HONOR & DUTY

Orella Steelhand: "Oh, for-"

Linini Mooglesworn: "Lay down your arms! We've come on behalf of Ashelia Riot of the Riskbreakers."

Nivelth Ajuyn holds up her hands to show she's non hostile, and puts them behind her head, as three different people come at them.

Ivan Amov wonders if they even know about the Riskbreakers, really. He holds up his hands, eyes briefly scanning the guards to see if he recognizes any of them.

The middle one with a gunblade frowns at them all, his odd eyes narrowing. "The Riskbreakers?'

Linini Mooglesworn tilts her head. "Er... no one was notified of our coming? We have contacts within the Dalmascan Resistance. We have... aided them in the past."

The man frowns at her, then takes stock of the others before lowering his gunblade. "We were informed that help might be forthcoming. We weren't given much more information than that."

Orella Steelhand: "Help." it's... too blunt to be a question.

Ivan Amov takes the lowered gunblade as opportunity to look around the camp. "Yeah, that's us. Hopefully. The help."

Linini Mooglesworn: "We the Riskbreakers have fought on the frontlines of battle against Garlemald for quite some time now. We have ousted the Empire from Eorzea, Ala Mhigo, and Doma. And intelligence suggests that a certain legatus has sights set on a location near to here. We mean to find out why."

The camp itself is bustling, people running back and forth, as well as what looks like a scouting party being treated at a healer's tent. It's fairly obvious that the scouting party was attacked, and that's what has the hrothgar man on edge.

Nivelth Ajuyn frowns, and nods at the man. "Our contacts in the Doman Resistance said were the ones to give us information on you all."

Orella Steelhand takes the opportunity to look around. She recognises the kind of place this is; she'd stormed one or two of them serving the Garleans, long ago.

Linini Mooglesworn: "Might we help with anything? Give us a task, if you feel the need to gauge our skills or gain our trust."

Orella Steelhand: "... Were there any stragglers?" Orella asks, slightly more directly. "Of yours or them. Doesn't matter which."

Ivan Amov: "I'll be glad to finally get the opportunity to aid the Resistence." He says this quietly in Bozjan.

Orella Steelhand looks over at Ivan with an eyebrow raised, not recognising the language.

The man sighs, and runs a hand over his head. He sheaths his gunblade. "My apologies. Bajsaljen is my name, and you've come into my camp." He blinks at Ivan, and nods to him. "Tis good to see another brother helping the fight." He responds in the same language.

Linini Mooglesworn fails to understand Ivan Amov, and makes a note of that for later.

Bajsaljen clears his throat, then looks to Orella. "We haven't taken tally yet. If you've a mind to prove your worth, we're missing two scouts."

Ivan Amov nods to Bajsaljen.

Orella Steelhand: "Which direction, and how far."

Bajsaljen beckons them over to the table inside the main tent, over which a map spreads. "Our party was in the south and east, closer to the Dalmascan border. According to those that came back, they lost sight of the two missing scouts no more than twenty malms out. Far too close for comfort."

Linini Mooglesworn: "I see. We'll find them." (says Linini, who can barely see over the table).

Ivan Amov seems lost in thought.

Nivelth Ajuyn goes over to the table, frowning down at the map and tracing border lines with her finger.

Bajsaljen nods at them, and then reaches to pull out what looks like linkpearls. "Here, to keep in touch. They're set to a specific frequency. Please call in if you find them."

Linini Mooglesworn: "Thank you, Bajsaljen."

The group takes the pearls, and turns to leave.

Linini Mooglesworn: "Before we proceed, might the four of us talk in private?"

Each of them shrugging in turn, they find the quietest area they can in close proximity to the main camp. It's not exactly private, but it will have to do for now.

Linini Mooglesworn: "Ivan... I take it you are familiar with this area?"

Ivan Amov: "I'm not. Unfortunately, my clan is............elsewhere, so I'll be as much help as any of the rest of our group."

Linini Mooglesworn: "Ah... I was mistaken, then. But you share a common tongue?"

