Auberon Casimir Galatea

18 _{Born the 15th of Blue Sea Moon.}

Holy Kingdom of Faerghus

Noble of House Galatea

Minor Crest of Daphnel
_{Auberon's Crest sporadically imbues his swings with more momentum than would seemingly be possible by mundane means.}

Fighter

Axes

Axe, Flying

Bow, Reason

Hotheaded and often rash, Auberon is a force of ego incarnate, with the utmost confidence that his every success is ordained by the Goddess herself, and thus brings glory unto Her name with every act he undertakes. Should he ever fail at something, of course, it is merely because the Goddess chose to teach him an important lesson in order to make him a more perfect servant or subtly create an even better result in the future. This leads to a very reckless nature, though not totally untempered by wisdom; the Goddess helps those who help themselves, after all.

Despite this hubris, Auberon is not one to rise above his station. He believes the Goddess has placed him precisely where he should be, and his whole life has been spent in preparation for vassalage - whether to a count or a king. He gives due deference to his feudal superiors and members of the church, though commoners are usually beneath his notice. He's cordial to them out of a sense of noblesse oblige, but he believes it is their role to serve as much as it his the role of the aristocracy to justly rule. This does not extend to those rare commoners who are lucky enough to bear a Crest, whose holy blood Auberon takes as a sign of the Goddess' favor and thus he regards them as he would any other noble.

Born the second son of two knights from a cadet branch of House Galatea, Auberon seemed a strong candidate to follow in their footsteps in one of the knightly orders of Faerghus rather than inherit the estate. When his Crest became apparent, however, the main branch immediately took an interest in the boy, as the House had not produced a Crestbearing heir. While they were hesitant to fully commit to Auberon's adoption in hopes that Count Galatea may yet produce a child holding a more valuable Major Crest, lessons on statecraft and stewardship were stressed on Auberon alongside the courtly etiquette and chivalric conduct typical of a young noble's education in the event he should eventually be chosen as the Count's successor nevertheless.

He took to combat lessons as swimmingly as any Crestbearing son of Faerghus would, and the innate physical advantages of his Crest led him to develop an ego quite quickly. His mother schooled him on tactics she reserved from her time as a pegasus knight, and his father instructed him briefly in the lance before passing him off to a more dedicated combat instructor. Auberon's older brother rarely stood a chance in their sparing, despite being two years his elder, and his tutors were often caught off-guard by the boy's intensity in practice, if not truly threatened. Seeking to curb any foolhardy arrogance in their son, his parents began introducing him to members of the Church in hopes that faith and scripture would humble the boy. The opposite occurred. Inspired by tales of the Ten Elites and their holy blood, Auberon came to understand himself not as special by his own merits, but by the benevolence of the Goddess. Now convinced of his importance in the divine sphere as well as the mortal, the young squire threw himself into his training with renewed vigor, aiming to be worthy of his role as the Goddess' champion like Daphnel before him.

It was also around this time that the whispers among the court became too loud for Auberon to miss. Auberon was still the sole Crestbearer of his generation, and some among the Galatea nobility had already given up on the Count choosing a different heir. The young teen could often pick them out easily - they were a little bit more pleasant now, with manipulations behind every word of flattery and unrealized ambitions spun in every turn of phrase. Perhaps a courtier would promise to convince the Count to stop deliberating on Auberon's adoption for a mere favor in the future, perhaps another simply wanted to brown-nose with his future liege. Such intrigue didn't interest Auberon - the Goddess would place him where he was meant to be regardless; anxiety was a trait reserved for faithless men and cowardly sinners.

When they learned Auberon would be attending the Officers Academy with his enrollment costs to be covered by the Count himself, Auberon's proponents, and even some detractors, seemed assured that he would be chosen for rulership of County Galatea swiftly after. When the official decision to name Auberon heir to the Countship was announced, he remained as unreceptive to noble politicking as ever. This served as an endless source of frustration to those whose power plays were banking on such an event, though Auberon's indifference never wavered. In fact, he was more excited to witness Garreg Mach and the seat of the Church in person than he was to hold any titles or power.

Despite his heightened position, Auberon wears his uniform as standard as possible. The golds of a typical Academy uniform are replaced with silvers or blue adornments to match his cape, but his attire otherwise remains unchanged.

Rudolf von Bergliez

17 _{Born the 7th of Ethereal Moon.}

Adrestian Empire

Noble of House Bergliez

Major Crest of Noa
_{Rudolf's Crest imposes a subtle compulsion on observers to ignore him. He's not invisible, just easier to gloss over, especially for those that aren't specifically looking for him.}

Monk

Dark Magic

Reason, Faith

Brawl, Heavy Armor

Miasma Δ, Heal, Swarm Z

A scion of House Bergliez must be the pinnacle of battlefield achievement, unparalleled in bravery and skill; a warrior so powerful that no man, army, or monster may meet him in combat and prevail. Rudolf von Bergliez is none of these things. He's diminutive, easily discouraged, and wants nothing more than to suffer a mildly debilitating injury that renders him unable to ever fight again, but won't significantly hinder his day-to-day life. At least then he could abdicate his title in shame and wouldn't jeopardize the entire Empire with the aftermath of his failures. He'd be useless in any position in the Ministry of Military Affairs, let alone the battlefield; all of his alleged magical talent is an overrated farce that will surely be exposed any day now; and no, he doesn't know what 'impostor syndrome' means, so quit saying it.

