as soon as callum's in the thick of things you know it's gonna go down
The Otter
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why does legend? because evil is a foot
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why does legend? because evil is a foot
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alright kids make sure you keep your mercury pills on hand
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are we sure that kneecaps are real or has big ortho gaslit us all into believing in them
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as soon as callum's in the thick of things you know it's gonna go down
Fionn MacKerracher
@Octo
As Fleuri began speaking up, Fionn left Gertrude's side for a moment, back towards the root he had used to climb up. Pushed as it had been, it had sent a fresh shoot up near the top of the hill, that might—someday—have made for a second trunk, given time to grow, paired with the one further down the cliff face. However, given the enemy they had to face, Fionn possessed a different idea. He reached down, taking the shoot in hand, muttering another word at it—"Aletou." At his urging, the shoot grew further, its shape being defined by his intention; straight, smooth, without any branches growing off of it that would need dealt with.
Once it reached just shy of four feet in length, he had it cut itself off at the root. Then he flipped it over, held his sword to the root end, and it grew over the hilt of the blade, wrapping itself around the crossguard to be fully secure. For dealing with dragons, longer weapons would be useful, especially after the minor enchantment granted by Merilia. In lieue of a butt spike for counterweight, the end opposite his blade flared out through the last foot, widening out like a club and helping pull the balance back. Inspecting his handiwork for a moment, Fionn nodded, satisfied—stepped back to the rest just in time to hear the air moving under Thrinax's beating wings.
Lacking any better options—short of dropping back down the side of the cliff and sliding down the root he'd grown—Fionn grabbed onto Gertrude's broom as she set aboard it. "I'll make sure to do that!" he replied as she commanded him to hold on, lifting off before he'd even pulled himself up to a proper position.
Oh. I don't know that I like dangling in the air like this.
With a white-knuckled grip on both his weapon and Gertrude's broom, Fionn was sped off away from the hilltop at a breakneck speed. "Bint!" he growled down at his weapon, a weightless, ephemeral chain linking it to his wrist almost instantly. One of the spells he'd learned from Erich, much like his pseudo-greatsword before—utilitarian, possibly embarrassing to say in front of the rest due to how they sounded like little more than simple and archaic Thalnish (which, he supposed, they just were), but invaluable in circumstances such as these. Bigger swords, something to keep you from losing your weapon...both quite helpful when fighting beasts and monsters far larger than oneself, whether demon or dragon.
Confident that he now wouldn't lose his blade, he brought his other hand up to the broom, before heaving his weight up and over it to resume a somewhat-comfortably seated posture. His left hand maintaind its grip, and he yanked his weapon back up into his right, holding it as if it were a lance on horseback.
Oh, there's a fun idea. Couch this in my armpit and charge Thrinax in the air...maybe Gertrude will agree to that.
But not for a while yet, as the dragon would likely be far too prepared for any such exceptionally-bold attacks. They'd have to wear him down first, no doubt. "Thanks for the help!" he said brightly to the girl piloting the broom. "You've got me starting to think you're not so difficult after all!"
Callum Prosser
Not my pie, come on!
Callum looked blankly on at the talking man as he licked his finger clean of the gravy he'd so brazenly helped himself to. His expression was intentionally so; being so suddenly accosted, his horse shying back from the wolf almost instantly, and with the roguish man almost immediately talking about the late duke and his family...Something about it all added up to an assumption that he'd been watched and followed, at least as soon as he'd arrived at the estate. Perhaps even earlier.
Regardless, this 'Raiden' didn't talk like an aristocrat. Not entirely like a peasant either. Some high ranking servant, maybe—and if one to the Corrin family, then there was a decent chance that he'd been expecting Callum the entire time. Friendly or not had yet to be determined.
But why not meet me just outside the estate, then? Worried more than the guards?
I can't believe he just dipped that glove right into my pie. I have no idea where that thing's been, and he just stick it straight into the middle without a thought.
What's with the whole pretty-boy act, anyways? Going to flutter your eyelashes at me next?
Down three copper pieces for the pie—too generous but the baker was nice—so I've got nine left. Easy if I run straight back home, but if I take the long way, I'm going to have to visit a money changer for any of the better coins, and I know I'll lose out on that deal...
Wait, did that gravy drip on my trousers? I hope it's just some dirt, or a drip from my water. I'll lose my mind if that's a stain from this pie...
Whether there was anybody present that might want to pry inside his head or not, he wasn't going to take any chances after being so suddenly confronted. Even without working his bit of magic the constant flow of thoughts would make it hard to pick up on anything useful—let them come as they would, he was more than practiced enough to actually keep his focus on what was important even while letting his mind wander so.
