*Stealth Sneak (Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets [PS2/NGC/Xbox] OST)
**Stragagem in Black Armor (FE9 OST)
***At the Pub [Remix] (Final Fantasy Tactics Advance OST)
****Deepest Woods (Tales of Symphonia OST)
*****Miserable Spectacle (Tales of the Abyss OST)
It went without saying that Castle Krakenburg possessed a library to put almost any other collection in the world to shame. However, there was one genre which said library saw little in the way of; ancient folklore. When pressed about it, those in the know (and unlikely to speak about the topic to anyone else, not least of whom their king), they would generally claim their people were above such (in the words of Duke Toscana, "infantile superstitions") things. However, Azura knew for a fact that, while dispositions varied by individual, the supernatural played a not-insignificant role in the Nohrian worldview. If no one would help her, she would simply have to help herself.
After a month straight of fruitless inquiries, the mysterious princess knew she lacked any other option save for investigating the only section of the library left unexplored; the wing forbidden to all but Nohrian kings (and the rare crown prince). Unfortunately, it was not exactly in a state of disuse; she'd witnessed Leo emerging from it many times, seeming even less-pleased to see her than usual. It went without saying that if he noticed some of his favorite tomes missing, the consequences could very well be deadly for her. Nonetheless, the information contained in there could very well be the key to determining what (if anything) was wrong with the king and rectifying the problem. With this in mind, late that night, well-satisfied that both Corrine (fortunately for Azura, her lover snored) and especially the king were asleep, she set out for the library with but a lantern, a rucksack, and the knife contained at the bottom as a last resort.
*The castle library had quite the different atmosphere at night. The dignified, towering mahogany shelves, rather than inspiring awe, inspired dread, knowing fully well their potential to hide predators or worse, a king's minions with authorization to protect his secrets with deadly force. She never exactly considered herself especially courageous, but Azura could admit to herself that she was more than a little frightened without Corrine's protection. Nonetheless, she pressed on, recovering the key stowed behind a false book on one of the librarian's shelves and stalked towards the southwestern edge of the library, now very, very conscious of just how noisy her footsteps were.
Unlocking the chain restricting the door and carefully setting it down behind a shelf, Azura braced herself for what awaited her beyond. Ever so gently pushing back the ancient door, it came as little surprise to her that the forbidden wing was cavernous and dusty, having been scarcely used for centuries apart from Leo. What came as less welcome however, was the genuinely oppressive atmosphere in the area, as if much of the breath had been sucked from her lungs. On a whim, Azura removed a few tomes from their places (on the shelf's edges; far easier to remember) and, from what she witnessed, found them forbidden for good reason: Their pages were lined with directions on creating all sorts of horrible potions and spells, some of which even began to make her sick from their mere description. But while shuttered away in this wing of the library, these tomes were a couple of centuries old at the very most. No, the information which she sought would only be contained in the most ancient of texts.
Two hours of increasingly unpleasant searches saw Azura visibly disturbed, yet no closer to the truth behind Corrine's beloved king and his change in behavior. But this would all change with her examination of the very rear of the wing, discovering a number of tomes, centuries-old and literally falling apart more often than not, one in particular titled Heroic Chronicles. Taking great care not to sneeze from the dust kicked up, Azura could tell, both from the antiquated expressions and age of the paper, that this was an extremely old text, at least eight hundred years old, yet miraculously, still legible for the modern kingdom's (literate) inhabitants.
Skimming over the first few pages, the songstress was able to gain little from the retelling of ancient, long-forgotten Nohrian myths and legends, save for one and, coincidentally, it was concerning a topic Azura was extremely interested in, quietly reciting from the yellow, worn pages. "The First Dragon, Selenos, has always been most pleased with the valorous, those who strive endlessly against heathenry and their disgusting iniquities. And no man has been more beloved of the Lunar Dragon than the great-"
Tantalizingly and frustratingly enough, the page was torn, whether by age or by conscious design, cutting off the information about the figure patronized by the dragon and this page was not an isolated incident: In the descriptions of the horrendously-violent military campaigns and plundering raids and atrocities (including the massacre of an entire noble house of his followers for the defiance of one member!) ordered on the following pages, any instances of a name where there had clearly been before were deliberately expunged from the text. Curiously enough, the locations described by their features seemed to correspond with the deserts on the continent's southwest. Wasn't Hans supposed to be from that region? It would certainly explain a lot, she thought half-facetiously.*
Closing the tome and placing it in her bag, Azura then turned to the deceptively-titled Hymns of Praise, an equally-old tome which the exiled princess expected to be rather mundane until she actually opened it. The majority of the hymns were meaningless to her, clearly written and for an entirely different time, place, and culture. The fact that an enigmatic "king" and his bloody escapades were the subject of a good half of the hymns was interesting, to put it lightly, but a couple of the hymns proved oddly prescient to Azura's subconscious as she repeated:
"Woe be to the heathens!" began Azura fearfully. "For their fates are thus:
In the north, our king's shade brings them righteous terror!
In the south, Lord Selenos' loyal servant feasts on their wretched bones!
In the east, they shall be humbled, their hateful winds dying on our blades, made our slaves in their golden land!"
Granted, she had no clue whatsoever the first line meant, but Azura could not help but on some level, to speculate on a connection to the present-day. But it was only the hymn contained on the very last page (and upon closer inspection, the first as well) that sent a chill's down the princess' spine.
"O King of Thieves," she repeated once more. "O Demon King, O King of Darkness. O King, you rule all!"
