Obscene Symphony

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

_{@Scribe of Thoth}

Jorah’s chest tightened as Auberon stepped forward, but he steadied himself, focusing on the bow in his hands and the beat of his heart to still his flighty reflexes. The plan held more water than some other House Leaders he knew; surrounded by comrades on high alert, Auberon wasn’t an unwitting target. Using a human as bait didn’t sit nicely with him, but Jorah tried to think of it another way and was reminded of his hunting dogs back home, rushing into the weeds to flush out game.

Of course, birds didn’t usually bite back.

His unease didn’t last long, though. Stick in the mud that Auberon was, you’d never know it to see him now. Feet planted in the middle of enemy territory, voice ringing sharply against the steel of his own helmet as he issued a holy challenge to any who would answer, the head of the Lions was true to his name. His attitude was contagious; Jorah felt his chest swell with… was that excitement? He went from defensively scouting the alleys to hoping some fool would dare step into his line of sight, where he could visit some holy vengeance of his own on anyone stupid enough to show their face. Damn – with this kind of zeal, Auberon could stand on tables and tell drunken war stories with the best of them. The thought made Jorah grin – maybe there was hope for this one yet.

As luck would have it, it seemed someone did answer the Lion’s call. The silence was eerie after Auberon’s speech, but soon, the rhythmic whump of heavy wingbeats swirled the fog around them, and out from the mist burst a wyvern, barrelling straight at them.

Jorah’s bewilderment at the sight slowed his reflexes; Euphemia shot first, but missed, throwing the wyvern into a spin. The redhead swung as well, clipping its leg. Jorah quickly composed himself and loosed an arrow of his own, taking advantage of the creature’s confusion and landing a shot to its centre of mass. The arrow buried deep into the unarmoured flesh under the wyvern’s wing, disabling the beast; it let out a spine-chilling shriek and tumbled into the fog, the sickening thud of flesh and bone on stone signaling its collision with a building.

Another arrow was nocked before Jorah even realized he’d done it, and though his eyes remained transfixed on the blurry silhouette of the beast he’d just felled, he was vaguely aware of talking behind him, much too calm to be appropriate for the situation. He whirled around, drawing as he went, fixing a sight picture on two bandits across the way – and Auberon in between.

“Auberon!”

The Shattering of Aegis

_{✧ Location: Soft Haven Bounty House ✧ Purse: 12 copper ✧ @Hero @Achronum @McMolly ✧}

Although the questions posed about mercenary work had no bearing on him, Kyreth still listened with interest as Cerric and Aleka explained the House’s handling of contracts, savoury or otherwise. It was surprising to hear how their operation was run with so little oversight; Kyreth was well accustomed to the honour system, but he was under the impression that that arrangement only really worked in a tight-knit community where your employer knew where you slept in case he ever had to come collecting. He’d have thought things would be more… formal, he supposed, in the civilized world, but apparently the logistical difficulties of managing a fleet of adventurers was a dilemma that spanned the classes. All the better he’d be keeping away from it; he didn’t need that halfling lady or anyone else accusing him of falsifying a token and running him out of town. Again.

The creaking of the large Bounty House doors interrupted the explanation, revealing a woman in well-used armour lugging a sack. One of their “tokens” no doubt, but she was gone before Kyreth had the chance to speculate what might be inside. Probably for the best. Apparently she was a respected member of the House, so it really could have been anything.

Kyreth wondered absently if the House provided the room she went to or if she rented it from them as another woman descended the stairs. It was the same woman who took Aleka’s registry book, all prim and proper like before, and she addressed the room to— wait, was she asking for him?

Eyebrows flying up, Kyreth actually looked behind him at first, just to make sure there wasn’t anyone she had somehow mistaken him for. But no, that was his name, alongside the fake surname he’d literally just adopted, so it seemed there was no mistake. But… really? What would a Lord want with him? And why was he even here and not off in a castle somewhere ruling from afar like nobles were supposed to?

Kyreth stood on reflex, feeling even more awkwardly tall and out of place than when he came as he noticed several eyes in the room turn in his direction. Dread crept up his throat like bile; this was about Straithmoor, wasn’t it? A fake name couldn’t hide him forever, it couldn’t even hide him for a day – his crimes followed him all the way to Soft Haven and now the Bounty House Lord himself was going to detain him and see that justice was done. Dammit! How did he ever think this was a good idea?!

Before he even had the chance to follow (or run – he hadn’t yet decided), someone stepped in his path, effectively trapping him. It was the highborn woman – Eila? – and she clutched her breast as she looked up at him, eyes brimming with… concern?

"Forgive the rudeness," she said, unwrapping her cloak from her shoulders and holding it out to him. "Why don't you use this? It isn't every day one can meet with an esteemed figure, after all!"

Kyreth blinked at the woman, utterly speechless at the inexplicable act of kindness unfolding before him. The second of the day, in fact. What the hell was a well-to-do Elven woman doing handing an expensive cloak to a complete stranger, and a Tainted at that? What was more, while her tone was gentle enough, the way she did it really felt less like an offer and more like a demand. Her spot in his path, the way she smiled, the way she looked at him as she held out the cloak – it all made very clear that the gesture really wasn’t optional.

