snapping her fingers, ”An old one too. I assume … You know her too, Marci?” she tilted her head, clearly a little overwhelmed with the information and potential plans to be. She needed a moment to process, ”Sister?” she furrowed her eyebrows, glancing over at Marceline, and then toward Jocasta, then back to Marci. She never thought the Tethered were THAT close.
The pair of them looked at each other. “There’s still a lot you don’t know,” the younger one admitted. “But…” She glanced over at Jocasta, as if looking for permission, and the blonde nodded. “It’s time to fill you in. It’s time to fill everybody in.”
“Both of us know Amanda,” Jocasta admitted. “All th-three of our names are on that tree.” She glanced down and then up, meeting Zarina’s eyes with a bit of a twinkle. “I’m trusting you, Zamira.” She smirked knowingly. “Tonight,” the eldest of the three promised, voice sinking conspiratorially. “Tonight, w-we not only figure out how to sh-shove that stupid aberration back where it belongs, we start plotting our refuge revolution.”.
This was dizzying to the small time, wannabe mobster with a bit too much of a bleeding heart for the job. Zarina could hardly follow. How the two girls were on the same wavelength, how Jocasta was on the tree despite the absence of such a name, how it just jumped to REVOLUTION all of a sudden. Zarina blinked and stayed quiet for a moment, hands over her thighs. Silently, she looked at Marceline, and then at Jo, ”... I have a lot to say, realistically. Vashdal as my witness.” another pause. She clenches the sandy cloth that covered her legs, ”But honestly? Fuck it. If you guys wanna fight for what you want, I’m in.” taken by the excitement, she grinned a toothy smile, ”If only to get this nasty little git out so she can taste REAL quality stuff and repent for her awful comments.” she nudged her chin toward Marceline. If she were fully truthful, she had quite the reservations for such rash decisions, but she did yearn for something more than compliance. She did, however, shoot a knowing glance toward Jocasta. Nothing had slipped by Zarina, despite her sleepless state, and the blonde girl had always managed to keep the Virangish on her guard.
They were back on the hot sands, marching forward to a destination she could not see. The break was soothing, if not jam-packed with conflicting feelings that plagued Zarina’s restless mind. The fact that she still hadn’t gotten some shut-eye was weighing on her, even if her mood was kept in check with other positive stimuli. The more her mind got hazy, the more the unsettling thoughts came to be.
Jocasta …
The ‘On Two’ Tethered of the group. A mysterious one that had so far merely been a light risk of emotional breakdown, but now a whole new angle was provided. Zarina kept at the back and could have a good look at everyone, and she narrowed her eyes onto the blonde first. What was it she had planned? How did she have a rapport with Marci? Why did she not just come clean with her origins? The more she thought about it, the more she started to piece things together. Slowly. Before any conclusions could be made, her weakened mind ended up focusing elsewhere …
Marci …
The young teen she had reconciled with, and in turn was let in on some insight that made Zarina’s head spin. She wanted to help Marceline. Help the one willing to fight for what’s her’s to get what she’s owed. It was almost a sort of honour thing, to the point that it drew from Zarina’s indignation and emotional nature and led her down this rabbithole of revolution. Would she partake in this potentially disastrous ‘revolution’ to help a friend? Or is she just way over her head? She blinked a few times, having nearly fallen asleep on her camel.
Yalen …
Did they all know each other? Was this some sort of coordinated thing and Hugo was the mastermind? Or was he fooled too? After all, two Tethered pupils attending this mission was objectively a boon. He did not look well at all this morning, even worse than Zarina herself. Had he been involved in something as well? Or was it one of those nightmares her sister had brought up? So many questions, and the Virangish insomniac would get little from them in her current state. Although with the way he killed those Halassa, Zarina was not going to bank on some Quentic pacifism to hold this one back.
Kaspar, Ayla …
Two with family names that mattered. One from this very land, one from another where potential ‘Clovers’ like Marci could be sold to. What would disrupting a factory of Mage Snipers potentially do to their reputations? Would they go with it, and maybe risk their families’ wellbeing? There were many patients in that Refuge, many children. But how many depended on these families too? Would a two or three hundred ailing youths be worth the many impacted by the harming of big names? The thought was nauseating, when Zarina realised how complex things could get with stopping something so clearly ‘wrong’ in many ways.
Ysilla …
And finally her own sister. Her own blood. What applied to the two previous applied to her own family. In a sense, her mother was likely not to ever falter over petty geopolitical cabals, but to bring shame to her family’s name, and subsequently harm her very blood was a frightening prospect indeed. It was all mentally taxing, to the point where she just let go, and slumped over the first hump, and entered a micro-sleep. Luckily the camel was content with just following the herd, letting the rider get a bit of rest. No dreams would be had, thankfully.
And then suddenly, she woke up to growing tremors in the sand and stone. They were getting close to the aberration. The Tethered trio could sense it. But it would obviously not be made easy. Another Wyrm came into play, or maybe it was the same one as before? It really did not matter, they just had to leave. Rushing toward safety, the animals were clearly spooked by the ordeal, but Escarra could lead the flock away just in time while Zarina took notice of the one supply camel panicking. Pumped with adrenaline and refusing to lose a precious source of goods, she went into a full-on gallop with Daoud to retrieve the panicked beast, seizing its broken rope and calling out to it. It actually calmed down once tugged and heard the calls of the girl despite the chaos going around it.
Successful in her rescue, she kept the camel bound to her own and quickly joined the party before she ended up Wyrm chow. They were safe … Until one crisis ushered in another. A meat feast had awakened within the canyon, and the predators were now all on high alert. Forabasses, a lot of them, first picking off the easy targets, but then taking interest in the party. Coming in waves, the clouds of pseudo-dragons began to pick off their group, ”Hug the wall!” she called out, employing some of her Kinetic magic to push the supply camel to safety and close to her own.
The Froabasses were limited, for a time, but they would end up winning. First was one of the guards, and the scene unfolding before her eyes had Zarina’s heartbeat at a headache-inducing pace. She was clearly scared, but not helpless. One hand drew a sword, and the other picked up some knives she had brought along for the trip. The guard was already long ago, taken by the carnivorous beasts, but the second was about to be devoured right before them. As he was being ripped apart, she instinctively hurled her blade toward his head. She missed, hitting the throat instead. Her attempt to end his life painlessly before the gruesome end had only partially failed, as he would likely not feel much after losing most of his blood in a few seconds. Still, she whimpered at the sight, but didn’t give up. A few camels were taken too, and while her aim wasn’t the greatest, she did her best to pierce their skulls and end it quickly, until it was her turn to be greeted by the predators.
”Fuck it.” if it was going to be the end, she would go down with a fight. Both blades were drawn and she hopped off Daoud, keeping the terrified beast behind her as she began to swing at the monsters while shouting at them. And when she was in the right state to just go all out, her mind serene and committed, one of the creatures downright attacked another and served as a shield for Zarina and those near her. This bizarre turn of events had her completely stunned, ”What the …” her body felt cooler than normal, and she couldn’t shake off the sensation that the moment she felt that coldness, the beast felt it too and acted accordingly, somehow.
The group attacking them retreated after this strange occurrence. They were not safe, but a moment of respite was generously given to them. Enough time for Zarina to actually approach the draconic being and slowly attempt to rest her hand on its tail. Any thoughts of her actually connecting with the beast immediately vanished as it reacted with a slap to her core with the tail. Not breaking anything, but she would get a bruise. It growled at her, seeming ready to attack, but then just flew off with the flock.
That same flock was going to come back to them. At least two dozen massive flying beasts, and they had to chance. Zarina took this time to peer over at her sister and Ayla. Then at Marceline. She frowned melancholically, but only briefly. Inhaling strongly, she raised both her blades and stared down the coming swarm with defiant eyes. She screamed a powerful warcry, bracing herself for the worst and standing between the attackers and those she cared for most. She would not die today, however.
A massive draw was taking place. One that even the Froabasses were sensing and halted their attack over. All this energy– it converged toward one person: Jocasta. The intense power was enough to have Zarina kneel and stare in awe. She had only seen one person display such power before, and even then this seemed exceptional by that standard too. The thought of inevitable death was superseded by a fear of the unknown. What could possibly come of such a concentration of power? And then she felt a familiar feeling. The same that came from solving that first riddle in the tower, and when the Paradigm opened a tear in space and time. The Froabasses were then all gone. Poof. Like they weren’t there in the first place, along with their meals.
It took a moment for Zarina to fully grasp what was going on, her eyes shifting about to see if anything else had changed. And then Jocasta explained. The threat was gone, taken somewhere else via a magic that few knew. It didn’t hit the Virangish teen right away what all of this could imply. No, she was first and foremost thankful to Vashdal that this did not turn into the nightmare it could easily have been. Her hand reached for her pendant, her thumb tracing the lines upon it. She had so nearly died, and yet here she was. It did not stop a creeping bad feeling to take root at the back of her mind, however.
[Ending is at Ayla's post above!]
-Comfy ride in desert, names her camel Daoud -Reconciles with Marci -Jocasta shows up during her lunch with Marci, the idea of Refuge revolution is mentioned -Zarina agrees to help Marci and considers the revolution idea -Zarina is realising what this may imply, especially to those they're close to -Big chaos with the Froabasses, loads die, she is ready to fight to the end -Zarina attempts to tame one that defends her -She fails -Jocasta saves the day and the display of power makes Zarina particularly anxious -She connects some dots when she speaks to Ayla -Ayla proposes a plan, but it can be an issue if someone as strong as Jocasta is on a warpath -Ayla falls asleep over Zarina's shoulder
Zarina gave an appreciative nod to both Marceline and Jocasta before heading into her temporary quarters. She really wanted that bath, and it would be the first thing she hopped into without even familiarising herself with the foreign room. Her sweat and sand covered skin appreciated the warm, pore-opening water. A good half-hour was spent in it, until it eventually entered lukewarm territory and the Virangish could only bear so long with only her thoughts and nothing else. She smelled of oranges, a flavour that was quite common in this Refuge, it seemed.
They had a big day tomorrow and there was little chance of sleep. Still, Zarina clung onto a modicum of hope. Dried and fitted with a fresh set of common, dark clothing provided by the establishment, she had set her pendant over the nightstand by her bed, improvised a carpet with the spare towel and got on her knees before the stand. The third and final prayer of the day- even if it was probably the start of a new one. Hands over her thighs and head lowered, with her hair modestly tied to not hide her face, she started off silent before reciting it in Inipori.
”Dreamer, the one and only above all.”
Thoughts of home and the Al-Nader estate flooded her mind. Her mother, in particular, and the affairs she had to leave behind.
”I embrace the three envoys of the one great Vashdal.”
Yalen came to mind, and her assumptions toward his person. A cleric in a group with at least on Hexaic, and her mind immediately drifted into suspicion. A cruel and unjust thought, unworthy of the dreamer. Unworthy of a kind man either.
”Let us dream. Let us dream. Let us dream.”
