Under the night sky, the Azure Wind sails quietly and smoothly. The star-speckled blue cloth of night is a serene sight. Below deck, the passengers rest… or, at least, try to.
Tressa has a bright lamp lit by her cot. The light spills out around the small room. Therion grumbles about the brightness and covers his head with his poncho irritably, turning over. Tressa hardly pays any mind to the others in the shared room as she is busy poring over the dusty pages of her newest treasure, utterly spellbound. Other people, heavy sleepers like Alfyn, merely snore and drool, undisturbed by the luminescence.
In the cot next to her own, Cyrus joins Tressa in reading. He has all of Harold's notes, as well as his own reading list out. The two of them seem utterly immersed on their literary exploration.
H'aanit, Hägen, and Linde are up at the deck, enjoying the night air and starry sight. In the quiet of the smooth voyage, the beasts take the chance to prowl about the deck. It had been city after city for a while now and their bestial instincts enjoy the calm and open space for once. It may be in the middle of the sea, but it is not a small ship either. They had initially been too cagey to enjoy the ride back on the SS Tecura. Now, they have acclimated somewhat. True to the huntress' word, neither of the beasts disturb the working crew. Some of the workers do stare now and then at the odd animals, but they start to pay them no mind.
The huntress smiles softly as she leans back on the edge of the deck, feeling the gentle wind pull at her braid and feather earrings. Her mood is in a strange spot currently. Certainly, she is ecstatic to have found a lead on her master. However, after the tender moment with Ophilia last night... Again, she was finding herself strangely distracted.
She espies the broad frame of the warrior emerge from below deck. Having doffed his armor, Olberic is in simple trousers and an old cotton shirt. With the light of the stars and moon showing his musculature pressed against the cloth in the wind, he looks no less imposing. He is holding his sheathed blade in hand. H'aanit watches as he goes to talk to one of the crewmates. The crewman nods and Olberic goes to start swinging his sword in seeming practice strokes.
"Rrr?" Linde looks quizzically at the man training.
"Aye, he ist diligent, it seemeth," H'aanit nods. Thoughtfully, she looks down at the bandages peeking out from under her shirt, "... Mayhap I oughten doeth the same."
She walks over, making her observing presence well known to the warrior. Olberic swings vigorously, bringing his sword down in controlled, even strokes. His dark eyes flicker in her direction slightly when she approaches, but he does not disrupt his regimen. The huntress quietly watches him swing in practice. He practices in quiet. H'aanit notes that, despite the swaying of the ship, his strokes are straight and purposeful, never wavering.
After the fiftieth stroke, as counted silently by the huntress, he finally stops. Taking the edge of his old shirt, he wipes the sweat beading his brow. Lifting the hem of his shirt fully exposes his toned and muscular abdominals, decorated with scars of old battles.
"Can I help you?" He now addresses the huntress, "Lady... H'aanit, correct?"
"Aye. And thou aren Berg," H'aanit nods, "Thine sword seemeth heavy. The hand that wieldeth it be'en strong indeede."
Olberic takes the compliment silently, "You are a skilled fighter as well... From the Woodlands, I believe?"
"Of'en the Darkwood, aye. Havest thou of us heard?"
"Ah, nay. I am only familiar with the beast companion culture up north... But I myself have little experience in the northern areas above Middlesea."
"Ah, thou aren of the south."
"Aye, born and raised most of my life in the Highlands," Olberic leans the point of his sword on the floor, "The Woodlands will be on my way... so I look forward to experiencing it."
"Wheren be thine destination?"
"I am looking for someone. The last I heard; he is supposedly located in the Cliftlands..."
"Whatten a fall of fate..." H'aanit blinks, "Tis a similar destination to mine own."
"Oh? How fortuitous..." Olberic raises an eyebrow, "Mayhap we will meet again on the road. These are dangerous days after all. Company is most welcome."
"Aye..." H'aanit sighs, "I haven letten my guard down about the sea ruffians already."
"Unfamiliar environments will often put one at a disadvantage against indigenous opponents, no matter how skilled the fighter."
H'aanit looks thoughtfully down at the warrior's sword at his words, "...Mayhap a spar will helpen with mine wounds, if thou aren willing."
"Are you sure you want to fight despite your injuries? The crew has informed me we will be landing in Flamesgrace roughly around the late morning. You should rest..."
"Nay, some activity doth doen me well, as well as betteren my footing, mayhap," H'aanit flexes and stretches her arm, "Knowest thou of barehanded combat?"
Olberic sighs and lays down his sword, "...Aye, I know of some technique... Tis a rudimentary lesson for cadets..."
"Ah, thou comest of the military."
Olberic had revealed his origin absentmindedly, without thinking. Fortunately, it doesn't seem to arouse any suspicion about his true identity simply because he received army training.
"Something like that," He curls his hands into fists and takes a square pose, "Prepare yourself."
"Comen," H'aanit takes a fierce stance with her hands arched like the claws of a beast, "If thou darest."
…
On the level above the bedrooms, but below the upper deck, Primrose stares out of a porthole, watching the deep blue roiling underneath. The rocking motion feels somewhat calming.
How long has it been since she last stepped foot on a ship? The last time might have been...
She wore a beautiful dress, resplendent for her age, as she stood at the Atlasdam pier. Her large eyes, filled with childish wonder, stare at the ships coming in from Middlesea. People bustle about with all manners of dress, from all walks of life.
