Fantasy Aeon of Heroes: Forging Ahead - Arc 1

[Azukai]

Vinestria

Ashen Knight / Hunter

Temple of Northias, the Sanctuary

Passing glances were the extent of interactions that Vinestria received. Ironically, this made him feel far more comfortable in the ever-growing group. With no pressure to speak, the warden could simply listen and observe from the edges of the makeshift camp; though, he quickly lost interest in a conversation which devolved into dinner logistics. Instead, he began closely examining the mannerisms and features of each arrival. He had full faith that no one here knew who he was, much less had a stake on his life; however, erring on the side of caution was simply the present way of life.

Nonetheless, it was the first time in over a century that he had willingly subjected himself to a gathering of this size. As such, his wary examinations quickly shifted to those of curiosity instead. What caught his eyes the most, were the varying forms of attire that each individual wore. Unlike his rather muted robes from an era long past, modern fashion had seemed to have adopted a far more elegant display. Even those who wore armor felt far more majestic than he ever remembered.

Perhaps they are all rich? Vinestria pondered. It made sense that those with power and influence would have caught the princess's eyes, but if standing was a qualification for the congregation of knights, then why was he here? A question for the princess, if she ever shows her face. He eventually concluded with a shrug of his shoulders.

Overhead, a large shadow blotted the lingering sun and turned his attention away from his thoughts. A shiver ran down his spine. Very little phased him in the current day and age, but seeing one of his kind, hovering above the clearing, was enough to shake his soul. It had to have been at least two centuries since he last laid his eyes upon another Aerouant. He could feel a tear welling in the corner of his eye but swiftly quelled any outward emotions. It was neither the time nor the place.

He did, however, continue to stare--at least until she matched his gaze with a rather soft expression of her own. Unable to control his emotions, Vinestria shifted his head towards the ground to hide the pain and sorrow which marred his expression. It seemed that there was truly no happiness for their kind, as the scars on her body told a story far more tragic than his own.

With his mood somewhat sombered, Vinestria simply stood in silence and watched as the Beastiard prepared the meal. Although he had no intention of partaking in the stew, he was at least happy to see that his offered ingredients were being aptly used.

A small smile returned to his face. We were gathered to bring peace to the land. This is not a day to look to the future, not to the sorrows of the past.

By now, the camp was relatively divided between two groups--those who wished to converse and discuss the current situation, and those who simply wished to remain bystanders to the crowd. Vinestria chose to be one of the latter. With no new information being presented, he saw no reason to join in. There were far too many variables at the current point in time; not to mention the letter had clearly stated that nothing would occur until nightfall. With the sun dipping below the horizon, it was only a matter of time until the festivities were due to begin. Until then, he could entertain himself.

To think another of my kind still lived. Vinestria snuck a glance at the older dragon who had distanced themselves even further than he had. Perhaps, they too are from...? Vinestria's thoughts trailed away into a sudden idea. He swung his knapsack off his shoulders and began rummaging through the contents within. After finding what he was looking for, he took several deep breaths before silently stepping forward. There was another in the vicinity--a strange woman with traits akin to a reptile, who was actively attempting to converse with the dragon.

Vinestria sniffed the air. He recognized the scent of a common medicinal herb wafting from the direction of the woman. Likely an ointment for a minor injury, he concluded upon his arrival. It wasn't his intention to interrupt their conversation or even join in. All he wanted to do was offer the small cookies infused with multi-colored seeds. To the woman, the offering would have likely been exactly as it appeared; a foreign-looking cookie. But to the Aerouant, there was a chance the small treat could be something more--a memory from the past; a chance to relive a certain long-lost treat which had once been favored amongst the Avalonian populace.

[Interactions: Juju November Witch ]

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[locked n loaded]

Tsunbuyla

Ashen Knights / Vanguard

Temple of Northias, "The Sanctuary"

With the soup bubbling to a finish, Tsunbuyla moves in, finding a bowl and cup from inside her pack. “For sharing,” she explains, tipping her head towards the others, scattered around the temple grounds.

Taking the filled utensils, she climbs the path towards the temple’s central statue, joining Aldricor beside it. She cuts an easy-going figure, stance open and muscles lax. “For you,” she says, extending the bowl and spoon to the man. “The others just finished cooking.”

