Fantasy Chivalry: A Pilgrimage

[khuyen]

Katrin Hannelore Augüstin

​

"... I swear, I never set my foot in that house again!" Katrin mouthed the words, as the people around her listened to the story of young Vinzens. Only tree days in, and she had already heard the same story three times, or was it four? Regardless, laughter filled the air, as they sat around the camp fire. Katrin leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees, staring into the fire. Hopefully the others around her would just think her tired, dazed, even, but she was listening. Listening and observing those across the flames from her.


Somewhat far to her side, she could hear her dear old pal's voice, as Brien conversed with the bard. It took her a little more effort to tune out that particular voice, but she did, finding their conversation irrelevant to her. A loud shout caught the attention of nearly everyone by the camp. Sayne appeared into vision and alerted everyone of the situation. Murmurs started around the campfire, some worried, some disorientated, but as the noble called for warriors, the knights around her had risen and gone to him. Was he trying to be a leader now? Is he even... capable? Katrin couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at him, as he watched. Then it occurred to her. Shit. She needed to keep an eye on him. Make sure he was safe.


Or wait, was that even part of her mission? Wouldn't Milo be happy even if he were to perish in war? Conflicted, Katrin couldn't decide; stay close to Sayne and risk her cover as a helpless maiden, or stay here and... do what? Her eyes flicked over to the family, she had made 'friends' with the last few days. The mother instinctively held her children close, little Haven at her knees, as they backed away. Good. Part of her felt bad for leaving, it seemed no one was willing to stay and protect the weak- or so she thought, as someone spoke and had offered to stay. Icy-white hair. Katrin couldn't help but stare just a little bit at the dragon, she somehow hadn't noticed before. Beautiful... But there's no time for that, get it together, Kat!


Quickly, she ran to her bag, pulled out her trusty, handcrafted Falcata. Quietly, she followed behind those who had volunteered, awaiting further instructions. She stuck to the back, hoping, praying, she wouldn't draw much attention.

 

[simj26]

Jacques deCapre

Swag Edit, Bro, Now With More Unimportant Bards and Less Important Stuff Pertaining To Nothing, Yee Haw

"I will begin the tale as I begin all tales. Unlike stories of legends and myths, this particular tale is of one that I, your humble storyweaver, encountered on his own adventures. It was during the time when the brown-red leaves began to fall from their trees, shrouding the pavements with a veil of dead fauna. I happened to be crossing the border between Leonhart and Vinoviloc, where I was beset upon by a man, who hid his face behind a mask, demanding I furnish him with the linings of my pockets. While any other man would have fought or fled, I decided to oblige. The man had such desperation in his eyes, that I seemed to have peered into his heart for just that mome-- Hmm. Hold, friend, hearken." The bard stood up, looking forwards as a cry shattered his trance brought upon by his tale-weaving. Interruptions upon interruptions, it seems, came to the poor bard. Luck was never in his favour, that he was sure, but to receive rains from the wetlands when he expected a drizzle was ridiculous. It was, however, becoming rather commonplace now for the albino bard. His features, illuminated by the warm flames, seem to droop a little, as he realised that his audience would be deprived of a story.


"To arms," the voice cried, and Jacques recognised its owner to be none other but the golden-haired knight from earlier. And to arms indeed, the bard went, instantly producing his leather-bound and a piece of charcoal out of thin air, as if by magic. A story, a story! his heart called to him, and he followed its tiny call without hesitation. Perhaps, this was but a favour from the goddess of luck, who may have thought that she should give him some reprieve from the incessant torrent of misfortune she laid upon him. His smile returned, and he noted that the edge of his lips had been nothing but ups and downs that day's eve. Every story needed its ups and downs as well, but one crafted with so many of them so early into the roleplay the plot was going to be exhausting. He wondered to himself, as his hand began to move on its own, scribbling words onto the book's pages, if this heralded a story worth telling or a story worth reminiscing but not telling. His mind lost to his own world, the bard began to wander in both thought and body, sauntering past the chaos that erupted within the camp. On his pages, the Ostfeurer, the golden haired knight, and a silver-maned one, were clear in his sight, and of the rest, it only remained to be seen.

