Emeth

Fire Emblem: Sunken Flames

Ashley side-eyes the drug-peddling mage in absolute disbelief. Is this girl for real? Did she already forget that I'm Captain of those knights standing just out of earshot? As she ponders what she should do about it, though, she realizes how powerless she is in this exact moment, as she can't afford to have this ship delayed, too. She already fooled me once at the tavern, and now... I can't tell if she's an idiot or a genius. Doesn't matter—as long as she waits until we reach international waters, it's... technically legal. If there's any left over, I'll just confiscate it later, she reasoned.

"My sincerest apologies for the inconvenience, good captain," she says to Ted with a short, gentlemanly bow and handsome smile. "It seems I have a talent for herding cats," she adds with a fake chuckle as she follows the captain's gaze toward the blonde noble lady. Before she can spare a thought for her, though, Samara makes herself known. Ashley does her best to maintain a friendly face. "No, I'm the one who should have properly introduced myself before being nominated as the 'boss' of this... group," she manages to finish before Kavius took center stage. These kids sure are lively, huh? Not that my presence here sets the bar very high...

Ashley gives Sam a look that almost seemed like pity after Kavius' "introduction." "Well, you have a bow, and the eyes of a girl who can handle herself out there. And a good judge of character, if I say so myself," she japes, giving her a "thanks for the compliment" gesture.

Listening to Aleria boldly introduce herself early, Ashley stares with what could have been admiration. She was surprised that the refined-looking beauty even managed to get on board the ship without losing so much as an ounce of her charisma. She gives Aleria her best "handsome lady" smile, and bows. "The pleasure is all mine, my lady. We would be privileged to have your aid," Ashley said sincerely, offering a hand to the lady—as a "gentleman" does. Yes! I won't be the only noblewoman on board—I'm safe! she thought. But, wouldn't a woman of her standing rather take the Santa Lyrica? And then it hit her. The Goddess really is looking out for you, young lady. Ashley looks out toward the sea and wipes the sweat from her brow with a kerchief, trying to chase the thought from her mind. Alright. Let's get this over with.

Not to be outdone, Ashley turns back to the others and puts her foot down with flair, standing at just the right angle for her cape to billow in the wind before beginning her own introduction. "I am Dame Ashley Wycliffe, Knight Captain in the service of the esteemed Carradine family—and the so-called 'most fearsome lady' of all of Mokata's knights," she boasts, changing her nickname as she pleased.

For those privileged few who had regular access to the gossip of the noble courts, the name "Wycliffe" occasionally still came up. Rumors abounded about the late Marquess Robert Wycliffe's only surviving daughter. For the vast majority of the uninitiated—and mostly uninterested—common folk, though, the disappearance of the Wycliffe family's children eighteen years ago—and the Marquess' murder five years later—was swept under the rug as much as possible. The name might ring a bell, as most noble family names do, but the story behind the name was almost surely vanished from memory, especially for those too young to remember.

"I am called a cursemaker, but do not let that title concern you—for even as a man who fixes clocks is called a clockmaker, though he has never made a clock in his life, so too am I called a cursemaker, though I have only ever reversed curses, and have cast not one." Ashley delivers this declaration with a divine air, as though she were reading scripture. Perhaps she did this because of Aleria's presence on board, or perhaps she was just like that. Perhaps it was a bit of both.

Her introduction over, she takes on a more casual tone. "And as an insider of the industry, so to speak, let me give you all some sound advice. Most curse-reversal services are offered by the same witches and warlocks who cast them in the first place. To put it simply, they're scam artists, and I consider it my mission to run them out of business. If you find yourself cursed, come to me. I charge far less than what my services are worth—and yes, in gold and silver—nothing so gauche as eyeballs, or whatever a witch would ask for," she says with a smile and a dismissive hand gesture Troe was quite familiar with. It was the body language of a specialist whose field was commonly misunderstood.

Having said her piece, she turned her attention to Mikhail. "That brooding blonde over there is Mikhail Feldunn," she says, leaving out the "Lord" as she figured he'd want. It made Ashley feel a bit scandalous, referring to him as though he were an equal, but for the moment, she was relishing in the feeling. She got a bit of a scandalous look in her eye, too, as she thought through the list of ways she might tease him. "He's my second in command," she decides, opting to go a little easy on him. "Don't underestimate him. I may be biased, but as the most fearsome lady knight in Duke Carradine's service, I must say that his lance is quite frightening."

Fire Emblem: Sunken Flames

She backed down anyway, huh, Ashley thought, relief washing over her as Tonka took her leave.

"Care to say goodbye to this old lady? Or do you have to look cool in front of your friends?" the lady teases.

"I've told you before, you're not old until I say so. And I wouldn't exactly call them friends." She winks at Mikhail, as if to say except you, babe.

"In that case, come over here. I have something for you." The not-old lady offers Ashley a hug with her one free arm.

Ashley makes a face like a spoiled child being offered an extra helping of vegetables.

"Come on," the woman beckons, undeterred. "You said they weren't your friends, so you're not embarrassed, isn't that so?"

Ashley got played. Sighing, she does a walk of shame over to Auntie's embrace.

"Through whatever manner of trials and storms we may weather—"

"—this oath I do swear before all powers, both great and small—"

"—to death or glory everlasting, we go together—"

"—or we go not at all," Ashley finishes. "Are you satisfied?"

"Oh yes, quite," Auntie responds with a chuckle.

With a little sleight of hand, Ashley produces a long, black hair that was clearly from her own head. "See? I found one that's not gray."

"Hell! If you find one, don't pull it out!" She lightly swings her staff toward Ashley, clearly playing along.

Ashley swiftly dips backwards, dodging the "attack." "You're quite lively, too."

"Your smooth lines are wasted on a woman twice your age," Auntie teases. "Here, take this," she says, throwing Ashley a bag.

"What is it?" Ashley inquires, a bit bewildered.

"It's pemmican!" Auntie says with a toothy grin. "It'll keep the rest of the meat from falling off your bones. There's plenty, so share some with your acquaintances. And your boyfriend," she adds with an excited-old-lady whisper, tipping her hat in Mikhail's direction—pinpointing Ashley's "type" with surgical precision.

"You— Shush! I'm leaving now! Take it easy on the stairs while I'm gone," Ashley fires back, forgetting entirely that she was supposed to board the ship last as she scurries up the ramp toward Xara and his seafaring friend.

Fire Emblem: Sunken Flames

Ashley listened carefully to Troe's words, since he seemed to know what he was talking about. Ashley had battled demonic beasts before—even bagged a few, with the help of the knights—but the open ocean was something she had no experience with. Seeing the absolute state of the sailors Xara was talking to only confirmed her suspicions. Taking this watery battlefield lightly could only result in a watery grave.