Ivan Amov: "We do. We're still from Bozja, in the end."

Linini Mooglesworn gazes upon Ivan Amov in deep reflection.

Linini Mooglesworn: "Hm. Well, that is good to know, at any rate. It may help us in the future."

Ivan Amov nods to Linini Mooglesworn.

Ivan Amov: "I hope so."

Orella Steelhand, who knows what it's like to come home painfully, looks at Ivan carefully, trying to take the measure of him.

Nivelth Ajuyn nods slightly at that, frowning. "Any help might be good, when it gets down to it. Admittedly I'm not the best tracker -- is anyone else better than I am?"

Linini Mooglesworn: "Now... I am no scout, but I do have experience tracking down criminals and other sorts who do not wish to be found... Though we are at a clear disadvantage here because we do not know the area."

Orella simply nods at Nivelth Ajuyn.

Orella Steelhand: "Soldiers are easy to find."

And at Linini's words, all she says is-

Orella Steelhand: "I can lead."

Linini Mooglesworn: "Is that...?" She glances at Orella's arm and cuts herself off. "Very well. Ivan, I am familiar with Nivelth and Orella's skillsets, but what is your area of expertise?" She eyes his bow, but does not want to make any assumptions.

Nivelth Ajuyn: "Well.. At the least, we won't be dealing with dangerous stones like we did before..." She mutters to Linini and Orella. She turns to Ivan, and nods to him. "Nice to properly meet you, by the way, I'm Nivelth Ajuyn, but everyone calls me Nive."

Ivan Amov: "I'm Ivan. And.. ah, I was .. my main role was a scout. Or.. something like a border patrol, depending on what was needed."

Linini Mooglesworn grins. "Perfect - exactly what we need."

Ivan Amov agrees wholeheartedly with Linini Mooglesworn.

Ivan Amov: "I'll do my best."

Nivelth Ajuyn: "You'll be fine." She assures him. "If it's needed, I can also send out one of my carbuncles to cover more ground."

Helisent Wynter walks over as she hears two familiar voices, and pokes her head around the partition. "Oh, hey. Didn't expect to find you two here."

Helisent is dressed more in something approaching a monk's gear, and she's filled out some. Ingvald actually smiles a bit.

Ingvald Bloodhound: "I wasn't expecting you back for the time being."

Orella Steelhand: "Well, if you'd specify," Orella mutters, and cuts herself off when they're approached, greeting Hel with a simple nod before looking back at the papers she has spread out around her.

Helisent's mouth twists into a frown. "I came to check on Nive, and I --" She cuts off, crossing her arms, and there's a breeze that ruffles her skirts. "Well, I'm back for now. I let Wilhelm know that I'd have to keep an eye on my sister."

Ingvald Bloodhound: "So you've heard the news. Orella and I were... looking. For anything that could be of use."

Ingvald, at least, is doing that; he figures Orella was doing the same, but isn't sure. The woman in question simply nods, only half-paying attention and picking up another book to riffle through.

Helisent Wynter: "Sort of. I heard something about the Riskbreakers going on a mission, and from what I understand, Nive's going to join so she doesn't have to deal with her fucking feelings, and probably work herself into the ground."

In case it isn't obvious, she's not happy about this.

Ingvald Bloodhound: "Hm."

Ingvald is feeling a little called out, but definitely doesn't say so.

Ingvald Bloodhound: "So you'll be coming along?"

Orella Steelhand looks up at Ingvald's quiet noise, paying attention finally to the people more than the books. "... are you going?" she asks Hel simply. "This one's seen fit to come along to keep an eye on me after the last fucking thing the Riskbreakers put us up to."

Her tone makes it Very Clear what she thinks of That. Hel nods at her.

Helisent Wynter: "Yue suggested it, actually. I figure I can offer some healing, or whatever is needed. I just--" She throws up her hands. "If anyone comes back from the dead again, I'm going to have words with the Twelve."

Orella Steelhand: "... again...?"

