So worried right now. My brother just got admitted to the hospital after swallowing six toy horses. Doctors say he's in stable condtion.
8
likes
4 yrs ago
Nice to meet you, Bored. I'm interested!
7
likes
4 yrs ago
Ugh. Someone literally stole the wheels off of my car. Gonna have to work tirelessly for justice.
4
likes
Bio
Oh gee! An age and a gender and interests and things. Yeah, I have those. Ain't no way I'm about to trigger an existential crisis by typing them all out, though. You can find out what a nerd I am on discord, okay?
Junia was lucky enough to hit one of the Mortui squarely in the head with a stone. It had been a patrician in life, but now it lay there and twitched: nothing more than a corpse twice over. She'd always had a good arm at least, but the momentary exultation faded as two more shambled in to take its place. There had been a handful in the countryside outside of Rome and a good many in the city itself, but there were throngs here: hordes!
What have you gotten yourself into, Juni!? she screamed inwardly, hefting another stone. She was not about to waste her spear though, truth be told, there had been a worrying excess of those of late. Good, in theory, but actually a sign that the number of able defenders was dwindling. One last push, she counseled herself. Once more to try to find them. Then, she would focus on herself. Then, she would... give up on my child? Not in his sixth year? The thought nearly crushed her. A howling barbarian of a mortui had climbed to the top of the barricade and bellowed in her face, swiping. Junia leapt back and thrust forward with her spear, taking him through the eye. He flailed and twitched and collapsed, but then there was another and it just didn't seem to end. "Die!" she howled back, her voice small despite its loudness, small compared to that of soldiers and men and un-dead monsters. Junia cast about, taking int he centurion with the bad hand, the red-haired house slave - at least she supposed that he was, for he had the look of one - and, somewhat further back, the dark man of Africa, who was presently going for his horse. Did he mean to fight or to run?
This was insanity. There had to be a better way! A fat man in a fine toga overbalanced himself swinging a gladius and knocked her sprawling. Junia scrambled to her feet, but the ranks in front had already closed - barely. They were getting thin. She cast about for her spear, but it had fallen - tip first, into the glowing embers of a cooking fire. She shook her head, jogged over, and plucked it free. Its tip glowed and... she got an idea. Wouldn't fire kill these things? Wouldn't it spread faster and be far more effective than this piecemeal hack and slash? In those next few seconds, an idea took root in her mind and blossomed into a full-blown scenario. They needed to make a break for it, barricade the city with the mortui inside, and then burn it to the ground! Rome had been rebuilt before and would be again! There were few enough in the countryside that the legions could yet hunt them down and dispose of them, but... if their final remaining living targets were gone, the un-dead would spread out in search of new food. They would spread across Italy, and into Helvetica, Gaul, and Illyria. They would... No point dwelling on such, she decided, halting her thought process. There had to be someone she could bring her idea to. Perhaps the African? More likely the centurion? The slave was a good cook, but she had no idea how clever he might be or how seriously his words would be taken. More than hers, certainly, for war was men's work and she was not a man. First, she had to put the idea to them, however.
Seeing a gap close to the latter two, Junia leapt up to fill it, driving her spear into the neck of an un-dead. The thrust was not clean, and its head lolled to the side for a moment, skin and blood hissing and steaming from the metal's heat. "Sirs," she addressed the two men, "should the gods smile upon us and we succeed in driving off this wave, I would speak to you of an idea I've had, if you'd hear it." She stabbed again, and put the dead man down for good.
A few hours before @SilverPaw's late night reflection.
Zeno Afraval could not contain her laughter at Onarr's 'enthusiastic' statement. Had she been presently drinking, she surely would've snorted wine from her nose. She wasn't alone in her mirth either. Anesin and Penny both wore sizable smirks. The latter lolled about on a sofa, clearly the lightweight of the group.
"Your voice fairly radiates enthusiasm, Onarr." She let her mischeivous smirk go after a moment, however, and schooled her features. "Tell me, what is it that I can help you with? Sadly, you are bound to two standard magics and four electives." She shrugged. "If I were making the rules around here, I'd change things but, sadly, that isn't the case." She crossed her legs. "You guys are my first cohort and all of the old greyhairs see me as little more than an upjumped tan-zeno, I'm afraid." She stifled a hiccup and focused for a moment, seizing upon a certain familiar set of chemical reactions taking place within her body and stifling them. "Apologies. I'm rather a bit chatty at the moment. Regardless, if you'd like some help choosing, then that's what I'm here for." She blinked and regarded the others. "The same offer applies to you ladies as well."
“I’m just rather…” Onarr struggled to get the words out. “…overwhelmed by my choices. I feel like I know what the most obvious paths for me to choose are but I can’t help but feel as though I’m trapped by this freedom. Back in the Joru Stresian Guild I used to focus singlehandedly on the sciences and the five magics.”
“I came to Ersand’Enise to know more than what I’ve learnt in the guild, but am I limiting my own choices by deliberately choosing subjects that I am most comfortable with or should I expand my horizons?,” Onarr paused before looking at Sienna directly. “What would you do if you were trying to be the best magician you could be?”
The Joruban’s voice had turned slightly sombre and the cone on his helmet tipped forward loosely. His hand wandered over to tighten the strap. Five years spent learning Stresian academics hadn’t helped his brother, no matter how many manuscripts and papers that he crawled through. Conjecture and meaningless theories hadn’t got him anywhere. Perhaps, looking in another avenue of direction would help.
Sienna nodded along as Onarr spoke, pausing pensively before replying. "More than anything else," she began, "I would choose subjects that interest me: whether they're new to me or familiar." Her brow furrowed for a moment and a tumbler and wineglass floated her way. "We don't learn out of obligation, Onarr. We don't learn out of duty." Her eyes took in all four of her apprentices for a moment. "Certainly, we can falsify it, I think. We can spit answers back onto a page to be graded or we can redirect some force into a stone to push it along, but you won't remember a word of what you 'learned' in a year, and you'll have plenty of opportunity to live for obligation and duty when you're older." She paused for a moment, and the shadow of something may have flickered across her features. "Don't choose the path that you feel you should walk; choose the one that excites you to walk." She had been swirling her wine around in the glass idly and now she took a rather extended drink of it. "If you don't wake up each morning with at least one thing that you look forward to ahead of you, then why are you waking up at all?" She shrugged and downed the rest, wiping her mouth with the back of her wrist in a most unladylike way. "Now, if there are any specific questions you have about courses, this is the time to ask."
Onarr considered the Zeno's words for a moment. She spoke true. Well, perhaps, the wine was addling her mind but at least, he knew that the Zeno wasn't lying. Duty and obligation. Were those his excuses right now? His worries sated for the moment, Onarr wordlessly took out a roll of parchment that contained his course selections and pushed it over towards her.
"I have no further enquiries, maám," Onarr's tone then became curious as he pointed towards the Zeno. "Might I enquire what was your favourite first-year course?"
Sienna threw her head back and let out a bark of laughter. It was loud enough that Penny jumped a bit. "Mine? Oh, that was a course they no longer offer." She turned pensive for a moment, and her eyes flicked over her three female students. The Zeno raised her wineglass almost to her lips and then scowled when she realized that it was empty. "Maybe I'll tell you about it sometime." She winked mischievously.
"Oh come on!" Penny blurted. "You're seriously just going to dangle it out there like that?"
"With the utmost seriousness," Sienna chirped. She went for another glass.
"Oh non non non!" Penny reprimanded. "Tu es ivre, grande soeur. Pose le verre à vin." She pursed her lips sternly. "Maintenant."
"Pssshhh," Sienna snorted. "Estoy más sobria que tú, flamenco."
Penny gasped. "Vous vous moquez de mon handicap?"
"Si," Sienna answered, positively malicious.
Penny was crestfallen. She turned to Linah. "Ella me está intimidando," she wailed. "¡Sálvame!" Then Anesin: "Hon mobbar mig. Rädda mig!" Finally, a bit less surely, to Onarr. "Ìkà ni obìnrin náà! Ikà pupọ!" Perhaps he may have noticed that she more or less butchered the pronunciation, but context was everything. "Qui pouvait être si cruel envers une pauvre fille unijambiste?" She fairly draped herself over the arm of her sofa: the very picture of melodramatic despair.
Sienna raised an eyebrow. "¿Es esto lo que estamos haciendo ahora: hablar nuestras lenguas maternas?"
Onarr was unsure of the languages being spoken. He could only make out bits and pieces of each language that was being spoken, and Penny's Joruban was akin to a cat being skinned alive.
"Ṣe eyi jẹ idanwo kan?" Onarr then paused, switching curiously to regard Sienna in Belzagg. "Dit is jammer dat hulle nie vir Joruban in Ersand'Enise aanbied nie. Ek sal aanbeveel dat Penny remediërende kursusse neem."
Penny blushed fiercely. "Traitre! Tu étais censé être de mon côté!" She swatted once, ineffectually, in Onarr's direction before giving up the struggle and flopping back down, deflated.
Sienna let out a full-throated laugh. "Or maybe he just knows who has the power here," she replied, before turning Onarr's way. "As to your question: most certainly not. I fear our melodramatic friend is right: I've simply had too much to drink." She paused for a moment, however. "That said, I suppose that it is a test, in a way. We shall spend two days of each week together for the next year: living, learning, and sleeping under the same roof. I imagine I wanted to gauge my Biros' comfort level and them see mine. Needless to say, you lot have passed."
True to Penny's advice, she laid off of the wine after that. A few more questions were asked and Penny, despite her... inebriated state, almost seemed to get the sense that the Zeno was politely probing. She barely made it up the stairs, fairly tore off her clothes, stuffed herself into her nightgown, and flopped into bed. "G'night, sisters," she mumbled, snuggling under her blankets. Tomorrow, classes. Tomorrow, father. Sleep claimed her within moments.
Lysandra is 32 years old. Her birthday is on October 5
| APPEARANCE |
The first (and often only) thing that people remember about Lysandra is her wheelchair. It's a simple, sturdy, lightweight manual chair and, as a paraplegic of four years, she uses it from dawn to dusk in order get around. Otherwise, she's a more or less baseline human: a fairly pretty Asian woman in her early thirties with tanned skin, dark hair and eyes, and a businesslike bearing. She is not and never has been much for dressing up and would rather dress for functionality and comfort. Layering is a rule to live by. It's easier to take something off than to put it on. To that end, her usual attire consists of a light t-shirt over a sports bra, jeans or leggings - the latter sometimes paired with jean shorts - and knee or thigh-high socks. Sometimes, she'll toss on some flats, but shoes are pretty irrelevant. Sturdy gloves - usually fingerless to allow her to work with touch screens - are more important, as they protect her hands from blisters. On colder days, She'll complete the outfit with a jacket. She has two and both have a striped patch in mint, seafoam green, and white sewn onto them: the flag of the settlement that she used to live in and where her brother still resides. Finally, though she rarely actually wears it as intended (because that'd be both inconvenient and goofy), is the supergirl medallion that she received from her mother as a girl. It's usually tucked into her bag or a jacket pocket as a kind of good luck charm. She tells herself that she doesn't believe in 'luck'; everything is probability. Yet, on the day when she broke her back, she didn't have it on her.