"Primrose?" That familiar voice calls for her. His familiar hand takes hers in his own. She looks up to see her father smiling softly.
"Don't get lost, alright? The city is a busy place."
"Hehehe, I'm fine if you're here, father," She giggles.
Ah, that's right... Such an early memory of a business trip... One of many she shared with him... But now he's gone.
Her eyes slowly blink at that hazy memory. She didn't recall much else of that trip... save that she was happily with her father the entire time. That was all she needed. An idle hand goes to absentmindedly feel at the mark on her chest. Under her fingertips, she can feel her own cool skin.
There is a slight creak of the nearby stairs. She looks to see the cleric and Mattias making their way up.
"Oh, good evening!" Ophilia says quickly, "Beautiful night, isn't it?"
"Ah, hello. Indeed. I might go up on deck to enjoy it better," Primrose says with a throwaway smile as she looks over the cleric and merchant, "Trouble sleeping?"
"I'm afraid so, haha," Ophilia chuckles.
"Why don't we all go up then?" Mattias suggests, "I'll bring up some refreshment even, so you two ladies go first."
"Oh, thank you, Mattias..."
Ophilia goes to ascend onto the upper deck. Primrose follows her quietly as Mattias returns down below. For a second, the dancer feels a slight twinge from the merchant, like a pin prick on her chest, right where the birthmark is. It was something she hadn't felt before, nor felt earlier. Her step pauses, jangling the many tinkling pieces on the jewelry she wears. Her eyes, with a dull reddish glow, look into the darkness where the merchant disappeared below.
Normally, she might have ignored it. Pain from this mark on her, a sign of her curse, is nothing new. However, it is precisely because of its nature as a curse that Primrose can no longer afford to be callous with its use. Since leaving Sunshade, she has felt its powers greater than she ever did back at the brothel. While it provided in her times of need, she had been plenty warned by her father ahead of time.
"This power of the Azelhart house... If you acquiesce to it, you will be lost to its throes forever."
There are pictures of all the past leaders of the Azelhart house lining the walls of the manor, portraits made in testament to their prime of existence. It's not clear if they might still be there today. Regardless, while she still walked the halls of that nostalgic house, she would gaze upon their prominent and noble postures, eyes brimming with dignity. As one of the high houses of the continent, there was much to be proud of, partly due to their unwavering convictions. This forded the tumultuous waves that swallowed others and allowed the Azelharts to knock away the obstructions to their rise of power.
Even in cold blood they murdered their dinner guests if it meant procuring and maintaining the power they craved. To them, they were righteous. Their faith never gave away under the weight of dead and the deluge of blood from inglorious politics.
Walking through the darkness they plunged themselves into, wallowing in the blood of the world, with their faith shielding them from those who say they are wrong...
However, not all never stumbled. As part of the caution in handling this dark power, she was keenly aware of her forebears who had succumbed to the crushing weight of the darkness. What happened to them, according to her father's warnings, was a fate worse than death. In the end, this power is a double-edged sword.
"Walk tall, my Primrose, and no such fate will befall you."
Primrose lingers a few more moments in the dark, one foot on the staircase up. The red light in her eyes slowly fades and she sighs. She will have to be more vigilant about that merchant, it seems. That her darkness reacted to the man... did he perhaps bear a similar darkness in himself? The mark strangely had not reacted to the cleric, from whom Primrose expected rebuke. She remains wary of the cleric altogether nonetheless, and now also her travel companion.
With a sigh, she walks up the steps.
...
Atop the deck, Ophilia had not thought to mind whether the dancer was following closely or not. She was too subsumed in her own thoughts as she goes to stand by some barrels leaned just before the quarter deck. Feeling the nice, cool air, she focuses on her breathing and closes her eyes.
Those sunken sockets and gaping mouth flash in her mind, making her flinch.
Since she had seen the seeming raising corpse of William and heard that grotesque moaning voice, she could not shake the feeling of dread. Granted, she had not much experience with corpses to begin with. However, this felt eerie. She hadn't heard of spirits following clerics around much. Usually, after the rites, souls go and pass on. That which lingers is liable to become a problem. Ghouls, zombies, and other sorts of undead are a plague on the living.
But these nightmares are strange. Ophilia felt compelled to try and hear what those parted lips are trying to say. The word "savior" holds little to no meaning for her on its own. What is William trying to tell her? It all feels so ominous, more so given how he had died under such mysterious circumstances.
Ophilia rubs the bridge between her eyes with her hands tiredly, not noticing Primrose emerge from below at last. The cleric had even missed the huntress sparring barehanded with the warrior on the spar deck entirely.
There is a loud thud that finally draws her attention. H'aanit had finally flipped Olberic onto his back after a long and arduous battle of attrition. Unfortunately, her stamina is not as tuned as Olberic and he reverses it on her, slamming her onto the deck beside himself. The huntress coughs as the wind is knocked out of her, but her grip does not relent. The two seem to be at a stalemate in each other's grasp. When the tie is clear, they relinquish their holds to catch their breath. Ophilia trots over worriedly and Primrose approaches with bored amusement.
"A-are you alright?" Ophilia looks to the huntress and warrior, "After so much fighting you both are still so energetic!"
"It doth always helpen to train," H'aanit gives the cleric a tired smile and flicks a lock of hair off her sweaty face, "Mine wounds botheren me not."
