#academiaskoll

expedition holy war 🗡week 1 🗡thracia subteam 2

Rinea steers clear of negative emotions whenever she is able; when she disembarked the ship, it was all confusion and distress clawing at the already raw redness of her throat. When they were separated into teams, then smaller teams, all confidence was subdued into apprehension. 

She remained quiet other than a few pleasantries with lady Alear and the ladies sharing the dormitory wing with her. Jumbled thoughts rattled the crevices of Rinea’s brain with such intensity that all she could do was squirm when spoken to and eventually ask for an early night. 

Opposing sides of a war. A soldier that knows of her. Had she been a monster to many, for her name to resound so violently against the knight's armor? No, no, no, no, no no no no, my lord, you mustn't—

Nightmares wake Rinea later into the night, when the others are slumbering quietly in the vicinity. She is drenched in cold sweat. She cannot go back to sleep. While there is no memory of the contents of her dreams, bile gathers in her mouth together with frustration. 

There is no running away from the worst her heart has to offer. It would be smart to go for some fresh air, so she sneaks out towards the ramparts for a middle of the night promenade; fresh air and stargazing without bothering anyone will quell the fire before it starts.

She spots the assailants around the same time the sentry does. They rush past her, drag her back inside — for safety — then leave her in the middle of a staircase to rouse the rest of the castle. Seconds pass, then time halts. When the spark ignites, Rinea is past the point of wanting to suffocate it. 

Righteous rage gets her moving back to the dormitory the sentry is yet to reach; incertitude has no leg against her fury, and neither does the social construct of noble blood supposedly powering her system. She opens the door, thumps her way to her bedside, and grabs whatever clothing and weapon will ensure their survival.

“Wake up! Enemies are coming! Please, we should… we must fight!” One by one, Rinea shakes her companions. Those vagabonds will curse the day in which they prevented a maiden from brooding and fizzling her thoughts in peace.

One of the maids is amenable to her unusual requests. The hours that follow are less of a blur than she would like them to be, though it is a natural concession that it would be in exchange of making her task more complex than it has the right to be. 

The clay figurines are far from a perfect representation of the human shape; they would hardly pass as amorphous blobs, too, were it not for the perfectly sculpted weapons in their orbed hands. An axe-wielding blob stands proudly atop a highly detailed wyvern. A tome-wielding blob holds the line against enemies represented by sticks. A second tome-wielding blob sits on a throne, ready to strike if needed. 

The diorama has been left in the middle of a shared room, with a short but heartfelt note nestled among the enemy sticks. 

Thank you.