The Otter

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Esben and Halvor

---

With the others spread out within the manor's grounds, resting, recuperating, or merely enjoying the baths—Esben was left with little more after his own trip to the bathhouse than strolling the grounds, peeking at the results of Halvor's new gardening hobby, enjoying the air, and hoping he could finally get the local lord alone before long. Whether Viscount Breien was aware that he'd become Esben's newest target, he couldn't say, but the man had been doing an admirable job of avoiding being cornered at almost every turn. The afternoon passed into what he might call the first truly comfortable night they'd had since leaving Drana Asnaeu: No fresh fights, no fresh wounds, no fresh bad news, just a simple opportunity to try and relax.

The next morning, however, he set right back to trying to corner their host after taking a light breakfast. Halvor at last seemed to have left himself open; he'd been worried for a moment when he didn't join them all for breakfast, but now Esben could see him standing there in the courtyard. There were fresh tracks from a chocobo-pulled carriage that covered the ground from the entrance, crossing over the ruts their own wagon had left on their way to the stables.

No matter.

"Halvor, I really must protest this delay!" Halvor started as Esben strode up quickly and moved immediately into talking business without any other greeting. "We all appreciate what you're trying to do for us here, but we really can't afford to tarry for whatever diversion you have planned today—we need to leave tod—"

"Nonsense," Halvor cut in, composure regained. "You're all looking better, but my physicians will still be checking you all out. You'll stay another night. And believe me, Esben, you'd have been more disappointed if I didn't keep you here."

"This is directly impacting my assignment," Esben hissed in frustration. "Not to mention that some of us have more to worry about in Solitude! Éliane's family—"

"Young master." Esben turned sharply at the unexpected voice, staring at the man it came from. Obviously getting on in years, openly greying, and with prominent scars upon his cheeks and nose, he looked at Esben with a stern expression. "You haven't been sleeping properly. Should we truly force you to accept hospitality?"

"Ah, Anders, I told you at the gate that he's been argumentative lately," Halvor greeted the older man with a nod. "You see, Esben, I had reason for telling you it was good that you came, even if we couldn't get everybody here I would have preferred..."

"The baron sends his apologies, my lord Breien. Mathias and Ada couldn't extricate themselves from their other duties long enough to come here with the way things have been...apparently there's good trade with Drana Asnaeu as of late, and they're capitalizing on maritime routes for it rather than risk the Blight taking a caravan."

"Would either of you care to inform me as to what is going on, now?" Esben demanded, butting in before any unhelpful speculation or questions could come from either of them regarding the events in Brightlam.

"Esben!"

"Lene?"

Another loose collection of blonde hair showed itself, poking out from the stables. One matching Esben's own in colour, closer even than Halvor's sandy mane came. Esben could only furrow his brow as the young woman the voice belonged to rushed over, wrapping him into a hug. Halvor smiled at him, and he could even see the barest turn at the corner of Anders' mouth. "You see? I told you that you'd have been disappointed to miss out!"

---

The rest of the day passed by rather quickly. Esben found himself swept up in helping his sister and his former tutor preparing their things, as they'd evidently planned on a noticeably longer stay than Halvor was making the Kirins endure. He was also rapidly brought up to speed on his family's business dealings, leaving him blessedly free of any questions as to what he'd been doing since last he'd written home before being sent northwards...Though that didn't save him from being informed that he needed to make sure to write home more often when given the chance.

Whether those were his sister's words or his mother's courtesy of his sister, he was unsure.

It seemed like barely any time had passed at all though before he was sent away as she put her mind to preparing herself for the dinner they were to have that night. Halvor had made it clear it was to be some sort of important event, making sure the Kirins would each have something acceptable to wear, but he'd certainly not made it seem quite so important as she was treating it. Not to him, at least.

When they were called to dinner later that afternoon, some of them even found themselves assigned seats; Halvor unsurprisingly at the head of the table, with Rudolf and Lene to either side. Esben was placed next to Lene, Anders the next down from him; opposite them were Izayoi and Galahad, with the remainder of the Kirins given leave to choose their own seats. Once they were all seated, Halvor stood, gesturing widely at them with his free hand, the other holding a glass of wine.

"Thank you all for putting up with my keeping you here," he began with a bashful smile. "And sorry that I had to drag you all into this surprise. I am glad, though, that so many of Rudolf's friends could be here, in the place of his family; I'd been hoping that at least Cadmon could make it, but he did write to inform me that events conspired to prevent his attendance before you all made it. At the same time, I'm sorry that Mathias and Ada could not be here, though thankfully we do have Esben, able to bridge the gap between our two parties here."