 

[Elle Joyner]

Gabrienna Fromm

How long had it been since she'd simply sat and listened to someone talk... She couldn't remember a time, really, that wasn't rife with battles of one kind or another. From her days at the Academy to the toils of war, so much time and energy drained into fighting with... fighting for... fight against. Had it really been so long since she'd just sat down and listened to a minstrel's song, a poet's ream, a bard's tale? Indeed... fate would have her kept captive by strife and bloodshed. As Jacques began, Gabrienna felt herself relax for the first time in many months, and it was, it seemed, an error in judgement.


Sayne voice cut across the quiet, erupting in a stunning shout. Fighting an irrational frustration at the man's apparently blatant lack of tact and subtlety, Brien nevertheless rose to her feet, aware, in spite of his ignorant screeching, of the urgency in the shrillness of his tone. With the deft flick of her hand, her shield was freed from it's strapping across her back, the leather handle slipped over her forearm. It mattered little if their foe were alerted... They would only know the blades upon which they died were coming...


Swiftly, she turned on Jacques, unsurprised to find the bard had already begun the task of penning whatever arduous story lie ahead of them. It was his calling and she could hardly fault him. The pilgrims, it seemed, and Jacques with them, would be defended by the stranger with the snow-white mane...


Convinced she was best placed in the ray she drew her sword from the shield, gave the bard a swift nod and sprinted to Sayne's side. Brushing aside their earlier episode and all that pertained to their history, she turned to the blonde, "A frontal assault on the gates, or shall we go over the wall? I trust we've lost the opportunity for stealth?"

 

[Syrenrei]

Areynia Schwartezenacht

The recent turn of events was so amusing that Areynia had to stop herself from laughing so hard her side split several times over. First and foremost, Sayne had whisked her on his white steed back towards the rest of the camp after Lureana had safely vaulted over the wall. The priestess was concerned for her friend, of course, but she also was fairly certain that the warrior could handle herself in just about any situation. Whatever lurked on the other side of the timber fortifications would not stand a chance against her companion... though it would have been nice to take a peek just to be sure. Her thoughts and concerns were whisked away just as quickly as they had formed as she struggled to keep her butterfly caged in her hands and make sure her avian comrade was following along. It was undoubtedly a silly sight to behold, as if the chaste woman was part of some fairy tale in which a prince stole her away from danger!


Of course, had Sayne been truly trying to 'save' her, he did a rather poor job in that he then quickly yelled for the rest of their troupe to bear arms such that the evil-doers in the town could easily hear. A giggle caught in her throat despite her best efforts as she half-fell and half-leapt to the ground. Her butterfly was darting in panic from the turmoil but was not injured from the brief journey. With great reluctance she unfurled her fingers, laying her palm flat, and let the beautiful creature flee into the sky. It was almost certainly safer there than in her care. Areynia was no combatant of renown, no disciple of melee, and even if she was it would be difficult to guard such a small charge.


She sighed and smoothed her clothing as she caught sight of... one of the dragons, Terragon, with a small girl named Collette. They had decided to try to catch a closer look of whatever chaos may be claiming the town and had tried to creep from the rest of the party and hide in vegetation to steal a look. Clasping her hand over her mouth, Areynia more successfully kept herself from showing signs of amusement at the spectacle. The last time she had seen such tactics employed were when she caught some unruly boys trying to peep on several lovely ladies bathing in a river. Obviously this pair were not voyeurs, but they looked like some mischievous peeping toms as they crept close to the ground and tried to remain 'hidden.' It was nice to see, however, that one of the dragons could act so, well, human. The church kept the stance that their draconic brethren were more demon than beast, but if enough dragons could be persuaded to indulge in silly curiosities then such damning rhetoric would fall on increasingly deaf ears.


And then she smelled smoke not so far away. Turning she saw the beginnings of a fire erupting on the door/gate that barred entry to the residential establishment. Areynia was no tactician, but she was fairly certain that it would take a little time for all the wood to burn- and until it was mostly ashen debris it wouldn't be very safe to run through. No, perhaps Eonus could run through flames unharmed, but the eager soldiers in their midst might have to wait now to make certain they did not themselves alight. A smile crept onto her features again and she bit her tongue to keep another giggle from escaping. And the walls! Soon the fire would spread to the walls! How would they advance on the ill-fated town now? It was such an absurd predicament that they found themselves in! It was a little inappropriate for her to point out the humor, of course, so she simply sidled closer to the nice ice dragon.


