SilverPaw

Sword and Dungeon: An Adventurer's Guild-based Fantasy RP

-Cracks neck-

So, right, elves. Elves have gotten a lot of interest, so I feel it's a good time to dump some more history that goes way beyond the basic stuff in the intro and how this leads to the current elf situation.

Back when the world was young, the elves were an undifferentiated group, taught the first magic – astromancy, the magic of starlight and still considered the purest part of the art – by the goddess of magic and many things besides by their own deities. Although mostly they lived in the western continent, over time some spread eastwards towards the lands covered in the opening…

@Raineh Daze

What does astromancy entail, and who is the goddess of magic?

Sword and Dungeon: An Adventurer's Guild-based Fantasy RP

Out of curiosity, since there are paladins, would there be clerics? Or is it more so a specialization for healing/light magic? Would such a profession be considered respectable (even among nobles, for example)?

The Season of the Enlightened

_{Jo Montague
Jo Montague}

_{Mentions/Interactions: /}

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Jo left headmaster Poe’s office feeling buoyed, a pep in his step. The lord had actually listened, and had even promised to help! He wouldn’t leave it all in the principal’s hands, of course, but he could rest easy, at least for a bit. A light heart was to be treasured, as he and his father both agreed. He was in the mood to thoroughly explore the grounds, and he indulged the impulse, starting with the dormitories.

He marveled at the room he was given. Not because it was better furnished than the one in his home – it could not be, with Edward Montague’s years of efforts to make him feel at home, and Jo’s own touch adding to it – but because the knowledge that every single student had a room like this boggled the mind. He had seen the staggering size of the whole school building, he had, but it was quite another thing to have something with which to put it in concrete terms.

His dorm room was a pleasant contrast of dark floors, creamy walls, and light wood furniture. Jo removed his boots and socks, diggings his toes into the plush rug at the foot of his bed. He opened his trunk, and took his time depositing most of his things into their places; into the empty wardrobe, on the smooth beech study desk, books on their shelves, writing materials, a few stray coins, a deck of cards, cosmetic kit, and other miscellanea into the drawers, and so on. Among his wardrobe was a bunch he kept well hidden: wearable padding constructed in such a manner that none would question his masculinity as well as several sets of wrapping for his chest. He was fortunate that he was not well endowed in that area, but the bindings were useful at times. As always, he kept a few travel essentials in the suitcase in case he needed to leave unexpectedly.

When all was as suited them, Jo sidled up to the window, opened it, and took a peek outside. Balconies were few and far between, which was a shame. Still barefoot, they crouched onto the windowsill. A quick glance confirmed no nosy dormmates happened to be near their windows. They sidled up to the wall, toed to the nearest pilaster, and clambered up using it and the window’s trim for purchase. There were plenty of convenient handholds in the form of cornices, generous ledges, and minute ornaments. The difficult part wasn’t getting up, it was doing it unnoticed. Caution, practice, and fortune held true, and they were soon up on the roof.

Up on the slanted shingles, he stretched out with a weathervane-bearing cupola at his back, as secure up here as if he were on the grounds below. He could see far and wide, from the rolling fields of grass, to the manicured garden, to the sprawling estate surrounding them. It was a nice, calm space here – maybe he’d make it his usual smoking haunt.

Once he’d got his fill of watching from the dorm’s roof, he returned to his room to collect his shoes, and took a stroll along the grounds. He had the general sense of the layout now, but he’d get a better feel down below. Still, when he came across a row of ornamental pillars, he couldn’t help himself. He climbed one up, noticed that another had a hole on its top, and leaped to it.

Oh, what a fun place to discover!

A cozy hideout with a blanket, pillow, and evidence of snacking involved. There was a locked journal inside, and their fingers itched to pick its lock, but they stayed their hands. Jo was inclined to meet whoever was staying here, so they would not steal from the stranger – yet. The youth withdrew the pin from his tie, unearthed a stray piece of paper in his vest, and scratched out ‘Jo’ on it. He placed the introductory slip atop the stranger’s journal, then left their lair.