Then came Ayla, along with her sister. Envy reigned supreme in Zarina’s heart, for many reasons. A jealousy unfitting for people she loved. It was so hard. She paused, but the prayer had to continue.
”Until we see you, Great Vashdal, freed of …”
The first thought went to Kaspar, the one she began to admire. The serenity of that young man and his way to talking, it made Zarina think of just how bad things had gotten with her. But then, as the prayer ended, her thoughts drifted toward Jocasta- toward the one she was the most concerned over.
A nightmare.
”A nightmare.”
Cold sweats mixed with the humidity of her hair, making for an uncomfortable coldness throughout her upper body. Something felt off, to the point where she forgot to finalise her prayer. There was nothing, in truth, and yet that last thought caused her to just stop for a good moment. She did end up finishing the last lines and bowing to finish the ritual, and complete the final prayer of the day.
Sleep was not an option, not in such an unfamiliar place and with so many things running in her head. Zarina was going to have to kill time while keeping her mind busy. Grabbing a chair from her quarters and opting to step out, she placed herself by a nearby corner where her field of view covered all the rooms of colleagues who were resting in. She had brought along a weathered knife from her limited belongings and a piece of wood, about the side of her palm as well. A work-in-progress it looked like, given she brought it along with her weaponry and bag, that she carved into something. It was at the beginning stage with nothing particularly intriguing about it. A mere slab.
Her work was interrupted by a little lion seeking out the tethered girl of their group. Zarina watched, silently, and let her find out if Jocasta was awake or not.
[See Collab Post in Ti’s Response!]
Zarina was likely the first to be awake, given she hardly slept. If one could even call these micro-naps sleep. When the smell of pastries and warm drinks captured her flair and activity began to accumulate in the Refuge, she left her post and got a head-start on the others. Coffee was inevitable and she served herself with a reasonable amount. She may be an addict, but she didn’t consume in excess, or at least not in one sitting. She took this time to find a nice, comfortable spot where she could admire the rising of the sun and indulge in the fresh, morning air of the arid desert, the sweet spot between the frigid coldness of the night and the scorching air of the day. How she missed her horse and the days she rode through these very dry lands.
There was a conspicuous lack of Zarina when the group had gathered for a convivial breakfast. She had since left before they had woken up with coffee safely acquired. Her return from the same tree she had visited last night would be around the conclusion of the morning feast, empty cup in hand, “Buenos Días.” she greets in passing as she reaches for the coffee and pours herself some while staying on her feet. She also indulges in churros.
She didn’t look particularly tired, or at least hid it well, but her gaze wasn’t nearly as focused as it once was. It darted around, taking in quick information before discarding any concern she may have for those present, except of course– “Sleep well, Ayla?” although she asked while the Warden was speaking. Not loud enough to actually cut him off, but she didn’t appear to really consider others, as if she were a tad zoned out.
Ayla starts to become a little flustered when questioned directly again. She navigates avoiding responding when Jocasta asks, though with Zaz… she could not even recall how she returned back into her bed. “Like Jocasta”, glancing at the other girl in her attempt to avoid any exchanges with the caretakers. They had great difficulty, and the lingering scent of smelling salts were still present in her nostrils. Jocasta leaned in knowingly, smirking. “They used the salts on you, didn’t they?” She shook her head tightly, shooting a wary glance at the warden and vice–warden. The blonde seemed… almost uncharacteristically clingy this morning, making an effort to place herself in the centre of the group as they’d made their way here, even holding Ayla’s hand for a little while.
Nonetheless, Zarina’s attention was soon drawn away. The mention of a missing ranger prompted the cocking of her eyebrows in a similar, blasé manner to when she heard of the strange death of the other ranger. When the head of the establishment finished, she looked over at him, “Yeah. How many are on the payroll here?” she inquired with little consideration for manners, her tone coming off almost aggressive with how straightforward she was, but her body language suggested the placebo she was drinking was keeping her poised. Somewhat.
Tavio paused, clasping his hands behind the small of his back and, for a moment, a look that seemed to be almost… annoyed flashed across his aquiline features. “We don’t disclose that information,” he said shortly. After a second, he thought better of it. “But there are four hundred thirty–five souls in this place, and all are in equal danger.” He broke character for a moment, lips forming a thin, bitter line. “Gutierrez was a coward for running like he did, now that we face a serious threat.” he shook his head, gazing out across the others.“And after ten years, too,” he muttered. Jocasta seemed to shrink back, ever so slightly, from his eyes. “Any other matters?” he inquired, businesslike again.
Ayla reaches for the plate of churros, helping herself to the cinnamon as she sprinkles some on, drizzling warm coca upon them. She turns to look towards Jocasta, “Would you like some?”, offering to give the plate to the girl and reach for some more. She extends this courtesy to others within the group, especially those who have not had the pleasure of Torragonese treats before. Yalen accepted his share, but seemed more interested in staring at the steam rising from his plate than actually eating. He quietly offered his thanks all the same.
Zarina figured as much and merely responded with a quick cock of her eyebrows when the information was withheld, but she nodded at the compensation given by the warden. She took a bite from her churro and downed it with her still very warm coffee, all while still standing. Someone was quite restless even after the all-nighter, “So he’s a deserter?” she pauses and winks over at Ayla if she paid attention. Bad pun…
“It would appear so,” the warden replied, as Jocasta muttered something under her breath. He didn’t seem to notice, perhaps because Zarina continued.
“That’s … Unsettling. Do you have, err-” she raises her eyes, thinking for a few seconds, “A contingency? That’s the word, right? If things kind of go not so great?” she keeps calm, eyes wide and focused right at Tavio, all while she casually nibbles on her pastry, “Because that’s a lot of souls. And we’re …” she was about to say a greater number, “One guy down. And the job’s to save lives.”
“The job is always to save lives.” The warden nodded. “Worse comes to worst, we make a formal request to the Duke of House Frannemàs to send a force.” He shook his head. “However, that is something of a last resort. It would be… stressful for the patients. Right now, they don’t know that anything is wrong, except for a select few.” He glanced at Marceline and she nodded quietly. “For many of the younger ones, such danger would be distressing. We don’t need to fill the minds of children with nightmares, especially children who have already suffered so much and will suffer yet more.” He paused. “For the older ones, many of them are in fragile health. We cannot afford to introduce more stressors into their lives.” Beneath the table, visible to perhaps only the couple of people closest to her, Jocasta’s grip on the tablecloth tightened momentarily.
For a moment, Zarina appeared poised to respond and pile on questions that would give way to a clear answer, but then she just stopped and took a seat not too far off from Marceline while the others took turns speaking. She could use a second churro, “Mmm, by the way, love this. Props to your cook. Or baker. Or whatever.” she nods enthusiastically while pointing down at her second delicacy. “You should see their Pastéis de Nata,” Marceline whispered back. Usually not for us inmates, but I get the odd one when I’m a good girl.”
Meanwhile, Ayla could not help but notice how tense her companions at the table had grown. What was said on the high desert sands stays upon the desert sands as she attempts to cup Jocasta’s hand within her own. “Shai-Desierto is a nightmare which the children in Varrahasta even fear, it is not surprising that those here experience its terror. If it becomes like the Halassa, no one will rest easy in their beds”.
“They may rest eternally, with Echerràn,” Tavio replied grimly, catching her words just as he was done with another inquiry. “The truth is that Shai can break through these walls should she really so choose. She does not, for the cost would be too great. Were she to go mad, however…” He trailed off. “That is why this is so urgent.” He scowled. “Why even a brave man like Joaquin gave into his fear; why Gabriel expired from it.” For a moment, Marceline glanced his way, as if she had something to say, but she kept quiet and looked down at her plate instead.
Zarina took more notice of her neighbour, the one that had her name distinctly carved on the big tree. Her stare was obvious, maybe even overwhelming should the tethered girl be paying attention, “How are we feeling, Marceline? Marcelina? Sorry, bad with names.” she smiled and even offered to fill the girl’s cup with some coffee Zarina refilled herself with, “I’m Zarina, by the way.” she extends her hand out invitingly.
Marceline blushed“Oh Gods, I didn’t actually learn your name last night did I?” She swallowed and shook Zarina’s hand. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Zarina, and it’s Marceline.” She lowered her voice further. ”The Warden just insists on making my name sound more Torragonese, even though I’m pretty sure I’m Kerreman.” Just then, Tavio glanced their way. “Did you have a concern, my dear child?” he asked the younger girl. She shook her head. “Not truly. I was just sad about Garbiel and Joaquin.”
The warden smiled understandingly. “I know that you and Joaquin were… close. I am sorry he has disappointed you like this, my Marcelina.” A tight nod and smile was the girl’s only response. “Now, if there is nothing else, I need to see to finding his replacement.” Tavio clapped his hands together. “I will meet you in…” He glanced at the large clock mounted on the wall. “One hour and a half. In the sun-shelter by the gate.”
Ayla used the opportunity to make a request “Given we have time, could we request Marcelina to give us a tour? We could use an opportunity to awaken for the trials ahead of us. A stretch of the le.. Our muscles”, she turned to face the girl, as if the warden had already consented, offering her a warm friendly smile, “If we are not imposing too much on your busy schedule and your hospitality, we would greatly appreciate the gesture.”
Ayla was quite the Godsend in this situation, as Zarina had finally felt her nerves flare. When the warden came off as strangely possessive, the ‘My’ in particular, the Virangish teen could not help herself. She first just stared at him, still processing why it irritated her, and then narrowed her gaze to a brief glare when it happened again. How easily she would have snapped if someone talked to her like that. She shook her head when Ayla spoke up and just nodded in agreement with the lion’s proposal.
Tavio Ortega may or may not have recognized the ploy for what it was, but it was clear that he trusted ‘Marcelina’ enough to go along with it if it would just keep them out of his hair while he arranged for them to go and kill things in the desert. He waved a hand almost…dismissively. “You may go.” he replied. “Of course.” His eyes found Marceline’s. “Lead them prudently,” he told the girl, taking a few steps. “Remember, one hour and a half, by the gate!” He was talking as he backed away, and Vice-Warden Mirabel joined him. She had not said a word the entire time. “We have general supplies, but if you need anything specific, that is on you to have ready.”
“Muchas Gracias.” Zarina forced a smile and lazily waved, but did not put any heart in her tone.
“De nada,” he replied, with equal enthusiasm, disappearing around the corner. When the warden was gone, she exhaled from her nostrils, “MY Marcelina,” she tittered while addressing Marceline, “everyone gets the honour here or something? Or are you that special?” she looked annoyed, but articulating it did seem to calm her, enough so to make it seem like half-hearted humour.
Ayla mumbled,“Las paredes oyen - the walls are listening”, she draws upon her gift to shield from any eavesdropping, though sound within the space begins to echo as they spoke. “Ahora ellas no son - now they’re not.”
