EVANGELIST OF THE GODDESS' LOVE

What Poe does take issue with is his explanation. "And who are you to make such lofty promises?" She asks, clearly dubious. If there had ever been any doubt in her prior assessment of the situation, there certainly isn't now. "There is no quick and easy path away from hardship. A good life is earned by remaining virtuous even in the face of it."

There was a due price associated with happiness, one meant to be paid in the currency of virtue. There was no way around that cost that did not involve offloading it onto others or deferring it to the future. Anyone making the promise this one does is at best lying by omission, and more often lying plainly. Pure seduction meant to tease out and feed off the hedonism that lies in wait in many.

She is wise enough that promises like that, saccharine and sweetly-scented, would hold little sway over her. She is keenly aware that the same cannot be said for most.

"who said they were empty promises? if he wants to get off of backbreaking work and live a happy life with his family, he can have it. presto. it's just that easy." well, at least for a little while. eventually, he'd give in to the impulses of shadow and rampage through everyone and everything around him, but that's just how it goes. the lady was right about one thing: getting what you wanted never came without some sacrifice.

she's looked away from him now, straight ahead like she isn't afraid of anything. it's almost too tempting to make her regret that——human skin was so thin and fragile ; the back of her exposed neck is like a beacon, makin' him want to see it open down to the bone. if they were alone, he could end it in a second. but a glance ahead tells him they're far from it.

so he distracts himself by lookin' out to the farmland instead. not much to see but dirty grass and animals, though.

"It is it so bad that he may suffer for a time?" Poe proposes, an unpopular opinion, but one that she stands by. Well, in this case, the logic does line up. So she makes to explain before he can object. "If everyone could step away from hardship the moment they wanted to—"

She snaps her fingers.

"—then no one is left to do the hard things that need to be done. The workers left on that boat work harder to make up for his absence. That isn't very fair to them, is it?"

The holy woman turns her head to look at him, confident. Easy ways out at a bare minimum left others behind. Such a self-centered ways of thinking were the collapse of societies. That everyone kept one another in mind was the foundation upon which prosperity was built—and in turn, that is why Gods had teachings to live by.

"heh, i still don't know what you're on about. if you're referring to the chat the little deckhand and i just had, i was only offering options." and that was the truth. he hardly had to do any tempting at all when people were practically begging for it. he was just there to provide. ain't that what the ' good ' followers were always sayin' everyone should do? provide for those around them?

he keeps walking now before the rest of the group turns around to chime in on their conversation, but they're still far enough behind that it's unlikely they'd draw any attention. easy footsteps stay a half-beat behind hers, not enough that she'd have to crane her neck to see him, but just enough to stay on the edge of her shadow——as if to say, as long as it's with you, so am i.

What Poe does take issue with is his explanation. "And who are you to make such lofty promises?" She asks, clearly dubious. If there had ever been any doubt in her prior assessment of the situation, there certainly isn't now. "There is no quick and easy path away from hardship. A good life is earned by remaining virtuous even in the face of it."

There was a due price associated with happiness, one meant to be paid in the currency of virtue. There was no way around that cost that did not involve offloading it onto others or deferring it to the future. Anyone making the promise this one does is at best lying by omission, and more often lying plainly. Pure seduction meant to tease out and feed off the hedonism that lies in wait in many.

She is wise enough that promises like that, saccharine and sweetly-scented, would hold little sway over her. She is keenly aware that the same cannot be said for most.

With the help of Poe, the two lift and topple the bucket of feed onto the floor of the pig pen, greeted by happy squeals.

Wiping the sweat off her forehead, she breaths, taking a moment to steady herself.

"You have my gratitude. That bucket proved to be quite the challenge. But back on your earlier point, morale pales in comparison to hunger. It is hard to have hope when you have a constant reminder of your pain."

Despite her steady tone, her words have a quiet gravity to them. One that could only be born from a personal understanding of her statement. Yet, her expression remains calm and unbothered.