He cleared his throat, while Esben continued to sit silently. Lene did as well, though she appeared eminently more comfortable with the situation at hand than he did; whatever it was, clearly she had some sort of foreknowledge. She'd spent some time studying each of the Kirins features as they entered and took their seats, though the most of her focus had been on Rudolf across the table from her. Somehow, Esben felt uncomfortable for the man.

"But, of course, it doesn't do to dwell on those. No, we have more to focus on today, even if my surprise was half-ruined on the journey here!" Lene looked down towards the table, though Esben could tell she was stifling a small laugh. "Lene, you already know, but Rudolf—this was an idea of mine and Cadmon's, that we'd been discussing for a while. Lene here is Esben's sister, the younger child of baron Mathias Cadon; Lene, the young man across from you is Rudolf Shilage, second child of sir István Shilage, nephew of a sort to earl Cadmon Demet. After we broached the idea to your parents, they all agreed that the two of you could make a good match, and I've been given the honor of introducing the two of you!"

Lene looked back up, facing Rudolf with a friendly smile. Esben blinked once, muscles in his jaw flexing immediately as he kept it clamped shut to keep from saying or doing anything embarrassing as Halvor continued along. "It is your decision, of course, but Cadmon has excellent instincts for this sort of thing—and I should hope your parents, you two, are proof enough that I'm no slouch either!"

He had to try not to groan.

"Please, all of you, eat, drink, be merry, feel free to trade stories back and forth to help Lene and Rudolf get to know each other. I am glad to have you all here to celebrate the provisional—" he winked at the pair sat closest to him, "—betrothal of Rudi and Lene!"

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

Calben

Name: Calaphindë, often called Calben after an unfortunate incident with someone that couldn't entirely read his handwriting and ended up misreading/mispronouncing his name.

Age: Approximately 150

Gender: Male

Race: Elf (Wood/High)

Rank: Copper*

Appearance: Grey-haired, bright eyed, smooth and youthful even by the standards of the ageless elves—despite the obvious intelligence shining within his green gaze, it's clear just looking at him that Calben is a quite young elf. 5'8" tall, thin, and perhaps a bit soft, coupled with the artfully made clothing he wears and lack of any sort of scarring, he does not cut a particularly adventure-y sort of figure. He's clearly physically fit, of course, and holds every weapon he has like he knows how to use it—but he lacks any sign of real life experience or hardship to lend gravitas to his features.

Of note are his curiously short ears for an elf.

Personality: Wide-eyed, idealistic, and absolutely delighting in getting to experience the world beyond his home. Calben clearly has the mind of a scholar, especially given his near-perfect recall of almost everything he witnesses, so long as he pays attention to it. With that comes a drive to learn more, see more, do more—he's a hard worker and doesn't shy away from nearly any challenge put before him, but tales of the capriciousness and flightiness of elves are proven in how he goes about whatever catches his fancy. Woe be to any who expect him to keep paying attention if he should spot some rare alchemical ingredient while they're walking down a trail...

Brief Backstory: Born in the Wood Elven city of Almindon, Calaphindë's father is a skilled archer and bowyer, serving within the city's guard, overseeing some training for them and any who may wish to volunteer for it in times of trouble, and selling his bows on the side; his mother is actually a High Elf, as skilled with magic as is expected of her kindred. The pair oversaw Calaphindë's education as soon as he was able to start, tutoring him in their respective skills while both fostered in him a general love of knowledge and scholarly mindset. His mother taught him of magical spellcraft and alchemy, while his father taught him not only how to fight with bow and spear, but also how to interact with other people, a valuable skill in his own work. His wider family taught him how to hunt, how to survive off the land, the laws of their settlement—all the general education that a young elf of Almindon would be expected to know.

Calaphindë took to most of it well, though not without a few hiccups here and there as he experimented with things he likely shouldn't have.

