Built long before the bloodbath known as the Scouring, the organization was made as a response to the ever-growing complexity of war: when battles on foot had also begun to take to the seas and skies, when steel had found itself allied with and clashing against spell, when honor between opponents had given way to unceremonious death dealt by unreachable assailants. Divided into three occupations- strategists, tacticians, and Craftlords- its mission was- and still is- to reasonably control the aspects of the battlefield while protecting those who had no dealings with the warring factions. For it to sustain itself, it naturally requires the offering of their services to anyone with sufficient coin, leading to colleagues finding each other at opposing sides- eerily similar to the Ilian mercenary faction's own policy.
"Do what is required,
And do that job well.
Dying without trying
Sends thy soul to hell."
-Poem from the "Advisors' Code"
Being taken under the organization's wing means keeping your relationships with your classmates purely professional; any higher standard would invite despair. Sure, there's the occasional acquaintance or budding romance, but it requires a lot of luck to grow old alongside them; the chances of not engaging a relative, friend, or lover throughout one's entire career is slim to none.
Alas, though we advisors swear fealty to our employers until our contracts are void, our true allegiance lies with the organization, not because it had provided food, shelter, and knowledge to us or protection to our families, but also because the only alternative to entering this war-infested world as a puppeteer with choices is to enter it as a puppet without them.
It appears I don't have as much to introduce today. Maybe it's divine intervention for last time. Maybe I don't have as much detail that could relate to the upcoming interaction. Maybe I've just getting old...
Unfaltering Loyalty
Curses... The chills just won't cease... Determined to fight the non-existent wind as he walked across the wavering grass, he shielded his face with the hood of his cloak as he hugged its folds closer to himself, to no avail. Gah, my body might be abnormal, but this is ridiculous...
Earlier that day, the quartet had reached the resting place of the Mani Katti as per Lyn's request. After an attempted theft, a plea for assistance, destruction of property, a sound thrashing given to Glass and his entourage, and the acquisition of one spirit-forged blade, the woman who had asked for their aid had offered them her home to recuperate in as thanks. Now, as his comrades were regaining their strength and the sun was sinking into the landscape, the tactician decided to analyze the shrine once more.
That Mani Katti's hiding something, he pondered to himself as he walked towards the opening the others had previously made at his command, the damage to the foundation still as raw as ever. I felt it in my bones!
"Think of it this way: some weapons feel more comfortable in your hand, right?" Sain explained as Lyn was examining the sword- her sword- in her hand. "Well, the Mani Katti itself feels very comfortable with you. Does this make it any easier for you to accept?"
Seeing Lyn's still-puzzled expression, Mark suggested, "Maybe if the rest of us hold the blade and prove to you why we can't use it ourselves...?"
She gave a slight nod before gently handing the weapon to the red-armored cavalier, as if it was a newborn ready to cry at the slightest disturbance.
Gripping the handle, Kent tried his best to make it comfortable in his grip, but the disapproving look he was making said it all.
"May I?" Mark asked, holding out his hands.
No sooner had Kent given it to him than voices spoke into his ear.
Corrupted soul, thou shalt not defile this blade's shine with thy rotted hands...
What in blazes...? he thought to himself as a freezing sensation overtook him, aware that screaming his head off and dropping the sword on the ground right then and there would more than likely earn him weird looks from his comrades.
Thy very existence poisons us, the guardians of this sacred weapon. Begone!
Uninterested in causing more trouble, he swiftly passed the sword to the brown-haired knight, playing off the shock on his face by faking a laceration he had supposedly made on his hand with the weapon's edge.
Doing the same procedure his dutiful friend had done, Sain quipped, "It doesn't appear that either of us can use it," before giving it back to its rightful owner.
Holding it once more, she could sense the comfortable grip a bit better, probably thanks to her ally's explanation. "It... does feel right in my hand," Lyn confirmed. "A blade that only I can wield."
Since the quartet- mostly the armed trio, really- had dealt with the danger, he could fully appreciate the structure of the ruined area this time. Light-brown reflected off every surface inside. Sturdy pillars, with imposts possessing snake designs, supported the roof. Human-shaped statues of an origin completely unknown to him stood on both sides of the now-swordless altar. Remnants of dried blood- Glass's, most likely- still stained the pedestal of the sword of spirits.
What caught the advisor's attention, though, was the lozenge shape that surrounded the slot where the Mani Katti used to rest. Four faded circles of slightly-distinct colors sat at its corners.