“What sort of place do you think this is?” prodded Marceline unconvincingly, grabbing a crutch and rising to her feet. “Surely, nothing but goodness and light happens here.” She rolled her eyes. “The warden seems to think of himself as our father rather than our jailer.” With a rather hedonistic flair, she leaned over and popped one last churro into her mouth, licking the cinnamon off of her fingers when finished. “Those of us who learn to humour him are more likely to receive certain privileges.”
Zarina snorted, “Smart girl. You play the role well.” she then gives a curt nod to Ayla as a thanks for covering them.
Jocasta sighed. “S-seems very much like the Refuge where… where I was,” she agreed, using a minor telekinesis spell to grab a few more of the treats and pack them into a little bag that hung off the back of her wheeled–chair. “Good girls get special privileges, so you learn to be a good girl.”
“Mein Gott!” replied Marceline, “You were in a Refuge?” She blinked. “I had thought to ask but didn’t want to be insensitive. How did you ever get out?” She turned to regard the rather quiet Yalen. “You too?”
Yalen shook his head in the negative. “...No…” The entire time Yalen sat at the table, he had been staring at his food like a lifeless doll without taking an active part in the discussion. He could sometimes be seen glancing fearfully at Jocasta. There were shadows under his eyes indicating a severe lack of sleep.
Taking notice of Yalen’s predicament, one Zarina was all too familiar with, she took it upon herself to fill his cup with an almost excessive amount of coffee with some added sugar, “Drink. All of it.” she ordered with a stern tone, her eyes never leaving his frame until he complied, “We should pursue this while ‘touring’, or else they’ll get on our ass.” the Virangish girl stood up, bringing a third churro and her filled cup with her.
”T-thanks.“The coffee was too hot for Yalen’s sensitive tongue, but he didn’t bother waiting for it to cool before gulping it down. He didn’t particularly care right now. The look he gave Zarina as she left her seat was like seeing a ghost.
“You’re not wrong,” Marceline offered in response to Zarina’s earlier recommendation. Pivoting jauntily, she hurried forward with a motion halfway between a brisk walk and a normal swing-through on her crutches. “I’ll give you the grand tour,” she promised, “and answer any questions that might come up.” She started to lead them out the door. “Today’s activity day,” she mentioned, “So everybody’s out and about. Well… except for the zeros, of course. Anyways, it’s busy.”
Before everybody could make it out in the hall, which simmered, open to the elements, under a colonnade, Jocasta spoke up. She glanced awkwardly in Yalen’s direction and then at the others, with a small, reassuring smile. Yalen’s eyes grew wide for a split second, but he quickly straightened his face out and smiled back. “You... you all go on w-without me,” she told them, a couple of pushes from the entrance. The sequins and faux-gold embroidery on her green and white dress caught a few rays of the desert sun and sparkled and her blonde hair, done up in an elaborate fashion, shone in a halo about her head. “I have… s-something else I need to do quickly.”
Ayla waves Jocasta off as everyone else departs for their tour, pointing towards the clock with a smile as a reminder of the time they need to be back at the gate. As they travelled for a moment, she began to address their guide using her proper name, “Marceline, the naranja are juicy here. Do you enjoy the fruit often?”, her question is more of a prompt to Zarina to remind her of their late night exploration.
Zarina conferred a final glance at Jocasta before the group would be completely severed and they went their own way. The late night expedition had made both Zarina and Ayla familiar with some of the area already, “Quite a cute spot, with all the initials and names there. Reminds me of that one time when I-” she pauses and clears her throat, “Nevermind.” although she trained her eyes toward Marceline from behind, “... How many staffers are there? I actually did have a good reason for asking, beyond prodding the guy.”
Trying to stay ahead of the others, as was her nature, Marci found herself unable to do so, and so she settled for being in the middle of the pack. As they reached the ramp and the stairs, she opted for the latter, boosting herself down with some kinetic magic. She glanced back at Ayla and Zarina and smirked knowingly. “You two got up to a whole lot of mischief last night, hmm?” She stuck out her tongue teasingly. “As for staff…” she furrowed her brow in thought. “Maybe a hundred or so? Perhaps… a hundred-fifteen, I’d say. They don’t give us exact figures, but they cut wherever they can, lemme tell you.” She shrugged. “Most of them are caretakers and crafters. We call them magpies and pigeons, for their robes and their… tendencies.”
Yalen descended the stairs like a waddling duck, to the amusement of the rest of the group. For once he was walking without the aid of his cane. The leg braces he had requested last night still needed to be broken in. Marci couldn’t help but look at him. “You’re still on four,” she observed almost reverently. “Lucky.” They reached the bottom and she continued on, directing them towards the pool area. It was teeming with half-dressed children and teens. “And yes. That tree is an institution.” She smiled fondly. “Everyone eats the oranges. Everyone’s name is in the bark…including people long gone.”
As they descended, Zarina kept an eye on both the front and the back, being Yalen’s clumsy descent. She had half a mind to help, her body language even suggested hesitation, but she instead let him push through, “Keep at it, hotshot, and you’ll be faster than me.” she winked before continuing onwards. Taking in the air of the pool and the laughter of kids having fun, Zarina stretched her arms open, prompting a yawn in the process, and just let the damper air hit her, “Anyone feel just a little tempted?” she shrugged with an impish grin. She nodded at the mention of the tree’s popularity, “Names, cute hearts.” she tilts her head, “Dates. Any particular meaning to any of it, Marcel- Is Marci good? I like that, actually.” she nudges her head toward Ayla, “She calls me Zaz after all.”
However, before Marci could reply, a small curly ball of energy came streaking out of the pool, headed straight for their group or, rather, one member of it in particular. “Mistuh Yawen!” Rita made it a few more steps before tripping over her own feet and only managing to avoid a faceplant by sticking her hands out and absorbing the impact. She lay there on her stomach for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to cry. They apparently didn’t have swimsuits, so the kid was in her underwear and showing a fair bit of plumber’s crack. “Oww,” she pouted.
“Rita!” Yalen broke away from the tour group, nearly tripping on his own feet in the process. In the same moment he tore off the outer coat of his uniform and wrapped it around the child’s body to preserve her modesty. “Are you okay? Where does it hurt?”
Apparently comforted, she returned to a more neutral expression, quirking an eyebrow. “Owaph,” she muttered. “Whewe doesn’t it huwt?” She rolled onto her back and sat up, examining her palms and rubbing at her knees.
Possessed of an instinct similar to Yalen’s, Marceline was about to go over herself but, with a quick reassurance, the priest decided to separate from the rest of the group to see to the girl. Before Marci turned back to Zarina, she watched them go. “More falls are coming in the future,” she said softly, before forcing her face into another expression. “But sure, you can call me Marci, as long as there’s no stupid ‘a’ at the end.” She rolled her eyes, almost as if she was trying to act cool in front of the older teens. “Yes, the stupid ‘a’.” Zarina nodded, lips pursed as she let it sink in, “It’d be REALLY dumb to have that in a name. Right, AylA?” she exaggerated just how vexed she was, and after a brief moment she ended up laughing, “I’m messing.” Ayla was counting the classmates with her fingers. Ayla, Ysilla, Zarina, Jocasta, Kaspa, Yalena… they were not getting entry in the cool club any time soon.
Marci, who’d looked nervous for a moment, relaxed into a smile and a blush. “I’m always so bad at telling, ” she admitted. Around them, people in various states of ambulation moved about the pool area, many within the water. Plenty of eyes were turned their way, but nobody interrupted them. As they watched, a boy and a girl about the age of the students were carving their names into the tree. Funnily enough, the boy bore a striking resemblance to their own Kaspar. “And yeah, the tree,” said Marci. “Those two just reminded me: there are lots of meanings. Sometimes the little kids just do dumb stuff.” She pursed her lips and shrugged. “Lots of dicks. Then, we get the lovers.” She tried not to linger on the two by the tree.“Like everyone over sixteen just has a lot of… you know.” She blushed. “Not much else to do.” She moved on, taking them under the shade.“Most dates are arrival or name dates, since you get a new name when you come here. Usually someone older takes you under their wing and carves them for you.” She sniffed, settling awkwardly onto a bench, and her yellow summer dress fluttered in a gentle breeze. “Ones in circles are first day on two - that means when your legs stop doing shit and you get your chair.” She shrugged. “That’s about it, I think.”
Kaspar’s eyes drifted to the tree, scanning the branches and admiring its shape. This kind of tree was unfamiliar to him, as he didn’t study the plants of Torragon, but it pulled him in like so many other plants had in his time. Keeping the voices of the group half in mind, he stepped away, head tilted as he noted the particular shapes of the leaves, the contrast between the bark and the bright fruits that dangled temptingly from the branches. He reached up, fingers skimming one, and wondered passively if it would keep until he had a notebook in hand. Willing to chance it, he grasped the fruit fully and tugged, detaching it from the branch and watching the leaves bounce in response. He palmed the fruit, turning it over, and then found himself wondering what, precisely, his plan for storing it was. Feeling a bit sheepish at the way he’d been distracted by the tree, Kaspar glanced around to see if anyone—most of all his fellow students—had noticed his captivation. His red eyes trailed down, sweeping around, and froze near the trunk. His brow furrowed, unbidden, as he stared at the couple carving into the bark, and a coldness crept up the skin of his back. The girl was unfamiliar, but there was something unsettlingly recognizable about the boy, like Kaspar should know him from somewhere. It took him another moment of openly staring to realize just how strongly the stranger’s face resembled his own—the most noticeable difference being in the differing colors of their eyes. For a moment, he felt as though he were looking at some distant timeline in which he’d simply been disposed of, placed far away where no one would ask any questions. It burned hot in his gut, flooding his mind with everything he’d spent the past night pushing away. It almost seemed like he could smell the blood again, coating his stinging palms… And the pain forced his awareness back, red eyes sliding down to the fruit still gripped in his hand. The skin was mottled and leaking, pooling on his scraped flesh and dripping to the ground as his Gift peeled at it. The juice was sticky against his skin, not warm or red but still enough. Startled, he dropped the fruit to the ground where it thudded gently and rolled, leaving the stone wet beneath it. Breathing raggedly, he backed away, trying to find his classmates and their guide. The boy didn’t matter, nor did any path but this one. Kaspar could simply push him away, every boy he’d ever been, and forget this moment in the garden. If it truly wouldn’t leave his mind, as part of him perhaps so dearly hoped, the carving would still be fresh—and it’s not as if the boy could leave.
Ayla, meanwhile, decided to push the boat out a little further, though avoiding being direct. “There are a couple of pretty ones within a clover. Amanda, Consuela… ” she pauses for a moment, “There are lots of A’s… does the four-leafed clover signify anything?” choosing to refrain from mentioning Marci’s own name. Zarina kept silent, her face not directly geared toward the younger tethered girl, but her eyes were very much peering in her direction. She also crossed her arms– she didn’t know what was coming, but she braced herself for anything.
Marceline paused and something flickered across her face. “Wanna see where the aqueduct comes in?” she asked pointedly.