He glanced over as the wolf growled, his horse shying back further yet, as another person joined what was turning out to be a more eventful lunch than he'd planned. Clearly the pair knew each other—their mutual disdain was palpable enough he could about pluck it out of the air and wear it like a scarf—and the girl didn't shy away from bandying insults about with abandon. Clearly someone of the gentry from the outset, and Raiden's own recognition cemented the assumption.
Lady Furino. He knew of that one, even though he'd never met her; one of the youngest enfeoffed nobles in the province, bar some few titular lords, children of knights who held their own manors who perished in the new queen's ascension. The sole member of her family who had abandoned pride in favour of life, his eldest brother had said at one point. Likely, they had met, and even if they hadn't, the Dinbevin Viscountcy wasn't exactly an unknown factor in local politics, even if the reputation was rarely a great one.
"You both seem to have me at a disadvantage," he said coolly, after the pair had finished their own sparring and Baroness Furino turned to address him directly once again. "But, my lady, if you know who I am, then I'm sure you know better than to call me lord." Had he been his eldest brother, they would have been of the same rank—the eldest son of a viscount stood shoulder to shoulder with a baron, after all. But Callum was the fifth child, a squire whose education in that realm was incomplete, foiled twice over by sudden death.
She was being even more generous calling him lord than he'd been with the baker.
The danger sense that had been prickling the back of his neck the second Raiden arrived was only growing stronger with every passing moment in the company of these two obvious enemies, with himself the least prepared for any such politics as he was now forced to engage with under their gazes. One, another noble, close to the royal court, and obviously experienced at this whole game...groomed by the queen herself, if he had to guess. The other, a commoner, yet one known to a member of the royal court, willing to stand toe to toe against her. Less composed for an instant, but she followed suit.
Nobility always had to be careful with each other. Commoners, too; they were oftentimes even more important to court than your peers. Dangerous in numbers at all times. But here, these two...exceptionally dangerous, and both alone. Not for the first time he began to wish he'd accepted his eldest brother's offer to accompany him to Tarin and see him off. 'For safety,' he'd said; it was known that there was little love lost between Duke Nathan's family and the queen, second only to the dukes of Odonfield and Nordor, the latter of whom had recently been taken prisoner, as he'd heard said in the city square.
"...But, maybe, you mistake me for Allan? My father's heir and I are of a height, while our other brothers seemed to have inherited more of our grandfather's size. He's only recently started growing out his beard, without it we do look remarkably alike." Yet another reason that their father had hoped he would take the path of merchant and advisor for his eldest brother—unlike the rest, he could always operate as a stand-in and leave most people none the wiser. He gave the girl a smile, shrugging off Raiden's hand on his shoulder.
Leaning too obviously to one or the other would be worse than if he messed up a negotiation with any adept traders. Those would lead to a metaphorical knife in the coinpurse, perhaps a literal one if they were affiliated with any of the criminals that always followed the flow of money. Choosing either of these two too quickly...he doubted he'd survive the week. "I'd hate to cut this friendly reunion short by agreeing to anything too soon, something I'm sure you both understand. I need some time to get my wits about me, anyways—finding out the fate of those who were to bear my charge was quite a shock. Maybe we can all discuss it further through the day...or, perhaps, over dinner, once I satisfy my need of lodging?"
Esben Mathiassen and Eve “Grayscale”
The trip back to Kugane passed rather uneventfully—almost pleasantly, if it weren’t for the amount that some of the Kirins were worrying over Esben along the way. There was something comforting about it, knowing that the motley assortment could come together so easily...but it was more than a little annoying as well. Enough so to surpass any bother over his nose, which he’d have to have properly set and fixed in the city.
For a man that prided himself on his capabilities, coming from being the one to devise the plan that freed Lord Hien only to find himself utterly disarmed by the climate and almost immediately knocked out of a fight was a shame that was nearly unbearable. No matter how much any of them had reminded him how close to death they all had come, and that the fact he didn’t find himself cleaved in half on the first strike despite being so incapacitated by the desert was a strong mark in his favour.
His nose twitched in annoyance, and he immediately brought a hand up to it; while the swelling may have subsided fairly quickly, it was still very recognizably broken. Hopefully it hadn’t begun healing enough that he’d have to have it re-broken just to get anything done.