Rudolf is generally incapable of internalizing praise or positive feedback. He believes any commentary on his ability comes from mindless platitude and supernatural mental influence, and that if people would only pay attention to him, they'd see he's an inept failure unworthy to bear his hereditary honors. Glaring self-esteem issues aside, he's typically polite and inoffensive, though he can be quite forward at times since his subtle hints often go unnoticed by others. He does genuinely enjoy attention, though he's wary of actively drawing it to himself as he thinks it would inevitably lead to his exposure as a fraud. Naturally, Rudolf's a bit of a cynic, though he's notably more optimistic about circumstances that don't involve his input in any way.

It was deemed a testament to the strength of House Bergliez's blood and the favor of the Goddess that three of the Count's five children bore Crests. Such hubris must surely have been at fault when the Count's firstborn son grew up sickly and unsuited to the warfare in which his House was accustomed. A rational man would have named another child heir to the County, but Count Bergliez was never a man who reconsidered his choices once they had been made. Rudolf, much like the other Bergliez children, was trained in the arts of combat alongside a typical young noble's education. Rudolf rarely excelled in such activities, and was met with little encouragement even when he did accomplish something. His siblings received genuine, targetted compliments, but his achievements were met with polite ambiguity, and only if he explicitly asked. Only feats with tangible, physical results were met with anything different, usually surprise. Clearly, none of the other praise was sincere; they hadn't noticed a thing, overshadowed as he was by his siblings' prowess. Rudolf came to believe that he wasn't receiving attention because there was nothing noteworthy about him; he was only commended out of pity and respect for his position as the next count. Once he had a better grasp on how his ability worked, Rudolf was all but assured of this. How could he be congratulated when he was the opposite of everything the House stood for? He was no peerless soldier, his silhouette didn't cut an imposing inspiration to lesser men against the horizon; he was weak and frail and would perish the moment he engaged the enemy. The Imperial Army demanded not just a competent leader, but a figurehead that rallied and inspired levied soldier and distinguished knight alike. No pitiful weakling whose very existence was an afterthought to those that gazed upon him would do. The Ministry of Military Affairs should be in the hands of someone strong like his brother, or cunning like his sister, someone that wouldn't fail their nation in a time of strife.

Still, Count Bergliez refused to budge. If Rudolf couldn't master a weapon, he'd just have to be given alternative methods of attack. Favors were called in and practitioners of the dark arts from some of the Empire's most elite magic corps were hired as tutors for the boy. If the Count could not raise a master warrior to lead the front lines, he would raise a sorcerer-general to rain destruction from behind them. The boy took to the education swimmingly, finding it far more agreeable to his physique than swordplay. Unfortunately, Rudolf didn't quite see it that way. Unused to his tutors' genuine evaluation of his progress and the ease at which magical instruction came to him, he assumed he'd fluked somehow and passed himself off as some sort of magical prodigy. His Crest concealed his shortcomings from his instructors' scrutiny for now, but one day, surely, he'd reach the end of his luck and be exposed as a third-rate caster with fourth-rate spells. Nevertheless, Rudolf persevered in his studies, if only to try and live up to the lie everyone believed in. The genuine attention he was receiving was something he'd sorely lacked for most of his childhood, even if it was misguided and built on deceit. Hopefully once the truth came out, his father would see what a horrible person he was and pass him over for inheritance.

Unfortunately, it never came to pass. The plague took Rudolf's father and two of his siblings, one of whom was another Crestbearer. Quite frankly, the boy couldn't help but think his family would've been better off if he'd been one of the victims instead. Worse, no one had the nerve to contradict a dead man's wishes and dispute Rudolf's claim to the title. Any protests on his part were met with deaf ears and false reassurances that he would live up to the expectations set before him. His mother took over as Countess regent due to Rudolf's age, but in the interim, he was to be sent to Garreg Mach in preparation to inherit County Bergliez. The boy accepted, both because he had been given no other options and because such a prestigious institution would doubtlessly expose him as a fool unworthy to be count, and his family would have to reconsider their choice in heir.

Rudolf's uniform jacket is slightly lengthier at the bottom and extends a bit further down the thighs. The usual shoulder and neck adornments are also absent, replaced with a high-collared black amice that drapes his shoulders, similar to a monk's habit.

Clarissa von Edmund

18 _{Born the 21st day of the Great Tree Moon, 1477}

Leicester Alliance

Noble: House Edmund

Crest of Maurice (Crest of the Beast)
_{Unbeknownst to her, Clarissa's Crest passively compels honesty from both those she speaks with and herself.}

Monk

White Magic (Sword secondary)

Faith and Authority

Lance and Axe

Heal
Nosferatu

Bold and impulsive, Clarissa Edmund is an aggressively outspoken proponent of her beliefs. The first to disregard the pretense of deliberation, Clarissa refuses empty flattery and circular arguing in favor of constructive criticism advancing her agenda. Her stance on issues is rarely unknown and she operates without the veneer of secrecy her political peers are so well known for. It’s her opinion that transparency is the fundamental value of trust and that only those with ill intention gain anything from secrecy. As such, she throws herself entirely into whatever she considers worthwhile, sure in her steps and steadfast in her convictions, and rarely double guesses her decisions.