"Well, that's good to hear... But that still seemed so rough..."
"Oh, come on now, dear Sister," Primrose says melodramatically, "They're hale and hearty fighters. It would be a crime to cage a lion."
Olberic sits up and stretches he shoulder looking at the huntress, "You fight very well."
"Weren that a surprise?" H'aanit chuckles, "Thine speed weren more than I hath thoughten."
"That's a rather high compliment," Primrose says with a slight smile, looking at the huntress, "Ah, right, you are one of the dear Sister's companions. Are you also affiliated with the church?"
"Nay," H'aanit stands and pats down her pants, "Ophilia be'en my benefactor."
"I see."
Hägen struts over along with Linde. While the wolf stays a small distance away from the strangers, Linde brushes against Ophilia, goading the cleric to give her a scratch between the ears, which Ophilia obliges, eliciting a deep purr.
"This is a rather smooth voyage," Primrose curls a lock of hair behind her ear.
"Indeede. Thanken the gods," H'aanit looks up, "And the night ist beautiful."
"I believe I will retire for the night," Olberic stands with a grunt, "That was a fine session."
H'aanit nods as the warrior takes his leave back down below. She sees a somewhat childish expression on Primrose's face, "What?"
"Ah, sorry," Primrose giggles, "It's just, if we hadn't seen you literally manhandle him, the last bit might have been misunderstood as something more salacious."
H'aanit and Ophilia stare at the dancer, not understanding her implicative humor. She sighs and shrugs, "Am I the only one who thought so? Really?"
"I doen not understandeth whattest thou meant," H'aanit blinks.
"I'm talking about matters regarding men and … well, bedroom activities."
The thought hits Ophilia like a battering ram and she instantly flushes, "W-That's so...!"
The sheer incredulity prevents her from even getting out the rest of her sentence. The cleric's mouth merely hangs open indignantly. The dancer chuckles, as she had expected this reaction. H'aanit, however, seems oblivious still.
…
In the pages of the traveling journal she had picked from Leon's trove, Tressa was swept along for a tale of which she had always dreamed. The writer unfortunately never mentions his own name, nor does he sign any of his pages. The dates are scattered and inconsistent. But it adds to the authenticity of the product, reasons Tressa. Otherwise, she might have thought it to be a normal book and not a journal. Yes, it is highly likely this book was the product of real travel.
Her fingers graze the yellowed edges of parchment lovingly as she comes to the pages about the nameless writer traversing the forests of the Woodlands. The narrator is kind enough to have left various sketches and notes of what could be maps. Tressa doesn't recognize any of them, but they are nonetheless fascinating.
"I often think of what good it does someone to maybe go out once in a while. I realize I sound like an inane fool caught in his own web of gibberish. I have traveled for so long, alone, that perhaps I have begun to lose it. But the thought of my wife and son keeps me going through the rain and blustering gales, not to mention the horrid beasts that prowl our realm..."
From what Tressa had read so far, this mysterious traveler seems to hail from somewhere in the Flatlands, as that is where his journal begins. He seems to searching for something, implied to be of the medicinal nature. Back home, he has a wife and son. It's not stated what this medicine is for, but it seems to be of utmost importance, as he scours Orsterra to find it. It might have something to do with the family he left behind.
So far, he is wandering around the middle of the border from the Frostlands to the Woodlands. On this trek, he remarks on the growth of evergreen trees that transition between the cold of the west Frostlands and the temperate climate of the Woodlands.
"A great deal of people I spoke to talk about the weather up here in the north of Orsterra. There truly seems to be a lack of natural fruits and vegetables that thrive here. While there are nuts, they are tedious and inefficient for humans to eat. That explains the predatory side of many of the animals here. I nearly got caught by a pack of wolves in the snows. They chased me up a tree! Thank the gods they did not know how to stand on each other's shoulders to climb!"
Tressa chuckles at the funny imagery.
Cyrus rubs his eyes a bit and yawns. He puts his reading aside to stretch a moment before stumbling slightly, grabbing onto the side of the ship for support, "Oh, heavens, how the room turns!"
Tressa shushes him sharply as he presses a hand to his head, "What now? Everyone's sleeping!"
"Apologies, apologies..." Cyrus mumbles before sitting back down in his cot, "I admit... while I spent many a night reading by candle, I have yet to have done so on a moving ship... Mayhap that is a weakness... Oh, how it befuddles me..."
"Heh, even you can get seasick from reading," Tressa smirks.
"Some fresh air might do me well," Cyrus sighs and stands, still wobbly, "I envy you child. You don't seem to feel such adverse effects..."
"Puh-leeze. Have you even gone on ships much?"
"Well, I confess this is only my second time. The first time I was sleeping off a near assassination, however, and so I had not experienced this vertigo..."
"Uh huh..." Tressa stares pointedly at Cyrus, "Wait, assassination?"
"Yes, you see I had somehow become a target of a hired killer who snuck onboard and nearly broke my neck! Fortunately, Ophilia-"
"Right, right..." Tressa cuts him off curtly, "Gee, leave it to you to make a good story boring."
"Hmm. Tell me, do your eyes hurt at all? Mine are used to the strain, of course..."
Tressa blinks a little and rubs her eyes. She hadn't felt the dull sting growing as she read, too thoroughly engrossed.