“Oh— um, thank you,” Kyreth said hesitantly, his tone coming out somewhere between a statement and a question. He couldn’t very well refuse, but something in the back of his mind was wary. It felt like a trick; like the second the cloak left her hands, she’d run to the guards and call him a thief. But she was so sincere – so… naive, even – that he couldn’t help but take the cloak anyway.

As soon as the heavy fabric hit his hands, he looked like it was the first time he’d ever seen a cloak before. Thick, wooly, and expertly dyed in deep, rich green, its quality was clearly in a league of its own. Hells, the clasp alone could probably buy a few nights’ stay in a nice hotel, assuming any ever let him cross the threshold. It made his own cloak, ratty old square of canvas that it was, look and feel like garbage – or, more aptly, even more like garbage than it already was. And this woman handed it over like it was little more than a handkerchief. Was she crazy?

Accepting the cloak seemed to satisfy her, and she even went so far as to smile and pat him on the shoulder like a well-meaning relative. Kyreth returned her smile as best he could in his abject confusion before quickly and quietly taking his leave, tossing Lilann a telling glance on the way. He dreaded what he’d find in Lord Mystralath’s study, but at least it couldn’t be any weirder than what was going on in the lobby.

He waited until Vivian led him around a corner before changing into the new cloak, not wanting to show his horns in front of so many people. Not that hiding them did much good, since they all already knew what he was, but that didn’t make much difference to him. He’d been hiding them so long it felt borderline indecent to reveal them now. With a fancy new cloak to hide in, he could pretend to be an upstanding citizen for a little longer, before the local authorities dragged him out in shackles.

He ran a hand through his hair to smooth it as he changed, absently wishing he’d have had the chance to bathe before being lent something so immaculate to wear. Even just touching it felt wrong, the contrast between his rough hands and the soft fabric all the more striking when he noticed a bit of dirt on them from his night in the graveyard. Eila had a point there, at least – he certainly couldn’t go see a Lord looking like he’d spent the night literally sleeping with the dead.

He struggled a little with the clasp, nervous to break it, before finally replacing the hood and addressing Vivian. “Sorry to bother you,” he apologized instinctively, “but… did the Lord say why he wanted to see me?”

He was a little scared to hear the answer, but at least this way he could maybe scope out an escape route before he was locked inside.

The Shattering of Aegis

_{✧ Location: Soft Haven Bounty House ✧ Purse: 12 copper ✧ @McMolly @Scribe of Thoth ✧}

Lilann’s uncommon confidence shone again as she answered his hushed question with a perfectly audible response, decrying the Silventria woman as a bigot for all the room to hear. She even cracked a joke, as if they were lounging in a Dregs speakeasy in the company of their own kind and not surrounded by strangers of dubious intent in a place they most certainly didn’t belong. Well, he didn’t; more and more, though, Lilann seemed like she really did.

Despite his lingering unease, though, Kyreth had to agree with the sentiment. How many Tainted could say they landed a chance like this? He’d wager his few coppers the number could be counted on one hand, if at all - at least for the ones he grew up with. Apprenticeships, training… not only would they never be offered the chance to begin with, but they’d quickly be laughed out of the Dregs if they ever dared to accept. Back home, making an honest living was a fool’s errand; why slave away for someone who hates you when you can strip them of their ill-gotten gains and knock them down a few pegs in the process? It wouldn’t make them any fonder of the Tainted, fine, but it wasn’t like the Tainted of Buscon were in the business of making friends.

“Only on account of you,” Kyreth shyly replied, doing his best to hide his sharp teeth behind his burgeoning grin. But before he could thank Lilann and reflect on his incredible luck to stumble upon the only other Tainted in the world who would think working for a bricklayer or a thatcher was laudable, he was cut off by the reappearance of Ceolfric, looming over them with his hand dangerously close to his blade.

"She seems a bit too self-important to waste her time on an entertainer of drunkards and a fence-mender anyway, Aetherborn or not," he said, his withering gaze hinting at some double meaning that Kyreth couldn’t quite decipher. "I think you're in the clear, if you're not feeling particularly retributive."

“Oh, no, I’m... good,” Kyreth replied, averting his gaze and rubbing the back of his neck, hoping that would be enough to satisfy him. Why was he looking at him like that? He thought the brigand had lost interest in them after their little hostage walk up here. Likely he just didn’t like Tainted, but he could have gotten the point across much clearer with an insult than his weirdly veiled words of comfort.

Fortunately, Kyreth was saved from any followup by Aleka’s announcement, launching into a full explanation of how the Bounty House operated.

Kyreth listened carefully, catching Aleka’s look as the half-elf explained the details of contract work. For a mercy, it seemed they were on the same page; safe, regular employment was all Kyreth could ask for, and the possibility of training or even room and board on top of it all would be a sweet deal for anyone, let alone a Tainted. That was, of course, dependent on any contractor’s willingness to take on a Tainted, but he dared to hope the Bounty House’s reputation for tolerance would at least help to temper their clients’ expectations.