And then she shrugs, like it's not worth thinking about.

Helisent Wynter looks down and says sourly, "Nive's father showed up. The one that she thought she lost some fourteen years ago. Apparently some old kingsguard he met in Ala Mhigo said she was here, or ... something. I didn't get all the details."

Ingvald Bloodhound: "You know - like all the other Corpses Ala Mhigo buried."

Helisent Wynter mutters something under her breath that sounds very much like "jackass".

Orella's eyebrows raise and she glances at Ingvald at his muttered aside, and grimaces when the words unwind in her mind to make sense. She isn't gonna touch that with a longsword.

Ingvald Bloodhound: "We'll be all the better off for your presence."

Helisent Wynter doesn't quite know what to do with that sort of compliment, and rubs the back of her head. "Uh. Th...Thanks?"

Ingvald Bloodhound: "But you said you were following Nive." He turns to regard Orella. "Where was it you were aiming to go? Bozja?"

Orella Steelhand meets his gaze coolly, and nods. "What remains, anyway. You heard Linini." And she shrugs, before he can get a word in. "I'm playing nice and making up, before you say anything. No time like the present."

Helisent Wynter gets the distinct impression that she's out of the loop, but doesn't ask for elaboration.

Ingvald Bloodhound: "What about Nive? Has she given voice to any of her plans?"

Helisent Wynter: "She just told me she was leaving for a mission, that's about it. I'm not sure if she means to go with the Bozja team, or the ... the Rabanastre team, was it?" She shakes her head. "She might go to Bozja though, because of her heritage. She's probably curious. Sorry, I know I'm not much help, but trying to get answers out of her is even worse than you two."

Orella frowns. "Hey."

Ingvald Bloodhound manages a chuckle.

Helisent Wynter: "Am I wrong?"

Orella Steelhand: "Tell me one time I haven't answered your questions, you brat."

Helisent beams at her. "You're still a prickly bastard who doesn't like to talk much," She informs Orella with a smile. "And I still like you for it."

Orella Steelhand scowls at her, and then promptly picks up another book and opens it at a random page rather than deal with either of those statements. Helisent gestures at her to Ingvald, as if to say 'See?', and he grins, knowing with his back facing Orella he won't be in trouble for doing so.

Helisent Wynter: "Are both of you going to Bozja?"

Ingvald Bloodhound: "Orella's right: I had meant to go where she meant to go. But it may be overcrowding, at this point. I've a mind to see what can be done in Rabanastre. Especially if new imperial protocols are taking shape."

Orella mutters a little "I'm not going to get possessed." ... and follows it up with a quieter "... again."

Helisent Wynter: "... You too? For Twelve's sake--"

Orella shrugs.

Helisent Wynter: "Why is everyone in my family just bound and determined to give me a heart attack before I'm twenty five?" She demands of the world at large. Orella simply laughs.

Orella Steelhand: "That's just how we are."

If she's smiling a little at the mention of family, well. No she's not.

Ingvald Bloodhound: "How about this, then."

Helisent Wynter tilts her head, listening.

Ingvald Bloodhound: "Orella takes care to look after Nive in Bozja; you come with me to Rabanastre."

Orella Steelhand opens her mouth to say something about babysitting but thinks better of it and simply inclines her head in acquiescence.

Helisent Wynter: "I... I think that could work. Admittedly I was wanting to travel with at least one of you -- I've never been to either place, and the last time I was in the Far East, I got thrown off a cliff. And was involved in an attack on a shrine. So it's probably better if I go with someone I know."

Orella Steelhand: "A--"

Ingvald Bloodhound's eyes grow wide with awe upon seeing Helisent Wynter.

Orella Steelhand: "Now who's giving who heart attacks?!"

Helisent Wynter: "Neither were my fault, before you accuse me of it. It was just a minor imperial raid, nothing really! And then some jackass on a throne demanded if I was his Moon, or ... something."

Orella Steelhand: "I... Sure. Sure, whatever."