As a human, Lysandra doesn't require a mask, and this gives her one less thing to worry about, especially when she goes into the field. Of course, that doesn't happen often anymore. Much to her chagrin, the post-apocalypse isn't very wheelchair accessible. When fieldwork is necessary for research or intel, though, she brings along some sturdy cycling gloves, trades her handbag for a large backpack with seemingly endless pockets, and usually swaps out her indoor wheels for some with thicker, grippier treads, as well as larger front casters. In the past, she'd often wear motorcycle armour, hiking boots, and either athletic leggings or a baggy pocket-filled jumpsuit with elbow and knee pads. It was all about getting as deep into trouble spots as possible and quickness and durability were paramount. Nowadays, Lysandra usually forgoes anything that could hamper her already-limited mobility unless it clearly and directly helps her get more fieldwork done. Her primary goal is maximizing her returns on those brief outdoor sojourns and minimizing the physical liability that she represents. If enemies ever succeed in actually reaching her, she knows that the jig is pretty much up. Still, she's held onto her body armour, just in case. It's sturdy, lightweight, and can go under her jacket. She still has the knee pads too. Maybe she can't actually feel a knock to the knee, but it's also not like they'll hamper her movement. Besides, she kind of slips things in behind them. Why oh why do women not get usable pockets in most of their clothing!?
At her worst, Lysandra can come across as a 'bossy know-it-all science lady'. She can seem cutting, acerbic, and pushy. A lot of this, however, is just frustration and barely-suppressed insecurity. The significant gulf between what she knows needs to be done and what she can accomplish on her own is an open wound, regularly picked at by circumstance. The other major factor is simply that she is used to being the smartest person in the room and it grates upon her to entertain other people's stupid ideas when they could be making progress towards their (read: her) goals instead.
That said, she's a genuinely decent human being beneath it all. Lysandra is an absolute encyclopedia of both general and esoteric knowledge. She is a human calculator, a problem solver, has an amazing eye for detail, and is a natural-born storyteller. She is genuinely one of the most interesting people who you will ever talk to and, on her better days, her cutting wit, self-deprecating humor, and straight-faced delivery can have you - instead of her - rolling with laughter.
| BACKGROUND |
Lysandra's mother was an engineer. Her father was a biologist. Both were born before the Great Collapse and were not young parents (forty one and forty, respectively). Her childhood was full of diligent work and research. It was full of movement and stories while on the move. She learned about the world that was: the great open green fields and forests, the safe, cozy homes, and the shining universities: beacons of learning and opportunity. Most of all, however, she accrued skills: she studied the nature of living and unliving things with her father. She learned the wonders of robotics, sensors, computers, and mechanics from her mother. Instead of playing with Lego, she hand built her first drone when she was seven. The family settled in the mid-sized and fiercely independent outpost of Fresh Haven. Lysandra and her slightly older brother, Daniel, grew up and their parents aged, so they took on increasingly important roles as scouts, field researchers, and even soldiers. In particular, she was quick and stealthy: an excellent scout and climber, with a natural aptitude for surveying and understanding her surroundings, using them to her advantage.
For all of the world's dangers, her father fell prey to a flu in his 61st year. Daniel, who'd become more of a soldier than his sister, was gone for long periods of time and their mother increasingly withdrew into tinkering with her dwindling supplies. Lysandra, telling herself that her mother's work was valuable in more ways than one, began roving ever further afield in search of parts. She conducted her own research while out there. It was frightening, but challenging. In some ways, it was invigorating, and better than just sitting in some hole waiting to die. She begun to feel as if she could get to the bottom of how and why mistle worked, the role of the Sidhe, and how the Earth might be healed. She begun to feel as if she had some agency in her life. Further she went, scouting ahead with her drones, infrared sensors, and binoculars. She saw and found things that most humans couldn't. She knew a little bit of martial arts and learned more. She taught herself how to shoot. There were close calls - hairbreadth escapes from death - and tense moments. She hid out, she climbed, leapt, and scampered from one safe place to another, and then plunged back into the lab after days or weeks out in the world. Her parents' stories of the years before she was born had instilled in her a wariness towards revenants. Their kind had feasted on humans, once. The only thing needed for them to return to it and become Lost was a short period of time without consuming human blood.
Her mother was in ill health when Lysandra went out that day, but she tried to put aside her worries. At a steady jog, she made quick progress through the well-mapped regions near Fresh Haven, fists clenched around the straps of her backpack and breath wispy and white in the cool air. Perhaps she was preoccupied with thoughts of her family. Perhaps she was just careless, but she ran smack into a pack of Lost. She took one out of the fight with a well-aimed shot to the head, but then there was no option but to do what she did best: run, climb, and hide. She dropped her backpack and took off, through the labyrinth of a ruined city. After what seemed like forever, two more fell off the pace. This was a bad situation - worse than the usual 'bad situations' - but she had escaped many times before and would again. Thirst clawed at her parched throat but one final Lost - a monster of a man - stayed doggedly on her tail. Further up a crumbling building she went, leaping nimbly from sagging staircase to rotting floor to support beam, and he started to falter. The jump is still burned into her memory: over a gap in a staircase. It was the type that you dismiss in your head as a 'ninety percent chance I'll land it'. She'd made ones like it plenty of times before and she doubted her pursuer would be able to follow. She'd be safe. The thing is, if you roll the dice enough times, the odds will catch up to you eventually. The floor had looked solid on the other side but it wasn't. It gave way instantly and Lysandra can still recall with absolute clarity those two seconds where her stomach just folded in on itself in terror. Then she hit.
She was told that a handful of revenants who'd been surveying the area had heard her gunshots. As a gesture of goodwill, they'd rescued her and brought her back to Fresh Haven but, in the weeks and months following that fateful fall, as people kept telling her that she was a 'warrior' and would surely walk again, as she had to relearn how to do basically everything, and as her elderly mother cared for her as if she were still a child, Lysandra began to wish that they hadn't. Mother passed away eight months after the accident and, officially, the strain of having to care for her grown daughter hadn't been a contributing cause. Daniel stepped away from his duties temporarily and she moved into his unit with his family, but it wasn't much more accessible than hers. The entire settlement was built in what had once been a vertical farm crisscrossed with staircases, scaffolds, and prefab walls that had formerly comprised her playground but that now meant that she couldn't go much of anywhere without assistance. Wracked with guilt and regret, Lysandra threw herself into her engineering pursuits, sitting in front of a work table for hours each day, hammering away at her mother's machines, digging through the endless piles of scrap that she had accumulated on her sojourns, and constructing drones to map, guard, and scout, water filters to help grow food and provide drink, and devices to supplement her broken body and make her remaining family's lives easier.
Soon, Daniel could not afford any more time away from his duties and so her nephew, niece, and sister-in-law became her protectors. This, Lysandra could not permit any longer. As she had hoped, she'd rediscovered a sense of purpose - an imperfect one, for it still hurt so much to not be whole - but enough to push her forward once more. This place, however, was holding her back. She was holding her family back. The revenants had saved her. She had judged them too harshly, she decided, on the basis of childhood fears and stories from people who were no longer alive. She was, though, and saw little point to living for herself alone. There were vanishingly few people with skillsets like hers and, even if she couldn't conduct much of her own fieldwork anymore, her skills were valuable - key, even. With the sort of bold decisiveness that had defined much of her life and a new unsentimentality that she had developed more recently, she bid farewell to Fresh Haven and joined civilization proper. She has been here for three years since, in an uneasy sort of alliance that allows her to shed some of her grating dependency while saddling her with more of a different nature. This arrangement may yet allow her to reach her goals, however: an end which justifies any means.
| SKILLS / EQUIPMENT |
💡Bigbrain: Lysandra is just honest-to-goodness smart. She seems to regularly be a couple of (figurative) steps ahead of everybody else in most situations. She has a wealth of scientific and practical knowledge that can benefit her allies. 💡Mechanically Inclined: If there's a macguffin needed and anything that could possibly count as a tool, you can count on Lysandra to provide said macguffin, one way or another. She also creates numerous helpful devices, drones, and non-autonomous robots. 💡Tools of the Trade: The 'bossy know-it-all science lady' caries a backpack of wonders. It contains a first-aid kit, two-way radios, a multipurpose mask, dehydrated food, flashlights, thermal packs, wiring, glue, screwdrivers, pliers, and a dozen other travel-adapted, lightweight, well-machined tools that used to be her mother's. If you need something, chances are that she has it. She can also patch you up pretty well, though she definitely doesn't give much thought to pain management. 💡Crack Shot: Lysandra knows how to shoot - by God does she know how to shoot. She can usually calculate things like bullet drop, wind effects, and ricochet angle too. If forced out into the field, she carries one pistol in her bag (or on her lap if she finds herself in a hot zone), and a spare duct-taped to the underside of her wheelchair close to one of her wheels. She can pull it out or fire it unexpectedly with a quick sleight-of-hand when it looks like she's just reaching down to wheel herself. 💡Fledgling Hawkeye:Lys often carries a composite compound bow, which is quite compact and strapped to the back of her wheelchair. She's been working tirelessly (the only way that she knows) with Erik on archery and has equipped her arrows with all sorts of interesting payloads. In addition to good old-fashioned arrowheads, there are adhesive yields, high explosive, taser, smoke, sonic trap, hollow point, trackers, and barbed expanding heads. She generally carries two of each in her quiver. While Lysandra's nowhere close to Erik's elite level, she's respectable, helped along by her natural situational awareness, sense of aim, and fantastic upper-body strength. She is consistently able to hit a moving target or a small/faraway target, but not always as reliable if the target is both of those things. 💡Human Shopping Cart: It seems like a small thing but, as long as someone's willing to help push her, Lysandra can easily carry a couple hundred pounds worth of equipment, specimens, a bound and gagged prisoner, or even a lazy or injured ally. Revenants don't recover immediately, after all. 💡The Immortals: Four robotic helpers serve as Lysandra's agents both when she stays behind and in the uncommon instances when she goes into the field. They can operate either autonomously with limited AI capabilities (results may... vary when used this way) or be controlled one at a time via joystick and VR headset. She's working on a neural interface, but 'working on' is very much the operative term here. Loosely themed after the Four Immortals from Vietnamese legend, her agents are:
Mountain Man: A multilegged tumbling and walking robot with a flexible body about the size of a small cat, Mountain Man is able to traverse almost any terrain, slip into small spaces, climb, dig, swim, and perform basic scouting, rescue, delivery, and sample return operations. He has a taser, tranquilizer, and scissors too.