”Terrible,” he mumbled to himself, taking a sip of water and looking up at the stars over the central courtyard. Many of them were beginning to fade, with sunrise not far away—the growing hint of light off to the east made that obvious enough. Still, it was early enough that none of the others were awake yet, only the various servants that had followed Ciradyl and Hien into rebellion as they quietly prepared breakfast for the estate and its guests.
Quietly enough—alongside the silence of the still-sleeping city—that the soft footfalls behind him didn’t manage to escape his notice: ”I hope you’re not trying to sneak up on me back there.”
As per usual, Eve was awake, she had always been awake outside of those rare occasions where she depleted her ether reserves, and taking night walks was one of her ways to pass the late evenings, or sit down and brood, but tonight, she was partial to the former.
As such, it was simply pure coincidence that her path crossed with the group's espionage specialist, though he made it seem like she was deliberately following him, flattering, but unfortunately untrue, this was a different situation than Atsu's, back there, she did tail Izayoi to her family's grave.
Although...
"You caught me." The Pseudolon uttered with such stoicism, it would indeed take someone as keen as Esben to discern whether she was being sarcastic or not, "I suppose this means you won't be my dinner tonight, shame, it has been a while since I hunted a Sollan."
Her red eyes then scanned over the Skaeler's visage, particularly the spot between his cheeks, "I find it difficult to believe that Miina hasn't fully healed your face yet." She was no healer though, maybe some things just couldn't be healed magically...?
”Mmm. Not as nice to look at now, am I?” Esben joked, one eyebrow raised as Eve studied his nasal fracture so intensely. He stoppered the bottle he’d been drinking from, setting it on the paving stones by his feet. The journal he’d been writing in snapped shut around his pencil, set next to him on the bench he’d pulled out into the courtyard.
"Wounded body parts are never as nice to behold as healthy ones." Eve spoke matter-of-factly, an objective statement based on practical knowledge and peer-reviewed scientific research no doubt.
After a moment to shrug at her reply he moved over slightly, making some room for Eve if she decided to sit. ”Bit late to be looking for dinner, though—if you’re looking for food as a novelty, you ought to start thinking about breakfast instead.” He glanced back at the slowly-brightening east. There was an hour left before sunrise and the morning meal, if he had to guess. ”One of the servants said they might have me try something called nattō, but wouldn’t actually explain what it is.” By his tone and his expression, he seemed mildly worried about that lack of information.
The scaled black mage simply stood beside the bench for the moment, up until Esben scooted over, a gesture of invitation she discerned, one that she took as Eve quietly sat down, her tail looping over to rest on her lap.
"Heh, maybe I will." She quipped back, following his gaze toward the dawning sun, "I don't know what that is either, Esben." It'd either be a pleasant surprise or a nasty prank, she supposed.
A momentary silence fell as the two enjoyed the slowly rising sun...
"I've decided..." Until Eve's soft voice gently shattered it, "...that I want to live." She paused, her words hanging in the air, "It's what mama sacrificed herself for."
That explained at least part of why she’d been even quieter than usual since they’d started on their ride back. Esben had had some inkling that she didn’t intend to survive her own private war against Valheim, even if she wasn’t quite as straightforward about it as Izayoi was with her particular death wish...the confirmation that he’d been right, and that she’d decided to change her goal from that, gave him a moment of pause.
Before his left hand rose, landing softly atop Eve’s head and ruffling her hair.
"Nnngh..." A soft groan that was somewhere between unamusement and annoyance left the dragoness' throat, she was being treated like an infant again, first by Galahad and now Esben. How uncouth, she was at least the same age or even older than he. Hmph.
”Good to hear!” he replied quietly. ”I was almost worried that wrangling the both of you would be too much, given everything that’s been going on lately.”
"Both..." She murmured as her mind referenced a certain Mystrel, "I see..." She pondered, "It appears that deathwishing is a core aspect of Ospreyan culture."
Speaking about culture, the black mage found her curiosity piqued, "Tell me about Skael, Esben."
”Mostly, it’s cold,” came the quick reply.
A silent pause afterwards; Esben was sure that wasn’t the answer Eve was looking for, but he was still happy to leave a moment for the bland statement to sink in. ”It depends a bit on where you are. Most of the places everybody knows about...they’re far enough south, and far enough inland, that the winter never really lets up. But the weather is harsh wherever you go. Thanks to it all, we spend most of our time inside, and are usually fairly...” He paused again, glancing meaningfully in the direction of Éliane’s room.
”Soft-spoken.”
The horned girl listened attentively to the spy's reminiscence of his homeland, confirming that Skael stayed true to its reputation as the place of eternal winter.