Unlike her mother who draws on the serenity of Seiros, Clarissa’s faith only fans the flames of her passion. She speaks glowingly of the establishment anytime the subject comes up, fully committed to the Church’s message of peace, forgiveness, and charity, and is quick to turn against those who speak ill of it. The Alliance’s neutrality with the Church has always bothered her—after all, Fodlan only stayed together thanks to the guidance of Archbishop Rhea—and she fully plans to support an expansion of the Church's influence in the Alliance.

The first born daughter of Beaufort and Odette Edmund, Clarissa Edmund seemed destined to be cut from the same cloth as her father: energetic, loud, and brash even as a baby. She spent her life proving everyone right. She spent her early years at her father’s knee, adopting his love for horseback riding, sailing, and swordplay during their outings and picking up the nuances of Edmund oration in the process. Each evening after lessons, the pair would slip away to Clarissa’s favorite spot in the family estate that overlooked the harbor and would talk about her studies and the world at large over a pot of mint tea.

Her mother however, maintained an incredibly strict lifestyle for Clarissa when she wasn’t with her father. Born with a minor Crest of the Beast, Odette wept when she learned Clarissa inherited a Major Crest. Marianne Edmund’s adoption tainted the family line with the cursed Crest and her influence still shaped how the family handled the Crest three hundred years later. Odette limited her interaction with anyone outside of the core staff and immediate family and immersed Clarissa in Church activity. She believed that only faith and piety could combat the Crest’s malignant effects. She kept the truth of the Crest away from Clarissa as long as she could and it worked for a while.

However, the birth of her younger brother afforded her an opportunity to escape her mother’s limitations. With Beaufort as her ally, Clarissa won independent outings to the Church for a weekly social gathering of children her age with the condition that a trusted family friend, Bishop Jehan, would act as her chaperone. The man had the patience of Saint Cethleann herself and handled her million questions with ease. Her social group consisted mostly of the children of wealthy merchants and she quickly established her reputation as a leader, taking responsibility for the group and their activities. She molded the group in the image of Odette’s charity work and focused primarily on assisting those without money by fixing garments and blankets for free. While she didn’t particularly care for the work, it was something she hadn’t been allowed to do before and she quite liked having friends.

She was content with her life and limited interactions until her 11th year, after the disastrous mock battle between House Gloucester and House Ordelia. Her father explained why the House had lost their seat: The House was on its last legs and survived solely on the support from others in the Alliance. As unfortunate as it was, a House needed to be powerful in its own right to sit at the table. The unease at the decision still festered inside her and unable to find the words to express why, she lashed out at her family, at her father for a horrible decision and at her mother for her absurd restrictions.

A screaming match with her mother revealed the true nature of her Crest. Clarissa fled after that, running to the only place she considered safe anymore and broke down in tears in front of Jehan. It took several long, awkward, and emotional conversations with the Bishop but eventually she found what had been unsettling her about the issue. The curse her family supposedly bore was a punishment for those who had no hand, no voice, in the decision their ancestor made, just like Duke Ordiela’s family had no choice in his decision to murder a fellow Lord. Her questions bordered on heretical, demanding why the Goddess would punish innocents for the acts of others. The bishop came up with an elegant solution: a Major Crest manifesting in her must mean the Goddess has given her the chance to redeem her bloodline. Clarissa clung desperately to that and shortly before her 13th birthday, she stepped out of her turmoil a new person.

Gone was the girl who would quietly accept her fate. Instead, Clarissa Edmund walked out as the heiress apparent of the Margravate of Edmund and she made sure it was known. It caused friction with her mother but Clarissa swept past that with her new found confidence. She reclaimed her social group that had been abandoned at the revelation of her curse, grew it, and began doubling down on her lessons. She accompanied her father to the Roundtable and took notes and developed questions for them to discuss later at their nightly meetings. She even attended a recent Roundtable on her own when he fell ill; she established her reputation quickly when one of them tried to exploit her age and she flew into an impassioned speech on the importance of change and progress and warned against letting hard fought wisdom turn to stagnation. After that she knew her next course of action clearly: Leading the Leicester Alliance. Her father supported her aspirations and enrolled her in Garrag Mach’s Officers Academy with the goal to strengthen the support she’d need to make the claim.

Favorite Food: Two-fish Sauté

Clarissa's Crest power doesn't force people to tell her things. It only keeps them, and her, from lying in a conversation. If a character doesn't want to talk about something, they don't have to or they can tell her that they don't want to talk about it if it does come up.

Lienna Orhneaht

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

The Holy Kingdom of Faerghus

Commoner - soon to join a minor branch of House Gautier

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

Monk

Black Magic

Reason & Bow

Heavy Armour & Flying

Blizzard

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

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

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

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

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

If only such things were within her control.

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

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

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

She never spoke again.