It has since been some decades since he last saw his mother, as she was called back to the family of her birth, behind Lethienvel, beyond even the settlements that the High Elves had made beyond the Veil. As such, his magical education could be said to have lagged somewhat compared to the more physical or social pursuits passed from his father—though as much of the city learned before he was very old, he never really forgot something that he put his focus on, and it's more a matter of practice. However, perhaps brought on by the same drive that first set his mother to set out so far from the High Elven settlements and come to Almindon, the elf boy was restless. The city and its immediate surroundings were not enough to hold his interest forever, not compared to the stories he'd heard from both his parents, the rest of his family, and the few traders that were allowed to come of the rest of the world beyond their city and their tract of forest, not compared to the tales and histories he could read in the books available to him.

Much like his mother, he was also not one for long goodbyes. With little enough said to ensure he'd be stocked well enough for the journey, Calaphindë set out from Almindon, and as he was in search of adventure, in search of the chance to verify and experience all the things he'd learned of, joined the Estivalian Adventurer's Guild at the first opportunity that presented itself. He quickly learned to be less artistic with his handwriting, after an unfortunately not-Elvish-experienced guild member thoroughly misread and mispronounced his name, giving him a nickname that has stuck ever since; the rest of the guild that tried to determine his skillset and placement found themselves with a dilemma of just how to rank him, with such a breadth of knowledge but no actual experience behind any of it.

To his (only mild) dismay, they assigned Calaphindë the provisional rank of Copper, and set him to work with more real-world experienced members of the guild to see if he was quick enough to actually cut it at Iron or Steel or if he'd really have to start from the bottom and work his way up.

Equipment: Other than general travelling gear, standard the world over, Calaphindë's possessions are totaled up in the form of a journal, a couple of books brought with him about general upkeep of the stuff he has and the sorts of materials he may be able to find while he's out travelling (he hasn't finished reading that one yet, so he just brought it with him), he has a longbow with arrows and a quiver (all lovingly made by his father) a somewhat long-bladed hewing spear (often finds itself used as a walking staff), and should all else fail (or he needs to cut through some particularly dense brush or the like), he has a small, light falchion/hanger type blade.

Notably, he does not have any special focus to channel the magic he knows through.

He may have forgotten it when he was packing to leave home.

Skills: Despite his parents' best efforts, he's not particularly great with other people. He's friendly, he can generally get along, but expecting him to be a leader or persuasive or the like is a stretch.

Other than that, though, he picked up on everything relatively well—fighting skills courtesy of his father, hunting and survival skills, even magic courtesy of his mother, though he's rather limited with the latter given a lack of practice and lack of a good focus to use in spellcraft, and the former has yet to really be tested. Perhaps most unique to him is his nearly photographic memory; for things that he experiences, whether that be reading them, seeing them, tasting, smelling, hearing, feeling—Calaphindë's recall is almost entirely perfect, barring the obvious inherent bias that every observer has.

Of course, that bias comes with one clear drawback—it is entirely focused on whatever he was focused on. And for him to recall anything, it has to catch and hold his focus enough for him to actually think about it, as any spontaneous memory is far more likely to be related to his interests that have captured his attention than for anything that might be directly helpful. For the guild, this is already a known struggle for those that have to deal with him to overcome, but if they're careful about it, it may be more useful than it seems...

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

@VitaVitaAR Oh yeah, you're accepted. :D

@Raineh Daze

see meme on previous page

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

Anyway, for my character:

