Force and Fury — Roleplayer Guild

Marlijn Vaanse

Marlijn sat on the edge of her bed, holding her knees tightly together, tucked up inside of her nightgown, resting her chin on them. Was this the life of a mage? The life of a person of consequence? If it was, then she was not certain that she wanted it. Perhaps it would be easier to return home now, weave, crochet, play the harpsichord, and find a good husband. She could have a nice country estate, a stable for her horses and a village of commons that she could frequent, stopping in on them and helping  with their day-to-day problems. I almost died, she screamed inwardly. She'd seen people roasted alive, their skin cracking and peeling away, flaking black, smelling sickeningly sweet, like a hog on a spit. She'd killed a few. She glanced down at her hands, unclasping them for a moment. She had used her magic, like she'd been taught even as a little girl, and it had the power to do that.

She sat there: a sad, numb, dull thing, full of worry and unable to think very much. But that she were home and had mother, or Owain just a room over. She glanced up at her door, willing him to be there. He had to be feeling much of what she was. And Anesin, she thought. They didn't know each other well, but they were neighbours. She glanced at the wall. That room belongs to a dead girl, she thought. Will they just leave it empty? Will the person who has it next know? She imagined Anesin's ghost - her lonely spirit - walking home to Eskand, through the Greenlands, and to the Visitor's table. She hadn't thought much about the Old Gods. They were lies or else demons, but - 

There was a knock at the door and she started. "I..." she trailed off. The knock repeated in a specific pattern: an unmistakable one. "Owain?"

"No, it's the Visitor."

"Gods, stop it and come in." She let her knees slide down the garment and rose as he opened the door. Owain was dressed similarly to her and his hair was a tousled mess. "How'd you get here?" Marlijn demanded. The boys and girls dormitories were divided by a wall. "Rooftop exit." He shrugged, but she could tell that he was making a show of being easy. His body language was tight and drawn-in. "You okay?" she asked, and he shrugged again. He'd never admit it unless she did first. "Well, to be honest, I'm not," she offered. "Me neither," he replied quietly, voice cracking a little. He needed her. She needed him. It was as if they'd both known. Sometimes, as twins, it was like they could sense each other's thoughts, feel each other's feelings. "Brother." She enfolded him in a hug. "Sister." He returned it and she felt safer than she had since the Ath Eskandish king had begun his crusade for blood. 

"Brother?"

"Mhm?"

"You're sleeping on the floor."

"Sister?"

"Mhm?"

"You're giving me your feathered blankets then."

She squeezed him tighter for a moment. "I'll be glad to part with them."

Jomurr Ikon III

He stared up at the sky: a dull, half-dead thing. He could not hear the waves washing in and out but, dully, Jomurr registered that he had washed up against something. He could feel them splash up his face and recede. He could not feel much else. He could not think much else. He lay there in the mangroves and watched the stars. They were beautiful, he thought, if different from the way they looked back home. He would never go home, he thought. He could die here, not even having served his king, not even having proven his worth. He would die and be forgotten. Another wave came up and splashed over his face. Jomurr coughed weakly as it receded, but not all of the wetness on his face was water.

They found the boy, unconscious, drawn to him by the faint latent energies that he held inside. Already, four children of the nobility had died and there would be those demanding answers. It was rumoured that King Jobanzaggah himself had been defeated and killed by parties unknown, though not without a ferocious struggle. They must've been unholy powerful, for the Thunder King was truly mighty in battle. This youth, however, was their concern. The Tan-Zenos brought him back to the academy with haste and secrecy. The damage was severe. His eardrums were ruptured, one of his lungs collapsed, and his neck broken. His breathing was weak and shallow and, moments after he was identified as someone of great importance, to be brought straight to the Highest Binder's room, he expired.

His body was placed on a stretcher and raced over there, where it was attended by ancient, bearded men who pulled at the fabric of time itself to stall Ahn-Eshiran's hand, who reconstituted lost matter as if they were Oraff-Zept, and who restarted a still heart and the chemical processes of a brain that gone silent, playing Ahn-Dami herself. They worked other magics too: the boy breathed. The boy felt. The boy dreamed as he slept, but when he awoke, fully recovered, he would remember little of the night before.