This one reads like a prayer, almost liturgical, thought the princess, stowing the ancient tome in her bag. That name, Selenos, was mentioned again. Could the "king of thieves" be referring to the figure beloved by the dragon? It was not out of the question by any means at all and the fact that it was explicitly designated as a First Dragon-
Azura would have investigated the shelves further if not for the very audible footsteps from the other room. Feeling her heart leap into her stomach, the songstress collected her effects and made a hurried pace for the door, quietly as she could possibly manage, hoping, praying that the late-night visitor was not one of the king's servants or even worse, the lord of the castle himself.
Clearing the threshold with the source of the footsteps still in the distance, Azura cursed to herself as she recalled the chain barricading the door, going down on her hands and knees in an attempt to locate exactly where she'd placed it. The oddly-heavy footsteps only becoming clearer, the princess, finally locating the iron implement, wiped her hands, increasingly moist with perspiration, on the side of her nightgown, struggling even further not to make any more noise with the chains.
Gently, gradually, and with as little noise as humanly possibly, Azura gradually began returning the door to its (apparently) unmolested state, remaining oddly-cool until she fumbled with and dropped the key to the lock, anxiously patting the floor around her in search of it as the footsteps became very, very apparent, finally replacing the lock to its original position before, a literal second later, discovering the source of the footsteps emerging from behind a nearby shelf.
"Ngh, Lady Azura, is that you?" Charlotte groaned sleepily.
"Oh, Charlotte!" she exclaimed, still not as relieved as she would have liked to be. "You surprised me! What brings you down here at this hour?"
"Milord sent me to collect a few books of his he left down here. He'd have done it himself, but you know how he gets when he's doing his meditations in his study or garden; he gets really pissy until he gets to do so again."
"Did...he say what the books were about by any chance?"
Charlotte gave a yawn far too bellowing for such a (n apparently) dainty woman. "I dunno. Some kind of spellbooks or something about potions. Speaking of which, why are you here at this ungodly hour anyway?"
While technically not face-to-face with an enforcer of the king's, Azura's relief was not nearly what she'd expected it to be; she had not, after all, prepared an excuse for any of his mistresses or concubines. Nonetheless, Charlotte's skimpy, low-cut nightgown (she was almost certain Leo had "suggested" for her), their close proximity, and her not-negligible knowledge of Nohrian cultural quirks, left the azure princess an audacious, but (if successful) possibly effective escape if her acting skills were up to the task.
Smirking coyly, Azura lightly touched the base of the blonde's left breast, circling just as lightly. "You know, Charlotte," she began airily. "you're an extremely attractive woman. Corrine thinks so too, you know."
"What the-" replied Charlotte, not as hostile as either had expected. "Are you coming onto me?"
"And if I am?"
Recoiling slightly, the blonde was exceptionally grateful the lantern's light hid her slight blush. "But what about Lady Corrine-"
"Oh, what about her?" asked Azura noncommittally, the words tasting like pure poison as they left her lips. "The king is really fond of the two of you, you know. Not so much myself. Maybe I could make myself scarce for a night and let you three- get to know each other a little better? I'm sure he wouldn't mind at all if you and Corrine did so as long as you let him in on the fun at some point. Just for your information, Corrine really loves it when you bite her-"
"Excuse me a second, milady."
Turning away from the princess, Charlotte took several hurried steps to the other end of the shelf, her breathing somewhat heavier than she had expected, due not least to how...intriguing she was finding the proposal from the songstress. Yeah, both she and Corrine were attractive, everybody knew that! It was also an open secret that she and Corrine were lovers. If that was your thing, it's your thing, she thought. But the idea of actually sleeping with her, even if only for the king's gratification? What if she ended up enjoying it? What if her family and (especially) parents found out somehow? What if it got out with those hicks in her hometown?! Gods knew her father had enough problems without this possibility hanging over his head.
"Er, Lady Azura-" resumed Charlotte, scarcely aware she was talking to the night air for a good five seconds.
Having eluded Charlotte and made her way back to the library entrance, Azura allowed herself an audible sigh of relief. Had she discerned what, if anything exactly, ailed Leo and how best to deal with it? Not exactly. Had she made possibly a very important discovery about the origins and original purpose of the king's lost tome and a very particularly-Nohrian obsession? Of course. Whatever the case may have been, Azura knew one thing and knew it well; whenever she could manage to wrestle Corrine away from her commitments and King Leonard's countless prying eyes and ears, it was well-past time to introduce her beloved to the missing element in this equation; to search for any possible clues remaining in Hoshido or there alike. It should still be possible, after all. Just somewhat more difficult.
**"And there it was," Matteo "explained" to his enraptured audience of nobles and common servants alike. "the wickedest thing I'd ever witnessed in my life, what the Flame Tribe and Hoshidan savages especially hold as their 'holiest' of rites."
The crowd chattered among itself with some odd mixture of terror and fury among them as they awaited the duke's enlightened thoughts on their enemy.
"Their priest would take the living child, a babe really, and place it in the downward-sloping hands of one of their idols, a woman from what I saw, over a burning brazier." Duke Toscana continued, his libel well-rehearsed. "From there, its limbs would contract and face crack into a sick grin as it burned alive and fell into the fire, thus pleasing their gods."
"OH, GODS, WHY?!" shrieked a maid, on the brink of tears. "WHY?!"
Matteo shut his eyes, ostensibly in contemplation. "Their parents do it to beg favor from their gods, naturally. For a good harvest, for the health of their royals, to punish Nohr and the like."
A particularly outraged nobleman's fury made him seem a head larger than his actual size. "That's the most disgusting thing I've ever heard!" he raged. "They really are nothing but beasts wearing human skins!"