Of course, she isn’t offering to act as a server to dole out everyone’s servings, but she hardly has enough bowls for the others when even the chef himself doesn’t. Besides, remembering the fire-starting offer of the man beside her, Tsunbuyla can’t help but be amused, enough so to single him out as a way to pass the time.

“I use my Chaos Root for convenience too,” she starts, tone mirthful. And she does. She did on the way here, even, to cut down her travel time with a mutated Nightcrawler’s speed. Arts have always been as mundane as any other tool to her, though a particularly versatile one, and she applies them liberally. Still, she can’t but wonder, a laughed inquiry, “But do you not carry anything else that can start a fire?”

The corners of her lip curl teasingly upward as she gestures at box-bag on the other’s back. It looks makeshift, more homemade than anything, but even a wanderer low on funds would normally bring survival tools. “What’s in there if not traveling supplies?”

As she speaks, her eyes fall into the sigils surrounding the base of the statue. Really, artists, sculptors, and poets, liking to write in such old, unreadable things. What’s the point of sharing works that others can’t understand?

Her focus returns to her cup at hand as she takes a sip. Chefs are much better, a sentiment reinforced by the flavor that enters her mouth.

Interaction(s): Auda

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[NiftyNat]

Jacoliene De Gunst

Ashen Knights / Hunter

Temple of Northias, The Sanctuary

A chilling breeze slithered down her spine, penetrating her thick coat. Liene hastily adjusted her scarf, a barrier against the biting cold she desperately sought to keep at bay.

As the smell of the thinly made soup wafted through the air, cogs in her head started to turn. A single thought remained to fester in her mind. The level of trust she must portray must stay limited if she were to survive. Trust, respect, and companionship must be earned, a principle every starting party must abide by. Trust is the most critical factor among any group. Throughout Liene's life, surrounded by skilful liars and expert assassins, she knew better than to break bread with strangers she knew nothing about. With that conclusion, Liene will continue to feast on the food she safely brought for herself. She filled her head with the ‘what ifs’ until she unconsciously reached for another bag of date fruits.

These will suffice, for now, she thought to herself—partly a lie and partly the truth. The last full meal she received was in a cheap and busy inn the day before. Before the following day ends, however, she will need a proper meal to avert possible fatigue. To neglect that thought, she let the savoury taste of the date distract her.

Liene’s sigil remained unseen from other’s prying eyes. She carefully shuffled close the campfire while listening to the nearby voices surrounding it. One masculine voice spoke with refinement befitting a noble, while the voice he conversed with bore a more casual speech. As he bellowed for the others at the finished soup, the Fang also pointed out his visual observations of their environment. While she had conducted her physical examination earlier, she knew of the existence of the statues. Perhaps it was within Fang’s empathetic nature, but Liene took his actions as a sign of pity, and it sliced through the pride she held dear—a reminder of what she lacked. On the bright side, however, Liene also saw his action as a sign of simple altruism. Without his observations, Liene wouldn’t have noticed the glowing runes. And yet, in her eyes, kindness is never enough to earn her trust. Throughout time, yes, perhaps, but not today.

Liene’s firm resolve was unmistakable as she spoke her reply. “I've had my fill on the way here.” She breathed her lie effortlessly. “My appetite calls for dessert now.” She popped a date in her mouth, and the sweet, sugary flavour enveloped her taste.

Liene felt an oddly warm sensation emitting from her pocket. She curiously fished for the item deep into her pockets and located the source—the curious sigil given to her. It was not as blisteringly hot as she expected; it was just the right temperature to emit heat. Her fingers brushed its flat sides, inspecting it beneath her pockets with purpose, only to find that it remained unchanged. This mysterious token held a significance she had yet to comprehend fully.

“Some have travelled far, I assume. Perhaps it would be best to rest first before tackling this test. Perhaps that would create enough opening for the twelfth person to appear. Who knows?” Liene pondered, her mind already strategising for the challenges that lay ahead. Perhaps there will be more trials to see whether this lot is worth the ‘Ashen Knight’ title and prevent any false identities from entering the princess’ circle. The thought itself led Liene to reach for her cane instinctively. A rather clever and sensible thing to do; if her conclusion remained true, she would have to commend the princess for that. Even if her theory remains accurate, conserving their strength and energy in the time being would be a wise course of action.