In the event, it was Carmillia who woke him: her soft voice and caring presence by his bedside. Jomurr sat up in bed and his vision swam for a moment. He was sore and achy but... he tested his fingers and toes. He gave himself a once over and took a deep breath. He remembered having been in a fight, of sorts, but he must have taken a severe blow to the head, for he could remember little. "Carm?" he croaked, quickly blushing and clearing his throat. It would not do for her to hear his voice like that. He blinked and shook his head to clear some of the haze that hung about it. "How long was I out?"

Penny Pellegrin

It had been a quiet ride back to Ersand'Enise, but Penny could tell that things had changed. The others were treating her differently. Madeleine had bowed to her before catching herself. Yvette had made up for lost time spent weeping and had stolen glances Penny's way the entire ride back. Carmille had been silent and thoughtful and that had worried her most of all, for she was usually ever so purposeful and bright. The Princess headed straight to her dormitory and, upon arrival, she bade her neighbours goodnight, stripped out of her riding clothes, and stood there in her undergarments, swaying slightly, exhaustedly in the near-darkness. The light of three moons - for one had now set - filtered in, cold, blue, and ghostly through the room's lone window and its phantasmal curtains, falling upon her body.

There were bruises on her skin and blisters on her left hand. Penny looked at it a moment: still covered in its special glove. Gently, she removed the garment and opened and closed her fist. She hated the sight of it, how she had suffered for it. Yet, it was the best that the Gods, in either neglect or punishment, had seen fit to form for her. Her eyes wandered still, down to her hips and the one that simply ended, curving smoothly inward where a leg should've been. The moonlight formed a halo around her, spotlighting and judging her, and Penelope found herself wanting. She wrapped sinewy arms around her body, midsection made slight through the endless wearing of a corset since childhood. She took a few large breaths, holding each in her lungs and then releasing them, closing her eyes and just being for a short while. Whatever happens, she counseled herself, The sun will rise and it will set again and you will still be here. That is enough. She had life, she had health, and she had the Gift. Whether she was Penny Pellegrin or Penelope de Perrence, it did not really matter. She would manage. 

The youth fairly hurled herself onto her mattress, and regretted it instantly. It was not near as soft as the one at home or even the one at Sienna's. Her eyelids were heavy and her body ached, but she lay there, spread-eagle on top of her covers, and could not sleep. Instead, her thoughts wandered. She had killed. Other lives, with hopes, fears, and dreams not so different from hers - with memories and families - had ended tonight because she had ended them. That could not be undone. "Je suis navrée," she whispered, "profondément navrée." They had been trying to kill her, though, and kill her father. Why did people wager their lives against those of others? For what purpose? For what gain? It seemed such a foolish, pointless gamble, with the most precious thing that one owned. She could lose everything and she would still have herself and be able to start again. In her case, it might even be better that way. Why did you make me kill you? She tensed up and shivered. I have killed. It would mark her for the rest of her days. Penelope de Perrence's life had been worth that of four other people this night. Tears slipped down her cheeks and a couple pooled in the corner of her mouth, wet and salty. She licked them up, lay there, and wept some more until sleep claimed her.

Out of habit alone, Penelope awoke in the early hours of Shune, rolled out of bed, and stretched languidly. It was... her mind was hazy from lack of sleep... Today was the day of her Blood Magic class. Why had she signed up for it? Truly, it had been Anesin's idea. At least they would see each other. They would be together in Camp class as well, and this evening at Zeno Afraval's along with Linah. That thought brought a smile to her face. If word got out about her true identity, at least she wouldn't have to hide from Ani anymore. Imagine the look on your face, the girl thought wryly as she changed into her day clothes. Blessedly, her visit from Auntie Eshiran was nearly over. Some of the other soreness from last night was gone too. She found herself looking forward to the mystery of the class. Who would be there? What would they do and discuss? What stories would people have to tell? Surely, many would want to hear of the attempt on her father's life, and a knot started to form at the top of her stomach. She would avoid discussing. Let whatever rumours swirl as they might.