The knight captain beside him gestured in agreement. "Why do we even let these animals exist on our continent anyway?! Whatever we could even fathom doing to them, the savages deserve even worse!"
His expression somewhere between fatigue and mournfully contemplative, Duke Matteo gave no indication of the smug self-satisfaction and relief he received from the outrage of his peers. Unlike most of his contemporaries, the manipulative duke, instead of simply accepting them as immutable facts of life, actually gave conscious thought to the fixations and prejudices running rampant in Nohrian society. Of course, his only real concerns surrounding these were neither moral nor intellectual, but practical; after all, how better to leverage power, influence, and material gain, as well as taking focus off of the boondoggles he'd found himself involved in as of late? If the army commanders and their men took their outrage at "savage" practices out on their new charges to the east? Well, that was the savages' problem, not his own.
Elsewhere in the castle, a pair of the king's horsemen prowled the cavernous halls, the true outlier being recalled from his duties and evacuated posthaste as to confer with the king as to their new strategy. "So what exactly are these 'ranches' for anyway?" inquired Hans disinterestedly. "Doesn't it just make more sense to have the savages as slaves outright?"
The old knight bristled at the use of the term for a number of reasons, not least of which was the fact that his grudging protege had no right whatsoever to be casting aspersions in that direction. "I can't say for sure." Gunter lied, his expression stony as ever.
"Whatever, its's not my problem. I'm just glad that preening blue-blood twit Albrecht got what was coming to him."
"That may be the most sense I've ever heard you speak, come to think of it."
Inching ever closer to the audience chamber, Gunter, his senses already fairly sharp (even without his very peculiar aid) for a man of his age, took notice of Konrad muttering to himself with glee, the jet-black living suit of armor known as Rose remaining utterly still and silent, leaving even Hans mildly disturbed. "So, he's fucking her, right?" he inquired. "Because that would actually make sense-"
The "scientist" gave an exaggerated, extremely-audible scoff at this remark. "Please! My masterpiece is far too precious for such vulgar purposes!" he simpered offendedly. "Not that I would expect the likes of you to understand."
As they continued along towards their parting ways, the bandit, well-satisfied that they were out of his earshot, continued. "You know, it would actually be a lot less creepy if that were the case."
Reflexively, the left corner of Gunter's face twitched in discomfort. "Actually, I take it back." he conceded. "What you just said- THAT is the most sense I've ever heard you make."
The palpable haze of sheer discomfort Konrad bought to even the likes of the brigand lifted mostly, Hans smirked malevolently. "Oh, and speaking of broads, you're going to love who I talked up to the king." he remarked giddily. "A buddy of mine's little girl. Of course, he probably just wants to fuck her too, but if she's anything like her old man-"
Punctuating this thought with a chuckle equally sinister, the old knight simply rolled his eyes. "Oh, joy." he remarked dryly.**
Not too far away in the king's study, Corrine, while not yet having heard back from Kaze, was nonetheless in a somewhat volatile emotional state. "She just doesn't understand like you do!" whined Corrine, her head nestled in the king's lap. "Matteo is just horrible, Pietro even more so, and the men will barely-"
The princess stopped herself from impugning Nohrian honor even further as she choked back sobs, the monarch stroking her hair affectionately. Having spent a great deal of time fantasizing about his adopted sister in an extremely similar position to this (among others) one, Leo shifted his left leg quite conspicuously as to minimize any physical clues to his actual thoughts. "There, there," he reassured, the gentleness in his tone somehow more unsettling than its common cruelty. "I realize this can't have been easy for you at all, but worry not. A couple of your sisters-in-arms will help you with that burden."
Lifting her snowy head from his lap, Corrine raised a confused eyebrow. "Wait, you said 'sisters,' right?"
The king chuckled arrogantly. "I understand your confusion, Corrine, but I have an audience with them in ten minutes' time. If you'd care to join me, all shall be made clear."
Of course accepting the offer, not even due to her obligations solely, Corrine made her way down to the corridors approaching the audience chamber ahead of her king. True, she'd never exactly been a fan of the catacomb-like architecture of much of the castle, but it was at least momentarily improved by one of her encounters, scarcely avoiding a collision with a pale, dark-haired woman her own age (if not somewhat older) wearing tattered, revealing clothing and a semi-permanent scowl, which she would have been attractive if not for in truth. "What do you want?" she snarled. "If you're another one of those blue-bloods coming to give me grief-"
"Oh, no I'm not." Corrine insisted. "It's just I've been called-"
The woman wrinkled her brow at the princess. "Oh, yeah." she remarked. "I know you now. You're that princess, the king's bitch, right?"
Whether in embarrassment at her assertions or surprise at her foul language, Corrine blushed. "That's- I'm not-"
Fortunately, she was rescued from the situation by a stony, familiar face. "Oh, Gunter!" she exclaimed. "It's been far too long!"
"Indeed it has, Lady Corrine." confirmed the old knight. "But this is not the time for pleasantries; His Majesty is surely waiting on us."
Hurried into the audience chamber, the unpleasant brunette apparently got a smirk out of Corrine down on one knee for the king. Either unwitting or apathetic to the dynamic, the monarch motioned both the women to their feet, retiring to his throne shortly. "Well, I'm not going to lie to you," he prefaced. "our military situation is...not the best right now, but I believe your skills, Corrine, will be necessary in the coming months."
"Thank you, sire." answered the princess, still chafing at the formality required with a man she'd grown up with. "But what exactly is the problem?"
The expression with which the young king responded was one of delirious anticipation and hunger, and none too settling. "The Flame Tribe savages are on the warpath. They've been raiding our supply convoys and lines for months now."
