vengewise

none of them come. she fixes on the man in the mask, hoping he's on their side. "i'm with the academy," she says quickly, "i was with the villagers when they attacked, and they br——"

something slams the middle of her back hard, and she's eating dirt before she can cry out, stunned by the pain.

then she's dragged by the chain back to her feet again, gasping as bruised body complains in multiple places, knees threatening to give. "don't even think about it," a voice snarls, and she knows who's using her as a human shield ; it has to be the man with the bloodstained sword, and there's no getting away with something sickeningly sharp at her back.

"you shoot, she dies."

it takes a seconds before she finds who he's talking to, the same source of the arrow that'd freed her and almost clipped her life short. half-hidden behind a trunk, an archer with his bow drawn. she meets his eyes with her own wide ones, doing her best not to show her fear.

A glance back at Rowan, then the girls — and they, understandably, hesitate. Sword and bow droop, ever-so-slight, but it is enough for the man to laugh, hold on the girl loosening enough for Bruno. Hands already raised to aim, ice juts up from the ground and strikes the brigand, forcing the chain to drop — and unintentionally, strikes the girl, too.

...Are those ears? He can ask later.

He sweeps down, picks up his lance. The man's yell is choked as he stands frozen, but he still breathes — but so long as he stays frozen, he is unimportant. A swing of his arms breaks the ice around the girl's feet, and he asks, "Where to, for the others?"

The brigand yells, again, forcing unintelligible word through his shut mouth. The frost around his arms cracks, before a sole arm breaks free.

The ice stills the man but doesn't kill him. Crumbling shards fall and melt from his sword arm as he swings with all the strength and range of movement he can muster. Clumsy as it is, the blade still makes a savage horizontal slash toward both Bruno and the girl. Then the sword hits the ground with a strangled groan, steel flecked with fresh blood. The arrow hits its mark, drilled deep into the ice for a vital spot the immobilized brigand can no longer defend.

"Got 'em." Ronan pumps a fist, then slings his bow over his shoulder and slides down the hill toward the door to check on the others. The other students keep watch from the trees.

"Are you both alright?!"

Yunaka frowns to herself as she watches Ronan drag the deer out of sight. Maybe she's just overthinking, but there's something about the whole thing that irritates her. A hunch, maybe, but it doesn't feel right to start flipping tables and sabotaging hunts over a hunch.

At least Ronan has some sense to him. "Big lord up top insisted that we needed to bring back as much game as possible as soon as possible, no matter what." She scoffs under her breath. "You'd think a guy who lives here would have a better sense of when's a good time to prepare all this…"

She might not have always had three meals a day, but the hunters in her village at least had the sense to make sure that when they did go out, they came back with something.

Whatever. Yunaka sighs, but turns away to give their surroundings a looksie like Ronan asked. "What do we have around…" Any smart animal would have scattered after seeing another drop dead, so rather than animals, what she looks around for instead is…

"It looks like there's a hill over that way." Not too far from where they are, it looks as though the ground begins to move upwards in an incline. "We might get better sights on what's left if we can get the higher ground." Assuming there's anything left that hasn't gone into hiding yet.

Now, the most important thing was just to keep their voices down, but when even the birds had fled from the area, he doesn't think there's anything to scare away anymore. Tilting his head, he listens for the softer chitters of hiding birds to inform them of the forest returning to its quiet winter normalcy, but he also takes his time to think of the kind of answer to give to Yunaka's surprising question. It sounds like she doubts the intent behind the commission, and Ronan can't say he doesn't disagree, but speaking poorly about one's employer could land you without any job at all. For the rest of your life. Especially if that employer was some corrupted nobleman, like this one seemed to be.

His fingers clutch tighter around his bow and he chews the inside of his lip, eyes dropping down to his feet as he traces Yunaka's path up the incline.

"It's weird, isn't it?" he says after a moment, his voice low like he believes it's just as likely that it'd scare the animals away as it would to allow someone to eavesdrop on them. Even though he's pretty sure no one else is out here.

"The festival will be held at the beginning of spring, so maybe they didn't account for their winter food stores to last that long." But even so, the town's own hunters could be hunting now, closer to home, to make up for the deficit. He can't imagine that it's any easier for Garreg Mach as it is for the people of Baile. Ronan scratches the side of his cheek. But why so much?

"Or maybe they just want someone else to stock them up for the coming year so they don't have to do it themselves." Duplicitous, but not exactly harmful, especially if they're getting paid the right amount for it. Ronan is pretty sure they are. They have to be. ... Right?

"The Archbishop knows what she's doing, of course. She wouldn't take a commission that wasn't worth what was being asked, even if these are long-time trade partners with the monastery. And the monastery's got plenty of food, too."