Truthfully, the smell of the ship barely registered in Ashley's mind. She had spent most of her life surrounded by strong smells. If it wasn't the wretched, overpowering smell of strong perfume and cologne at the noble parties, the body odor of sweaty knights in full armor, or the smells of the horses and the stables—or all three at once—it was the dung-caked faces of some criminal scum from the streets, or the piercing smell of cleaning chemicals from the clinic, or the rotting stench of death and decay that came standard with a back room full of brewing potions, the hunting and slaying of demonic beasts, or generally investigating the macabre. If she was "lucky" enough to be called in to a high-ticket crime scene, she might have the privilege of experiencing all six of those smells in one thick, rich cocktail. If she had to rate the smell of a ship full of seafood of varying kinds and degrees of freshness, she'd probably give it a six out of ten.

Samara's choice words of "better prospects" remain in the front of Ashley's mind as she watches the sailors opt out of repaying Xara's alleged favor, and as she begins reading the "room," so to speak, she honestly wonders if she should just toss her coin purse to Mikhail and have him sort the whole thing out. But, the smelly fishing ship had its advantages. Whatever crew decided to stick around would be full of seasoned veterans of dangerous ocean travel. A ship full of fishermen could keep a low profile, at least for the first leg of their journey, in an environment that was sure to be rife with competition—both fair and unfair. Ashley wouldn't be surprised if the ships full of mercenaries—who were sure to have varying ethical standards and levels of self-discipline—started trying to sink each other on the way, and as soon as she got on board any ship, the first thing on her agenda would be to size up her alleged "comrades," trying to sus out which ones were likely to kill her and Mikhail in their sleep and toss their corpses overboard, to increase their slice of the pie. She did not lie to her Lord Clive; as someone with a "wider" moral compass, she truly had weighed the risks.

Ashley sighed her trademark lifeless sigh. "It is the duty of a leader to make unpopular decisions when necessary," she says ruefully.

"That's the spirit, Ashley," her Commander responds, encouraging her.

It was then that Ashley was bumped from behind by the tall woman from before, and placed squarely in front of the young mage.

"Whoever the fuck's knights" sent Ashley's cold, dead heart into a frenzy as beads of frigid sweat began forming on her face. In full fight or flight mode, Ashley clears her throat before her Commander could speak, thus announcing her intent to address the insult. Staking her claim on the situation, she begins wracking her brain for something to say as she turns to face Nitonka. The woman towered over her, and could probably match or beat Mikhail at arm-wrestling. Ashley would be lying if she'd said she wasn't the tiniest bit intimidating.

"Your vote of confidence is appreciated. However, I must ask that you restrain that unruly tongue of yours. Had you insulted Milord directly, in the presence of esteemed company... there are some among the nobility that are quick to cry for blood, is what I'm saying. Don't invite the circus—but more than that—don't ask me to bully a child. Are we clear?" Ashley, for her size, could give a mean glare. Her narrowed, emotionless eyes were like the eyes of a woman who was already a corpse, but simply refused to fall over and die. She dreaded being forced to kill an innocent more than she feared death, and it was evident on her face. If anyone hadn't noticed that her damsel-in-distress act at the tavern was just a means to an end, it was painfully obvious now.

"Kids these days... accepting candy from strangers, just like that," remarked the woman in the coolie hat, standing just next to Margot.

The woman's voice seemed to take the razor's edge off of Ashley's brow. Perhaps she recognized it?

"Auntie. You're late," Ashley says to the woman, confirming that she did in fact know her.

"You're the one who's running late today, missy," she pleasantly sasses back.

Mikhail knew that this woman was not the wife of the uncle Ashley had been living with prior to being knighted. It had to be a pet name.

...Ashley used pet names?

Fire Emblem: Sunken Flames

Ashley peers over her shoulder at Mikhail, more than a little surprised. She wasn't above using dirty tricks to see her own brand of justice done, but she did expect others to scorn her for it on occasion. When that didn't happen, she couldn't help but crack a mild smile—a genuine one, with no artificially sinister color to it. "You're being awfully obedient today, you know that? Is it the new armband?" she teases as she poses to show off her rank, like it was some new accessory.

"Ashley," her Commander interjects. "I'm glad to see your spirits lifted, but try not to be a menace to men, yourself," he scolds, bowing to Mikhail.

Ashley made a face like she'd forgotten he was standing behind her. It was at this moment that Troe mentioned her leading these "mercenaries."

Guh. She'd picked a really, really bad time to show off her rank in front of him.

"I suppose that duty would naturally fall to me... but! I am a proud Captain of Lord Carradine's Knights, not a babysitter. I won't suffer anyone to slow me down," she says sternly, tying her ponytail back up. "My Lord Mikhail won't, either, if I may be so bold as to speak on his behalf." With that, she turns to leave.

---

As Ashley exits the tavern, the knights fall in behind her and her newfound companions. "You there," she says to one of them.

"Sir!" he answers immediately.

"Did you see that man who threw himself out the window? Take the man beside you and tail him. He's our backup plan."

"Really? Er, rather—yes sir," he stammers, taking his partner and running off.

Between the clanking of armor and the cries of "make way" from Ashley's Commander, there wasn't much opportunity for conversation, though it did feel as though they were embarking on something important. When the band of would-be explorers laid eyes on the Santa Lyrica, it made them wonder if they'd really get to ride it. It was obviously a fancy ship for fancy nobles, probably fully reserved and almost certainly too expensive even for someone of Ashley's social class to casually pay for a party of five.

Lord Clive at first looked confused at the addition of three extra people to Ashley's party, but then remembered that this was his cue.

"Sir Captain! In the name of the law, stop admitting passengers at once!" he shouted.

"My Lord. Whatever is going on?" a fancy-dressed man inquired, more than a little bit shocked.

"My apologies, but I must ask that no one be permitted to board or disembark for the time being. The knights have been informed that there are criminals aboard, and I expect your full cooperation in the search."

"Huh? But this is preposterous. To stow away upon the esteemed Santa Lyrica would be impossible," he protests.

While their argument is going on in the background, Ashley claps her hands to her cheeks in feigned surprise.

"Wow. This is really terrible." she says, deadpan.

Turning back to her new comrades, she can't help but smirk, even though she knows that they almost certainly won't understand what's going on. Actually, upon further reflection, someone like Lady Madeline would probably accuse her of using cheap tricks to knock out the competition early. This thought wipes the smirk from her face. "Any sign of Table Hopper?" she asks Troe.

Fire Emblem: Sunken Flames

Elsewhere, the resplendent Lord Clive, one of his fully-armored Knight Commanders, and a humble older woman—wearing a burgundy cloak, wooden sandals, a coolie hat, and carrying a rod of bamboo—all waited at the port, beside the doomed Santa Lyrica: an extravagant ship for extravagant patrons. Lady Madeline's mercenaries were almost certainly all boarded by now, as it would be improbable for her to amass thirty men who both outranked Ashley and were willing to do the deed—or, as indeed would be easier, to forge so many false identities—but Clive would wait until the last possible moment, just to be safe.

The older woman, who appeared to be somewhere around her mid to late fifties, or early sixties at most, clacks her staff on the ground. She was a spry woman, standing upright, clearly not needing the staff to walk. "Good heavens! Where is that flighty girl? I thought this was her idea! Has she changed course again already?"