Jo strolled on the grounds, and noticed a few groups of students clustered here and there. Friends? Gossips? They did not know. What they did hear was speculation on the circus, which had just come in town. They’d go see what it was about when opportunity arose, but they were far from done exploring the immediate surroundings of their newest space of habitation.

They ventured into the garden, admiring the botanist’s skills and sense of aesthetic, when they happened upon a hole in one of its corners. An empty hole. Was the person not done digging yet? Would they hide something in there or had they already taken something out of it? Was it for some other purpose? Jo figure they might come this way another time to check.

They spent a good few hours familiarizing themselves with the school grounds, but as far as they were concerned, that was merely the initial sweep. It would take days, weeks, perhaps longer before they felt comfortably acquainted with St. Eustice’s School for the Enlightened.

A Veil of Lies

Azariah accepted the cloak back. “You’re welcome,” he returned the smile tenfold, bright and broad. One last squeeze to her hand, then Eryn stepped outside. Azar took a moment to hang the cloak, and free his hair from the tie, shaking it out. Remembering one last detail, he searched the waistcoat he’d previously removed, and detached Eryn’s piece of green lace from it. He smoothed it out, admiring its gentle colour, appreciating how it flowed under his fingers, as gentle as a current of water lapping at his fingers. With a satisfied chuff, he slipped it into his trousers’ pocket, and rejoined Eryn.

He found her waiting right outside the carriage, statue still, rigid and distant, the likeness of a sentinel carved from marble. “Are you alright?” Azar asked in a low voice meant only for her, and held out his hand. He let her decide whether to link their palms in a casual gesture, or to place her hand on his arm in a more formal one.

He followed Eryn’s look, and saw his sister, who was now wearing a casual dress and was mid conversation. “Orianne? Yeah.” He smiled fondly. “She’s Solvya’s priestess. There’s no one else I’d want performing the rite. She’s dedicated to our goddess – sometimes boring for it – but she’s amazing. Strong in ways I’m not sure I figured out yet. So, yes, very proud.” It showed in the way he looked at her, the pride of an older brother that bordered on parental at times.

“Let’s go say hi.” With that, he led Eryn in his sister’s direction. “Ria, hey,” he waved to her. “Mr. Barrett, Ms. Jaylene,” he nodded to the two servants by her side. “Give me a blanket, please, I’ll set up the area for us.” Turning to his sister, he asked, “You’ll join us?”

“As soon as I’m done here,” she smiled lightly.

Folded blanket in one hand, Eryn’s palm in the other, he strolled with his wife up a small grassy incline, searching for the perfect spot. “How about there?” He suggested, pointing under a wild plum tree. While servants were bustling here to fro, setting up folding chairs and tiny tables for the other family members under the shade of a resplendent oak, Azariah’s chosen spot was somewhat removed from the activity, though still close enough that the groups could quickly rejoin if they needed to.

With Eryn’s agreement, he spread out the blanket under the plum and its scraggly shadow, where they could enjoy the sun and shade in equal measure. When they settled down, close to each other, Azariah’s gaze turned to Orianne. “If you’re curious about my sister, she’ll be happy to talk to you, you know? But, hm…” he stretched his spine. “She is my only sibling, though we have plenty of cousins. So, she’s always been special to me – don’t tell her I said that,” he gave Eryn a mock warning look. “Sometimes, I still see her as that little girl I used to push up on a swing as high as she could go. Then, she grew older, and got this annoying habit to nag at me,” he rolled his eyes. “We’ve some different tastes and opinions, but we’re close.”

He subtly pointed toward the main family gathering. “And, just in case you wanted to know…Lucian, my uncle, is the marquis right now. He’s cautious, cunning, and pragmatic, but he’s not unfair,” he spoke with a very grudging sort of respect. Then, perhaps out of spite, he tagged on, “Usually. He set me up for this marriage scheme, and only told me two weeks ago.” Which he was still slightly miffed at his uncle for, if only out of principle. “It turned out fine, but I could do without his smugness.” He glanced at her, and added, “For what it’s worth, I believe he’s honest about wanting to strengthen both of our clans.” He paused, letting that sink in, allowing an opportunity for questions.