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

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

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

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

Lienna's uniform skirt is ankle-length. She foregoes her jacket and her blouse features long, loose-fitting bishop sleeves. She wears a brown scarf tied tight around her midriff in a wide band, held together at one side with a long, drooping bow.

Jorah von Riegan

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

The Leicester Alliance

Heir Apparent of House Riegan

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

Lord

Bow

Bow & Riding

Reason & Authority

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jorah wears his house leader uniform unchanged with the exception of a colourful patterned sash around his waist, reminiscent of Leicestrian style.

Widolaic "Viddle" von Vestra

18 _{Born the 11th of the Lone Moon}

Adrestian Empire

Heir of House Vestra

Major Crest of Lamine
_{Widolaic's Crest allows her to weave spells from two elements}

Monk

Black Magic

Reason, Faith

Axes, Heavy Armor

Fire, Thunder, Heal

When one thinks of an heir to House Vestra, they may envision a shadowy, hooded figure lurking in the shadows, coldly hunting their next victim, or perhaps a calculating spymaster without worldly attachment, pulling the strings of a thousand living puppets across Fódlan. This person would be harsh, unapproachable, with a permanent scowl bolted to their face. While this description might certainly fit the current Lord of the House, it does not fit his successor.

Widolaic is outgoing, and cheerful, and values building connections through friendships and healthy acquaintances. It’s rare to see her without a smile on her face, and rarer still to hear an unkind word pass her lips. Her talent for magic however, betrays a diligent and studious work ethic, which she applies to everything she does. After all, as a Vestra, her chief responsibility is problem solving on any scale.

While most would find her an agreeable person with too much goodwill and empathy for her House, others seem to think she’s suited for it perfectly. They see her rise to heirdom as a grab for power, motivated by some warped, loveless morality that holds nothing but contempt for her fellow man.

The truth, as it often does, lies somewhere in between.

When the plague ravaged Adrestia, many in Fódlan were relieved to see the once mighty House Vestra wither, its numerous and far-reaching branches pruned to a meager number that could hardly regulate the shadows of their own home, let alone meddle in the affairs of their neighbors. So it fell to Lord Ulrich Vestra, now a widower, to ensure his family name did not slough from the Empire’s diseased body like a scab in the recovery. He needed to repair the vast network of spymasters and wet-workers that had kept Adrestia functioning beneath the surface; he needed to replenish the ranks of the Imperial Guard with people the emperor could trust—and more importantly, that he could trust. Most of all, though, he needed a successor.

His son Karl was a Crest bearer, but unlike other Houses, that did not immediately entitle him to heirdom. The Vestra family’s proclivity for secrecy afforded Ulrich a fair amount of leeway in how he ran his House, and so, whether he wanted to temper Karl into a worthy successor, or simply did not trust him to live up to the responsibilities, the Vestra patriarch made a decision.

Widolaic, alongside her elder brother Wulfric, their branch’s ward, Gunhilde, and a dozen other youths, were plucked from the remaining branches and brought to Lord Ulrich’s estate. In the shade of the ancient oak tree in his court yard, he told them their fates: the future of House Vestra would fall to one of them, and so while he worked to rebuild their inheritance, they would compete to find the one worthy of inheriting it. They would live there, at the estate, until they either quit the contest, proved themselves unworthy, or could no longer compete. He bade them take their time, and use whatever means they saw fit, but reminded them that killing was strictly forbidden, and if they were found guilty of such a crime, they would suffer death themselves.

To all who had ever known him in any personal capacity the emphasis was clear: If.

Some might have found the practice distasteful, or even foolish with their numbers already so diminished in the plague's wake, but Ulrich thought otherwise. A family who made its name stealing secrets and dragging knives across throats around the Empire needed someone who could both perform, and survive. He would not settle.

House Vestra, large as it had been, was possessed of three Crests, all of which had managed to survive the plague. They belonged to Karl, Gunhilde, and Widolaic, the youngest among them. Karl was teenaged and bristling with ambition, but Gunhilde was the true favorite to win; she was brilliant even at fourteen, and had equal talents for subterfuge and knifework. As a ward, she had helped raise both Widolaic and Wulfric, and swore to keep them safe, until the contest’s end, where she would raise them up alongside her as the head of House Vestra. Some thought she would win within the year, others guessed it might only take her a month to best Karl, after which the rest would surely wilt and concede.

She was dead in a week, falling suddenly and fatally ill in the middle of a social gathering. One moment her nose began to bleed, the next she collapsed on the ballroom floor. Widolaic spent the following few nights huddled close to Wulfric, as the two waited in their room for the mysterious assailant to find them next. But the attempt on their lives never came—at least, not as it had for Gunhilde.

The reality of the contest was slow and winding. Karl was older than most of them, but he also lacked the tact and subtlety to force anyone out without implicating himself. So, after the first death, for awhile there was nothing. For a long time, in fact, there was nothing.

A year later young Reinbald conceded, and returned to his branch without admonishment from Ulrich, but also without farewell. Those who lost and survived could still serve the House, after all, if in a lesser capacity. Adelbrand and Margold, siblings from another distant branch, departed not long after, one with a broken arm, the other with a few less teeth. Three more left in as many years after, deflated but whole. Five remained and for five more years, there was relative peace.