For another mercy, it sounded like the mercenary work the House also offered would probably take Ceolfric far away from him and Lilann; after all, he doubted a hardened “former” brigand was looking to apply his highwayman experience to a new career in wagon building. Kyreth could only thank his (apparently multiplying) lucky stars that he wouldn’t have to take any part in the “test” Cerric described, or any of the other grand adventures he seemed so excited about, for that matter.

When the time came for questions, he didn’t have any for Aleka or Cerric. After, though, he’d have some for Lilann; her quick thinking got them into the House without much issue, but it also got them stuck together, it would seem. Not that Kyreth would complain - even if he minded, which he didn’t, he wasn’t about to spurn her kindness - but he was curious what sort of work Lilann was interested in, or what a background of storytelling equipped her for. Someone so worldly must be capable of more than spinning tales, and he hoped his corresponding lack of… well, anything, wouldn’t hold her back.

The Shattering of Aegis

_{✧ Location: Soft Haven Bounty House ✧ Purse: 12 copper ✧ @McMolly ✧}

With Lilann’s help, it seemed Kyreth successfully convinced the bookman of their relationship – that or the man didn’t care enough to press for the truth, either of which was fine by him. The mention of a possible apprenticeship made Kyreth’s eyes go wide; apprenticeship, like under a carpenter or a stonemason or the like? The opportunity to learn a skilled trade was rare enough for most folk, but for a Tainted it was just about unheard of. Could he truly be so lucky? Lord Mystralath was a generous man indeed if this was the sort of employment put on offer by the Bounty House.

Kyreth’s brief moment of hope was interrupted, however, when the shadowy-haired kid raised his voice to ask after the meaning of “Asvari.” Perhaps it was optimistic of him to hope that nobody would question the odd name and he and Lilann could avoid scrutiny a little longer, but of course it was no use. Their eyes didn’t lie; by now surely everyone in the room knew exactly what they were.

The bookman’s explanation, on the other hand, was fascinating. It wasn’t ideal that he pointed them out plain as day to be Tainted, but he spoke of a land named Veraz founded outside the influence of Aziaza’s court, where even the Tainted could find refuge without persecution. Could such a place really exist? Kyreth had heard of no such land, but that didn’t mean anything when he knew little and less about the lands outside of Buscon, let alone the wider continent or what was beyond it. But if a haven like that was out there, why hadn’t every Tainted in Othard already fled there? And why would the bookman – Aleka – ever leave?

That question would be left for another time, if ever at all. A shiver crawled up Kyreth’s spine when a sarcastic clap sounded from the staircase, a tiny woman descending with a fan following behind her and spite on every feature. “The only succor they need is six feet of piss soaked dirt,” she spat, the familiar vitriol ringing like a dull throb in Kyreth’s ears. His eyes fell to the floor out of habit, angling himself away as if pretending she wasn’t there. Honestly, it was a blessing that this was his first such encounter since arriving at Soft Haven – even if he hadn’t actually entered the city walls – and he would take it as such, thankful that cruel words were the only thing she threw at the pair of them before taking her leave.

The Bounty Houses were renowned for their tolerance of all types; Kyreth just had to make sure he didn’t cross paths with that woman outside its walls.

Kyreth stepped quickly away from Aleka’s desk as he called for the next in line, ushering Lilann to follow him to a spot where they wouldn’t be in the bookman’s way. As a show of good faith, he decided to sit in one of the plush chairs against the wall as the blue-skinned elf – Cerric – jovially introduced the spiteful woman as Aeowyn Silventria.

“Wait, Silventria? Wasn’t that— was that just the mentor he recommended you?” he asked softly, looking quizzically between Lilann and the bookman across the room. He had to make a concerted effort not to whisper; no need to draw more bad attention. Of course, given they were also more likely to be overheard, he chose his words carefully. “...Are you okay with that?”

The Shattering of Aegis

_{✧ Location: Soft Haven Bounty House ✧ Purse: 12 copper ✧ @McMolly @Trainerblue192 @Hero ✧}

The shadow-headed kid was just about as personable as a Buscon youth, too; which was to say, not very. He didn’t seem happy about being addressed, and wasn’t about to budge, either. Kyreth wasn’t surprised. If anything, it was a very tame reaction to sharing close quarters with a pair of Tainted.

What was unusual, though, was how chatty the kid was. Kyreth had come to expect little more than silent glares of warning or insults and thrown garbage, not a whole interrogation. The kid was suspicious of the pair of them, sure, and Kyreth supposed he couldn’t blame him; hell, even he would get a little uneasy to see two strange Tainted whispering among themselves. Still, most normal people were either too smart or too scared to confront a Tainted alone.

The boy took a step forward, and Kyreth stepped back, reflexively glancing around for the exits. The boy didn’t look like he could do much damage, but that was irrelevant when Kyreth had no plans of fighting back. But even as he shrank away, he couldn’t deny a little bit of his old self was chafing under the boy’s advance. A familiar indignation brushed him, thinking this kid was awfully confident for someone his stature in a room full of strangers, confronting a pair of Tainted two-on-one. And what right did he have to look at them with that kind of scorn all over his face?