Then, he gestured to the marchioness, a formidable woman with a dark tan, her black braided hair coiffed and only slightly wind-blown where she was taking charge of the servants. “My aunt Brighid is easier to get along, but for all her kindly mothering, I wouldn’t underestimate her. She’s got a sharp business sense, and looks out for family first. But if she decides you’re a friend, she’ll do good by you.” His gaze shifted to a hawkish, dignified gentleman. “That old man over there with the cane and eye-patch is my grandfather. Still alive somehow. Must be too stubborn to die yet,” he snorted, “He’s the former patriarch, very traditional and fussy. He tries to meddle when he feels like it, but he doesn’t have as much influence as he thinks.”

He might have told her about some of his cousins or the family’s servants next, but Orianne ambled towards them then, carrying a platter of assorted foods, a basket swaying from an elbow. Azar glanced at what she’d brought, and sighed. “You and your rabbit food.” The plate’s central depression carried a large green salad, and was surrounded by divided sections of vegetables: creamy broccoli and cauliflower, baby carrots and peas, green beans and tomatoes, pickled bell peppers and mushrooms.

His grumbling was met with a small smirk. “Oh, this is all for me,” she joked with a light laugh. “And for my sister-in-law,” she winked at Eryn.

Azar shook his head, but was smiling. He brushed his wife’s arm, and stood up. “I’ll bring some meat. Eryn, do you want some? Oh, and do you drink wine?” He took whatever order she had, if any, then returned to one of the carriages, where the servants were gathered around the cooking area, which was composed of two portable grills, and numerous pots and pans set on grates over campfires. Most dishes had been pre-prepared and had only needed to be heated up, but a few fresh cuts of meat were in the midst of cooking.

While Azar was salivating over the sizzling skewers, steaks, and sausages, Orianne took the opportunity to acquaint herself with Eryn. She set down the vegetarian platter between them, and put the basket next to it. The basket was opened to reveal sliced bread, three small plates as well as cutlery. Orianne stood back up to offer a curtsy, introducing herself. “Hello, there. I am Orianne Nymere. You might remember me from the ceremony.” She sat down close enough to Eryn to share food with her, but not crowding her. “Please, do take what you like,” she gestured to the array spread between them.

After they’d both served themselves, Orianne offering to help Eryn make her selection if she wanted, the priestess cocked her head to the side. “How have you been?” She asked, studying Eryn carefully. “My brother has treated you well, I hope?” It didn’t sound like she was overly concerned, but Orianne was aware that Azariah’s tactile nature might be too much for someone reserved, and she suspected that Eryn was very much so.

The Season of the Enlightened

Lord Ingram Poe & Jo Montague

A collab with @PatientBean

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Jo noticed Lord Poe referred to Selina as a Lady, and filed that tidbit away. He smiled politely even when he was the only one the headmaster used his first name for. No Mister for him, huh? Oh, well. The important thing was, the principal had agreed to meet with him right away.

When the others left, Jo followed the headmaster to his office, footfalls soft as a matter of habit. He took the indicated chair, and faced Lord Poe. He took a deep breath before he began.

“It’s about my father, Edward Montague. He was invited as a guest speaker at your school in the past, Lord Poe, and he spoke well of you. I believe he trusts you, so I decided to take my chance, too,” he admitted. “He…”

His fingers scratched at the fabric of his trousers. “He has gone missing,” he breathed. His next words were faster, almost rushed, though he did his best to remain composed. “He was supposed to return home by the end of August. I gave him another three days just in case before contacting the authorities. It has been almost a month now, and still, they refuse to declare him officially missing.” He frowned, nostrils flaring once. “I want to think they are doing their best, but to be honest, I’m concerned. This is not like my father. He wouldn’t just go off gallivanting without a single word home,” he emphasized. He met the principal’s eyes, and swallowed silently.