Ronan falls silent again, picking over an old fallen log that blocks their path.

"... So we're probably just overthinking things."

It's a mindless scribbling of the mountains and a coast line. Generic by all accounts, but if Ronan recalled the exhibit hosted in Thracia, it was reminiscent of a few paintings on display mishmashed together based on less than perfect memory. "It's not an easy sight to forget but it certainly doesn't make it easier to capture either. Have you been well?"

Best practice is always to have an extra teacup or two. Those who worked the hardest rarely were able to receive equal spoils. A glance at the archer's dirt stained knees and hands paints a picture of attentiveness.

No one's looking though. None of the bishops or knights who usually oversee his assignments are out here today. So with a gracious smile, Ronan pulls out the chair on the other side of the table and plops right down into it.

"Thanks, I haven't had a break since I started this morning." The tea is hot. He almost scalds his tongue on it before he remembers to blow on it a little until it's cool enough to sip. Realizing that Darios had asked him a new question, Ronan swallows and glances up curiously.

"While we were there...?" he parrots, then delayed understanding brightens his eyes. "Oh, in Thracia? Um... well, our visit to the eastern coast felt too short. I would have liked to visit home for a little longer, even if my mother would have preferred that I never come back here to Fódlan."

His sets his teacup back into its saucer with a noisy clink and leans forward to get a better look at Darios' drawing.

even so, the thought to come clean and tell him the truth never crosses her mind. she had a story she was sticking with, and there were already enough secrets she'd carried ; what was one more?

". . . thanks, ronan. hearing that you trust me like that means a lot." guilt gradually morphs away into a guileless smile, tired but relieved and maybe daring to hope a little bit. "i guess i can't blame anyone else here for not. nobles or not, they don't know us. and strangers are always the easiest to doubt."

besides, no one else had that kind of access to the viscount. paranoid as he was, he'd practically put himself on house arrest, refusing visitors and shutting himself away in a room just when his own servants were at work. but that was probably better for them ; she'd seen the way he treated them when he did see them, sneering at them, blaming every small mistake on some personal shortcoming, as if they'd already been found guilty of his murder or some worse crime. now that he was gone, she doesn't know what would happen to them, but she hopes they'd all gone somewhere else.

maybe it's selfish. but she's glad to hear that it's an ' us ' when she'd gone into this figuring it'd be ' i '. she didn't want to get caught, and. . . he didn't want her to get in trouble either. they could work with that.

"Actually, I think I remember one of the staff calling him the Viscount's advisor. That means he's probably in control of the estate for the time being, right? No wonder he had the power to give you this deal."

If Ronan really reaches back into his memories from the last couple of days playing guard duty, he thinks he remembers seeing the old man's face once in passing. Ronan had gotten lost on his way back to his temporary quarters, and had glimpsed him down the hall way talking to another person who Ronan could only see the shadow of in the doorway. Two of the maids rushed past him muttering about "Lord Advisor." But maybe it had been a different man. That moment had been important for the fact that he'd gotten lost rather than for who he'd seen, so he could just be replacing all the fuzzy details with the fear struck in him by the severity of that old man's face.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Ronan peers around at the hall and its massive columns around the periphery, half-expecting to see shadows darting back behind cover. They're well and truly alone though after the initial spectacle. The old man - advisor or not - was unconcerned about letting an alleged murderer roam about. Two, even.

Objectively speaking, it doesn't even warrant tears, does it?

It's frustrating, yes, to have something she took time and effort into making fall apart like this, but this is just a piece of it, isn't it?

"Its not really for friends exactly

But well, it was supposed to be a welcoming gift for the new students. So I wouldn't have minded if it helped me become acquainted with them."

It all seems kind of pointless now, just like encouraging Ronan to learn magic will likely just make him associate it with that crazy girl that couldn't mind her own business.

How exhausting.

"Please don't say that the blame is all on me. I mean, there must have been some more secure ways to go about this."

The whole dessert is too big for her, but she scrapes off the burnt edges. It's much uglier now, and she can't really eat it all.

It's sugary and vain in its own existence, mocking in its excess.

She spent too long with this kind of luxury tantalizingly close yet out of her reach.

"Thank you for indulging me. I don't know how to repay you for it, but know I am grateful."

She takes a spoonful of the dessert, something she worked for where the work was meant to be the reward.

It's sweet and sour, melting in her mouth.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he glances over his shoulder at where he'd left his broom leaning against the doorway to the kitchen. The rest of the dining hall was still half-cleaned, but at least sweeping was more comfortable and predictable than lighting ovens with magic. He starts out the door to grab the shaft of the broom, then stops and turns back to Tine to wave away the idea of repayment.