Ayla tilts her head at the sudden tangent, it stuck out like a sore thumb, awkward and disjointed. “Seems there are more names in the clovers, taking a closer look” the implication left to hang awkwardly, allowing Marci to answer the question with privacy. Zarina sighed somewhat loudly from her nose, catching on to the situation as quickly as Ayla, although the potential undertones and the idea of prison-life weighed on her mood. She stood close, not behind but by Marceline, as a rather tall individual and hoped to provide some semblance of safety and discretion with the proximity without actually touching the girl, “Nothing here but us girls, and maybe a few flailing kiddos.” she mumbled under her breath.
“You remember what Ayla said about the walls in the dining room?” Marci suggested, trying not to let out an annoyed sigh. “It isn’t just the walls. I think we should go see the aqueduct. Nobody ever gets to see it and I kinda like it there. It’s peaceful.” She began walking. Ayla gave a nod, “Always wondered where you find water in the desert, please show us the way.” Zarina looked side to side, checking if they didn’t have any unwanted tails or little worms that whispered to their avian masters.
When they arrived, they found an ancient aqueduct, dating back perhaps to Avincian times, though Avince itself had never conquered the High Desert. It stretched off into the distant highlands. Here, where it spilled over the wall into a great copper and ceramic holding tank, there was nobody to be seen. Marci turned awkwardly on her heel and regarded them. “Your friend there - the one in the chair – she told you about these places, and what they’re like.” The tethered girl sighed, gazing wistfully down at her feet before looking up. “The clovers are from when they recruit you.” She sniffed and rubbed at her nose. “Some of us: the more powerful ones, the more biddable ones: they… train us.” Her eyes flash challengingly for a moment. “People treat us like we’re useless, like we’re a liability. We will never be anything or do anything of worth, and they teach us plenty of that in the refuge.” She chuckled bitterly, sounding eerily like Jocasta last night. “but a Tethered who is trained in the Gift is superior to all other magic users. We are not limited to the tiny world of perhaps a hundred yards. We can draw from miles distant. We can sense from miles distant. We can strike from miles distant.” She nods knowingly. “I haven’t been called up yet - likely when I’m sixteen, if they have their way - but I’m in training.” She shrugged, letting herself lean clumsily against a ceramic pipe. “And if you wanna know why we do it,” she snorted, “What else is there to do? What other chance at a life do we get to live?” She gazed out blankly up the aqueduct. “I will never get to build something great, like this, that lasts for a thousand years. I will leave no descendants. My name will not be written in anybody’s books. We’re all disposable here. If something happens to us on a mission, then it was because of the Tethering.” She turned her eyes back to them, expression even, mouth a thin line.
Ayla pauses for a moment as she listens, contemplating the words, simply trying to imagine. “So the Tethered are used as weapons, powerful ones.”, she recalls how Jocasta and Yalen dealt with the Halassa, the strength they showed, and also the strength that was hidden. There were many questions that she wanted to ask, though some could wait, “Do you know where the Aberration is located, does your skill extend that far?”
Marceline sighed vexedly. “I should be able to sense it, but I can’t.” She shook her head. “Normally, finding the little aberrations isn’t a problem, so I have to assume that it’s far: outside of even Tethered range.” She shrugged helplessly.
“If so, Jocasta and even Yalen can likely sniff it out too.” Zarina kept her arms crossed the whole time as she listened, and one could easily notice her scowl growing on her expression. It wasn’t indignation as one might imagine, but a growing frustration toward Marceline’s words and disposition. When the tethered girl sought to justify her decision, a ‘Tsk’ escaped the Virangish girl, ”The strongest among mages, shuddering before the worms that have crawled in this establishment.” she shook her head with venom in her voice, ”Have you just given up, Marci? Is self-pity just that comforting? Given you’re fully aware of your situation, it’s not like they have a full grasp of you.” eyebrows cocked, Zarina leaned forward a little, invading the tethered’s space a little, ”And, you know what?” her voice raises a tad, ”Who cares if you don’t accomplish memorable things? Most people don’t.” she purses her lips and backs off a little, ”Most won’t. Slaves and Royals alike.”
Marceline shrunk back from the display and stumbled slightly as this near-stranger invaded her space. She took a second to reevaluate what she was going to say and what she was willing to reveal. This one was too aggressive: an eagle or an owl in manner. Such people judged. They judged quickly and often wrongly and were eager to speak on it. The fourteen-year-old decided that it was not safe to ask her question nor share her final secret. Perhaps she had already said too much. There was the Tethered girl among them, and the Tethered boy. They would understand her better and the former had even said the words. She knew Him or knew of Him. Perhaps she would be better to ask. Marceline blinked. “With all due respect, you haven’t lived my life, so don’t condescend to tell me how to think. I already get enough of that, thank you.” Her eyes narrowed momentarily and she grabbed her crutches. “Anyhow, I think you have your answer. We should go back now.” She turned and took a few steps, annoyed at her inability to outpace this group. “I invite you to enjoy our pool facilities,” she threw over her shoulder. “As for me, I have things to do.”
Ayla has her eyes flash towards Zarina, the smaller girl was visually shaking in the spot, “Jo told us all about these places, and this is what you came out with? You… babaca!”, moving to place herself between the exit where Marciline was leaving and Zarina. ”You are some estrangeiro who has just entered their home, already judging her from your pedestal. What are you expecting, her to walk out of here into the open deserto in her braces... And where? This is the only home she knows, this is the only family she knows.” She glares up at the taller woman, not being intimidated by the height difference, and in a lower voice, “and even if she did somehow walk out of here and somehow survive, what about the rest, bring her family with her too? Without his little treasure, who will senhor pervertido target next, her little sister Rita?” She taps upon the side of her head with her finger, then mimes her voice with her hand, “Pense antes de falar - Think before you speak”.
It went about as expected, Marceline took it the way she should and Ayla was left revolted. Zarina, however, exhaled peacefully as the tethered girl ‘walked’ away. When the inevitable verbal spanking came to be, she just passively peered toward Ayla’s direction and took it, only to flinch at ‘Babaca’. That was new, but then the lecturing began and again the same steam that pressurised her sensitive, sleepless head began to accumulate again. Her jaw shifted, causing her teeth to briefly grate against each other, “If I have to hear another fucking pity-party story, see innocent little lamb-to-the-slaughter eyes or play moral counseler one more time, I’m going to take the fucking naranjas and shove them up the warden’s trimmed asshole. And cut the fucking tree.” as humorous as the imagery was, the growing anger in Zarina was palpable in her voice alone, and her body language would not leave anyone feeling reassured. She was clenching her crossed arms, nearly damaging the fabric of her top, and her face began to look a tad redder. It made it somewhat easier to see just how much her sleepless night affected her features when she was flexing them all like that, “I’m here to do one job, I don’t have to be moral support.” she shakes her head, “Most powerful mage …” she mumbles before scoffing. Quite the disproportionate anger for just some lost fourteen year old. The clenching became bad enough that her nails were viciously digging into her skin through the top, leaving marks. She gestures in dismissal, “Tell her I’m a babaca and you’re outraged or something if you care. I need to prepare for the job.”
Worked up, tired and with a killer headache, Zarina passed both Ayla and Marceline to reach the sanctity of her mostly unused quarters. A brief breathing exercise and some water helped with the head, but as she composed herself, the all-too-common realisation of the fruit of her impulse made her slip. A weighted punch was thrown toward the wooden edge of her bed frame, causing it to crack and her knuckles to suffer some light damage. Heavy breathing became light hyperventilating- nothing she couldn’t control, but it did not help the case of her increasingly pained head.
”Fuck.” she cursed with as much restraint as she could muster before turning her head to the pendant she had left on the nightstand the whole time. It was time to pray, but how could she? So much anger, so much regret that bred even more anger. Again, she had to keep her mind distracted. Food, water, knives, rope, everything one would need for basic survival in the desert, just as she was taught by her papy, were accumulated and put into different bags provided by the Refuge. Most of all: Cloaks, adapted for the climate and made to protect from potential storms. If they had ranger getups available, then all the better, Zarina was all over them. She was almost ‘zoned out’, completely separated from all those that passed by her and tunnel-visioned on completing this rudimentary task. At least the group would be somewhat prepared this time.
And finally, she made a trip to the stables, to see if they had any mount capable of helping those limited like Yalen or even Kaspar. If anything, she would take one for herself too, even if the Gift allowed her to effectively navigate faster without one.
Jocasta is clingy this morning. Hand-holding all around. Warden is reluctant to share numbers of staff. Yalen is distant and preoccupied in his mannerisms. Must have slept badly last night. Sand Wyrm doesn't break through the refugee walls as the cost would outweigh the benefits. If it were to go mad because of the Aberration, the children would be in grave danger. Marceline is called 'My Marcelina' by the Warden. Intentional 'a' at the end. More Torragonese that way. Due to the need for a replacement ranger, the party has an hour and half to do what they wish. Marceline provides a tour, away from the staff, allowing the group to ask questions in private. Jocasta disappeared with Yalen for a bit, then went off on her own. Marceline suggests there are about 115 staff at the refuge. Yalen reunites with Rita, assisting her to become modest. Kaspar sees someone who looks like himself. Triggers his trauma and abandonment issues. Marceline explains that the four-leaf clover is a sign of being chosen to be trained as a weapon. If trained the right way, they can sense and use their gift from miles away. The Aberration is not within tethered range. Zarina slips loses her cool with Marceline, she chooses not to share the final clue. Perhaps something for Yalen or Jocasta to explore due to possibly being more understanding due to the status of the tethered.
Interacting with: King Arcel@Force and Fury Asier @Ti Opportunity: Parrench-aligned Players - Potential travellers that have seen what Arnaud left in his travel to Relouse Event: Defense of Relouse Location: Provincial Parrence
”Another! Another!”
The tavern of St. Jérôme-des-Voyons was bustling with joy. What was initially a grim arrival of the notorious royal executioner quickly turned into a fiesta overflowing with mead and women. Arnaud’s unique appearance to the Parrench did little to deter them from enjoying the evening– If anything, it got people even more interested in hearing what he had to tell. Some touched his hair, others tapped his belly (mostly women) and even some tried their luck in taking him in brutish games such as arm wrestling. They would all know defeat in the case of the latter. But the party went on, ending with once Zuyr King leaving at first daylight from a warm and populated bed.
Aheri had been making the voyage to Relouse on his lonesome, as he often did. Riding was nauseating and company tended to hamper his desires for exploration and hedonism. He moved on foot, at his own pace. Some days he would traverse miles without any effort under an hour, some others he kept a slow pace to just enjoy the beautiful day in the pastures of Parrence. Highwaymen and other bandits never dared to get in his way, for all knew what the Lion emblem and the featureless helm represented. Arnaud Maobe was the executioner because there was nothing he couldn’t slay.
What a curse it was. Little adversaries these day, no stupid kid to try his luck against the Aheri. He felt himself getting old, even with war on the horizon. Many will be after his life, a thrilling prospect to be sure, but he would no longer be the lord that presided over the battlefield, instead a tempest to wipe out the enemy of the one standing above him. It was as if the five Gods had heard him, as the dire state of Bérignac came to his attention. A lot of smoke coming from a nearby farming village. As a royal enforcer and anointed Knight, it was his duty to aid the people of Parrence, after all.