Areynia could appreciate the valor and the virtue of the just, but she felt a little safer staying behind. They'd probably feel safer too. As nice as she was, and as nice as her spells were to have around, she wasn't exactly known for her coordination and lightning fast reflexes. Besides, her job was to watch the dragons and she'd be sticking to her task best if she stayed with one of the dragons, right? She grinned at the passive dragon-man-being before taking out her journal and a pen. She'd definitely need to record these events for posterity. The church wanted to know what these 'demons' were up to: one was trying to sneak around in plain sight with a little girl to get a better glimpse of a town and another had said he would protect those unable or unwilling to fight. So devious indeed!

 

[Killigrew]

Sayne du Challant
​

His slow and measured breath billowed white. It stayed a cloud for but an instant; its short life dissipated in the growing dark.


The movement to follow his command was quick and chaotic. The pilgrimage was a small cast of players to start with, and the fraction that was ready for battle proved predictably scant. Old men and women, with their children, bundled up their belongings and stood apart a worry-stricken crowd, watching with dread their few soldiers gearing up.


And when only one dragon of the three had bothered to show his face, and even then, did not deign it desirable to join in combat, the lordling could not help the dismay that creased his brow. The troubled look was unbecoming, he was well aware, yet he did not shoulder the fault. The full brunt of his disappointment turned on the ice dragon, and after a brief spell of silent regard, he set into motion.


“As you will,” Sayne said to Niximorys in passing. He moved to the head of his small band of pilgrim warriors and turned his gaze upon them. His cautious eye inched slowly over each one of their faces, counting them.


That made six.


Six pairs of eyes looking to him to lead.


Were there a roster, only a sixth if the six's names would be known. Most were commonborn, by the look of them all, with their spears long and their iron blades makeshift.


Sayne’s hands met and tied behind his back; he bit the inside of his cheek as his mind turned to consider his schooling in strategy. The proverbial well was rather dry, and the attempt to evoke old, broken images turned up empty.


A frigid touch spread out from his heart once more. His hands curled into fists.


Breaking his thought’s line, the lady he’d approached before approached him now, and the sight of her made his troubled expression sour. A dull ache in his cheek recalled her trespass.


She spoke and he lifted himself forward on his toes, turning his head aside. Her words were a buzzing on his ear, and in a growth of annoyance, he waved her off. “Your name is yet unknown to me, and your call for particular privilege is twice galling for it. Commit yourself to the line of action, Lady,” he said, gesturing to a near spot. “Since you deign to take up arms, I will inform you along with the rest, and no sooner.”


Sayne did not turn his eyes on the offensive lady, but the corner of his vision saw the shaking of her head, and her exasperated sigh pricked his ears. The shrill voice to follow ended each word in curt distaste. "I see no rush of volunteers, but if you want to wait another twenty minutes, and thus ensure everyone in the village is dead because you can't remember a conquest's name, or perhaps because your cheek still bears a sting... be my guest. You are an imbecile, but let it not be said that Lady Fromm cannot take orders ... even from the simple."


A contemptuous grin spread wide across his face, but he stilled his throat to keep from laughing. Did she think her poorly crafted insults could pierce his demeanor? Sayne said nothing, and, as he’d expected, for she would gain no attention from him, she turned on her heel and made her way to stand in order at the front of the line.


A scoff broke past his throat. He would never for the life of him understand what made women think a single night’s pleasure meant something. It was an excursion freely given, and freely enjoyed, but to take more than he willingly offered... did they not realize such an act was thievery? He had made no promises, and if he had, they should not have believed any such word; it was a game, from which the gain was a wind-stolen enjoyment come the morn.


Sayne took hold of the horn of Snowflake’s saddle, and with a flexing of his arms, lifted himself up and swung over the beast. From his high seat, the smile he turned on his comrades was brave.


