Obscene Symphony

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

Lienna had scarcely finished her sentence when another student approached, looking meek and out of place. One look at his kicked-puppy demeanour made Lienna write him off entirely as neither threat nor asset, content to keep her attention on people who might possibly matter until he opened his mouth.

Lienna nearly did a double-take at his casual drop of the name “Fraldarius,” her shock coming out a second time as a raise of her eyebrows. That was Lord Kellen Fraldarius? Her first intuition was right; something bad must have happened in Fraldarius for that pipsqueak to carry the title of Lord. Hells, he could hardly carry the jacket he was wearing. His insecure posture and the poor fit of his uniform only emphasized his diminutive figure, and although he was still taller than Lienna was, he looked more like a lost child than a lordling.

She nodded in acknowledgement of his greeting, but she was a little too much at a loss to come up with a reply before a crowd of new students started filing through the door. Probably for the best; “impressive” wasn’t the word she would have used for Gautier—except maybe that it was impressively cold, dark, and shitty—but whatever term she might have come up with to describe her desolate homeland was probably better left outside of polite company.

Then it was time for introductions. Again. The first one to go did nothing for Lienna’s rapidly souring mood. She’d seen plenty of his type among the Gautier soldiers in Hima, and most likely, her long-disappeared father had probably been one of them: nothing but crude jokes and half-truths, a walking hazard to poor and desperate girls hoping to run away from Hima on somebody’s arm. All they usually ended up with was one less meal in their stores and another mouth to feed growing in their bellies. The way this one carried on, there were probably as many blonde, red-eyed children running around the slums of Leicester as there were fatherless redheads in Hima.

The next girl spoke like a benevolent queen from a storybook, and paired with Auberon’s repeated introduction to match, Lienna was quickly losing interest. Goddess this, Goddess that – did Auberon see the same Kellen she did? And did Clarissa not hear her House Leader just now? If this was the best the Goddess could come up with to safeguard the future of Fódlan, then maybe she’d have been better off seeking a rich husband on some other continent altogether. Then again, that was one point in Gautier’s favour: it was far enough removed from the world that she wouldn’t really notice if the rest of Fódlan went up in flames, and as long as her own bed wasn’t on fire, she wasn’t too concerned about it.

No one from the Empire deigned to speak up yet – maybe they were so accustomed to having their names and titles called out by heralds before them to remember they had to do it themselves – and at the risk of letting this charade run on too long, Lienna opted to go next. Granted, she wasn’t quite sure what to say. The others listed their titles. Should she? Did she have any? And what of likes and dislikes? She had a list of dislikes a mile long, but it had been years since she gave much thought to things she liked—her primary concern had always been things she needed. Ultimately, she’d have preferred to wait until the end, but the pain in her stomach was quickly turning into hunger, and no way was she waiting for Kellen to drum up some courage.

Hasty decision made, she stood as smoothly as she could manage, her posture stiff as she did her best to emulate the form of the others in the room. “I am Lienna Orhneaht, future Countess of Southern Gautier, and also a bearer of the Minor Crest of Gautier,” she began, taking Auberon’s cue to mention her Crest. “I like hearty meals and warm fires, and I dislike the cold. I hope we can all form lasting bonds this year, for the good of Fódlan’s future.”

She nodded to her classmates to conclude her introduction, sitting back down about as smoothly as she stood. Fine, it was the same ‘for the good of the continent’ line everyone else was parroting, but the rest of it was inoffensive enough, and it was more polite than saying ‘I hope to make friends I can count on for favours later.’

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

Unfortunately, Jorah barely had time to step out into the courtyard and begin his House Leader hunt before he was interrupted by the clanging of a bell. He would have assumed it was a church bell - and thus, safely ignored - if not for the very loud shouting of a blond armoured man and the tide of students receding from the courtyard back into the classrooms. Jorah didn’t really know what a “Rose Unit” was or whether he was part of it, but he saw Professor Euphemia disappear into the Blue Lions classroom, and that was enough information for him.