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[lucenti]

Saran Qacaye

Ashen Knights / Caster

temple of northias, the sanctuary

Claustrophobia - not quite yet, but something like it - began to strike the young Bestiard as the clearing filled with the last remaining individuals.

Though the latest arrival, only moments after his own, with the large wooden case on his back, aroused Saran's interest, it was quickly replaced by apprehension at the sight of the perched wyvern. Of all the flying beasts, it had to be the most blood-stained in his memory. Apparently, it wasn't bad enough that its wings allowed it to pursue Saran if he decided to escape to the skies. Even though it was clearly tame with the rider on its back, just like the chameleon that had just emerged from the forest, their very presence rattled his feathers deeply.

Choosing to stand aside for the moment, Saran watched as small groups began to form naturally. While some flocked to the food, ready to help or to feed themselves, others stood aside, willing to stew in their suspicions and those who openly shared their attitudes. The smell of the soup was appealing, but unfortunately Saran's stomach was already satiated from his last hunt. Nor did he have anything to add to the meal, for he always foraged only enough for one meal at a time, leaving any leftovers to the plants and animals. It was a practice Saran had been taught from an early age; to respect nature in it's role as provider.

Immediate movement to the right drew his eyes to the nearest conversation. A person that was talking to the previously introduced man called Aldricor. The woman's height, dwarfing his own, was the first thing Saran noticed, a unique feeling in her appearance the second. It was reminiscent of the same sense he had felt when accompanying a group of Draculus. Their common goal, to slay a giant that threatened a village and its water supply, had united them back then. Saran could never quite put his finger on it, but in retrospect, the charm of the race was undeniable.

In any case, the stranger seemed to share the same interest in the wooden box, and since there were no events that required his most careful attention, Saran could probably indulge his earlier curiosity as well. Eyes traced the edges of the wood, age fraying any smoothness the piece had once possessed at its creation. Amusedly, he thought that it seemed large enough to hide a body in, should the need ever arise.

"I am impressed that you carry it around with such apparent ease. I cannot imagine that the journey up here was at all pleasant," Saran chimed in cheerfully as he approached them at the central statue. "Flight usually prevents me from carrying anything of this size. Some see it as an inconvenience, but I always thought it helped me avoid accumulating useless baggage."

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Before we forget, my name is Saran, and although the circumstances of our meeting are still quite perplexing to me, I hope we can make the best of it." It seemed only fair to return the same gesture, which Aldricor did and introduce himself as well. The Bestiard had never understood the apprehension with revealing one's name, anyway. Was the fear of being identified that great?

This train of thought stopped as he noticed the subtle glow at the base of the statue, and another sense of familiarity washed over him. The shapes of the characters reminded him of his early alchemy lessons, though Saran had never quite taken to it like other children of his tribe.

Words from the other Bestiard at the campfire, added to the revelation and Saran couldn't help but express his eagerness aloud. "A riddle from the princess? How exciting!"

Interactions: Auda locked n loaded

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[Irradiant]

Alexander Von Styrmir

Ashen Knights / Elementalist

Temple of Northias

A slow, deep nod would indicate Alexander’s agreement with Tang-Ruo’s statement. “You speak true, friend. A man on his own can only accomplish but so much…”

Alexander palmed his chin pensively. Though it sounded like he would leave it there, there were still thoughts that swirled in his mind, itching to be pushed from his lips. He contemplated his next words carefully. “However…” He would begin to offer a different perspective. “One should not forget that even the most miniscule drop of water can cause ripples.” He followed up with a teasing jab of the elbow. “Though, in your case, friend, a ‘drop of water’ might not be the most apt comparison.” Alexander recalled the Bestiard’s prowess in battle, before delivering his punchline. “A ‘pail of water,’ more like?” As much as Tang-Ruo attempted to bury his claws in flower beds of modesty, the Elementalist was no less privy of them, or their unmistakable glint.

