vielle

• • • Sunlight streams through the outstretched fingers of the trees, dappled light specks painting the forest floor in sunny hues. The smell of pine and wildflowers minge in the air, and the world seems brighter for the way the sun shines happily on all beneath it. The gentlemouse walks along the path with a skip to his step and a whistle in his tone, a sharp contrast from his apparent middle-aged countenance. His energy stems from the contentment radiating warm in his chest—he has found a most interesting companion in the tavern, and it has made this little journey all the better for it. For the most part of their stroll through the woods, Garrow regales Nima with some anecdotes of his life as a young mouse, curious and eager to explore the giant-sized world around him. With his size, the tallest trees seem to reach up to the gods, and the rivers seem more like oceans than anything else. “Nevertheless,” he tells the red-skinned woman, “I wanted to see what was beyond the confines of my humble village. I’ve never once had cause to regret it.” Soon, they come to a bend in the road, and two humanoid figures laid out in the dirt blocking their path catch the gentlemouse’s attention. “My lady—who do you think those are? Are they dead, you think? Should we help them?” He begins to scratch his nose in concern. @? ????

Hello, another bump for a post and dice roll! It's been nine days since the last IC post, and I think it'll be very much appreciated if we can continue to move forward! 🙏 One more day, and then you'll be skipped! @The Fire Heart can post soon after. 😊 Thank you! P.S. The dice rolls will be used for the next round; will be sending you all PMs after @Hani has rolled.

• • • A restless wanderer does not often a satisfied one make, Andraste comes to realize. She has been on the move since the battle over Albor, the assault in the cold barrens, the quick jaunt in Aligoria. All the wildlands in the world are blurring together into something incomprehensible, something beyond concrete memory. She finds she misses a home to call her own, in her weakest moments, and that of all things is a devastating thought. The Líadáin growls beneath her skin, a shadowy sea ravaging the shores of her mind. It hungers for prey to feed on, for blood and bone and juicy marrow, and it is a testament to how distracted she is that she nearly walks into a shelf in the store she’s found herself wandering through. Gods, but it’s almost embarrassing, if not for the fact that a very promising offer suddenly materializes in the stale air of the establishment. ". . . I am expecting more supplies. If you have a moment, maybe you could help me recover it. I'll reward you handsomely if you do." The woman who’s speaking is then accosted by all matters of strange folk looking to capitalize on what appears to be the founding of a quest at the immediate time being, folk of a sort Andraste would normally stay far away from, but the lady’s pitch is interesting. Intriguing, even. Perhaps she should stick around and see for herself what value she may acquire from this endeavor. With the decision made, the khenra siddles up next to the migrant from Ashville and the two women she has attracted with her sudden introduction.

Yeah, sorry for the delay too! Got roped into an unexpected family trip as soon as I was about to write up the post. 🙈 Will post sometime today! 💖

Ah, but there is a kernel of truth in Miss Sheathe’s words, now that Cecily thinks about it. Boring really does mean safe, out here in the dangerous wildlands. This realization brings an embarrassed flush to her cheeks, but she’s not about to stoop down and let Steffan see such a weakness. She’ll be damned if she lets him know how affected she is. To her left, Lord Caerdonel stoops down and peers closely at the tracks. His fingers brush against the indentations made in the dirt with careful inspection. “Hmmh, I cannot identify them either. My experience tells me this is a two-legged creature, but there cannot be much of those aside from humans in these parts. Unless, of course, nonhumans have entered here.” “Possibly,” Steffan snorts mockingly, and Cecily gives him a very rude hand gesture, just because she can. The look on the bastard’s face is worth it. Ignoring this exchange, Willard straightens up and looks around the assembled people in thoughtful silence. “Yes, perhaps we could, Miss Sheathe. Let us keep moving to—” —the bushes nearby shake, leaves rustling against each other. A blur of something fast-moving leaps out from the shadows of the undergrowth. Cecily screams.

