Fantasy Royal Witches

[welian]

Welcome to Arcana...

In the land of Arcana, magic is power – and only women have magic. This makes women superior to men, a fact as plain as day and as the nose on your face. This also makes fighting the Blight problematic, as the sickly and rotten monsters crave blood and magic.

But things might be looking up. It’s been almost two hundred years since the Abyss opened up and drained the Azure sea, destroying Archeluta… and a plan to seal the Abyss once and for all might finally be in the works.

All it’s going to take is a lot of courage, a lot of magic, and a lot – like, a whole lot, maybe even a dragon-sized lot – of luck.

In Character

Out of Character

Profiles

Setting

 

[welian]

Brilliant pink and vermillion illuminated the sky, as the sun slowly set over the city of Sylva. It was the height of summer, and tomorrow would be the longest day of the entire year. This marked the summer solstice, which of course meant a grand festival with a bonfire. This celebration was the Night of Fire – the night before the longest day of the year, where the red goddess Shani would ride across the world and burn away the past to make room for the future.

The practice, of course, originated from ancient Rubidian slash-and-burn agricultural techniques that were inspired by annual wildfires (and then stolen by Verdanthian witches, unless you’re a Verdanthian witch, in which case you would argue that in a region full of forests, burning away undergrowth is hardly a unique tradition and Rubidian witches can suck it). But hey, who’s going to turn down a chance to get drunk and dance around a giant bonfire with all your neighbors? Only an idiot, that’s who.

In the main plaza, a bonfire crackled loudly as the townsfolk drunkenly cheered on the brave women and men who threw in kindle. A loose ring of volunteer witches was keeping the fire more-or-less in check, although their sobriety was doubtful. From a leather pouch, one flush-faced witch sprinkled a metallic powder onto the fire, and the crowd was pleased as the tongues of flame turned a brilliant green for several seconds.

Beyond the plaza, the pristine white palace was lit with many cheerful, twinkling lanterns that were almost able to lift the perpetually grim and solemn atmosphere of the royal throne. Even Empress Ilexa’s tree was celebrating the joy of summer, showering her groundskeepers and her family in tiny, sweetly-scented blossoms. Lucky bystanders would occasionally get a whirlwind of flowers delivered by an errant breeze that may or may not have been a discreet sylph.

For once, Queen Amelanch smiled, if only because it was expected, and there were flowers in her hair, and she was tipsy, and standing on the grand balcony and waving to partygoers, and in a few hours, she would be sending more soldiers to their death.

 

[JustNicole]

The window from the second floor of Witches' Keep^[1] illuminated the festivity in the central plaza below. At the window stood Lydia, her gaze locked on the large bonfire below. The burning fire had Lydia thinking of her unit, of getting back into the field. It had been too long already. As she absently drank from her wine glass in her hand, she thought of how they were fairing. The temporary quartermaster had apparently been less than satisfactory. Word was that they were coming back to the capital for new transfers. Perhaps they were here already, down there among the festivities. Hopefully they wouldn't be leaving Sylva without her.

There was nothing more that Lydia wanted to do get back among the unit and her forge. She wanted to clang those hammers and strike some iron in her furnace^[2]. How nice that would be, getting all hot and steamy as the iron clanged louder and louder, building and building until the shriek as the iron released into the water, cooling down. Oh yes...

The conversation behind her called her attention. "Grand Matriarch Lydia? Are you listening?" a woman's voice pierced Lydia's fantasy with a hot sword, crashing the dream down around her. Spinning around, Lydia turned to the drab bedroom's other occupants, a woman, late 30s, perhaps early forties, wearing a smiting apron with a good deal of smudge on her head and a man, around Lydia's age, clean and wearing finer attire than either woman in the room would ever wear.

"Yes, I'm listening. We should do as you suggested." Lydia nodded, hoping discretely that those present had not noticed before^[3].

"Excellent," the man said, clapping his hands together in front of his chest. "Now, that leads the small problem of the imports from Alfurasva. The border patrols in -" A knock on the door cut the man short mid-sentence as the door opened, a woman in a palace courier uniform entered, parchment in hand. Lydia motioned the woman to hand her the scroll and beckoned the man to continue.

The man continued talking as Lydia accepted the scroll from the courier, breaking the seal, and reading the letter. The expression on her face changed from one of dullness to determination. "Is this it?" Lydia asked the courier, the man stopping his speak. With a curt nod, Lydia dismissed the courier, handing her a gold piece for her troubles before she departed.

"What does it say?" the woman asked.