“So, I was wondering if you would be willing to put in a word to expedite matters, Lord Poe. I realize this is a hefty request.” All he could do was hope the headmaster might indulge him.

After a moment of silence, he added, “If it interests you, I know where his business took him.” His hand wandered to the letter he had put into his inner waistcoat pocket, ready to hand it over if the principal was willing to help – or even if he was on the fence, really. As long as it wasn’t an outright no, Jo figured they could work something out.

Lord Ingram Poe listened intently as Jo regaled him of his plight with his father. He remembered Edward Montague fondly. The man was an excellent speaker and the students enjoyed his speech as did he. To hear he has been missing for a length of time was surprising. What was not surprising was that the authorities were doing precious little to find him. Unless Edward was of a serious and significant rank, he doubted they cared. Money spoke more than a child’s words.
“Yes, Jo, I remember your father. I am sorry to hear of it. I cannot promise to grease the wheels of justice, but I can promise to do what I can.” Lord Poe looked to the letter Jo pulled out. “If you have information, please share. Anything that could be of help.”

Jo pulled out the folded paper, and handed it over. It had not been sent that long ago, yet the creases and crinkles showed it had been handled often. Its edges were smoother, a tad oily from touch, and a tiny splatter of tea had dried in one corner. The seal had been broken, but the sender’s address remained legible on the outer side.

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Sir,

I had a most fruitful engaging discussion the other day with an acquaintance of mine, and spoke of your fondness of engineering. I recalled your presentation following the successful journey of Trevethick’s steam locomotive. You expounded on the sheer genius behind the invention, and offered a few speculative improvements. But what most impressed me was the imagery you painted in your audience’s minds: a world connected by railways, the novel idea of steam engines being used for all manner of other vehicles as well.

Ah, but enough flattery. I know it is a habit of mine you dislike. So, as a fellow man of business, let me strike at the heart of the matter, shall I?

My associate has been in contact with a man who claims he can improve the high pressure steam process, and create a better commercially viable model of the steam-fueled train. I am eager to hear your perspective on this idea. If you are amenable to a discussion, you are cordially invited at my London estate on the 22nd of August at 4PM. I am eagerly awaiting your reply.

Respectfully,

Lord Sidney Campbell

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Lord Poe read the letter and read it again to ensure he understood. The progress of locomotives had been a topic he had discussed, but it was not something he took much interest in. Technology advanced as did most things. “Jo, am I to understand your father left to meet this Lord Campbell and never returned?”

“He…” Jo’s gaze flitted down, fingers twisting nervously. Even if he didn’t say it now, the headmaster would find out if he looked into it. An exhale gusted his lips, and he grudgingly admitted what he knew. “They did send an investigator eventually…Lord Campbell claimed he met up with my father, who then left, and he knows nothing else.” The truth left a bitter taste in his mouth. “So, it’s a dead end. Supposedly.” His lips twisted, shoulders scrunched up, and two spots of colour crept up his cheeks. He expected to be told that it was nothing. That he was worrying too much, clinging to that last piece of correspondence as a hint when it was only an unfortunate coincidence. That something might have happened on his father’s journey, but why would a lord who’d been distraught to hear of his disappearance have anything to do with it?

Lord Poe knew better than most that people, adults especially, did not always have the best of intentions. Whether this Lord Campbell was responsible or not, Jo’s father went there, left, and never made it back home. “I think that has yet to be determined. With your permission, I would like to look into this. I cannot promise anything, but I can at least promise to give it my best and, hopefully, find out what happened to your father. Would that be okay?”

Finally, Jo looked up. “Please, yes. If there is any way for me to help, I will do whatever I can.”

An Idiot's Dungeon Union [It's Monster Politik Time]

The player characters were taken from the same world - not isekaied, but reincarnated into monsters in the dungeon, yeah? Any limits on the PC monster species? Could they be humanoid, too? E.g elf, rogue mage, some sort of vampire, half orc etc. etc..