"So don't worry about repaying me. Enjoy your--" his eyes drop down the charred pastry that she's insisting on taking spoonfuls out of anyway. Maybe in this instance, he wouldn't have blamed her for throwing the whole thing in the trash. He only hopes she's not eating it now because she's afraid of looking like a spoiled noble in front of him.

"-- dessert, I guess." With a wave, he turns again to head back out into the dining hall. "I'll be out here if you need me for anything else, but it'd probably be better if I stay away from your baking."

he hadn't thought of it in this case, but he supposed that an alleged demon cat was no less formidable an enemy.

before he can think further on the idea, the next sudden question interrupts the ill-settled quiet of the wood. as ronan mutters, half to himself, felix adjusts the weight of the pack on his shoulders and returns to scanning their ground-level surroundings. the comment about the nobles earns a nigh-undetectable huff, but no further ackowledgement for now. "i'm not. certain that it isn't a crest beast, that is. but i've never heard of a cat-like one, so if it is, then that's something else that'll be worth reporting."

not to mention more manageable than some intangible ghost story.

"but i doubt it. crest beasts aren't common, but they're not worth panicking over either. the way everyone's been talking about this rumor, it couldn't be something so ordinary. or if it is. . . then that means someone's profiting from it. the question is: who."

But really it's not the ghost stories that bother Ronan. Big game, he can handle. A crest beast couldn't be too different from a bear if Felix said it wasn't worth panicking about. Surviving encounters with beasts in the forest wasn't hard if you were smart about it, but one might say that Ronan was a little too confident on that front. He pulls his bow higher up his shoulder as if the touch of it could protect him from any creature they ran into out here.

Nobles were a different kind of beast though. Ronan lowers his head and falls silent for a few steps, with just the crunch of leaves and gravel underfoot filling the space for conversation. He looks like he's thinking hard about the truth of the beast's form, but in his mind, he's going over the things Felix has said so far to gauge how forthright he should be with his thoughts. He was the son of a noble house, after all.

"Well, I think you might be on the right track about someone profiting from these rumors..." he finally answers. He kicks another rock out of the way and then releases his bow long enough to use his hands to hike up a short but rocky rise in the terrain. From here, the trail grows steeper as they round their way up toward the hilltop.

"Don't you think it's strange that it's just the merchants who are scared of this cat? I hadn't heard any of the stories before we left the monastery, and the Knights didn't warn us either. But... I haven't been here very long." He throws a glance toward Felix. "There was a rumor like this in my homeland once though, but eventually it came to light that the lord of the land had been taking advantage of it to drive down the price of artisan goods so he could redecorate his village with halls and halls of statues of himself."

Its still praise but she cannot sand the edges down if she wants to be at all taken seriously.

Amd even then that damned tome didn't mean nearly as much as people deluded themselves it did.

You can kill a man with a baisc fire tome

And Ishtar could die by one just the same as Tine and Ronan.

Her beloved cousin was an impressive woman not a god.

"Magic Arrows? That's not a Jugdrali spell, I believe. Hmm, what was the name Saggitagne ? I hadn't tried those, and archery is out of my skill set, generally speaking."

She could not have expected such a strong reaction for what in her own eyes was just an idle suggestion did he think she was going to stab herself.

... she hasn't been acting most stable during this conversation has she?

"Im so sorry

I didn't mean it like that i mean it seemed a lot more reasonable in my head."

She does shrink back a little managing to look apolegentic without being frantic.

How is she supposed to apologise does she even have a real apology?

"I bielieve i already made my point about how valuable a varied skill set is but i understand if you do not asign the same weight to it.

It wasn't my intention to alarm you or make you feel cornered but i do understand that what i had in mind was quite over-"

While fiddling around and babling in a vauge explanation of her intentions she notices the warm glow illuminating her sillouete brighten.

Oh no

The fire was too strong making the desert melt over the flame igniting it even further.

One of the blessings of her outstanding aim if that she can extinguish the flame without damaging it further with the wind spell.

Still, that didn't mean much, as one side is already burned.

.

.

Steaming, charred, and still very hot to the touch, the dessert tumbles out gracelessly and Ronan deposits it quickly back onto the counter, recoiling and shaking the heat from his hands despite the mitts. He examines it for a moment; it's lopsided and dark on one side, and hardly looks edible, even though ordinarily he'd certainly had his fair share of burnt food before simply because his family couldn't afford to throw mistakes away.

"Uh, well, I don't have much of a sweet tooth, but I could take it off your hands if you really want." Slipping the mitts off, Ronan rubs the back of his neck helplessly.