"A warning from an anonymous friend^[4]," Lydia replied. "Return to your duties, both of you. We can discuss these problems another time. If I am not here, you both know how to reach me." The two nodded and bowed curtly, turning and walking out of the room^[5].

Whatever awaited her this evening, Lydia would face it standing tall as she always did. But if this was the case, celebrating one last time tonight certainly wouldn't be the end of her. Grabbing her cloak, she left her room, heading out to the bonfire joining in the reveries and drunkenness^[6]. This would be the last night she had free for some time.


^[1] Witches are a notoriously uncreative lot when it comes to naming anything other than spells.
^[2] False. Wanted more: getting a lay.
^[3] The other two present were sleeping together and had been making obscene gestures to each other while her back was turned.
^[4] "New orders. Tonight. Good luck."
^[5] A legendary night of debauchery awaited the two of them, planting the seed for a future child^[5.1].
^[5.1] Sylva always saw a temporary spike in births after the Night of Fire.
^[6] And hopefully a lay.

 

[RJS]

Bruno sat at the edge of the plaza, in the flickering shadows. The flames at the centre crackled and danced, and the townsfolk staggered and reeled, and so his face was alternately cast into light then dark, his features seeming to dance in the inconsistent light. In spite of his recent tribulations and his predisposition to dourness, he wore a slight smile on his face. It was after all, a festival, and the two or three mugs of beer thus far had certainly helped him to unwind. One could only hope that the feeling lasted.

It had been an...unconventional enlistment earlier that day. He had arrived at the barracks to find it almost deserted - most Wardens and Witches were either pre-celebrating, or preparing to celebrate. The quartermaster had apparently just been dismissed and so it had fallen on one of the trainees to show him to his bunk. He could only hope Commander Hagermaus knew that he had arrived, given the lack of the usual logistics. Regardless, the bunk was not overly hard, and the training area had served his purposes. Festival day it may be, but the Blight didn't stop for those, so nor could he.

A brief nap had preceeded this little jaunt out to the festival. He wasn't sure whether he had wanted to go, but was glad he had. Not to honour the goddess, but to get out and relax a little - he knew he did that far too infrequently. He wondered as to the identity of his new unit, wondered how many of them had danced past while he sat, enjoying the peace, enjoying the atmosphere. He could have met the entire unit - hell, maybe the boy stood over there was Commander Hagermaus! He let out a snort of amusement before draining his mug. Ah well. No sense worrying about which of the faces he saw today would turn out to be part of his unit - after all, if tonight went to plan the odds of remembering any of them were...hazy at best. Motioning for another ale, he soaked in the ambience of the city. If only every day could be like this.

 

[kou]

1 | 2 | 3 interacting with Lemon Boy [ DAMON ] - "You can't teach an old dog new tricks if the dog doesn't want to learn."

There were 3 things Anisi had learned in the span of her lifetime:
1. Never trust a drunken Blue Witch.
2. Always assume the worst before the best.
3. Never trust a drunken Blue Witch.

These three things had to be learned through a series of repetition and mistakes and, yet, Anisi had learned them and had even ensured that others also knew these distinctive rules. She knew now what she did not know before and everyone benefited from it (besides that damned bitch who had taken it upon herself to steal all of her belongings in the middle of the night.) Walking along the plaza, the young woman's steely blue eyes scanned the place for one person in particular:

Damon.

He had been a companion of hers for a while and she often liked to get rather intoxicated with the man if he would allow it. This was one of those times and Anisi intended to neglect all of her worries and stress for one fun-filled night of festivities and... other activities. Upturning her nose to a rather pleasant smell wafting from an unknown direction, the woman's self-assurance only served to peak with every step. She was pleased to note that she would have someone able to keep her company for the remainder of the evening even if aforementioned partner was a rather withdrawn man.

I'll see if I can get him out of that state of his if there's anything to be said about it. The witch beamed at a person who waved in passing before consulting the book which had been shoved underneath her cloak in a rather discreet spot. Within contained many things that were better left unspoken and the woman ran a slender finger along one page in particular, her smile widening at the sight of it before she tucked the object back into its original position. Tonight would be fun indeed.

 

[Wolf Wolf]

Lilith watched the people around her drunkenly stumble about, her lips a thin line. She understood that it was a night of celebration, but a drunk person's antics could get on a sober one's nerves rather quickly. Where's Scarlet? she thought to herself, gaze searching the crowd. They had agreed to meet at the spot where Lilith was currently lounging in, but that had been twenty minutes ago.

Unless... Lilith sighed, leaning against the wall. Unless she started flirting with one of the women she met on the way. Numen meum! The black witch moved to start looking for the other girl, but she stopped herself. No. Scarlet would want me to not go after her and enjoy my time here. And enjoy my time here I shall. She promptly turned back around and tapped the shoulder of a man who was holding a tray of drinks.