Had the five heard his plea? It was a raid from thieves. Petty pillagers taking advantage of the recalled soldiers that were being mobilised by the King. Arnaud, with his partially cleaned axe over her shoulder, calmly made his way into town. They were nine and the village’s men were either killed or crippled. Perfect. The hulking beast of a man stood quietly at the edge of town, staring down the gang, both hands wielding his axe.
”*Dites vos prières.” he took a singular step forward, his helm distorting his voice somewhat, ”Tenez près vos precieux souvenirs.” then a second step, the wrongdoers were sweating profusely, shouting various obscenities that fell in deaf ears, ”Et mourrez comme des hommes!” and then he lept in the air. The sun blurred his figure, and before they could see anything, his swirling axe landed onto not one, but two of them. One was essentially sliced in half by the blade, the other terminally wounded by the metal pole that collided with his torso.
Then he landed by his axe just as it hit the ground, obliterating a female of the group with his feet and pulling his weapon out. The simple act of whipping it out created a blast of air that’d pin two others against a stone wall. They were helpless to being cut down by a single swing of his axe. Only four left. One begged for mercy, and was met with the King’s justice. The penalty for thievery didn’t always entail death, but murder was on the table, even if this one didn’t directly do it. He was granted a swift decapitation. The last three built up the courage to fight, and behind his mask Aheri smiled. They stood no chance and were judged like all the others.
When the deed was done, Arnaud didn’t stay to help the villagers. He didn’t say another word. He merely cleaned his axe with one of his rags and then departed back on his journey to Relouse. His duty was fulfilled, the King’s Justice was delivered and peace returned to the people. Now they needed to fight to reclaim what was lost by the will of the Gods.
Location: Relouse Encampment
When Arnaud arrived at the camp, things had already been set in motion. Not everything was set up just yet, but enough was done to avoid having to need his assistance for anything. He knew what he had to do, though, as he would be one of those spearheading the defensive manoeuvres and counter-attacks against the Eskandish menace. From his own experience as a Northern raider and the suffering Parrence had previously experienced from attacks from the South, Arnaud understood how to prepare a battlefield.
The sand dunes of the beaches were to be turned into death traps. Unstable patches of quicksand that would swallow up fodder with precious seismic strikes from his stomps or axe. Some holes would be tombs for enemies, some others basins separated from the sea where Thunder mages could quickly cook entire groups in a matter of seconds. And of course Arnaud himself found the best vantage point he could find to not only send concentrated Force waves onto incoming ships, but also create gusts of winds to slow and halt the downpour of arrows.
With most of the setup involving his own abilities ready, it was time for Arnaud to attend the King’s speech, although not before sniffing out a certain misfit old feline among the brass …
His place was not by the King, nor was it among the many men conscripted to give their lives to the people. It was further back, among many King’s Guards. It made sense, as the King’s executioner and an iconic figure that flexed the might of Perrance. They had such a massive and scary man in their ranks, how could they possibly lose? He remained unmoving during the whole speech, shouting a powerful ‘Amen’ came from him.
When the time came for praying, he too got down and on one knee. The prayer had a particularly martial tune to it, and with each beckon to a specific God, Arnaud hit the pommel of his upright axe against the ground, causing a controlled and long-reaching echo to reverberate throughout the entirety of the forces. They could ‘feel’ the Pentad reaching into them, in a way.
”Amen!” he said right after the queen. The formalities were done, and now the big players gathered, with Asier being one to take the initiative. The massive Zuyr chuckled, ”**Un lion rusé.” he had removed his helm the moment he had entered the council, ”The preparations on shores are mostly complete. It will be difficult for them to secure entry point should we keep control of the terrain.” he spoke with his usual, thick accent and somewhat still broken Avincian, ”Have we got new word from our scouts and infiltrators?”
*Say your prayers. Keep close your precious memories. And die like men! **A clever lion.
The pounding of her own heart was headache-inducing. There was so much noise coming from the growing tremors and the inevitable sounds of a famished beast coming close–all she could really hear was her own heart. Some prayed, some wanted to cower, and yet despite Zarina’s own values and attachments, the only thing that ran in her mind as she held her one-legged position was what to do when the plan failed. And given how close the monstrosity was, it appeared to be an almost guaranteed alternative.
Zarina was just about ready to intervene and improvise a last stand to salvage what she could of her team when the Wyrm just … Turn the other way? The plan worked. It worked and Zarina could now breathe, because she had just realised she was holding her breath during her standstill. A loud exhale along with a few coughs were allowed to come out as she stumbled to get her footing again. Sweat quickly accumulated all of a sudden, as if she had just done a long jog under the sun and only now had the watery aftermath. Especially on her back–it was particularly unpleasant.
”Oh. Shit.” the whole team had this moment of grand relief, and Jocasta was one of the first to downright celebrate, ”Oh SHIT.” she nodded repeatedly, ”YEAAAAH BITCH!” she wailed now that the Wyrm was quite a ways away, taken by the moment and acting like some frat boy that beat some lifting record. The adrenaline of victory was so great, she even approached Yalen and presented her hand for a High-five, which she would deliver with quite the smack, ”Yeaaaahhhh!”
Alright, it was time to cool down, Jocasta was right and they had to go. Although as they began to move, Zarina noticed the little musician had exerted herself quite a bit, as did quite a few others. The tall Virangish girl conferred special attention to the orchestrator of the initiative they had just taken. Without much warning, she swooped in to duck and nab the little lion on her shoulders to lift her up, ”There she is! ”she called out joyously, clearly not as tired as the others, "The lady of the hour. Let those little legs rest." She then turned her head toward Yalen, "I can also give piggy-backs." she winked.
During their final trek, Zarina was playing steed for the worn out little lioness. Looking over to the side, she took notice of her own sister–the person she had seemingly avoided for a while. She still didn’t speak, but when their gazes would cross, she conspicuously smiled toward Ysilla before facing forward to the Tethered Refuge.
Location: Tethered Refuge
They had made it, and the venerated lion was made to dismount now. The Refuge greeted them, and while not with the most open of arms, the little ones treated the visitors as better than the highest born of nobles. Needless to say, the sight of this many kids eager to see Zarina made the teen grin ear to ear. Without a shred of reservation, she stepped before the group of young folks, arms opened invitingly, ”Hello Refuge-Starlings! Did you like the show?” and then her hands came together in a clap, ”That Wyrm back there? Stood NO chance against our Great Mane Manoeuvre!” Ayla got a very conspicuous glance from the flamboyant Zarina.
She went on to add some spice to the events that unfolded, making it digestible for kids in the process, ”And so a Legendary Spear was made from the very sands of- Hmm?” a young boy came to her, and addressed her in her mother tongue. Whether it was her appearance, getup or thick accent in Avincian, she had been made as a Virangish, ”Gonna have to give me a moment, lovelies.” Abdel was given her full attention, scooting a bit away from the grouping youths, she’d lower herself and knelt with one knee to get at his level, ”Hmmm.” she squinted at the trinket, even reaching out touch it, ”*Azunu …”
Looking over her shoulder, Zarina’s jovial and high-energy demeanour had completely changed–the realisation of what was going on here hit her. There was no need to let the caretakers know of anything. But just as she was about to provide an answer, the young lad was downright yanked from the collar. ”The F-” her voice grew very quickly and simultaneously to her ascension, however she stopped herself very quickly The Fuck are you interrupting my discussion, Asshole? would have been her full response in a scenario far closer to home. And then potential violence.
But she knew better, Jocasta being the first she’d look at when reconsidering things, ”It’s fine.” she exhaled from her nose, with Kaspar giving her an idea, ”I was just showing him a trick.” in her hand, she morphed some of the residue sand all over her into a small, glass emerald she flicked over at the not-so-well treated boy. Lips pursed, she gave a final glance that showed nothing but uncertainty and concern to the boy he looked back.
Then came the Warden, or at least he introduced himself as that, ”Warden.” she replied with her arms crossed and a mere, curt nod. It’d be hard to tell if it was merely a polite recognition, or a remark. Either way, she kept herself discreet during the mini-tour and took in what both the establishment’s head and the recently introduced Marceline had to say. All the while, Zarina kept particular attention to Jocasta. The little things she had already begun to notice were only reinforcing the potential concerns she may have.
With the rundown given and ‘Marcelina’ attributing them their rooms, Zarina lazily waved at the Warden, ”It’s what we do.” with a just as passive and uninspired response. It seemed many things were on her mind and her distraction was made quite apparent. ”And where do you sleep, Marcelina? And everyone else?” she asked, chin nudging forward and eyebrows raised. There were no caretakers too close-- she was paying close attention to that too.
Interacting with: Yalen @pantothenic, Jocasta @Force and Fury, Ayla @Ti, Kaspar @Wolfieh (In intermission, see Kaspar’s latest post!) Location: Torragonese Desert
Yalen not only complied with Zarina’s request but even went on to close the item himself. A light bit of reluctance came from the Virangish young lady, as if she were a little surprised, although ended up relenting. A scrutinising gaze was kept on the tethered blond, both arms crossed, as she watched him go. Looking satisfied after having it returned, he’d get her thanks, along with a distinctly more genuine smile than what she had been presenting thus far.
”... No it isn’t.” was her response to Ayla’s quote, with her Virangish accent slipping her and a far more typical Avincian accent taking over ever so briefly. Her expression was as deadpan as it got, especially as she gestured toward the two dead Halassa by her own blade. Perhaps a bit disingenuous, but one was certainly mightier at getting the job done fast and efficiently, ”Although this is mightier than anything you’ll find in Severa.” she commented in jest as Ayla’s coffee cup was served.
Now for Jocasta and Zarina’s insistence. She was overjoyed to see such appreciation for her favourite treat! A toothy grin reigned on her visage, ”Wallah! You should taste it with goat milk! Trades that pure bitterness for something real nice to the tongue. M’hm.” she even has the tethered imposter’s cup a tap with her own in a celebratory manner before she indulges herself, taking small and methodical sips as if she had mastered the act of drinking it down to a science.
”Aye, thanks you two.” she corrected her finger pointing. A quick glance had her make sure everyone was following with no stragglers before she essentially led the way. And before long many would take this down time to exchange, and she wouldn’t be any different. Kaspar and Zarina would end up at the tail of the group as they’d engage in a casual but ultimately information conversation, until a couple of things caught Zarina’s ear. Most notably: Jocasta’s change in demeanour and now partially-exposed history with the refuge. There was a potential loose cannon.
The chair-bound tethered could potentially feel the growing attention coming from the tall Virangish girl behind her, or maybe not. Zarina was considering all potential issues, oblivious to just how bad things could really get, and yet she didn’t actually appear to suspect Jocasta of anything beyond volatility, ”Makes me wonder what the big beard was th-” as she was going to pursue the exchange with Kaspar, a series of unfortunate events would unfold.