"That's an odd picture..." he whispered to himself, wanting to break the eerie silence the shrine was giving off. "Wait a minute... Where have I seen that?" Approaching the altar, he brushed off the dust that had accumulated over the pattern.
With the dust gone, the circles were revealed to be gems, along with arrows on the lozenge's edges that depicted a clockwise motion. From the noon position and following the arrows, the surfaces of topaz, ruby, blue sapphire, and emerald shone in the moonlight.
Huh. Interesting... but I still can't recall it. Maybe I'm going senile-
The sound of approaching footsteps suddenly echoed across the shadows.
An enemy!? He turned towards the source. Escape was out of the question; the glimmer of the jewels must have revealed his location, and he still hadn't the skill to use his powder fast enough. Defense was impossible; he possessed no weapon, and what if the figure did? Panic paralyzed his limbs.
"...Lord Mark?" Reddish hair and tarnished armor emerged from the darkness.
The startled tactician took a deep breath to calm his nerves down. "Oh, good evening, Master Kent. You almost scared me for a moment there." Not to say the knight already had, or anything. "What brings you here?"
Closing part of the distance between them, Kent replied, "Lady Lyndis asked me to accompany you on your errand."
"Ah... very well, then. I'm almost done with my business here, anyway." He turned his attention back to the gems. "Thank you kindly, by the way."
"Merely my duty, sir tactician."
He flinched slightly but resumed his examination. Lord. Sir. The words irked him for some reason. So this must be how Lady Lyn felt that time... "Master Kent, may I ask you to drop the titles? I am not yet an owner of land or a person of much significance, so... yeah."
"As you wish, Mark."
"Thank you." One last sweep, and still no other unusual signs. "Drat."
Catching the swear, the knight asked, "Is there a problem?"
The tactician mulled over divulging what bothered him. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you, Master Kent."
"I already believe in a sword that chooses its owner; try me."
Mark chuckled. "Very well. When I touched the Mani Katti, the spirits that guarded it had, uh, voiced their dissent and frozen my soul." Elimine knew he was sounding like an utter loon, but it was as plain he could make it.
Kent brushed his chin. "Well... anything's possible?"
"Including the fact that I'm still cold?"
"You do wear dark-green during daylight."
He frowned, letting out an annoyed grunt. "I give up. What happened when you had held the Mani Katti, then?"
"All I had felt had been an unsuitably awkward grip- no talking spirits or sudden freezing."
"Well, that's just peachy; maybe the supernatural don't like tacticians or some other ridiculousness. Let's head back."
As they approached the crumbled passageway, Mark added, "Still, that's quite the defense mechanism for keeping the sword with its rightful owner- almost as if more guardian angels now watch over Lady Lyn."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You're right; Master Sain would be a bit too willing to take that role." He felt a bump on his head from above him. "Something just hit me, didn't it? Please say it's not fecal matter..."
"It fell into your hood," Kent noted.
Reaching behind him cautiously and expecting a load of bird dung on his precious garment, the tactician pulled out a thin scroll from the "pocket". Sealing it was a stamped blue insignia. A letter from Eria...? Realization dawned on him. Now I remember! He pulled out his journal and turned to the inside of the back cover.
Swindlers had little- if any- success passing off their own goods under the guise of working under the organization, and yet the fools who had fallen for such deviousness had consequently paid with their lives once they had encountered the real deal. The sharper of mind would always look for the mark of the Craftlord sisters: the square-forming circles found in every item they've personally approved- including the apprentice tacticians' gear! The topmost circle corresponded to the Craftlord responsible for approving it: the blue one represented medicines and staves; the green one, armor and clothing; the red one, spell tomes and documents... and the brown one, weapons and tools.
But that means... they're the makers of the Mani Katti? No way. Maybe they had designed the altar or gotten the original pattern from here... If they had actually forged the sword, then that would make them older than the current kings!
Enthralled by his self-analysis, he almost forgot that he was still in Kent's presence. "Will you excuse me for a moment?"
The knight barely got an answer out before his inquirer went back into the shrine.
Walking towards the other entrance- the one still stained with the blood of the brigand who had attempted to ambush his comrades earlier that day- Mark unraveled the message.
Our boss has recently informed us of a contract one of our advisors had made with Lord Lundgren of Caelin and his mission to remedy his inheritance dispute with a woman by the name of "Lyndis". Your starting position was near an area Lundgren had asked aid from. We, the Craftlords, are asking you to not involve yourself with this affair, much less side with the opposition. You have no previous record whatsoever; starting your exploits with a case of treason would not be the wisest choice.