"..." The glance toward the salmon-haired military officer's abode was noted. Eliane was an exception that proves the rule indeed.
The words hung for a moment before he continued; ”Of course, Skaellers usually don’t talk so much in general. We’re both outliers, I suppose.” This time his silence lasted longer, his fingers—rather than continuing to test how long he could get away with messing with Eve’s hair—drumming softly on her head for a moment. He’d been away from home for quite a while, whether one took that to mean Skael in general or the specific place he hailed from.
Blank as his expression was, it was clear he was still thinking about something...before he yawned, and spoke again. ”But that’s based on a generalisation, anyways. It’s not all Solitude and the Garden, after all. That would be like assuming all of Osprey is just like Kugane.”
The fact these two were travelers of an otherwise isolationist society already hinted at them being the odds one out. Although, on another note, she noticed that Esben seemed content to use her scalp as an armrest. It was... peculiar, usually most people wouldn't like to be near, let alone touch her. But at this point, it was obvious that the Kirins weren't most people.
"That's fair." She concluded, then turned her gaze back at the rising sun, content to simply enjoy the quiet for now.
”What do you intend to do once we’re all done with this, with the new willingness to survive?” Esben asked, breaking the quiet once again. ”Travel around, or find some place to stay?”
The Faux Bahamut stayed silent for a few long seconds, out of a lack of a good answer more than anything. "I haven't thought about it yet, all I know is that I won't go out of my way to end myself once this is all over anymore." She paused once more, "I guess travelling around would be nice, helping good people and exterminating bad people as I go, like Robin.”
”Alone?”
"We’ll see. We’re not even sure if the world won’t end yet."
Esben sighed, his arm dropping back down. ”A little optimism doesn’t hurt,” he chided. ”Sometimes I worry I may never get to do anything but travel, even knowing that someday I won’t have a choice whether or not I go home.” Whether he had anything more to say about that topic, nothing more came out, replaced by another yawn instead.
And a jump from one topic to another.
”Do you ever actually sleep?” he asked, glancing back down towards Eve. ”Not just when you spend too much aether, and I know you don’t have to otherwise—but just slipping into a deeper rest, like when any of us take a nap beyond our normal sleep.”
She glanced in return toward Esben as well, mostly wondering just what kind of 'sleep' he meant here, because the easy answer would be yes, she had slept before. Fortunately, he clarified the exact definition he was hinting at, "I meditate sometimes, deeply enough that time seems to flow faster, that should count as a 'nap' I suppose."
Although speaking of sleep, "You've been yawning frequently, didn't sleep properly last night?" Might be due to all the injuries.
”Not whatsoever,” Esben replied. Unsurprising; with a broken nose obstructing his breathing, sleep would be coming less readily than usual. Though whether that was just due to the breathing or the brand new sound of light snoring, who could say? ”Do you dream?”
"During the few times where I exhausted myself enough to fall unconscious, I suppose..." Then her voice trailed off at the end, as if she had just recalled a crucial piece of information, but one she wasn't particularly fond of remembering, "...and during those times when they sealed me like a pickle in a jar."
”What sorts of dreams, then?”
"Wishful dreams for the most part, to be accepted, to be loved, to be... human." Eve murmured with the same wishfulness as those dreams. Her gaze descended down to stare at her knees, "...but I feel like two of those are being fulfilled, by all of you, including by someone whose life's work involves slaying dragons."
She sighed pleasantly and curled a small smile, "Then, what about you, Esben? Don't tell me you scheme and plan in your dreams too?"
...no answer.
She turned her gaze at him, finding the Skaeller agent sitting still with his eyes closed, prompting Eve to cast a little cantrip, conjuring a weak breeze to prod against his cheek... and like a rotten dead tree, the blonde's upper half fell sideways... and right onto her lap.
Asleep... She concurred, good, he needed the rest. Though she wished her talents included restorative magic to heal him as he slumbered, she supposed this would do instead of nothing. With a small, calm smile, Eve’s hand began methodically caressing his pale golden locks while her eyes closed as she fell into a meditative state, her 'nap'.
"So first I find out the people that were supposed to take me in all got murdered, then some weird black-haired pretty boy shows up and starts talking to me, and now half the women we meet are thirsting over him. This is the worst week ever."
"Look, man, I'm not keeping up the accent when the cameras aren't rolling. Get out of my dressing room."
Are you sure that's the right diction for all this?
"Look, man, I'm not keeping up the accent when the cameras aren't rolling. Get out of my dressing room."