“Brothers! Friends!” He addressed the soldiers. “Though we have not known one another long, each of you holds precious in my regard. May not a drop of your righteous blood be spilt this night. Follow my command, whose worldly authority was given by the gods, and I know the gods will honor those that honor their established will.” His hand outstretched before he continued, his chest swelling to catch his call in thundering vocal display. “Footmen! Hold your weapons at the ready in the front, and you! Cavalrymen, noblemen! Ready your lances at the rear!”


But his six fellows turned incredulous at his last statement. Sayne hesitated, perceiving that only he and that offensive lady Fromm even owned a horse. The rest stood with their feet planted in earth.


His mouth worked soundlessly. “Well,” he said, laughing; joviality may at times inspire fortitude, too. “All of you to the front, then! I’ll hold the rear. At the second blowing of my horn, we go as one into the breach.”


The soldiers followed suit, and they made a sorry lot, for they bumped and shuffled in confusion as their formation slowly formed. Sayne sighed. How his fortune had ebbed! This scant force could have been twice stronger. His mother had promised him five trained warriors, with the addition another servant, one he’d travelled with before. She had sent them to the village three days beyond Réunion to prepare a place for the pilgrims. He did not expect them to join with the pilgrimage for another two days, and in some ways hoped the separation continued. It was all because of that servant, and the memories stirred at the thought of her. The prospect of seeing her again dropped his heart down to his stomach, where it twisted and turned like the threading of a rope.


Swallowing, he let the sensation carry on inside, the only show of it in the widening of his eyes. His knuckles shifted in their grip over the reins, and he raised himself up, about to face the men again, but ahead of him arose a peculiar sound. The soldiers raised their voices in awed murmur. Sayne turned his horse about, and saw what made them stir so. Flame flared against Réunion’s gate, eating and bursting, a curious beacon.


Three figures, shifting shadows cast by that light, clustered midway between his ambling band and the village.


His fingers clutched the orbed end of Chaste strapped to his hip. The cold touch of Aquila’s blessed hilt spread a warm blanket over his stricken heart. The goddess of fate, a most valued ally.


“What does it mean?” He heard whispered from the men before him. “Could it be some sign from Pyros? Does he promise us victory?”


The formation moved cautiously, but as they neared the trio ahead, their torches made those benighted faces come into being.


One had the white hair of a dragon, because it was a dragon, Sayne realized, that wind dragon -- Vencorus, the name recalled per his mother’s repeated instruction. The second was of smaller figure, little more than a child, and a petulant smugness possessed her demeanor. The third was all too familiar, and in recognizing her, Sayne’s chest clenched tight like a forming fist.


“Fran!”


He’d called her name unintentionally. His lips clamped down tight as the soldiers glanced back of him with looks of discomfort.


He licked his lips, and managed to speak past the churning of his stomach. “Truly, surprise does cover me at the sight of you, my servant,” Sayne declared. “Tell me, where is the rest of your party? Why have you come alone?”

 

[Stickdom]

Argrave

"To arms!" came the call, one which fell upon Argrave's ears of stone and quickened them back into life. They recalled from his memories times long past, of defending his village from the incursion of brigands and thieves. He was roused in but a moment, prepared for action as swiftly as Aquila's breath. Beryl, his falcon, came to his shoulder at his whistle, diving in from a copse of trees where she had made her nightly nest. He did not know how much assistance she would be able to lend him, but perhaps she would find her own ways under Aquila's guidance.


With crossbow slung at his hip, axe at his back, spear and shield in his hands, he made for the direction of the shouting, prepared to do what he must to defend the dragons he was sworn to protect. He arrived as an imposing and charismatic man finished a rousing speech, calling them to aid the citizens of the nearby village, which appeared to be under siege from an unknown enemy, intent on burning and razing it to the ground. "Ah, wretched Pyros," he muttered loudly under his breath, "how do you provide such warmth for the weary yet allow your children such atrocities?" His thoughts quickly change direction at the calling out of a name, "Fran", at which Argrave noted their leader recognized one of their party. This man then proceeded to ask of her where her companions lay, and Argrave had little patience for such niceties at this time. Despite the aid that such companions might be able to render, surely they had small time to ask fruitless questions without action. Yet, this man seemed to favor the gasping of his own voice, a waste of the breath Aquila had bestowed him. And, as he waited for a reply from this Fran, the village burned.