Marsh Sage: Primarily defensive in nature, Marsh Sage is a blindingly quick, maneuverable, and quiet coaxial quadcopter drone that can lay smokescreens, strobe blinding lights, and dispense nerve, mustard, and other poisonous gases. It is also quite handy for spying and scouting.
Iron Horse: A series of wheels on articulated arms, this is Lysandra's supplementary mobility aid and latches onto her wheelchair. It can propel her, hands-free, at high speeds, stabilize and protect her from recoil or being pushed against her will, clamp itself magnetically to metallic surfaces, and boost her over curbs or flights of one to three steps. It can also act as a bridge, platform, or supply carrier on its own.
Sky Princess: Lysandra's main offensive tool, Sky Princess is a large purple hexacopter drone that can lay down smokescreens, fire paralytic poison darts, release high-frequency sonic blasts that are extremely painful and induce headaches, dizziness, and nausea, and launch micro-rockets similar to the 'Whistling Birds' from Lucasfilm's The Mandalorian.
Unless they don't have to go far, she cannot bring all of these with her at once. For extended missions, the maximum is two or three if she doesn't take her bow. Only Mountain Man and Marsh Sage are small enough to be carried together comfortably on her person. Sky Princess can be swapped in solo or strapped to her wheelchair in place of her bow.
| LIMITATIONS AND WEAKNESSES |
👩🦽Headset: When directly piloting one of the Immortals or her other creations beyond her sightline, Lysandra wears a VR headset linked to the drone's on-board camera. This leaves her detached from her immediate surroundings and vulnerable to attack unless she is safely away from a hot zone (where she knows that she should stay) or has an ally to watch her back. 👩🦽No Signal: Much of her utility is linked to her Four Immortals or other remote-controlled minions. If they stray out of signal range (about 3 miles or 5 kilometers) or if their signal is jammed somehow and they're forced to operate autonomously, she is much less effective and - if she is brave/foolish enough to be in the thick of things - much more vulnerable. 👩🦽Limited Charge: While she carries extra battery packs and a solar panel charger, these can only do so much. Once her Immortals are out of power, they're deadweight until they can get more. The same goes for the offensive ones' ammunition. She has a few refills, but extended missions can be...challenging. 👩🦽Limited Ammo: Space in Lys' bags is at a premium, and she doesn't carry many bullets. The same goes for her arrows. They take up quite a bit of space and are valuable with their unique payloads. They are best used only situationally, from long range or at pivotal moments when they can have the largest impact. By no stretch of the imagination is she a front-liner. 👩🦽Obstinate: Lysandra is used to knowing better. She will often dig in and insist upon the rightness of her opinions and preferred courses of action. She tends to aggressively prioritize her projects and ideas unless yours align with them. 👩🦽Fragile: At the end of the day, for all of the tech that she carries, the 'bossy know-it-all science lady' is human. She is not as physically capable as revenants and sidhe, which is compounded even further by her disability. Lysandra is painfully reminded every time that she watches a revenant recover from either fatal or crippling wounds that she is unable to do so herself. She gets one body to play the game of life with. Whatever happens to it (including death) sticks. 👩🦽Paraplegic: As a paraplegic, Lysandra has no feeling or movement below her waistline. This has the following effects:
Limited Mobility: She needs to use a wheelchair for mobility and, even with its assistance, is severely limited in this regard compared to able-bodied people.
Terrain Dependent: While quite quick over flat ground and in open space, and with excellent stamina on flats or downhills, she is very terrain dependent.
Obstacle Course: Things that we would not even think to consider, such as sand, gravel, curbs, cobblestones, and warped or cracked pavement cause Lysandra significant difficulty.
Planning is Not Optional: Routes have to be carefully planned: shallow downhills maximized, extended or steep uphills and downhills minimized, and obstacles, rough terrain, and climbing avoided.
The Anti-Parkour: She is incapable of strafing to the side or jumping. The closest that she can manage to the latter is to pop a wheelie.
A Real Handful: While pushing herself, her hands are occupied, making her unable to move and shoot or move and pilot any of the Immortals.
Inflexible: She has a lower sightline than other people, takes up a larger footprint, and cannot squeeze through small spaces.
Temperature Control: As a paraplegic, regulating her body temperature can be a problem. When she gets hot, she gets very hot. When she gets cold, the problem can snowball.
Wheelchair Dependent: If somehow separated from her wheelchair, Lysandra isn't realistically going much of anywhere on her own.
| NOTES |
If humans get colour codes, hers is 7FFFD4.
Lysandra is, low key, a huge science fiction nerd, particularly with regards to Star Trek. She gets that from both of her parents. They had a flash drive with old recordings and she used to watch them as a kid. She has, with only slight self-consciousness, told people to 'Live long and prosper'. She also has a soft spot for comics, even though most of them are kind of low brow. She read them as a kid and those were happy times.
She appreciates some good Pho. Seriously, ethnic foods are a dying thing. She's trying to learn how to cook, but... revenants don't really need human food all that much.
She strongly dislikes having to give her blood up for revenants. For pragmatic reasons, she'll do it, but it's just a reminder of her (and other humans') helplessness compared to them and it rankles. She sees it for what it is: an increasingly unsustainable practice.
Lysandra's had romance in her life before. She had a couple of boyfriends, years ago in Fresh Haven, but they bored her before long. One, in particular, wanted to settle down, but she has always made it clear that she does not want to have children. Not only would it take time away from her responsibilities as a researcher, she worries that she'd be unable to properly care for them and that bringing a child into a world like this, just to live in constant fear and be food for others, would be grossly irresponsible. She tells herself that she doesn't like children anyways: they're loud, disruptive, and annoying. She'd be lying, though. Secretly, she's a big kid at heart. That was half the reason she used to go gallivanting around the ruined cities, running, jumping, and climbing.
She loves the animals that nobody else does... except for frogs. She cut far too many of those open as a girl in the name of science to not be unnerved by them now.
Because of her immense inner nerd, Lys would love to function on 'rule of cool' when it comes to making her various gadgets, but practicality trumps pipe dreams given the sort of world that she lives in and what she believes is the difference that she can make.
Four years on from her accident, Lysandra has more or less adjusted to her altered reality and reached an understanding of what her abilities and limitations are. However, twenty-eight years of life experience before then have hardwired into her an approach of bold, independent action, a boundless curiosity best satiated firsthand, and the self-image of someone who can handle herself and get out of tough scrapes. Rationally, she knows that much of that is no longer practical, but hanging back, being cautious, and letting others do the work still causes occasional moments of dissonance.
R E D W O O D
| AGE |
Appears about thirty
| APPEARANCE |
Redwood's name is a child of his appearance. The first thing that people notice about him is his exceptional height. Very tall and fairly slender, though solid enough, he towers over other people and... well, low ceilings and hanging light fixtures are the bane of his existence while indoors. His skin is dark and somewhat leathery, making him look older than he is, and his hair is dark and curly. If people had to ascribe a human race to him, they'd call him Black. Finally, come his tendrils. Six of them sprout from his upper back, shoulders, and flanks (just below his arms) and it almost feels like a misnomer to describe them as tendrils, since they are unusually thick and strong. Despite his intimidating size, there is a gentleness of appearance and manner to Redwood. His eyes are large, dark, and keen: always watching, sometimes almost unsettlingly but never threateningly. He has a long face with a strong jaw, but fairly soft features. He most often wears either a gentle smile or a slight, determined scowl, but most of his expressions seem somewhat muted.
In terms of clothing, he wears what used to be basketball shoes, since they're the only ones he's found that'll fit his abnormally large feet. They've been patched, strengthened, and modified so much that they're scarcely recognizable anymore. He wears loose deep green shorts over black leggings that only make it about 2/3 of the way down his shins. His upperwear has been modified with holes for his tendrils. It consists of a green Timberland t-shirt with the logo in the center of his chest. Unusually, the t-shirt actually fits him. The ensemble is completed by the pair of black fingerless cycling gloves that he wears, with tough plastic guards over the knuckles. On colder days, he swaps the shorts for jeans and supplements the t-shirt with a brown leather bomber jacket.
In general, Redwood doesn't see much need to dress all that differently whether he's in combat or out of it, though he sometimes wears a motorcycle vest, along with elbow and knee pads in the former. His mask is a simple, practical thing: mostly brown leather and a pair of hoses leading to a backpack with an air canister and a few other useful items (like a first aid kit, multi-tool, and a knife) inside.
Tendrils: He has six of them and, as mentioned earlier, they are unusually thick and strong, perhaps as a side effect off Redwood's size. At a slow rate, they produce a sticky sap that can inhibit the movement of enemies if well-placed, adhere things to walls, and temporarily seal wounds and prevent blood loss. He uses them for a variety of purposes, their long reach and adhesive sap allowing him to control, impede, and delay enemies when in combat, setting them up for teammates or his own weapons. Enough of his natural adhesive will allow equipment and allies to hang from walls or ceilings, but he does not produce it very quickly and he is too heavy to make use off this ability himself in any case. Redwood also has some medical training and pairs this with his gift to provide emergency care when necessary. When not being used, he often wraps his tendrils around his midsection and over his shoulders.
| BACKGROUND |
Redwood's history is largely a mystery and you get the sense that either he would like it to stay that way or perhaps he does not remember it clearly himself. He has mentioned having associated with a small, independent human colony in the past, though he hasn't spoken of why he is no longer there. In general, one gets a sense of goodness and kindness from this sidhe, but purposeful distance, almost as if he fears attachment. The intensity with which he approaches the Lost certainly seems to stand in contrast to his generally laid-back nature.