Jorah seated himself with his housemates and was immediately distracted by the professors - or, at least, two of the professors. Professor Euphemia, of course, was the star of the show, and the rod at her hip had Jorah’s mind going all sorts of places not condoned by the Church, but the green-haired woman up there with her could not be counted out either. Shy maidens were a dime a dozen back in Derdriu, granted, but something about Professor Kaira warranted further investigation, Jorah decided. Particularly, her proximity.

Between his ruminations, Jorah heard at least half of what was said: this was a special unit, they’d be off fighting for the Church, and of course, Fódlan was in existential danger. Now, Jorah was pretty sure Fódlan had been in existential danger ever since he was old enough to be dragged to the Roundtable - or at least, that was the vibe he always got from the Dukes when he went - so the words dribbled off of him like rain on a leaf, the future Archduke much more interested in the swaying of Euphemia’s hips than in securing the future of his country.

Fortunately, the droning didn’t go on too long. Instead, the armoured blond from earlier - evidently the Blue Lions’ professor - established himself as a kindred spirit and started a game of introductions that immediately displeased the angry-looking professor at the desk. The air of whimsical mischief emanating from Professor Michail was plenty to provoke Jorah to similar antics, although his version was decidedly more… performative.

Jorah leapt - literally - at the chance to set the tone, eschewing standing to instead jump onto his seat just as he had for his housemates. “I’d be happy to begin, professor,” he announced proudly as he turned to face the class with a cocky flourish, like a tavern bard drumming up an audience.

“Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Jorah von Riegan. You may know me by my titles: Heir apparent to the Duchy of Riegan, House Leader of the Golden Deer, or as my father calls me, ‘lecherous rake,’” he offered the class an exaggerated bow. “I like tavern songs in good company and long rides in the woods - and I’m pretty fond of horses as well.” He punctuated that comment with a wink to Professor Kaira before shrugging. “I’m not too fond of bland food or instruments played off-key, but get me into a celebrating mood and there won’t be much you can do to get me out of it. I hope to see you all tonight at the Reception Hall for a proper introduction.”

Impression sufficiently made, Jorah let himself fall back into his seat, leaning back with a self-satisfied grin. His comment took Professor Kaira by surprise, but he was surprised in turn to find hint of coyness in that smile, just begging for further inquiry. Ha! Worth investigating indeed. He'd expected a flush of embarrassment and maybe even indignation, but it turned out he may have been too quick to judge. Either that, or they cut their "shy maidens" from a different cloth in Garreg Mach, which bade all the better for the many churched women that called the Monastery home. Maybe a year in its hallowed halls wouldn't be so bad after all.

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

_{@Scribe of Thoth}

If Lienna butchered her first attempt at a noble’s greeting, Auberon didn’t show it; either she properly mimicked the ladies in waiting or he was just too polite to brush her off, either of which worked for her. For now, anyway. In any case, her gamble paid off as the House Leader rattled off the Faerghian nobles in attendance, of which only one name mattered to her: Lord Kellen Fraldarius.

Lienna poorly contained her shock, raising a suspicious brow. What on earth was a Lord doing at the Officer’s Academy? Wouldn’t he be much too old and busy running his territory? Lienna didn’t claim to know anything about how the ruling of noble houses worked, but this didn’t seem right. Or maybe something bad had happened, and the acting head of the family was only a teenager? She really had no way of discerning one way or the other; she barely knew the goings-on of house Gautier, and she lived in their territory all her life.

More immediately concerning was the confirmation that a Fraldarius was in attendance at all, and the fact that she should probably make an effort to get to know him - if he didn’t know of her already. She didn’t need to understand the dynamics of political intrigue to know that having an ally within her new extended family would be hugely important, but it might have helped to know how to go about it.

Could she squeeze more information out of Auberon? He seemed nice enough, if a bit stiff, but she was already looking at him with thinly veiled suspicion. She’d heard plenty about how highborn folk acted, how they never spoke plainly and were always plotting something behind the scenes. Despite having come to Garreg Mach to make powerful friends, it seemed to Lienna that every interaction held just as much opportunity to make powerful enemies, without any way to tell the difference. She couldn’t read the nuances of these people - for all she knew, every smile could conceal a knife behind their backs.