"Haha, you'd best save your eyesight, my dear. I am fortunate that my eyes seem capable of reading so, but many of my colleagues have to resort to lenses after years of laborious eye strain. Ah, but I suppose it comes with the territory of scholars," Cyrus laments dramatically.
"Hmf, don't underestimate merchants!" Tressa pouts childishly, "I bargained a lot on ships, so I don't get sick! Plus, we look over strings and strings of ledgers eeeevery night to count up losses and gains! And we don't go to sleep until it's done!"
"Will you two just shut up and go to sleep?!" Therion barks at the two of them, sitting up angrily in his cot.
The loudness of his voice finally wakes Alfyn up, sending the apothecary into a jolting jump, landing promptly on the floor.
"OW!"
"Ack, Alfyn!" Tressa jumps a bit too.
Mattias, who had just re-entered the room, comes upon the ensuing argument.
"Oof... Therion, ya shouldn't be so loud..." Alfyn yawns, getting back into bed.
"Loud- They were the loud ones!" Therion points at Tress and Cyrus accusingly. He warily keeps himself from looking at Mattias at the door.
"Well, we didn't wake Alfyn!" Tressa shoots back.
"Oh, the shouting is not helping my headache..." Cyrus moans, massaging his temples.
"What is going on here?" Olberic's voice sounds behind Mattias, giving the merchant a start, "You should all be resting for the day ahead."
"Tsk..." Therion scowls and turns over, clutching his dagger under his poncho "If these people shut up, that'd be a miracle..."
"Oof, I better go up, excuse me..." Cyrus pushes past Olberic and Mattias towards the upper deck.
Mattias softly sighs as he goes over to his cot and takes out his decanter before going up to join Ophilia and the others. Olberic goes to pack it in for the night and rest.
Tressa huffs, resuming her reading. Suddenly, traveling with people sounded more like a chore.
…
When the night begins to fade at long last, the crew is all largely asleep. Leon lets out a breath in the frosted morning air, chuckling at the cloud of steam issuing out of his mouth. They luckily spot no ice floes in the water this time of year. Ahead, they can see the white snowy lands rising from the horizon.
"Land ho!" Comes a call from Leon's crow's nest.
"Indeed! Godspeed, men! But keep her steady," Leon puts aside his spyglass and grasps the steering wheel of the ship, "The last thing we need is ice grating up our bilge!"
Down below, even the eager Tressa eventually drifted off to sleep as she neared the middle of the diary. She snuggles comfortably in the blanket Primrose had draped over her after she passed out. The dancer sleeps lightly in her own cot, not minding the sudden chill from the voyage. At the first light of pale morning peeping through the porthole, her eyes flutter open.
She sits up, lightly rubbing her tousled head. She wasn't a messy sleeper, but she lacks a comb. Looking around, she sees that Therion has already awoke and left his cot. With a mischievous smile, Prim ties her hair back up and goes to walk out in search of the thief.
As she passes, H'aanit sits up with a yawn.
"Ah, good morning," Primrose whispers.
"Mm... good morrow," Linde yawns and H'aanit gently scratches her head, "How waren thine rest?"
"Lovely. Like being rocked to sleep in a cradle," Primrose smiles. Their breath, even down in the cabin, emits puffs of vapor due to the chill.
H'aanit starts to get dressed and her beasts stretch.
"Ah, morning routine?" Primrose looks over the huntress' physique.
"Indeede. I goeth to train atop. Tis small of a space but one oughten be diligent," H'aanit lightly peeps under her shirt, "And mine wounds feelen much better."
Just as the huntress is talking about training, Olberic also wakes. He quietly shakes off the cold and drowsiness, wordlessly picking up his weapons to go upstairs, no doubt to train again. As he passes, he nods with acknowledgement at the two women.
Primrose chuckles, watching the other's broad silhouette go up the stairs, "I shall come up as well."
The dancer walks up along with the huntress and her beasts. Linde curiously grazes her bare legs. Primrose chuckles at the fur against her skin.
"Thou dresseth quite bare," H'aanit remarks, "Feeleth thee not the chill?"
"I am quite alright, thank you," Primrose chuckles airily, "My, everyone thinks me quite frail..."
"Thou spaketh like one knowing, yet thou looketh rather … like the reed that standen in the wind."
"How poetic," Primrose looks with a sultry glimmer in her eye to the other, "I didn't quite get that meaning entirely... but it sounded quite nice."
"There aren many in this realm who haven the tongue of a serpent... yet lacketh the sturdiness to withstanden storms. The reeds and grass swayeth. Some willen be rippeden, others be'en flexible to remaineth," H'aanit says pensively, looking at the dancer, "I haven seen thine dance in battle. Yet I knowen not thine true strength."
"I'll just take it as flattery," Primrose laughs lightly, "I didn't think you were watching me."
"Thine movement doth drawen the eye," H'aanit says bluntly. Coming from her, it surprises the dancer, and a small, nigh imperceptible tinge flushes Prim's cheeks.
"Oh! Well then," Primrose turns quickly as they go onto the top deck, feeling the cold air, "I do dance... for pay, of course."
Atop the main deck, the two can see Olberic testing his strikes on the dueling mast, which is wrapped protectively. Huddled by some barrels, Therion is sitting on the floor, slouched over with his legs splayed out from under the fringe of his poncho. He seems passed out there.