| SKILLS / EQUIPMENT |
🙖 Specialized Combat: Redwood is quite skilled in mid-range combat, often using his tendrils like an extra set of longer limbs to hold enemies off, strike at them, catch allies, help push off for mighty jumps, and anchor himself against recoil and pushback. 🙖 Skewers: When in combat, Redwood wears sharp steel skewers on the tips of four of his tendrils. These can cut reasonably well, but are specialized in stabbing and pinning. Generally, it takes at least two of them to really hinder and enemy, and all four to definitively hold one down. That sets him up to deliver the coup de grace with... 🙖 Fat Mac: his trusty .950 cal rifle. Cumbersome, deafening, and dangerous, this colossal weapon can deliver a blast capable of piercing walls, concrete or cinder blocks, and vehicles. What it'll do to flesh and blood is... grisly. Lost might be immortal, but they'll be... out of action for a while after eating a round from this monster. 🙖 First Aid: It's almost obligatory for sidhe to be healers, and Redwood is no exception. He carries a kit in his backpack and can deal with all sorts of minor to moderate illnesses and injuries. He can also seal and staunch wounds with his sap. 🙖 Kinder Surprise: These are fragile ceramic vessels that look like large eggs and are kept in a padded container within a side pocket of his backpack. In fact, they are filled with Redwood's sticky sap (collected over an extended period of time) and have a very low-yield contact explosive inside. When they land, they shatter and spray their contents over a roughly two-to-three meter radius. 🙖 Intimidation: It might not be much good against the Lost, but Redwood's towering height and powerful tendrils can definitely lend him an intimidating air when he wants to cow uncooperative types. Generally, he is loath to use this, but if it saves him or his allies a fight, then he will.
| LIMITATIONS AND WEAKNESSES |
🙓 Saviour Complex: Redwood will often try to take on too much at once, put himself in danger, or step in to handle things that other people have under control out of misplaced concern. One gets the sense that he is used to being the protector of those much weaker than him as opposed to a member of a legitimate team, and he may need to be reined in. 🙓 Limited Stamina: When going all out, the big guy tires pretty quickly. He is best saved for an opening salvo, critical moments, and a big finishing move, and will almost always need a rest to recuperate if he overexerts himself. Of course, due to his saviour complex, he will rarely be open about this and it usually needs to be inferred. 🙓 Precious Ammo: It takes quite a while to replenish his Kinder Surprises when he uses them, so he can sometimes be a bit stingy with those. Similarly, ammunition for Fat Mac is heavy, so he doesn't carry too much at any given time. It's also hard to come by, so he tends to use it sparingly. 🙓 Boy Scout: While he can be ferocious in combat against the Lost, he tends to really hold back against other enemies. 🙓 Pollution: When exposed to it for extended periods or inn high dosage, this can prove lethal to him. There aren't many places where Redwood can safely remove his mask.
| NOTES |
I'd love to include some better reference and thematic pics, but it hasn't been easy finding any.
In terms of his combat role, I view him as fairly versatile. To use gaming terminology, he's mostly mid-range crowd control, with some healing and one big occasional nuke. It's tempting to view him as a tank, and he's reasonably tough, but doing so in all but the most desperate of situations would be a mistake.
H E M L O C K
| AGE |
Appears to be in her late teens or early twenties
| APPEARANCE |
If your name is Hemlock, you're obviously going to have an aesthetic that fits. This strangest of sidhe looks like nothing so much as an edgy college student in a hoodie and black nail polish. Despite appearances, she doesn't actually have any tattoos. They're drawn on with marker and regularly replaced or embellished. However, beneath the persona, Hemlock isn't really all that special: just a lanky, dark-haired, and vaguely pretty young woman with an aversion to letting anyone see her smile. She carries a faint musty odor everywhere she goes, as if death follows her. Indeed, those who have spent extended time around her without a mask have often fallen ill, almost as if some of her toxicity somehow leaks out.
Stylistically, she leans goth or punk. Occasionally, it's the latter, but generally trends more Edgar Allen Poe or just generally grim. At their nadir, her sartorial efforts bottom out in the form of a loose dark hoodie and cargo pants with a studded belt and (maybe) wristbands. However, she can usually be counted on to put some effort in. Her mask, when she's outside, is themed after a plague doctor's and her clothing is often self-modified. On the surface, it looks like typical goth gear or rocker girl shtick, but there's motorcyclist protective gear underneath, emergency supplies tucked into hidden pockets, and lots and lots of knives, because she's nothing without that cutting edge. When she's not actively doing things, Hemlock wears a simple gas mask (pictured above), designed to cover the lower half of her face. She mostly just doesn't want to mess with her grimdark image by letting you see her smile. That's not 'on message'. The truth is that Hemlock is deeply self-conscious and disaffected about her spores' very strong tendency toward the toxic and dangerous as opposed to useful and healing like most of her species.
A sidhe whose breath seems to almost exclusively produce spores of violently toxic and poisonous plants such as yew, nightshade, and water hemlock and whose gift is camouflage, Hemlock is not at all comfortable with herself and her role, so she puts on a mask every morning and plays a character instead. She feels as if she should heal the land, but instead, her gifts lend themselves to death. In combat, as one would expect, she is a stealthy killer in the mold of your stereotypical assassin.
In attempting to embrace what nature has given her, she has become rather sadistic towards enemies, though it still doesn't come one hundred percent naturally and she's, in turns, glad of it and annoyed. Hemlock is edgy in what usually appears to be a self-aware manner, though she can often cross over into cringe territory. Most of all, however, she's just unhappy with the hand she was dealt as an atypical member of her species, and makes a big show of irreverence and 'not giving a shit™'. She genuinely doesn't understand what the reason for her existence and 'misfit' gifts might be.
| CAMOUFLAGE |
Hemlock's ability hasn't manifested itself as a growth. Instead, she has the gift of camouflage and is quite good with it, easily able to creep up on opponents and especially effective in the dark, because darkness is the colour of her soul.
| BACKGROUND |
Hemlock likes to be all brooding and mysterious about this and hint at something dark and monstrous in her origin story. The truth is that there just ain't much to tell. The way in which sidhe age (or don't) is the real mystery, and she's actually both very young and rather old at the same time. She's just always dealt with dissonance, for as long as she can remember: a supposed healer who's only really good at killing. There was a human settlement that she used to associate with, and she remembers watching a lot of late 1990s and early 2000s movies from an old flash drive there. Much enamoured with the dark, brooding antiheroes and brash, punkish hacker types that she saw on the screen but equally aware of the laughter and eyerolls that they regularly received, she adopted her present persona - Edgequeen evolved: cleverly self-memeing - upon arriving a few months ago at her current location. Secretly, she wants to be a hero. She gets songs stuck in her head and imagines her own soundtracks and battle scenes. In them, she's unironically awesome, just like Lobo, and Venom, and Elektra, and Wolverine.
| SKILLS / EQUIPMENT |
Tortured Artistic Soul: Hemlock is quite the artist. Her preferred media are spray paint, markers, and carving tools, but she has a natural aesthetic sense and good technique. She can use this not only for purely creative production, but also to camouflage, confuse, and create decoys.
Cutting Edge: lots of knives, including sharp ones, jagged ones, long ones, short ones, throwing ones, and... you get the picture. She has knives that pop out from the tips and heels of her boots at the press of a toe. Sometimes, they pop out by accident and she nearly trips on them, but Hemlock turns it into a roll, because rolls are almost as cool as unnecessary spins during a firefight on Tatooine.
Student of the Blade: While you were partying, Hemlock studied the blade. To this end, she often carries twin katanas, because they give her a bit more range and can lop off a head in a single swipe. That's not only effective in combat, it's a damned cool visual.
ToxXxic: Every blade that she has is coated in deadly poison that will stop your respiration, kill your nerves, clot your bloodstream, or induce any number of painful potential deaths.
Leveled Agility: Hemlock is almost preternaturally agile. Lithe and graceful, she is very difficult to hit accurately, and that's when she isn't camouflaged. She can close or open distance with sudden speed, slip or contort through small spaces, and... *teleports behind you* "Nothing personal, kid."
| LIMITATIONS AND WEAKNESSES |
Style Over Substance: Hemlock kind of lives and (hopefully not) dies by the 'rule of cool'. She isn't as strictly effective or dialed in as she should be. Whether it's a dramatic pose after a kill, the need to call out the names of her 'attacks', an unnecessary flourish, flip, or spin, or a complete refusal to use guns because they're 'dishonourable', she is honestly, hinderingly flaky. You're never quite sure if she's laughing at herself, inviting you to laugh, or actually completely unironic. The only thing that's certain is that she'd be much more effective if she was just... normal.
Garbage Healer: She's a sidhe, but you'd be foolish to rely on Hemlock for any sort of healing or nourishment. Doing so will not only result in some snarky comment and zero actual benefit, it will also send her into the first stages of an existential crisis played out in the space beneath her persona.
Waif: Hemlock isn't winning any contests of strength or durability. It can be almighty frustrating to lay a finger on her, but once you do, she's out of the fight.
Crippling Insecurity: For all of her bluster, Hemlock is young, different, and unsure. She makes errors in judgement, she doubts herself, and she's sensitive beneath the facade that she wears. She wants you to like her and think that she's cool and useful but, confoundingly, she's kind of unable or unwilling to recognize, accept, and value genuine praise and regard. Sadly, that may be most of her reason for trying to save the world. She has to prove something to herself and to everyone else out there, but she doesn't really believe that she can.
The Fumes - They Burn!: When exposed to it for extended periods or in high dosage, this can prove lethal to her. There aren't many places where Hemlock can safely remove her mask.
| NOTES |
There really could only ever be one theme song for her.
Hello, friends, it is I: Shune-Zept, along with my partner, Ahn-Shune… Ahem… well, maybe not. Her nose is buried in another book, because learning is important, (and she’s very antisocial) so I guess it’s just me today. Now, my grouchy friend, Dami, who you guys have honestly done an amazing job praying to - he’s super flattered and not a little full of himself these days - would probably disagree with me here. He’d probably say something about the ‘need to make informed decisions, yada yada yada’.
I think that’s pretty important too, buuuuut, well… you can’t learn very well if you’re bored to death, now can you? Yup, that was a rhetorical question. Don’t answer it. You agree with me or um… I’m a God. Do you really wanna disagree with a God? Anyhow, the point I’ve been working my way towards is that I’m going to hit life’s fast forward button for you guys. Uh… right, you don’t know what a fast forward button is, do you? We’re still in the early modern period. Darn it…
Such an exciting time, though: The first real scientific understandings, all the exploration, and the run-up to that big ol’ industrial revolution! Oh, right, yes. That’s if you guys manage to save the timestream and we uh… don’t have to hit the reset button again. Please just come through?
Anyhow, I digress. You guys are headed for hours of boring speeches and a mass in a cathedral that you’ll all just spend gossiping in the back pews, complaining about religion, and getting up to shenanigans. The ingratitude! Anyways, yeah. I’ve already seen it and I’m going to skip all of that for you. See? Religion is cool… Yeah, and I’m obviously your favourite deity, right? (Again, rhetorical. Don’t answer… unless you’re agreeing with me). Honestly, if you’re looking to uh… ‘worship’ me, then the best thing that you can do is go out there and learn: become better people. Improve yourselves, have new encounters and experiences, seek out new places and methods, experiment! Don’t sit there in some stuffy old lecture hall or cathedral, even if it is really pretty. Maybe just listen to the pipe organ. It’s a pretty awesome instrument. Whew! The power!