The young girl confuses both her elders; they share a bemused-at-best glance, before Orella's expression melts into her much more usual frown."... You're sure?" she asks. "Won't be too much for you?"

Ingvald Bloodhound: "The Grand Steward will be there as well. I imagine that'll be all the backup any of us will need."

Orella Steelhand: "I meant-" and she casts a brief glance at Hel before swallowing her pride. "I meant if it wouldn't worry you too much."

Ingvald Bloodhound: "Of course I would worry."

His voice is patient, surprisingly, and even a little soft.

Ingvald Bloodhound: "But if it must be done, then it must be done."

Helisent Wynter looks between the two, lifting a brow, but keeping quiet for a moment. It's the least wooden she's ever seen them act around one another.

Orella Steelhand: "Only if you're sure."

Ingvald Bloodhound: "I am."

He smiles, just as soft as his words, and she nods, softening considerably. It's noticable even to their audience of one, to whom Ingvald turns.

Ingvald Bloodhound: "That's assuming you'll be able to tolerate me while we're afield together for the next few weeks."

Helisent Wynter bites back a comment about how Orella can be soft, and instead just clears her throat. "Thanks, and I mean it." She shrugs at Invgald. "You're trapped with me, not the other way around. Though I'll try to be on good behavior."

Orella Steelhand snorts.

Helisent Wynter: "I did say try..."

Orella Steelhand grins at Hel. Just slightly. "Good luck with him."

Helisent Wynter: "Good luck with my sister, you're going to need it," she mutters. "I can give you the care package, if you like."

Ingvald Bloodhound: "We'll all have a means to contact one another, I imagine. This won't be the last we speak for the foreseeable future, that is."

Orella Steelhand: "It better not be."

Helisent Wynter: "Probably won't, no. I'll be sticking around until we're all ready to leave, instead of going back to Wilhelm."

Orella Steelhand grins. Craftily.

Orella Steelhand: "How is the prettier twin?"

Ingvald just glares.

Helisent Wynter laughs, and coughs to smother it up. "I suspect he'll finally get his voice back, after yelling at me to stop jumping off cliffs. He gets very offended."

Orella Steelhand: "Definitely related."

Ingvald Bloodhound: "And I'll have to see to it that you don't get any new ideas before he can see you again."

Helisent Wynter: "He also has been teaching me how to spit properly, so I can really show my disrespect to any Imperials that cross my path. He was really insistent on it."

Helisent Wynter beams at Ingvald, and Orella bursts out laughing.

The second time had been just over a bell ago. Halgyth had been sat cross-legged with a circle of children sat around her, and the clouds had come on and fled so quickly that the patches of earth they sat on are still light in colour.

Determined not to let something so insignificant as rain ruin her day, she'd tried to continue the lesson, but she'd slipped in the mud and gone painfully to one knee when trying to rise. A simple spell fixed the worst of it, but she aches nonetheless, and her ego is bruised as bad as her flesh.

It might be miserable in fits and starts, but she still sits outside now. Being cooped up when the whole world is there is dreary, even when the wind is moist and the sun oppressively hot, and in the late afternoon of her life now she has zero desire to be indoors more than necessary.

What few children remain in the village are happy to let her teach them from time to time, but none of them show any particular love for the healing arts beyond the basics. Were there any young adults remaining she would try to find amongst them an inclination instead, but asides from the infirm and unsound, they have long since disappeared to serve the Empire or the Resistance. Two different names for the same kind of death, thinks Halgyth, and contents herself with the next generation instead. They still must needs learn.

Sometimes the days grow so long and uniform that even the elders come to sit by and listen, but they are as useless as their grandchildren to her, if not worse. They might as well be carved from the marble they'd once mined for how stuck in their ways they are: having known a few Peaksmen in her time, Halgyth wonders if it is a natural affliction of the land itself. They already know how to dress wounds and care for the ill; what need have they for a wandering shamanka?