Still, in spite of all of it, it seems... unlikely that there is enough to go around with their mouths to feed, too. Even just based on what she's seen of the place.

The pig delights in its newly-arrived feast, clearly ready for it. Poe pulls the brush she'd been given to groom the goat from her bag and holds it out handle-first to Nyx as an offer, in case she'd like a less strenuous task.

(if that leaves her milking the cows, so be it. she can find somewhere to wash her hands afterwards, even if just a river.)

for now, he'd just have to play the part of a nice academy knight. shouldn't be too hard, since the job was mostly about killin' things. and in the meantime, who'd bat an eye if a few people sunk into shadow here and there? from what he heard, it'd fit right in with everything else happening in this land.

so he's feeling pretty good, all things considered. even if it meant spending the next few days sharin' a house with strangers.

tail swishing back and forth, he takes in the dried-up, dilapidated landscape around them. it was a sorry sight, yet these people talked about their island like it was the best thing in the world. did they just not know any better? who knew. he barely realizes it when he's instinctively trailed a little behind the rest of the group, more comfortable keepin' an eye on everyone from the back. but he's not the only one.

Poe generally works on a single-strike system, because in her experience, those who transgressed once were exceedingly likely to do so again. This in mind, it doesn't surprise her that he's a liar. "Oh, are you quite sure that you don't?" She implicates, obviously facetious in that sweet tone of hers. "You poor thing. It must be hard having a memory so short."

She slightly lengthens her strides, closing some of the distance. It doesn't deter her in the slightest that she doesn't have a single weapon to her name right now.

There was little room to afford not to be resolute in a situation like this, after all. Barren fields and tired faces were the picture of a town under duress, and a people, too. Desperate people were malleable; malleable people were liable to be stolen from the Gods' good graces; and people who were, often became the ones leading others astray themselves. It became a vicious, self-feeding cycle quicker than a snap of the fingers. As she evaluated it, any place like Baile walked a line so narrow that any one bad actor could tip the scales.

All without considering the dream she had had prior to their arrival.

Poe could scarce afford to blink while she were here.

After trekking about five feet, she drops the handles, letting them clang the side of the bucket.

"You can say that again. I always have had respect for farmers, but I will admit, I may be ill equipped to live this lifestyle. There are many activities where my condition limits me."

The barn is filled with musk and dust, each breath accompanied by the heavy smell of earth. Usually Nyx is at least tolerable to adverse conditions, but the pungent air mixed with her labored breathing makes recovery just that much more difficult.

Yet still, she picks up the handles once more and begins dragging.

Her gaze drifts back to Nyx.

...She is having an awfully hard time with that bucket, isn't she?

It isn't surprising—a girl her age, even if born and raised for this sort of work, would likely have a hand with more physically-oriented tasks like this one back at home. So Poe gently stands her own bucket up on the ground, then heads over to meet Nyx in the middle of her path, then reaches out to add her grip to the handle. With both of them together, she figures it shouldn't be too heavy for either of them.

(it is still heavy, though)

Now that their numbers have diminished, little groups splitting off to go their merry ways, it is obvious that she is trailing shortly behind another. To those keen, it's clear she's had her eyes trained on him since before their boat had made port. The sound of the ocean may as well be miles away. The contrast between what she had heard about Oleander Island and the dry, brown grass beneath her boots will need to wait until later to have her consideration.

She can't afford to entertain distractions when she has so little time to play with her food.

"You know," she comments aloud, in lieu of a greeting. "From afar, it had almost sounded like you were in the business of temptation."

She phrases it as though there is room for doubt; her tone, however, implies quite the opposite. With good reason—word of mouth and hearsay are admissible in her court, but this she has heard for herself. Is it a kindness that she offers the opportunity for another explanation?

Probably not.

I need to give that voice a piece of my mind. People's fates are no plaything. Someone ought to teach that formless brat that and it might as well be me.