The banging of a pan, followed by Tang-Ruo’s invitation to partake, reminded Alexander of his hunger. Reflexively, his body too would remind him of this, through the grumbling of his stomach. “Oh what I would not give to be rid of these physiological manacles imposed upon us…”

Alexander meant it.

After all, if he did not require food for sustenance, or sleep for energy, then he would be free to consume as many books as he wished without pause. Such a fantasy would make any scholar’s heart skip a beat, including his own. Alas, it was just that: a fantasy, and one he could not will into existence, even with the use of his Chaos Root.

Therefore, he would be among the first to grab a helping of Tang-Ruo’s stew. “Delicious.” A simple and straightforward compliment. But it captured Alexander’s attitude towards the flavors that now massaged his taste buds.

As the daytime bid its last farewell, a collective glimmer of statues would dispel the impending darkness. Tang-Ruo immediately took note of the strange phenomenon. And it would not be the only strange phenomenon, it seemed. The Bestiard produced the sigil given to him by the princess, and it glowed as well, brighter than the inscriptions inlaid in the statues.

“Well, well. What do we have here…” Alexander remarked nonchalantly. Feeling heat emanating from his pockets, he stuffed his hand into them, only to come into contact with his own sigil. The sigil lit up in a radiant blue. Mysteriously, the symbol at its center would also morph before his eyes, as if some invisible blacksmith had just chiseled new grooves into it, forming different patterns.

Spurred on by cautious curiosity, Alexander approached the Statue of Northias. After bending into a kneel, he ran a finger through the lower part of the statue, partly to search for any hidden pockets or crevices. But to no avail. He would then try to decipher the message carved into it, still glowing a mysterious glow, with little success. “I do not recognize these symbols,” he mused. “Could it be… ? A language lost to time?” His gaze naturally wandered to the Draculus, Azelthyrian, and Aerouants in the group. “To my long-lived brothers and sisters, might I request some help in reading this?” If there were people more likely to know of ancient scripts, it would be them.

All the while, the fact that there were slots on the statue’s pedestal, conveniently the same shape and size as his sigil, did not escape him. Out of instinct, he would place the sigil on an empty slot, expecting some sort of mechanism to activate. That… did not happen, and Alexander was left to scratch his head in confusion. Was there a piece of the puzzle that he overlooked?

“Ah.” A moment of realization. Alexander rose to his feet. There were other statues in the vicinity that he had not inspected. Perhaps clarity could be found in them.

“It is these symbols again,” he observed, eyeing one of the statues up and down, and seeing a message with a similar typography etched on its pedestal. He smirked. “Once is happenstance. Twice? Now that is something else.”

As he neared another statue, he could feel a faint energy drawing him to it. It was a pulling force: a force so familiar, its name was on the tip of his tongue. He held out his sigil towards the statue. Magnetism. It was the sigil that the statue was beckoning, now writhing weakly in Alexander’s hands. Upon this uniquely magnetic statue was a message not unlike the others. This time, however, Alexander would be able to comprehend it.

He would read it aloud: “Why was the first steel forged into blade's form, crafted with care in the inferno’s warmth? For what purpose did the anvils ring, give birth to weapons, shaped with molten dreams?”

It was a strange line of questioning, made stranger by the fact that it appeared out of thin air. Still, it would prompt a philosophical response from Alexander. “A weapon is simply a means to an end, no? An empty husk, animated by its wielder’s resolve.”

An introspective pause.

“As for me, I wish to brandish the sword of reform. To establish a future of parity, in which one is a master of one’s fate, and not its slave.”

Alexander laughed to himself. “It is a utopia indeed, the scale of which is far beyond my ken, but…” He looked back. “... Until I shuffle off this mortal coil, I will pursue it relentlessly, alongside the Ashen Knights.”