Corrine's expression turned to one of shock and confusion. "What, why?" she inquired. "Did something happen? I thought they were at peace or at least neutral-"
Leonard gestured dismissively. "The 'why' is of no import. What is important, is that I've seen fit to approve a punitive expedition to one of their major settlements in the eastern mountains."
The raven-haired woman nodded in agreement. "Perfect! Who exactly do I have to kill?"
The king's silent, smirking response even made Corrine slightly uncomfortable. "In good time, Ira. In good time. You two will, of course, be in positions of command, but first, allow me to introduce your new superior officer."
At the sound of the monarch's listless clapping, two servants dragged open the great doors secluding the audience chamber. As if on cue, clad head-to-toe in her armor of darker than the blackest night, the enigmatic Rose marched forth with her unnatural gait, giving no hint of acknowledgement as she halted about ten paces from Leonard's throne. "Ira, Corrine, this is Rose, easily the strongest of my Four Horsemen." he introduced. "She'll be your commanding officer. That alone should tell you how important I consider this task."
She was a woman who went out of her way to try to see the best in people, true. However, perhaps it was her inhuman movements or lack of audible (as far as she could tell) respiration, that made the snowy-haired princess' skin crawl at the sight or even mere presence of Rose. Still, whatever body shape and posture she could have discerned from the her stance, made Corrine find Rose somehow...familiar on some level or another."
"H-Hello there," Corrine began, suppressing a grimace as she extended her hand. "I'm Corrine. H-how do you do, Lady Rose?"
The princess' awkward attempt at an introduction provoked a complete and utter lack of reaction, or even acknowledgement of her presence. "Okay...not the most talkative person around..."
"Save your breath, milady." said a high-ranking soldier, lazing against one of the pillars. "Lady Rose never speaks unless its absolutely necessary. I'm Armin, by the way; her adjutant."
A moderately-tall, gangly man with messy dark hair, Armin's expression appeared to be one of permanent boredom more than anything. "Gods, this'll be awful." he remarked offhandedly. "Weeks, if not months away from home, cold, and irrationally-murderous heathens."
"Hoo, boy." thought Corrine, shaking his hand. "This is going to be one long assignment."
As his new colleague turned to stomp from the chamber, Gunter thought, rather uncharacteristically, it appropriate to regale his liege with his rather-odd sense of humor: Pantomiming drawing a polearm, he shortly thereafter pantomimed stabbing himself in the stomach with his lance, letting himself lean over to the side as far as his armor would allow him without actually falling, waiting until Ira was well out of earshot. "Well, milord?" he inquired, somewhat less-severely than usual.
"Yes, her attitude could easily wear thin after a short while." confirmed Leo, well-aware of the joke. " But would it not be interesting to see the likes of her and Pietro clash?"
"I suppose. But we already have a mad dog in our ranks. Do we really need a rabid bitch as well?"
"That is a fair point, but nonetheless, they both have their uses."
The group's spiriting of Shiro and Victoria out of the Chevois capital actually proceeded so smoothly, that it had concerned Karol, Tristan, and Hana alike that the ease of which was in fact, a Nohrian ruse to draw them out and exterminate them. The preparations had taken somewhat longer, four days in fact, than the tavern mistress had predicted, what with all her prior commitments. Nonetheless, one particularly-helpful member of the merchant's guild perhaps said it best the night before their departure. "You, your daughter, Sir Tristan, you've all done so much for us and our country." he reassured, putting the finishing touches on one of his finest models of wagon. "Most of us don't give one whit who your grandson's father is. He's your blood through and through, so that makes him one of us, period. Rest assured, show me a man taken in by Nohr's lies, and I'll show you a man with very few friends."
Perhaps it robbed them of the element of surprise somewhat, but a week after Hana and Rinkah's successful decapitation of the bandit horde and its chief, their caravan departed under the cover of darkness, Karol, his preeminent squire and their men riding reconnaissance, the swordswoman dividing her attention between her liege, the boy, Victoria, and the effective-yet-questionable rogue. While obviously not able to travel as quickly as Joan would have liked given some of her passengers, with the two warriors intimidating the soldiers manning the isolated, undermanned checkpoints into silent submission, they had made better time than she'd expected, five days seeing them within striking distance of the Flame Tribe homeland.
The discovery of a town, and one with a negligible Nohrian presence where it existed at all, at that, was a relief to all involved, not least of whom Victoria (ever tried keeping a toddler in a half-decent mood anywhere, let alone a less-than-comfortable wagon?) and her grandson.
"So far, so good." Tristan reported, wiping some sweat from his forehead where his helm would have normally covered. "Sir Karol and some of his men are performing a delaying action, so we should be more or less in the clear."
"Finally!" Hana exclaimed. "I can't wait to return these heavy clothes to the Sir Amagi!"
Normally a rather serious woman herself, Rinkah cracked a smile. "Speaking of which, this was the town I designated for Daisen and Hakone as our meeting place."
Joan scoffed at this relief, rolling her eyes as she fiddled with an assortment of tools. "No, don't mind me. Just go, eat, drink, be merry."
The knight grinned a wry grin. "Good idea, Joan. Besides, at the tavern, we can get a good night's rest and prepare for the morning."
Retrieving Victoria, Shiro and Candace and the princess from their discussion, Hana took Tristan's lead as far as behavior when one arrives in a Chevois town not ones own, the swordswoman silently taking mental notes as the hardy knight negotiated a decent price with the inn-slash-tavern's keeper, handing him a small sack of questionably-acquired gold. "Order whatever you'd like." he insisted with a cheeky grin. "Good old King Leonard's paying for it, anyway."