I could go on all day about the science behind it, but anyways, I’m hitting that button now. It’s evening. You’re sitting down for dinner with your Zenos and your fellow apprentices. Some of you have made your minds up about courses, others are still looking to make a decision. You might wanna ask your Zenos in that case and, if you’re really stuck, I guess you could send a little prayer - you could almost call it a ‘direct message’ - to me and old grumpypants Dami. He’s good with advice and Ahn and I here know all of the things. Once you’ve gotten through that, feel free to conk out for the night. You’ll wake up bright and early in the morning for your first day of classes at Ersand’Enise!
Chapter 3B: Decisions, Decisions (Part Two)
Zeno Hamir Zemana's Group
Four young people sat around Hamir Zemana's table, in various states of exhaustion, fulfillment, boredom, and excitement. Dinner would normally have been a smaller affair on such a busy day, but this was only their second day together and he'd always believed that first impressions were important. He looked at these young people, so full of promise and potential, but he'd also noticed that a couple carried skeletons with them, already at their young ages. These, they hid well, but his practiced eye had noticed nonetheless.
Dinner had been a later affair than usual. He hadn't skimped in the slightest except on portion size, for the buffet lunch had already done much to fill them and the intervening hours of sedentary listening, little to empty them. The teens were all sitting around the table with full stomachs, or so it seemed, at least, and the final rays of sun were presently painting the windows orange, fuchsia, and gold. Hamir dabbed at the corners of his mouth and leaned back. Thinking better of it after a moment, he sat up straight. "So," he inquired, "What shall we do with our evening?" Does anybody have questions they'd like to ask? Concerns they'd like to mention? Stories they'd like to tell?" He glanced around at the young faces. "I'm not certain about you but, for myself, it is far too early to join Vashdal in sleep."
Zeno Zander Mozaru's Group
Something was off about Zeno Mozaru. Granted, Marlijn did not know him particularly well yet, but he was on edge. His smile, which had seemed to hold real warmth - if a rather stern variety - this morning, did not reach his eyes. As Megga bustled about the dining room, clearing plates and accepting thanks - Marlijn remembered to give hers - he had established a rule. It was getting dark and he had used a simple arcane spell to light the house's lanterns. The flames licked and spat, oily behind their glass shields as the final rays of light disappeared from the sky outdoors. He had handed each of his apprentices a candle to hold. When they wished to address him in an official capacity, they would have to light theirs using magic. Each night, the candles would be placed in a rack near the top of the stairs, for what purpose, they did not yet know, though he had assured them that it was part of their education and that they would understand in time.
Presently, he was asking the four youths about their days. Marlijn was the first to speak. Reaching out with the Gift, she pulled some heat from the hearth, gathered it inside of her, tightened it up and touched the wick of her candle. A tiny flame glowed and grew and she removed her finger before she could burn it. "I had a pleasant enough time, I suppose," she began, "though that single tour was not nearly enough to acquaint me with campus. I think I shall get lost at least a handful of times over the next week." She paused, placing a fingertip against her bottom lip pensively. "I suppose I saw Owain - my brother." She glanced about at her housemates. Selio seemed pleasant enough, but she was uncertain about the others, especially Yimu, who'd been nothing if not brusque with her. "I fairly stuffed my face with Greenlander food, and I chose my courses." She set the candle carefully on the table in front of her and began ticking points off on her fingers. "Arcane and Kinetic for my magics, music from the arts stream, and I was going to take needlework, but such things always turn into very gossipy affairs and I've no interest in that, so I've decided on drama instead." She smirked. "Yes, I am fully aware of the irony. Anyhow, I've rounded things out with camp and the agriculture and animals course with the very long name. I confess to being more than a bit nervous about tomorrow." She smiled shyly. "Though I remain excited as well." With that, she blew out her candle, as she'd been instructed.
Zeno Fades-in-Moonlight's Group
It was nearly 5:00 Rezain when the lock on the door had rattled and Fades-in-Moonlight had popped her head inside. Without yesterday's ceremonial makeup, she looked an entirely different person and Jomurr had nearly hit her with a kinetic shove before realizing his mistake and quietly dissipating the energy that he'd gathered. He was, in fact, rather grateful for his deep complexion in moments like those.
Now, she was home, exhausted and bedraggled. Jomurr had expected to see her dragging that ungrateful little brat - Anna - by the ear behind her, yet the girl was nowhere to be seen. "Good evening, Zeno," he greeted her. "I was... most concerned by your absence."
She raised an eyebrow, brushing past him, the tassels and beads on her clothes swaying. "Oh, and how about Anna's?"
"It would be... dishonest of me to characterize my feeling as 'concern'." He scowled. "But I do hope she hasn't come to any harm." It was a half-truth. Much as she was vile in his eyes, she was also little more than a harmless insect - a pest and more worthy of his pity and mercy than his hatred.
"Heh, honest of you, at least." She half-twisted to face Leon and Carmillia. "How 'bout you, chuckles? Holding up alright?" She shook her head. "What a day. By the Aspects, what a day." She smiled tiredly. "But you guys have to famished." The Nashibansek pulled herself up a bit and looked them each in the eyes. "I've been a really shitty Zeno so far, so I'm hoping we can turn the page. How about you follow me outside?"
Jomurr did not follow. He led but, as he swung open the double doors, Zeno Moonlight was only a step or two behind and there was a phenomenal buildup of energy. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Then, two things happened that didn't make any sense. First, he reached out for energies, looking to sense what she had drawn so much from, but could find nothing of any significance disturbed. Then, she... flickered, was the only way that he could describe it. For a second or two, the Zeno became... semi-corporeal, ghostlike even. Then, she winked out of existence. He cast about for the telltale energies of illusory magic, but there were none. He had opened his mouth and was about to address the others, who he could sense shared his wonder, but then she returned as if she'd never left.
The entire backyard lit up like a bubble of perfect daylight. The coal barbecue pit smoldered. Fresh rabbit, corn, and a cauldron of butternut squash soup whisked through the air. The rabbit skewered itself, as did the corn. The spit began turning.
For once, Jomurr Ikon the Third lost his composure. "W-where!?" He stammered. "How?" He didn't bother to hide his surprise. "Where did all of that energy come from? How are you maintaining it?"
Luna grinned and there might even have been some happiness to it. "There's a lot you guys don't know about me, and this school, and a lot of things in general." She sighed and flicked some hair out of her face. "I'm your master; you're my apprentices, so I'm gonna teach you." She materialized three stools seemingly from thin air for them to sit on. "Food's cooking, we're sitting, I'm an open book - damn the rules - one hundred percent." She regarded them earnestly. "But to answer your question, Jomurr, what you just saw was Dark Magic."
Zeno Sienna Afraval's Group
"You've all made quite the impression, Sienna Afraval chirped, bustling through the door. They had eaten in a tavern for dinner, as Serrio was busy for the night preparing for his daughter's wedding and she had not begrudged him something of that import. Instead, she'd sent a substantial gift and would be in attendance on the morrow. "Linah, Penny, and Anesin, I heard you three were chattering away all lunch - the life of the party." She hung her cloak on a peg and, with a somewhat grand gesture, brought all of the townhome's lanterns to light. "And Onarr," she continued, "a little birdie told me that you dined with President Yibozo himself. How does it feel to hobnob with the movers and shakers?" she teased.
It was long since dark. The food had been good, if a bit common, a rather well-known jester had been in attendance, and then a lively musical troupe all of the way from Kerremand had been playing. They'd known everything from Eskandish folk songs to Revidian chamber. The alcohol had flowed - in limited amounts for her charges - and the hours of Eshiran had slipped into those of Dami as people sang and danced and drank. She'd had to cut Penny off and cast a simple Chemical spell to... reverse some of her inebriation, and she'd sensed a homesickness in Anesin, so had paid the troupe to perform a rather too bawdy rendition of The Jarl's Lucky Son. But now they were home. She led them into the sitting room and placed herself on a sofa, body language just on the right side of ladylike. "So, I hope you had a lovely day. I wanted you to enjoy yourselves for, tomorrow, the real work begins, and when I see you next week, I expect I shall see you at your best and work you hard." She cleared her throat for a moment. She'd belted out the lyrics to a couple of old Torragonese trail cantos a bit too enthusiastically. "But that brings me to your course selections. Before we retire for the night, I'd like to inquire after those. How have they gone? Have you any questions in mind, now would be the time to pose them."
When Onarr arrived at the fountain, it would've been hard for him to miss that there were a great many people near to it and he was not quite certain of who his contact would be. No sooner had he started scanning the likely candidates, than a pretty girl of East Severan extraction, who he'd taken for a student, skipped up to him. "Onarr?" she enquired, face eager and voice chipper. "Is that you?"
Onarr's helmet bobbed up as he swerved around, looking for the source of the noise, until he found a pair of thin legs. He then looked up and then, jumped with a stammer. "Oh! I didn't quite notice you there. Yes, Onarr Yidlob at your service." He then tilted his head curiously. Not many people knew of his name. Perhaps, she read one of his manuscripts? He stuck out his hand to shake hers. "I'm sorry if we met before but by perchance, what would your name be?"
"Minnah," she replied, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. Presently, she shook his hand. "Minnah Jangaro. And no," she continued, with a hint of a giggle, "we have not - perchance - met before, though it is a pleasure to meet you." Her smile seemed to turn professional, then. "We do, however, share an acquaintance, and he's so very eager to speak with you." Minnah was perhaps a bit older than she had initially looked, Onarr may have noticed. Her hair was pulled back in afro-puffs and there was a sort of bounce to her every step. "If you would be so kind as to follow me?" she offered, letting the last past of the sentence dangle.
Onarr quickly figured out that Minnah was his contact and was led, with surprisingly little decorum, to a waiting rickshaw, which whisked him away to a small townhome which flew the flag of his country. From inside came the unmistakable aroma of hearty Joruban cuisine. Inside was President Yibozo. After a friendly and not especially formal greeting, he led Onarr to a small, private dining room, where the meal was presently being laid out on the table. A cook hustled over from the kitchen with the final dish, but the president rose to take it from her. "You've done quite enough, Hope. Let me take that for you," he offered.
"Thank you, sir."
He waved mock-dismissively. "No need to thank. You're the chef! Now go," he added, "shoo! Go eat the rest in the big room and let me conspire with this young man, hmm?" He winked in Onarr's direction and Hope scampered off to do exactly that with the other staff. "Now, let's eat. I'll fill your head full of unwanted politics once we're both on full stomachs, eh?"