Argrave noted the formation he had placed them in, it was motley and ill-suited to their skills. Surely this man could see that few gathered here were trained soldiers, and those that were should also recognize the flaw in his plan. This man thought as one of a noble birth, leading valiant charges into the battle, with stately formations of perfectly aligned troops in step with one another. These here had scarce been known to one another for a week's time, let alone long enough to develop any synergy on the battlefield. Argrave stepped forward bravely, in obvious defiance of this other man's leadership. "Sirrah! We have small time for this banter, look now, the village is aflame, Pyros sets his hand against us! Shall we sacrifice the innocents to his flames as you dally here? Aquila's swiftness to our actions, but I bid her stay your wagging tongue and bind her air in your lungs, lest you lose it to your gibbance! We are little prepared to charge blindly into the gap with no knowledge of what lies ahead, and sending all at once to fate unknown, that is hardly kind to tempt the goddesses' good fortunes. If you desire to lead us, then do so, but by your lead and not of speech!"


@Killigrew

 

[Terragon]

"Hrrm" Ven said out loud as he crossed his arms. He was looking straight at one of the heavily armed humans, trying to figure out whether he was an ally or an enemy. After a moment of pondering it hit him.


"Ahh. That man down there, you see him?" He used his head to point towards Sayne's general direction. "That guy is definitely not a happy camper. Though he is an ally, I suppose. What was his face? Sane? Saiyan? Sayne, that was it. The point is that he noticed us, and I have a sneaking suspicion that he is not happy to see us here. You know what the means? We are walking back to the camp, now." Vencours said with authority as he grabbed Collette's hand and started walking back towards everybody else. "Also where are your parents or guardians? You are going back to them."

 

[Shura]

Corinna

The day had been long and the travel exhausting to say the least. Corin had spend hour trying to catch up with the pilgrimage group. At one point she though she was hallucinating from her exhaustion. Perhaps a break was needed? The redhead shook her head, no. She had a mission given to her in the name of pyros! There was no resting until the job was done. It was her oath that kept her going though the hunger rain and overbearing sun. Lights on the horizon acted as the tale tail sign of a village. Corin was honestly looking forward to at least a warm meal. She could survive off of rabbits and herbs but a hearty stew was nice as well.


The priestess made her way towards the town, she realized the lighter were perhaps too bright to simply be town lights, a fire perhaps then? Her god was a curious one, though she knew the difference between an act of Pyros and humans simply using a gods element to cause destruction. She couldn't tell from this distance. Still it was probably best if she made herself useful and aiding the town's people who escaped the fire.


Corinna started to walk to the closer town seeing a group starting together, perhaps they were going to help as well. From a distance she heard someone calling for action. Her guess had been correct. Her interest was peaked at the call of another man, but so was her fury as name of Pyros was slandered. "How dare you! The act of a god is not for mere mortals to comprehend. his sacred flame bring light and warmth to the masses and provide the heat in which your blade was forged! It is not even clear if this was an act of pyros or someone simply using the power of fire for their own twisted purposes." Her hand rested on the pommel of her blade. "Speak again to slander Pyros and face judgement by a true sacred flame." she threatened. There was nothing more aggravating than ignorant fools blaming the problems of man on a higher being. A being how had given so much to the humans as it was, it was down right disrespectful and ungrateful.


@Stickdom

 

[Stickdom]

Argrave

Argrave waited for some retort, some feign ill reply of this pestilant man who called himself their leader. He had not the Scent of Aquila on him, he was not the tool of the great deity, Argrave wanted as little to do with this wretch as possible. Yet here was another now, a woman, dressed in the garb of Pyros, and her manner set her as a priestess, called to the work that he himself had done for Aquila. And she dared berate him for pointing an accusative finger at her god, "Do tell, woman, how it is for a man to question the acts of a deity when they allow such atrocities? The hand of man or deity, it is the same, for those who allow the act are as much at fault as those who commit it. In the same light, I could say that your wasting of breath is a blaspheme to Aquila. Come, lady! Speak louder! Perhaps your voice shall stir to action the hand of Pyros, or better still, your own cavernous lungs shall blow the flames to mere coals with your bellowing! Your sacred flame be doused, it is Aquila's words that fall upon it to stoke up such a blaze with her winds. Now, be silent, or may your breath leave you for good and all, by my hand or Aquila's own!" Many shook their fists at Aquila, being the chiefest among the deities, she took also the most blame. How then could mankind grasp the pain it caused her to allow such evils to them, to destroy only themselves? This woman, priestess or no, was as misguided as the rest, lost to the darkness of the world and it's petty knowledge.