***Sakura inquiring about a warm, sweet Chevois beverage as she continued to discuss the finer points of her contract with Candace, in the seat opposite her, Hana was simply relieved just to be off her feet for a while, what with Joan being a stern (but effective) taskmistress. While this particular establishment was somewhat noisier and larger than Polaire, it still possessed much of the same homely charm, what with the rustic decor and the smell of the countryside's delicacies wafting from the kitchen. While keeping a wary ear on the portly rogue and steering the conversation away from possibly-too-sensitive topics from the princess' discussions with Victoria, for the first time in what seemed like ages, the intense swordswoman felt as if she could actually relax, if even momentarily.
"By the way," said Victoria at last, removing a bundle of cloth from a pocket inside her shirt, handing it to Hana. "your compensation for getting rid of the bandits. I'd intended to give it to my daughter once he'd make an honest woman out of her but-"
Momentarily questioning whether or not she'd made clear whether her mercenary guise was just that, Hana unwrapped the bundle, silently gasping at its contents; an emerald, roughly the size of her clenched fist and radiating magical power, exactly like the ruby Kirigamine had presented her. "No, I couldn't possibly accept this." Hana replied halfheartedly, still feeling somewhat guilty over their last conversation.
Victoria smirked darkly. "No, I insist. It's your payment for offing those lowlifes. Consider it an advance on your payment for the life of another lowlife in King Leonard's service we discussed."
Fate allowed Hana about another hour of this respite before her heart leapt in surprise at Rinkah tapping her on the shoulder. "You know," she began eyeing the direction of the exit. "we've got some business to discuss ourselves, don't we?"
Being constantly reminded what exactly this business was by Candace's mere presence, Hana agreed. "Of course. We'll just be a second, milady."
Leading Hana to a fountain not far from the tavern, two figures, quite transparently members of the Flame Tribe, gestured to them in acknowledgement. The woman, possessing fiery red hair similar to Kikai, a sharp club placed conspicuously on her belt. "Well, well," she began with a sly, but genuine smile. "if it isn't the terror of Nohr I've heard so much about! It's a pleasure. I'm Hakone, by the way."
"I wish I could say the same," answered a grimacing Hana. "but that's not so since both Rinkah and I need something of you."
The woman gave an exaggerated stretch of her limbs with a yawn to match. "Don't worry. My little cousin told us all about it. You need us to tail some rogue?"
Hana nodded affirmatively. "Since you'll be travelling with her, I don't think it should be a problem." she said gravely. "We just need some insurance in case she ends up trying to sell us out to Nohr."
Daisen, a bronzed mountain of a man with wild white hair resembling a snowy peak, flashed a toothy smile. "Just leave it to us!" his voice boomed confidently. "Yeah, I admit my sis is the brains, but when I'm tracking, nothing gets by me!"
The swordswoman managed a slight smile of relief. "Alright, great!" she replied. "You two must have come a long way. Come back to the tavern, I'll pay for whatever you're eating."
"Now that's what I like to hear!" exclaimed the friendly giant.
"Hey now," warned Rinkah. "within reason. Let's not abuse the lady's hospitality."
By the time the party returned to the tavern and the brother and sister had settled into their complementary nourishment, the air in the tavern had, somehow, inexplicably and subtly changed, as though charged with a sort of seething electricity. Perhaps as they were seated within earshot of the bar itself, the princess and her party were sensing the worst of it. "Er, are those gentlemen having a problem?" inquired Sakura gently.
Gulping down the last of his ale, Tristan gave a noncommittal sort of half-shrug. "It's none of our business." he remarked dismissively.
***But that judgement was subject to revision very shortly, courtesy of a certain patron. "Alright, you've had enough, you drunken souse." growled the barman, cleaning one of the mugs a bit too aggressively. "Go home before I throw you out myself."
Helping himself to his (also-displeased) neighbor's drink, said souse wobbled on his bar stool slightly as he continued. "All I'm sayin' is maybe it's not so bad?" he slurred. "Besides, don't they keep talkin' about how we're their 'little brother' and whatnot? At least we're not savages, so that's gotta -hic- count fer somethin?"
"Come on, you can't seriously believe that crap!" raged another patron, slamming his mug against his table. "After everything Nohr's done to us over the years?!"
"Maybe we should -hic- be tryin' to get in better with Nohr, you know? I mean, sooner they catch those crooks who went n' murdered all those troops, the better, right?"
With the other patrons becoming eerily silent at the drunk's apologism for their oppressor- their slavemasters-in-all-but-name, really, the atmosphere became downright hostile at his obsequious, fawning praise for them, even the most gentle among them wishing it possible to hate the man to death.
"Oh, gods." remarked Victoria tiredly. "I do NOT need this."
"Let the drunk ramble." insisted Tristan through gritted teeth.
The souse continued still, apparently unwitting (or simply not caring) just how deep a hole he was digging. "Like the bandits with their 'uprising' rot, I mean, we got it pretty good. Still, it couldn' hurt to encourage our womenfolk to be a bit more like them -hic- Nohrian lasses, y'know? Not like that one uppity cunt from the capital who got the idea in her sick, savage-lovin' head. Far as I'm concerned, Sir Hans an' his boys gave the -hic- bitch waaaaaaaaaayyyyyy better than she deserved. Nothin' worse than a savage-lovin' bitch, right boys?"
By this point a considerable crowd had forsaken whatever had concerned their attention previously, instead turning their ire on the mouthy drunk, muttering hatefully among themselves or training their downright murderous gazes as something of a final warning. While the barman and his immediate neighbors had either abandoned him to his fate or joined the mob-in-waiting, perhaps unsurprisingly, the knight and his aunt had taken positions at its head.