The Season of the Enlightened

_{Jo Montague
Jo Montague}

_{Mentions/Interactions: @PatientBean @TimelessParagon @Lunari}

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“Good morning, Lord Poe, and thank you for the welcome,” Jo smiled politely. When the young Montague spoke, his voice was a smooth counter tenor, a tone he’d had to practice since his natural physiology granted a mezzo-soprano. There was a vague hint of a rasp, an indication of his smoking habit, though no trace of tobacco scent lingered on him – he made it a point to be careful with his clothes.

He entered the headmaster’s office upon his invitation, and was the last one to take a seat in a leather armchair. The material molded to his shape, yet was firm enough to support. His eyes took in the office, comparing it to his father’s. There was history here, as well as quality, which came from a hefty investment over years of assembling favoured pieces. It was refined, yet it had the same lived-in quality he was used to from Montague Senior. There was that chaotic organization only an owner could make sense of which was so common to scholars and businessmen alike. A pleasant woodsy scent could be detected, and the sweet undertone Jo detected made him smile. It reminded him of chocolate, which was an unexpectedly endearing detail. His eyes tracked the entrances and exits: aside from the door they arrived through, there was another door leading to what they assumed was a private room, and window overlooking the school grounds.

Lord Poe began with an introduction, Enlightened ability included. The headmaster’s power was well-known, though Jo had ambivalent feelings. Poe had not been the one to discover him, and while his past-self would have taken any chance, he was glad he’d met his father instead. The lord made it clear all he was looking for was Enlightenment. Edward Montague on the other hand? It had been a lucky chance, part whim, yet he and his father had found somewhat of a kindred spirit in each other, despite their different stations at the time. He knew the lord did not mean it as such, was careful to say that only ‘some’ students benefited from his ability, but a suspicious part of Jo still ruffled by the implication that the headmaster had a hand in their discovery.

The arrival of treats immediately softened their heart, however. Their countenance brightened, but they restrained themselves, waiting for the other two students to take what they would. Both of them only partook the tea, but the first thing Jo served themselves was a chocolate chip cookie. They put a serviette on their lap, and quietly crunched on the cookie while the other new arrivals introduced themselves. Lady Nightingale was the picture of refinement, and if they were in the guise of a woman, they might have chosen her to mimic her mannerisms. As it was, they returned her nod, though a pleased smile had found its way to their lips – largely because they were in the midst of indulging their sweet tooth. A spark of interest lit their eyes as the lady revealed a part of her ability. She said nothing of what it did, only that chess pieces were her medium. Intriguing.

Edward Blackmore on the other hand…Well, he was clearly very well familiar with his ability, and command over ice certainly suited him. He was standoffish, and didn’t event bother hiding his disdain for Jo. It was a shame; the frowning and arrogance were a waste of his pretty face. He hadn’t a clue why the lord hesitated to take the tea, and noticed only because he’d happened to be paying attention. While he expected the lord would avoid him, and vice versa, Jo figured he could at the very least take a note of the elegant manner with which Blackmore drank tea. The highest echelons of society cared for that kind of a thing, so Jo took special care as he poured himself a cup, adding a dash of milk. Had he not had the cookie, they would have taken a dollop of honey as well, but as it was, he appreciated the bitter herbal contrast to the delightful sweetness of the baked good he had relished.

Lord Blackmore’s condolences to Lady Nightingale clued Jo in that the ‘formerly of Latimer’ must have a meaning they hadn’t been aware of. If a noble unmarried lady lost her father…Perhaps Selina was considered a fallen lady in society? Blackmore had not called her a lady, nor had she done so herself. Jo supposed the ‘lady’ title might not be applicable to her after all, though they’d prefer to observe a larger sample of how others addressed her before attempting to do so themselves.