Once he handed her a glass, she immediately tipped her head back and downed it in one go. The burning sensation in her throat felt reinvigorating. It has been a while since she drank, but alcohol never failed to liven her senses. Noticing the owl-eyed stare the man was giving her, she gave him a small smirk, and handed him back the glass, to which he grabbed and placed near the rest of the empty glasses on his tray.

She had a container of water in her satchel, just in case she got a bit too drunk that Scarlet would have to carry her back home, which she doubted her friend could do, or if she passed out in the middle of the event and Scarlet would have to shock her awake. The latter was something she would rather not experience again.

Numen meum - my goddess

 

[Poe]

Eva took to festivals like lightning bugs to dusk.

There was something undeniably attractive about the prospect of slipping on a dress and basking in the warmth of a bonfire with the heartbeat of music underscoring the evening sounds of the forest. She had never hesitated when deciding whether or not to commit her life to military service, but these were moments where Eva felt whole, like a goblet filled to the brim with wine, and the weight she so frequently carried laid forgotten on the battlefield. Tomorrow would be another day, but for tonight there was an air of freedom to the young witch.

A glimpse of the woman she would always truly be.

Clad in a deep purple dress that plunged, accentuating her womanly figure and leaving little to the imagination, Eva made her way through the crowd with the fluidity of water. Wine had filled her glass quite a few times already, but it could wait until she managed to find what she was looking for. He had promised he would be here and while Eva trusted the man more than anyone, she also knew his tendency to get lost in the minute details of military life. Tonight, she had made him promise to leave broken arrows alone and come out for a bit of merriment. The barracks were near bare by now, she was certain, though she had not hesitated to change and make her way to the center of the city before the sun had even set.

Her father used to take her to these festivals, but back then he would swing her around as she stood atop his toes. Now, her own feet carried her through the music and it calmed her. They all needed a bit of levity now more than ever.

Her eyes glanced up towards the sky, catching glimpse of the moon, and she smiled to herself. He would be late soon, but she knew better. It was all a matter of time.

Tonight, on the Night of Fire, Eva Fay had hardly a care in the world.

 

[welian]

Four Days Later - Ormount Village, Rubidia

The day after the festival, a group of witches and wardens were dispatched to Ormount, an unassuming village to the southwest of Sylva. There had been periodic reports of withered crops and sickened animals in the area, but nothing that hadn’t yet been solved with discerning use of strong fire to clear the fields and destroy the infected livestock.

The most recent report was different. It was sloppy and frenzied, the witch’s handwriting a hasty scrawl that ultimately required an archivist to decipher. Had the subject matter not been so dire, the elderly woman would have marveled at the degree of incompetence required to butcher the standard alphabet that badly.

Half the villagers were sick, the parchment said. The well was Blighted. Something must have crawled in and died – and now it was angry.

Approaching Ormount from the northeast, the effects of the infection are visible. The grass crunches underfoot. Freshly planted crops, meant for a fall harvest, are brown and yellow, where they were able to penetrate the soil at all. Despite the report, the well appears (from a distance) untouched. In the morning light, it's difficult to tell if the Matriarch's hall remains lit, however, there are flashes of movement through the windows. No other villagers are outside.

 

[Giyari]

Mood: Worried
Location: Camp, North east of the village.
Company: Various witches and wardens
@'s: -
Other: Go nuts!

Margaret Hagermaus III
It had been a long days travel, more so thanks to the building thoughts of worry about the village and its inhabitants, but after a nights rest their small company was ready to assess the damage and deal with what they may find.

Looking down on the village from the crest of a hill their camp was set up behind, Margaret's brow furrowed. There was little movement, the golden rays of the rising sun were braining over the horizon, casting themselves over the dying land around the village, and there wasn't a single farmer getting ready for their daily chores. That wasn't a good sign. Glancing over her shoulder at the small collection of tents and the soldiers preparing around them, she let out a sigh. This was looking less like a humanitarian mission and more like damage control and clean up by the second.

Margaret quietly walked back down the hill towards the small camp nestled in front of a small wooded patch, her armour chinking quietly through the crisp morning hair with each step. She wasn't entirely sure how much of the blight these soldiers had seen, and being a new company commander, she wasn't sure how much they would trust her word yet. This might be a difficult task. She looked over her troops, most of them were making their final preparations, it shouldn't be long until they set out. Taking up position on one of the transport carts, Margaret got some of her own prep under way.