Yet, just as she was approaching her door, ready to step out into the hallway and greet Carmille, Maddy, and Yvette, she noticed a pair of letters slipped under her doorway. The first was some school notice, and she would read it later. When she looked at the second, however, she froze. It was from Anesin. That meant that she knew. Penny paused and opened it.

Dear Nell,

I'm writing to you in the hopes that you'll be honest with me. Incidentally, if this letter is sent in error, please disregard it and accept my sincerest of apologies. I do not think it will be, however. I think that I have found you, in person, at the last. Truly, you are a good actress, but not so good as you might think. Marli told me all about that performance with Leon Solaire... though she was fawning over him most obnoxiously.

It's you, Penny Pellegrin: a friend I have only written to, in this same place as me, brought together once more by the Pentad, as if it were destined. I see now why you hide your true self and I wish you to know that I bear you no ill will. We have spoken at length about your mother (and mine) and, with the added context, I well understand your burden. 

I think we should be friends, whatever happens today because of the conclave. Whether we do so openly or in keeping of your secret, I leave up to you. I'm also sorry for this heavy letter. I'd meant to work in some humour - I swear it - but the maneuverings of distant kings I find weigh on me more heavily that I might've imagined. Angry fat old men, in truth. Anyhow, we can speak in class, and perhaps after too. Am I wrong in assuming that our Zeno knows of your secret? In any event, it is safe with me, for the nominal fee of switching beds tonight. I want the window that looks out onto the street! Time grows short and I must wrap this up. We will speak soon. 

Yours Truly,

Anesin Bjelke,
Countess Hrothgar

Penny let out a shuddering breath and forced a smile. Of course you knew, she mouthed, folding the letter up. It seemed that Dami was pushing her in a certain direction - a fraught one, but with great potential reward - and she was loath to ignore signs from the Gods. She folded it back up, tucked it into her satchel, and hurried off to class.

Manfred Hohenfelter von Meckelin-Thandau

It had been... an eventful night, more so than Manfred had bargained for. He woke up in a bed that was not his own, kissed a sleeping woman who he'd met the night before, and began getting ready. That mostly involved combing his hair into a semblance of order and throwing on his clothes. There was that class, today: the Blood Magic one that he had snuck into with Eun-Ji, to make certain that it was not anything nefarious. Eun-Ji... he hadn't seen her in a few days and, the last time that they'd spoken, she'd seemed... uneager to share. He would have to ensure that her head was in the game today. 

He spared a glance back at Dorothea, to see if she was up yet. Lil Swampy, he thought, eyes crinkling in a smile.

“What is it, Kerrie?..” Dorothea rubbed her eyes as she started to wake up. “Going somewhere without me?”  She made grabby hands, pointing at her clothing, trying to get Manfred to pick it up for her.

He grinned. “Can’t even get your own clothing, hmm?” He reached down and a moment later, a dress fluttered through the air and landed over her head and outstretched arms. “And yes, I have… a class, I guess you could say, this morning.”

The woman got rather crudely dressed, making sure every important bit was covered. "Mind me walking with you to your class then?" She winked as she started to get out of bed.

Manfred gulped, but hid it well beneath a facade of Kerreman professionalism. “Well,” he admitted, “it’s rather like a class but not a class, per se.” This room wasn’t either of theirs and it didn’t have a mirror. He hadn’t shaved and he scowled. He lowered his voice. “There are… Blood Mages at work on campus.” He did not even like saying it. “They have a secret class and myself and another student are planning to infiltrate it and see just what is going on.” It would not do for her to think him a Blood mage.

"Blood mages? What would they even do, make some bloodbread?" It seems Dorothea wasn't taking the threat all that seriously. In a split second her face went from one of laughter and joy to an emotionless one. "Then I will come too. If you get hurt, I will do much worse than what they can do."