His voice became calmer yet, he wished not for there to be conflict among their own, now was the time of actions, let words lie until the flames lay low in their campfires. "Now is yet time to save this city, we have little to spare for bickering and quarrels. Lady, let us set this aside until our duties have been fulfilled, not for our own glory, but for the lives of those that perish by our inaction." Here he turned back to Sayne, giving him a stern glare, "Sirrah, lead as you will, faulty or otherwise, any action is better than standing idly. I will pray that Aquila guides our steps, but it must be now, or forever hold the shame of letting innocents perish."





@Shura @Killigrew

 

[Jays]

Eeonus

The ever so familiar scent filled his human lungs, enlivening his blazing heart which ached with exhilaration. How many times had he savored that fragrance of cinder and smoke, how many centuries had flame blanketed his world, its crimson glare searing mountain sides to glowing ember? For once, it felt like home. For only those briefest of moments, he felt at peace. That, of course, could not last.


The town was burning, its inhabitants held hostage. It had only been minutes since he left the camp, but shouts and calls to arm rose from its direction, the pilgrims no doubt growing aware soon after he did. The cacophony they raised could have woken the whole town by now, not that there was any left to wake, none that he could detect. The weeping previously heard had grown silent. When had the bandits come? Surely it was before their arrival. The closed gate, the hostility, that drifting whiff of uneasiness on the wind he thought himself imagining. Could it be that such atrocity had been committed no more than two hundred paces from where they camped? It must be, for there was no possibility of any human approaching the town without him or any of the other two dragons noticing, even under the cover of night. Or had the town folks turned upon each other? Unlikely. And there he had sat, occupied with thoughts of dusk and men.


Eeonus cursed himself, staring toward the growing light the fire painted upon the clouds. He was a hunter, blood and soul, for four centuries, yet but a few moon cycles among human and it had robbed him of his constant wariness. He could not even remember when it had faded, such wariness and suspicion were not received well in a city, even in the company of the softest of men, maybe especially then. But out here so close to the Wild,... It was a sobering reminder. And Eeonus Ignis had awakened from his deceitful half-sleep.


Sprinting down the hillside north of the town as best he could on human legs, he reached the wall in moments and leapt. His human form blurred as he eased his exhausting mental grip just the tiniest shift, all along his arm foot-long spikes rose, ripping his shirt sleeves to shreds. He plunged his spiked hand into the wood of the wall, throwing himself up arm lengths at a time. Vaulting over the sharp wall top, Eeonus fell, rolled and came to his feet in a smooth motion, checking his surroundings. It was dark and silent, an alleyway behind a small structure of brick and wood, a barn of some sort. Nothing moved within fifty paces from where he stood, though he could hear distant laughter and sound of something dragged across the bare earth.


Eeonus' eyes blazed crimson in the darkness. The world, earth and sky, brightened to a scarlet shade before his eyes, the shade of forging flame. Making his way to the front of the building, he peered along the empty street, to the sight of destruction. Doors hung open, most violently smashed from their hinges. Furniture littered the ground before the doors, broken and charred near to ash, some still smoldering as if letting out their final breaths. Through the shattered windows he could make out in the darkness more wreckage, none valuable while those that are seemed to have been taken away.


He saw Lureana lurking nearby, watching the largest structure in the town where he could smell multiple human inside. He sneaked up behind and touched her shoulder.


"What are you doing in here?"