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[AI10100]

Kyreth Ranolus

Ashen Knight / Healer

Temple of Northias, "The Sanctuary"

The group went to idle conversation to pass the time but Kyreth merely listened to them. How the Vile Beast tamer knew the bestiard, Tang-Ruo. How the Aerouants grouped together and so on. It would not be the first time she would put her trust and life into strangers nor will it be the last. She closed her eyes for a moment as Kon settled behind her, finished with his own play time. When the soup finished, Kyreth moved to take a small bowl from Kon's satchel and gratefully filled up her own portion. Unlike many others, Kyreth need not worry about possible poisons or toxins within the soup— unlikely as it may be considering they had all watched Tang-Ruo make it— and so she ate her fill while giving the meat to Kon, morsels as they may be. "Thank you for the meal, Mr. Tang-Ruo." She paused and let out a hum. "Forgive me, my manners are somewhat lacking. I am Kyreth, by the way."

Much like the others, Kyreth had fished out the sigil that had been warming her side for a while now. It glowed bright and an unfamiliar symbol was now placed upon it. Was it affected by some sort of magic in this place? Or it could simply be something the princess had set up for them specifically. "Or, perhaps, the twelfth that we're waiting for is the person who has called us here. It would not be that far of an assumption to think that, no?" She wiped her bowl down with a cloth before placing it back into Kon's satchel and standing up herself. Though their blind companion had suggested to rest, the noble was already making his way to the statue. She chuckled. "It appears our friend here is a bit impatient. I'll go see what he's doing."

And so Kyreth followed behind him. When he had called out for help regarding the symbols, it was only then that Kyreth took a turn to look at them properly. It was good that they were glowing, or else the moonlight might not have been enough for her to properly read them out. She reached a hand out to the carvings, running her fingers against it. "Odd." She muttered as she traced the symbols in a way that did not entirely correspond with what was written. Her eyes narrowed as she traced it once again, this time in a different way that still did not completely trace what was written.

"I recognize the style of which these symbols are made is of both ancient Azelthyrian and runic. Like... a weird combination of both. If I were to try and decipher the meaning of this, it would take days and likely a consult. I'm not as well-versed in the ancient language of my people as my parents had been." She could recognize phrases and the like from what she had been taught, but she forever regretted the fact that she could not read it as fluently as she should have been. Not to mention the fact that it was melded with runes, it would simply make the bar of difficulty even higher.

Still, her companion's attention had been taken elsewhere and Kyreth begrudgingly left the symbols alone. As she was following Alexander, however, she would find that her own sigil was tugging her in another direction— as if it was beckoning her towards another statue separate from what was being investigated. Her eyes flitted between her companion and the statue before following where her sigil led her. She placed the sigil on the podium yet nothing happened. So she picked it up once again while inspecting the symbols— but this time, it held something else. A translation.

The vile beast tamer had spoken it aloud and given his answer. Reform. Kyreth turned back to him and nodded. It was a good answer; optimistic and idealistic as it may be, it sounded noble. "I believe it is for survival." The Azelthyrian paused and appeared to have something to say as a follow-up before deciding against it. She turned to the others in their little group, wondering what they would offer up as an answer for this.

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[Auda]

Aldricor

Ashen Knights | Elementalist

Temple of Northias, The Sanctuary

Aldricor was about to use a mark when the arrival of another stopped him in his tracks. The newcomer offered a far quicker solution to their lack of flame and the faster they could start the fire, the quicker Aldricor can satiate his hunger. With a nod of his head and a quick thanks, Aldricor stepped away and watched eagerly as Tang-Ruo began to work his magic. The sight of a boiling water was enough to make him salivate. When the Bestiard added the rest, his stomach would growl in both protest and anticipation. Although, Aldricor was skeptical if it was enough to feed all of them. Maybe they could divide the provisions to—

As if on cue, the winds seemed to pick up and Aldricor swore he didn’t activate his Chaos Root before his eyes landed a massive figure—a dragon descending. Aldricor immediately abandoned his plan of carefully dividing the stew as there was just no way they could make it work now. The dragon was also not in the best of moods, but luckily Tang-Ruo and Kyreth stepped up to offer an explanation and it seemed to be enough.

The discussion was then diverted to the sigils they’ve gotten alongside the letter and map. If Aldricor was being honest, he had forgotten about the sigil as soon as he carelessly threw it inside his box. The man was about to rummage through the mess to find it once again when he was offered a bowl and spoon. The sight of the woman, however, stopped him in his tracks. There was no doubt of her beauty, and you’d have to be blind or ignorant to say otherwise. Although it wasn’t attraction that made the Nephilim hesitate.