It was little but the most perfunctory of smalltalk. The president was a polite eater, but a quick one. He did not react when Onarr removed his helmet. At one point, seeing the boy's appreciation of a dish, he leaned in and chuckled. "I shelled out good money for that. Glad to see it's appreciated. Eat every bite or Bwan Somiji's* gonna getcha, huh?" He proceeded to cut another slice of his meat pie and return to eating it.
When they were finished, their conversation started remarkably straightforwardly. Atundo Yibozo confided that he had been trying to arrange meetings with all of the Joruban Biros at the school. They would soon be influential people and it was important for him to get to know them on a person-to-person basis, just as it was meaningful to show them that their country would have their backs. If things came down to it, the president expressed a similar desire that they should stand up for their country and its interests and achievements. Joru was an experiment: a beacon to the rest of the world of what was possible without a class system, but it required its citizens to buy in and to be vigilant in order for it to succeed. He spoke of the tension and his desire to do anything within his power to avoid a war. He had been a soldier, once, after all, and then a revolutionary, and the Joruban people - and all people, truly - had bled more than enough for the interests of the selfish and powerful.
But he was making a move, in two days. He expected there to be some fallout. Already, he confided, with a startling casualness, there had been an attempt on his life at the plaza yesterday evening. Perhaps Onarr remembered something strange and unplaceable? In any event, the president claimed that he had put security measures in place, that he hoped he could rely on the 'Vigilant eyes of the Joruban youth of this city' and that he hoped to 'go traveling soon with a friend of mine'. Leaving the youth to digest that information, he hired another rickshaw and, after he and Onarr exchanged a handshake, he stood in the open doorway, thumbs hooked into his pockets, before turning and closing the door behind himself.
*Bwan Somiji goes by a number of related names but, in all cases, is a monster from East Severan folk tradition. He is depicted as a tall, gangling man with sharp teeth, a huge mouth, and pale greyish-white skin. He was once a banker, big and fat, with healhty-coloured skin, but his greed led him to call in his loans early and he snatched the new year's feast right off the plate of a Rezaindian Nun. She begged Ahn-Eshiran to curse him, but there was no response. Five times in total, this happened, to five different acolytes of Eshiran, while he himself was often wasteful of food. Thus, the god was finally moved to act, placing a blood magic spell on him that would destroy any food that Bwan Somiji ate after it had only lasted five seconds in his stomach. She also gave him eternal life by declining to ever bless him with the release of death, so that his suffering might serve as an example to others. He wanders the countryside now, attacking and eating children who refuse to eat good food in a fit of jealousy.
Jomurr tries to flex and Linah and Penny are not impressed.
The girls seize upon Anesin's observation about her Registry form and figure out that it's invisible ink. They use heat to reveal a hidden message.
At the bottom of the form is written: "Foundations in Drawing, Converting, and Casting in the Blood School of Magic (MF107) - registration will not count towards a student's course limit."
Eun-Ji, given a mission to get tot he bottom of the strange happenings at the school, snoops very subtly, but is noticed by her fellow illusionist, Penny.
Penny and Eun-Ji feel each other out. It isn't hostile, but they realize that they are not on the same side. Eun-Ji's wariness about Blood Magic and Penny's paranoia prevent that.
Linah and Penny reconvene and consolidate what they know, and Penny considers signing up for the clandestine course
Luncheons such as this were an exercise in chaos, Jomurr had decided: all manner of...human beings (he could not spot a yasoi) gathered into a single room. The stench of overbearing perfumes and body odor was almost overwhelming. He was forced to line up like a common beggar and prepare his own plate. This morning had been a most diverting exercise in novelty, but he found himself rather finished with such diversions now. To add insult to injury, his food was...limp and lukewarm at best by the time he'd gotten it. In particular, the Torragonese tarts were at... less than their best. At least the beef stew was acceptable, even if it wasn't exactly fine cuisine. The less said on the Joruban Monkfish, the better. Such a delicious base, but those damned Jorubans always burnt the bloody thing to cinders. Monkfish Sushi was a far superior dish.
Eventually, however, Jomurr was forced to sit amongst the rabble. There was a boy who looked little better than a street urchin who'd disappeared almost immediately, a rather plain Torragonese girl, her Perrench companion who slouched in her seat, hair a birds' nest, as well as a Rettanese whose bedraggled appearance indicated an utter disinterest in personal hygiene. However, not all of them were so awful, he supposed. There were a couple of pretty Eskandish noblewomen (one with striking white hair), Carmillia, and Zemana's four: the taciturn Kerreman, the two Rettanese girls, one of whom was so small and sweet that he simply could not bring himself to dislike her, and the quiet Paggonian. Conspicuously absent, of course, was Solaire, who'd gone gallivanting off for whatever reason Jomurr assumed tickled his fancy, as well as the urchin and the Joruban midget in the towering bascinet helm.
The Belzaggicman delivered a polite greeting and took his seat close to some of the better-heeled types, including a dusty Torragonese lordling and one of the Eskandishwomen, but he left an empty seat to one side - all the better to stretch out a little bit. "Lovely luncheon," he commented, the sarcasm in his tone so subtle that only the most practiced ear could've possibly picked it out. "but what I'm on about is this courses registry. Will anybody else be taking Atomic?"
Linah glanced at the snotty noble seated within hearing range, but didn't grant him beyond a second's worth of attention. His dismissive tone when speaking about the food, his blatant pickiness, and the attempt to immediately make the conversation about his oh-so-powerful self indicated the type of person she'd prefer not to get involved with.
Unlike her roommate, Penny could not quite exercise the restraint needed to ignore Jomurr's words. The Belzaggic high lord was a prat: typical of the sorts of upper nobles who her father often dealt with. 'Lovely luncheon' she thought, suppressing a snort and easily able to recognize the hint of condescension in his tone. "Hmm, I suppose I could," she replied on the topic of Atomic Magic, the teasing and assertion of strength in her tone so subtle that only the most practiced ear could've possibly picked it out. "To be perfectly honest, I've not yet decided on a secondary magic." She'd wanted to say more - to embarrass his little attempt at braggery - but she counseled herself behave. She was not at home and she was not Penelope of Perrence. She was Penny Pellegrin.
Linah turned towards Penny, the action also conveniently hiding the grin she directed towards the other girl from Jomurr. "Gutsy," she whispered, "but then, I already knew as much." There was an appreciative spark as one of her suspicions was confirmed; Penny was undoubtedly magically powerful. It could have been a bluff on her part, to be sure, but it was likelier to be true. When surrounded by the magically capable, one's confidence had to have genuine skill to back it up if one wished to emerge victorious upon being inevitably challenged. The thought of Penny being able to overpower that braggart was a sweet one. Not as sweet as thinking of ways to overcome the boy herself, of course, but Linah knew that in raw magical capacity, she'd never be his match. However, if she had her mark right, he'd be most indignant being overcome by guile and trickery.
Penny hid her smirk and leaned back in to whisper, as Jomurr had proceeded to make the stern-looking Kerreman whose name she could not quite remember his next target. "Sometimes I can't resist my better nature," she replied, but then she noticed Anesin rubbing at something on her registry paper. The Perrenchwoman's thoughts returned to the awkward glances the two had shared a couple of minutes earlier, as Penny had noticed something similar on her own form. Anesin said as much: "It appears someone has written on mine. I do hope they do not assume I wrote on this.” The Eskandishwoman looked to Linah, then to Penny. A frown crossing her face. "It seems careless.”
Penny lowered her voice somewhat and held out her own paper. "Mine has the same markings," she replied, glancing at Anesin and then at Linah. "I thought it rather queer." She addressed the latter. "Does yours?" At that, her eyes flicked about the table, wondering who else's might've contained what was increasingly looking like some sort of secret message or code.
Linah had to take a moment to redirect the vindictive streak her thoughts had given way to. Cocking her head to the side, she said, "No...not at all. But the same message for two - or more people?" she questioned quietly. That particular list of ingredients sparked familiarity, but she had to sort through some of her memories before she recognized the significance. "Ahhh," she lowered her voice further, "Shall I apply some heat to these?" she pointedly looked from the parchments to the girls, curious if they'd catch their meaning and if they'd allow the message to be revealed in such a public location. It might not be a secret intended for one particular person, but it was a hidden note nonetheless.
Penny did not quite control her face. Her earlier suspicions had been correct! Invisible ink! She glanced warily at Linah and then back at Anesin. They were speaking too much in whispers, leaning in too greatly. To even a somewhat practiced eye, it would be obvious that they were conspiring over something. Penny was something of an expert in that, after all. She'd grown up in a pit of just such vipers. "Yes, some heat would be nice," she said in a bit less of a whisper, "I've noticed a bit of a chill in such a grand hall. Yet... perhaps we should keep the papers away from it. Wouldn't want to be burnt."
"That it would be," Linah answered casually, matching Penny's tone and amplitude. Yes, whispering so obviously in such a crowd would be noticeable, and it was good of Penny to remind her. She lay a palm upon the table, staring unseeingly into the distance as she concentrated on the vibrations all around her. Carried through the wood of their seating arrangements, the stone beneath their feet, and of course, upon the air itself. That in addition to the sparse rays of light protruding through the glass-stained windows was enough energy to convert into the heat she needed. Returning her awareness to the present company, Linah begun to wave a hand around Penny. "How is that?" she queried. A gentle, warm breeze would envelop Penny, and possibly her neighbours as well. Either Penny or Anesin would have to cooperate with her in the following sleight-of-hand; Linah needed to get her other hand, the free one still perched lightly on the table, upon the parchment itself to ensure she could reveal its hidden contents. Her show of helping a friend keep warm would have to be enough to conceal her true purpose, as there wasn't much else but to follow Penny's guidance in redirecting attention from their scheme.
"Ah yes, much better," chirped Penny. "You are a gem, Linah, truly." She posted her hands upon the tabletop, incidentally pushing the registry form aside and over to Linah. After a few moments of tense anticipation and glances that were meant to be subtle but likely were not, a hidden text revealed itself, at the very foot of the page:
"Foundations in Drawing, Converting, and Casting in the Blood School of Magic (MF107) - registration will not count towards a student's course limit."
Indeed, the exchange between Penny and Linah had not been unobserved. Sitting at the same table, Eun-Ji had been eating her own meal slowly. To an outside observer, it looked exactly what it seemed to be; just a girl minding her own lunch. In reality however, Eun-Ji had once more entered a state of focus soon after she started to eat. She had done it mostly to numb herself from the worries that still plagued her mind about her new task, but it had ended up making her take notice of two things. One, that Leon Solaire was nowhere to be seen even though he should be with them. The second thing was the pair of whispering girls.