He keeps at the back of the pack now, letting Maria walk between the two of them as Leif minds his own feet too.

“I'm happy enough to be here at all, so...” Every now and then, he glances upwards at the other two in front of him, keeping check of the distance between him and them. “...catching something not edible is fine with me. It'll be your first time fishing, won't it, Maria?”

He's not sure whether or not his assumption here is actually right, but even without the use of her royal title in address, when Leif looks at her, he finds it difficult to imagine her roughing it outside. He imagines instead a delicate hand— one that turned pages rather than hunted, learning through written word over practical experience.

He decides then and there, in his own mind, that she's a Patricia more than a Tanya or Mareeta.

“But if you've got tricks for telling which ones are good, I'd like to hear that too, Ronan,” he leaves the floor open to trying that purposeful search. “If we find something we can eat, let's bring it back and eat it together. That'll be even more worthwhile, won't it?”

"What makes them inedible?" The little cleric's question floats alongside her, balancing on her fingertips when she stretches out a hand to watch its reflection touch a tide pool. Scurrying around to a wider side of one, nearer to their dutiful guide, she brushes her dress against her legs and crouches. Her gaze settles on the algae, and after a beat-- "Hello, Miss Lady," she whispers, wiggling her fingers at the silent tide, "Or whoever's there!"

With a flourish she springs back to her feet, pivoting on one heel and allowing the other to spin through the air. A wave to Ronan as she passes him, and once she's wandered a few steps further, another outstretched and playfully thrown toward Leif.

"That's right! I've never been fishing before." As far as grand little dreams went, it wasn't entirely off the list, though it rested quite peacefully below a great many other things. Perhaps if she made time for it, she could see that legendary golden fish one day... Oh, but the ocean is too beautiful today to keep plotting for tomorrow.

She laughs as she spins, and she spins as she laughs, a short-lived thing that swings her smile squarely upon the others.

"Yeah -- I want to hear, too! And if you guys are willing to teach me, then it's my turn to be the student again! Right? Hee hee... edible or not, I'm really looking forward to it!"

"Oh, the smaller fish are pretty boney. Some of them are poisonous, too." By the time either Leif or Maria look back at him, his smile has been replaced with a grimace over a private memory. He'd found out just how bad some of the tidepool creatures were from experience. But that meant that he had a pretty good idea of which ones to avoid if they wanted to make a lunch out of what they could get their hands on.

Scooping up the buckets and nets, and leaving his back by the cliffs, Ronan half-sprints back to catch up with Leif and Maria, handing them each a bucket and a net as he passes.

"Crabs and clams are usually good though. Do you know what those are?" he asks Maria, then glances into the nearest tidepool. "Oh! Here's one. Look." Taking her wrist, he drops down into a crouch to point to a bivalve shell nestled among the rocks at the bottom, nearly camouflaged. It wasn't very big, but he reaches in to pull it free with his fingers, then sets it on his palm to show her and Leif.

"Just toss these into some boiling water and the shells will pop right open. We'll need a few more for it to be worthwhile though." Kneeling, he scoops water into a bucket and drops the clam in. "If we don't manage to find anything around here though, I've stashed one of my fishing rods nearby. We can take turns casting."

“Take your time…hehe.” But at that moment, neither happened. Fair hands allowed the staff to be taken, sliding into the insides of her sleeves as she watched the blue-haired archer craft whatever he needed for his plan.

Watching the fluttering bow and whatever humiliation that came from it was funny enough, but Tamamo too was interested in seeing whatever her…subjects decided to do about their situation.

Panic always made for the most creative results. “That bow…is it special for you?” It wouldn’t really matter if it was a random disposable bow, but if it were something important to him in any shape or form then there would be an added kick to the whole ordeal. “Would it be bad if it got away?”

Focused as he is on this project, he barely hears his partner ask him a question.

"Huh?" Distractedly, he glances over his shoulder, looks back at his creation, then to her again. "Oh, uh..." By now, the net is finished, so he gives it a test swing and then cranes his neck back to track the direction that his bow is flying. For now it just hovers on the breeze like a butterfly or something.

"I guess it's not really 'special'. I made it myself and it makes me think of home when I hold it, but-- Ah! Almost!" The net whooshes through air and the bow flutters up higher. Ronan watches it for a second, then glances around for higher ground.

"Oh! Could you bring that over here?" He points to a crate behind the student. He'd otherwise hope that it wasn't too heavy for her to lift, but he's hardly thinking about that right now. Another swing of his net nearly snags his flyaway weapon.