Though her mind wanders, her hands remain occupied, filling up a bucket of feed. She is in an unknown land with unknown circumstances so information gathering is on the forefront of her mind and in order to gather that information, she must first be in the host family's good graces.

That woman seems to have been through a lot and has seen many years on this island and surely holds exactly what I seek.

While she dumps a bag of feed into the bucket, she turns to the fellow helper armed with pink hair.

"Though it may be late, I supposes greetings are in order. You may call me Nyx. I trust you hail from the monastery as well?"

There were few stronger divine signs than dreams, and this one had been clearer than most. As though being directly spoken to—while the executioner has always had a strong idea of what was expected of her, ever since she was little, this had been a first for her. As much a warning as any she had ever been kind enough to give prior to swinging her gavel.

Indeed, it is more than obvious to her that she must be unerring in her judgement.

But enforcing right was as important as disciplining wrong, and so in the early morning she makes herself busy helping those who are kind enough to offer them lodgings. Thus far, she has gotten along well with their hosts; manual labor like this was more than a little out of a noble's wheelhouse, but for their sakes she would do good work. She hoists a bucket half-full with water in both hands, slowly but steadily shuffling it over to the trough in need of filling and, once their, tipping it to upend its contents.

"Indeed—I am an acting priestess in service of the church," she affirms, curtsying now that her hands are free. The heavy lifting has left her arms a little sore, but you won't catch her complaining. She's had worse. "Please, do call me Poe."

But Fodlan, for the time that she had been here, was markedly different. Perhaps it was the character of the Academy itself that drew in such fond hands to guide.

The most important place in the world…

The spell began to fizzle and fade, removing the sheer white from her vision in a gradation of color and focus until she began to see the outlines of the floor, the scant other couples moving about while the song came to its conclusion, and finally the shape of her partner.

Reflexively, she gave Poe's hand a final squeeze, gentle, before releasing and drawing herself to stand a little straighter, waiting for her visibility to return in full before dipping into a low curtsey. Her smile widened upon rise, eyes sparkling under the warm glow of the ballroom.

"When you say it like that, it seems as though the responsibility of duty should call to me. I shall consider it, not merely for your suggestion. I have found…a need for purpose, and it is as you say. What greater purpose could there be?

I have been told that I’m quite difficult to lead—those words echo in her mind when Poe is finally given the opportunity to look Lachesis in the eye again, and she is still left wondering to what extent that may be true. She didn’t think she believed it, but she didn’t have a hard time believing that someone might say that. Judge, jury, and executioner in one knew intimately that people flustered when confronted with their own flaws, projected and deflected so that they wouldn’t have to face their own truth.

Easier to blame anyone else than oneself.

She’d started this dance with a promise, and while she can’t follow through on it in its entirety, it wouldn’t do to abandon it entirely; with them having made it through the song without so much as a stumble, it went without saying that a reward was due, and so Poe proffers a lily to the other.

“If that ends up being the case, I will look forward to it,” she says with a wink. “But otherwise, I look forward to seeing you again with your new position.”

It works to fuel her counterattack. Though she does not stop. She won't allow Poe an advantage. She won't be caught through inaction.

So, Niamh decides to pivot around. She rushes towards Poe, appearing intent to do battle here and now. At the last minute, she plans to jump.

A moment after her plan executes, that pesky stone ricochets off a wall and rams into Niamh's backside, near her shoulders.

Luckily, she's not dangerously hurt. Unlucky for her, she still has to course correct when the stone throws her off balance.

"You-!" She calls attention to her own blunder, ready to dart back once she steadies herself.

She’s already long forgotten how that rock ended up in the air, so when it comes hurtling back at Niamh, it strikes her as divinely ordained. It evokes a pretty, rouged sneer. Just the two of them, she is lost in the moment; she spares little concern for keeping her composure. “I hope you’ll give it your best shot~ I know you aren’t so soft, heehee.”