The sight of the Draculus was achingly familiar and Aldricor was brought back to the cell he grew up in. It was only for a moment, but it was long enough to appear as rude. “A-ah—” Aldricor cleared his throat, composing himself, “my apologies, it’s just that you reminded me of someone.” The man quickly took the offered items and his fingers unconsciously played with the utensils to ease his nerves. “Thank you. I hope my stomach’s persistent growling wasn’t too distracting.”

Aldricor took off his box and planted it on the ground. “As for this thing right here, I’m afraid you’ll find no supplies in this box of mine.” He started, a little embarrassed at appearing unprepared, ”It’s mostly filled with trinkets and baubles I’ve come across during my journey. Some were gifts given to me by people in exchange for my help, and the rest are just what caught my fancy.” Now that the man was saying it out loud, it did seem childish. To his defence, the versatility of his chaos root was enough to protect him from the wilderness.

Aldricor didn’t realize that his box would be so popular as the Winged Bestiard who arrived before him approached them with his own query. The Bestiard’s openness to share his name mirrored Aldricor as he introduced himself as Saran, a name that Aldricor will surely remember.

“My shoulders do ache occasionally, but I've grown used to it by now.” It has gotten to the point where it felt weird if Aldricor didn’t have the familiar weight on his shoulders. “It may sound a little odd, but I fear I’ve grown attached to this lump of wood.” Aldricor said with a smile. The weathered edges showed how much the Nephilim has travelled and seen the world. Almost like a badge of honour or a warrior’s rusted armour. Just less suffocating and burdensome.

“I can definitely see how thing old thing can be burdensome in the air.” Aldricor chuckled. “While I can occasionally fly—though I wouldn’t call it ‘flying’ as it feels like an insult to what you can do—I fear I look almost like a fledgeling that was just pushed off their nest, especially with this strapped on my back.”

Begrudgingly, Aldricor put the bowl down temporarily as he opened the box to look for the sigil. His other companions were already trying to decipher what it meant or symbolized, and he figured it was more important than having his fill. Like what he has come to expect, the insides of the box were in disarray. Luckily the sigil’s glow made it easier to spot and once Aldrichor’s hands wrapped around it, he could immediately feel a tug to one of the statues. Similarly to what his other companions have done, Aldricor followed the path towards the statue that the sigil led him to. Again, similarly to his companions, nothing seemed to happen when he inserted the sigil into the slot.

From what Aldricor can tell, it was obvious that the statue, or whoever made the puzzle to begin with, was searching for a specific answer and that it was linked to the sigil they all possessed. While Alexander and Kyreth’s response were both plausible answers to the riddle, he doubted that just saying it aloud would solve the puzzle. Instead of tossing his own answer, he made his way towards the main statue to inspect the symbols.

“I’m not really good with puzzles or riddles, but we all have sigils and there are 12 open spaces that’s a perfect fit for them over here.” Aldricor started, voice loud enough to catch the attention of the others. “We’re missing one, and the symbols are all different, but what’s the worst thing that could happen?” To brute force their way into solving the puzzle was probably not the best idea there is, but it’s still an idea.

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[Juju]

Rubiliaxx

Ashen Knights / Vanguard

temple of northias

The dragon's red eye shifted downwards to curiously behold the woman. Out of all present, it was surprising that such a tentative soul was the one to initiate conversations with her. Perhaps the sight of an aerouant was no longer one that struck fear and resentment? She hardly dared to hope, yet the way this woman spoke to her was as if there were no differences between them, size or otherwise. It sparked a nostalgic feeling within the old aeuroant, reminding her of a time long-lost. This helped to ease the awkwardness somewhat, and she found herself relaxing slightly. The tip of her tail swayed lightly, though remained wrapped around her claws.

“I have only my years of experience to thank, and nothing more.” Rubiliaxx rumbled deeply, eye growing clouded as she recalled the scent of blood and parchment, “The princess has many enemies, ones who would go to great lengths to see her vision dashed. We must remain vigilant.”