"Ah, silly thief..." Primrose chuckles slightly as she walks over to Therion, lightly poking his white-haired head, "Hey, you'll freeze to death sleeping here."
Therion lightly shivers at her touch and grabs her wrist in a snap as he wakes. She chuckles as he glowers at her.
"Your hands are ice-cold," Primrose says lightly, "And you came up here to sleep?"
"Better than... being around all you noisy people," The thief coughs lightly.
Therion had come up to sleep after Mattias returned downstairs with Ophilia and the others for the night. He wasn't going to sleep well around that guy for sure. The cold of the outside was preferable to that suffocating fear down below.
"Don't tell me you got sick being stubborn as a mule," Primrose raises an eyebrow at the thief, "Alfyn'll be worried sick."
"Oh, shut up," Therion stands stiffly, trying to get the tickle out of his throat, "I don't need anyone worried about me."
Primrose smiles softly. She looks out at the white snowy lands surrounding them as they near their destination. North Orsterra... soon she will step foot back on land she had not seen in many years...
"The morning air is fresh here, isn't it?" Leon calls down from the quarter deck. He smiles seeing the huntress training and running up and down the length of the ship.
"Indeed!" Primrose calls back up, "Are we near Flamesgrace?"
"Aye, the lower port is where we'll dock shortly. The city is on a bit further from there."
"Any idea where you're headed now that we're so close?" Primrose glances to the thief at her side.
"Nothing with you," Therion mutters.
"Maybe, maybe not, hm? We ended up coming this far," Primrose pretends to think a second, "Ah, if we do split up, who you suppose Alfyn will choose?"
Therion side-eyes the dancer for her attempt of a provocation, "... Don't care."
"Well, the road gets very lonely, dear thief..." Primrose goes to saunter over to where the warrior trains, "If you died, it'd be best to be with someone you trust rather than alone, no?"
After the annoying dancer is out of earshot, the thief grumbles to himself as he tries to warm up a bit.
There isn't anyone to trust but yourself...
…
After everyone has largely woken up and gotten their stuff together, the Azure Wind docks at the southern Flamesgrace port. The snowy port is a big jump from the bustling shores of the Coastlands. Unlike Rippletide, this port is nearly deserted save some fishers who also work the wharf. They patrol the area for floes in the water, which they break up with pointed harpoons.
The crew dons a heavy layer to ward off the cold as they pull out the steps to board onto the pier. The party files out from under the deck to disembark the ship.
"Watch your steps," Leon says, wearing a thicker coat, "The piers here are slick with the ice from water."
"Thanks again, cap- I mean, Leon!" Tressa does a cheery salute and waves to the captain as she goes to leave the ship, "Dunno where we'd be without your help!"
"Likely still back at Rippletide, stranded in want for a ship," Cyrus interjects obliviously.
"Ahaha, Cyrus, that was rhetorical," Ophilia chuckles.
"Hm? Ah, as in… Ahh, yes, I had heard of these 'self-answered by the context' sayings," Cyrus seems to be put into new thought by the notion, "It isn't something very common, is it? Tis a bit confounding as I am more in tune with questions that require answers… rather than not."
Therion grunts and shoves past the rambling scholar to disembark. Cyrus nearly topples into the harbor if not for Olberic grabbing his caplet and pulling him back. The warrior looks to the uncaring thief and sighs.
"Therion, that wasn't very nice!" Alfyn ends up being the one who goes to chide him. Therion rolls his eyes and saves his voice, as the tickle hasn't left yet.
Primrose chuckles as she touches foot onto the frosty little pier. She fancies the puffs of air from every breath she exhales and walks with a small jig in her step towards the dock. Her attire earns her no shortage of attention.
"Hey!" One of the dock workers hollers at her, "Ye'll freeze to death, lass!"
"Oho, don't worry yourself about me," Primrose gives a wily wink, sending the man's face red, "It will take more than a little cold to bring me down."
"Mayhap thou oughten a coat purchaseth," H'aanit says offhandedly, "Strength be'en one thing, aye… but canst thou the chill wardeth for long?"
"We shall see," Primrose shrugs, a suggestive smile on her face."
"T-There's news of a storm oncoming too!" The dock worker sputters, "A coat wouldn't do ya nothin' then!"
"Ah, if we're all so near… I insist you all stay a while at the cathedral to pass the storm then!" Ophilia pipes up, "You all helped greatly with the whole pirate affair…"
"Aw shucks, we didn't really…"
"Achoo!" Tressa sneezes and sniffles, fumbling to pull out her overcoat she had packed, "Wherever we're going, let's make like the wind, eh? Time is money!"
Leon laughs heartily, "Well, I wish all of you luck then!"
"Yep, good luck to your search too," Mattias waves to the other, "May our paths cross again."
"You'll see, Leon!" Tressa hollers back to the captain, "I'll be an even better merchant than you the next time we meet!"
"Bold words, lass! I shall look forward to our next meeting then!"
Tressa waves emphatically to the captain as the party of nine go to make their way from the port. Seeing as there is a storm coming, none of them really wanted to be caught with their pants down amid new territory.
…
"Ah, Anna will be so happy to hear we've got the medicine…" Ophilia smiles to herself.
"Haha, she might be too tired from all that Kindling decorum training or whatever they're having her do," Mattias chuckles.