Finishing off another mug, the drunk, almost unbelievably, continued still. "Cause fucking savages is well- -hic- a lot like fuckin' animals, y'know? Word has it the cunt bought this big, ugly savage buck wit' her from gods-know-where. Care about Cheve, hah! If'n she really cared about her country, the savage-loving, rice-burning whore wouldn't have bought her buck 'round these parts anyway! Gods only know how many innocent civilized maidens who had 'emselves forced on by the ugly mother-"
Almost as surprising to the gathered crowd that the drunken souse had not yet been harmed was the identity of the the one who'd raised the first hand to him. Indeed, it was surprising to the perpetrator herself. In an instant, a fist sent the drunk tumbling from his stool and to the floor with a bloody nose. Unable to remember extending an arm, at the sight of the extremity extended into a fist, its owner was momentarily horrified. "Oh goodness!" Sakura exclaimed at the sight of the man on the floor, struggling to reorient himself. "I'm s-"
Thinking about her actions for a fraction of a second, Sakura resumed. "Y-you know. Actually, I'm not sorry."
Her protector turned to Tristan and Rinkah, both silently assenting with Hana that their party'd had enough excitement for the night. Nonetheless, as the swordswoman escorted Sakura back to her room, both Victoria and her nephew alike managed a proud grin as the rest of the crowd broke into cheers of celebration.
****Even after all these decades, appreciating the heavens, be it a sunrise, a sunset, or the stars above, was the one thing that never failed to calm the worried, troubled heart of the old woodcutter Edouard, no matter what the world saw fit to send his way. Whether being priced out of their modest, yet comfortable home in the capital by greedy speculating nobles, being forced to take up the occupation of an itinerant woodcutter as with his family in tow, or having thrown his back out a couple of years back, decidedly ending his days plying his trade, it scarcely mattered. Of course, this was not to say he was exactly dissatisfied with his life as the years in this central Nohrian village had been good to him, he and his wife having welcomed three more children into their lives and become pillars of the community in spite of his...eccentricity.
Giving a satisfied sigh as the sun slowly crept beneath the horizon, Edouard placed a protective, affectionate arm around the shoulder of his younger son, Jean. "I'm going to the tavern with the guys." he informed. "Tell your mother I should be back around the usual time. Michel should be back any minute; he'll help you finish up."
The burly, blond young man gave an energetic smile to the father he now towered over. "Er, you feeling alright, 'pa?" he asked, somehow ill at ease with the physical affection.
"I was just thinking- promise me you'll never go into the army, son."
"Why would I ever do that? I've got to help you and Michel and look after 'ma and the girls. I'm sure King Leonard will understand."
"Good man."
With the passing of his father, Edouard had, as a young man, inherited a not-insignificant sum of gold. Not enough to be considered rich by any means, but comfortable certainly. On a whim which would end up changing his life and general worldview forever, he, against the warnings of friends and family alike, decided to use that money to strike out and spend five years traveling to all but the most remote and isolated corners of the continent, working odd jobs and taking care to interact with the people he encountered, even with the shrill warnings of what horrific fates would await him still ringing in his ears. What he found and experienced over those years...complicated severely the worldview in which he (and all his peers for that matter) had been submerged his whole life, to say the least.
Meeting up with his three closest friends, Marcel, the hunter, Rickard, the blacksmith, and Amsel, the fisherman, Edouard made their way to what was indisputably the center of the social world of common Nohrians (and all of the continent's western nations for that matter), the local tavern.
***The four men taking their usual seat at four or five paces from the bar and ordering their usual fare of tavern nourishment, with the first round of ale, the usual topics of banter were inevitably breached.
"So, my boy Lucien just got his leave from the army." informed Rickard proudly, his brown-grey beard dripping with the liquor.
"Hurrah!" congratulated Amsel, raising his glass in a toast. "Let's hope he's done us all proud by offing his share of bucks!"
Edouard rolled his eyes. "I'm glad your boy is alright," he said flatly. "I really am, but do we really have to talk about this right now?"
Marcel's sunken, sallow eyes narrowed into mocking slits. "Oh, that's right, I forgot," he began. "Ed just hates it when you kill his little pets."
The table erupted with uproarious laughter and glass clinking, which Edouard ignored outside of truly grievous instances; they were his friends, true, but they were still in fact, men of their time, place, and culture. Then again, he had been subjected to a lot worse for his "eccentricity," so perhaps he was simply used to minimizing it.
"All I'm saying," insisted Edouard conciliatorially. "is that for all their foreignness, they're not really that different from us."
"Alright, Ed." said Marcel, utterly serious. "How much of this stuff have you had? You didn't come earlier and have a few?"
Turning to the bearded giant, Edouard continued his reasoning. "If Lucien had been killed in battle, you'd be devastated and angry, right?"
"Of course!" exclaimed Rickard, a glint of rage in his eyes.
"Well, don't you think they feel the same way when their sons get killed?"
This time, the blacksmith rolled his eyes. "That's way different!" he insisted forcefully. "You know how savages are, they breed like rats! Losing a son is like losing a toenail to them!"
"Not that the bucks can or will control themselves." Amsel chimed in smugly. "That's why there are always so many of them. You know they'll fuck literally anything, right?"
Edouard sipped his ale patiently as his friends shared another hearty laugh. "By the way, Amsel," he resumed. "were your parents that thrilled about your marriage to Marie?"
The fisherman scoffed. "Of course they weren't!" he responded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Especially since her father was some bigshot merchant; to him, people like us are the scum of the earth!"