Torragonese was Zarina’s second mother tongue, and as a rider, the dramatic mention of the evil sands had her on her guard immediately. Although instead of reaching for her weapon, she immediately reached her arm out to get Kaspar further behind her- a pointless gesture given the gravity of things, but one that could mean a few things. A thing was for certain, she knew the slow scholar, as well as some others, would be dead if it were true and the group was unprepared, ”Fuck.” she cursed under her breath as she looked over at the direction of the incoming beast. The seismic activity made it easy for the Kinetic mage to notice and locate the massive monstrosity, even when visibility had been diminished by the night.
The natural instinct was to run, but the team couldn’t afford it– not without help. Jocasta had the same idea, which prompted a squint from the young rider, ”She has the right idea. But most of you can’t outrun that thing. Not without a horse.” she tried her best to keep her cool, but the cold sweats were accumulating fast on her forehead and neck. She could escape, probably, and so could Jocasta by what Zarina could deduce. But the rest? Her sister? The crippled Yalen? Nerdy Kaspar? They’ll die for sure.
In Zarina’s moment of intense anxiety, a position she had never truly been in despite leading quite the dangerous folks, Ayla had a solution. The first words that came prompted Zaz’s glare, ”A game …?” precious seconds were going to waste, and they were discussing a game. But Ayla wasn’t joking. Zarina didn’t get it, not entirely anyway, but simple deduction was to use a lure by how she was attributing roles, with her own being to hurl it with Jocasta toward the Halassa they had left behind.
She got to work. Or rather, she prepared. First, she marked a spot on the sand and found a proper reference point. One of the stone plateaus was recognized and she could easily determine the trajectory of the object to be tossed away. However, that wasn’t all she was preparing. The Binders had to build, and Yalen had to heat up, and with all that spare time potentially idle, Zarina concocted Plan B. There was no point in uttering it– the risk of distracting from the main plan was too great.
”If it turns sour,” she speaks to Jocasta, as they both held the same role, ”Think you can get Ayla and Yalen to safety? I can throw my sister and Kaspar far enough for them to get away. Should be able to land and handle minor injuries. Worst case, I keep it busy.” she inhaled loudly, and then exhaled.
The turning fork was ready. It looked heavy, and definitely not something she could manipulate on her own. Her Telekinesis was still budding and magnetism most certainly wasn’t going to work properly with a super-heated piece of metal. So, she looked over at Jocasta, ”Just aim it properly, and–” another big inhale-exhale, and she went for it. With the accumulated kinetic energy from the tremors, she could unleash a single, powerful and focused blast from a well-coordinated kick. The big fork was propelled at great speeds, and now all that was left was Jocasta’s adjustment of its trajectory, and Ayla’s final touch.
And then she froze, adopting even a one-legged pose she had no issue maintaining. The most tense moment had come, and all Zarina could think of was how she would have to play out her contingency plan.
44 | MALE | PARRENCE | FORCE & ESSENCE | BERSERKER__ _ _ _ _
C H A R A C T E R I S T I C S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Dauntless A man that’s seen and fought it all, very little can surprise or intimidate Arnaud, even the most sided of odds. With this comes an air of jovial confidence towards any sort of adversity, seeing such things as potential challenges to reinforce the notion of him being the strongest but also enhance his own arsenal. He is not easily rattled or provoked, like a Rhinoceros in its peaceful habitat.
❖ Unrelenting Whether in the battlefield or in the mundane, Arnaud doesn’t just stop. He finishes what he started, even if it takes everything from him. It is this desire to see everything to the end that he’s earned his notoriety as bloodthirsty and unstoppable. Very few have ever stopped Arnaud in his tracks, even in conversations.
❖ Deferential Arnaud is polite and greatly values manners. He often humbles himself when exchanging with others, friends and enemies alike, often giving off the impression he’s a gentle and jovial unit. All who have underestimated him have perished, however. He provides respect to all those he meets and even more so to those who defy him with shows of courage.
❖ Gluttonous Not only with food, though a big man like him’s gotta eat, but with anything that can be remotely pleasurable. Arnaud tends to do many things in excess with a minimal grasp of temperance. A residue of his life as a near-King, although he is never crude or inelegant about it.
A beast of a man coming in at 194 cm tall and slightly over 200 kg of pure might. Once somewhat leaner, the years have added to Aheri’s bulk, which has done nothing but enhance the absolute unit that he is. His dark hair and beard remain long and maintained, although shorter than his days as a warlord. He only wears his nose-ring as jewellery from his past life, a sign that he’s almost entirely integrated in Perrench culture, but couldn’t fully let go of some of his more ironic pieces to go along with his white, body-wide tattoos.
Nowadays he wears armour like many of his fellow knights, albeit with frequent sacrifices to his arms and legs to favour movement. The Lion’s crest is built upon most armour he wears. In a more casual setting, he is usually content with a typical brown robe with a mere rope at the waist to keep it together and a pair of regular trousers. He also doesn’t walk barefoot.
B A C K G R O U N D__ _ _ _ _
Uru Zuyr The Rhinoceros The Dusted Beard The Strongest Man in the World Aheri
Born Aroun Maobe, he was the first son of Beirut Maobe, the King of the Zuyr people. A people with deep roots in Belzagg, but had drifted into a more nomadic lifestyle that ultimately detached them from their feuding continent in search for more fertile lands. It is when the lands that would eventually become Virang that Beirut’s ambition flourished, and would be Aroun’s burden to bear after his death.
A powerful people, made strong by ceaseless conflict and raiding, led by a powerful leader had everything it needed to make something great of this land. However, when Aroun was just 15, his father would perish in battle, putting the Maobe family’s might into question. The young Aroun would gain the moniker of Aheri the day his older cousin sought to take the throne. A mage himself, far more versed in the arts than Aroun, and yet it would be the cousin’s skull that’d be obliterated between the teenage beast’s palms. For he was already a formidable fighter, and a behemoth of a man.
Might didn’t make everything, and while the Zuyr still valued a leader as the strongest, it would be only thanks to his brother, Bashir, that their father’s ambition would enter the realm of possibility. Aroun was the might, Bashir the strategist. Their endeavours would go one for almost twenty years, countless battles to slowly assimilate more and more of the birthing Virang, until they reached an impasse with the natives of the lands that would later become Malabash. They needed more. More hands, more resources, more weapons.
The Eskand menace in the South didn’t come to deaf ears, even far in the North, especially with the aggressive expansion made by the Zuyr and the trade routes they would begin to open. An opportunity both Aroun and Bashir saw. With Parrence nearly crippled by the southern raids, the northern border was ripe for the picking by yet a new menace, also versed in raids. Albeit, one way over its head.
The first year, it was easy picking. Especially with Aheri the warlord spearheading the assaults, most champions stood no chance. It seemed dire for the fragilized empire. When Aheri came to sack and claim one of the small vassalized islands, he would be confronted by an all too familiar sight: A legion of armoured men ready to die with their commander having no chance against him.
What he didn’t account for was the lieutenant taking charge when the head of the defensive force was killed. A young, likely foolhardy rider Aroun would eliminate in a single hit. And yet he couldn’t help but respect the man with the Lion emblem. It is said that a mighty battle ensued, both sides clashing and no victor emerging for a good hour. Very few lived to tell the tale, but the Lion had managed to sink his teeth into the unstoppable rhino’s neck and subdued him. An impossibility, to be sure, and yet the raiding party’s numbers had completely dwindled, and Aheri was surrounded, slashed and impaled. The monster of the north had been stopped in his tracks by one many would simply call ‘The Lion Knight’.
Whether by genuine entrapment or stubbornness, Aheri was captured and his men either fled or were finished off. A prisoner of the Lion and a useful political tool to repulse the northern raids. They had their king, or at least former king, as he would end up disgraced like his father had after death. He was no longer their King by sheer might, or at least that is what Aheri believed. The times had changed, Bashir had brought prosperity without the need of archaic, tribalistic shows of might, but Aroun would no longer be their King. He would not accept it, for he was now a burden to his people.
With the threat of the South persisting and the North quelled now that their royal blood was kept as a ward, King Arcel considered it a waste to keep Aheri imprisoned. His might was renown and his experience crucial. And with that came an accord: He was to follow the strongest, as his people always did, which was the very King that the Lion served. A solemn oath of fealty, serving as a royal advisor and executioner to the king. And in exchange, a chance at redemption as a disgraced King. A great ally could be made of the Zuyr should they accomplish their wild but promising goal of founding their own nation. The promise of royal backing of Bashir’s endeavours was made between two men- not representatives of nations or royals, men who stared each other in the eyes without chains or guard. And swore to one another.
The young king reminded Aroun of himself in some way. Young, underestimated and carrying a massive burden, yet fearless to the threat ahead- fearless toward the Aheri himself. To this day, the now newly baptised Arnaud Maobe has only knelt to two: The Lion, and his King. The two living men that have his full respect. He carries out his promise day by day, fully accustomed to the culture of Parrence. Right up to the very Pentad being accepted in his life.
I N V E N T O R Y__ _ _ _ _
❖ Le Détroit - A massive battle axe with a pointed tip to double as a spear. The design is very Perrench, though the shape of the spear resembles his own weapon’s unique form in his chieftain days. It is weathered on one side, a testament to how much it’s been used, both in combat and as a tool for executions.
❖ Suhu’Ali - A sleeping drug. A small dose of this powder can help most go to sleep. A full blow of it to the face can put an elephant to sleep.
❖ Mkobo - A hallucinogenic drug used recreationally by his people. Arnaud doesn’t consume the stuff, but has used it against his enemies in the past and sometimes offers it to battle-scarred comrades to help them find some peace.
❖ Sidi - A pain drug. Used to dull pain, although needs to be dosed correctly at the risk of paralysis or even heart failure.
❖ Majini - A wicked drug used to ‘manipulate’ others. Some consider it a curse that even a gris-gris can’t help with. When eaten, it puts the victim into a frenzy where they often exhaust themselves to death and sometimes even enter fits of murderous rage. Small doses have been used to greatly enhance the brutality of soldiers in battle.
T H E G I F T__ _ _ _ _
Third Wheel - Force & Essence - Leadvein
Arnaud never had any true initiation in the Gift beyond traditions that existed in his faction’s culture. Nonetheless, with his propensity for fighting and exceptional physical might long his bloodright as a Leadvein, he naturally developed the Force branch of mana, first using it to essentially enhance his already mighty blows, and now his very stomps have the potential to generate small-scale earthquakes and shockwaves. Loud battlecries that can repulse even fully armoured men too close to him are some of the fearsome things some have told about the Aheri.
Destroyer of the earth, generator of storms (massive air currents generated through Force magic), the moniker of ‘Strongest Man in the World’ can’t really be contested with factoring this facet alone. As a Leadvein, he has a natural talent for assimilating 'Force', being Kinetic energy, and utilizing it in destructive ways with little risk of harming himself.