"People! Gather round! I have a few words to say before we set out!" she yelled loudly over the bustle amongst the canvas tents. A few eyes looked over her way and moved closer.

"It will not be long until we begin the tasks that have been assigned to us. I am not the commander you previously worked with, however I aim to complete my duties as someone you can trust and rely on... So without further ado let us get on." She began explaining their situation. It was obvious she was of noble descent, and that she was well versed in commanding troops. Each of her words were polite, yet authoritative, deliberately chosen to get her point across yet still be understandable to the most unlearned commoner, despite the presence of a clear Alfuran accent.

"The information provided allude to this being an... unpleasant operation. However we must establish the cause of this and gather information for the Capitol. It may seem like a simple operation but this might be the beginning of something much larger. Treat it as such, keep your wits about you." Margaret continued, brushing some of her platinum hair from her eyes. She paused as the small company of witches and wardens looked up towards her, listening, glancing at one another, taking in what she was saying.

"We may not be able to restore the health of this land, or its people. Our actions may be those of mercy rather than salvation. " she continued, carefully preparing her women for the worst possible scenario.

"If you have any questions or concerns, now would be the best time to air them."

 

[RJS]

Bruno was ill at ease. Though a hill separated their small camp from the village, a faint smell of sickness and putrefaction could be discerned, drifting over on the slight breeze. Bruno knew it well, had stared its source in the eye on the front lines for the past three years. While he hoped against hope that the village was alright, his gut told him differently. That fire and steel would be needed to purify the villagers, to save them from their fate. Already that morning he had run the whetstone down his blade, honing the edge until it was keen enough for a solstice performer to shave with. He hoped it would not be needed this day. He expected to be wrong.

And now he stood, with the others, listening to the commander talk. Already, Commander Hagermaus impressed. The orderly establishment of camp, a clear authoritative approach, and a distinct lack of naivety made her a reassuring figure at the top. Some commanders would whip their troops up with promises of pushing the Blight back, of saving people. Reality had rarely made good on those, and morale had merely plummeted as a result. But Margaret Hagermaus? Bruno listened attentively. He had no need to ask questions. Already, he had a certain degree of faith.

 

[The J]

Outside of questions of his own skill, Georgio was a pessimist at best, downright cynical at worst. He was already certain of this small village's fate - too many times he'd fired a flaming arrow into barns full of blight-infested hay, too many times he'd heard those mutated screams, for him to not recognise what this mission would become.
The very air smelt faintly of decay, and the local flora was sickly. Not all dead, but the trees had lost their leaves too early, and plants that should have been in flower drooped to the damp ground. Yellowed grass became more common than green closer to the settlement, and none of the fields came even close to a healthy crop.
Margaret's call found Georgio just finishing his preparations. He finished stringing his bow, strapped on his quiver and stood straight, not moving closer as the witch spoke. He didn't know the woman, only had heard what she was like, and that wasn't enough for Georgio to begin to respect her quite yet. Still, her words made him listen close, and he found that she seemed rational and believable. He nearly allowed himself to entertain the idea of sparing the people that she alluded to, and he wondered slightly if he had thought too soon. No, he'd only end up disappointed if he let that fester; he stopped himself and continued listening.
"Not quite a question," he replied, "but let's just get this over with already, please. No point delaying."

 

[Epiphany]

Carmaline was still somewhat stiff and sore after a night's sleep following a hard day's march. She was still fit, and growing more fit, but clearly she still had some work to do to regain the unfailing military stamina she'd once had.

The village was a hurtful sight. She'd seen many like it in her years of service. Grim necessity suggested an obvious course of action but she was reluctant to broach it. Especially given her newness with this unit and its chain of command.

Speaking of that chain of command, Carmaline stepped to the side to get a better view of Margaret Hagermaus as the woman ascended a cart. A quick look at her husband joined the two despite the separation of the forming ranks. They camped together but ultimately reported to different people; her to the Witch commander and he to the head of this unit of Wardens.

At least this Witch commander had the air and manner of a woman experienced with battle. Carmaline nodded along in several places during the debriefing. When Margaret Hagermaus asked for questions or concerns, though, she frowned. Speak up and risk making a bad first impression? Or stay silent and risk lives?

Well, when faced with two unappealing alternatives, one should always consider their imperative.

"Captain," she said, speaking up. "Carmaline De Lancret. Given the condition of the land and the obvious absence of people, there's little cause for hope here. It may be safer to simply ignite those fields and bind up some winds to drive a fire to sweep the whole infected area over now. I'm not afraid of risk of infection if there's purpose or hope to the risk, that's why we're all here. But in the absence of hope, I'll look to you Captain to decide if there's purpose to be gained that's worth the risk."