Dory looked positively ferocious. That was both endearing and worrying. “I doubt they’ll be looking to hurt anyone who comes there at first, unless my motives are revealed, and you haven’t seen just how well I can handle myself. The other student who’s in on this with me - Eun-Ji - she is no pushover.” Truth be told, he was worried about Dory getting involved. It would not do for her to get hurt out of a sense of loyalty. He paused, finished getting ready. “But if you want to come,” he smiled slightly, “I would never refuse your company.”

Seeing Manfred ready caused her to grab him and drag him onto the bed. "That's the only answer I want to hear. If you said no, you wouldn't be able to walk to class."

Her face would be covered in a pout rather quickly. "Do you think I'm a pushover or something?"
He bent down and gave her a little kiss on the nose, resting his hands on her shoulders. “Dorothea Hohnstein, this is a thing called caring.” He grinned. “It wouldn’t matter if you were a Zeno. I would be worried regardless. You’ll have to forgive me.” he squeezed her shoulders, suddenly businesslike again. He half twisted and started walking. “Besides, anybody who can make a threat like that is no one to trifle with. Now, we need to get going.”

"See, was that so hard?" She let him get up as she was looking for her boots. "Can you help me look for my cloak? It's very important to me." It seems that not knowing where it is has started to affect the normally brash woman.

Manfred paused, nearly at the door. For the love of Dami… He counseled himself not to be harsh. The cloak likely had sentimental value. Still, it would not do to be late. He could not afford to raise any suspicion. This called for a creative solution. There was nothing particularly breakable or likely to fall in the room. “Dory, you may want to shield your eyes,” he said simply, drawing in energy from the light of the open window.

"Alright. . . I'm trusting you." Dory closed her eyes as he started drawing in energy. "What are you going to do?"

He heated the air in a certain way as he’d been taught and stirred it up with a kinetic tug. A stiff breeze whooshed through the room and, moments later, a rather heavy cloak fluttered partly free from under the bed. “Magic,” Manfred replied simply, bending over and picking it up.. “From nothing, I have conjured your cloak.” He held it out to her, waiting for her to open her eyes.

She opened her eyes only to find him holding her cloak. "You found it!" Grabbing the cloak and quickly putting it on. She walked closer to him and kissed his cheek. "Now I'm in your debt, best find a way for me to repay that." She chuckled before heading for the door in his wake.

You could start by letting me get in my own trouble, he grumbled inwardly.

A Conversation in the Workman's Quarter

They met in the Workman's Quarter, in the shadow of the Proving Grounds, in a tavern. The owner of the small establishment thought nothing of it. In fact, he was quite grateful for the patronage. With the way that all the people who made the decisions had been beating the drums of war after yesterday's events, business might soon dry up. Two men, two women, and a teenage boy and girl, they took the table near the front window and ordered the Lepdes roast, Enthish Pudding, pumpernickel bread, and lentil soup.

"So... why isn't Papa here again?" inquired the boy, prodding at his hot soup with a spoon. There was something impatient about him.

"Papa is teaching, little brother," the girl scolded. "You well know that."

"That's not what I was asking," the boy said dangerously. He was perhaps fifteen years old, with short, dirty-blond hair and a cherubic face only now starting to edge toward manhood. There was something pugnacious about him. His words sought confrontation.

The girl, slightly older, ignored him. "So, speaking of Papa," she chirped, "how did his voyage go yesterday? He was sailing on that Belzaggic ship, was he not?"

The boy glared daggers at her and she smiled sweetly back at him. "Oh right," she amended, "Did Grandma go with him?" 

"Josie," said one of the women, reaching a hand across the table to clasp hers.

"Yes, Auntie Lilla?"

"I fear the thunder frightened your dear grandma too greatly. She had a heart attack."

The girl's face fell. She put down her spoon. "What!? How!?" Her eyes searched the others. "Is she going to be alright?"

"'Bout time the old bag keeled over," The boy snarked. "Don't be too sad. You'll get your inheritance finally."

An older man with a bristly grey mustache, seated at one of the heads of the table, turned and gave the boy a look that silenced him. 'Auntie Lilla' continued. "Everyone was certain she'd joined Ahn-Eshiran this time, but it appears she'll be okay. She just needs plenty of bed rest."