His secondary Gift branch is Essence, a common one found among the top mages in the Zuyr people. It is almost entirely internal to the caster with rare hallucinogenic purposes applied to the enemy. Aheri uses it mainly in two ways: Self-enhancement, which has led him to develop his own unique ‘buff’ in recent years, and creation of drugs typically found in his culture.
❖ The Lion’s Triumph: An homage to the one man who bested him. Aheri roars in a similar fashion to a lion, causing a surge of adrenaline and other potent substances to course through his being before ground himself in a grand earthquake. His sweat becomes steam and his body becomes particularly hot. Now every step and strike he only lightly winds up is capable of causing massive seismic blasts for a brief period. He is also quite faster.
S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Absurd Physical Might Even without the Gift, Arnaud has been known to stop Rhinos in their tracks with only his hands. Coupled with great proficiency with many spear and axe-like weapons, he is a threat to even strong mages without using an ounce of mana. It is said his grip is so great, he can crack rocks with it.
❖ Very Fast for his Size When he starts running, very little can stop him, and he continuously gains momentum. But even in the heat of the moment, he catches many off-guard with how quick he can land some strikes, even if he isn’t going to be dodging many attacks himself (Mobility =/= swift attacks).
❖ Battle-hardened Moulded by hundreds of battles, a man like this has the willpower few can compare to. Not only has his decision making improved with the passage of time, but he can withstand the worst of odds and come out on top no matter how arduous the path is.
❖ Cultured From Belzagg to West Severa to Rettan, Arnaud has made his mark in many places, and not always as a conqueror or raider. He is versed in many cultures that surround Virang and can hold conversational-level exchanges with many languages common in the area.
W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Tunnel-Visioned Once he’s fixated on something, it’s hard to distract him, especially if he’s worked up. Though even mundane curiosities can get him caught up in spirals of exaggerated interest for an entire day.
❖ Collateral Damage A man that’s known for generating earthquakes and laying entire lands to waste through sheer might is bound to be a hazard to allies and foes alike.
❖ Winded He’s fat and getting old. His stamina isn’t what it used to be, which some can definitely use to their advantage if they’re bold enough to tire him out.
❖ Illiterate Scholarly work was not for him, he was a warrior and operated through doing things. His brother was the wittier of the two. He does understand some texts in Perrench, more so out of crude memorization and actual reading ability, from his conversion. Surprisingly, his lingo is actually not that bad, as he has a pretty good memory.
C O L O U R C O D E & O T H E R__ _ _ _ _
❖ Hex code: 7F4C20 ❖ He remembers the name and face of every opponent he has fought and killed.
Sasha de la Estepa__ _ _ _ _
23 | S E C R E T | P A R R E N C E | T H U N D E R - E S S E N C E - B L O O D | K N I G H T R I D E R__ _ _ _ _
C H A R A C T E R I S T I C S__ _ _ _ _
[ Tourrare ]
Born as a surprise (and unlikely) second child to a huntsman and his wife, Sasha was the second child of a Tourrare family that would end up joining houses with a renown Lord of the tribe. Like many of their kind, Sasha is thoroughly knowledgeable and experienced with animals, especially horses, and is frequently seen tending to the largest ones.
Their place among the Tourrare society is unique, however, as they seldom interact with others while the obscure but spreading myth of the Golden Blood spreads outside the lands in which their people live. Unlike their people, Sasha is generally seen as inauspicious and avoidant of others, whether outsiders or fellow Tourrare, with minimal regard for status or cultures. It is a surprise that they have lived this long as such a recluse and outlier.
[ Squire of the Lion ]
One thing that always captivated Sasha was the existence of exceptionally large or exceptionally small creatures. To ever discover these mesmerising beings, they would have to discover the world - a terrifying notion to the reclusive and discreet Sasha. This wanderlust that clashed with their innate revulsion for a break in the comfortable routine has brought them to becoming a pupil to the Tourrare’s most promising warrior, and their brother-in-law, Asier Arslan. Although the rapport between Sasha and Asier had been budding about as long as he had been close friends with Giselle, their sister, allowing for the now veteran of the battlefield to easily relate to the challenges brought by Sasha’s temperament and quirks.
[ The Kitten Knight ]
Baptised the “Kitten Knight'' as a humorous jab to their position as a Squire to the Lion (and that they’re smaller than Asier), Sasha is neither a Knight (yet) nor harnesses the awesome powers of kittens. It is interesting to note that cats do seem to be attracted to Sasha and will frequently demand food while mounting their shoulders. They have little aversion to it, if not sometimes overwhelmed by the numbers. These creatures are nice, predictable and don’t make them question their actions. Unlike people. They still don’t quite understand the purpose of this moniker or any humour behind it.
[ An Immovable Rider ]
Few have ever seen what lies behind the layers of metal, mail and padding that protect Sasha from the world. The weight of such a getup does not appear to bother them, and if anything is something sought after with Thunder and Essence Magics keeping the extreme nature of it under control. All that protection and the helm elevate Sasha to about 5 feet and 7 inches, however their natural height is closer to 5 feet and 3 inches. Pale but healthy skin can sometimes be seen in the rare occasion Sasha removes their armour - usually for blood ministration - but little else is known about their appearance beyond the reflections of slightly golden hues beneath the cracks of their helm. Heavy and efficient at blocking out noises, it is a safe haven for an easily overwhelmed creature like Sasha.
B A C K G R O U N D__ _ _ _ _
Sasha was a surprise to their family, coming a handful of years after their sister, Giselle, to a family that had been trying to conceive a male heir. Ultimately, whether Sasha’s very sex was in accordance would matter little, as their development would prove to be difficult to the family, leaving them to see Giselle’s childhood friend and future groom to be their son figure. Nonetheless, despite their odd nature and peculiar physical features such as their eye colour, Sasha was accepted among their people.
A recluse for most of their childhood, it was said that Sasha only began to communicate verbally at the age of five and actively avoided others. Especially during gatherings - they were overwhelming. Still, it did not take long for the oddities surrounding Sasha to attract attention, and eventually the unveiling of their miraculous “golden” blood. It was known that, in rare occurrences, mages could be born with immense resilience to afflictions which first appeared to be Sasha’s case but the additional phenomenon had yet to be documented: The blood could greatly accelerate healing when ingested by another.
The Tourrare believed in an envoy of Aun-Oraphe, although the Holy See was very reluctant to concede any such notion to a tribe that had always been poorly regarded by the rest of Parrence. Nonetheless, with more attention on Sasha came more consideration for the person by their entourage. With a wheel test and surprising knack for mimicking her teacher’s, Asier’s, Thunder, it was deemed more than beneficial to make due with Sasha sometimes overwhelming quirks with the promise of a formidable boon for the Tourrare. Although perhaps their brother-in-law simply wished for Sasha to get as big of a chance at life as they could.
Sasha remained blissfully disconnected from the geopolitical machinations of outsiders, having almost never left their steppe. Their daily life consists of handling beasts, training and ensuring the peace in their people’s territory while always wearing those heavy, clunky layers of metal armour before stepping outside. A tranquil existence if not increasingly stressful with the prolonged absence of their mentor who had gone to the war. When the news of Asier’s potential capture reached home, however, a promise was made to his wife in daughter: Sasha would bring him back, lest they never show their face again from under their iron helm.
I N V E N T O R Y__ _ _ _ _
❖ Aun-Ipté’s Embrace: A massive amalgamation of metals used to form Sasha’s armour, mostly composed of iron. It is all managed and kept in one piece with a constant magnetic field that can be felt when close.
❖ L'Alabarda de la Estepa Daurada: A long, iron halberd with gold ley lines that trance through the bar right up to the tip and blade. Very good synergy with Thunder Magic.
❖ Hierbamonte’s Bulwark: A large, circular shield with brass coating that could almost be called a tower shield.
❖ Arriscat: Sasha’s Hierbamonte Horse, a massive mare standing over 220 cm, generally used for field work and heavy carriage work. Not a very fast beard but has the strength, stamina and back to handle a heavy rider and heavy armour.
❖ Segu: A dwarf cat species gifted to Sasha from a Djamantese noble that was treated with their blood. It is as small as a kitten and often seen on their shoulder. It remained home, but Sasha kept a crude drawing in their helmet.
❖ Vemonankh, the Staff of Perdition: A Hegelan-made staff found in the Tyrannus Gehenna’s hoard in Mont Errant. A staff that increases efficiency in charge drawing and thunder magic casting. It is considered to be of very high quality, just shy of the best. A strong offset to one of Sasha’s weaknesses.
❖ Tyrannus Monsigneus Egg: Acquired in Mont Errant with the staff, it is believed to hatch soon. It has been trusted to the Tourrare forces that came with Asier and survived.
Sasha, despite being a recluse, was quick to learn anything that involved the Gift with a strong inclination for Thunder and Essence magics. In theory, they can use all five schools to some degree, but three are their main focuses:
❖ Thunder: Sasha’s strongest spells reside here. Most of her notions were acquired by the tutelage of their brother-in-law and do not disappoint. Whether it’d be magnetism of lightning strikes, they can do most of it.
La Llança de Echeran-Zept: Most of Sasha’s gathered charges are focused onto their spear, making for very strong spatial compression, making for a devastating strike. The magnetic field that keeps their armour stable with some pieces made to levitate around them to more easily gather charges. Until Sasha’s next attack, a lower dice than normal is used to defend (cannot defend allies too). In exchange, the next attack will be a level higher. This limit can be removed by spending a turn charging the spell (no movement), disallowing defending of allies. With the Staff of Perdition, a coin flip can determine if this charge is skipped.
El Mur de Oraphe-Zept: Energy is drawn and converted into thunder magic that re-enforces that bonds of the iron worn by Sasha and eases swift intervention when an ally is in danger (with their massive shield). Sasha’s defence roll increases a level but the offensive roll takes a penalty as this considerably slows them down. They can use their normal defense roll to protect an ally this round too, but cannot attack or have attacked this round. So long as the horse is at play, a 4 dice with the winning result being 4 can get an additional defense in.
❖ Essence: Focused mainly in internal magics, especially on themself, Sasha orients her efforts in keeping the soft, little creature hiding inside the armour safe. It is also a school of magic that isn’t too negatively affected by their blood type.
La Sang de l’Or d’Oraphe: Sasha’s abnormal blood, stemming from both their mana type and a unique mutation in the actual blood cells, has strong healing qualities but loses its strength after a few minutes outside of the body, making it only useful fresh. A coin flip will determine whether Sasha refuses treatment or allows part of their body to be exposed to offer their blood.
❖ Blood: Sasha will mainly use this school of magic for mild injury healing and drawing from metal of fallen warriors to repair their own armour/equipment or create powerful defenses for their allies. For bigger heals, if they opt to not use the blood, they will suffer a penalty to the healing as they lack the experience and human contact to properly execute such a feat.