The group walks through the streets of Flamesgrace. The beginnings of the storm can be seen to the city's north, with dark clouds growing and small flakes of snow showering down. The townsfolk are preparing their usual routines for a storm. Some Knights Ardante run about to help with the elderly and others in need.
"Ah, I wonder if we should buy anything in case…" Ophilia puts a pensive hand to her mouth, "I hadn't informed anyone of extra visitors…"
"No need. We can very well just stay at the local inn," Primrose says dismissively, "I'm not sure about you all, but I'd rather not stay in a cathedral anyways."
"You might be a bit hard-pressed with the inn right now," Mattias points a thumb at the inn's way, "With the Kindling about to take off, there's bound to be plenty of folks already shacking up there to get a peek at the ceremony once it starts."
"Kindling?" Alfyn perks up, "Uh… that twenty-year thing, right? With the lantern and…"
"My dear Alfyn," Cyrus exclaims, practically grabbing the other man's shoulders, "The Kindling is an event sacred to the entire continent! It appalls me that your mentors have not explained its finer details to you in full! It is practically meant to be common knowledge!"
"Cool it, nut case," Therion gruffly separates the apothecary and scholar, "Who the hell cares about age-old mystic crap like that in this day and age?"
"Ahem, you shouldn't dismiss something so historically grounded and sacred as though it were a fairy tale!" Cyrus lectures on, "The Kindling, as the records of Aelfric's words were verbatim, must be held in order to hold back the darkness of the afterworld and-"
"ANYWAY," Mattias clears his throat, "It's some sort of a big deal. You wouldn't be finding a lot of empty rooms with that going down."
Primrose folds her arms, eyeing the merchant, "… It might do to ask beforehand before I go to the cathedral then."
"Suit yourself," Mattias shrugs, nonconfrontational, "Fili will be sure to save you a room in case."
"Uh, I'll come with ya, Prim!" Alfyn volunteers, "I wanna see a bit more o'town!"
"Idiot, there's no weird grasses here with all this snow," Therion grumbles hoarsely, "And aren't you cold?"
Alfyn's vitality is certainly admirable. However, even he is beginning to show some shivers with just his vest and pale shirt on. These clothes are meant to dry quick and so are thin. Nonetheless, he gives the thief a thumbs up gesture.
"It's fine! We'll be warm and toasty once we get indoors!" He then looks quizzically to the thief, "Therion, is your voice alright?"
Therion brushes him off with a flippant wave of the hand, clearing his throat, "It's fine."
"Uh… I-if you'd like to check your options, we'll be at the cathedral then, I guess," Ophilia offers still.
"That's for free, right?" Tressa interjects, "I'd be stupid to pass free lodging up!"
H'aanit sighs at the ruckus they are making, "Letten us go where we must then, afore the storm catchen us here and now."
…
Alfyn rubs his bare elbows in a futile effort to keep warm as he and Prim crunch through the snow-covered ground to the one inn in town. The dancer's steps are incredibly steady despite her shoes on the terrain, not to mention the biting cold building with the wind. Once the inn door opens, Alfyn feels that deliciously warm burst of air from inside. He gratefully enters after Primrose into the establishment.
Flamesgrace inn is quietly preparing for the storm as is everyone else. Morning preparations were lumped in with storm preparations. The staff hustles about, gathering extra blankets and food for guests from the storage. From the amounts they carry about, it doesn't seem to be a small number of patrons. Alfyn licks his lips, smelling the hot breakfast being prepared.
"Haha, oh, sorry…" Alfyn ducks out of the way of one worker, "Matty wasn't kidding, huh?"
"Matty?" Primrose glances at the apothecary.
"Mattias. Matty sounds, y'know, friendlier?" Alfyn chuckles.
Prim cannot help but give a small scoff and a smile, "… You barely know him, Alfyn…"
She had no intention of stifling the apothecary's goodwill. However, she remains wary of the merchant man after the trace sensation she felt aboard the ship. There are too many foul men in the world that can hide behind a nice smile and charming attitude. Alfyn is a very... sheltered person in comparison to herself. But she could not find herself eager to shatter his belief in others.
"He's helped us out getting here, hehe. I think we can trust him!" Alfyn grins, then looks to the dancer, "You don't like him?"
"I don't trust him just yet," Primrose states bluntly, then puts on an innocent face and places a finger to her lips, "But that can be our little secret."
"Hehe, gotcha! Ya don't seem all on board stayin' at the church either, Prim," Alfyn tilts his head slightly, "Is somethin' wrong?"
"… Perceptive," Primrose says with a slight sigh, "I'm just… not a fan of the church."
Despite his often-dense demeanor, Alfyn has moments of intense clarity and insight that surprise the dancer. Sometimes, they are ill-timed, however.
"But that's nothing important," Primrose waves a hand dismissively and walks up to the inn keeper.
The mustached man looks to her after putting aside some boxes, "Ah, miss, can I help you?"
"Yes, I am looking for a room tonight?"
"Ahh, it pains me to turn away such a beautiful woman," The inn keeper scratches his balding scalp, "I'm afraid there's simply no room left. It's a full house. I even sold the closet under the stairwell…"
Primrose purses her lips. She hadn't expected it to be a lie from Mattias. Yet, she still wanted to avoid that house of pretentious holiness…
"I see… Thank you," Primrose sighs and walks away from the counter.