While the ever-pursuer would love to believe that Niamh will honor her decision, she knows that, ultimately, she is prone to flee. And so in a snap decision and a flick of the wrist, Poe opens up a wormhole, depositing the rubble she’d sidestepped a couple floors down behind Niamh with a clamor, making any potential escape that much more difficult. Will that dissuade her from changing her mind?

Likely not.

“And you know I won’t be holding back.”

She did not feel the rise of bile in her throat at such a comment, not from Poe, but the rise of heat along her neck, and Lachesis arched a brow delicately that, too, could not be seen.

“Do you believe so?” The question applied towards all of Poe’s statements, which Lachesis knew the answer to be yes. From the interactions that she’d had with the woman, she did not present herself to be the sort who levied her personal opinion behind niceties if it did not also apply.

The rush of the dance continued, the harmony of the music enveloping their steps, and for a moment Lachesis thought that she felt the strings and her steps and her heartbeat synchronize.

Her lips curled upwards, a smile of true pleasure, and she released a bright laugh, the sound of a bell to chime above the winddown of the opus.

“You do me such flattery to make me believe that the most important place in the world might have need of someone like me to guide them.” She did not need to mention that she was as qualified, if not moreso, than many of the professors in employ: how many could claim the title of Master Knight, in spite of poor blood?

Humility was well and good for those who needed it, but Lachesis was a lion of Nordion, and she lifted Poe’s hand briefly to her lips to convey her thanks.

She cannot see Lachesis’ face, but she can hear her tone, she can feel the press of her lips upon the back of her hand, and she can certainly feel the adeptness with which she leads. Were all good dancers good teachers, good leaders? Obviously not—she had grown up a noble herself, and she had met plenty of peers more than capable of putting on a show and less than capable of thinking about anyone besides themselves. But there is an even strength that Lachesis displays; there are proper manners that speak to an understanding of the laws of give and take; and there is a comprehension of the responsibility that comes with guidance.

Well, not that she needed to put any of that into such concrete thoughts to come to her conclusion. Poe was an expert at passing snap judgements of others’ characters. A sixth sense of sorts.

Everything had the means to put them to a halt. To cease movement, to prevent them from continuing onward. It can be permanent, with the right tools. Both Niamh and her have fought many, and stopped them in their tracks.

With each other, however...

It is true that she can Hurt and Hinder the other. But their chase would not end. It would not be over here. She would return anew one day, and resume her neverending desire to seek Niamh's own life.

No matter the pain, Poe would endure it, and treat it as a stepping stone towards her own desires.

This time, the magic she places down is obvious. There is no trick to the colour of these spheres, and though they are easy to avoid, their magical might is far greater.

"You won't stop me either." Niamh finally voices.

For just as Poe will not falter to her spells, Niamh has always, and will always, be just out of her reach.

By this point, she will catch her for the sake of catching her. Even if to have her in her grasp only for a moment.

Elsewhere, distantly, Poe hears footsteps, but they are too heavy to be hers, so they hardly register. Elsewhere, she hears shouting, but that's far too loud to be Niamh, not breathy enough, too much emotion, so it doesn't mean a thing. The shadows that catch her eye aren't the right shape. They don't evade her preemptively enough.

"Won't I?" She asks, aloud, but to herself.

The darkness is beginning to irritate her. There's nothing she can do about it—even amidst her obsession, she recognizes it would inconvenience the monastery staff to aim so as to create more "windows" for the light to filter through. Instead, she recites the incantation for one of the weaker spells in her itinerary, throwing a fireball forward to chase the direction she feels Niamh is most likely to be and watches the light that it casts, and the shadows they cast.

A brief glimpse of the state of things is all she ever needs, isn't it? She is used to making snap judgements based on glimpses caught in certain lights.

"You know, Niamh," She addresses, changing tack slightly. It's not that she's concerned she won't catch her, no—as far as she is concerned, that is all but guaranteed, given her dedication to the matter. But it didn't hurt to carry her eggs in multiple baskets, now, did it? "Wouldn't it be better to stop running? If we were face-to-face, then we could just fight to the death, as have before."