"My Lord," the knight who had corrected Clive's misunderstanding from before interjects apologetically. "As her Commander, the fault is mine for letting her break formation. I shall assume full responsibility for her actions, and my own inaction against her," he rattles off professionally.

"At ease," Clive replies with his trademark smile. "You may feel obliged to say so, but we both know that she works better off the leash."

"Mm. I will vouch for her boldness, if nothing else. She is quite unflappable—much like yourself in that respect."

"Hmph. Is that what you think?" the old woman interrupts, grinning like she understands something they don't.

"You did say something about flightiness," Clive grants her. "We all have our roles to play. Find her, will you?" he says to the knight.

"Right away!"

---

For all her charm and social graces, this was one thing Ashley did not handle well: chaos.

While she was trying to talk to Margot, a man she recognized—Troe Revinah—suddenly made his presence known. Just as she was recalling how much she respected the man for inquiring earnestly about her work for his research, which he published—thus reducing the amount of ignorance in the world, regarding both her particular line of work and dark magic in general—a bar fight was breaking out. Worse yet, Mikhail was joining the fight, before she could object to the idea. Before she could figure out how she feels about this, Mikhail's comment reminds her that she has a duty to stop such... tomfoolery. Then, however, Margot's reply manages to shove its way to the forefront of her mind. Now that she had fully processed what was said, she realizes her blunder.

No! You were serious?! But you're so young, and your quintessence gives you so much potential! Even if life is short, stay in school! Don't do witchcraft! Fall in love! Get married, have ten kids, teach them proper manners! Idiot! Stupid! Ngah! I've made a grave mistake!!

"Ah... haha. I... guess I'll just have to protect you, won't I?" was the only coherent thought that escaped her mouth. S-Smooth! I can be smooth if I try! That works.

The maid from before narrows her eyes at Ashley, envious. "Dear sir... are you, perchance, the type who can't say no to cute girls?"

"W-Well. Strictly speaking, I guess that's true, but it's not like that..." Ashley tries to explain, making a face like she'd been found out. "Anyway, I have to deal with this!" she blurts out, using the increasing intensity of the bar fight as her excuse.

She cuts off the original instigator of the fight—the man with the broken nose—stopping him from fleeing the scene.

"Going somewhere, piggy?" she spits with all the poison she could muster for a man of his... persuasion.

"I'll go where the hell I want, lordling! What are you gonna do about it?!"

Ashley hadn't exactly thought that far. She was skilled with the sword, but against this many men... and she was a just a little on the petite side.

"Halt! In the name of the law, cease this madness at once!" a voice Ashley recognized boomed. It was her Commander.

My savior cometh! she thought. Then, thinking fast, she shows the men a devilish smile, unties her ponytail, and makes a mess of her hair. "Commander!" she cries out in her most feminine voice, covering her face with her hands and running over to him to bury it in his breastplate.

"Ashley?! Report!" he begins, professionally. Then, noticing Ashley's sniffling and ruined hair, he changes his tone. "What... what's wrong?! Speak, Dame!"

Pretending to take a moment to compose herself, she breathes deeply. "That wicked man, over there! That most uncouth barbarian! He is a menace to women everywhere!" she accuses, one hand covering her mouth, pointing the finger in his direction with the other. "I saw him, gro—... looming menacingly, over that poor woman—a helpless, one-armed girl—with intent to... to vio—... to do unspeakable things to her body! I tried to stop him, Commander, but I was alone, and his men joined him, and I... Oh, I was so very scared!"

The maid from before watches the scene unfold, mouth agape, but covered by her hands. "Oh my... She's so brave..!" she says with misty eyes.

All eyes were upon the man who'd started the bar fight. He and his men could tell that Ashley was snickering—but she was putting a commendable amount of effort into making it look and sound like sniffles and sobs. The Commander was fully armored, but no one needed to see his face to know that he was fuming. His Ashley—the woman he'd just praised for being bold and unflappable—was burying her face in his breast, sobbing. Still, incredibly, he kept his composure, as he'd taught his subordinate to do.

"Will any man speak in his defense?!" he roared. He needn't have bothered asking. As a noblewoman and as a Knight Captain, hardly anyone in the entire tavern could give a testimony that out-weighed Ashley's. Even if they could, well... they knew how to read a room.

Realizing how screwed they were, he and his accomplices booked it toward the back door.

"Arrest them!" the Commander shouted.

"You better run, you bastards! You dare make our Ashley cry?!" one knight called out.

"We'll make you squeal for this! You pigs!" cried another.

Once the ruffians and most of the knights were gone, the owner of the tavern made himself known. "A thousand apologies, Dame Ashley."

With one last sniff, she begins straightening her hair, combing it with her fingers. "Pay it no mind, my good man. Any day that justice is served is worth celebrating."

"Hear, hear!" shouted a nearby patron, raising his cracked glass.

"A round on the house, for you and your friends—please, I insist," the owner says as he bows to Ashley.

"Your generosity is appreciated, but we must be going," her Commander cuts him off.

"Yes, we surely must. Mikhail, stop flirting and come over here!" she calls out to him sourly. "You too, Troe, and your friend. Don't fall behind."

Though she doesn't acknowledge the commoners who announced their intent to come along, she silently hopes that they recognize that this is their cue. "My apologies, Commander, for holding you up," she says wistfully.

"No. I will be forever grateful that I made it in time," he responds gravely.

A small pang of guilt seizes Ashley's dead heart. Ugh. I feel bad, making you worry about my chastity, but that's five less bastards in the world!!

Fire Emblem: Sunken Flames

"Hm?" Ashley turned to the girl, recognizing her immediately as the energetic youth from before. Ashley also recognized that face—the face of someone looking for a favor. Putting the pieces together in a way she figured made sense, she feigned a smile.

"There are several ships departing soon. I suppose you'll need to pay your fare?"

Ashley only figured that the girl's desire to go adventuring was a clever excuse to ask for money. An unscrupulous noble wouldn't bat an eye at giving her a small pittance of coins if it meant seeing one less pair of cupped hands on the streets tomorrow, she thought darkly.

"I suppose it can't be helped, can it? Safe travels," she said as she handed over the coins, fully expecting the young mage to take them and run off to the market to buy some cheap stale bread, or whatever it was these 'charming' mice did with the money they 'swindled' from her.

Don't get the wrong idea. I'm just in a good mood today, she thought, as if praying to an evil god.

As she was, a man with abysmal manners suddenly stood upon a nearby table, announcing his intent to recruit as though it were a perfectly natural time and place to do so. In spite of his tactlessness, though, she found herself intrigued. The runes on his belt were not chosen carelessly, as though wearing something one's peers could not read were somehow "trendy." Despite his appearance, he seemed knowledgeable.

A fellow scholar? Never hurts to have like minds to work with... or, failing that, someone to upstage, she thought dryly.

"Such a bold entrance!" she remarks, loudly and hypocritically, eliciting a few chuckles from some nearby patrons who had witnessed her own entrance. "Care to grace us mere mortals with your assistance, O wise young scholar?" she petitions, clapping her hands at a modest pace that was neither sarcastic, nor over-enthused. "Indeed, I have need of an intellect as sharp as my valiant companion's steel," she flatters, putting a hand around Mikhail's bicep, to indicate which "companion" she was referring to—and what "steel" she was relying on.