Ugh, her stomach was too sore for this nonsense. Why couldn’t people just say what they meant or shut up?

The tall, red-haired one seemed a little more normal - or rather, a little less noble - by the way he spoke. Lienna was pretty sure he was the simpleton who clapped when Auberon finished his speech, so she was expecting him to trip all over himself trying to appeal to the dear leader when he approached, but it wasn’t so. That was for the best - Lienna wasn’t sure she could stomach any suck-ups.

“Well met, Derec,” she replied cordially, borrowing his greeting. If she could go by the lack of titles tacked on to his name - or the deer-in-crosshairs expression written all over his face - it seemed like this one was a commoner like herself. Not that she was about to go advertising that fact. But she did wonder why he would come to Garreg Mach to begin with, and who was paying for it. She knew the Officer’s Academy was technically open to commoners, but even if they had the means to pay for it on their own, she couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to attend. If they didn’t have plans to join the upper class, as she did, what was the appeal? Was he trying to join the army? If the Gautier soldiers who traipsed through Hima were anything to go by, then surely the requirements weren’t that high.

And so, as with Auberon, Lienna was left with more questions than answers, and a healthy dose of suspicion left over for Derec. But now she’d been standing there like an idiot for far too long, and needed to come up with something - or else find a way to politely excuse herself to go nurse her growing stomach ache. Fortunately, although it wasn’t an excuse to leave, she could latch on to something Auberon said, speaking of a Blue Lions victory. She could always get behind winning.

“I think we have an advantage,” she agreed. At least that much made sense to her. “In Gautier, it’s a fight just to get by; if it isn’t just the cold out to get us, it’s wolves or bears or raiders from Sreng.” She crinkled her nose in disgust. “There’s no way a bunch of…” she was about to say ‘pampered brats,’ but she slowly thought better of it, “...students from the South will give a House full of Faerghians any more trouble than we’re already used to.”

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

_{@Achronum @webboysurf}

By all accounts, Jorah’s first and second acts as House Leader of the Golden Deer were going splendidly. Nobody booed, some people paid attention, and only one person got up and left! The mood in the room wasn’t exactly as awash with excitement as he would have liked, but there was a little bit of intrigue floating around, and he had to assume that the people who left quickest were simply eager to go spread the good news of Garreg Mach’s first proper Alliance bash. As far as Jorah was concerned, no tankards lobbed at his head meant this one was a winner.

Clarissa’s comment earned her a warm smile, especially since she was still raw from the news - and probably would be for some time. “You’re right, I would have,” he admitted readily, tapping his forehead. “But now, I can say it’s an official party.”

Unfortunately, Jorah didn’t get too much time to revel in his flawless exercise of authority. A chill soon crawled up his spine in the form of cool, simmering contempt that swept past like a cold wind. It wasn’t Clarissa; Jorah was intimately familiar with every species of her bad moods, and none of them were so malevolent. Instead, it came from one of his classmates, accompanied by a frigid whisper: "Authority suits you like a cold bath to a cat."

“Ha!” Jorah blurted unexpectedly, the comment clashing so much with the contempt with which it was delivered that it shocked him into laughter. He clapped a jovial hand on the other boy’s back as congratulations for the joke. “I know cats who’d sooner swim to Brigid than me be a House Leader, but hey!” he shrugged, still chuckling, “Some cats like to swim.”

He beamed as he appraised the newcomer: Nathanael Gloucester, son of the late Duke Gloucester, and not a face Jorah ever expected to see at Garreg Mach. Or anywhere, really, after so long cooped up in secret. He’d heard rumours that the boy was reappearing at Roundtable meetings as of late, but Jorah had never substantiated them - he avoided those things with all his might, and when he was there, he didn’t exactly take notes. But he was thrilled to see Nate nonetheless. With the state he’d been in after his father’s murder, the kid had Jorah worried that he’d never be quite right again.