Yunaka does though, whistling lowly. "Nice shot." Had she thrown her dagger, she probably could've gotten it as well. A bow's a different beast though. Different muscles, different weight…no harm at all at leaving the work to a professional when she's got access to one.

In her village, you had to rely on what was there. Crops weren't always a guarantee from year to year and working in the mines made money, sure, but money's not exactly helpful at filling your stomach when there's no food to buy. Hunters had been important to the village. The job was usually passed down from family member to family member, so they could start learning as soon as possible. Realistically, Yunaka never would've been a hunter if she'd stayed.

…well, she'd never be village maiden number four anymore anyway, so no sense worrying about that.

She drops back down to the flats of her feet and gives Ronan a quick pat on the shoulder. They'll have to go looking for the rest of the deer that scattered when this one dropped. Her own bow and quiver are slung casually over her shoulder as she walks over to the body. "So, how many does that make now?" Between the birds and the rabbits and the deer, she definitely feels like they've gotten enough to make the average camper happy, but there had been a lot of emphasis put on the idea that this needed to be as big of a deal as possible.

"One deer could feed my village for nearly a month, but this town sounds like it could fit ten of my villages in it. And that's not including all the guests for the festival." Dusting his hands, he stands to inspect his work, then drags a few more branches over the carcass. The snow would do most of the work for them.

"Winter's not exactly a good time to hunt... this doe's pretty thin. I don't know why this place can't just wait until the spring so the meat's fresh."

With the shake of his head, he turns to Yunaka and pulls his bow down from his shoulder.

"Maybe if we get a buck, we can call it a day. Let's see if those eyes of yours can pick one out now that we've scared everything off. They're sharper than mine, and not to brag or anything, but I was my village's best hunter."

"VIP section," she repeats, baffled by this turn of events. "sounds like you get plenty of customers...?"

dorsey doesn't relent. instead, she shrugs her shoulders and readjusts her grip on their hands. "boss says there's always room for more. this way!"

she tugs them toward the shack, and the closer they draw, the more evident it becomes that it's not simply some makeshift store or a childish hideout, but a home. through the large gaps between the wooden planks, dorothea spots little makeshift beds of straw and frayed blankets. littered around the floor are several pairs of child-sized boots, as well as a pile of discarded wooden bowls and what appear to be chicken bones from a previous dinner.

"here we go!" dorsey pulls them behind the lopsided shelter to reveal what could be described as a yard—generous as the term might be—made up of rocky patches of dirt and host to several rusted tables with various items displayed atop them. "the vee-eye-pee section," the child announces. "boss must think you two are reaaaaaal important if he told me to bring you here."

she finally releases their hands, though a loud tinkling sound draws her attention to a hunched figure beneath one of the tables. dorothea turns her head as well, surprised to spot a third child polishing silverware from a box. "hawk! we got guests! vee-eye-pees."

hawk, a serious-looking boy with dark hair done in plaits, peers out from his hiding spot to study them. he eyes ronan's bow carefully. "no wonder. you've got what boss wants."

dorsey nods. "we're always looking for weapons," she supplies helpfully. "boss says we've gotta—" she mimics aiming something at someone's head and shooting, "take out the competition!"

Ronan clears his throat and decides to take her cue, but his fingers curl tighter around the bow slung over his shoulders as he approaches one of the tables near the back.

"They do have some wood here," he murmurs to Dorothea, hoping his voice is low enough that the kids can't hear him over the city's noise. Three solid planks are leaned up against a rickety old fence - probably intended to be cut down and used to repair it when the rot made it the rest of the way through. They've been pilfered from various places throughout the city, he has no doubt about that, but only one of them looks like it hasn't already been damaged by the rains. He steps up to it to run his fingers with the grain, making sure it's smooth.

"The shipbuilders will seal whatever we bring them but they can't do anything about wood that's already decaying."

He doesn't ask the kids what they want for it yet; he knows the price of whatever they pick up will probably be his bow and whatever Dorothea happens to be carrying. The one that's been shining silverware under the corner has kept a sharp eye on him though, so Ronan retracts his hand and decides to come back around to it after he's gauged the rest of their wares.

As they approach a table covered in all kinds of odds and ends - bent needles, half-spun spools of thread, armless toys, and even a few old coins - Ronan leans in close to Dorothea.

"Did you bring any weapons with you? I don't think these children are interested in our money."

As it turned out, doing something he wasn't fond of was still preferable over having literally nothing to do to make the time pass faster.