Fire Emblem: Sunken Flames

Eh?! He'd invited her—no, moreover, he'd planned to from the start? Score! And of all the people he cared for, she was the smartest?!

Yes, yes and yes! It's a date! Ashley wanted to scream, but now that she was on guard, she restrained herself.

"Hoho... You're too kind," Ashley answers, turning the smile she couldn't hold back into a weirdly improvised smirk. "but I'm not lying, you know? Of course, I can't be completely honest, or I'll lose my edge... and I can't drop the 'milord' just yet, either," she says with a dour tone, looking around. "This isn't exactly a private setting—but if we do end up alone somewhere, I'll call you whatever you want. Heh."

"Caught in my subordinate's web, my friend?" Clive interrupts with a false smile as he approaches the pair of sulky nobles.

Behave yourself, won't you, my dear? his eyes seemed to suggest as he loomed over their table, looking at Ashley.

Oh, screw you, she returned with a narrow-eyed glare.

"If it isn't Lord Clive—the fly in my ointment. Too bad I can't catch you in my web," she says sarcastically.

"That's very true, and also, not the slightest bit unfortunate," Clive replies, rubbing it in a bit.

Mikhail wasn't privy to all of the details, but the two seemed to have a longer history together than they would let on. They bickered like siblings—for all the importance she seemed to place upon her conduct as a knight, she didn't seem too concerned about holding back against him. Ashley's face softens, though, when she remembers something important.

"We have a situation. There are some... very dangerous criminals planning to stow away aboard the Santa Lyrica," she says in a low voice.

Clive looks skeptical, and a bit confused. "Huh? Where does this news come from?"

"Sources," Ashley replies flippantly. "Wind's foul—thirty knots from the southeast—so please, take your time looking for them."

No one would have paid Ashley's comment about the weather any mind, especially not on a day like this with such grave news overtaking everyone's mind. Unless, of course, they were eager to sail to their death as quickly as possible. However... that wind report was wrong.

Strangely, Clive's face seemed to indicate that Ashley's odd remark explained everything. "Right. I'll inform the knights," he says as he turns, leaving quickly.

Ashley smiles wickedly. My sincerest apologies, Lady Madeline. Your ship is about to be delayed. She turns to Mikhail.

"As you say, I'm the smartest woman in your life," she boasts, her words full of biased intent. "so I already have a plan in motion. Shall we?"

---

Between the nods of beckoning sleep, Margot might have caught a glimpse of two fetching young gentlemen as they walked up to the bar together, the dark-haired one looking rather pleased with himself compared to his sulky blonde friend—and, in the warlock's over-tailored uniform, complete with a family crest and three bright red stripes on the armband signifying his rank, probably over-dressed, too.

Retrieving a fully loaded coin pouch, he counts out the fee for his and his companion's drinks—plus a little extra—and slides the coins across the bar to the barkeep. This was unusual behavior for a noble. Many of them did not fully appreciate the value of money, and would simply lay down a pile of coins, in a showy fashion. If you made a particular face of mixed confusion and displeasure, you might even be able to trick them into increasing the size of the pile. Indeed, the barkeep was making just such a face. "Something amiss with your order, sir?" he grunts, glancing down at the giddy young lad.

"Not at all. Please, send my regards to the staff—they have the best coffee and cakes in the capital," came the smooth, silky voice.

With a line like that, the barkeep would have to take his loss like a champ. "It's our pleasure, sir. Good day to you."

"Good day."

Ashley honestly felt bad for her manners. They were good cakes. Didn't do the staff any favors, eating them like that.

Fire Emblem: Sunken Flames

"Mmh?" Glancing over her shoulder to see who was disturbing her train of thought, recognition flickered in her eyes. If Ashley was honest, she had considered bumping into Mikhail "accidentally." What she didn't expect was for the "accident" in question to come to her.

"KHH-HM." She looks away briefly, making a sound like she was clearing her throat, before swallowing her food.

"Mikhail! Milord," she adds, defaulting to her better social graces.

Mikhail was not just a looker (in Ashley's humble opinion). As the son of a Duke, he was also her social better by just shy of six degrees. Even in the "good old" days—a time from before they met—Ashley had been the daughter of a Marquess, still putting her somewhat beneath him. Further still, she was... well. Her existence was documented, at any rate, but if the two families had ever discussed marriage, she would not have been invited to that table. All of her siblings were better than her, seemingly at everything that nobles needed to be skilled at.

Well, they weren't anymore. Now, they were all missing—presumed dead. Perhaps even hopefully dead, for someone with a mind as grim as Ashley's—but her father was definitely dead, and that was all that really mattered to people like Lady Madeline.

In any case, this was now his table, not hers—and she was his guest, not he hers—for those keeping score. She adjusts her posture accordingly.

"Please, be at ease," she says smoothly, though with his confident look she needn't have bothered trying to soothe him. "I do not curse people, much less my social betters—even if I had the means." Her eyes, were they normal, would show no falsehood, as she sincerely meant what she said. Indeed, she did not know him as well as she'd like, and thus she lacked the means.

The problem was that her eyes were not normal—neither was her voice, nor her demeanor. They betrayed hardly a thing, besides what Ashley wanted to project—at least to the average person who paid little attention to the finer details of other people—but to the discerning eye, her entire being evoked a constant feed of falsehood. She was like a fake person, pretending to have emotions, voicing thoughts that were not her own. It was a subtle effect—one could be easily be forgiven for thinking she was simply poker-faced—but to someone who knew what she was and how that all worked, it was clear to see. They were the eyes, voice, and thoughts of someone given over to the abyss of the dark arts. Either the darkness was sucking the life out of her, or at best, everything she ever did was an act, leaving the "real Ashley" a complete mystery. She was not openly malicious, as the stereotype usually went—unless she chose to wore that mask in battle, to feed her fell arts with the fear of her enemies. No, it was simply as if she wasn't all there.

Mikhail had gotten a taste of this at the last party they both attended.

The unreasonable demand of the day, which was being foisted upon his shoulders, was to demonstrate his progress on his combat ability. Having seen Ashley on stage several times before, he would finally have the dubious honor of joining her, as she was to be his opponent. An organ played as she stepped onto the stage, casting her as the "villain" in their fictional battle to the death. As she was expected to lose, Ashley fully intended to let him win—what she did not expect was that her charity wouldn't be necessary.

Ashley plainly refused to use her fell arts on the stage for all the nobility to see, which would make her a sitting duck if she didn't also have some skill with the sword. However, with Mikhail's superior strength and stamina, using the oppressive range of his lance to fully leverage every advantage he had, Ashley could do little but dance a dance of death around him, avoiding his strikes as narrowly as possible for the full dramatic effect, and throwing out the odd attack whenever he would overextend. Suddenly, the crowd would gasp as Mikhail's wooden training lance nicked Ashley's face, drawing blood. Then, after wiping her face, she would reveal a positively villainous smile, and the nobles would go wild, all the while a full orchestra was going on in the background. It was quite the extravagant display—though Ashley and Mikhail shared one speck of camaraderie in that they both found the whole spectacle quite droll.