Finally, it was his turn to make an introduction. “Jo Montague,” he said simply. “As for my ability…” A small mischievous grin emerged. He lifted a hand, wiggled his fingers, and a few motes of light blinked into existence. They floated softly above his palm for a brief second, then they disappeared as soon as they’d appeared. “I have a trick or two up my sleeve,” he winked. He’d shown just enough to prove that he did have an ability, but had done nothing all too eye-catching. If the two other students underestimated him for it, that would work perfectly in his favour. “I haven’t any questions at the moment, Lord Poe, but I would request a few minutes of your time after this, if you could spare me a private audience. I hope it is not too presumptuous of me to ask,” he smiled politely.

A Veil of Lies

Azariah was sure now that there was bad blood between Eryn and her family, or at least a lot of history. He wanted to ask about her siblings, but it was clear the Lunevere were a sensitive topic. He could respect that, so all he said was, “I see.”

Folded against his side, Eryn was a warm presence, unexpectedly comfortable. “I can try,” he hedged, because he had so much on his mind, he wasn’t sure he could fall asleep. “But no promises.” When his wife unlinked their hands to take of her gloves, he took the opportunity to remove his cloak. He’d usually not bother, but this time, he folded it into a neat square, and held it out to the lady at his side. “Here, if you want an extra layer. Not sure how good of a pillow my muscles make,” he grinned roguishly.

He stood up to stretch, and since he was at it, detached the bright red ascot at his neck. He freed himself from the white jacket, and hung it and the tie on a hanger hook meant mostly for coats. He undid the top two buttons of his silken, black ruffled shirt, loosening the tight fit he was unused to. Azar rolled his shoulders, craned his neck left and right, and stretched his spine with faint cracklings resounding as he raised his arms above his head. A satisfied sigh escaped him as he sat back, legs extended in front of him – since no one was sitting opposite them, there was space enough.

“The gloves can be washed,” he flicked a dismissive glance to the article of clothing. A speck of gray under Eryn’s eye caught his attention. He raised a hand to her face, but stopped just shy of touching her. He wanted to, but he wasn’t sure she did. “There’s a bit, uh…” he gestured to the area around her eye. “I’d rather not mess it up, though.” He leaned against the wall of the carriage, and reached out for her hand when she offered it. “Go on, rest,” he patted his lap. “I’ll watch over you.”

She let her settle however she liked, brushing her unclothed fingers. He had not taken notice of it before, but her hands were a larger than he’d have expected. They were also somewhat bony, her digits long and elegant. He caressed each of them, his interest evident. His pads pressed against her fingertips, her knuckles, her wrist, exploring. Azar stopped when he noticed her look, and gave her a smile that was part charm, part apology. “My bad. You’re very alluring. I will let you sleep in peace, I promise.”

Saying so, he watched her for a while longer, then turned to look out of the carriage’s window. Long after her breathing slowed into a calm, steady rhythm, he remained awake, wondering at the turn his life had taken.

He was married now. And maybe it was because of the literal goddesses-granted bond entwining their soul, but it wasn’t bad. He felt oddly protective of Eryn, and there was a strange desire to offer her a place where she really felt like she could belong. He’d never experienced that before. He had no idea what to make of it either.

Azariah exhaled, long, and slow. Maybe it’d be best to focus on plotting against Kizoh. That, too, was a distant goal, but he believed from the core of his heart that it was achievable.

He did not notice when he finally fell asleep.

Some time later, a knock from the outside startled him awake. He was immediately alert – a habit still ingrained in him from his time as a soldier and as a mercenary, even years after he’d quit. “What is it?”

His sister, Orianne peeked in. “Azar, we’re stopping for lunch.” Her eyes flitted to his wife. “Let me know if you need me, I’ll be close.”

The young lord nodded, then turned to the lady at his side. “Eryn.” He tried not to jostle her, but put a palm on her shoulder, squeezing. “We’re taking a break here. Let’s go out, yeah?”

A Veil of Lies

His wife’s gestures did not go unnoticed. Every brush of her fingers, each squeeze of her hand, the promise of support, her small smiles, the reciprocated interest, and openness to new experiences, it was like rainfall meeting fertile ground.