Rylia Ainsberg, Paladin of Reon

• Name: Rylia Ainsberg
• Age: 18
• Gender: Female
• Race: Human
• Rank: Iron, much to her annoyance
• Appearance: Rylia is a very petite human girl, standing around 137 cm/4'6 in height. She has a small, slight figure, and a fair skintone. She has light blue eyes and pink hair, the latter of which is usually tied up in pigtails using gold ribbons. Her armor, consisting of her breastplate, her gauntlets, vambrances, couters, and rebrances, her greaves, and her sabatons, is silver in coloration and decorated with gold details. Her clothing is primarily red, with white and gold details.
• Personality: An impatient and ill-tempered girl, who nevertheless fully commits herself to the duties and ideals of a paladin of Reon. Rylia is quick to anger, swift to complain, and often all too eager to point out what she perceives as stupidity or otherwise ill-advised behavior. Additionally, she exhibits a wide sarcastic streak, prone to making comments that others may find aggravating when she is irritated or believes someone needs admonishing. She is also rather proud and self-confident, though at the very least this is due to her having performed well during her training to obtain the position of a paladin. She is somewhat frustrated that she has to further prove herself, but at the same time views being an adventurer as an opportunity to assist others who may be endangered. Even if she does think her rank should be higher. Her high degree of pride and self-confidence also means that she does not like to admit when she is wrong about something.
  Despite her temper, Rylia is a strong believer in justice and the destruction of evil for the sake of the innocent. In this way, she can be considered a model paladin who upholds good and chastises wickedness in the name of the Sun Goddess. And, as one who dedicates herself to such ideals, it is only natural to refuse to leave behind those in need. Rylia will not abide with any decision that places innocent people in danger, nor will she leave behind anyone in need. For her, doing such things would be to throw away the very meaning of the title of Paladin.
  While she has a confident and stubborn personality, Rylia is insecure about her height and petite figure, and will sometimes take this insecurity out on those who are more gifted in overall size than herself. At the same time, she will also try to deny this insecurity entirely. She is also fairly easily flustered, despite her pride. Rylia likes sweets and has a considerable soft spot for both dogs and cats(as well as pretty much any other cute animals).
• Brief Backstory: Rylia was born in the village of Merlsberg, near Pelle. While it was not a small village, it was far smaller than Pelle. It exhibited a small chapel for worship of both Reon and Mayon rather than the dual churches of larger settlements. Rylia’s father was the local priest, who had moved to Merlsberg to replace the previous priest who had recently died. His wife, a paladin who had retired due to injury, came with him. Rylia was born in spring, and named after a minor divine spirit in service of the Sun Goddess. Needless to say, one could say that service to the sun goddess was in her blood, and she looked up to heroic tales of paladins and saints as a young girl. Particular favorites were the tale of Saint Atrus, who killed one of the Dark Lord Orodrunn’s four strongest generals, and Saint Salva who purified the poisoned waters after the slaying of the Dragon Avoraaz. She had already initiated the early stages of her training, expectations upon her both from within and without, when disaster struck Merlsberg.
  A necromancer bearing a grudge against the Lord of Merlsberg suddenly attacked during the night, while the town was unprepared. However, through her father’s swift actions and her mother taking up her weapon once more, the undead were repelled and the necromancer was forced to retreat with the arrival of several paladins and a contingent of soldiers from Pelle.
  However, Rylia’s mother’s health deteriorated. The injuries she’d sustained during her time as a paladin had left her health frail, and fighting so intensely throughout the night had weakened her greatly.
  She died only a week later, when Rylia was only seven years old.
  This event, the memory of her mother, the pride in her heritage, caused Rylia to become even more strongly motivated when she recovered from the death of her mother. She was eventually sent to the Saint Salva Religious Academy for Girls in Venne, furthering her training to become a paladin and indeed excelling, just as her mother once had. After all, she had plenty of expectations to live up to. Serving under an experienced paladin, Rylia passed preliminary trials that involved clearing a small tomb of undead, before finally moving into the final phase of her training: Practical experience.
  This meant following many paladins before her and signing on to the Adventurer’s Guild, in order to gain proper experience fighting alongside others in a variety of scenarios.
• Equipment: Rylia carries a handful of pouches with assorted basic supplies and a dagger, as well as a Reonite prayerbook and a Lily Symbol for basic divine casting. Additionally, her armor carries a light blessing that makes it much harder to damage and slightly lighter. But the most noticeable aspect of her equipment is her enormous hammer. A blessed weapon, her hammer is far lighter than it appears which enables her to wield it despite it weighing more than her entire body. Additionally, as is common for the blessed weapons wielded by paladins, it exhibits an empathetic trait that responds to righteous fury. In Rylia’s case, her hammer becomes wreathed in golden solar fire automatically in response to her feelings. She can also trigger this effect manually. These flames burn entities of an evil nature and undead all the more intensely, and can be gathered at the head of the hammer and released on impact to cause a small explosion.
• Skills: Rylia has received considerable training in the duties of a paladin, which include skill in combat. She is most versed in the usage of two-handed weapons, particularly her hammer. Her style of combat is aggressive and unyielding, aimed to break through defenses and shatter barriers in order to reach her targets and crush them. As a paladin, albeit one who must still complete the practical experience portions of her training, she has been educated in how to identify various types of undead and evil spirits and how to combat them. This includes the divine spell Litany of Ending to weaken nearby undead, as well as basic exorcism rites. While Rylia is not exceptionally gifted magically, she possesses enough mana for these as well as self-enhancement spells and light healing. She cannot mend injuries that are too serious, but she can assist in recovery and heal minor slashes, bruises, and bone fractures. Anything more serious she can only mitigate but not fully repair. Her capability with exorcism cannot oust a true demon from a possessed host, but can weaken its hold.