Eventually, Ashley would become too exhausted to continue, and Mikhail would be declared the winner. Dripping with sweat, she would be forced to stand uncomfortably close to him and raise his arm up in the air with her own—and then, also, she would be offered the poisoned drink by Lady Madeline—a drink she could hardly be seen refusing—and then again, afterwards, have to act the part of a drunkard, as if she hadn't secretly also drank an antitoxin while no one was looking—and finally, excuse herself, with apologies. The whole night was pretty mortifying overall, and it was also the only close contact she'd had with Mikhail in a long, long time. They only spoke to each other very rarely. Certainly, they had never been alone together. This was the closest she'd come to such an encounter.

Realizing this, Ashley steels herself. "Haven't seen you since the last party, handsome. You're faring well, I take it? Am I right to assume that the events in Irinoth have piqued your interest as well?" she inquires, every word dripping with all the dangerous charm a woman of her ilk could muster.

Fire Emblem: Sunken Flames

Wistful Weaver — Curse Corrector — Deathly Doctor — Ashley Wycliffe

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

It was a busy day at the Devil Busters clinic. In fact, it was the busiest day she'd had in months, but that was how Ashley liked it. Ashley was hard at work, focused and working fast—not that an outside observer would know. The room she now stood in, bedding only a single patient, was filled with the sounds of turning gears and rattling chains. There were no clockworks in her clinic, however—such noise, as was indeed the best term for it, would only muddy the results of her work. The short, black-haired, dreary-eyed mage stood atop a small stool, inspecting a collection of magic circles floating above her unfortunate client. Rotating. Intersecting. Ticking, like clockworks.

Ashley sighed. A lifeless sigh, from which neither disappointment nor relief could be discerned.

"W-Well? Can you help him?" asked the worried mother, standing beside the mage, intimidated by the collection of illegible runes.

"Faster than I could explain what's wrong with him, at any rate," Ashley replied dryly, in what she had hoped was—approximately—a reassuring tone.

With a wave of her hand, a möbius strip of magical symbols made itself available to her. Pressing her finger against one of the magic circles, it made a harsh, mechanical sound, and the whole "machine" ground to a screeching halt.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

The ticking grew louder. So loud, in fact, that the room began to vibrate, and glassware flasks of various medicines resting on a nearby cart became visibly disturbed, their contents sloshing, but their wide bases thankfully holding them in place. A silky-black, sleeping cat with bright yellow eyes raised its head with a soft "mrrp," saw the chaos unfolding in front of it, and quietly lowered its head to reclaim its disturbed rest, as though nothing at all were happening.

Swish, swish, swish, swish.

Ashley began swiftly removing the rogue runes from their places, replacing them with her own from the möbius strip, ignoring the distressed cries of the woman beside her, who did not know why Ashley had suddenly gone from doing nothing but staring at the circles in silence for several minutes to rapidly changing them, all while the sounds of doomsday all around them grew louder and louder. What must have felt like several minutes of swapping out runes had probably only lasted about twenty seconds, and then, suddenly, with one last swish of a finger, the magic circles she had halted earlier began rotating in the opposite direction, and the ordeal was over—or so it seemed.

"I-Is it over?" the woman asked, her voice shaking.

"How long ago did his symptoms start?" Ashley demanded, ignoring the question.

"Eh?" the woman responded with surprise mixed with dread. Was it not over yet? "Almost two days ago, now."

"Is that so? Then, his symptoms will disappear in about that time. You're free to go."

"Truly?" The woman began weeping, and pulled the mage into a fierce embrace, threatening to yank her from her perch.

"Woah, easy there," Ashley protested, feigning surprise.

This was par for the course. Few "normal" civilians ever had any contact with curse magic, and when they did, the risk of being found out usually kept them from seeking treatment, for a multitude of reasons—social stigma, sure, but mostly ignorance. Where did curses come from? Were they cast down by the Goddess, or by witches? Were they contagious? Could they even be cured to begin with? The answers to these questions were everywhere and nowhere, both and neither, sometimes, and yes but actually no. Eventually, the dense scholar had given up trying to explain it in technical terms, and just told people what they needed to hear. Yes, it can be fixed. No, you will not have to drink a yucky potion. No, it will not hurt—but it usually will not be quick, either.

This is the fifth time I've seen this same curse today, Ashley thought darkly. Lady Madeline must know I have somewhere to be later today.

"How can I ever repay you?" the woman sobbed.

"Just the usual fee is fine, thanks," Ashley replied flatly.

"Eh? Are you sure?"

"Yes, yes. If you have a hole in your purse, pay an orphan to sew it shut for you."

Suddenly, the cat was roused again. "Mrea-e-e-e-e-rw!" it exclaimed, bounding toward the door. That could only mean one thing: Lord Clive has arrived.

"Right on cue," Ashley groaned, with the fatally resigned tone of someone about to take a beating. "In my office," she sighs, gesturing at the blonde-haired, green-eyed, silver-armored lordling standing in her doorway, before he can get a word in edgewise.

"Good morning to you, too, Ashley," he replies smoothly, with an invincible smile, waving to the woman and her son as he walks down the hall.

"...I guess I'll just... leave it here?" the woman muses to herself, leaving some silver coins on the medicine cart.

Ashley unlocks the office door—not with a knob and keyhole, but with a combination-style magic sigil—and enters a room that, were she in her manor, would qualify as a library. She deftly weaves between stacks of tomes, following a rat-trail from the door to her desk, with scattered papers on either side of the well-trodden path. She then sits down in her leather-bound chair and watches Lord Clive carefully follow the same path, being much more careful than she was to not step on anything.

"Come to sweep me off my feet and carry me away to some conjured-up, suspiciously easy 'emergency' mission?" Ashley inquires with forced interest.

"I won't lie to you; I've considered that angle," Clive responds with a dash of please remember that I'm your superior.

"Oh, is that right? Perhaps I've taught you well," she remarks with feigned surprise.

"Is there nothing I can do to convince you not to go?"

"Oh, there are plenty of options for one with fewer scruples than you. I know a surefire way to keep a woman off the front lines for, oh, six or seven months."

"I get the picture," Clive politely cuts her off with a raised hand. "—and I think that ship has sailed."

"Hopefully, my ship sails today, too. I have a few scruples myself, but I'm a paragon study of evil. I guarantee I've thought about the risks I'll face more than you have, and weighed them more accurately. Besides, no matter how you look at it, I am the only one who can take this assignment. I'm—"

"a liability in the noble court—a stain on your reputation—the most expendable curse expert in all of Mokata. Is that it?!"

The two met each other's eyes with fierce glares. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut—but something else was in the air, too.

As the ringing in Clive's ears grows louder, he realizes what it is. Magic.

"Not this time! Ararat!" he shouts, pointing at Ashley, and causing more than a few loose papers on the ground to be shuffled.