One of his companions in the misery attempted to pick up a conversation, and Claude perked up, looking at him with curiosity. If he recalled correctly, the man - also an archer - supported the Golden Deer during the last Battle of the Eagle and Lion... Although Claude's swift elimination from the event prevented him from witnessing his ability. Quite the shame. He glanced briefly at the other, a face connected to Faerghus intelligence reports - the heir to House Gautier.

It would be interesting to judge their abilities against a proper group of enemies, but for now, an imaginary one might just have to do. Still, the story Ronan had begun to set up was an interesting scenario - by far the most engaging thing that was happening this night so far, even if that was a low bar - and it got the gears in Claude's head rotating a bit.

He smiled. It would be a good opportunity to learn a thing or two about the kinds of people he found himself with.

"... The friend, we'll call them C," he picked up, noting the naming scheme, "had found himself in the middle of an intrigue at the court - blamed for an assassination he did not commit. Of course, no one trusted his explanations - you could say the verdict had already fallen before he ever got a chance."

Damn, that was hitting a little close to home.

"Now, tied up and beaten, he could only watch as the traitorous Duke sent a message to his friends, demanding their arrival - luring them straight into his trap."

He paused there, throwing a meaningful glance at Sylvain, curious to see if the redhead would pick it up - and if so, just how.

Part desperation and part honest curiosity, Sylvain’s chair gives a vicious thud as the front legs finally hit the ground. Hands slip into the pockets of his pants and then the ones on the inner parts of his jacket - observing the things he has with him. 

Three gold coins, which he stacks in a neat line before pushing it to the far corner of their table. 

A broken off piece of a wooden door handle that he’d accidentally acquired on the way in. This stays close to him. Might as well. 

One cube of sugar that he’d thought he lost…no wonder his horse had been so cross with him. 

It’d all be better with a real board to play with, but with his handkerchief, and a few pieces of hay that’d been clinging since the stables, he manages to maneuver their pieces into the barest bones of a board with three characters. “We like tragedy, huh?” There’s a lilt to his tone that he knows others rarely take seriously. In counterpoint, he digs his chin into the heel of his hand and surveys the small map. Then Ronan and Claude, as serious as any important person would, planning their next move. A sigh, a touch of drama. “The kidnapping’s been a long time coming…At least that’s what S thinks. He’s known C all their lives,” He throws Claude a wink, making the handful of hay resemble a cage around the separated cold pieces. “After all, with C out of the way? They’re unopposed for the throne, and they know that word of the King’s assassination means that any allies C has would be stupid to come to their defense.”

Sylvain is pretty sure he’s read this somewhere before. Oh well. “S knows they have to play it smart...of course he'd rather just gut the Duke and drag him through town for good measure but," A handwave accompanies this. "That'll come later, when the majority remembers where their loyalties should lie. So, the mutual friend comes in here. S has been the mentor figure, so it's natural to take the lead. Besides, R is an outsider that the Duke's heard of but never seen. It makes him the perfect in between.” Sylvain smiles at Ronan, drumming his fingers on the table. “These three are friends, right? They know each other. The only reason that the Duke sent that letter to R is because they need something to nail the coffin shut with. They won’t kill C until they’re sure, and C should be smart enough to stay alive long enough for them to rescue him.”

Composing the letter would be a bit much. It’s a good thing Sylvain doesn’t have pen and paper.

"R. S. And C." Ronan touched each coin as if noting their names to himself, lingering a little longer on C's, who was now trapped within a square of straw.

"C has already been missing for a week," he said with another tap, and then took the two remaining coins and slid them away toward his own corner.

"So..."

The tale began thusly.

"Why me?" R paced the floor restlessly. He'd been muttering the same thing between every few words from S, clutching the torn-open letter in his hand. It was early morning, or late at night, depending on how one liked to see things, and although R hadn't yet raised his voice - he certainly looked ready to - the boots he hadn't taken from his feet trudged noisily from one end of the room they were renting to the other. They'd stopped here for the night. It wasn't safe to stay in their own homes; eventually someone would come knocking, and the demand would be more than just the answer to a letter.

Friends of the accused had to be accomplices. If they weren't, then they could be bribed to turn on him, as R had been. In his other hand, he weighed the pouch of coin that had come with the letter. It'd promised more, but that was one of only two lines R had read before he'd been overcome with emotion.

"I've known C since we were children. He's always been mischievous, but he'd never go so far as to kill someone, especially not the king. And even if he had, what makes the Duke think that his best friend would come testify against him?"

Was friendship more important than justice? R thought so. Was it more important than gold? His eyes flitted to the sack of coin, then as if it were made of fire, he tossed it suddenly onto the table and wiped his hand on the leg of his trousers.

He could use a new blade-- No. Nothing good came of blood money.

He turned on S with a furious look on his face.