It could just be girls fooling around of course, but the more she watched them, the more fishy it felt to her. Considering the new mission she'd been given without any additional lead... Might as well, I suppose. If it turns out to be nothing, then at least it would have been good practice.
Her mind made up, she casually rose from her seat and then proceeded to walk. She began drawing, from the ambient heat and sounds of her surroundings, making sure to draw in moderation so no one would notice. She didn't need a lot for her plan. She kept walking and soon, she passed near where Penny and Linah were sitting. Then she cast a little illusion simply to make it seem like her eyes continued looking in the direction she was walking, while in reality they were looking toward the registry that Penny had pushed over to Linah. It was brief, but it was enough for her to quickly read the hidden text. That done, she continued walking, as if to step outside to get some fresh air.
She felt it. It was extremely subtle and she thought that she'd imagined it, but Penny herself had trained enough in illusion to recognize the sort of arcane application that usually went with it. The Perrench girl blinked and, without consciously meaning to, pulled the course registry close to her chest. She glanced at Anesin and Linah. Maybe they'd felt it too but, to her knowledge, neither was an illusionist. Perhaps a bit carelessly, Penny twisted and, sure enough, they were not alone. The Tan Keoulean girl - was in Yoon-Chi? - brushed past unassumingly. She noticed the Kerreman - Manfred's - eyes upon her before they quickly flicked away. Why not just ask? Penny wondered. Pushing her chair out, she scrambled to grab her crutches and rose. "You know what?" she chirped, "I'm stuffed. I swear, that turkey has nothing on me." She faked a giggle and headed straight after Eun-Ji. The moment that they were out of immediate earshot, she spoke: "Does it mean anything to you?" She clarified: "The hidden message on the registry, that is."
Hmm. Suboptimal performance. Eun-Ji sighed internally as Penny spoke to her. She hadn't expected that she'd be caught in the act, but then again that had always been the risk to the little illusion trick that she did. She turned around to look at the considerably taller girl, looking straight at Penny's eyes. Penny blinked, smiling innocently enough, but implacable. On the other hand, Eun-Ji's expression remained her usual neutral and calm. She nodded, before proceeding to respond to Penny's question. "Yes. I believe the facts of it are quite obvious... That particular form of magic is not supposed to be legal to teach, to my understanding." Eun-Ji saw no reason to lie; or rather, the very thought of lying didn't even occur to her. It was something that at times maddened her instructors as a Lotus Sentry, yet something that remained unchanged about her. As a saving grace, at least, she was quite adept at not telling the whole truth. "Please forgive my intrusion." She bowed politely, a full thirty degree of inclination, before continuing. "I noticed you and your friends being... conspirative, and could not help but to be curious about it."
Penny pursed her lips, glancing back toward the table. "Walk with me?" she prodded, taking a couple of steps. She hadn't paid much attention to this girl until she'd caught her looking (barely), and she doubted that any of the others had noticed. There didn't seem to be anyone following them. "And yes, I know that, of course. Everyone does. Just... I was curious about why you might be interested. Did you receive the same message? Were you thinking of accepting it?"
Eun-Ji obliged, walking along with Penny. She kept her posture and expression entirely casual throughout, looking around at nothing in particular. "No, I did not know what you were being secretive about. I believe my course registry bears no such hidden message. It is a situation that I think fits that saying about curiosity causing the cat to expire. Still..." She paused briefly, before nodding mostly to herself. "Now that I know of it, it is quite the cause for concern... Nothing good can come out of such magic."
Penny broadly agreed. Blood Magic had always been something frightening to her: strange, dark, and dangerous...and yet, there was a certain allure to the unknown. She kept that to herself, however, just as she hid her curiosity about why Eun-Ji had been so eager to snoop. She went with something a bit more conciliatory, sensing an opportunity and prepared to play the long game. "It is as you say, truly." She tried to avoid looking suspicious, but she lowered her voice. "And yet, I don't believe that we should report our findings. If this appears on forms issued by the school, then somebody highly placed - or perhaps many somebodies - are involved. It is well above our level." She was worried, but also intrigued. She did her best to project the former and tamp down on the latter, however.
Eun-Ji did not immediately respond to Penny's words. Instead, she took some moments to think and consider the matter at hand. On one side, she genuinely disliked the very notion of Blood Magic being secretly taught in the academy. On the other, there was indeed likely little that biros such as themselves would be able to do about the situation... Not to mention that this directly pertained to her additional mission. In the end, she nodded once more before again talking to Penny. "I do not like it one bit... It is... not right, for something so vile to be propagated further. But..." she let out a small, subdued sigh before continuing. "You are right. I do not think that reporting this will do us any good."
"And yet I wonder..." Penny began, trailing off for a moment. "Who else received these? Is there a pattern?" She paused and turned to face Eun-Ji, face concerned. "What if we had evidence? Perhaps I should be brave - or one of us biros should be. What if... that person were to sign up, to... infiltrate, and try to gain more information?"
"I am inclined to believe that this was not done by random, so there must be a pattern." She paused to think once more, and quickly realized she simply did not yet have enough information to form any conclusion. "What that pattern is, I unfortunately have no idea yet. As for what you are suggesting..." Eun-Ji looked away for a moment, before then looking straight at Penny's eyes again. "It is not a decision I believe I have any rights to opine on. As much as my personal feelings will never agree to the propagation of something so vile, I cannot stop anyone from signing up for it regardless of their reasoning."
Eun-Ji was onto her. Penny was scared. There was something about the girl that she didn't trust. She wasn't sure exactly what, but it was something for certain. "Hmm, I do think we should do something to prevent its propagation. Blood Magic... in our school. It's..." she paused and blinked. "Dangerous." Penny turned back the way she'd come, glancing over her shoulder at Eun-Ji. "Though I suppose it will likely not be me to take up the role of spy. Gods, this is insane," she whispered. "Anyhow," she continued, in a louder voice, "I do not think I needed fresh air so badly as I'd thought. This brief walk and lovely chat as been more than enough to settle my stomach." She reached out to clasp one of Eun-Ji's hands in hers, but did not yet take it without the other girl's permission. "It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Eun-Ji nodded. "It is dangerous, no matter where it is practiced. And this school is indeed no exception, if not one of the worst places for it to propagate." Of the infiltration and who, if any, shall be the "spy", Eun-Ji made no further response. Instead simply looking with her seemingly ever neutral expression back at Penny. Then, Penny reached out to clasp one of Eun-Ji's hands, resulting in Eun-Ji staring at Penny's hand for a moment. "Ah." She soon caught on to it, that people of other cultures often made such gestures that were the equivalent of Tan Keoulean's own joined palms gesture. She accepted the clasp, adding a nod along with it. "Yes. An honor to make your acquaintance..." She paused briefly, not sure what else to say before finally deciding on a simple "Until we next meet, farewell."
"Indeed!" Penny squeezed her hand slightly, took a step back, and pivoted on her heel, making her way towards the hall and the tables. The girl's mind was burning every step of the way back. Secret Blood Magic courses, disappearing memories, political intrigue, and now... she did not trust Eun-Ji. Perhaps not a bad person, but definitely with her own agenda, Penny decided, definitely hiding something. It took a moment for realization to catch up with her. Just like me, she thought glumly. She was to meet with father, in secret, under a pretense later today. How she wanted to tell Linah and Anesin and Onarr - who was strangely absent. She felt as if her secret would turn into a poison between them. Yet, it would not do. Should anyone of any import find out, she would be removed from the school and that would be the end of things. She'd be confined back to that damned room in that cursed castle to live out the rest of her days slowly going insane with her books and her experiments. No, that could not happen. It would not! She needed some more time: more time to make certain that she could trust these people. True, they had not rejected her out of hand, but she did not yet know them deeply enough to be sure that she could trust them with such a secret. Presently, as she drew near, she sighted Linah and tried to catch her eye, giving her a look that said nothing so much as 'oooh boy.'
Linah met Penny's eye; her departure had been obvious enough, and she thought to have discerned the reason for it. The Tan Keoulean girl had used an illusionist trick that was one of her own favourites. Penny seemed to have caught that, and followed the other girl...for a confrontation? Quirking an eyebrow at the Perrench teammate, she smiled and waved a hand for the other to retake her seat. "An auspicious new meeting? Or a previous acquaintance?"
Penny rather plopped back down onto her seat, sliding her crutch under the table and flicking back the curtain of hair that had draped itself over her face as she'd leaned down. "In truth?" she replied. "The girl is not to be trusted." Her voice was low. She spared the briefest of glances in the direction of the Kerreman - was it... Manfred? - and schooled her expression into something akin to 'juicy gossip' before continuing. She'd seen her sisters do it and nothing else piqued disinterest from others quite so effectively. "She may not be nefarious, but she has an agenda. Plus, she is desperately against any sort of practice of Blood Magic in this school." She kept an even tone on the last statement: open to interpretation, or so she hoped, for Penny herself had mixed feelings on the matter. Anesin was rather busy stuffing her face, and how that girl maintained the physique that she did with such an appetite was quite beyond the Perrenchwoman. Linah, however, was a different story. They were in this together now, she sensed, and how the Torragonese responded could serve to tell her much.
Linah was just starting on her dessert, a light, sugary, many-layered thing. She matched Penny's expression - her potential ally-or-friend was really good at that - and listened politely. Before answering, she patted her mouth with a napkin to remove the sweet white dust that had inevitably accumulated there as she ate. "Many people are prejudiced against it," she commented thoughtfully. Yes, there were countless people who'd erase that school of magic if it were possible. But someone who may be working towards making that a reality? Linah didn't consider the Tan Keoulean suspicious just for that, though Penny had been the one to have spoken to her, and so would be aware of subtleties Linah wasn't privy to. "Well, best to keep this whole business away from her then, as much as it is possible to do so now that her interest was aroused," she shrugged lightly. It was better to know whom to be wary of ahead of time, even if it meant that opponent (if the foreign girl could be termed as such) now possessed an unfortunate piece of information. Still, she'd have come across it sooner or later. Admittedly, Linah wasn't concerned about Eun-Ji's possible agenda, but she'd keep it in mind. She knew very well that she could be somewhat careless about matters she didn't consider relevant to herself - that was something she yet needed to work on, broadening the scope of what concerned her.