Lilann must have been feeling it too. True to their shared nature, she didn’t seem to take kindly to the boy’s display, instead delivering a vaguely intimidating line before taking her turn with the bookman. Then, almost as if Selene herself was looking out for him, the boy’s attention was drawn away by the piano player’s grand display, allowing Kyreth to disengage. He rejoined Lilann near the bookman’s desk. This situation was getting far too dicey for his liking. But as if she knew he was about to make his excuses and take his leave, Lilann pulled him into the conversation with the only words she could possibly have said to make him stay.

“This is my close friend, whose employment is packaged with my own.”

It was a remarkable act of kindness that stunned Kyreth into silence, dumbly stepping forward at Lilann’s direction. It was such a flawless trap that Kyreth might have smirked if he wasn’t so confused. Why would she do that? Was she trying to pin down some security for herself by keeping him around? Or was it really just a selfless act? She’d been so kind to him in their brief time together, but it was so hard to trust a face so much like his own, Kyreth wasn’t sure what to think.

But there was no time to think; Berta told him once that Selene only helps those who deigned to help themselves, and he’d be an idiot to refuse the Mother of Outcast’s guiding hand, no matter his reservations.

“Y-yes, of course – good morning,” he greeted not-at-all smoothly, a little unsettled by the dead tone of the bookman’s voice. He heard him refer to the two of them as “Asvari”, but what the hell was that? He wasn’t about to correct the man – being mistaken for anything other than a Tainted was well in Kyreth’s best interests – but he’d never heard of any race by that name before.

“My name is Kyreth… um…” And he stumbled on the first hurdle. Shit, he didn’t have a surname! “...Berta…sson. Sorry— Kyreth Bertasson,” he clumsily recovered, using the first name that came to mind. Poor old Berta was the closest thing he ever had to family; hopefully she wouldn’t mind him borrowing her name.

“Lilann and I travel together. She finds us opportunities, and I fetch things from tall shelves,” he continued, lying smoothly as he played off Lilann’s lead. He chuckled, an awkward, close-lipped affair, hoping the joke would sell the facade of familiarity between the two of them. And hopefully not insult Lilann in the process.

He cleared his throat. “Um, right. I’m originally from Buscon – erm, in Relfin. No next of kin either. I used to be a farmhand; I don’t have many skills except mending roofs and fences, but I’m a hard worker, I learn quick and there’s no job too small for me.”

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

_{@Achronum@Scribe of Thoth@Salsa Verde@POOHEAD189}

Almost as soon as he volunteered, Jorah regretted his decision. While it was true that the best place for him in this mission (aside from nowhere near the battlefield at all) was at the front where he had less chance of being paralyzed by someone else’s fear, if he had thought about someone other than himself for two saints-damned seconds he would have realized that it was almost guaranteed that Clarissa would volunteer to help the civilians, thus leaving her too far behind for him to protect her. Jorah didn’t like the idea of Clarissa out of his sight on the battlefield at the best of times, let alone after Kayden’s bullshit back in Luin. But it wasn’t so much that he worried about Clarissa being attacked; she could more than take care of herself, that he knew well. That wasn’t the problem. No, what worried the blond was the other students around her, foolhardy or cowardly, putting themselves in danger. Clarissa was too noble, too brave, too utterly unlike Jorah to stand by and let someone else come to harm. She’d step in to protect them without hesitation – that was what he was worried about.

"Professor Lavender, I'd be more comfortable working with the civilians, if for no other reason than to have an extra person comfortable with restorative magic on hand if our front line is outmaneuvered or our enemies have prepared an ambush."

Dammit! For once, Jorah hated being right. He opened his mouth to change his mind, but his efforts went unacknowledged; positions might as well have been written in stone once Professor Lavender put them on the board. Worse still, unlike Jorah expected, Kayden ended up in the rear guard as well. Was the Goddess playing a trick on him? Was this how she taught him to be less impulsive? It was a lesson many years too late, but it stung just the same. Jorah could only pray there wouldn’t be a chance for a repeat of Luin on the back lines, but Clarissa had a point. If the heretics circled around and made it to the rear, it could be Luin all over again. Probably without the giant, but no less dangerous.

Even less comforting was the fact that after that ride the Prince invited himself to, Jorah had zero confidence that Kayden learned anything from his little suicide attempt in their last excursion. Although he had every faith Clarissa saw through Kayden as well as he did, the man saw himself as the reluctant yet noble prince, the magnanimous hero of his own song. It would make excellent storytelling to throw himself into the fray once more for the sake of the smallfolk, and in so doing put those around him in danger. Jorah knew the type well; hell, he fell into that category more often than not. But while he’d gladly label himself reckless, and even appreciate it in others, at least he had the sense to knock it off when lives were on the line!

When the briefing was over, there were precious few seconds before the units were whisked off to their respective preparations. In that time, Jorah only had the chance to grab Clarissa’s attention and urge her, “Be careful,” and then they were off to uniforms and stables and the battlefield beyond.

Once again, there was no chance for Jorah to fetch his own bow; instead, a stiff, standard-issue steel one was pushed into his hands as he scrambled to assemble the gear he was given. The Deer-yellow tunic and leathers were easy enough, although he struggled a moment with the light pauldron and hard leather vambraces.