"The only way I'm going the Duke's gardens is to put that greedy bastard in his place. Then all we have to do is find C. You'll help, wont' you?" His expression then relaxed, softened, turned pleading like a child begging his mother for something sweet. Because a child knows how to ask, but not to accept any answer but "yes."

"You wouldn't just turn your back on him now, after everything we've been through?"

So reluctantly, he gives in and his shoulders slouch down away from his chin.

"Mm... maybe you're right. But, to be honest, I think he changed me more than I changed him. I probably would have spent the whole rest of my life in my village if the Fiana Freeblades hadn't come by."

But he should be proud of himself, shouldn't he? He's alive now, after all.

"I wasn't about to let them take all the glory for fending off Lifis' gang from our shores though, so shooting's good enough for killing pirates, at least."

His cup's empty by now. He doesn't know when that had happened. So he nods to their glasses and then the empty teapot.

"we sure drank a lot, huh?" edain laughs in a lighthearted manner, pressing her hand sheepishly to her cheek. she scoots back and out of her chair elegantly, giving ronan one more pat on the shoulder once she's standing then pulling back. "thank you, ronan. for letting leif know about me of course, but also for being such a wonderful young man." she would have liked to talk with him a little more but he is right. she still has those papers to grade and a seminar to prepare for. "i hope you'll trust me enough to look for me in the future if something troubles you."

she dips her head politely in goodbye. "i'll be seeing you around later, alright?"

“don’t put yourself down like that.” she can’t help but stand and reach forward, patting him affectionately on the head like she would have her own son. “the bond made between two people fighting the same war can be stronger than even blood relation. there isn’t a single reason to think you didn’t do anything to help him change at all.” her smile turns warmer and far more genuine as she looks down at him. 

“modesty is a good trait to have… but it’s not bad to be proud of yourself once in a while either.” if there is anything he takes away from this conversaton, she hopes it’s that.

So reluctantly, he gives in and his shoulders slouch down away from his chin.

"Mm... maybe you're right. But, to be honest, I think he changed me more than I changed him. I probably would have spent the whole rest of my life in my village if the Fiana Freeblades hadn't come by."

But he should be proud of himself, shouldn't he? He's alive now, after all.

"I wasn't about to let them take all the glory for fending off Lifis' gang from our shores though, so shooting's good enough for killing pirates, at least."

His cup's empty by now. He doesn't know when that had happened. So he nods to their glasses and then the empty teapot.

For him to get mad? Exhausted with her?

She's unsure, and he really seems like somebody too kind for his own good.

But she cannot find any words.

She probably should feel guilty for pushing him so much to use it, but instead she's overjoyed as the spell sparks to life.

The technique is unsurprisingly graceless, but the power of it stuns her.

First time, huh?

She raises her hands and claps slowly

Looking for words

"You're not hurt, are you? That was quite an impressive power for someone casting for the first time; only Ishtars would surpass it out of those I've seen."

She's still quiet and soft, but the distraction eased her mind quite a bit.

"You really should cultivate not necessarily offensive magic, but maybe healing could be useful. I mean, Jugdral is still plagued with conflict, and even if not, hunting accidents happen. Ah!"

She rummages around for her paper again, scribbling quickly on another page.

"Please don't feel uncomfortable denying me, but maybe you could try a basic heal? I bit my lip a little, but I can cut my finger if you need a clearer target.

White magic improves with proximity; there's no need to be poking the wound, but most people hold the patient's hand or put their hand on the person's shoulder."

"Wasn't she the best mage of our generation? That's what I'd heard. And she's come from a whole line of powerful mages. I might not know who my dad was, but my mother's not a mage."

If she was, then she's hid it pretty well all these years. He can't imagine she wouldn't have woven in little tricks here and there, like this scrap of paper capable of lighting the hearth, if she'd had any talent with it. But still, Tine echoes what the old man who'd hired him for the monastery had said. Impressive. For someone without any training at all.

Ronan glances down at the palm of his hand and flexes his fingers.

"The fire didn't touch me, but, ah... that wasn't my first time. An old monk tested me the same way when I got here. Whatever he'd scribbled on that piece of paper had let me shoot arrows without a bow."

But it wasn't him that he should worry about. When Ronan turns to look at Tine again, her lip is a little bloody from how she'd been biting it earlier. And then she says she'll cut herself.

"No!" Ronan darts toward her to make sure she doesn't reach for any of the knives on the counter, standing between her and anything sharp. "No, please don't. I don't want you hurting yourself like that just to test me. I can... try to fix up your lip, but--"

He frowns, looking her in the eye.