@VitaVitaAR

i'm posting it again

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

Calben

Name: Calaphindë, often called Calben after an unfortunate incident with someone that couldn't entirely read his handwriting and ended up misreading/mispronouncing his name.

Age: Approximately 150

Gender: Male

Race: Elf (Wood/High)

Rank: Copper*

Appearance: Grey-haired, bright eyed, smooth and youthful even by the standards of the ageless elves—despite the obvious intelligence shining within his green gaze, it's clear just looking at him that Calben is a quite young elf. 5'8" tall, thin, and perhaps a bit soft, coupled with the artfully made clothing he wears and lack of any sort of scarring, he does not cut a particularly adventure-y sort of figure. He's clearly physically fit, of course, and holds every weapon he has like he knows how to use it—but he lacks any sign of real life experience or hardship to lend gravitas to his features.

Of note are his curiously short ears for an elf.

Personality: Wide-eyed, idealistic, and absolutely delighting in getting to experience the world beyond his home. Calben clearly has the mind of a scholar, especially given his near-perfect recall of almost everything he witnesses, so long as he pays attention to it. With that comes a drive to learn more, see more, do more—he's a hard worker and doesn't shy away from nearly any challenge put before him, but tales of the capriciousness and flightiness of elves are proven in how he goes about whatever catches his fancy. Woe be to any who expect him to keep paying attention if he should spot some rare alchemical ingredient while they're walking down a trail...

Brief Backstory: Born in the Wood Elven city of Almindon, Calaphindë's father is a skilled archer and bowyer, serving within the city's guard, overseeing some training for them and any who may wish to volunteer for it in times of trouble, and selling his bows on the side; his mother is actually a High Elf, as skilled with magic as is expected of her kindred. The pair oversaw Calaphindë's education as soon as he was able to start, tutoring him in their respective skills while both fostered in him a general love of knowledge and scholarly mindset. His mother taught him of magical spellcraft and alchemy, while his father taught him not only how to fight with bow and spear, but also how to interact with other people, a valuable skill in his own work. His wider family taught him how to hunt, how to survive off the land, the laws of their settlement—all the general education that a young elf of Almindon would be expected to know.

Calaphindë took to most of it well, though not without a few hiccups here and there as he experimented with things he likely shouldn't have.

It has since been some decades since he last saw his mother, as she was called back to the family of her birth, behind Lethienvel, beyond even the settlements that the High Elves had made beyond the Veil. As such, his magical education could be said to have lagged somewhat compared to the more physical or social pursuits passed from his father—though as much of the city learned before he was very old, he never really forgot something that he put his focus on, and it's more a matter of practice. However, perhaps brought on by the same drive that first set his mother to set out so far from the High Elven settlements and come to Almindon, the elf boy was restless. The city and its immediate surroundings were not enough to hold his interest forever, not compared to the stories he'd heard from both his parents, the rest of his family, and the few traders that were allowed to come of the rest of the world beyond their city and their tract of forest, not compared to the tales and histories he could read in the books available to him.

Much like his mother, he was also not one for long goodbyes. With little enough said to ensure he'd be stocked well enough for the journey, Calaphindë set out from Almindon, and as he was in search of adventure, in search of the chance to verify and experience all the things he'd learned of, joined the Estivalian Adventurer's Guild at the first opportunity that presented itself. He quickly learned to be less artistic with his handwriting, after an unfortunately not-Elvish-experienced guild member thoroughly misread and mispronounced his name, giving him a nickname that has stuck ever since; the rest of the guild that tried to determine his skillset and placement found themselves with a dilemma of just how to rank him, with such a breadth of knowledge but no actual experience behind any of it.

To his (only mild) dismay, they assigned Calaphindë the provisional rank of Copper, and set him to work with more real-world experienced members of the guild to see if he was quick enough to actually cut it at Iron or Steel or if he'd really have to start from the bottom and work his way up.

Equipment: Other than general travelling gear, standard the world over, Calaphindë's possessions are totaled up in the form of a journal, a couple of books brought with him about general upkeep of the stuff he has and the sorts of materials he may be able to find while he's out travelling (he hasn't finished reading that one yet, so he just brought it with him), he has a longbow with arrows and a quiver (all lovingly made by his father) a somewhat long-bladed hewing spear (often finds itself used as a walking staff), and should all else fail (or he needs to cut through some particularly dense brush or the like), he has a small, light falchion/hanger type blade.