But maybe the Goddess planned it that way, for by the time he was ready, he emerged from the armory just in time to cross paths with none other than Kayden on his way in. Without thinking, Jorah stepped in his way, their shoulders colliding. His eyes were hard as they bored into the Prince’s, burning with a deadly intensity that was otherwise foreign to him.

Unlike the last time they met, Jorah didn’t bother with pretenses. “Pull any shit like back in Luin,” he growled, “and if the heretics don’t get you, I will.”

~ /// ~

Jorah seethed down the mountain, wondering if the anxiety and frustration burning in his chest was fully his own, or whether it was seeping into him from the group around him. He always struggled to tell; his own emotions and those of others bled together like ink on wet paper, and it was near impossible to distinguish where one drop ended and the next began. Thus, he chose to believe that it was others tainting his heart for the moment – better for his mood that way. Ironically, he did his best to ride close to Auberon; stiff as he was, the guy was damn unflappable, and the aura of holy righteous fire he exuded in battle was a potent draught, intoxicating and invigorating even to the meekest of men. At least, if they had a Crest that let them feel it. His fervor would make a great pick-me-up for any reluctant soldier, and a soothing balm for Jorah’s ailing mood.

The fog along the road didn’t help, but Jorah was surprised to note that aside from his classmates, no one was hiding in the mist; he figured the anticipation of someone laying in wait for an ambush would be clear as day, and even the horses weren’t bothered. Jorah chose to take that as a good sign. After all, if they were going to come back this far, they’d probably do it to ambush them, right? Maybe that meant they’d never bother coming to the rear, and the rear unit would be safe.

They soon emerged from the fog to find the town of Magdred eerily lifeless. It wasn’t empty, though; Jorah came to the same conclusion as Euphemia, sensing some muffled nerves coming from inside the first few houses. Still, the place was unnaturally still for such a developed town. Creepy.

Anticipation hung heavy in the air as they dismounted. Most of it came from the advance unit itself, but if Jorah’s senses were right, he could feel something fainter coming from up ahead as well. The teachers? They seemed too close to feel so faint, but maybe their nerves were just stronger than the students. Otherwise, perhaps more townspeople were still around deeper in. Or it was the tension of a throng of heretics waiting to strike – that was always an option. Jorah chose to assume the worst, and Michail seemed to agree.

Jorah formed up with his group – Auberon and a girl whose name he already forgot – who were meant to take point behind Michail with the other units following. He let the other two walk ahead (melee in front and ranged behind – turns out he did learn something in Tactics) and nocked an arrow, positioning himself between the two and a few paces back. He kept his fingers on the string, bow poised low in front of him.

“Let me know if you see anything,” he murmured to his partners, head on a swivel. He scanned the street with the eyes of a hunter, watching for any sign of movement.

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

_{@Scribe of Thoth@Hero and the whole back 9}

It was a good thing only the advance unit was expected to ride to Magdred Way on horseback; not only had Lienna never put a foot in a stirrup in her life, but by the way the carriage horses fussed when she passed them to board (not to mention pretty much every other animal she’d encountered in her life), she would probably have gotten half the unit killed or injured when she sent their mounts bolting at the sight of her.

It was hardly the most relevant thought as she stepped down from the carriage at Magdred, but it was the first one that came to mind which didn’t feature gruesome memories of the last time she’d been forced to fight in the fog. The situation at Magdred was too similar for comfort: a now-empty carriage, an unnatural fog, and a foreboding sense that whatever was to come would not go according to plan.

"We're walking into a trap."

Rudolf’s voice from somewhere off to her side startled Lienna, but he stated the obvious. The mist was definitely unnatural (granted, she wasn’t entirely sure why she was so certain about that), not to mention the temperature – wasn’t it supposed to get warmer as you descended a mountain? There was definitely something else going on here. After all, the last time she conjured a fog, it was to set up an ambush. Contrary to Rudolf’s opinion, why would this be any different?

Rudolf’s rattled off theories went over Lienna’s head for the most part, but his voice in the fog was a reminder of one key difference between here and Luin: this time, she had more than a brooding princess on her side. The thought wasn’t much comfort – with the exception of Tomai, who was bound to their protection, and maybe Clarissa, who seemed noble and foolish enough to stick her neck out for any comrade in danger, Lienna didn’t trust a single soul among her unit to protect her – but at the very least, a few more bodies between her and approaching death would probably open up an opportunity to escape if things got ugly.

Still, the fog had a way of messing with her senses. Unsure if the figures in the mist were allies, enemies, or her own mind playing tricks on her, Lienna chose simply not to look at them, focusing instead on adjusting her sleeves. The heavy black robes she’d been given served an adequate distraction for the moment; the thick fabric hung poorly on her frame, never sitting quite right and restricting her movement. She’d been told they had some defensive capability and would help enhance her magic, but seeing as she’d only just gotten used to the stiff fit of her school uniform, the added weight and mass of the robes felt more like a death shroud than something meant to protect her.

But she could only focus on ill-fitting robes for so long, and as they stood in the mist, Lienna got more uneasy by the second. It was nearly impossible to stop her eyes from darting around at the fog, imagining brigands in strange garb bursting through at any moment to finish what they started back in Him—no, Luin. Ha. Lienna might have cracked a smile at the dark irony of that thought if she wasn’t so on edge. What a joke; her life was so defined by danger that her encounters were starting to bleed together.