Widolaic had taken to magic, her brother Wulfric to blades. At nineteen he was a prodigal tactician, with a spymaster’s insight and an assassin’s reflex. With his Crest he was quickly overtaking Karl’s spot as the favorite to win. Their plan was obvious but simple: just like Gunhilde had intended, the siblings would whittle down the competition until only the two of them remained, at which point Widolaic would concede, and Wulfric would rise as heir to the House.

Widolaic, for her part, spent much of her time dismissive of the contest. She socialized with the denizens of the estate, even her competition, and on occasion the Lord himself, who had for some reason seen fit to keep her around despite how poorly she represented the Vestra name. At social gatherings she did not skulk the edges and eavesdrop on unaware nobles, but rather spoke loudly and cheerfully and danced with as many people as she could before the drinks took her balance away. She made friends whenever possible, and friendly acquaintances when more distance was necessary. By her fifteenth year, hardly a soul had anything bad to say about her, except that she really didn’t belong in House Vestra. Too kind, too soft, too open with others; perhaps she'd eventually find herself marrying into a more pleasant family.

Two more years went by. Auglind fell into a wakeless slumber one night, and quick-fingered Gunther was caught with a matching poison in his room. One-eyed Ren, the last of the least-qualified, quietly excused himself from the competition and was gone before the year was over. That left only the siblings and Karl.

For the better part of a decade, Karl had reinvented himself into a man his father could trust. He traded his brashness for cunning, his swords for knives, and his hedonistic lifestyle for one of artful guile. The tension at Ulrich’s estate wound itself tight; any day now, they said, one of them would die. They were right.

On the morning of the siblings’ shared birthday, Karl fell face-first into his porridge and breathed no more. The cause of death could not be placed precisely, but they had all seen it before—his nose bled briefly, and then he died.

Lord Ulrich called a meet beneath the oak tree, tall still as the day they’d arrived. The siblings stood apart, and though they were unharmed, Wulfric felt ill nonetheless. But then he saw his sister, still alive, and she smiled at him like she had every day for the past twelve years: like her beloved brother and protector, the future lord of their House who would keep her safe.

And with a fiery bolt of Thunder, Widolaic struck him down.

Later, once the chaos had subsided, Lord Ulrich visited her in her cell. The rest of the House was convinced she had made a desperate, guileless play for power at the last moment. But she disagreed. She told him she was only following his rules—for Wulfric had poisoned Gunhilde and escaped justice, until now. It had taken years to accomplish, of course, and she had first needed to deal with the rest of the hopefuls. Those who were too meek or unfit, she led to forfeit their ambitions for safety. Others she pitted against one another through forged notes and tampered materials—Auglind, she assured, would wake one day, though poor Gunther was already buried. She apologized for Karl, but she and Ulrich both agreed that despite his change, he was no leader, and would not have accepted defeat.

He asked her why she had done all of this. She said that Gunhilde had been kind, and would have made a good heir.

Lord Ulrich pardoned her, but never explained himself. Instead, he called an end to the contest and declared Widolaic his successor. There were objections, but ultimately the decision was his, and though he was older now than he had been, few were those who would question him openly.

Shortly thereafter, Little Viddle Vestra was bound for the Officer’s Academy.

Nathanael Cornwall Gloucester

16 _{Born the 13th of the Ethereal Moon.}

Leicester Alliance

Noble of House Gloucester

Minor Crest of Gloucester
_{The Crest of Gloucester grants its bearer a heightened sense of visual perception, being able to see a bit farther and a bit easier in the dark. This does not help him notice things he would otherwise ignore.}

Myrmidon

Sword

Sword, Reason

Lance, Faith

Fire

Nathanael is a far cry from the boy he once was. Following the death of his father, Nathanael has turned quiet and calculating. He keeps his cards and his feelings close to the chest, as best he can. What you can pry out of him, however, is a deep academic fascination with battle and a flat understanding of honor and duty. He is obsessed with appearing to be honorable, though it's unclear if this is just an act. Regardless, Nathanael is not the loudest voice on the battlefield, and avoids flashy displays on the battlefield. He is efficient, if nothing else: anything further would make him too much of a target.

While far more political than other students in the Golden Deer, Nathanael tries to be amicable to all. Unfortunately, he is a bit socially stiff, and has a bad habit of saying what he really thinks over a flattering lie (perhaps a byproduct of Clarissa's crest?). For some, though, this is a blessing: most of Nathanael's comments are about form and technique, after all. For the rest, it's always easy to see where you stand with him. He views everyone who's made it to the academy as formidable enough to be worthy of attention... if only so they can be used later. He is a hard worker, and is often the first to rise and last to bed. Whether this stems from his hard work ethic or a paranoia of being stabbed while he sleeps is unknown. The most unnerving thing about Nathanael, though, is his cold and observant stare that seems to look through those he is watching.