Notably, he does not have any special focus to channel the magic he knows through.

He may have forgotten it when he was packing to leave home.

Skills: Despite his parents' best efforts, he's not particularly great with other people. He's friendly, he can generally get along, but expecting him to be a leader or persuasive or the like is a stretch.

Other than that, though, he picked up on everything relatively well—fighting skills courtesy of his father, hunting and survival skills, even magic courtesy of his mother, though he's rather limited with the latter given a lack of practice and lack of a good focus to use in spellcraft, and the former has yet to really be tested. Perhaps most unique to him is his nearly photographic memory; for things that he experiences, whether that be reading them, seeing them, tasting, smelling, hearing, feeling—Calaphindë's recall is almost entirely perfect, barring the obvious inherent bias that every observer has.

Of course, that bias comes with one clear drawback—it is entirely focused on whatever he was focused on. And for him to recall anything, it has to catch and hold his focus enough for him to actually think about it, as any spontaneous memory is far more likely to be related to his interests that have captured his attention than for anything that might be directly helpful. For the guild, this is already a known struggle for those that have to deal with him to overcome, but if they're careful about it, it may be more useful than it seems...

I told you I'd be putting him in again

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

Dibs on doing my elf again

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Esben and Halvor

---

"A village hit by the beasts that badly? Good heavens, I know it's gotten worse, they're even being seen on the main roads these days, but still...That near the border, it may be...Hmm, that may be madam Durbin's land, though I've no clue what happened to her that she can't keep her own..." Halvor trailed off and paused again, peering once more at Rudolf. "Is that the trouble you mentioned? That seems..." He gazed more closely still at the three of them, before rushing over to look out a window, peering out at his manor grounds for anybody that looked out of place. His eyes drew to the west instantly, where the remaining Kirins could be seen gathered at the edge of the smithy.

He turned back, staring as though he was taking in every detail of the scarring on Rudolf's face, eyes turning downward and focusing in on his left elbow for moment, before falling back on Éliane, frowning at how stiffly she sat on the couch, finally sliding back to Esben.

"A full day, yes," he spoke slowly, turning back towards the door as though he was about to chase down his servants himself. "A full day at least, with the state you're all in. I shan't put you back out on the road like this!"

"Halvor, please—"

The viscount faced Esben with a withering glare, enough to shock even him to silence. "No, Esben, I will allow no argument on this. It'll take time enough to resupply you all for whatever other travel you need to make, and I have need of one of you regardless." At that, his glare fell on his supposed 'ward' for a moment. "It's all the better for me that I have both of you here. Beside that, though, I can hazard a guess that whatever you dealt with was beyond the capacity of some border town to fix, yes? You can take the time to rest and take advantage of some proper treatment, then, before you all run off somewhere nobody has heard from in ages!"

"We can't just stay here on a whim, Halvor!" Esben protested, this time withstanding the glare that came back his way. "This isn't our decision to make—"

"Of course it isn't, because it's mine," their host interrupted back. "If this is Director Lambert's business, it can wait, and if I have to I can deal with her temper. She's too careful to plan something so urgent that it can't withstand some reasonable delay, and I daresay that if I let you all run off and get yourselves hurt worse or killed she'd be much angrier with me—not to mention your families! Two nights. You'll have my leave to go the day after next, and I'll take stock of what you actually have on you and see if there's anything else I can do to help."

Perhaps this was why the 'mercurial northerner ward' had been sent to stay with the good viscount; he seemed every bit as prone to erratic moods himself as the word could imply. He strode to the door, turning back once at the trio in his sitting room. "Esben, you know where to find me if you need, I'm sure you can tell the rest. You're dismissed." With that final bid, he left them, heels clacking down the hallway.

Esben watched the viscount's retreating form silently, more than a little perturbed at the show he'd just been given. "I hate when he reminds me he was competent," he grumbled with a sullen frown. "He's easier when he doesn't pay attention."

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Esben Matthiassen

---

As they settled in within the viscount's sitting room, Esben glanced over at Rudolf while servants came by with tea and snacks. "Just remember, you've been here the whole time," he reminded, as unnecessary as it likely was. That they were served pea flower tea wasn't terribly surprising to him, even if it left Éliane noticeably disappointed. Viscount Breien's struggles with stimulants were a bit of an open secret amongst those of the Skaeller upper class that even knew of him; that he would avoid having anything with simple caffeine in it to avoid a possible relapse was expected.