@Auren

 

[Wes]

Aiyen Niximorys

​

Humans were always so hasty. It was part of what made them so interesting, and their drive to accomplish matters expediently had to be admired, but sometimes it could cause an undue panic. There were so many flitting this way and that, calling out orders or yelling - sometimes even at one another, as seemed to be the case for the Priestess Corinna and Argrave. This didn't seem the time to be arguing, and normally Niximorys might have attempted to soothe tensions, but Sayne's curt dismissal was clue enough that the capable man had all things under control. No, it was best if he did not insert himself into contentious matters. His focus should be on calming the other unsettled pilgrims.


He turned, catching the eye of a young woman passing towards the formation. Her face was familiar to him, and so he nodded a silent greeting as she passed away from the fire, which he took a regrettable step towards. Before going too far, however, he glanced back at the odd Priestess, who had very suddenly begun scribbling in a small book. A journal, perhaps? "Would you help gather the fledglings to the fire? I think it would be best for them to be out of the way, and easier to watch over them in one place." He continued the rest of the way towards the lively pit, lowering himself cross-legged as close to the crackling flames as was bearable without beginning to frost his own skin. It was time to put what had been learned to practice.


The pouches along his belt were always filled with various implements for cooking, including many spices and extracts from La Pré de l'Alouette. A small smile graced his lips when he fingered one of the little glass vials free of its sewn-in slot, recalling when the kindly matron back home had given it as a parting gift. It was a sweet substance, and would do perfectly here. His satchel was lifted off and rummaged through as well, from which he procured a small cooking pan and a sealed metal chest, the sort that nobles might carry sums of gold in when travelling locally. Instead of the glimmering of precious metals when it opened, though, a white fog drifted down the sides, stubbornly continuing to flow out even when it evaporated a few digits away. Niximorys plucked two frosted canisters out, opening and pouring half the contents of one and the entirety of the other into the pan. Two parts cream to one milk, he recited from memory. Sugar. A cloth bag came out of another pouch, adding in the fine white granules to the mixture. Mère's vanilla. He tipped the vial over the pan, adding in the appropriate number of drops before resealing the minuscule cork. And then came the unpleasant part.


He lifted the pan carefully with one hand, placing its bottom on his palm, and then concentrating. Calling up the cold was more difficult when in this human form, but over a decade of practice had made the process easier. A layer of ice blossomed onto the metal, growing until nearly a digit's worth separated his hand from the pan itself. Gently, but quickly. He knew that it would be more reasonable to simply stand and carry it to the fire, but getting so close would surely be too uncomfortable to stand, and so instead he controlled the ice. On his direction the pan rose into the air on its shelf of frozen water, gliding smoothly to the fire and settling atop a clear space of coals. The ice disappeared almost instantly, hissing as it was dispersed into a cloud of steam, but its job was done for the time being. Of course, Niximorys would have to retrieve the concoction himself, but at least one trip had been spared.


"Do you like sweets?" he asked while putting away the supplies he wouldn't be needing further, directing the question at the little girl nearby. He had seen the blonde woman near them, and had once overheard the child's name 'Haven.' He afforded the little one a friendly smile, tapping his nose to go along with a knowing wink. "I know I do, and I bet Mistress Areynia does as well. Would it be alright for her to have some? There will be enough for all of the children - and some of the adults, too." That question he addressed at the girl's mother, as he had learned it was impolite to offer younglings anything without permission from their guardians. Humans were strange indeed.


The coals were sufficiently hot, apparently. The mixture began to foam not long after his inquiry, forcing him to rise and retrieve the pan back to his resting place. Good, it seemed that the sugar had dissolved well, and now only the chilling was left to be done. He opened a wide-mouthed canister and poured the thickened mixture in, sealing it tightly before allowing it to simply sit in his hand while he put everything else away. Ice built up steadily around the metal container, melting and reforming rapidly as the liquid inside cooled. A solid shimmering layer had formed around all but the lid before long, and it continued to cool rapidly until Niximorys' hand was enveloped in an icy fog. This part would take more time, but hopefully the civilians would gather soon enough and add to the conversation. He could think of few things more calming than sitting around a fire, talking and enjoying a savory frozen cream. Well, perhaps if the fire were taken out of the equation, but c'est la vie.