"Uh, w-wait, do you have any place to stay? Maybe someone you know here-"
"It's fine. Thank you," Primrose tosses a hollow gesture of a smile to the man before walking to the door. She calls to Alfyn, who is warming up by the inn fireplace, "Alfyn? Ready to go?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah!" Alfyn follows her out, "No luck huh?"
"It can't be helped. This place isn't big enough unlike Sunshade…" Prim scoffs as she greets the cold outside once more.
"Oh, uh… sorry about that, Prim. You're not at all happy going, are you?" Alfyn suppresses an initial shudder in the cold.
"It's fine. It is only one night after all," Primrose looks up at the clouded sky as the icy wind begins to blow, "Let's be quick, Alfyn. I hope they saved you a bed too… but if they didn't, you can share mine."
"Aw shucks, that's..." Alfyn rubs the back of his head sheepishly.
"I am just teasing," Prim chuckles, "Therion will probably give up his bed for you instead."
"Ah, right, I wanna see about that tickle in his voice I heard! This is some nasty weather that can really get you sick!"
…
Upon arriving to the cathedral first, the nuns all besiege Ophilia at first sight, bombarding her with questions.
"Good gods, Ophilia is back!"
"A day early nonetheless!"
The others hang back a bit as the cleric explains the people she'd bought from out of town. Therion takes this occasion to slip away into the halls of the cathedral unnoticed. There's bound to be some treasure or coffer here in the church for its funds...
"Rooms for all seven?" Patricia huffs, folding her arms, "Good gods, Ophilia, your generosity needs some foresight! You are lucky we have the room in the convent!"
"Fili!"
Lianna tackles Ophilia in a bear hug, having pushed past the nuns. Ophilia hugs her sister back warmly, "Anna...!"
"Thank the gods you're back!" Anna looks Ophilia in the face, as if they hadn't seen each other in ages, "I was so worried!"
"Anna, you're in training...! You need to focus..." Ophilia perks up as she remembers, "Oh, we got some medicine for f- his Excellency!"
"R-really?" Hope glimmers in the sister's eyes.
"Alright, alright," Mattias chuckles, "You two run over to the archbishop with the medicine alright? We'll get settled in."
He tosses the medicine cube to the cleric, who manages to catch it. Ophilia and Lianna then run off with a wave to Josef.
"Ah, Mattias, you've returned."
The nuns clear and conduct themselves at the sound of the Pontiff's voice. Julius strides over, prim and proper already for the day.
"Your Holiness," Mattias bows, "Gods be merciful, I was just about to go look for you myself."
"I am glad to hear you and Ophilia were successful in your small trip. And in due time before the start of the Kindling," Julius smiles, "Shall we go talk in private?"
Mattias and Julius walk off, chatting like old friends. The remainder of the clergy look at the leftover guests. Patricia sighs irritably, pinching her nasal bridge.
"First the beasts and now an entire riffraff..."
"We'll be in your care!" Tressa waves enthusiastically.
"W-well, let's show you to your rooms first..." One of the nuns raises an eyebrow, "Wait, Ophilia did say seven of you right? Where are the others?"
"She is right!" Cyrus exclaims, "Mr. Therion appears to have vanished from our midst!"
Linde gives a slightly distrustful growl. H'aanit sighs, "Likely he runneth elsewhere in these halls..."
"Uhh, the other three will be along shortly!" Tressa pipes up, "It's fine, it's fine! Let's go put our stuff down first!"
Olberic says nothing, eyeing the hallowed walls and halls of the church. For a moment, he seems too distracted as the others gather their things to go inside to the guest quarters.
"My good man," Cyrus taps his shoulder, snapping him out of his daze, "Are you alright? They are leading us to the rooms we have been allotted."
"Ah," Olberic looks to the guiding nun with Tressa and H'aanit, "I... had a lapse of thought."
"Indeed!" Cyrus exclaims, folding his arms, "While the storm is all too sudden, that we can see the grand cathedral of Flamesgrace is nonetheless a blessing in disguise! The architecture left is simply astounding! Would that I could conduct a thorough ethnography here and look over the engineering reports... ah, but alas, I have places to be."
"Hm," Olberic shifts the duffel on his shoulder as he goes to follow the nun, "You are bound for the Cliftlands once the storm lifts, correct? That is in line, it seems, with mine and the huntress' destinations."
"Really? Oh, how intriguing..." Cyrus blinks, "Hm, that is interesting. Perhaps it would be wise if we all traveled together?"
"Indeed. That seems to be the custom these days on the road."
"Hmm," Cyrus pulls his valise along beside the warrior, "Such dangerous times we live in."
…
"What, His Excellency was bedridden again?" Ophilia exclaims as she and Lianna catch up, walking down the hallway.
"It wasn't his cough this time, thank the gods," Lianna sighs, "But his knees were bad for a while, you must recall..."
"Ah, right..." Ophilia sighs in turn, "The cold surely does him no favors either..."
"... If only I could bring him down to the warmer places..." Lianna murmurs, "It'd be nice, wouldn't it? We could all go down to Goldshore or something, just the three of us! I hear they have warm beaches full of sand and sunshine all day long!"
"It sounds like it would be good for his health..." Ophilia wistfully smiles, "But we both know His Excellency is all too dedicated to his work here..."
Lianna pauses in her steps at Ophilia's words. Ophilia looks back to the other's downcast expression.