As a child, Nathanael was a happy and boisterous child. He was deeply curious, always asking questions and wandering and reading as soon as he knew how. There was little he had no interest in. He wanted to know the names of all the birds that visited the estate, the names and purpose of all the flowers in the garden, the name of every knight at the Archduke's estate and their careers. He even yearned to study magic, swordsmanship, honor, politics, the art, and philosophy. The Archduke, due to love or obligation, indulged his son's interests.

That is, until Duke Gloucester was murdered in a mock battle by Duke Ordelia.

As the dust settled, the young Nathanael was whisked away into hiding, away from the public eye, by his tutor (Falstaff) and knights loyal to House Gloucester. In hiding from view at his familial estate, Nathanael retreated inwards. He was young, and in his most formative years, as he dove everything he had into training with his father's weapon: the sword. Nathanael spent his days training, studying, watching others duel, before picking up the sword himself again and running drills. He poured over detailed accounts of wars long past, tactical histories, and even training manuals covering various sword forms. He was never going to end up like his father did, that was for certain.

In the interim, Nathanael's family stepped in to keep the Duchy running. His mother, Countess Valentina Gloucester née Phlegethon, has taken over her husband's responsibilities. His uncle, Duke Archibald Gloucester, has stood by her side and done his best to assist with maintaining the villages bordering Hyrm. It took a couple years for Nathanael to re-emerge in the public sphere, noticeably changed and far more reserved than he once was. His face, once full of wonder and joy, has hardened into a stoic mask. He has attended the last few roundtable meetings, taking dutiful notes and watching with a cautious stare.

Of course, rumors have abounded around the heir apparent to the Duchy of Gloucester. Some whisper that he has been plotting for revenge against House Ordelia, seeking to burn the entire family to the ground. Whispers and rumors surrounding Nathanael's recent private tutoring in simple fire magic has certainly given weight to such a thought, even if it was the last on the list of Nathanael's tasks. He's been far too busy: within the last year, he had managed to secure an agreement from his mother and uncle that he could attend the Garrag Mach's Officers Academy as soon as he was of age. He has spent the time since making sure he was ready, mentally and physically. The last time a Gloucester had participated in a mock battle had gone poorly... he had a reputation to make up for.

Of course, the timing seems a bit... calculated. Attending the Officers Academy as soon as possible, when a fiery upstart from House Edmund was set to attend... not to mention the former heiress to House Ordelia, the betrothed to the Adrestian Empire, the bastard of House Blaiddyd, and a fresh heir to House Galatea. Nathanael has seen the writing on the wall: the winds are changing. He plans to ride those winds wherever they lead... or wherever he can guide them.

Nathanael's uniform bears more prominent gold epaulets covering his shoulders, and his dress coat bears coattails similar to those worn by Lorenz. Gloucester fashion never goes out of style.

Kellen Milo Fraldarius

17 _{Born the 8th of Harpstring Moon.}

Holy Kingdom of Faerghus

Noble of House Fraldarius

Minor Crest of Fraldarius
_{Kellen’s crest will, on occasion, allow him to temporarily ignore injuries he sustains. The pain doesn’t go away, it’s merely delayed.}

Myrmidon

Swords

Sword, Axe

Faith, Flying, Riding

Kellen is a pleasant but nervous boy who does not hold himself in particularly high-esteem. He’s quick to try and mediate conflicts, and as the youngest sibling of four, is used to being pushed around by those older than him. He is rather irreverent and does not see much point in respecting old traditions, though his stance on the matter is not strong enough for him to take any sort of real action to upend them.

However, in combat or otherwise under pressure, Kellen is rather quick to withdraw and hone in the task at hand. Any semblance of laissez-faire is lost, and there’s little attempt to pretend otherwise. While at times this a great tool, at others it manifests itself as an anxiety that does little but burn Kellen out. Any situation with the potential for injury contributes greatly to Kellen’s anxiety.

Kellen was born the youngest of 4 siblings. His eldest sister, Rhiannon, was identified at a young age to possess a major crest of Fraldarius. While Kellen was rarely privy to it, this would lead to a great deal of strife between his parents and his uncles and aunts, who had yet to bear any children with crests.

For the rest of this siblings, free from the subterfuge and family intrigue, Rhiannon’s crest lent them a great deal of freedom. The three crestless children, not aware of the context of such a gift, viewed it as more of a punishment than a boon. After all, Rhiannon spent days training, learning, and generally following their parents’ orders while the three younger children were able to play, explore, and, when forced to, learn under the far less-watchful eye of their tutor.

At the age of eight, Kellen was dropped out of a window by his siblings who got distracted while dangling him out of a window by his legs. After plummeting to the ground, he found himself unable to move his arm. Being all of 8 and having far more pressing maters to attend to, the kids resumed their games. It wasn’t until fifteen minutes had passed that a wave of pain ran through him that left him sobbing for the next several hours as the healers went about setting the injury.

Other similar incidents occurred. Kellen, in his foolishness, would find himself injured in some way or another, and while most of the time he would immediately feel pain, there would be moments where it would take minutes, sometimes close to an hour, for that horrible feeling to finally reach his brain. These occurrences dwindled as Kellen grew and became a bit more risk-averse. But after a practice blade clipped his ear – nearly taking a piece with it –, his father realized that his family had two crest-bearers.