Rubiliaxx regarded the girl closely, examining the patches of scales that spotted her face and the fabric stretched across what she could only assume was a broken eye. A kindred spirit, it would seem. The woman looked young, yet perhaps she held more stories than she would appear. Perhaps if Rubiliaxx was permitted to stay, they could share tales of old.

The sound of light footfalls turned Rubiliaxx's attention away from the woman and towards a small figure that had approached them both. It was non other than the young aerouant. He held out his hand to the woman, offering a small pastry to her. Rubiliaxx hardly believed her eyes when she saw it, but the familiar scent was enough to confirm the spike of nostalgia within her chest. It had been decades since she had seen this delicacy, one that had at one point been a common treat to the people of Avalon.

Rubiliaxx lowered her head to closely examine the cookie the young aerouant now held. She was so close that the heat of her breath stirred the air like summer smoke as she spoke, "Now that is something I have not beheld in ages. Ah, I know that smell well. It used to waft in the early morning air, from all the bakers preparing them for the day. The children used to love them. I remember that if one did not reserve a batch in advance, they would be hard-pressed to find any left in stock."

The aerouant's eye sparkled lightly, swimming with tender memories. When they faded, her red eye turned back to Vinestria. There was a gentleness in her voice now, one that was unlike the commanding tone she addressed the group with previously, "Tell me, child, did you make this?"
November Witch Azukai

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[November Witch]

Mintha Lamiaceae

Ashen Knight / Healer

Temple of northias, "the sanctuary"

It hung in the air, like dew upon a spider’s web. There was some tension in the air as Mintha waited. Would the Aerouant reply? Or simply continue to give everyone the cold shoulder? While Mintha would prefer some conversation at the moment, silence was also an option… Even if it meant her comment was ignored. The single gauntlet she wore upon her right arm clinked gently as she tapped her finger against her thigh. It even caught the dying sun, causing the topaz-colored metal to reflect its own miniature sun. Her mind was soon caught and dragged away from the hulking dragon beside her, to a much smaller one.

The Aerouant she’d seen earlier approached, looking quite nervous. There was silence, but he would offer her food. A cookie. Did he not see her just pack away the food she was eating? Or perhaps he thought she could do with some desert after the fact? Either way, she had just eaten, and wasn’t keen to take food from strangers. She thought he might notice, but apparently not.

“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t exactly trust anyone here yet. Give it to someone else, or better yet, keep it. More for yourself.”

Mintha would tell the boy. The atmosphere was livening up slightly as those near the soup gathered and served themselves some. Mintha would reach into a pocket in her dress and pull out a coin. The one she’d received with the letter. Her single eye would study it, and her fingers would find the textures across its surface. Absent-mindedly, she would play with it in her left hand, until the dragon spoke up to her, and the other Aerouant. A sigh would escape Mintha’s lips due to the first sentence of the other.

“You and me both.”

Years of experience of having a bounty on one's head did that. Mintha knew what would happen if she returned to Aeslengard. Every now and then someone would try to find her and bring her back. But those attempts were few and far between. It was this, coupled with her race, that made her learn fast to not trust anyone. The latter portion of the words directed at her, well, Mintha had no knowledge regarding them.

“I don’t even know the princess, or what compelled her to call on me, but I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

Mintha felt as if she was always vigilant, so that wouldn’t be a problem. Back to the thought about why she was here, again, she had no idea. But there was nothing better for Mintha to do…

She felt a warmth in her left hand. She’d held onto the coin for so long, it was starting to warm itself from her own body heat. Heat which was now amplified as the sun disappeared and the warmth of its rays no longer touched her skin. Mintha’s gaze watched the glow over the horizon slowly start to fade, but only for a few moments before noticing the Aerouants. There was some sort of kinship she could see, which made sense, but Mintha could catch something else there. Some deep, seeded feeling the two were sharing. She would stand, and leave them to their cookie talk, and probable further conversation. For one, it felt slightly awkward. But also, because she’d noticed something upon the statue. Glowing symbols. Now that the sun had faded and the sky was continuously darkening, these sigils had revealed themselves… Interesting.