The Mistress’ companions can’t help the stunned silence that befalls them in the wake of her cleaving of the boy and his mother with her sharpened sword. Strangely enough, there are no wounds visible on their bodies, no blood gushing out from deep and dangerous blade wounds. Between one breath and the next, they are suddenly made whole and hale again, the power of Baeoi stitching their injuries back together. “I could’ve helped,” Samael mumbles to himself, but ultimately he manages to dredge up a wide smile for the two villagers as they thank the Mistress profusely, almost stumbling into the dirt with how eager they are. “You have to share where you got that sword,” Ephah quips, raising an eyebrow at the sword in the white-haired woman’s grasp. The boy is inclined to agree. And then the earth shakes once more, and the moment of levity is gone. A pair of Zodiac Knight appear from the greenery, silver armor gleaming in the sun, and while one of them ushers the mother and her son away to whatever safety lies beyond the treeline, the other turns to them and gives a considering glance at the Mistress’ sword, Ephah’s blood gaze, Samael’s glowing necklace. “We need all the hands we can get,” he murmurs, bowing in greeting to the group. “Can you fight with us?”

• • • With the pictures Nima has painted of the Demon Wolf—or are there Wolves? She had implied that there are more of these twisted creatures running amok in the demon world, and isn’t that a frightening thing to imagine? He does not think he has the stomach for adventuring into such a terrifying place—Garrow can now fully imagine the young woman as a strong warrior capable of fearsome feats. It only goes to show that there is more to an individual than meets the eye, that one must not judge a book by its cover. Perhaps there is some truth to his grandmamma’s teachings after all. The gentlemouse twirls a finger around his whiskers, nodding along to his companion’s words. “I see, I see! You must be a most esteemed warrior! I do not know what this chakra you speak of is, but I must infer that it might be some form of magic,” he trails off, mumbling to himself about some incomprehensible things before he straightens up again, an enterprising smile on his mouth. Nima appears to have some form of interest in his kind. The roads are dangerous for lone travelers, and much more so for a gentlemouse of his stature. Perhaps—perhaps he can persuade her to join him on his travels, acquiring both companion and bodyguard by his side. Ah, but it’s a most brilliant idea! “Would you like to accompany me to my hometown, then?” His nose twitches excitedly, and he looks to the red-skinned woman with barely-concealed anticipation. “If you are not needed elsewhere, that is! I’d really appreciate good company when traveling.” @? ????

Hearing her new title still sounds strange to her own ears, but Varda is not one to argue against the reality of her new position. She opts instead to smile and incline her head in greeting towards the crowd gathered in the hall. Watching her companion employ some sort of magic—it can only be such a thing as mystical as magic, with the way the sounds of the crowd suddenly pop out of existence—Varda smoothens down her skirts and focuses on the words she’ll need to open the discussion for her plans. “I’ve a proposition to offer you, my Lord,” she begins, smiling in Rufus’ direction. “As you know, my noble house has only recently come into great wealth far beyond what had been our means, with the establishment of the Queendom. Thus far, we’ve been granted the capacity to build and protect that which is our own. However, alliances must be forged in these strange new times, and in the spirit of solidarity, I’ve decided there can be much use for our considerable assets in helping to promote said alliances.” Varda folds her hands on her lap and nods firmly. “I propose that the Queendom aid you in establishing your claim more securely here in Misral by providing resources to help build a town under your jurisdiction. Authority over this land will be yours alone, but we’d like to create opportunities for our people as well—perhaps with jobs and commissions within this town. In this, perhaps we can find other ventures to work on in the future.” She finishes with a bright grin, brimming with possibilities. “Is this a viable plan? Pray, express your thoughts, my Lord.” @danzilla3