Kellen felt a sense of dread as his father explained the situation to him. He had had suspicions that something wasn’t quite right, but his brief attempts at learning had given him the impression that two crest-bearers in a family was a rare occurrence. More than that though, he had no wish to assume a life similar to his eldest sister’s, whom he had rarely seen since she had gone to Garreg Mach some years previous.

That’s why he was thrilled when his father presented him with a solution. Kellen could head off to support his uncle and troops in defending the Kingdom against incursions from Sreng, something Kellen had begged for and been denied, with his parents insisting that such a mission would be too dangerous.

There was one condition to his wish being granted, however. Kellen would, under no circumstances, inform anyone beyond his Father about the revelation he possessed a crest. This too, was a great victory for Kellen, who had no wish to be groomed and controlled the way his sister was.

The campaign in Gautier territory was not particularly exciting, with Kellen’s uncle frequently expressing his concern and curiosity that his brother would send a sixteen-year-old boy into such unforgiving conditions. Kellen quickly adapted to the new circumstances, which rarely saw him on the frontline, despite his objections. He mostly served as an aide to his uncle, helping transport supplies and manage the camp.

However, Kellen’s newfound realization of his crest and its power left him restless. It wasn’t long before he donned a soldier’s garb and joined the line as troops pushed to rout some bandits from a small town. While passing through the town to clear the scant homes, Kellen collapsed suddenly. When he looked down, he saw a nasty slash that he had sustained during the fight and failed to notice. While he would survive this wound, medics at the camp were alarmed by how much blood had been lost. His uncle, after much chiding, would later ascribe the incident to adrenaline, but Kellen knew otherwise. The revelation that he had sustained a blow that could have cost him his life without realizing it quickly changed his tune, and after the incident he was content to stay in the camp and away from the fray.

In the months that followed, Kellen would communicate with his family rarely, mostly to re-affirm his safety and assure them that he was greatly enjoying the new adventure. He often considered telling his mother about his crest, but never did so, remembering the deal he had struck with his father. The one he never heard from was Rhiannon, who his other siblings insisted they had not seen her since he had left.

The last message he received was from his Father. It stated, in plain language, that he had been enrolled at Garreg Mach and would be expected to attend in the coming year. Kellen wrote back several times insisting he would not be attending, but he never received a response. His uncle received a similar letter, and despite many heated arguments, Kellen found he could make no headway. His uncle sent him off shortly thereafter, with a small retinue of troops who were just as surprised as he was that he would be attending the academy.

Adelaide von Hresvelg

Seventeen _{Born the 14th of Guardian Moon}

The Adrestrian Empire

Crown Princess

Crest of Seiros
_{Adelaide's crest bestows her allies with supernatural prowess and vigor, significantly increasing their combative abilities, while weighing down those who oppose her in equal measure.}

Lord

Sword

Swords, Authority

Bow, Flying

Adelaide is, first and foremost, a very bold young woman. She fearlessly embraces challenge and risk with an unmatched confidence in her abilities. This self-assurance follows her into all endeavors she commits herself to, a self-assurance that roots itself deeply in her faith in the Goddess. Victory, to her, is a simple matter of faith and perseverance. If she is to fail at a task, then she needs to merely learn from her mistakes and correct course. The confidence she radiates lends her a certain magnetism, and that magnetism is compounded by the wit inherent to her speech. To say she is outgoing would be an understatement: Adelaide makes it a point to leave those with whom she speaks feeling better about themselves than when she first found them. At least, those she wishes to endear with her charms. Woe be to those who would earn her ire, for the venom on her tongue is sure to be as potent as her honeyed words.

The concept of excellence is something inherently important to Adelaide. She strives for excellence in all that she does and expects the same of those around her. Her belief is that conflict—though so often seen as negative and brutish—is the crucible through which greatness is forged. As such, she is a great fan of competition and games, understanding that only by facing challenges levied by one's peers can a person grow to be the greater of those very peers. Fittingly, her work ethic borders on the overzealous, and it is a rare sight to see her indulging in things that do not bring her even a half-step closer to the grandiose destiny she has formed the core of her life around.

The firstborn daughter of a lesser branch of the esteemed Hresvelg family, for much of young Adelaide's life, she found herself caught in a strange cross-section of Imperial life. Her lineage separated from the main branch nearly one hundred years ago, when the eldest son of Emperor Ludolf II, Adelbert von Hresvelg, was passed over for the crown in favor of his younger brother, the future Emperor Henrik I. Both brothers had been blessed by the Goddess to bear the Crest of Seiros, as all Emperors before them had done. Despite his ambition and valor, Adelbert's crest proved weaker than that of his younger brother and was thus rewarded not with dominion over all of Adrestia, but instead with a suitable bride of the Bergliez family, with which to carry on his lineage. It was often said that Adelbert seethed over the loss of his birthright, and his dark moods were known to haunt the halls of the Imperial Palace throughout the reign of his brother. However heavy the weight of the loss was, however, it did not stop Adelbert from being fruitful. He fathered seven children with his wife over the years, of whom the youngest of which happened to be Adelaide's mother, Matilda.