If Eryn honestly meant that she’d help him free his father – and Azariah believed she was genuine – then she was ready to act against Kizoh, as well. At first, he had told her about his father only because they’d happened to meet. Ever since Ishaan had been taken, neither he nor anyone else in his family had ever broached the subject, not directly. Yet, he sensed an undercurrent of understanding in her words, a sentiment he fiercely appreciated. “Thank you,” he offered quietly.

Thankfully for his peace of mind, the conversation turned more lighthearted. “The sea it is, then,” he decided.

However, Eryn reaffirming how little her family cared for her prompted a frown. “Aren’t you their viscountess?” he couldn’t help but ask. “Either way, they’ll be informed. Whether they follow up on the invitation or not is up to them…” He huffed, not charitably inclined to her family with how she’d described them thus far. “If nothing else, you’re now part of the Nymere family, too. I know it’ll take time to feel that way – I’m still getting used to it – but you are welcome here.” He watched her, compelling her to understand.

To brighten the mood, Azariah turned to teasing, and his wife acquiesced. “Alright. You will see how fun our celebrations can be. Don’t worry; no singing, dancing, or talking to large groups for you,” he laughed gaily. He hadn’t expected she’d agree to something so foreign to her, and her willingness dazzled him. He was not sure how to express his gratitude in words; instead, he held her gaze, expression full of warmth and approval.

Eryn told him what she had expected him to be like, and Azar chuckled yet again, surprised at how similar their mindsets had been. She was so embarrassed about it too, blushing as a titter escaped her.

Adorable.

It was the first time he heard her laugh, and he committed the sound to memory, awkward as it was. “Not old and wrinkly, hm?” He nudged her again, snickering.

“To be honest, it was similar for me. I had no idea what to expect, and I wondered if they were trying to set me up with some old, miserable spinster. But then there you were, all beautiful and mysterious,” he winked. The cheekiness was belied by his fond smile, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes enhancing the esteem with which he looked at her. He squeezed her palm, slow but reassuring.

His gaze was drawn to their still connected palms. Where he had been unsure whether to keep their hold when they had entered the carriage, now it simply was as it should be. “I never thought this would suit me,” he raised their linked arms, showcasing the golden thread adorning their wrists. “Matrimony, binding…I didn’t ever expect to be a married man,” he admitted. “It’s so strange and curious…but it feels fitting, somehow.” He turned their hands this way and that, as if inspecting the visible proof of their bond would grant further insight.

In the end, he shrugged, bemused, a smile playing about his lips. “I like you too,” he met Eryn’s pale gray-blue irises. “So, I’m glad it is you.” Azariah smoothed his thumb across the back of his wife’s hand, the touch a silent reminder of his choice. He had decided to commit to her, to their relationship as husband and wife, and though he and Eryn had known each other for but a few hours, he trusted his instinct.

The moment of connection lingered, developed into something surer, something lasting. “You looked tired, before,” Azar commented after a while. He’d noticed her lulling head, her drowsy gaze. “Would you like to rest? We will travel a few hours yet before our first stop.”

The Season of the Enlightened

_{Jo Montague
Jo Montague}

_{Interactions: /
Mentions: Silas, Lord Poe, briefly also Edward and Selina}

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The carriage ground to a halt on the gravel, the magnificent St. Eustice’s visage sprawling in front of it. Jo stared at the building through the small coach’s window, heart racing.

This was it.

His first day at the premier school for the enlightened, which was geared towards nobility and gentry. And here Jo was, a no one with no connections, a person from a lower class – even worse, they were a child of a man some might term novaeu riche.

Papa…

He leaned on his knees, form hunching over as he scrunched his face in pain. His fists clenched on the fine fabric of his sleet gray trousers. From the well-polished black boots at the bottom to the hair tie at the top, all that Jo had and was had been granted by one man. If it meant his father turned up safe and well, he would give it all up in a heartbeat, his placement at the school included.

The man himself would disagree, of course, but–

A rap on the door and a call from outside startled him. “Young master, do you need a hand with your suitcase?”

Jo straightened up, smacking both cheeks to get his head on right. “Yes, please!” he responded.