S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Hyposensitivity to Touch and Pain ❖ Obsession with extreme sizes - Can quickly and accurately calculate sizes of things and distances to a degree. ❖ Immense Vitality ❖ Very good with animals
W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Hypersensitivity to Sounds - Prone to Meltdowns ❖ Absolutely no social tact ❖ Inexperience - High anxiety from routine breaking ❖ Slow Drawing and Slower movements
44 | MALE | PARRENCE | FORCE & ESSENCE | BERSERKER__ _ _ _ _
C H A R A C T E R I S T I C S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Dauntless A man that’s seen and fought it all, very little can surprise or intimidate Arnaud, even the most sided of odds. With this comes an air of jovial confidence towards any sort of adversity, seeing such things as potential challenges to reinforce the notion of him being the strongest but also enhance his own arsenal. He is not easily rattled or provoked, like a Rhinoceros in its peaceful habitat.
❖ Unrelenting Whether in the battlefield or in the mundane, Arnaud doesn’t just stop. He finishes what he started, even if it takes everything from him. It is this desire to see everything to the end that he’s earned his notoriety as bloodthirsty and unstoppable. Very few have ever stopped Arnaud in his tracks, even in conversations.
❖ Deferential Arnaud is polite and greatly values manners. He often humbles himself when exchanging with others, friends and enemies alike, often giving off the impression he’s a gentle and jovial unit. All who have underestimated him have perished, however. He provides respect to all those he meets and even more so to those who defy him with shows of courage.
❖ Gluttonous Not only with food, though a big man like him’s gotta eat, but with anything that can be remotely pleasurable. Arnaud tends to do many things in excess with a minimal grasp of temperance. A residue of his life as a near-King, although he is never crude or inelegant about it.
A beast of a man coming in at 194 cm tall and slightly over 200 kg of pure might. Once somewhat leaner, the years have added to Aheri’s bulk, which has done nothing but enhance the absolute unit that he is. His dark hair and beard remain long and maintained, although shorter than his days as a warlord. He only wears his nose-ring as jewellery from his past life, a sign that he’s almost entirely integrated in Perrench culture, but couldn’t fully let go of some of his more ironic pieces to go along with his white, body-wide tattoos.
Nowadays he wears armour like many of his fellow knights, albeit with frequent sacrifices to his arms and legs to favour movement. The Lion’s crest is built upon most armour he wears. In a more casual setting, he is usually content with a typical brown robe with a mere rope at the waist to keep it together and a pair of regular trousers. He also doesn’t walk barefoot.
B A C K G R O U N D__ _ _ _ _
Uru Zuyr The Rhinoceros The Dusted Beard The Strongest Man in the World Aheri
Born Aroun Maobe, he was the first son of Beirut Maobe, the King of the Zuyr people. A people with deep roots in Belzagg, but had drifted into a more nomadic lifestyle that ultimately detached them from their feuding continent in search for more fertile lands. It is when the lands that would eventually become Virang that Beirut’s ambition flourished, and would be Aroun’s burden to bear after his death.
A powerful people, made strong by ceaseless conflict and raiding, led by a powerful leader had everything it needed to make something great of this land. However, when Aroun was just 15, his father would perish in battle, putting the Maobe family’s might into question. The young Aroun would gain the moniker of Aheri the day his older cousin sought to take the throne. A mage himself, far more versed in the arts than Aroun, and yet it would be the cousin’s skull that’d be obliterated between the teenage beast’s palms. For he was already a formidable fighter, and a behemoth of a man.
Might didn’t make everything, and while the Zuyr still valued a leader as the strongest, it would be only thanks to his brother, Bashir, that their father’s ambition would enter the realm of possibility. Aroun was the might, Bashir the strategist. Their endeavours would go one for almost twenty years, countless battles to slowly assimilate more and more of the birthing Virang, until they reached an impasse with the natives of the lands that would later become Malabash. They needed more. More hands, more resources, more weapons.
The Eskand menace in the South didn’t come to deaf ears, even far in the North, especially with the aggressive expansion made by the Zuyr and the trade routes they would begin to open. An opportunity both Aroun and Bashir saw. With Parrence nearly crippled by the southern raids, the northern border was ripe for the picking by yet a new menace, also versed in raids. Albeit, one way over its head.
The first year, it was easy picking. Especially with Aheri the warlord spearheading the assaults, most champions stood no chance. It seemed dire for the fragilized empire. When Aheri came to sack and claim one of the small vassalized islands, he would be confronted by an all too familiar sight: A legion of armoured men ready to die with their commander having no chance against him.
What he didn’t account for was the lieutenant taking charge when the head of the defensive force was killed. A young, likely foolhardy rider Aroun would eliminate in a single hit. And yet he couldn’t help but respect the man with the Lion emblem. It is said that a mighty battle ensued, both sides clashing and no victor emerging for a good hour. Very few lived to tell the tale, but the Lion had managed to sink his teeth into the unstoppable rhino’s neck and subdued him. An impossibility, to be sure, and yet the raiding party’s numbers had completely dwindled, and Aheri was surrounded, slashed and impaled. The monster of the north had been stopped in his tracks by one many would simply call ‘The Lion Knight’.
Whether by genuine entrapment or stubbornness, Aheri was captured and his men either fled or were finished off. A prisoner of the Lion and a useful political tool to repulse the northern raids. They had their king, or at least former king, as he would end up disgraced like his father had after death. He was no longer their King by sheer might, or at least that is what Aheri believed. The times had changed, Bashir had brought prosperity without the need of archaic, tribalistic shows of might, but Aroun would no longer be their King. He would not accept it, for he was now a burden to his people.
With the threat of the South persisting and the North quelled now that their royal blood was kept as a ward, King Arcel considered it a waste to keep Aheri imprisoned. His might was renown and his experience crucial. And with that came an accord: He was to follow the strongest, as his people always did, which was the very King that the Lion served. A solemn oath of fealty, serving as a royal advisor and executioner to the king. And in exchange, a chance at redemption as a disgraced King. A great ally could be made of the Zuyr should they accomplish their wild but promising goal of founding their own nation. The promise of royal backing of Bashir’s endeavours was made between two men- not representatives of nations or royals, men who stared each other in the eyes without chains or guard. And swore to one another.
The young king reminded Aroun of himself in some way. Young, underestimated and carrying a massive burden, yet fearless to the threat ahead- fearless toward the Aheri himself. To this day, the now newly baptised Arnaud Maobe has only knelt to two: The Lion, and his King. The two living men that have his full respect. He carries out his promise day by day, fully accustomed to the culture of Parrence. Right up to the very Pentad being accepted in his life.
I N V E N T O R Y__ _ _ _ _
❖ Le Détroit - A massive battle axe with a pointed tip to double as a spear. The design is very Perrench, though the shape of the spear resembles his own weapon’s unique form in his chieftain days. It is weathered on one side, a testament to how much it’s been used, both in combat and as a tool for executions.
❖ Suhu’Ali - A sleeping drug. A small dose of this powder can help most go to sleep. A full blow of it to the face can put an elephant to sleep.
❖ Mkobo - A hallucinogenic drug used recreationally by his people. Arnaud doesn’t consume the stuff, but has used it against his enemies in the past and sometimes offers it to battle-scarred comrades to help them find some peace.
❖ Sidi - A pain drug. Used to dull pain, although needs to be dosed correctly at the risk of paralysis or even heart failure.
❖ Majini - A wicked drug used to ‘manipulate’ others. Some consider it a curse that even a gris-gris can’t help with. When eaten, it puts the victim into a frenzy where they often exhaust themselves to death and sometimes even enter fits of murderous rage. Small doses have been used to greatly enhance the brutality of soldiers in battle.
T H E G I F T__ _ _ _ _
Third Wheel - Force & Essence - Leadvein
Arnaud never had any true initiation in the Gift beyond traditions that existed in his faction’s culture. Nonetheless, with his propensity for fighting and exceptional physical might long his bloodright as a Leadvein, he naturally developed the Force branch of mana, first using it to essentially enhance his already mighty blows, and now his very stomps have the potential to generate small-scale earthquakes and shockwaves. Loud battlecries that can repulse even fully armoured men too close to him are some of the fearsome things some have told about the Aheri.
Destroyer of the earth, generator of storms (massive air currents generated through Force magic), the moniker of ‘Strongest Man in the World’ can’t really be contested with factoring this facet alone. As a Leadvein, he has a natural talent for assimilating 'Force', being Kinetic energy, and utilizing it in destructive ways with little risk of harming himself.
His secondary Gift branch is Essence, a common one found among the top mages in the Zuyr people. It is almost entirely internal to the caster with rare hallucinogenic purposes applied to the enemy. Aheri uses it mainly in two ways: Self-enhancement, which has led him to develop his own unique ‘buff’ in recent years, and creation of drugs typically found in his culture.
❖ The Lion’s Triumph: An homage to the one man who bested him. Aheri roars in a similar fashion to a lion, causing a surge of adrenaline and other potent substances to course through his being before ground himself in a grand earthquake. His sweat becomes steam and his body becomes particularly hot. Now every step and strike he only lightly winds up is capable of causing massive seismic blasts for a brief period. He is also quite faster.
S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Absurd Physical Might Even without the Gift, Arnaud has been known to stop Rhinos in their tracks with only his hands. Coupled with great proficiency with many spear and axe-like weapons, he is a threat to even strong mages without using an ounce of mana. It is said his grip is so great, he can crack rocks with it.
❖ Very Fast for his Size When he starts running, very little can stop him, and he continuously gains momentum. But even in the heat of the moment, he catches many off-guard with how quick he can land some strikes, even if he isn’t going to be dodging many attacks himself (Mobility =/= swift attacks).
❖ Battle-hardened Moulded by hundreds of battles, a man like this has the willpower few can compare to. Not only has his decision making improved with the passage of time, but he can withstand the worst of odds and come out on top no matter how arduous the path is.
❖ Cultured From Belzagg to West Severa to Rettan, Arnaud has made his mark in many places, and not always as a conqueror or raider. He is versed in many cultures that surround Virang and can hold conversational-level exchanges with many languages common in the area.
W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Tunnel-Visioned Once he’s fixated on something, it’s hard to distract him, especially if he’s worked up. Though even mundane curiosities can get him caught up in spirals of exaggerated interest for an entire day.
❖ Collateral Damage A man that’s known for generating earthquakes and laying entire lands to waste through sheer might is bound to be a hazard to allies and foes alike.
❖ Winded He’s fat and getting old. His stamina isn’t what it used to be, which some can definitely use to their advantage if they’re bold enough to tire him out.
❖ Illiterate Scholarly work was not for him, he was a warrior and operated through doing things. His brother was the wittier of the two. He does understand some texts in Perrench, more so out of crude memorization and actual reading ability, from his conversion. Surprisingly, his lingo is actually not that bad, as he has a pretty good memory.
C O L O U R C O D E & O T H E R__ _ _ _ _
❖ Hex code: 7F4C20 ❖ He remembers the name and face of every opponent he has fought and killed.
Danyel
rabidbacon
dragonpiece
CitrusArms
pantothenic
Izurich
jasbraq
Ti
Jumbus