Callum Prosser
"Dead? All of them? Horse cock. His Grace just accepted my father's request that they take me on a few days ago, and you're telling me every last one of them is dead? That's ridiculous."
"Don't know what to tell you, kid—not one person inside the estate survived the night. Whole place was on edge after..." At the inquisitive eyes of the red-haired young man standing before him, the guard trailed off rather than finish his sentence. Certain comings and goings likely weren't the sort of thing to be mentioned at will. "Well, either way, I'm just glad I wasn't on duty to watch the gate. Rather an unpleasant morning than a few new holes in my skin."
The young man grit his teeth at the response he was getting. Blocked as soon as he arrived, despite the response from Duke Nathan—with the man's seal, no less!—proving that he was meant to be there. Guardsman of the sort always seemed to enjoy these petty games, until the point someone offered a bribe to them, or could utter a threat they'd actually accept...I knew I should've taken the opportunity to just get portaled over here, but no, smart as I am, I decided I'd rather travel the mundane way, take in the sights a bit, enjoy the travel up and around the lake. Stupid.
He clenched his fist, the sword sheathed at his belt twitching sympathetically to the movement before he brought his temper back under control. "I'm afraid, goodman, that I don't have time to play around," he forced out through gritted teeth. Unspoken, of course, was that getting back home would prove a difficulty. A day's travel for a single man and his horse, lengthened to two by a leisurely pace. He'd only set out with as much feed as he needed for the one-way trip, both for himself and his horse. He couldn't well return by boat across the lake with the animal, and to get enough food for it to head back home the opposite direction without chancing foraging would leave him skint and having to hope that he could forage or hunt instead.
But he'd have to chance it if he did have to leave, because taking the way he came, returning home at a faster pace with nothing to show for it...that was a shame he refused to bear.
Refused to believe he might have to bear.
"As the son of The Right Honourable Seumas Prosser, Viscount Dinbevin, here at his request and on the invitation of His Grace, Nathan Corrin, Duke of Vaili and head of this estate, I must insist that I—the Callum Prosser written here in His Grace's own hand—be granted the entry that I am due!"
The guard looked at him tiredly, and sighed—leaning unprofessionally against his halberd, Callum noted with an utterly uncharitable and growing ire—letting his head hang for a moment. Throwing around titles was a dirty trick, both of them there knew it...Callum was embarrassed enough he'd had to resort to it, likely as embarrassed as the guard was having to listen to it, let alone knowing that at that point there was no real recourse to keep denying him entry. What the young man hadn't expected, though, was the sympathetic, exhausted smile he got, rather than the guard falling to the same ill temper as himself.
Somehow, that look made the worry start to gnaw in his gut where nothing else had managed yet.
"Here, sir, I'll take a moment to show you since it's such official business," he said; clearly, he was growing exasperated with the entire situation, it showed in his tone, but his patience had yet to run out, giving the younger yet more pause before he gave a small nod, following along at the guard's beckon.
He still wasn't granted entry to the estate, but looking through a clear window into the chapel showed, clear as the sky above them, that nothing he'd been told had been a lie after all. The duke and his wife lay in state in the center of the chapel, their corpses flanked by those of Sir Roland and Lady Gwyneth. He blinked once, momentarily uncomprehending...before backing away from the window, giving mumbled apology for his rudeness to the guard.
Who waved it off as though it hadn't bothered him at all. "Find your lordship something to eat, aye?" he suggested to the dejected-looking redhead, gesturing off towards the city center. "But hanging around here isn't likely to do you any good, unless you're hoping for more investigative type of folks to come and start asking you about it all."
With that, he was escorted back to the gate of the estate, where he led his horse quietly back into the city...bought a meat pie from a baker, cracking open the hard crust and scooping the filling out with a spoon. "The hell am I to do now?" he asked, pointlessly, to nobody in particular—his horse, maybe, as that was the only living thing that seemed to be listening to him there in the center of Tarin.
True, I enjoy writing with Click.
But ye, welcome aboard. Bro needs to get a non-AI tailor though. Button placement is godless.
True, but the initial version of this stuck out to me more than any if the actual-art I found in the same vein and then I made Rain make it a fair amount less terrible.
I might just go in at some point and paint out the "what are you even doing" buttons but you know I'm lazy af.
Tbf I though it was ERode that found us our new player. But I did smile when I discovered it was Izurich who gave us this gift... :>
And yes, I do agree. ;)
See, it wasn't even Izu who pointed the RP out to me, he just saw me reading the topic and instantly told me to join.
sorry man i can't let them give you too much credit
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