"Otherwise, ready to march at your order."

 

[Lemon Boy]

“Our actions may be those of mercy rather than salvation”

Damon could already tell that this village would be given mercy, rather than salvation. There was no salvation for those who got infected by the Blight. No magic could undo it’s accursed effects, no medicinal plant could cease the gnaw of the disease. He prepared himself for two harrowing sights. Firstly, those who had been consumed by the blight entirely. Innocents who were no longer human. Secondly, those who had been infected but wholly consumed. The latter was always the worst sight. How they begged for treatment with a terrified desperation in their eyes.

Rubbing the ring on his finger in hopes of finding some sense of comfort, he just found worry instead. It was a pretty thing, with a beautiful carved gold sheen obsidian crystal embedded on the top and a small design of his family’s crest on the bottom. His mother had claimed that it would soothe his nerves in times of distress, but that was of course a lie. A very good one, but a lie nonetheless. It was easier to identify a rotten, blighted corpse if it has something of notability on it.

He was thankful then that a woman with a certain presence about her spoke up. His small appreciative smile, however, quickly faded when she suggested an alternative to marching into the village. Her logic was sound. Almost, anyways. Breathing in slightly, he prepared to speak up to the woman whom he barely knew and the commander of their group. Who, also coincidentally, just happened to be The Margaret Hagermaus III.

“If you don’t mind my saying ma’am, but I remember the report saying half the village was sick….not all of them. There could be people hiding in cellars or attics, waiting for us to help them. Children could be amongst them. Simply burning it all down seems..well...heartless. The Matriarchs could’ve been storing items of particular value there as well. Books of knowledge or foci of notable strength. Shouldn’t the town be given a chance, at the least?”

Damon mainly hoped that the appeal to basic compassion would be enough to convince people that simply burning it all was a bad idea. If not, well, his mentioning of the Matriarchs and their possessions should help at the least.

‘Burning the bodies makes them twice as hard to identify as well’ he thought grimly to himself.

 

[Zahzi]

Cain Lavan, the Warden-King
Location: Encampment outside the village.
Nearby: Just about everyone.
Disposition: Oh Amelanch is going to be in QUITE the mood when she discovers I evaded her guards to be here..

Cain faced away from the others, staring down at the village in front of them, his eyes not leaving the sight in front of him while he listened to everyone figure out what to do. Cain had forgone the idea of sleeping last night, instead trying to find any signs of life from the village. This was hardly what anyone had signed up for, nor was it what they were told they were to be doing here. Only the deranged, the heartless, and the most unmoving sort would just go with this transition without protest. He rose one hand to the pommel of his blade, gripping it tightly. A series of flickering in his eyes that lasted for only a few seconds. The source of this enchantment, or even its point was unclear. He gave a sigh, releasing the pommel as he finally tore his gaze from the village to look back at the people. He would need to thank Margaret for allowing him to basically be smuggled through the city back onto the field. The Queen meant well, but his duties as a Warden came before his role as a figurehead-King. Bruno remained as stoic as ever. He was prepared for whatever outcome was to rear its head. There was admiration in that, but also sympathy. Georgio seemed a little too prepared for the worst. It wasn't a sign of a wicked heart, no. Cain knew better than to write him off for knowing the most likely scenario to play out today.
Carmaline's words rang with the uncertainty facing the group, unknowing if razing the village was truly the right course of action, whereas, Damon's inquiries held fast the other side of the spectrum. No one here was wrong for their choices. There simply wasn't a single right solution here.

Cain walked toward the group, his hands behind his back as he stared past the group.
"Lady Margaret, I know I'm not the only one here dreading the possibility of this village's untimely annihilation, but with the evidence here it stands to reason holding out for hope of survivors could result in greater tragedy. If you do decide however, to send a small party to look for people to save, I will volunteer my services to that end."

He stole a glance back to the village. Survivors, if any, would have tried to regroup at their town hall, or at least the nearest barracks. Damon's notion of basements, though...It would be a long, tense search. If Margaret would allow it.

"Otherwise." he turned to look back to Margaret.
"Preparations for razing this village must be completed."​

 

[Poe]

“With all due respect, I would not say the absence of people is obvious,” Eva spoke from her place in the back of the group. She was faced towards the town with her arms crossed over her chest, but she turned to regard the woman speaking. Her long black hair was braided back out of her face to reveal pensive blue eyes. “I believe we owe it to the village to ensure that there is none among them we can save before condemning the land to a fiery death and to face those who may not have succumbed entirely to the infection yet.”