My price is this hand I hold now. It is strange, how the words seem to come to her like scattered dust mites, how they do not register and instead float about the room in disjointed fragments. My price, Varda, is you as my wife. I will accept nothing less. She does not think she’s heard Quinton right, at first. And then he draws her close, hand wrapped around her waist like a honeyed vise, and all thoughts fly out the windows, lost to the expansive greenery beyond. Varda gapes at him for quite a considerable amount of time, and with no other forthcoming words to further explain the declaration he has just placed upon her shoulders, she begins to tremble within his grasp. “You—you would—ask for my hand?” Personal self-doubts aside, she’s long known the costs of leadership are the choices she makes for her own self, that she might marry for benefits and not for love. But—she might learn to love Quinton Swan, might learn to cherish him and hold him for her own. As it stands now, she is fascinated by him and overly so, but this does not immediately mean she can build a lifetime on fleeting bouts of mystique. She cannot be too sure of this match’s ultimate survival, not while she has not yet been given a chance to understand this man. However: this bride price he offers can be a great boon for the betterment and advancement of her fledgling queendom. That is not something she can easily ignore, not when her house’s coffers continue to dwindle by the day as they build up their cities and roads. Her position as royalty might mean more strategy is needed to decide the future lord prince of the realm, but it’ll benefit from a suitor with his pockets lined to the brim. This will require some deliberation, then. “Allow me to think on this, sir,” Varda breathes, quietly disentangling herself from his grasp, taking a proprietary step backward in case someone walks in on such intimate behavior. “I—I cannot give you an answer today. This is all—very sudden, and forgive me, I’ve been left reeling in the wake of your request.”

• • • The gentlemouse cannot help the astonished gasp that crawls up his throat and out into the musty air of the tavern around them. Demonic magic, indeed! How strange. Some might even call it dangerous, according to his readings: something to be feared and rejected whenever it is encountered. However: the red-skinned lady has been kind to him, has even offered him the courtesy of feeding him bits from her meal, and so Garrow shall reserve making any sort of judgement for later. He opts instead to nod thoughtfully, quill tip flying across the parchment as he scribbles down Nima’s explanation. This shall make for a good topic to write about for his village’s collection of tomes. “Interesting! You must be quite the warrior, then?” He cocks his head to the side, humming as he stares at her lean arms, as if he’s trying to picture out how she might move when using her abilities. “I’m very curious how this magic works—we mousefolk do not have the capacity to wield magic, sadly. We are a very common sort of race.”He has crossed paths with many wizards in the past, and the faint curl of envy never ceases to appear in his gut. “Ah, well. So, this Demon Wolf’s bone you mentioned—is this like a deity that walks the earth? There are plenty of those around here.” Garrow taps the quill’s feather against his chin. “Or perhaps a normal wolf infused with demon energy? Ah, my imagination is running wild, and so is my fear!” He chuckles amusedly, motioning with a hand to let Nima explain, if she so wished. @? ????

At the mention of the newly-crowned king her house has recently forsaken to crown her instead, Varda hums, a faint undertone of anxiety simmering in her voice. She’d rather not discuss anything related to the other kingdom who shares Ursa Madeum with her own realm, and so when Lord Rufus continues on, there is a curl of relief in her stomach. “Perhaps they’ll come around and pay you due respect, soon enough,” she murmurs lowly, as much of a reminder to herself of the other noble contenders in the islands as it is to her companion. The Viridis estate rises high and proud amidst the craggy landscape of Misral, and despite the telltale signs of recent reconstruction along its stone-brick face, it speaks of experience and power. She does not yet know if the Viridis family has come into wealth in their time away from the islands, but with the efforts made to rebuild themselves in their homeland once more, it is a likely assumption. One that is to be the driving force for her visit today. “I see,” she replies to Lord Rufus, smiling gratefully for his apparent honesty with her despite their recent acquaintance. “I’d very much like to meet the rest of your house soon. Perhaps a bigger audience—and more authoritative figures to witness—will be beneficial for the discussion I’ll be having with you.” @danzilla3

SUMMARY: Kuiperal city guards Quirin Saussure and Pascal Baudrillard are tasked by Khartes to travel up the slopes of the Argentspire and set up sansiuk probes. They complete their mission, encountering twisted monsters birthed by the blending of Yh'mi and Taen properties and a strange reflective portal named the Argentscar along the way. @Csl