She nearly trips over a rock underfoot, and takes a moment to kick it, sending it flying without so much as an acknowledgement. It shoots through the air indiscriminately, hitting a wall hard enough that she can hear it ricochet even if she can't see where it's landed.

"...is it that you're worried that you'll lose?"

"i said this is a grave," he tries telling her again, mentally cursing his failure to bring a light source. "i suppose it's where the owner disposed of her victims." and a few unfortunate dogs that'd fallen in too, perhaps. if there was a way to document its existence for others to see, it would be strong proof of duval's madness. but they would have to make it out alive first. the mask's line of sight that told him the direction to the labyrinth's end wasn't helping, so he lifts it to perch atop his head as he continues searching for a tool or handhold. maybe he could find the frayed ends of a rope, or. . .

he's not sure what.

He tells her to look for an escape, but she spends several moments instead lost in thought. To herself, she makes several additions to her ongoing list: disposal of evidence, endangerment of innocent passers-by, is it poorly executed enough to qualify as littering? Perhaps.

Something nearly smacks her in the face, interrupting her current train of thought. Picking it up, it’s clearly cloth, and while she can’t feel the texture for herself nor see the weave clearly in the dark, judging by its weight and thickness she would guess… “Oh, this might be linen,” she surmises, grabbing a length of it between her hands and giving them a tug. It resists well, offering very little give in spite of its clear age. It’s not hard to deduce what he wants her to do with it, and she doesn’t (as of yet) have a reason to leave him down there, so she tightens her grip and her stance. “If it is, it just might hold up. Shall we see how fortunate you are?”

there's nothing for it now, that's for sure. no matter what she has to say about it, the show must go on. and by that, she means the festival in some distant place she's never heard of. it sounds like a lot of fun, and at the end of the day, flowers are just flowers ; they die all the time.

so why is she still uneasy anyway?

"there's going to be a lot more to be uneasy about if i don't find them fast. . . " she mutters to herself, searching quick-paced through the stick-shadows of barren trees providing no secrecy from the white winter moonlight. sure steps have crossed almost a mile from the campsite, bringing her all the way out here where she'd seen the girl heading this morning without telling anyone. she hadn't wanted to get into her business at first, but when all the lumenthus suddenly disappeared the same night? she had a pretty obvious first guess.

in the dark, lantern light illuminates a line of fallen petals here, a bloom there. some of them must have fallen off the cart in the girl's careless hurry to get them wherever she was taking them. and the more ananke thought about that, the more her blood pressure rose.

and then, the sound of voices up ahead. her ears twitch. but she doesn't stay frozen in place for long, breaking out from the tree line in a crackle of twigs underfoot because what her nose had caught was the smell of water.

"hey!"

Each crunch of fallen leaves beneath her heels had been a little fracture in the night's peace, every puff of warm breath foreign and unwanted. Poe had, of course, carried her search on regardless, because peace was only valuable when it was predicated on morality. The moment she had realized the lumenthus flowers, each and every one with hardly a petal to spare, were missing, she'd had every reason to believe this quiet calm fool's gold.

And when she had found that tall-eared girl by the river with her stolen spoils, she had been proven right.

Mere minutes after Poe has confronted her is the moment that a tense, two-person standoff increases by the addition of one more witness. The culprit shifts, pivoting half a step on her heel to look in the direction of the newcomer and subconsciously recognizing that she is now further cornered. Her posture is stiff. It has been from the moment that Poe had found her, which had been easy on account of the guilt that she reeked of.

The girl's head whips back in Poe's direction. "Don't think this changes anything," she rebuffs, straightening her back, "Ten more of you could come out of the woodwork to tell me not to, and I'll still do it."

Poe ignores her.

Instead, she turns towards the other woman. "If it isn't Ananke!" she greets, sweet bordering on sickly. The night is dark, but her smile is audible in her tone. In spite of the hour, she has no qualms with speaking at full volume; even had they been closer to camp, she still would. "You must have realized something was amiss too, no? I don't see why else anyone would be out here this far past sundown."