“If it becomes necessary,” she exhaled and looked back out at the village where she swore she could note movement in the small homes despite the lack of light or life, “Might I offer a more humane option. If there are people who have been infected, they certainly have suffered enough. They hardly deserve to burn when we can offer a quick and painless alternative.”

Eva, of course, spoke of her own repertoire of spells. Sommeil.She was capable of great magic, none that she particularly wanted to use on the people of this village, but after listening to Cain’s words, Eva knew that their mission would end in tragedy. If death was imminent, did they not owe it to their fellow men and women to take the most merciful approach? It required a great deal of mana, but Eva would have preferred to give the people of this village an honorable, painless death. Once the land was cleared, then they could scorch the land if Margaret agreed with Carmaline and Cain’s assessment.

“I simply mean to say that I, too, will volunteer my services to search the village," she turned her attention back to Margaret, "if you decide to send a party.”

 

[RJS]

The turn of the conversation had pricked Bruno. Yes, things looked hopeless.The odds of uninfected people remaining there certainly seemed low. To consider this a cleanup mission was certainly where most of the evidence pointed. And yet. AND YET. To write off any potential survivors, to condemn the living to the same fate of the dead? He gritted his teeth. It was prudent. It was neat and tidy. It protected those people stood in the camp. It purified the area. But it was not right.

"I don't see much hope of us finding healthy, uninfected people in that village," he rumbled, raising his voice to join the conversation, "but I also do not see no hope of finding uninfected people in that village. I know the risks are high, and the odds are low. But there may be people in that village, hiding, waiting and praying for the Royal Army to arrive and save them. I cannot, in good conscience, ignore that. We are here to save the village if we can, and purify it if we can't. We may be too late. But we should know whether that is true before we burn this village and its inhabitants indiscriminately to the ground."

His gaze turned to Margaret, eyes fierce yet firm. "Should you decide to send a party, I request that you consider including me."

 

[The J]

Georgio frowned. He didn't want to kill innocents, no more than anyone else. He knew what the screams sounded like as well as the rest of them, but he differed in one respect, apparently: he was able to do it, whereas the others still thought there was hope. they well all either foolish, naive, or a mixture of the two.
"A fantastic plan," he said to the gathered group. "We split off a group to go find survivors, those unblighted as of yet. the ones who show no visible sign of blight sickness, who haven't mutated or gone mad with the plague." His voice almost sounded genuine, though there was just the slightest drip of venom - he was overdoing it, sounding just fake enough to register.
"Or not. Those people you 'save'? They've been in this town just as long as the gibbering, slobbering, stumbling ones, the men, women and children who are too far gone to even think like a human. They could, and probably do have a nascent infection, and it's only a matter of time before they spread it. If we save them, then all we do is prolong their suffering, and we doom those around them, any town they enter, any well from which they drink, any place they simply inhabit, all to the same fate."
Georgio sighed. He didn't like this, and his original acerbic tone had begun to change to one of frustration, acceptance, and even defeat.
"If we don't quarantine them - at least at first - then the blight wins. It keeps spreading and all we've done is treated the symptom, not the cause. It's not right. It's not fair to the people in that village. It's not what I even want to fucking do. But it's what we have to do if we actually care about humanity itself."

 

[thoughtless]

aurelia boveri

i hold the past like a knife

The whole situation was shitty. There wasn't really any other way to describe it; no other combination of words that held the same weight of hopelessness. Aurelia didn't know what to think of it either. Her fists were clenched in both irritation and impatience as she stared at the rotting village. If there were people who stood even a slight chance of surviving, then precious time was slowly going to waste. She even slightly entertained the thought of her marching into the village herself and saving those who needed it.

Of course, Aurelia was quite aware that it was certain death, and it was ultimately the dumbest, most inane thing anyone could do. But she would feel better committing such an act of suicide instead of quarreling over whether or not it would be worth risking lives for. There was always an inevitable risk when it came to dealing with the blight; trying to tiptoe around it could easily end up getting more slaughtered, but there was also a problem with blindingly rushing in simply out of the want to save others. Aurelia stood there arguing with herself, weighing the risks and rewards.

Eventually, she exhaled a sigh of frustration and turned herself away from the village and towards the small camp that they had set up. Commander Hagermaus had gathered the others around to give them a quick rundown of the situation, and spoke the reality of what they might have to do to this village. A lot of which that had already been on their minds long before they had even began to set up camp.

One by one, everyone began to voice their concerns, their fears of what might come to pass, and their ideas on how to deal with the situation. And with each passing comment Aurelia found herself growing more and more disgusted with some of the people standing in front of her. The mere idea of setting the village alight without even checking to see if anyone was left untouched by the Blight was enough to twist her stomach into knots.