“Let’s just get moving and be done with this quickly,” she suggested, still suspiciously eyeing the fog.

The Shattering of Aegis

_{✧ Location: Soft Haven Bounty House ✧ Purse: 12 copper ✧ @McMolly @Trainerblue192 @Hero ✧}

While Lilann kept her awe mostly in check, Kyreth had no such skill. On the contrary, his eyes were saucers of featureless white and his jaw nearly dropped when he saw the inside of the House, gaping at the ornately carved wood and stone, the plush rugs and tapestries, the fine furniture, and just how clean and pristine everything was. By Selene, there was even a working piano! He’d only laid eyes on a piano a few times in Buscon, and they were always long broken and carved up with lewd graffiti, relics of optimistic owners who thought you could bring something that sophisticated into the Dregs without it getting destroyed. Of course, this was nothing like those hole-in-the-wall joints; the closest thing he could liken the Bounty House to was what he imagined the common room of an expensive inn would look like, but that he’d never seen firsthand.

As Lilann led the pair toward the desk, Kyreth started to feel even more out of place than usual, the typical self-consciousness that came with being Tainted amplified. He’d definitely never been somewhere this nice, and the sight of it all made him feel filthy, like he would soil anything he touched. It took him a moment to realize he was tiptoeing.

But his swivel-headed Buscon instincts wouldn’t be ignored for too long, and Kyreth soon snapped out of his stupor when the half-elf behind the desk to which Lilann had navigated them started speaking. The bored-sounding man credited the Bounty House to “Lord Malcer Mystralath”, and the name sounded familiar. Of course he recognized the family name – everyone knew the names of the major families of Othard – but Lord Malcer particularly stuck in his mind, and he didn’t think it was because of the Bounty House itself. Kyreth’s brow furrowed. Where had he heard that name before?

He stood by with Lilann to the side of the desk as the hedgeman – Ceolfric, apparently – gave the half-elf his details. Brigand from Dranir, eh? The only things Kyreth knew about Dranir were embellishments from bards’ songs about a harsh and frozen mountain range filled with warring factions and monsters, and by his experience with Ceolfric, that all seemed true enough. Strange to hear about the brigand’s supposed power to make people obey; in lighter circumstances, Kyreth might have laughed. He seemed pretty good at making people do what he wanted by pointing a blade at them, if that was what he meant.

As they stood there, presumably waiting so Lilann could give her details next, Kyreth struggled mightily to stand still, feeling very ill-at-ease. Not only did he feel like he stuck out even more than normal in such lavish surroundings, but that nagging agitation from before still hadn’t left him; in fact, the longer it went on the more he suspected that the feeling wasn’t nerves at all. He’d been scared out of his wits before – hells, traveling as a Tainted could put a man on edge for weeks at a time, and it definitely had for him – but this just wasn’t quite the same. No, the longer this strange nervous feeling clung to him, the more he suspected that the thrum of his heart and the quivering of his stomach were something else entirely. Excitement? He doubted that very much. Was hunger getting to him? He’d barely eaten two meals over the past two days, but this didn’t feel like hunger. Whatever it was, he didn’t like it. Even if it wasn’t organic nerves, the fact that the feeling only cropped up on the way to the Bounty House didn’t endear him much to the place.

He thought about leaving again, but decided against it. Yeah, he’d technically satisfied the bargain he’d made with himself and gotten Lilann safely to the House. But as it seemed there was lots more formality to go through before she was set up with the House, and he still didn’t entirely trust the place, Kyreth figured it was best to stay until Lilann was settled. Then he would leave.

“Well, what do you think? Charming, isn’t it? There are certainly worse places to find work. Pity about the company, but I believe this might be the safest we’ve been all day.”

Even though he was actively thinking about her, Kyreth was surprised to hear Lilann speak up, realizing only then that he got lost (unwisely) in his head again. Although he felt markedly less comfortable than Lilann seemed to, Kyreth couldn’t help a hint of a smile at her quip, the expression looking almost foreign to his face as he nodded.

“It’s definitely beautiful,” he answered honestly, keeping his voice down as if afraid that speaking too loud would bring the stonework crashing down around them. As for the comment about safety, Kyreth wasn’t so sure. It was certainly nice to be around a few more witnesses, the House denizens didn’t seem to wish them any harm (if anything, the blue-skinned one at the piano seemed pleased) and he’d heard of the Bounty Houses’ policy of not turning out Tainted, but that feeling gnawing at his gut wouldn’t let him put his guard down so easily.

Besides, it seemed he wasn’t alone in his suspicion.

“I hope so, but…” Kyreth replied quietly, trailing off. Gesturing to the door, he pointed Lilann’s attention to the richly-dressed woman who stood rooted at the entrance, stiff and pallid. She looked like she saw a ghost, and seemed to be the only other occupant of the House who looked as uneasy as Kyreth felt.

At that moment, though, Kyreth became aware of a body behind him; the shadow-headed boy, who was glaring at him from his place at the wall. Kyreth had to give the boy some credit for sneaking behind him without him noticing; another reason not to let himself get awed into a stupor every time he saw something expensive.