"Tch! I had those organized a particular way, you know? Now my system is a~ll messed up," Ashley groans sarcastically.

"How does it feel, witch, having your own hex turned against you?" Clive taunts, having been successfully distracted from the topic at hand.

"I feel pretty good, actually, m'lord..." Ashley taunts back with a sultry voice.

"Oy. What kind of hex was that?"

"Oh, nothing special. Just something to make you a bit... bolder," she continues suggestively.

Clive shoots her a completely unamused look, calling her bluff.

"You're such a bore! Leonhardt, the contagious-courage hex," she replies, giving up.

"Oh, is that all. ...Wait. How many times have you used that on me?" he asks suspiciously.

"So you admit that you're a worrywart," she ambushes.

"I said nothing of the sort," he fires back, immediately and bluntly. "I want you to reassure me with words, not witchcraft."

"It's a hex, not witchcraft," Ashley corrects in a voice dripping with manufactured condescension. "Like I've told you before, witchcraft is the domain of potions, pharmaceuticals—"

"That's beside the point!" Clive exclaims, making time to consider his next avenue of attack. "You should know, Lord Mikhail is going too."

"Mikhail? ...Oh, your sulky friend," Ashley pretends to realize, a little on the back foot now.

"I think you meant, 'hunky' friend," he replies with his trademark, winsome smile.

Ashley's face twists into a fiendish grimace—the first genuine spark of emotion she's had all day. "You mock me, boy? If you're so inclined, I can re-activate your curse at any time—all I need is ONE finger!"

"Oh, no, not mocking," the Lord replies cordially, giving Ashley no territory. "I'm just saying—hypothetically—if you did have a crush on my dear friend, that would be one of your cute points."

"...Actually, I think your curse may have re-activated on its own. Here, let me treat you. Don't be shy. Just gird your loins, and come over here..."

"Sorry, but I'll have to exercise my right to refuse treatment this time. I want my daughter to have siblings, after all."

Ashley's mask disappears like the morning dew. "Eh? You—you have a daughter? Your wife is with child?"

"That's right. If she's so inclined to learn magic, I'd like you to tutor her. So, you have to promise to come back safe, alright?"

"Ugh, fine, you sappy fool. Just don't name her after me or something stupid like that. You'll turn the court into a dumpster fire."

"All right, then. It's a promise," Clive replies with more than an ounce of smug.

"...You win this bout. You guard your heart well from my hexes. I fear that soon I will have nothing left to teach you."

"Oh, no. It's you who has improved, in the art of banter. You lost when you threatened to curse me, though."

"...Sorry," Ashley whispers, trying not to look sheepish.

"See? You can be cute when you're honest."

"Maybe I'll curse you, after all," she threatens in an unconvincing tone.

"Save it for later. We have a job to do, after all."

"Indeed. Shall we go?"

---

~Departure~

"Make way for Lord Clive Maxwell Carradine IV! Make way!"

As the cry rang out, the civilians flocked to the sides of the street. Clive rode atop a white horse, as the top nobles do. Behind him, and with a handful of Knight Commanders at either side who outranked her, Ashley rode atop a dark, reddish brown horse. With her disheveled civilian physician's robe discarded and casual Monday bedhead sorted, she was now in her sharp black cloak and purple vest, with her ponytail tied, and her rank proudly displayed on her arm. She looked like a proper knight, now, and no less intimidating than the ones in full armor. She was obviously a warlock of some kind—though if even one of the commoners knew what kind, they were extremely privileged to know.

As another knight riding atop a light brown horse emerges from a nearby alley, Ashley signals him, and he merges into the formation.

"Report."

"Sir! It's as you said. Lady Madeline's mercenaries are following us."

"I knew it. The poisoned drink at that last party, the sheer number of patients today... she shows her hand too plainly."

"What do you want to do?" Lord Clive interjects, continuing to face forward to maintain his appearance. "She may know which ship you plan to board."

"I've anticipated that. I already know what I want to do—lose her," Ashley replies as she breaks formation, heading to a tavern near the square.

"Ashley! I've told you not to talk to me so casually in public! ...Did she just call me a loser?" Clive asks his right-hand man, befuddled.

"My Lord. I believe she said, 'lose, her,'" the knight clarifies, as respectfully as a knight could.

"Ah."

As she enters the tavern, the usual hustle and bustle stops abruptly at the arrival of this stern-tempered, high-ticket customer.

"Barkeep! Attend me!" she barks in as privileged a tone as she can, clapping her hands together.

"And what can I fix you with, sir?" growled the bearded, dark-skinned man at least 2 heads taller than her.

"I have need of a fireman, and a coffee—black," she orders, speed-walking around the bar to the stairs to access the second floor—for nobility only—not bothering to correct the "sir" on her way up.

"Right away, sir."

Ashley had barely begun to take stock of the situation in the square from her vantage point on the balcony, before her coffee arrived in record time—with all the complimentary extras she could expect for her social status. "Your coffee, sir," the maid says simply, as though the honey and cakes weren't there, bowing low as she did.

"I won't need the milk—but thank you for thinking of me, my dear," Ashley says smoothly, thanking the maid the only way she knew how.

"Oh my. You're quite welcome." The maid scurries away, hiding her blush.

Ashley listens to the herald's announcement, narrowing her eyebrows a little at the news. State of emergency? Likely destroyed? You're not mincing words, are you?

She is distracted a little by the mage, making herself the center of attention. Ashley couldn't quite make out what she was saying, but her energy was plain to see—both with physical eyes, and spiritual ones. Ah... such a rich quintessence. How enviable, she thought.

After a few more sips of her coffee, a man who could only be described as the average of all the men in the realm walked up to Ashley. "You sent for me?"

"Fireman. From which way does the wind blow, and how swift?" she asks innocuously.

"Thirty knots from the southeast. Your ship would be lucky to reach her destination anytime soon," the man replied, his expression even blanker than hers.

Thirty? Ashley thought, baffled. That's enough high-class sellswords to fill a deck's worth of men's quarters... and women's quarters, just to be safe. Surely she's not so bold as to stage a mutiny? I'll have to change ships after all... and delay the one she's hijacked, too. What a pain.

"Thank you. You are dismissed," she casually tells her code-speaking friend.

"My pleasure," the man drawls, bowing low and taking his leave.

To the outside observer, Ashley looked just the slightest bit annoyed, like a typical lordling whose extravagant vacation just got slightly delayed for a day or two. But her inexpressive face was doing her a favor for once. Inside, her mind was racing. Her high rank afforded her one slight advantage: she could board a peasant ship dead last—no one would be allowed to follow her, unless they were of a higher rank—but she would need to fabricate an excuse to board a peasant ship instead, ideally one that left her with her dignity as a knight intact. Perhaps... an inspection? On the other hand, she would lose any chance of remaining anonymous. What to do...

She plays with her hair using her left hand, as if she could physically pluck ideas from it—not noticing her bad manners, with her elbow on the table, greedily wolfing down cakes with her right hand. She looked troubled, not that anyone was likely to notice or care.