Perhaps to punish him for his hubris, of the seven children that bore his name, only Matilda had inherited the Crest which marked the Hresvelg family as the rightful rulers of Adrestia. And like Adelbert, her Crest was marred by its potency, a minor blessing unfit to contest the main line. It was enough to secure her continued use of the Imperial name, however, and in the waning years of her uncle's reign, Matilda married a young officer of the Imperial Guard to whom she had grown close. Adelaide, named for her grandfather, was born shortly thereafter. An auspicious birth indeed, as would later be discovered when the Bishopric of Enbarr put their Hanneman machine to use on the newborn girl. For the first time since their divergence from the main Imperial line, her family had produced a full-blooded Crest of Seiros.

Such news might have been even more welcome in the earlier days of their existence. However, the reigning Emperor, Anselm VI, had few issues of succession. His own eldest had been blessed much the same as Adelaide, and the succession was unlikely to be challenged. Her grandfather, himself nearing the end of his life, used what favor he still held in the Imperial court to arrange a match between the prize of his lineage and the main line: when she came of age, Adelaide would be wed to Engel von Hresvelg, her second cousin and the future Emperor of Adrestia, such that the future of both branches would be all the brighter for their union.

Such a legacy loomed heavy over Adelaide as she grew. It was all but assured that she would one day sit at the head of the mightiest Empire Fódlan had ever known, albeit at the side of her husband as a consort to the throne. It would not do for a consort of the Hresvelg line to be anything less than perfect, however, and so from her earliest days, Adelaide was drilled in all matters of noble endeavor. She trained in the yard with her knightly father in the mornings, practicing sword and lance and horse, reading history and philosophy in the afternoons, and learning courtesy and kindness at her mother's knee in the nights. It was a difficult regime, one that some might have been forgiven for coming to despise. Not Adelaide, however. Even as a child, she met the challenges with eagerness and vigor. One day, she would wed an Emperor, after all. It would not do for her to be a simple page in her husband's history book. She would be just as exalted as he.

But the fates had something else in mind for dear Adelaide. She was just a girl of six when whispers of plague in the far-flung provinces of the Empire began circulating the court. By the time she was ten, it had managed to reach as far as the capital, and once it made its way into the palace itself, not even the Emperor's children were spared. One, then two, then three and four. The disease had taken four of the seven scions of Emperor Anselm, and not long after the youngest took their final breath, Adelaide's intended could handle no more grief and took his own life before their match could be officiated. She had been a girl of thirteen at the time, and with much of her future seeming to fade away with the dying embers of the Empire she had sought to one day preside over, for the first time in her life, the incessant drive to do more seemed to fade.

It was shortly after falling into such doldrums that her fate took another turn. She had been fortunate enough to avoid the plague until that point, in part due to the diligence of her father and his kinsmen. But shortly after her fourteenth birthday, despair turned to delirium, as fever and chills brought her low and confined her to a sickbed that had become the deathbed for so many of her relatives. It was in the throes of this terrible suffering that perhaps the single most pivotal moment of her life took place. It was during this time that she was graced by the warmth of the Goddess.

Though she could scarcely awaken long enough to see the face of her mother, the face of Sothis was as clear to her as the summer skies. The Goddess spoke to her and showed her things she could only have imagined in her wildest dreams: a proud and unified Fódlan. A prosperous continent, free from the nightmares of plague and infighting and treachery all. A Fódlan that thrived under the banner of Adrestia, as it had been in the time of Lycaon I. And it was no great Emperor of the future that brought such a glorious thing to life, but instead Adelaide herself. It was not some sweet dream, but a vision of what was to come. A destiny that needed to be fulfilled. The plague which had ravaged her would not take her life, Adelaide understood. It could not. For the Goddess had chosen her to bring Adrestia—and by extension, all of Fódlan—into a new golden age.

Some days after such reverent visions, Adelaide's fever suddenly broke, and she rose from her bed to the desperate relief of her mother and father. A relief that swiftly turned to exasperation, as the young girl immediately requested she be brought to her remaining tutors. A grand destiny awaited her, after all, and she only had so many years to prepare for it to unfold.

Any doubts about the validity of her visions were put to rest in the days following her recovery. When it was made clear that she suffered no lasting consequences from her foray with death itself, an order from the Imperial throne itself came down. With the death of Crown Prince Engel, his betrothed would assume his place as heir to the Empire, officially adopted into the mainline as the true born daughter of the House Hresvelg. Since she was old enough to want anything at all, she had thrown herself selflessly into the pursuit of greatness in the name of the throne. A throne that would be hers by the end of the decade. The years that followed were much as the ones that preceded them, with Adelaide throwing herself into her studies with a renewed zeal that few could hope to match.

In acknowledgment of her inheritance, an invitation to the officer's academy at Garreg Mach arrived in the wake of Adelaide's seventeenth birthday. A focal point for many of the future leaders of Fódlan, Adelaide was eager to accept. Where better could a woman who meant to rule the continent spend the waning years of her youth? There, she could learn from the very best minds the Church could offer, win the favor of her future vassals, and perhaps most importantly, determine who would be the greatest threats to the divinely ordained fate that lay ahead of her. In the name of the Goddess, she embarked just in time for the beginning of the school year.