“I’m sorry, would you like to go ahead?” Kyreth asked the boy, gesturing for him to move past the two Tainted. He understood unease, but the kid looked almost angry. Had he done something to offend him? Kyreth looked between the boy and the woman by the door, suddenly wondering why they had separated.

“Is your… friend alright?” He asked the boy quietly. It dawned on him that maybe the woman was afraid of him; she probably saw through his disguise by now and responded the same way many women did when faced with a Tainted: muted fear. Maybe that was why her charge was so annoyed with him.

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

_{@Scribe of Thoth @Hero}

Lienna was well on her way to dozing off waiting for class to start when a meek, quiet "What are we doing?" sounded from the seat next to her that she previously thought was empty. She visibly jumped at the sound, hastily smoothing her hair and skirt to play off her surprise when she saw who the voice belonged to. It was Rudolf, whose name she only remembered because of a big, burly Fraldarius soldier by the same name who shared exactly nothing in common with the skinny, red-eyed boy looking sullen beside her.

She was actually relieved at the sight of him; the two of them saw more of each other lately in the new Crest class, as well as their usual small-group magic lessons with Professor Tomai, and Rudolf was always content to sulk to himself, rarely saying more than a few words when the class demanded it. Lienna was happy to return the favour; mutual silent focus was the kind of calm, unintrusive coexistence she could get behind (if only her Housemates shared that sentiment). Besides, she couldn’t deny some fascination with his entirely foreign, Imperial style of magic, so fundamentally different in form and function than her own, and his impressive control over it.

As such, Lienna was uncharacteristically unbothered by Rudolf’s presence, and simply shrugged at his question. “Couldn’t tell you,” she answered simply, a bit of northern slang showing through. Or maybe it was a lowborn saying – all she knew was it was something she didn’t usually hear the highborn students saying. “Those ones seem to think it’s some big group exercise,” she added, glancing over to the chatting strangers behind them. “Not sure who invited them.”

They didn’t have to wait long to find out. Shortly after a few more students trickled in, the geography professor (whose class was interesting enough, but whose name Lienna never bothered to commit to memory) launched into a spiel about dissidents and hostages and the Knights of Seiros. And surprise surprise, almost as if her previous musings had predicted it, their mission – which they would accept – was yet another illustrious and philanthropic death charge in the name of the Church.

Lienna’s mood soured as the professor asked for volunteers, the girl sinking back in her seat with arms crossed and gaze icy. Sparkling petals of frost bloomed over her fingertips and forearms as she bristled, seemingly responding to her agitation. Obviously she knew the whole “defending the faithful from the wicked” thing came part and parcel with her Officers’ Academy education (something she had come to find out was so respected by the nobles of Faerghus that not even pleading letters to her mouldering fiancé could get her out of), but she was still no fan of sticking her neck out for strangers that would probably never do the same for her. She knew their type; she grew up with them. Run, run, run, save yourself and maybe your children, take what help you can get and to hells with anyone else in the way. It made sense in Hima, maybe even here too, when you were lucky enough to be the one being rescued, but it did not extend to becoming the rescuer. It simply wasn’t in their nature. And it wasn’t in Lienna’s either.

At least the last interference had been coincidence (or so they’d been told), but apparently Garreg Mach made a habit of pushing throngs of barely-capable teenagers into the phalanx right alongside the Knights of Seiros. Lienna almost laughed, wondering how the famous Knights lived up to their fearsome reputation if they needed help from cushy highborn students bound for lives of luxury at the end of the year. And of course, once more Lienna wondered what the smallfolk of these southern valley villages – or the Knights themselves, for that matter – had ever done to deserve her own blood spilled on their behalf, and once more came up empty.

The room was quiet for a moment after the professor finished her brief, presumably the sound of every other student asking themselves the same question Lienna was asking. Then, to her surprise, the first to pipe up was none other than that showboating layabout Deer leader who fancied himself a ladies man. However, instead of the sexually-charged quip Lienna expected, he just about barked that he’d apparently go anywhere he wouldn’t be inconvenienced by the suffering of commoners.

Reflexively, Lienna bristled, ready to decry his callousness as the typical highborn attitude, happy to let his lessers suffer and die as long as he couldn’t hear the screaming from his castle tower. However, in an admittedly rare moment of self awareness, she realized that his thinking, pompously phrased as it was, wasn’t entirely unlike her own. Sure, his reasoning was undoubtedly rooted in highborn arrogance, and his foolhardy thirst for excitement and danger born of a sheltered life unacquainted with real suffering and death, but the end result was the same: neither of them were interested in dying for a village full of strangers to whom they owed nothing. She supposed she had to understand that, if not respect it.

Of course, her preference of battle station was opposite. While Blondie there didn’t want the wails of widows in his ears while he played hero, Lienna just wanted to be as far from any fighting as possible. After all, she didn’t come all this way to die defending thatch-roof houses in a field somewhere miles from home.

“I’ll hang back with the hostages, thanks,” she spoke up after Blondie. Less chance of skewering allies that way, probably; she’d made some progress with her control, but seeing as she was happy anytime the magic went forward, keeping her out of the fight was probably best for everyone involved.