Fire Emblem: Sunken Flames

Ashley Wycliffe the Noble

Personal Information
Name: "Sir" Ashley Wycliffe
Appearance:

Hider

Gender: Female
Orientation: Straight
Age: 28
Height: 160 cm / 5' 3''
Crest: Noa
Class: Noble
Affiliation: Mokata

---

Stats
Strength ★★☆☆☆
Magic ★★★★☆
Dexterity ★★★★☆
Speed ★★★☆☆
Luck ☆☆☆☆☆
Defense ★★☆☆☆
Resistance ★★★★★
Charm ★★★★★

Combat Summary:

Prefers to stay behind the front lines and incant her devastating spells. Though her damage is outclassed by the raw power of a Warlock with black magic, her dark magic can cripple her enemies' own combat performance. Most enemies will run circles around her if they can approach her while she uses her dark magic. Equipping a lightweight sword is a good temporary crutch in such a situation, as the natural movement speed of her body far outstrips her ability to speed-read scripture.

She takes barely any damage from most enemy mages, though with their superior casting speed they can pelt her rapidly for lots of chip damage. Ashley finds this absolutely infuriating and may rely on her cursed Devil Sword to cut right past an enemy mage's magical resistance for a quick and easy victory, at the cost of needing a moment to reverse the negative effects that using it has on her body and mind.

As a Knight, she can handle the odd axe-toting ruffian, but being a solo force on the battlefield is out of the question for her, as she is quite petite and not very physically strong. On her own, she is much more likely to use her charm to talk her way out of a battle, because one good smack from a fearsome combat art or a strike at her vitals during a moment of distracted reading will bring her to her knees.

---

Equipment
Devil Sword (30)
Prayer Ring
Items
Slim Sword (35)
Concoction (6)
Panacea (3)
5,000 Gold

---

Combat Arts
Wrath Strike (Sword)
Grounder (Sword)
Hexblade (Sword)
Curved Shot (Bow)
Fading Blow (Brawl)
Rushing Blow (Brawl)

Class Art
[Empty]

---

Abilities

Personal Skill
Ararat: This unit recovers faster from afflicted status, and passes their negative status to adjacent enemies.

Class Abilities
[Empty]
[Empty]
[Empty]

Equipped Skills
Sword Prowess Lv 3
Axebreaker
Reason Lv 4
Seal Magic
Rally Magic

Other Skills
Lance Prowess Lv 1
Bow Prowess Lv 1
Brawling Prowess Lv 2
Faith Lv 1
Authority Lv 4
Defensive Tactics
Model Leader
Battalion Renewal

Battalion (Not Equipped)
Mokata Combat Medics
Gambit: Poisoned Arrows (2)

---

Learned Magic
Miasma Δ (5)
Mire Β (4)
Swarm Ζ (4)
Banshee Θ (3)
[Empty]
[Empty]
[Empty]
Heal Ψ (5)
[Empty]
[Empty]

Class-Specific Magic
[Empty]
[Empty]
[Empty]

---

Skill Level
Sword: B
Lance: E+
Axe: E
Bow: D
Brawl: C
Reason: A ★
Faith: D
Authority: A
Heavy Armor: E
Riding: D+
Flying: E

---

Personal History

Key Events
Age Details
10 Stolen from her family home and declared missing.
14 Found and recovered from an orphanage for noble children.
15 Transferred to the care of an uncle after her father was murdered.
16 Enrolled in the Academy of Sorcery and Magical Engineering.
20 Graduated and began an apprenticeship at a clinic.
22 Took a loan and started her own practice, Devil Busters.
25 Reversed a renowned noble family's curse. Knighted and re-ennobled.
26 Promoted to the rank of Knight Lieutenant.
27 Promoted to the rank of Knight Captain.

Credentials: Scholar of esoteric knowledge, and physician specializing in treatment of magical maladies.
Interests: Arcane history and lore, medical mysteries, horror stories, Hexweaving, Cursemaking.
Likes: Reading, solitude, the violin, cute animals, coffee, stargazing, sleepless nights, solving difficult problems.
Dislikes: Nobles, perfume, women's clothing, bugs and pests, church music, being watched, fighting mages, flying.
Favorite Tea: Mint Leaves
Status: Noble title restored. Modest landowner. Not well liked by most of her "peers."
Critical Quotes:

"You're obstructing justice."

"You're blocking my view."

"This procedure will be unpleasant."

"It's past your bedtime, child."

"—so it is written."

---

Personality

Possesses more tactics than tact. While she can be "charming" in that she knows how to command the respect of her subordinates, acquire favors from others, and even hold her own while word-jousting with nobles, she does feel a bit helpless outside of these "scripted" conversations at her work. Her position as a Knight-Captain requires that she keep up appearances—something she is well equipped to do, as her emotions run a bit shallow, and what remains is not worn on her sleeve. She is very guarded around other people in general, and may even border on paranoid in the presence of nobles, a habit which has only become stronger over time as it has surely saved her life more than twice.

While she may come off cold and sullen, she has a sharp wit, a silver tongue, a strong sense of justice, and is both hardworking and quick to help those who are truly in need—at least, that is how she views herself, and is not at all humble about it. She whole-heartedly believes in her approach of studying the dark arts in the service of greater good; after all, one must keep their enemies closer, that they might be studied. While the average priest may consider her a heretic, she would contend that the opposite is true—that she is actually quite devout, having knowledge of many obscure doctrines the church fathers consider forbidden—while most "saints" are too vainglorious and greedy to be of any use.

However, she cannot escape the nature of dark magic, which feeds off of emotions and the user's own memories—the more base and wretched, the better. Her enemies must fear and despise her, and so in battle she must don a mask of abject cruelty. Additionally, she must never confide in another about her secret burdens, as if they were to become common knowledge, she would become vulnerable to being cursed herself. When confronted with these two conflicting personas, many are left wondering which is Ashley's true face; the earnest but misguided former holy woman, or the heartless noble witch?

---

History

Not many are privy to the details about Ashley's past, except for a small fraction of the nobility who were directly involved with the investigation of the incident at Wycliffe Manor. Most of this lack of information about Ashley is by her own design. Ashley grew up with a silver spoon in her mouth, and was everything a commoner would expect a young noble's brat to be. Snobby, selfish, arrogant, and a consummate manipulator, Ashley stayed away from the eyes of the public, as though she were too good for them, but in reality, the opposite was true. She knew she was the least talented of the Wycliffe sisters, in just about everything noble girls were expected to be good at—as did her rapidly decreasing marriage prospects. Later in life, during her education at the school of Sorcery and Magical Engineering, she would endeavor to make few, if any, friends, and only participated in mandatory assignments—a pattern she perseveres in, even as a knight. Despite immaculate attendance, she seemed to remain invisible, even to those who had grounds to be jealous of her suddenly acquired magical talents, owing perhaps to her lack of extra credit to boost her score to the top of the top. Now, as a knight, mandatory attendance at parties is something she dreads with every fiber of her being, every time she receives mail.