Of course, the sour bent of Nate’s mood indicated that he might not be quite right, but Jorah wouldn’t hold it against him - sometimes he just had that effect on people.

Soon enough, more of his new subjects approached him, and another squirrely feeling threatened to ruin Jorah’s mood. This time, it came in the form of a stomach-churning anxiety that filled the space like a choking fog, thick and oppressive enough to drown out even Oskar’s famously bubbling enthusiasm. Jorah felt like the room was pressing down on him, his every move being scrutinized to the minutest of details - if he didn’t know any better, he’d assume Duke Riegan was standing behind him. Instead, the source was the girl on Oskar’s arm, whom Jorah had noticed before - Isolde Ordelia, daughter of the late Duke Ordelia.

Oh… oh no.

It was only in that moment that Jorah clued in to the reason Nate’s mood might have crashed - it wasn’t him after all, but Isolde. Well, that was unfortunate; he could deal with personally being a buzzkill, but that response from Nate was a little more concerning when it was aimed at such an unimposing girl. He sincerely hoped there wouldn’t be tension between the two of them for too long; certainly Nathanael’s feelings were… complicated, but poor Isolde was simply too cute to stay angry with, especially shrinking behind Oskar, and nothing that happened really had anything to do with her. As far as Jorah was concerned, that whole murder business was a long string of unfortunate events for all involved, and much too depressing to tolerate. Instead, he chose to hold out the optimistic hope that spending a year together would help both of them reconcile and cope with their respective pasts and let them leave Garreg Mach stronger and more compassionate people than they’d come in.

Of course, there was also a chance they’d try to kill each other, so maybe he should watch out for that. Or tell Clarissa to! She was the one with brains for politics, and healing magic if politics failed.

But in any case, that would have to wait: Oskar had a very important question that needed to be addressed. “Alright, if we’re going to be showing these people a sincere Alliance party, then you just tell me where and when so I can tell people.”

Jorah’s grin returned as his friend brought up more pressing matters, all too happy to leave all thoughts of murder and politics behind. “Hm, that would help, wouldn't it?” he replied, stroking his chin as he thought. He hadn’t really taken into account that he didn’t have a clue what sort of amenities the monastery offered, but he wasn’t that concerned; these things usually worked themselves out. But a meeting place would be a good first step - only, where?

After a moment, it came to him. “The Reception Hall!” He exclaimed, snapping his fingers. Of course! Surely Garreg Mach had a reception hall, right? Everywhere did! And even if it didn’t, it definitely had someplace that could reasonably be called a reception hall - he’d just have to figure out where it was. “After the last bell. Tell people to bring their dancing shoes!”

Clarissa made the crucial mistake of giving Jorah an inch, from which he fully planned to take a mile. “Your counsel is appreciated and I make no oaths to follow it,” he told her cheerfully, peeling himself away from his adoring subjects as she did the same. Her mood spelled danger, as did the ‘conversation’ she proposed with Nathanael, and Jorah wanted to be as far away as possible when it happened.

Besides, there was party business to attend to. Starting with… oh! Of course! The other House Leaders! They’d be the perfect vehicles to spread the word down through the other two Houses. Goal in mind, Jorah sprung out into the courtyard, on the lookout for anyone who looked a little bigger for their britches than normal.

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

_{@Achronum @Hero @webboysurf}

The journey from Derdriu to Garreg Mach was a lengthy one: with the Oghma mountain range blocking off access from the east, the caravan had go south through Gloucester and across the Great Bridge of Myrddin into Imperial territory, then hang a right at Gronder Field and trek back up north to the mountains. The road was well-traveled, at least, but it was a grueling trip nonetheless, made no easier for the guards accompanying the caravan by the state of their charges.

Jorah von Riegan was in a fantastic mood.