The girl bristles, ears flattening unconsciously. Poe doesn't offer her an opportunity to get a word in edgewise just yet, throwing her a sharpened glance instead.

First, that he could simply tell her No, and to be done with it. This had not worked in the larger sense, Raven noted, from the brief time they had spent together in this shop and on the road towards it.

Second, he could continue in, wait a few moments, and deem all pieces an unmitigated failure. In what manner? He couldn’t destroy the clothing without reimbursing the store, and the attendant watched him with just as much curiosity as the pink-haired girl. They didn’t fit? No, the girls would then simply take advantage of his captivity in the changing room, and would find something else. He couldn’t turn down every single item of clothing.

The step back happened at nearly the same moment as the realization dawned on him, something akin to horror, if not quite so intense, a resignation perhaps:

“Fine. I’ll try these on, and…you can tell me which you like best.”

A feint. At worst, he would be out the gold for a single outfit, and his dignity would need to be sacrificed for a moment to ensure his escape later.

Not her, of course. In her opinion, it’s all for the greater good. Many benefits to be found in her hard work.

“Oh, wonderful! Worry not—as a member of the clergy, I am never in the business of leading anyone astray,” she sweetly reassures. In the back of her head, she does consider that some attendants might be inclined to lie for the sake of a final sale, it looks so good on you, perhaps you would consider it in two colors for different occasions or both of them are so flattering—if you buy both, we can offer a discount; Poe had no such inclinations, and would tell the truth as it were. So, she is well and justified in her dedication. Now that she is here, following through is as much her duty as reciting psalms.

That enjoys evaluating, poking and prodding for reactions, doesn’t factor in.

"Wow...!" The sides of her fingertips press lightly against her chin, eyes growing steadily rounder. She hadn't thought that Poe was holding anything before, and so-- a magic trick? Or a magic trick? The thought spurs a new bout of laughter, but she saves the question for another time, carefully plucking the proffered treat with a delighted 'thank you'.

"Really? What do they usually say?" Her head tips to one side, a curtain of crimson falling over her shoulder. If this is a question she poses often, then it's hard not to be curious about what numbers may have been offered, and all the other answers in between.

"...hee hee! You really do sound like you have so many stories," words spoken through a marveling smile, eyes glinting the reflections of deep-water blues and red, feathered masks. "How often do you travel, Poe?" Sometimes she sounds like she's been everywhere. "We have a lot of students from Elibe, I think... I've read a little bit about it, but I've never been there... yet!" Another merry laugh. "Have you ever been to Archanea?

"Hmm..." Carefully, she stows the candy into a pocket, lest it melt in the heat of her hand tapping thoughtfully against her chin. "Well, I guess it depends on what makes your heart feel full! I love meeting new people--" The flash of a widening smile there, eyes flitting back to Poe's face ere they drift contemplatively away again. "--but I also love meeting them again, and again, and again after that! And if I had to go so long without seeing my friends and family, then... I think I would be--" I am-- "--very lonely."

Her eyes narrow with a touch of fondness.

Maybe she hadn’t. She doesn’t feel any different now than she had before, and if there had been a loneliness that she had gotten over, she reasons she would remember getting over it.

And that must mean it had never been there to begin with.

So, she can’t say that she is unhappy with her arrangement. Candy taken, Poe withdraws her hand. “The more places I go, the more help I can be,” The priestess explains with a perfect sense of ease. “Usually, I am uprooted every year or so to head wherever my travels take me next. Shorter at times, longer at times. Likely, I will be here about as long.”

If she is here longer than that, she is not sure whether or not that would be fortunate or not. On the one hand, that would imply that there is an awful lot of work to do, here, that Fódlan would require her guidance for so long. On the other,

she supposes it wouldn’t be so bad to settle down for a little while. There are plenty of people she would find great fun in getting to know better.