Listening to Georgio speak only tightened those knots, and she almost had to bite the tip of her tongue off to refrain from making a snide comment at him. Though she did roll her eyes at the fact that he had the gall to act like he cared so much about humanity. It'd be a another story if the village was clearly invested with blighted creatures of hellish origin, but that wasn't the case. She muttered a light curse, shifting from one foot to another. She was trying to think of any possible solution to this mess in front of them.

"If I may propose an alternative; If we do intend on sending people in to look for those seemingly untouched by the Blight, we could quarantine those we find until we know for sure they're not blighted. Anyone else we find who're clearly beyond saving, we deal with mercifully." Aurelia shifted once more, "That seems to be the best compromise at this point."

 

[JustNicole]

The company left Slyva at record speeds by all accounts. There was scarcely time for Lydia to throw her belongings in a sack before the orders came down from Queen Amelach. Normally, a deployment of such a company, complete with the King no less, would be well stocked, brimming with wagons carrying more supplies than the company would ever truly need. Unfortunately, the quickness of the orders interfered with that reality.

The bare minimum supplies the company was able to gather was largely thru begging and luck on Lydia’s part, along with heavily name dropping Cain and Margaret. It was enough for a week’s march and deployment in the field. With no idea how long they would be in the field, however, and given that the village would be unable to assist in supplies given the Blight, letters requesting aid were sent to nearby villages.

Some of the smaller villages answered, providing some grains and spare supplies, but still not enough. The largest location in the area, the town of Woodmeadow, had yet to respond to the company’s request in any form, not even a denial. If the unit was to remain at Ormount, securing supplies from Woodmeadow was crucial.

So it came that a day before the company reached Ormount, Lydia parted ways with the company for now. Traveling with Lydia was Florence, who at Margaret and Balthasar's request, ventured with her to protect her and assist in whatever needed to be done. It worked out as the two already had a fairly well established working relationship. Their objective was simple: request, beg, and if need be, pay for supplies from Woodmeadow.

Now a half day’s ride later, the two have crested the final hill before Woodmeadow, revealing the wooden oak gates that had served as a deterrent from both Blight and outlaws alike for decades. The large town is nestled in an open meadow surrounded by forest, divided down the middle by the Braven river. The river afforded it some prominence, making it an ideal trading location for the gathering and shipping of grains and other supplies created by other villages in the area.

As Lydia and Florence crest the hill on horseback, the sun begins to tickle the horizon behind them in the west as night approaches in earnest. Eager at the prospect of a night’s rest, Florence gallops on ahead for the gate. Lydia, after giving Florence a long head start, takes off after her at a quick, but slower, pace.

 

[Giyari]

Mood: Evaluating
Location:Camp, North east of the village.
Company: Various witches and wardens
@'s: RJS , The J , Epiphany , Lemon Boy , Zahzi , Poe , thoughtless ,
Other: Changed the location of the camp to keep it in line with Welian's opening scene post describing the village

Margaret Hagermaus III Razing the village to the ground, burning out the infection... doing so without surveying the village... Margaret scowled at the very idea. What kind of protectors of the people would they be if their actions amounted to bringing the fires of hell down on the population.

"Under no circumstances will we ignite these fields while people are still alive within the boundaries of this village. Infected or otherwise!" Margaret snapped with a strict tongue. She looked over her soldiers carefully, some had the right idea, but most had missed the point.

"Our mission is primarily one of investigation, is it not? How can one investigate the cause of this situation when all that is left is ash." she explained, looking towards Carmaline and Georgio. "but your worries are indeed rational, however I would prefer any conflagration to come after we are finished with our mission.


Pausing for a second, Margaret reminded herself of the village and attempted an estimate of the number of buildings. It was fairly sizeable, with many paths winding through the cottages and trees. The Matriarchs hall appeared to be built in the centre of the settlement. The largest building by far, it was quite visible from their current location. It would still take some time to reach while avoiding any potential blight.

"I want us to form two parties. One small party will join myself investigating the Matriarchs hall, the others will join... You, Bruno, correct?" she nodded, towards Bruno, one of the men who in her eyes had the correct view on survivors.
"You will investigate the well, which is assumed to be the source of this outbreak, gather eye witness accounts of the situation, and contain the problem. Afterwards I want you to do a sweep of the village. Any blighted villagers are to be..." she paused for a moment, her eyes darkening at the thoughts of the task ahead. "...granted mercy from their suffering. Any that appear to be of good health are to be lead from the village to the outskirts of the fields under threat of the sword if need be, and checked over by our physicians for any infection. Blight festers quickly, any corruption will become apparent before it has the chance to escape our sight."