Mintha stood up in an attempt to look more closely at them, but as she did so, there was a pull from the coin in her hand. The pillar she tried to walk away from, the coin seemed intent on a new home. With a confused look, she looked at the pillar, and the statue set upon it. Only then did she realize the coin was also getting warmer still. Perhaps it wasn’t her body heat warming up the coin in the first place, but something else? She’d place her coin upon the statue, where it seemed to be pulled towards, only to see the question appear before her.

Seeing no reason to answer aloud and sound like a weirdo, the answer would be produced internally.

‘Because dreams are wicked things that only taunt and goad people on.’

Mintha would glance around to see if anyone else had noticed what she had.



Juju Azukai

End of Post

 

[locked n loaded]

Tsunbuyla

Ashen Knights / Vanguard

Temple of Northias, “The Sanctuary”

Crimson eyes blink at Aldricor’s motionlessness, his gaze gone hazy like a man lost in memory. Her lips curl as he reawakens a moment later, brushing aside the apology with a wave of her hand. Watching him delve straight into rummaging through his pack, Tsunbuyla leans forward in a sway of white hair, openly expectative, and pegs it as the right choice. She’d hardly get offended by something as small as spacing out, so there’s no need to call out a man like this, especially not given his efforts to satisfy her curiosity, as well as that of the winged Bestiard who joins them.

The opening of the box is accompanied by a patient explanation as its lid is removed, revealing a small treasure trove waiting inside. Some of those treasures are simple things, well-loved by their presence in this box, and others items of value—gifts, she supposes. Among them, a bottle of liquor catches her eyes, leaving the Draculus to wonder if it's full or if the other has ever taken a sip of the drink. "Mm, that's a good selection," Tsunbuyla says, voice settles into a low, rumbling tune. "I'd bring some cigarettes and lighter myself, but I do hear it's an acquired taste, especially for those who aren't used to the taste of smoke."

Tsunbuyla leans back in a lazy slouch, and her pale arm drapes across her bag, fishing out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes as a demonstration, the former clearly well-used with its fading polish. "I suppose I'd bring some seasoning and a whetstone as well. Food, a fight, and some relaxation afterward, imagine that'd be like flight for the two of you," she says, pondering the idea as she flickers the pair between her fingers. A moment later, she stops the movement, stretching out her hand in an easy offer, supplies laying flat against her palm. "Of course, I won't be able to fly even if I drop my pack off, but perhaps you'd be interested in trying my version?" Her lips part in a wild grin, a flash of sharp teeth.

"Of course, that's just an offer. No pressure."

The Draculus shrugs in an unoffended movement, drawing back upward and out of the pair's space. "My name’s Tsunbuyla." She gestures around her, motion more indecipherable than not as it encompasses the temple with its innate nobility and the gentle, rolling plains surrounding them. "This is certainly a much calmer welcome than I was expecting. I saved up my Marks, expecting a fight—test or otherwise."

In terms of action, things have turned out to be rather disappointing. Still, following the princess should prove to be anything but, given her decision to rebel against society, breaking free of her chains with a dashing act of thievery and a valiant dream. The thought of fighting against the very world itself. Hah, how incredibly challenging; how incredibly exciting. The perfect way to hone her blade and Arts, to become someone defining at the cost of death.

Watching as the other two begin to question their coins, Tsunbuyla retrieves hers, showing it so that the two can compare theirs to hers. As she examines the changed appearance of the tokens under the night sky, some of the other knights begin striding in, finding the key to the mystery: slotting their sigils into the statues. She matches the movement, crimson eyes glancing down at the message that appears with a soft huff.

"What else could blades be for, if not for the right to choose? To give strength, to open that path that leads to the right to pursue freedom, dreams, becoming?" she says, voice lazy and easygoing yet unshakable with the force of her certainty. A simple statement of fact rather than an answer to philosophy. Of every circumstance that has led her here, of every event that has become her history, her identity, her strength, she has learned one thing. No ideal lingers in the wake of its enforcing blade, for there is nothing "deserving" of the price of its existence.

To live, to breath, to become is to fight in and of itself. To wield strength, blades, and Arts is simply a fact of being. Together, they are the very price of life until the breath weakens, and it is time for life to rise anew.

Interaction(s): Auda , lucenti

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