"But you two didn't let that stop you, now did you? Now, if you were to wake up tomorrow morning and learn that she was not actually Nohrian at all, but a 'savage,' would that really change anything? Would that change the decades you spent together or the fact that you have four children you love with all your hearts? Would you disown her? Disown them?"
Slamming his mug to the table, Amsel's glare at the old woodcutter was almost murderous. A rather anxious man by nature, Marcel's eyes raced around the table for an out, knowing his friend was not only walking, but dancing on thin ice. "Say, Ed, have you tried the sausage?" he remarked disarmingly. "A lot of people say it's spicier than last year."
Taking a bite of the meat to humor his friend, Edouard took another sip of ale to help the flesh down his gullet. "I don't get this, I really don't." he said calmly, preparing his rhetorical question. "What do we really gain, what purpose does it really serve, constantly demeaning and dehumanizing these people?"
"Well, we know some of us don't really care," began Rickard, his hostility now barely even concealed. "But for us normal people, loyal subjects of His Majesty, being a savage-lover is the worst insult possible. Doubly so for the womenfolk."
The retired woodcutter shrugged his shoulders. "Just because I don't go around roaring about how I hate other people's kids, does that mean I love my children any less?" he opined. "Besides, you know how people are; they trade, they move around, they fuck, and are damn good at all three. Hell, by this point, most of us Nohrians, if not all, are probably at least part-'savage' as you put it-"
***As if the breath was stolen from their very lungs, the entire tavern went deathly silent, all eyes present and not at the table turned on the eccentric woodsman; as if he'd uttered the vilest blasphemy imaginable, the kind of blasphemy for which cutting out ones tongue before his slow, torturous death is seen as merciful. Indeed, a large plurality of the patrons wore expressions making Amsel's seem downright jolly by comparison. After several, exceptionally-tense seconds where one could almost taste the collective bloodlust of the taverngoers, the barkeep finally stepped forth to the table and, while not shooting them a glare of deathly hatred, was none too pleased.
"I'm going to have to ask you to leave." the bartender said dangerously. "All of you gentlemen."
"Why?" inquired Edouard, his only defiance in his nonchalance. "We've done nothing wrong, we were just having a convers-"
"I'm not going to ask you again." he repeated, just as menacingly. "I don't know what kind of den of iniquity you think you're in, but this establishment does not serve the likes of you savage-lovers."
Rising from his seat to meet the barman's challenge, Edouard, taller than the noticeably-younger man by about a head, looked around, taking stock of the hostile, borderline-murderous gazes trained on him. Still keen on the idea of spoiling his future grandchildren, Edouard placed the coins the group owed for the meal before storming out, his graying, weathered head held high.
****Unbeknownst to his friends, as they walked back towards their respective domiciles, Marcel hung back slightly to make sure they had not been followed. Two of them however, took an especially brisk pace to avoid dealing with the old woodcutter.
"That was a fucking disgrace!" raged Amsel. "Never have I been so humiliated in my life! His fathers must be rolling in their graves! Mine too for that matter! For even associating with him!"
While of course, irritated and humiliated by the ordeal, the blacksmith seemed to have cooled off slightly. "Don't misunderstand me, Ed's a great guy." Rickard prefaced shortly. "Just ask and he'd give you the shirt of his back, he would. But, I swear, this savage-loving with him-"
Letting the pair go their own way, Edouard, in his attempt to recenter himself, endeavored simply to pay attention to the hypnotic chirping of the crickets. But the timid hunter had other plans. "Back at the tavern," he began. "what was that all about? Yeah, everyone knows that you're 'different,' but come on-"
"Because it is bullshit and Amsel knows it on some level. You all do." Edouard replied curtly. "If you woke up tomorrow morning and learned that you were one of those 'savages' you despise so much, would it really change anything about you? Would the sun really stop rising in the east?"
By this point, even the mild hunter raised an irritated eyebrow at his old friend. "If, 'if,' 'if,' that's all you're ever concerned with, isn't it?" he asked crossly. "Did you ever once stop to think about how many doors your 'advocacy' has closed for your family? Or once stopped to think about the kind of effect it would have on your kids?"
Edouard began to bear down on the noticeably-smaller man, his angered expression only scarcely communicating the depths of his outrage. "That's exactly why I do it!" he almost shouted. "You know what my father was like, and my mother too for that matter. All those years ago, I promised myself that I'd never, ever let my children grow up with that kind of poison in their souls! No matter who I had to piss off to do it."
"Well, Ed, for all your Pollyanna nonsense, the rest of us have to live in a little thing called society- the real world! Things have always been like this with the savages and probably always will. So what's the point in trying to prevent the inevitable?"
"But listen to yourself-"
"Give up, Ed! I don't care if one of your daughters was fucking the king himself! What difference are YOU really going to make? Maybe you should just let sleeping dogs lie like the rest of us do."
Using the better part of his mental discipline and self-control to prevent him from saying something he'd regret, Edouard bade his friend farewell, taking off down the path to the family home sitting at the forest's edge. The moon's light was more than enough to keep him from becoming disoriented, even with the scarce torches lining the path. But as the dwelling came into view, Edouard heard something that made his blood run cold at the hulking figure (figuratively and literally) darkening the family's doorstep
" Well general," began the voice of Michel, sounding unusually timid. "I mean, my father's going to be returning momentarily and- Oh, speak of the devil-"
Already a profoundly disturbing man, Hans smiled a smile unusually disturbing in its insincerity. "Oh, if it isn't the man of the house!" he remarked. "The king sends his regards and this token of his appreciation."
His eyeballs seemed to be getting quite a workout tonight, rolling them once more. "Good evening, general." Edouard forced. "I send King Leonard and Charlotte my regards as well. But I already told, you; I'm not interested in your blood gold. Besides, I'm sure you have business to attend to which I'm keeping you from, so-"
"As a matter of fact, I do. His Majesty has sent me to deal with some dangerous savages in the east, so until next time!"