With love,
Eria
Noticing the valediction, he couldn't help but be amused; the Sisters surely saw him as more of a valuable test subject than a significant other. Still, the content had caused a pit of worry to fester in him; after all, no sane person would be glad to find themselves against his or her own allies, and this one was perfectly capable of bringing defectors to their reckoning. "This is one hell of a bad day..." He was about to sigh deeply when...
"I agree," Kent spoke, his sword's tip pushed ever so lightly against the tactician's back. "The scroll, please."
Frozen in place, Mark calmly rolled it up before gently tossing it behind him. "How did you know?" he asked as he raised his hands in surrender.
"You really should learn to read silently," the knight replied as he perused the message with his free hand.
"Huh. I guess I should."
Moments passed in relative silence before Kent dropped the parchment. "You do realize our current predicament, correct?"
"But of course. I know too much for you to just let me go on my merry way because it will cause even more danger to Lady Lyn. Furthermore, unless I clear your doubts, I'm nothing more than an obstacle to your own mission."
"I'm glad you understand that, Mark. So, tell me, what are your feelings on this matter?"
"Ha! Now I'm the glad one. My answer to that..." He slowly reached for his cloak pocket.
Tensing up, the knight tightened his grip on his blade, ready to run his sword right through the knave before him.
Pulling out his pouch of warp powder- the opening closed tightly by the thin string around its neck- the tactician held it by the noose with his fingers. "...is this."
Slowly retracting his weapon to his side, he reached for the bag . Looking closely, he recalled the lozenge on the inside flap, the brown circle showing its dominance over its fellow shapes...
"What do you have gold sand in this pouch?" Kent asked the beige-cloaked man lying on a large gold-trimmed reddish carpet as he was holding up the bag that had rolled near his feet. The sun's rays, piercing the clear windows that lead the way into the main audience chamber, flooded the area, the shine of the marbled walls and floor reflecting them every which way.
"It's warp powder, Sir Kent," the man answered in a monotone as he lost himself in thought, maintaining his view on the portrait affixed to the wall nearest him as he brushed strands of his short brown hair off his eyes. Depicting a woman with flowing forest-green hair, her regal attire only served to accentuate her delicateness; the intricate details of the picture entranced him greatly. He didn't care about his sloppy position; he wanted visual aid to whisk him from the strenuousness of his actual duties, Elimine be damned. "Grants the user the ability to travel anywhere in the blink of an eye."
"What sorcery does it fall under?"
"Anima magic, if I recall correctly. Don't expect even the mighty Etruria to have such a convenience, though; only my kind can acquire it, much less use it. 'One bag per person' my superiors had warned me."
"I see..."
A moment of silence passed between the two men before he broke it once more. "Did you know that the custom for us advisors swearing fealty is the relinquishing of those very bags to our employers?"
"No, sir," he replied plainly.
"I know Cassio isn't much of a talker, but your 'tack' really should have told you guys that detail, if anything. By the way, don't make a tear on it; I don't want both of us to suddenly fall ill, and I'm in no mood to pluck the grains of such a valuable substance off the floor, infinite in capacity the powder in that pouch may be."
"As you command, sir-"
"Drop the formalities," he interjected. "Just call me by name alone."
"Ah... As you command, Mark."
"What's inside this?" he asked. He was quite sure of what the pouch was holding, but he feigned ignorance all the same.
"Warp powder," Mark stated. "Grants the user the ability to travel to faraway places within seconds. I'm still inexperienced with its proper use, though. As long as you're holding it, I can't suddenly 'leave you guys out to dry', so to speak."
He lowered his sword, realizing that this Mark was working under the same organization as his liege's advisors. "So this means-"
"I've decided to stick with you guys," Mark finished for him. "Who knows? Maybe this job will give me a bigger boost to my 'reputation' than I had thought." Picking up the scroll, he made his way towards the makeshift opening once more. "Well, I'm done here. Shall we go, my good friend?"
"...Yes, we shall." Sheathing his sword and pocketing the powder, the knight followed him. "I think I understand now why Lady Lyndis hired you."
"Is that so?" Mark quipped as they were heading back to their companions. "That's nice to hear."
I never would have realized that the one action I had made that day could set off an unimaginable chain of events...