The plans were set, hopefully they could single out the cause of this, contain the spread, and make their way back to the capitol with survivors all before sundown.

 

[RJS]

At Margaret's words, Bruno stood even more sharply to attention (if such a thing were even possible) and snapped off a razor-sharp salute. Choking back the words of gratitude he wanted to spout for her decision to investigate the village, he hoped that such a gesture would convey the fierce joy and pride he felt beginning to well up in his chest. "Yes ma'am!" he replied, before turning to face the others. "Something did this to the village. I intend to make sure it pays for that." A dangerous gleam shone in his eye. "Root it out, put it to the sword and the flame, and clean up the traces of its work. Who's with me?"

 

[Aldur]

It came without saying that as soon as Margaret had uttered the words "unpleasant" and "mercy" Maxima's mind had completely drifted off to search for the best loadout for this situation. Resting her offhand atop the hilt of her longsword, she weighed her options: being a rather large village, it could very likely mean that an unassuming party could be easily outnumbered. Staring blankly at the ground, she nodded to herself and in doing so, her armor clanged ever so slightly. It was a pragmatic combination of steel plate as the outer shell and a hauberk on the inside, tasked with safekeeping parts which the plate did not cover. To tie it all together, a surcoat proudly bearing the Wardens' Sigil encircled her torso.

Maxima was grateful for such protective gear. 'My regards to the Quartermaster.' she muttered under her breath. The she-Warden would need a weapon great in size and capable of fleeting sweeps; perhaps a spear or, potentially, a greatsword would be useful. She nodded to herself once again. The greatsword would provide the efficient flow she would need to chain her crosses and thrusts. Indeed, the greatsword would make a fine weapon in such circumstances.

Maxima returned her attention to the conversation at hand just in time. Margaret had appointed Ser Fidele as leader of the second party. She raised her hand and replied to Bruno's call to arms with a prompt "I am!"

 

[Epiphany]

Carmaline nodded at the commander's order, hiding away the mild regret mixed with mild relief. She didn't want to burn the whole area. Having someone else running this mission meant she could avoid that responsibility at least. It might even be the right call.

Seeing the order to split the group into two teams, Carmaline approached Margaret's position and set the end of her staff against the ground, looking past the other woman at the village site, making her choice of assignment obvious. If the commander looked her way or gave any indication of questioning her choice, Carmaline would simply say "If you have your own team or preferred soldiers, say the word and I'll join the other team. Rest assured, sir, I'll carry out your wishes either way."

 

[Poe]

“I will join as well,” Eva said finally as she peeled her eyes from the sight of the ghostly village. She flickered her gaze instead back to the group of ragtag witches and wardens that had been brought together under Margaret’s command. None of them were trained for this – not specifically, at least. Through her time in the military, Eva had seen darkness and lost companions, but this village gave off an uneasy air that hung heavily around them. It was always messy when civilians got involved as they were not the ones running into the fray with their swords and wands drawn, they simply trusted the military enough to protect them and it was a hard realization to stomach. As powerful as they were, as many spells as were in their arsenal and enchanted weaponry in their hands, they were still unable to save everyone.

It was a realization Eva had a long, long time ago but she found no consolation in the time that had passed since then. It was a truth that always remained.

“I will join Bruno and the others,” she could see herself doing the most good in the village with the survivors if there were any, and it was logistically sound to have an officer among both groups. “We should head out quickly, every moment we hesitate, the infection is growing.”

Her eyes raked over the crowd, landing on Bal for a moment longer before she turned back to Bruno. “Shall we?”

( D. Rex RJS Giyari Epiphany Aldur )

 

[The J]

Georgio's frustration grew as each person spoke, reaching a crescendo as Margaret decided to go with their inane plans. What if they were to become infected by a blighted villager whilst trying to "save" them? What if the quarantine had the slightest imperfection, and the plague found its way to their camp, and through them, to countless other villages? It wasn't right, wasn't effective, wasn't smart. Why could none of them get it through their thick skulls? What the hell had they all been doing these years, the ones with genuine combat experience under their belts? He'd expected better of Bruno, a harder man than most. For all that he respected the man, he was disappointed to see him take this path. At least Carmaline had chosen the right path... to an extent.
The ranger wanted nothing more than to scream at them, to tell them how foolish they were. It was a lost cause - he'd be disciplined, sidelined, held back for promotion, ignored in the future. As always.
"I... will go with you, ma'am." He said to Hagermaus, biting back the vitriol on his tongue. He'd do the best he could at this mission, despite his hatred for how it was done.