Despite the circumstances surrounding his enrolment at Garreg Mach, the weeks leading up to his departure had been an agony of anticipation, and by the time they finally set out on the road, Jorah felt like he could have sprinted the whole distance himself. Especially with Clarissa by his side, he was even more airy than usual, not a care in the world as the Riegan caravan lumbered down the road, except maybe to urge the driver to go faster. Ever averse to closed spaces and eager to drink in the scenery he hadn’t seen since he was sixteen, Jorah spent as much of the trip as he could riding alongside the caravan on a horse of his own - albeit tethered to the carriage axle. His father must have given the guards a stern talking-to, because no matter how much Jorah bargained and begged and nudged with his Crest, they wouldn’t let him ride freely. They were right to do so, of course, but that didn't make it any less disappointing.

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

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

While he wouldn’t pretend to be profoundly struck by the age and holiness of the monastery, he was greatly impressed by its scale; the monastery rose from the Oghma mountains like it grew from the very rock, its own spires jutting into the sky alongside the mountain peaks. The place was lively, too, with a busy village at the base and people and animals all over the place. Despite having heard of its surprising population, Jorah had expected a painfully quiet, boring monastery full of stern, pious monks and impatient nuns. What he got instead felt like a miniature city all its own, vibrant and alive with all sorts of normal people. He’d heard the place described as “Fódlan in a nutshell”; if that was true, he couldn’t wait to explore every inch of it.

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

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

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

Ah, Garreg Mach was already exceeding expectations.

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

Wait. What?

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

Jorah von Riegan - House Leader, Golden Deer

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

Jorah could empathize, fuming in his seat with as much potency as a whimsical delight like himself could manage. His dastard father set this up, didn’t he? Ugh, Clarissa was right! Duke Riegan could be dead in the ground and Jorah still wouldn’t be free of his iron clutches! The man probably thought this was brilliant, a great way to whip his son into the leader he always wanted him to be. Just perfect, make him responsible for the students of the Alliance and get an extra set of eyes on him to keep him from slinking out of class. One of those “elegant solutions” Duke Riegan was known for. Absolutely ideal!

Jorah was contemplating methods of shamefully begging Professor Euphemia for reassignment (it would probably be impossible - his father probably dropped a Derdriu galleon full of money into the Archbishop's lap to make this happen - but it might at least be fun trying) when she spirited herself out of his reach, leaving only him and his remaining classmates, some of whom were already - disturbingly - looking to him for guidance.

What a terrible idea.

Clarissa, Goddes shower upon her all gifts and graces, broke the ice for him; an admirable effort, especially considering the dramatic turn her feelings took in the moments after the announcement. That air of subdued acceptance made Jorah sad; he recognized that mood of hers, and he didn’t much like what it usually accompanied. But if she was going to be good enough to take it in stride and set the stage for him, he’d oblige. Until he worked something else out, at least.

Tossing aside Euphemia’s paper dismissively, Jorah rose to his feet next, turning around to face the greater part of the room as he cleared his throat. Just as he did so, he caught a glimpse of a face that surprised him so much it made him choke: the curly blond head of Oskar Goneril was beaming at him from the back, looking very much like he was trying not to laugh as he offered his partner in crime a double thumbs-up. The stupid grin was contagious; Jorah almost burst out laughing himself as soon as he saw it, and as quickly as it had fallen, his mood soared once again. The absolute shitheel, Oskar never told him he was coming.

“Thank you, Clarissa, that’s an excellent idea,” Jorah greeted quickly, half-choked with still barely-contained laughter. He took a deep breath to compose himself before springing up on top of the desk in front of him, introducing himself to his classmates in a manner much more like himself.

“As some of you may have heard, my name is Jorah von Riegan, and while some of you may remember me as heir to the Duchy of Riegan - or more likely as a distraction at the Roundtable - it looks like this year, I’ll be playing the role of your House Leader.” He smiled winsomely at the class, finding to his surprise that he had at least passing familiarity with all of them - especially the poor Ordelia girl, whose presence was almost as much of a shock as his own appointment as Leader.

“As such, my first act under this new mantle of authority is this: you are all hereby ordered to attend a party tonight to kick off the year and hopefully, to get to know each other a bit more intimately.” He flashed a mischievous look at nobody in particular, accompanied by Oskar “oooo”ing immaturely in the back, before pointing toward the door. “My second order is to spread the word about our little get-together to everyone you can find. I want every student at the Officers’ Academy - all three houses - in attendance. Sound good?”