Prone to forgetting details if not written down, she no longer recalls how long it's been since the Resistance swept through the state and threw off the heavy shackles of oppression. Not that it matters. Very little has changed for those who live off the land, asides from the colour of flags that now flutter from the village gates. Oh, to be sure, there are less beatings and less rapes, less men uncomfortable in steel wandering where they please with accents unfamiliar to her... but less is not none. Beneath the blanket of other, the Garleans are not all that different from her countrymen, something she is quick to remind those that lust for the good old days. At least Garlemald does not hunt shadows and string up the innocent in the name of justice, unlike other recent history she could name.

But that bears thinking about not at all: both of those pasts are firmly behind them now, and she must live in the present, as she always has done. And as for right now, the clouds are beginning to edge once more into view as though seeing how long they can get before being discovered, like children playing at Sly Fox or Sneaky Bear or whatever the newest name for the game is.

"I'm not moving," she tells them firmly, and someone laughs.

"You tell 'em, gramma."

In her sixties, Halgyth considers it a point of pride to have found and covered up every grey hair that sprouts from her scalp. The aging flesh she cannot help, not after a life so well-lived outdoors, but it is unblemished for the most part, and she does not yet stoop unlike the washers and menders that live in every place from here to the palace. Dyes, at least, are easy to come by, and cheap enough to make if she does not want to spend the gil.

"Excuse me?"

She doesn't recognise the man, but his manner marks him as one of Einar's boys. She'll have to have words with him the next time she sees him: it's quite one thing to have her brother's junior sass her from time to time, but this firmly steps across the line and shits in the face of her good humour. Thankfully, he seems to recognise that, and quicker than the last who'd been overeager to share jokes with her like mead with friends. He straightens and gives what might pass as a nervous salute to an untrained eye. to her, it looks like a nervous fumble.

"Er, Bayan Beygarz. Miss. Ma'am. S'cuse me. That is you, ain't it?"

Unspeaking, Halgyth watches him for a long moment. A natural teacher, she has perfected the art of waiting silently until the guilty party squirms and admits to their role in whatever mischief they've done.

"Uh... I'm here on behalf o' the Spray. He said I'd find a woman here, wi' pink in her hair. That... you... I thought..."

It takes all her willpower not to roll her eyes. Einar's ridiculous nicknames are no longer as necessary as he seems to think they are - though he at least has assured her that they'd once been more elaborate than the ones he currently wears like fancy coats in the middle of summer. Needless.

The man before her fidgets some more, eyes trained on the patch of pink she'd thought stylish only a few weeks before. "Is or ain't it you?" he asks. "The description was thorough..."

"I'm sure it was," she says. "Come inside."

*

"Where're we headed, anyroad?"

Thankfully, the rain hasn't made it too difficult to travel. Chocobos would have complained the whole way and any cart they could have hired would have gotten stuck in the mud. All six of them have no problems picking their way across quick-flowing streams until they get to the red earth that was once Ala Mera. Orella spares it barely a glance: the landslide that had taken her home village off the map had been so long before, and everyone had gotten out, besides. It had been rain much like the one they'd walked through that had done it: years and years of water built up and swelling the cliffs until the earth could take it no more.

Honestly, a village on the edge of a cliff was a stupid place to build in the first place.

The Peaks have changed a little, but not so much she doesn't recognise the distant mountains. "We're still going east," she says confidently, and Wilhelm nods agreement.

"Ala Gannha," he says. Gisfrid harrumphs. "Better than any other place round here to ask questions, unless you want to put one o' them chapuli to the question instead."

Berend snorts. "For all we know, they'll squeal sweeter than any Mhigan will. Folles isn't stupid, he'll be hidden away nice and safe if he has any sense at all."

"Tell you what," says Orella, "Fifty gil says he's burrowed down in one of them antlion nests. You know, the ones we-"

"Could you not," Ingvald grumbles, and she laughs. He still has a scar somewhere by his ankle - faint, but white and rigid all the same - from the day after his induction to the Kingsguard had been formalised. "Be serious."