"Oh thank the Gods," the girl breathed. "I would be inconsolable were anything to happen with her."

"You're already counting her coins," the boy scoffed.

The girl twisted his way and knitted her fingers in front of herself. "Just because you don't have a conscience, Benedetto, doesn't mean the rest of us don't." She turned to the others. "Well, make sure that she has whatever she needs. Should I be of any assistance, don't hesitate to call upon me."

"An invalid caring for an old crone," the boy sniped, "now there's an arrangement."

"That is quite enough, Ciano." A tall young woman with long brown hair and striking green eyes gave him a warning look before turning to his older sister. "Now, as for your Papa, you'll be quite happy to hear that he met with the Belzaggicman and took care of their business."

"I knew Papa would come through."

"He's a reliable fella," said the other at the table. A large man with a short thick beard, merry disposition, and orange ascot, he'd been busy stuffing his face up to this point. He was still eating while he talked, in fact, and a couple of the others arched their eyebrows at him. "Uncle Al..." the girl whined. 

"Haha, sorry! Sometimes I forget what genteel company you lot are." He swallowed and dabbed at his mouth with a kerchief.

Then, the older man with the mustache spoke up. His hair was silver and slicked back, his cheeks sunken with skin leathery and pockmarked, and his voice deep and rich with a Torragonese accent. "Mhm," he began, "So, Josie, tell us about your performance last night, and your mother's."

"Oh grandfather, it was to die for!" she giggled excitedly. "Why, mother danced as I played, with this great big Eskandishman, and he was good: much better than either of us had expected. Still, she made a good account of herself and I tried to play the notes that I thought would compliment her abilities." She shrugged. "Oh, there were some casualties, as there always are at these events, but I would say the night was a success!" She raised a glass of wine and took a little sip.

"I heard they even got a standing ovation," said Benedetto, taking a sip of his own. Josie ignored his jibe, but Uncle Al stifled a giggle.

"What of your cousin, the soldier?" asked Lilla, turning to Uncle Al. "And his shadowy brother?"

Grandfather, Benny, Josie, and the green-eyed woman joined her in looking the bearded man's way. "Oh them?" He paused with a chicken thigh halfway to his mouth. He glanced greedily at it before some faint sense of etiquette won out and he put it down. "They did what they needed to do. They're safe. 'Pparently, Rouis brought in the Legion, and there were Zenos involved, and third parties. Dangerous business, you know, being a sellsword."

"Not if you know how to handle yourself," boasted Benny, and Josie rolled her eyes. He smirked at her and threw an arm over the back of his chair. For a moment, it looked like he might even put a foot up on the table, but he must've thought better of it. "Anyway, what's next? I'm rarin' to go. I've waited long enough in this dump."

"Perhaps you wouldn't be so bored if you focused more on your studies," Josie sniped.

"Perhaps you wouldn't be so boring if you focused less on yours."

"Well, you won't be visiting our Revidian friend," said the green-eyed woman. She was unusually tall and had a particular pallor that marked her out as yasoi. "He felt lonely and invited some friends of his own around, so nobody would think we hadn't paid him a visit."

Uncle Al let out a bark of laughter and Aunt Lilla snickered. Even Josie and Grandfather smirked. "So gossip's really that he sent for us to visit his friends?" Uncle Al inquired. 

Grandfather nodded. "As we'd hoped. It serves him right for the way he treated your brother." He glanced at the younger two. "Your Papa."

"I wanna kill him," said Benny bitterly, and he received glares from all five of the others, most especially his sister. "Relax. Not literally. Just as sure as she'll never walk -" he jerked a thumb in Josie's direction "- I'd never bring the family into disrepute."

"I would trust not," said grandfather sternly, his eyes narrowing. He eased off after a moment and that was cue for the others to do so as well. "As for who we're sending you to meet with, you'll be spending time with your fellow students."

"Yes, a little birdie told me that you'll be going on a bit of an adventure together soon," said the yasoi woman. "You'll be meeting lots of people there, I imagine."

"Some meetings will be lasting," warned Grandfather. He narrowed his eyes, "and some very brief."
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