He surveyed the class for approval, objections, or questions, ignoring any of the latter two and taking the former as his cue to end his debut. “Excellent. Dismissed!” He pointed at Oskar. “Except you, Oskar - you’re in detention.”

With that, Jorah nodded to himself and jumped back down to the floor, crossing his arms triumphantly. “Not bad for my first decree, eh?" He asked Clarissa rhetorically, inwardly bracing for whatever indignance would follow, but too proud to shut up. "Maybe authority suits me after all."

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

_{@Scribe of Thoth}

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

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

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

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

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

Luckily, that strangeness seemed to end at the threshold of the cathedral. She was able to relax a little once she got to the Blue Lions classroom, discomfort nudged aside by awe that Garreg Mach managed to transform even something as humble as a classroom into the stuff of fairy tales. The stained glass windows were unlike anything Lienna had ever seen, casting a rainbow of light across the ancient masonry; she couldn’t imagine the price of the books lining the walls, bound in leather and etched in gold, far finer than any she’d seen at the church back home; hells, even the tables and chairs were crafted with skill beyond anything Lienna had ever hoped to lay eyes on. It took a conscious effort not to drop her jaw at every new furnishing or artifact that caught her eye; while commoners were present at the Academy, she didn’t want to advertise her status just yet by openly ogling the furniture.

The cavalier professor clashed with the focused atmosphere of the room, but he was brief enough; he simply introduced himself and the House Leader before scurrying out the door. Said House Leader was somewhat less charismatic, quick to take Michail’s place at the front and launch into a stiff-yet-flowery introduction about securing the Kingdom’s future. Lienna looked on with lidded eyes, waiting to be dismissed; the boy carried himself like a storybook general and spoke like a priest, and despite her new station in life, Lienna had a knee-jerk impatience for the highborn and the holier-than-thou that already coloured her opinion of the House Leader. Of course, to give him the slimmest benefit of the doubt, it was also possible that the twist in her stomach when he spoke was just a remnant from the carriage ride.

She knew it would probably be prudent to get on good terms with His Excellency Heir Apparent Auberon von House Leader at some point. Lienna recognized the name “Galatea”, but not its origin; she could infer from the boy’s attitude and his appointment to House Leader that it was probably one of Faerghus’ noble families, but she couldn’t think of anything about them save a vague, sourceless familiarity with the name itself. The only Faerghian noble family she knew other than Gautier and Blaiddyd was Fraldarius, the name of the family territory bordering Gautier to the South. From her seat, she squinted at the chalkboard, searching for the name. From the brief review Hima’s priest had given her, she recalled that Houses Gautier and Fraldarius often intermarried; if a Fraldarius was attending, there was a chance they were a relative of her fiancé, or some other relation who could otherwise be useful to her in the future.

Unfortunately, the professor’s chickenscratch was nigh-incomprehensible, and while Lienna thought she saw a surname that started with ‘F’, she couldn't make out the rest. Ugh, and they chose this guy as their professor? She'd have thought such a lofty institution would at least have chosen someone who could write. She suppressed a groan; the prospect of asking around for names and titles made her head spin, and introducing herself to everyone like a child appealed to her no better. Dammit, why couldn't things ever be easy?

Fine; she supposed her crash course in high society started now. Rising from her seat as smoothly as she could manage, Lienna did her best to stand up straight and made her way to the front of the room under the pretense of looking at the board. Should she curtsy? No, no - Auberon was set to be a Count and she a Countess, so they should be on equal footing… probably. She decided against it; if she was going to err, she’d rather come off as rude than groveling, and the curtsy she'd practiced exactly once wasn't exactly up to snuff anyway. Instead, she offered the House Leader one of those barely-there noblewoman smiles the handmaidens at Francis’ keep kept giving her and introduced herself.