Orella shrugs. Likely he wants to forget that time of his life, and the anger he'd once borne his brother; she can't fault him for that, not when they seem to be getting along so well. "Suit yourself," she tells him. "There's no reason we're going there, then? Other than looking for any scrap of information?" When Wilhelm nods, she scowls. "You don't have anything to go on? Nothing at all? No dossiers, no eyes on him, not even an idea of where to start?"

Both Bloodhound brothers open their mouths at the same time, but it's Berend who beats them to the punch. "What, you think he's the only one the Resistance ever kept eyes on? We aren't perfect, Steelhand, and undermanned anyway - well, we were when it mattered most. You can't fault us for one man slipping through the cracks."

"Oh, it's we now, huh?" she shoots back, unwilling to let the truth silence her.

Beside her, Ingvald sighs. "Orella."

"Weren't you with the Garleans long enough yourself?" Berend snaps, and she clenches her hand into a fist. "What's your excuse?"

A pregnant pause settles across the shoulders of everyone present. Ahead of the rest of the group, Gisfrid and Milleuda have stopped to watch.

"I'm sorry?" Orella asks, so sweetly.

If Berend can hear the obvious warning, he heeds it not. "I said," and his own hands mirror hers, "Weren't you one of them for long enough?"

The brothers move in tandem before any blood can be spilled. Ingvald grabs Orella's wrists and wrestles his arms around her chest to stop her from leaping across the mountain pass and tearing him limb from limb. Wilhelm takes Berend by the shoulder, and then the face, and says something low and serious to him. Gisfrid's laugh is a backing track to the whole affair, infuriating Orella further. "Cram it, bastard, I'll do for you too-"

"My, my."

Perhaps it is the unfamiliarity of the voice, however soft, that silences them all. Still tense, Orella struggles to push Ingvald aside to see the newcomer; he holds her tighter.

"Aren't you all grown? You ought to be ashamed."

The woman is dressed in the local style, suited for forays along the mountain paths, with actual boots rather than the rags poor men sometimes wear. A Roegadyn, a few inches taller than Orella, with bright eyes that study them as though they are simply misbehaving students. A shock of pink in her hair stands out against her dark skin, though otherwise she's as plain as can be.

She sighs. "Oh, dear. Are you going to say I'm not welcome?" Her gaze flits between each of them in turn; she doesn't seem bothered by their suspicious gazes. "Tell me the road is free to all and you can act as you please? Tsk. Which one of you breaks arms?"

No one moves, and she tuts again. "Come now, 'tis not a difficult question."

"That... would be me," says Berend, taking a hesitant step forward. He hasn't bothered to make to unsling the spear across his back, but he could have it out and pointed at her in seconds if he chose. The woman is either very brave or very stupid. "Who-?"

"The Spray bid me pass this on to you," she says, and reaches into a deep pocket to pull out a folded paper and hold it out to him. "I trust you know who that is? No," she adds with exasperation. "By your face you don't. Take the damn paper, boy, I'm done playing the messenger."

He reaches for it warily and takes it quick enough that her eyebrows raise at his bad manners, but skimming it does nothing for his frown.

"I don't get it," he says, and passes it to Wilhelm, who has to shake the hair out of his eyes to read it. "Who are you? Who's the Spray?"

Orella, now relaxed enough that Ingvald lets her go, raises one eyebrow and then the other. "Wait. The... The Eastern Spray? About yay tall?"

She gestures, and the woman nods, and then her expression smooths over. "Ah," she says, matter of factly. "You must be Orella. Which would make this gentleman Ingvald," she says with a glance at him, and then moves between them, mouthing their names in turn - all of them but Milleuda. "You don't look quite like I imagined you to. His tales never did you justice."

"What the fuck has Einar been saying about me?"

There's mutterings from the others at the mention of their once-comrade; the stranger tuts. "Language, if you please. Not Ser Einar, though I'm glad you know our mutual friend. No - my brother."

"Your brother?"

When Halgyth Beygarz smiles, she looks weary, the lines at her eyes creasing the same way her brother's had once down.