The coachman opened the doors. He was about a decade and a half older than Jo, his distinguishing traits his curled hair, bronze complexion, and an easy smile. The youth affected a grin as he handed over the suitcase. “Thanks, Mr. Allen!” He hopped out of the carriage, and accepted the luggage back as soon as he was on the ground. “I’d best be going.”

“Aye,” Allen nodded, but was in no hurry to leave.

Jo’s palm tightened around the handle of their carry-on. “Take care of things at home, alright?” The coachman nodded, and might have said more, but the youth turned on their heel, and rushed towards the embellished iron gate before the stinging in their eyes betrayed them. They blinked a few times, regaining their composure just in time for one of St. Eustice’s guards to greet them. Jo’s name was collected, and they were directed inside, only to be met with yet another servant.

An older gentleman, thin, tall, and proper, greeted him with a bow. “Welcome, young lord. Please follow me.”

Jo sensed the fellow was not one much for conversation. They were proven correct, as their questions received brief, polite answers. Nonetheless, they learned the man’s name – Paul Curran – and that he was a long-time employee at the school. He was experienced, refined, and a stickler for formalities. As the young Montague was informed, the headmaster himself would oversee this year’s orientation for the new arrivals. Jo had not expected that at all, but it was fortuitous. Since they were apparently expected, they understood Mr. Paul’s reluctance to let them take in the sights.

Nonetheless, they couldn’t help but wonder at the sheer size and grandeur of the scholarly estate. The suitcase rolled smoothly behind as they traversed the paved paths, not so much as a stray pebble in sight they would have to avoid. The lawn was freshly mown, hedges neatly trimmed, and the garden was so orderly Jo was surprised it wasn’t under lock and key. As they had spotted on their journey here, there were even farming fields close to the school, though they weren’t sure if those were managed by Lord Poe or someone else.

When they passed a large training field, a strange sight caught their attention. A man whose exterior carried a striking resemblance to the mythological dragon backed another student into a wall. The other boy attempted a punch to no effect. After an exchange of words, the boy was released, and ran away. The draconic man went on as if nothing out of the usual had happened – and so did the onlookers. If anything, they greeted him amicably, and did not seem to consider anything amiss.

Huh. Was brawling so common here?

Because they preferred not to make assumptions, they asked, “Who is that scaly fellow?”

Curran, who had not paid the situation more than a passing glance, was equally unconcerned. “Oh. Mr. Silas Bracken is in Lord Poe’s employ. You needn’t worry, young man, he only attends so strictly to misguided youth.”

“How reassuring,” Jo smiled. In other words, don’t get caught by him. Good to know. Privately, they noted this Silas as someone to watch out for.

In short order, they were led to the lords’ dormitories, and to a wooden door bearing a plate embossed with their name. “Your portmanteau, if you please?”

Jo, who had insisted on carrying it on their own thus far, handed it over with some reluctance. They took a peek into their dormitory room as Curran deposited their luggage inside. Beige wallpaper, walnut tile floor, beech furniture, an ornamental rug at the foot of the bed, and a window next to it was all they managed to catch sight of before the servant ushered them onwards. They were handed a spare key, of course, and were promptly taken to the school’s main building, down long corridors, past classrooms, a dining room, and a library, then finally to a hall at the end of which the headmaster’s office was stationed. “Lord Poe awaits. Farewell, Mr. Montague.”

“Thank you, Mr. Curran!” Jo barely managed a wave as the servant hurried onwards. A busy man, indeed.

Squaring his shoulders, Jo’s palm wandered to his chest. Within the inner pocket of his vest, he carried a missive – the letter which had prompted his father’s departure. Though the authorities had determined it a dead end, it was the only clue he had as to where Edward Montague had last been, and with whom. While officials were too busy with chasing rumours of Dark Embers activity, Jo worried only after his father’s safety.

With a bracing inhale, he approached the headmaster’s office. “Excuse me…?” He knocked on the cracked open door. Two pupils who were surely nobles were already inside, but Jo waited for an invitation before entering.