“A pleasure to meet you, Auberon,” she greeted, trying to mimic that nice-but-distant tone she had grown accustomed to from the ladies of Francis’ household. Polite, but not too invested; from her short time in the keep, it seemed to her that the role of a highborn woman was to like everything and everyone a little but to like nothing a lot. “I'm Lienna Orhneaht, betrothed to Count Francis Gautier. I look forward to the coming year with you and the rest of the Blue Lions. Is anyone you know attending this year?”

Lienna hoped the question didn't out her too quickly. Surely highborn kids had cousins all over the place, and many of them went to the Officer’s Academy, right? There were probably lots of students who knew each other, especially within the same House.

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

Lienna Orhneaht | Minor Crest of Gautier

“You won’t survive the winter.”

Name

Lienna Orhneaht

Age

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

Country of Origin

The Holy Kingdom of Faerghus

Social Standing

Commoner - soon to join a minor branch of House Gautier

Crest

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

Starting Class

Monk

Weapon of Choice

Black Magic

Strengths

Reason & Bow

Weaknesses

Heavy Armour & Flying

Starting Spells

Blizzard

Personality

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

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

History

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

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

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

If only such things were within her control.

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

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

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

She never spoke again.

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

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

After a short stay at the village church and a lot of prodding the Gautier soldiers, Lienna learned of a Gautier Count, the current Margrave’s brother, who was struggling to produce a Crest-bearing heir. Seeing her chance, Lienna got in contact with the Count, who was expectedly welcoming of the chance to absorb another Crest-bearer into his family. Marrying a Count, Lienna reasoned, would solve all of her problems: she’d leave Hima and live in 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.

Uniform Alterations

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.

Trivia

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

Jorah von Riegan | Crest of Riegan

“Let's dance!”

Name

Jorah von Riegan

Age

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

Country of Origin

The Leicester Alliance

Social Standing

Heir Apparent of House Riegan

Crest

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

Starting Class

Lord

Weapon of Choice

Bow

Strengths

Bow & Riding

Weaknesses

Reason & Authority

Personality

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

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

History

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

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

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

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

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

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

Uniform Alterations

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

Trivia

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

Scion: The Prophecy of Anani

---

“And when Scion Durand opened his first academy in Rodion, he said that knowledge was the firstfruit of the Goddess’ garden, meant to feed all Her children, great and small.” Dr. Rhaveus contended, finally taking Sir Tyler’s accusations seriously. “You misunderstand. The knowledge we uncover belongs to everyone, but I have no intention of endangering our nation or our Scions. A balance can be struck.”

Maya eyed the feuding men suspiciously, unsure who to side with. Sir Tyler, of course, had her immediate sympathies. But she supposed she could see why the professor wanted to try his hand at civilizing the savages to the East. In her opinion, the Kaudians were better dealt with through conquest than education, but these bleeding heart academic types could never really grasp those sorts of realities.

In any event, she did ultimately believe the professor. As warranted as Sir Tyler’s concerns were, she doubted a mousy fellow like Rhaveus could pull off the double agent act as well as this, and if he was just a useful idiot, Fyodor probably wouldn’t have chosen him to investigate Theodore’s death. Besides, it was very possible that Tyler was just a little sore about the subject, considering how he rankled anytime Theodore’s name was mentioned.

“I’m sure the good professor knows what he’s doing,” she offered pointedly, departing from her glare at Rhaveus to give Tyler a glance that signaled her agreement. “And anyway, there’s nothing to do about it now. Although, Professor, you’d probably do well to avoid his type going forward, hm? We don’t need another international incident.”

Dr. Rhaveous looked a lot more flustered getting a dressing-down from a Scion than from a Templar, and nodded. “Of course, Your Holiness. I suppose we have more important problems at the moment.”

He cleared his throat, returning his notebook and flying pen to his bag. “Anyway, I think you’ve given me everything I need for the moment. If any of you remember anything else, please don’t hesitate to contact me. I’ll keep you and Dame Irina informed on my findings. In the meantime…”

He looked between Sir Tyler and Sir Edmund, his expression grave. “Your armour protects you from whatever the enemy is doing to interfere with the Scions. Take advantage of that. Now, more than ever, you Templars are the Scions’ last line of defence. Stay sharp, and try not to rely too heavily on your magic. There’s no telling how quickly the enemy will figure out that you’re immune and change their strategy.”