What is known about Ashley's family history is that one day, while her father and his knights were away, in what would come to be known only as the "Wycliffe Manor Incident," Ashley, her mother, and all of her siblings vanished. Officially, none of the Wycliffe family were ever found, but the rumor shared within the lower-level noble courts is that what the knights found at the scene was so horrible that it was deemed irresponsible or needlessly cruel to share the details with the public. The abandoned manor remains off-limits and to this day the details of what took place there remain a mystery.

Four years later, Ashley alone miraculously turned up in an orphanage for noble children and was reunited with her father, and for a brief time of just under a year they would be the last occupants to ever stay a night in Wycliffe Manor. It is said that Ashley was like a shell of her former self, and would refuse to speak to anyone but her father. During this time, Ashley did little but eat her favorite sweets and sleep in her missing twin sister's room. Her father was a Marquess and a high ranking member of the clergy, but the inconsolable girl refused to speak to any priest. This unhappy reunion was short-lived, as her father would make one last attempt to get Ashley to open up, taking her on a day trip to the view of the sunset where he once proposed to his wife—only to be murdered by a passing brigand for his troubles, leaving Ashley in the care of an uncle. Her noble house was no more, and as a gloomy girl with equally gloomy marriage prospects, her future was looking bleak—but she refused to give up.

Suddenly finding the will to live, it was as if Ashley decided that her missing family had passed a baton to her. Seeking to surpass the days of her useless youth—perhaps even her missing family—she developed the one thing no amount of money could buy, nor any amount of sweet nothings could ever acquire from another: an indomitable work ethic. The words of her father, a preacher—and her uncle, a businessman, motivated her as she feverishly read any magical tome she could get her hands on:

"The Goddess takes what is meant for evil and uses it for good."

"If you're not the best at anything, find something no one else is willing to do, and do that for a living."

Inspired, she poured her all into her education like a woman possessed, all while anyone who knew her history scorned her, as though her family history meant that she were cursed. Knowing that she had nothing left to lose, she pursued the dark arts, intending to unravel the secrets of evil. Why was the heart of man so deceitful? So cruel? Could the machinations of evil be reverse-engineered? Instead of turning one's eyes away from all manner of impurity and wickedness, could the forbidden dark arts be studied, understood, and "used for good?" Ashley dedicated her life's work to answer these questions.

Ashley may have already been a pariah due to the unfortunate circumstances surrounding her family, but her greater claim to infamy is her sudden re-ascendance to the nobility, a fact which turns up more noses than even her expertise in the dark arts. Unbeknownst to her, one day a desperate scion of a renowned noble house—Lord Clive Maxwell Carradine IV— entered her practice, against the advice of his parents and his own better judgment. He was shocked to find himself anonymous, as the ridiculous woman did not seem to recognize him from the days of her youth—but he was even more shocked to hear her reply after he poured out his heart to her about his curse:

"Give me 36 hours and a pot of your strongest coffee, and I'll do it for free."

He didn't understand the motive behind her generous offer, despite her lack of bedside manner and disdain for nobles on full display. Her confidence also elicited only skepticism, but he was just happy to have found someone who was willing to try. Though she missed her deadline by another 22 hours, she did eventually succeed, shortly before collapsing from exhaustion, laughing maniacally of sleep-deprived delirium and dopamine-infused euphoria—looking decidedly un-noble-like as she did.

For this outstanding service, she was knighted shortly thereafter, at the young lord's wedding. She may have, admittedly, mistaken his intentions for doing so, and in the process, agreed to military service in the lord's employ, without knowing what she was getting in to. However, she was intimately familiar with the circus that is the noble court, and understood that her actions would greatly shift the balance of power in Mokata, making her a target. As a specialist healer, however, she has thus far avoided the front lines, despite her unscrupulous peers' attempts to nudge her in the general direction.

Life:

Ashley continues her curse-correcting work mostly as normal, though in military camps instead of town. She is not often seen by the public; instead, she prefers to stay busy with her craft. If she's not working on treating soldiers afflicted by magical maladies behind a closed tent flap, observant citizens can sometimes witness the rustling of large sections of tree canopy as demonic beasts are chased away from nearby farmlands by the cackling dark mage and her faithful entourage on horseback.

Most of the nobility scorns her, either publicly or privately, for any of the multitude of available reasons, including by the noble ladies for the attention she gets as a female knight. Ashley has the dubious honor of being called the Mokata knights' "most handsome lady," and is often "in demand" for young male lover roles in stage plays hosted by these vindictive women as a way to make sport of her. Ashley, for her part, secretly prefers wearing men's clothing anyway, and doesn't mind the opportunity to practice the sultry, gender-ambiguous voice that has earned her so many favors over the years. As long as there's a script to follow, she can make just about anything work. While being on stage is nauseating for her, it's better than the alternative methods of entertaining the nobility, such as dueling knights from rival houses, or "dueling" (mostly, just publicly beating to death) innocent peasants whose only crime is offending the nobility in some insignificant way. Thankfully, Lord Clive is an accommodating man, and she often calls on him to bail her out when someone tries to drag her into such things to tarnish her carefully maintained public image as one of the more mysterious knights of Mokata.

Ashley owns a modest portion of land for her rank, and an accompanying manor. The manor, however, is abandoned, despite looking immaculate on the outside (appearances). Rival mages and spiteful noblewomen have cursed the place, making it to be nigh unlivable, even for someone like her. (To put it frankly, it's "too much housekeeping.") Ashley only occasionally enters the manor to study her rivals' curses, or to rescue the odd lost thrill seeker or stray cat. Instead, she co-habits with her only live-in attendant, a spry elderly woman Ashley affectionately calls "Aunt Alma," who lives in a small cabin just beyond the tree line. Being "forced" to live in the swamp "like a witch" seems to satisfy her rivals, but Ashley is more than happy to continue her research away from prying eyes, in the sole company of just one person she can trust. Alma performs only basic household duties and maintains the greenhouse, since Ashley could only be bothered to learn how to grow one thing, at Alma's insistence: burdock root, and nothing else. The attendant's true identity is unknown, presumably to protect any family she might have. The most popular rumor is that the old woman is the grandmother of a soldier from Ashley's own battalion, and that Ashley is secretly working as her caretaker as much as Alma is her attendant.

Recently, the situation at Irinoth Island has piqued her personal interest. Ashley can only vaguely recall—if, indeed, she remembers such a myth from one of her obscure tomes, and did not conjure it purely from imagination—a tale of an encroaching, chaotic military force, seemingly infinite in number, rising from the depths of the waters, cloaked in dark flames and barely visible to the naked eye. Could this be it? An ancient curse? Hopefully, this expedition is merely a stepping stone in her career.

Close Allies
"Aunt Alma" (Class: Apothecary | Relation: Live-in Attendant)
Sir Jack Fereydoon (Class: Hero | Relation: Commander)
Lord Clive Maxwell Carradine IV (Class: Paladin | Relation: Lord)
Lord Mikhail Feldunn (Class: Noble | Relation: Major Schoolgirl-Crush)
Lord Troe Revinah (Class: Noble | Relation: Respected Acquaintance/Colleague)
Lady Madeline Armitage (Class: Gremory | Relation: Rival?)