Penny found herself distracted by Linah's dessert selection. Mille Fueille, she thought. It was a regular at the family dinner table, and roughly ninety percent sugar. More important, however, was the Torragonese girl's take on Blood Magic. "I mentioned that somebody should probably check that box, and if it is indeed a class, investigate it." She looked at the slowly-cooling food on her plate for a minute, not particularly appetized by the sight of it. She generally ate better back at home. But you are not Penelope of Perrence, she told herself, you are Penny Pellegrin - daughter of a humble printer, and food such as this would be a rare treat. You must eat it. "I do not think any magic is inherently evil: just... some of the people who use it may be."
Whatever Linah may or may not have said next was lost, for then, Ardredelle Latvar stood, rang a bell, and informed everybody that there were five minutes left before their food would be cleared and there would be a series of speeches. Stragglers had already been filtering back in for the past few minutes, and they joined or rejoined the tables. Conversation either picked up or died down, but it appeared, for now, that the mystery of the supposed secret blood magic course would have to wait and that Penny Pellegrin, Anesin Bjelke, and anybody else who'd received that invitation (and maybe even some who hadn't) would have a decision to make this evening.
Having slipped away from the luncheon, Leon proceeded back to Fades-in-Moonlight's home. He would get away with his current look around his peers but his company would expect a higher level of decorum. The walk back would be the last of the abundant sunlight as Leon later emerged with a stylish shirt and cape on.
Leon had been told precious little about how he and the Doge were to actually meet. He only had an address and, when he went to it, he found it to be a rather humble-looking storefront just off of the main strip of Parade Street. There was a nondescript carriage waiting for him and he might've recognized the coachman as one in the Doge's employ.
Shortly, it brought him to a well-appointed but by no means pretentious townhome on a smaller street in the Merchants' Quarter, not too far from the guild and market. Leon found himself led through the doors by a pretty servant girl of some exotic extraction. Inside, but not inside, taking his midday wine on a covered verandah, was Prospero Malatesta. He smiled warmly at the sight of Leon. Perhaps it was real warmth and perhaps he was, himself, a practiced showman. "Welcome, my boy." He held his hands out in the start of a traditional Revidian greeting. You were supposed to kiss each other on the cheeks. "It was good of you to make it. We have much to discuss but, first, you've had a busy day. Let us eat."
Leon had actually exchanged looks with the servant girl. She was indeed pretty and had atypical features to the standard affair around the city. Such a thing was interesting to Leon. However, the second the doors to the Doge opened Leon was looking straight ahead toward him.
Leon's smile grew wider as he greeted Malatesta. "I am honoured as always, Doge." Leon knew the traditional Revidian greeting and had no issues carrying it out for someone he respected so much. When it came to Malatesta, being the Doge was the least of things that gained Leon's respect. The man was a patron and a friend among other things.
"It's true, this morning has been a little busier than what I am used to." Leon let out a small chuckle. "But it is all in good fun, of course. You seem in good spirits as well. Some time in Ersand'Enise must be treating you well." Leon picked a single grape and ate it, wordlessly singalling he was beginning to eat.
"Mmm, yes. 'Something about the air here,' is what I tell people." There may have been a slight chuckle. Then again, there may not have. In any case, the Doge began eating, and he ate shamelessly. There was no need for unnecessary decorum here, and so he dispensed with it. The light fruits gave way to steak, cheeses, and other impeccably-prepared Revidian staples, silently brought in on platters by the same servant girl and the scraps brought back out the way they had entered. Leon might've noticed that his patron declined to speak while in the presence of third parties, but he did not make it so obvious. In any event, it was just smalltalk for much of their meal. Prospero inquired about how the journey had been for Leon and how he was enjoying Ersand'Enise so far, but he also ate quickly.
Leon had sought to match the Doge's eating. He was glad he did not have to keep etiquette around the man like he found with so many other nobles. Although there was a distinct reservation in the boy's eating, which could be easily chalked up to not being as hungry. The breakfast he had was large was all.
As for the matter of talking, Leon picked up on his occassional pauses when the servant came in. He understood the sort of control needed for negotiations and serious discussion. But this was little but small talk so far. Leon whimsically wondered if it was a habit for the Doge at this point.
Finally, the Doge reclined a touch in his chair, dabbing at the corners of his mouth with a cloth. "I do hope the food was to your liking. Now, I'm afraid, it is time for us to exchange business." He sat back up, placed the kerchief down, and gave a signal with one hand. Silently, the servant girl swept in, gathered the food, and departed the way she had come in, leaving only a single, empty platter behind. Prospero Malatesta reached into a satchel that was beside his chair and pulled out an envelope. "I have, in here," he announced, "the details of your birth and the first year of your life. You had mentioned, in passing, an interest in such, and so I thought it my perogative to acquire this for you." He placed the envelope on the table between them. "Such things are of importance to some men and of less to others, but it is useful to know regardless and I hope that it is of consequence to you."
Leon took a good pause at the Doge mentioning the details of his birth. His expression was notably somber. Despite all his talk about parental figures he took to, his true origin was something he longed for. It wasn't something he told a lot of people, but the Doge seemed to be an exception. Leon had assumed that such information wouldn't be used against him. Sure enough, telling Malatesta was beneficial to him. Information that he would otherwise never know was right in front of him, he only need to find out what the Doge wanted in return.
Perhaps Leon would've reached for the envelope and perhaps he would not have, but his patron steepled his fingers and leaned forward, posting his elbows on the tabletop. "I truly hope that this brings you answers, but on the subject of knowledge and consequence, I have my own request of you, and it is of great import." The Doge's eyes fixed upon Leon, studying his reaction.
After his pause dwelling in thought, Leon leaned back in his chair making no attempt to grasp the envelope. He knew how these things work and knew to have the respect to hear the request before trying to claim the reward. Leon's smile returned. "This is good news, to be sure. I am sure you know where my talents lie, let me hear this request."
The Doge smiled, and there may have been some genuine warmth in it or there may not have been. "I'm going to be frank with you, Leon. That information was not easy to get, but I got it because I think it'll be important for you and because I'm relying on your discretion. What I'm about to ask will not be easy. It will not be without risk, and it must not leave this room." Prospero reached out with the Gift and Leon could feel the sound deaden in the air around him, as if nothing would enter or leave the bubble surrounding the two of them.
"Something happened yesterday, in the plaza. It was brief, but perhaps you felt it: a flicker of wrongness, a feeling of forgetfulness, a great, split-second surge of energy. Then again," he continued, "maybe you did not." The Doge glanced around, his normally serene bearing unusually wary. "Something of great import took place. I cannot say for certain what it was and I believe that there are powerful forces within the academy who would like it to stay that way. They think that they have more right to that information because they have a better way with the Gift than we do. They somehow suppose that it means they'll make better decisions."
Leon had thought back to the event in the plaza. Something weird wriggled at the back of his mind about it, something seemed off. But it was a trace memory as if trying to recall it was grasping at something only his finger tips could touch. Leon could not say for sure if it indicated some significant event like the Doge claimed. However, Ersand'Enise sat on the land of Revidia. To have even the leader be out of the loop of those events indeed indicated something more sinister.
Prospero paused and took a sip of wine, placing the chalice down and pouring a second one for Leon. "What I need from you is to use your skills, your celebrity, and your position here as a student." His fingers closed upon the edge of the single, empty tray. He handed it to Leon and... it did feel a bit heavier than it should've. "This is a sealed item. It is similar in appearance to the heated trays that the Arch-Zenos use to keep their food warm while they study. Yet, inside is a device that will activate itself when its power words are spoken - you need not worry about those. It has energy enough to last for three days, and it will enscribe, on a wax ring inside, a record of all conversations. I need you to get this inside the Forked Tower in the Violet Enclave. You do not need to retrieve it. It will be discarded as all of those binding-sealed heated platters are discarded once used up. I have people to see to that, but I have none so ideally placed and skilled as to carry off this mission." He sniffed and drummed on the tabletop with his fingertips. "Oh, I have spies, but they have their spies too and the groups know each other. Who would ever be so daft as to use Leon Solaire as his agent, though?" His face grew mirthful for a moment, but was soon serious - heavy - again. He raised his wineglass partway to his lips, but paused. "I do not ask this of you lightly, but I have heard whisperings and I have seen signs, and a man in my position does not rise so high nor last so long without being able to recognize when something terrible lurks on the horizon." He raised his cup and took a long, thoughtful drink.
Leon picked up the chalice the Doge had poured and took a sip, enjoying the sweet taste. After, he had a small polite laugh to himself. But it was certainly audible for the Doge to hear. "If you had lead with this, you wouldn't have needed to show the record of my birth. It is not their place to keep secrets from the ruler of Revidia. Such a thing seems selfish and with disregard for the land and people Ersand'Enise is built on. I agree with you and will help you in this plan. That information you gathered just means I will do a good job of it. Now... I believe we can toast on a deal well struck, no?" Leon raised his chalice toward the Doge.
Afterward, taking a sip or two, Leon asked something that was nagging at him. "By 'their spies', you do mean the Academy's, correct? Or do you suspect other parties to be at play in all this?"
Prospero had known, of course, or at least imagined that Leon would be eager to help. The information on the boy's parentage was something he'd had sitting around for some time and, as this was the first instance in which he had really called upon the performer for anything of import, it was a guarantee against the troubles and counteroffers he might encounter turning him against his patron. Besides, it was good to be thought of as generous. True, it was better to be feared than loved, but being loved was plenty beneficial as well. He schooled his features into seriousness, swirling the wine in his chalice thoughtfully."My dear Leon, I believe that, if you're asking the question, you know the answer."
"Yes, I believe I do." Leon took a final sip of the chalice.
With that, Prospero nodded solemnly and stood. He downed the last of his wine and smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. He tapped on the platter still in Leon's hands. "Keep your head down and chin up, son." He took a step past the youth, pausing momentarily and leaning in. "There are going to be moves made at the Conclave in two days - big moves. Powerful people will be angry, so my advice would be to stay in your lane for now. Outside of this thing that I need you to do, keep being an artist. Keep being loved." He clapped Leon on the shoulder. "Carriage will be waiting around the side. It'll drop you back off on Parade street." With that, he brushed past and the sound dampening disappeared. The chirps of birds, the bustle of the street, and the clunk of a door closing returned to Leon Solaire.
Oh gee! An age and a gender and interests and things. Yeah, I have those. Ain't no way I'm about to trigger an existential crisis by typing them all out, though. You can find out what a nerd I am on discord, okay?
Stay awesome, people.
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">Oh gee! An age and a gender and interests and things. Yeah, I have those. Ain't no way I'm about to trigger an existential crisis by typing them all out, though. You can find out what a nerd I am on discord, okay?<br><br>Stay awesome, people.</div>
Fallenreaper
Emeth
BlackRoseSiren
Ti
Not a Sayan
Echotech71
FourtyTwo