The ship abruptly rocks as a trio of cannon fire slams into them. Yunaka's lucky, and she's quick enough to grab onto the rail before she goes flying overboard, but a crew member nearby isn't so lucky. The sound of him shouting is cut off by a splash down below, but Yunaka barely gets a chance to look over the side before more shouting tears her attention elsewhere.

Damn, that's a lot of ships on the horizon.

With gritted teeth, she pushes herself back up to her feet. S'fine. S'fine. They're not finished yet. So long as you're still breathing, you can keep fighting. She glances over at the students, counts three heads still on board, and turns away with a nod. Still all fighting.

"We're taking on water!" Oh, great. Yunaka abandons the cannons to run over to the stairs below deck. It's not bad yet, but even from up here she can see water streaming in from below. They might not have as long as they'd like.

"Keep us from getting surrounded." She shouts over to the students. How they do so, she'll leave in their hands. Retreat or fight...their call.

Yunaka rushes down the stairs. Repair a ship, how the heck do you repair a ship? There's a plank of wood leaning up against some crates nearby. She grabs that, fumbles around in the crate until she finds a hammer and some nails, then rushes over to the nearest leak she can and starts trying her best to get the plank secured on top of it. As soon as she finishes, though, the wood groans and another trickle of water starts to pour in right beside it. She groans, turning to find another plank. "Come on!"

But she was calm, so calm actually.

Lene thought about taking another shot at the approaching ships, but she was terrified at the idea that it could cause worse problems then if they just turned around now. It wasn't ideal- but she wasnt fond of dying in the ocean.

If she had a coin for every time she thought she would die in foreign oceans... she'd have two coins! Which isn't a lot but... its strange that it keeps happening! Maybe Lene should stay clear from ships.

"No... We should..." Lene's comment trailed off, as she quickly made her way towards the captain of the ship "I am SURE that you have realized by now-" fretted Lene, as she pointed toward the horizon "We'll ensure that the ship stays a float- just... please get us to safety" She didn't stay to hear the answer. Instead, swiftly making her way down towards where she had seen one of the others on the ship run towards.

"Im here-! Ill help!" Lene assured her, taking one of the planks near by, hammering the plank on top of the exposed area of the ship. She sighed, wondering how long they're going to be down here- and how soon they will be safe on land again.

But she wasn’t one to refuse quick and easy kicks, the type that would last for a couple minutes at most before falling apart in a spark. In the end a trick was a trick, and as long as their objective was met- fooling someone, in her eyes it was welcome. Just like eating a piece of candy here and there.

So when ruckus reached her ears, lined with laughter and confusion, it was impossible to hold back a smile. The silky hem of her sleeve was pressed against her mouth, a feeble attempt to try to make delight pass for quiet surprise when the blue of that archer’s hair appeared amidst the crowd right around the corner of her eye.

Oh, he needed help? Sure…

“Me? Ah…” Tamamo looked up, the bow flapping its ‘wings’ wildly like a butterfly towards her direction. Maybe she should’ve made it go somewhere else, muddy the tracks a little more, but this would work enough. “But it’s so far up, I can’t reach…” A snap of fingers brought the staff back to her hands, red gems glittering against sunlight as she loosely tried to wrangle the rogue bow with it as if it were a scarf lost in the wind.

“Hmmm…how did that happen to you now? It’s quite…weird.” Golden hues glanced at the man, partially hidden by the cut of her bangs. “But it’s a little funny…hehe. Hehehe.” Oh poor thing, the staff just wouldn’t catch the bow at all- each failed attempt earning a shaky pout from the magician. Perhaps some would see it as frustration on her end, unaware that the quiver in her lips came from holding back that beast of a grin. “Maybe you need to catch it with a bag…like a little butterfly. Quick, before it decides to fly up and away.”

For a split second, he wondered if it'd be easier just to make a new one. Then maybe he wouldn't be the center of this marketplace's attention right now. He could tell that everyone who'd put their shopping on hold to stare at him - merchants and customers alike - did so expecting to witness the conclusion to this very bizarre, dream-like chase sequence. If he wanted to, he could abandon his bow and just walk away. Disappoint them, but keep his dignity in tact at least.

His bow starts to flutter its wings again, rising on a swell of wind, and Ronan makes the decision without thinking.

"Let me borrow that," he says, and grabs the student's staff. Whether she lets go or not, he's too distracted to notice, and pulls her over to some crates stacked up next to the wall. Then he starts to tug his green shirt off over his head with his other hand. Now wearing his white undershirt pulled loose from his trousers, his hair ruffled by the sudden undressing, his eyes trained on the weapon flying overhead, he steps up onto the lowest crate. Only one problem now--