At least the hot drink was nice. Unlike Éliane, however, he couldn't possibly just relax and snack while waiting, with no clue why they were even there beyond some nebulous promise of benefit from the earl Demet north across the border and the need to assuage the viscount's frayed nerves. He settled in as well as he could next to Éliane, one eyebrow raised as he peered over the rim of his cup as she intercepted the tossed cushion before it might have made him spill.

Halvor fiddled with the doorknob for a moment, before pushing through into the room, though they'd heard him just before. "Been telling Lambert he's here, been telling her that Demet keeps telling me he's here, nobody's questioned a thing but she's been on my case for the last two months now..." Esben had to withhold a sigh. Halvor stepped through, choppy yellow hair looking especially messy compared to how he'd been used to seeing the man before. Rudolf greeted him, and Esben gave a polite nod as well.

"..."

"Hej, Halvor."

Cool blue eyes met his own. Still the same bags under his eyes as ever, although Esben had to wonder if he didn't match, now. "Esben? Hva gjør du her?"

"Bare på besøk," he replied with a shrug, while the momentarily-dumbfounded viscount stared down at him. "Sammen med vennene mine!" Halvor continued to stare. Esben was already acutely aware of just how stiffly he was sitting, nearly the same as the viscount, who stood like a board had been strapped along his spine. Éliane was no better, owing to everything they'd just been through. Rudolf was the only one managing to look properly relaxed, playing up the part of one who'd just spent the last few years in this same manor.

"...Ja. B-besøk." Halvor exhaled at last, turning to face Rudolf. "Of course, of course, it's good you didn't freeze, yes, yes, thank you for the..." He cut off as suddenly as he'd begun, looking at his young charge's face.

With the faintest tremor, he took a spare cup of tea, downing it in a single pull. "W-what happened to you, kid?" he choked out, eyes locked on the scarring. Esben couldn't withhold his sigh that time. "Cadmon sends me a letter saying it was nice to send you up to visit, you and your...friends!" He shot a short, accusatory glare Esben's way. "Talking the whole time like you should already be back, and you weren't back, I had no clue where you were, all the staff said you should be by soon, and you—you—"

He looked back and forth between the pair of young men, one he'd known since he was a child, the other his "ward," one he'd "known since he was a child."

Halvor sank into one of the larger chairs, falling into it like a deflating balloon. "More tea would be nice," he said weakly, and an attendant waiting just beyond the door scurried off again. "Where have you been? What happened to you? Cadmon said to expect guests, how many will there be...I don't know if I have the rooms for it...How long have you known each other? That would've made some of this so much easier, I tell you, knowing you're both acquainted, and..."

His eyes fell on the pink-haired woman with a commander's uniform also sitting on the couch. "Good heavens, and to think I've missed you this entire time! By the Mother and her house, these two boys will be the death of me, I swear it...We haven't met too, have we?" He tried to offer her a polite smile, though given that this was both the most animated Esben had seen him in years, and how it looked like he was spending all the energy he had on the very beginning of a conversation...

"Dame Commander Éliane Laruelle of Solitude, Halvor, part of the overseer's own guard. Éliane, this is Viscount Halvor Breien."

"Eh? Oh! Yes, yes, thank you, Esben, just like your father, you can always hold moments like this together." The servant came back with more tea, and Halvor hurriedly poured himself another cup. "You must be on leave, then, yes? I haven't seen you since we all went down to celebrate your graduation, your parents, sister, and I. No shock at all you went on to graduate work, no, Anders and I rather expected it, would have been a waste if you didn't...But travelling, and with Rudolf, no less! And a commander of the household guard..."

He trailed off while looking right at them, and Esben's eyebrow raised once again. Halvor shook his head, trying to smile again. "What a lovely vacation! Cadmon did say that Rudolf was planning to head on to Solitude as well. Dreadful place, far as I'm concerned, too busy, much too busy, although there hasn't been much coming out of there lately, Kay said I shouldn't worry myself too much though...Ah, but, of course, you can't leave yet, no, absolutely not. I told Cadmon in my last letter, he was asking something about whether you'd be up for a trip to Brightlam, but I told him that you couldn't go that far, otherwise you'd never make it back in time...and even Esben is here! That's truly wonderful, that means nobody will be missing!"