---

@Scribe of Thoth @webboysurf

Scion: The Prophecy of Anani

---

“Chosen by the Chosen… I would never have imagined.”

Jannick huffed, offended at Renata’s surprise. Sure, he wouldn’t have nominated himself either, and being a Templar wasn’t his first choice, but he wasn’t going to be looked down upon by a crazy homeless woman!

He kept his grip on her as she rambled on, prattling about faith and children and shoelaces. Jannick only half listened - she thought the spirits were angry, and of course she was the only one who could soothe them - it wasn’t anything new by Renata standards. She started to berate the guard again, earning her a stern “Renata,” but otherwise didn’t cause much more trouble. Annoying, but generally harmless. It would have been nostalgic if it wasn’t so exasperating.

Jannick had opened his mouth to tell Renata that she had to leave and let them get on with their business when Sara came out with a different suggestion.

“You’re right, that would be irresponsible,” Jannick retorted, probably a little sharper than he should have been. He sighed, although he didn’t release Renata just yet. “I mean, you heard the man - the forest is dangerous, we can’t put a civilian in harm’s way on purpose just because she might get herself in trouble anyway.”

He turned to the guard. “Is there a police force in this town, or is it just you guys? Is there somewhere you could hold her until we’re done? For her safety.”

---

@OwO @Abstract Proxy @Stern Algorithm @Hero

Avatar: The White Jade Gambit

Zai had no real plan. He only knew he needed to escape - the “where” and “how” were ancillary. He only knew he had to make it as hard as possible for his pursuers to follow if he didn’t want to leave Lazhou in shackles.

He kept up a merciless pace as he weaved through alleys and side streets, making a long and winding path to hopefully confuse any pursuers. The girl was an afterthought, though to her credit she managed to keep up enough that Zai wasn’t slowed down. He was making for the edge of town, then after that, maybe the woods; Earth Kingdom soldiers might be more hesitant to give chase if they had to fight their way through a blazing inferno.

Zai’s focus was split between the arduous task of putting one foot in front of the other at a punishing speed and listening for his pursuers. The rumbling of earthbending was still close behind, the nearest soldier crying out like a madman for a challenge. Zai was so concerned with the goings-on behind him that he almost didn’t notice the person in front of him until it was too late.

Skidding to a halt (only narrowly avoiding tripping altogether), Zai defaulted to a wide defensive stance in response to the blue-clad stranger, releasing the girl for a moment so he could have both his hands available. His eyes widened, however, when his opponent channeled water around his fists instead of earth. A waterbender? Here?

There was no explanation; instead, an accusation of being part of the resistance, and an offer of aid. “Are you crazy?” Zai exclaimed in response, “You’re going to get yourself arrested too!”

He looked hurriedly over his shoulder, noting the clouds of dust behind him and the approaching madman jumping between buildings. The waterbender was right; there was no time. Zai didn’t know anything about the resistance, and he would be wary to divulge anything even if he did. But the girl might know something - when she mistook him for Shunon, she talked like they were part of something organized. What had Shunon gotten himself into?

Zai regarded the waterbender anxiously, using up precious milliseconds to decide how to proceed. In his circumstances, he was loath even to admit he was a fugitive - but unfortunately, that lie went up in smoke along with the crates in the alley. And in any case, a waterbender was a lot more trustworthy than anyone else he could think of in Lazhou, and he needed all the help he could get.

“I’m not with them -- but I might know someone who is,” Zai finally answered, wasting no more time. He looked the waterbender in the eye, doing his best to gauge his sincerity. “Help me and I’ll help you. Deal?”

The rumbling behind them grew ever louder, and Zai took off down the street without waiting for an answer. There was no time to negotiate; he could only hope the waterbender would accept his bargain.

@Hero @Scribe of Thoth