 

[Sol]

Fran Stenhardt

Fran was never sure how long she had waited there, simply waited, her eyes shifted between her burning handiwork and the road that led toward the gate. She taken up a position leaning against a tree. The seconds stretched to minutes, simply holding her breath and juggling way too many things in her head at the same time. Surely by now whoever occupied the village knew their front door was set on fire and yet somehow Sayne and the others didn't arrive.


She kept her sword drawn and began pacing the distance between two trees simply going back and forth, stopping every once in a while to check if bandits would start running through the makeshift signal fire. All the while she was tossing lines, things, smug things to say to Sayne. She wanted him to know that is was because of her...not anyone else but her that Sayne and his host would not be stonewalled by a damned wooden gate. Nothing but the sound of wood cracking under the fire, the crunch of her boots on the ground and whatever eerie rustling came from the brush to keep her company.


She had begun to start worrying that maybe she might have acted a little too quickly.


Until her attention was caught by an unlikely pair. A white haired man and little girl. Definitely not who she was expecting, maybe if she ignored them they'd go away. Even if she had it in her to call them out and lead them away, somewhere safer, she didn't. As long as they were within her sight and she was between them and the burning gate then she could protect them. They were being loud though, which might draw unwanted attention. Still her, pride and her desire to one up the one most confusing man in her life was too great and cemented her on the spot, silent and simply shifting her gaze from the gate to the pair.


Then there, astride a horse and leading a pitifully paltry host was that pompous jerk who may or may not have tried to kill her more times than she'd like. Sayne du Turd. He had come back with a handful of people somehow it made her internally cringe once more. At the very least she expected a dozen or so men with him, armed and armored. Perhaps mother du Challant placed too much faith in her little entitled spawn. A grave miscalculation. What's more was that the men who left her for dead a few hours past were not with him. Surprise flashed across her face when she noticed that then her whole body tensed and clenched when she heard him say her name.


It wasn't fair.


She took a deep breath as the white haired man ushered the little girl toward the rest and away from immediate danger. Fran walked on somewhat stiff legs toward Sayne, completely ignoring the religious garbage that was flung between two people from Sayne's group, the way her life unfolded, the gods would be as present in her life as much as yesterday's waste. It would take a miracle for them to actually seize the town.


Fran began her debriefing in earnest.


"Lord du Challant, I have no idea where they might have gone. They left me for dead a few hours ago."


Cool, detached, and lacking her usual snide bite. Now was not the time for that. She turned her attention to blatantly panicking black haired man with the stick lodged up his rear. Hasty action was never something one should ask of Sayne. Ever.


"The town is not on fire. Just the gate and some other small isolated part of it. I set the gate on fire."


She bit back the urge to bash on the mounted turd, bit back the urge to go tell this other man to can it and let Sayne think, to tell him that he should unclench his rear before it fuses on itself. Fran was not in the mood to pay for Sayne's haste again, as she had countless times in the past and neither had she the patience to deal with this other, buttclenched man. She had confidence in Sayne's ability, just not his ability under pressure nor the man himself. Her attention shifted back to Sayne.


"As usual, just tell me where to catch arrows for you. Again. Milord."


@Stickdom @Killigrew


*As usual if I'm doing something wrong just tell me and I'll edit as necessary.*

 

[Kaine]

Colette Bourbon

​

Looking up at the dragon-boy intensively, she stared as he talked as if staring into his soul. Deep into his soul. So deep that she began to dose off and a light snarkle was produced when the tough of his hand meeting her own woke her back up.


“Also where are your parents or guardians? You are going back to them.”


She couldn’t argue, they did get to see up close who it was, and besides the shrub she fell in, the person observed was rather bland and boring and it caused her to lose interest in their expedition and willingly go with the dragon-boy.


“Well they’re at home of course! So technically, since you’re my new friend an all, that makes you my guardian right?” She giggled like an imp setting its first fire. Instead of watching him for a reaction, she observed him dragging her along by the hand. It was a sensation she wasn’t use to. Normally she was only swatted or hit at her errors but this boy seemed to show compassion something she wasn’t much use to and it was an odd feeling.


The warmth of his hand and the grip, sure and firm. Feeling dizzy she broke the feeling with a question, “Should I call you papa from now on or just stick with Dragon-boy?”


@Terragon