Halvor was no less energetic, although he was at least finding his stride, as far as anyone could call it that. And leaving Esben no less confused than when they'd started. "Missing for what, Halvor?" The viscount's head snapped back over, surprised for a moment, before the light of genuine delight came into his eyes. "Oh, you don't know yet? Even better! I shan't ruin the surprise, no, of course not, ah...How many of you are there going to be? I need to know the extra places to set for dinner tomorrow night, they should all be here sometime in the morning. And rooms! And, and..."

He was starting to get overwhelmed by the thought of all the accomodations to prepare. Esben sighed again. "Our chocobos are already in the stable by now. Counting the Moogle, there's eight of us."

"I always knew you had it in you to make that many friends!" The pride in Halvor's voice faltered as soon as he registered Esben's flat glare. "Y-you see, Lene and Hanne, they always said...No, no, forget it. Eight it is! And everything you'll need to get you to Solitude, of course, you can't go riding across these snowy wastes unprepared. Oh, did you see the flowers out front? No materia or anything for them, just skill. I think I'm getting better! Hard to find the right ones for this that would grow in winter, of course, but I knew I'd manage. Ah, but you all probably want to avail yourselves of the baths after being on the road so long, yes? Kaja, can you make sure we have hot water?" He sprung up out of his chair, slamming his emptied teacup back down on the endtable next to him.

"And I'll make sure we have rooms prepared for you all, of course, we'll have Aksel give all of you who don't know a tour of the place while we make sure we have extra for tonight's dinner...Ah, do you need anything else for now?"

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Esben Matthiassen

---

"I'm not willing to guess at what Cadmon has to do with the Viscount and what that has to do with either of us," was Esben's reply to Rudolf's prodding. "At least with you it makes sense. To include me as well is...difficult to predict." It meant that Cadmon had known about him ahead of time, in some manner. Whether that was something to do with Kayliss or to do with Halvor himself was another impossibility to guess at.

He glanced at the flowers as well as Rudolf, eyes narrowed at them. Primroses, red and white hellebores, camellias...he knew, and he'd told the others as much, that one of the Viscount's various hobbies was flower arranging. Whether these were just convenient blooms or some sort of messaging from the eccentric man, he had little clue. Floriography was not something he'd bothered to study at all, nor had it even been an option at the Garden.

"Ah, Sir Cadon?"

Esben's eye's snapped back to the guard that had met them at the manor gates. "The Viscount has been in...one of his moods, lately. He's barely spoken for the last two days, something about a letter he got and the timing of things not lining up. You'll understand if he's not the most welcoming, yes?"

"...Ja."

A foreboding thing to hear from someone that was supposed to help them, for sure. The guards swiftly moved to giving directions to Goug, where the chocobos and all the rest of their things could be stabled and stored. The Kirins were, for the moment, given basicaly free reign of the manor grounds. Esben took a moment to reorient himself, having not actually been there since he was a child, looking between the manor house, the stables, outbuildings...He pointed off to the west. "He should still have a smithy over there. I wouldn't expect miracles, but we can at least get anything dented and bent fixed back the way it should be. Guest rooms are on the east wing, so we'll be shuffled that way soon. Let's make our way in out of the cold, though, ja?"

Without waiting for a response from the rest, and given his own perturbed mood with the entire situation, he made his way up to the entrance of the house and pulled it open without a care.

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Esben Matthiassen

---

No response at all. Still unconscious, then, although after as close a brush with death as she'd had it wasn't surprising. He'd been out for at least as long after having most of his ribs crushed by Reisa, after all. He turned to look at Miina, who'd ceased her mewling and was just standing there looking sheepish.

"Well. Shall we, or do you want to go check on Izayoi and Chisato instead?" Without waiting for her response he pushed the door open fully, stepping inside. The room was as simple as the rest; a bed, a nightstand, some empty drawers, a spare chair. He grabbed it, pulling it up next to the bed where Éliane was sleeping peacefully under the blanket.

He paused for a moment, listening to the sound of her breathing—focused for anything out of the ordinary, laboured, wheezing, anything that might suggest there was more deep-seated trauma for Eos and the village healer to try and work on—and watching her face and the rise and fall of her chest beneath the blanket. Satisfied for the moment, he reached out, gently pressing at her shoulder that peaked out from under the cover. "Are you still with us, Éliane? It's time to wake up."