"Ah, Anna?" Ophilia goes to take one of her sister's hands, "I-I'm sorry. This was supposed to be a happier day..."
"... worth it...?"
"Eh?" Ophilia could not hear what Lianna was mumbling. She feels the other's hand squeeze tight on her own.
"Is our faith..." Lianna asks in a low, but clearer, voice, "... worth it?"
Ophilia flinches a little at the question. Nervously, she tries to laugh it off, "W-what are you saying, Anna..."
"All this time I spend praying to the gods with father... and he never gets any better... Why...?" Lianna bites her bottom lip, "I'm going on this whole Kindling because of some old tradition... but I don't even know if I can be with my own father at the end of it! So... what's the point, Fili...?!"
Ophilia had rarely seen Lianna like this. The last fit she had was when they were preparing to go to the Cave of Origin. However, whatever training she went through over these past four days seem to have put strain on her... or at least, Ophilia hoped it was due to the training.
"Anna..." Ophilia says gently, cupping her sister's face with one hand, "I... I don't know what plans the gods have for any of us... But we know why the Kindling is important... His Excellency would want nothing less an honor for-"
"Oh, to hell with honor!" Lianna had never cursed before. Realizing what she had just said, she instantly tries to retract it, then just ends up clamming shut, "..."
"Anna!" Ophilia says with exasperation. Luckily, no one else is around to hear.
"... I guess..." Lianna wipes at her own watery eyes, "I'm just scared... I had a lot of time to think while you were gone... With the meditations and all that..."
"I'm sorry..." Ophilia looks down at their interlocked hands, "I would be scared too if..."
If he was also my father...
An uncomfortable and awkward silence follows. The sisters seem at a loss for words to follow. Ophilia gently tries to draw Lianna closer to herself as the other wipes away at her premature tears.
"...Ah..." Lianna hastily recomposes herself, pulling out of the hug, "What are we dawdling about for... The medicine! Let's get that to father...!"
"Oh, right..." Ophilia returns a weak smile.
You are... so strong, Lianna...
…
Therion traipses around nonchalantly through the halls. When someone passes, he hides out of view behind a column or something. Sometimes, he gets an urge to cough, which he suppresses. So far, he had gotten some silken hankies from a passing member of the clergy or two, but nothing big. Where is the big stash?
"Tsk..."
He turns the corner and sees a cleric. Silently, he sidles along the walls to sideswipe what they've got.
To his surprise, the cleric has a cane, which she jabs right at the wall before him, blocking his maneuver. She then turns to face him. His eyes widen. Her hair has grayed, with more white strands from then, and her face is more aged and wrinkled... But he could still see that face...
"..."
"A sneaker?" Natalie chuckles, "Ah, you feel... familiar..."
He glimpses her scarred eyes. Those must be birdian wounds... So, she did survive.
"I can sense you, even if you stay quiet," Natalie retracts her cane, "Hmm... but I'm having the teensiest bit of trouble remembering who you are..."
"..." Therion goes to turn and leave.
"You wouldn't happen to be from the Cliftlands?" She calls after him, slowing down his tracks.
"... Yeah," He seems to answer without his own will wanting it.
"... You? Oh, my gods..." Natalie gasps, "I never... I didn't think I would ever see you again, much less here in Flamesgrace...!"
"... Yeah," Therion scratches his head, standing awkwardly.
"My, my... how are you, Therion?" Natalie smiles and approaches the other, "As on guard as always."
"You can't even see..." Therion mutters. He resists his urge to pull away when she touches his arm.
"Well, you're right about that. I can't see in the conventional way. It's been a while since I've seen color. Is your hair still white?" She chuckles, retracting her hand, "You need to eat more."
Therion merely grunts, "Still nosy as ever."
"When you can't see, you find other ways," Natalie smiles, "You know that."
"Hmf..."
"So, you came today with Ophilia? That explains the ruckus I heard about foreigners..."
"More like dragged along..." Therion shoves his hands in his pockets.
"Such a grumbler. What brings you up north? Still not getting along with your fellow thieves?"
Therion sighs, "Say that louder, why don't you."
"I'm just teasing," Natalie smiles, "There isn't much worth for you to steal anyways, unless you're interested in sacred oil and blessed trinkets."
I need to stop wasting my time... Therion sighs, running a hand through his hair as he goes to walk back to the entryway, "Of course, of course..."
"What's that on your arm?"
The question stops him in his tracks, "...Nothing."
"It has a faint sound... you're covering it, but I can still hear it. A chain?"
Therion clicks his tongue.
"Is that why you're here? You're a prisoner?"
He could walk away. But she lives here. She'll probably keep following and asking questions. Therion gives a long sigh, replying thickly.
"...It's a long story."
"Hmm, it sounds like one... Well, unless you're in a hurry to get back to the others, we have time. I have a quiet corner in the place we can talk over some tea and biscuits after you have a bath... It sounds like a nice way to pass a storm, no?"
Therion scoffs, biting back a slight laugh.
"Ah!" Natalie exclaims with surprise, "Was that a laugh just now?"
Nothing gets past this blind lady. Therion clears his throat, "You just reminded me of... someone."
"Oh, you'll have to tell me all about it..." Natalie chuckles and places a hand on his shoulder, "And let's see if we can't do something about that sore throat you've got there."