Already having had a rotten outing, the old woodcutter scarcely needed another unwelcome visit from the the king's errand boy. He had no proof of his suspicions (apart from the dried blood caked on the sack of gold), but every instinct he had told Edouard this man was one of the wickedest souls he'd ever encountered in his life. Of course, they lived in the sort of culture where, even with incontrovertible evidence, impugning a genuine "Nohrian hero" was probably the second-worst offense possible. He should know, given he had spent the better portion of his life committing the worst possible sin.
"Did you answer the door?" asked Edouard accusatorially, a wary eye turned on his youngest daughter. "Even when they told you whose men they were?"
Youngest daughter Josephine, a lass of fourteen, turned her eyes to the ground in shame. "I apologize, Father." she said meekly. "But they said it was an urgent matter-"
His gaze stony-yet-caring, the family patriarch reiterated. "Jo, I repeat; never, I mean, never answer the door for that man or any of his cronies without me or at least one of your brothers present."
*****It was safe to say that very few, if any of the average Nohrians assigned to pacify the eastern territories exactly enjoyed the job; an extremely-dangerous, underappreciated job, the only bonus pay being what one could/would take from the savages, all the boyhood games of Knights and Savages being little preparation for the sheer brutality of the affair. Nonetheless, it was always somehow cathartic to blow of some steam every now and again, such as on a certain, thunder-heavy night inside a central Hoshidan town swelled with refugees from elsewhere in the country. As bandits having recently killed a Nohrian officer and hanging his body (the "Death to Nohr, Long Live Princess Sakura!" signage affixed to his neck made the motive relatively unambiguous) from a tree branch outside of town, their superiors thought a show of force in the area wise, ordering one of the king's Four Horsemen to the area. But as the oil fires blazed and the screams shattered the night, one of the commanders seemed oddly concerned with with casualties.
"Damn any man who sympathizes with savages!" bellowed Hans viciously. "I've come to kill savages, godsdammit, and it's good and honorable to do so! Kill 'em all! Nits make lice!"
Having slaughtered more living beings here than he'd ever even killed in his few battles, Mathias' axe fell from his grasp as he fell to his hands and knees, hoping desperately, praying for the shrieks and screams to end, the horrible images burned into his eyelids to pass. No matter the exhortations of his fellows, he just couldn't do it; he just couldn't bring himself to mutilate one of his victims in such a manner, or at all for that matter. If they thought of him as less of a man, less of a Nohrian, so be it. More than anything, he just wanted to go home.
"Hey, man, you alright?" asked Joachim, extending his free hand to his friend. "Something's been off about you for hours now."
"I just can't do this shit anymore!" Mathias confessed as he rose to his feet, consciously "forgetting" his axe.
His friend however, shuttered him urgently away from the chaos. "What the hell are you doing?!" he demanded. "You don't want people to think you're some kind of savage-lover, do you?! You know how dangerous that kind of talk is?! In my old unit, the commander would literally roast you alive for saying shit like that! Now quick, before the general comes around, take a couple of the ears I collected-"
"I don't care anymore." answered Mathias despondently. "There were women and kids, man! Pregnant women! And we just- I just-"
"What's the big deal?" asked Frank, another unitmate of theirs leaning lazily against his blood-stained blade. "The savages would be doing the exact same thing and worse to us if they, gods forbid, ever invaded Nohr! The way I see it, we're just getting a head start on defending ourselves. Just like the general said, 'nits make lice,' right?"
"If you ever find yourself having talked a good game around the guys, but can't follow through when the time comes," advised Henk, one of Joachim's fellow pikemen. "just imagine any woman you've ever cared for in your life, your mother, sister, lady friend, whoever, being cornered by a pack of marauding savage bucks during their inevitable invasion of Nohr."
The older spearman gestured proudly at the assorted, macabre trophies attached to his armor he'd collected from slain Hoshidans that night. "Works every time." he assured. "In fact, I'm actually seriously considering boiling the skin off some buck's skull and sending it back to the wife as a souvenir."
"Do you mind me saying something?" inquired Mathias, feigning thoughtfulness. "You're disgusting, you know that?"
Henk rolled his eyes at the greenhorn and his idealism, and, while the swordsman quite clearly had no need of the extra motivation himself, Frank shuddered with disgust at the image posited by the veteran.
"Makes me literally want to vomit, that thought. If those disgusting vermin ever got their hands on one of my sisters or even my mother, I'd put them out of their misery myself; it's the least I could do as a half-decent brother or son. Remember one thing well, boys; no true Nohrian lass or lady would ever allow herself to be defiled by the eyes or anything else of a savage for that matter! And the disgusting, diseased, stupid cunt who lets one of those...things rut her? Deserves whatever she gets."
"You could say that again, brother!" replied a second axeman, looking quite pleased with himself from all the "savage" scalps he'd collected that night. "The one and only thing worse than a savage that doesn't know its place is a civilized blood traitor! If I ever have a daughter, she'll get the same message as my sisters got; death is always preferable to being defiled by savages, no exceptions."
Completely defeated in mind, body, and spirit alike, Mathias, doing his very damnedest not to bring any further shame upon his family name, simply retreated into one of the countless burned-out husks, curling himself into a fetal position and anticipated eagerly the end of the shrieks of pain and anguish, whether in reality or confined to the prison that his own head had become.
Emerald of Courage:
Description: A brilliant gem of great magic power and unknown origins. Required to craft a blade effective against a certain king.