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

_@Hero

To Jorah’s considerable surprise (and delight), his day, for once, did not start with a thunderous rapping on his door by a certain red-headed morning church bell. As such, although even this seemingly late hour would have been considered inhumanely early when he was still living at home, he was allowed to sleep blissfully well further into the morning than he could usually manage since his arrival at Garreg Mach. So, instead of bells or hurried door knocking waking him, he was able to sleep until the sun streaming in his window passed over his eyes, rousing him just enough to make him stir.

While he would normally have been content to pull the sheets over his head and go right back to sleep, Jorah was unfortunately roused just enough to notice that something was bothering him. He kept his eyes stubbornly closed in hopes that whatever that nagging feeling was would get tired and go away, but something still felt… off. Was there something he was supposed to do today? It wasn’t like he was one to stress over shirked responsibilities. Someone he needed to meet? Sadly no; the usual gaggle of comely maidens was a bit harder to come by in Garreg Mach, considering they were all either tight-laced daughters of lower nobility who’d probably been warned to steer clear of him or otherwise pristine young ladies in preparation to give themselves over to the Goddess rather than him. Did he have somewhere to be, then? Class, probably, but that never really bothered him before—dammit, the meeting!

Audibly groaning into his pillow, Jorah was even more tempted to shove his head under his sheets and dive back into sleep knowing that this was the morning of their special stupid meeting before class. He had more than an inkling what the meeting was going to be about, and seeing as how the last one ended with an unbecoming cut on his cheek (that still hadn’t completely healed, to his dismay) and half his House lucky to be alive, Jorah wasn’t exactly eager to get to this next one.

Goddess above, he should have bolted when he got the chance.

Against his better judgment, Jorah levered himself out of bed and splashed some water over his face, pulling on his shirt and uniform in a sleepy yet frustrated daze. He kept the buttons at the top undone in protest – or what would have been protest if that wasn’t how he normally wore it – and walked out the door, leaving his shoulder cape behind. Truth be told, he kinda liked the thing – it was flashy and excessive, both qualities that suited him fine – but he was a little too irritated this early in the day to want to draw even more attention to himself. The thought made him smirk; Clarissa would run a victory lap if she heard him say that out loud.

He made his way across the Monastery in such a way that he looked like he was rushing without actually going much faster, taking a detour to the dining hall to grab a soft, colourful fruit the attendant described as hailing from Morfis. The skin had flamboyant leaves sticking out from it and the flesh inside was brightly coloured and almost pasty, and tasty enough for Jorah to immediately add Morfis to his adventuring bucket list. He was forced to roll his sleeve up as pink juice dripped down his arm, but that just gave him an extra second or two to linger outside the Blue Lions classroom, flicking off the worst of it before he crossed the threshold.

Jorah took care of the rest with a yellow handkerchief produced from his pocket as he took his seat near Clarissa and… some others he didn’t recognize. Er, wait—was that one of the Gloucester boys? What was it… Ermes? No, Ezra—Ezekial! Yes, that one. A bit of a snob ever since his father died, but it was hard to blame the kid for that. Still, Jorah always did give him a wide berth; as much as he held himself together, his emotions always swirled around him like a dark gathering storm that made it hard for Jorah to relax in his company. Besides, he was always picking arguments even before his father passed, and that was just plain irritating. Maybe that was how Jorah managed not to hear that he was attending the Officers’ Academy.

He’d arrived just as the alluringly stern geography teacher – who was here, for some reason – started asking for volunteers, and Jorah visibly deflated. He missed the briefing, but it didn’t take much to guess; the map of Magdred Way on the board and the cloud of mixed emotions fogging up the room told him all he needed to know.

“Saint’s taint…” he murmured sourly, rubbing his temple and realizing that he had forgotten to paint his face in his half-hearted rush. A sign that this mission was just as damned as their last, as far as he was concerned. A wave of dread, some from others and some his own, washed over Jorah; as pissed as he was about Kayden’s reckless behaviour last time, he still hadn’t forgotten – nor fully gotten over, if he was honest with himself – his own poor performance. He’d clammed up when it mattered most, paralyzed by the fear and grief and panic of those poor townspeople as they watched their homes burn around them – and the ones they couldn’t save.

He felt his fingers brush over the mark on his cheek, not having realized he even raised his hand. He’d managed to snap out of it that time, sure, but not before some lowlife bandit came within inches of putting an arrow through his skull. What about next time? If he froze like that again, he very much doubted he’d get so lucky a second time. And making matters worse, there was nothing he could do to stop it! Crest classes had only been underway for a week, and though he’d been looking into ways to control his sensing ability, nothing yet was bearing fruit. He’d be helpless in the face of such a wave of emotions again, and it would put not only him, but his House and who knew who else in danger.

Who ever thought it was a good idea to put him on the battlefield?

Jorah exhaled sharply through his nose, a mix of feelings both foreign and domestic racking his nerves. The mix settled on irritated, and his wine-coloured eyes flashed with agitation as he crossed his arms, shrugging with a huff. “Fine; if this is what we’re doing, just put me far away from any screaming civilians.”