crimsonretainer

[crimsonretainer]

HUBERT CAN FEEL something perverse creeping at the edge of his awareness the further from the monastery they venture. It's an ominous magic that he'd heard rumours of in passing, dismissing it as a mere result of Count Varley's mining deeper and deeper into the foundations of the Oghma Mountains, and yet for it to affect the horses such is an alarm ringing in his mind, Them, perhaps? And yet he'd heard no such rumours of their involvement in the region recently. No, something else seemed to be afoot in the wayward Count's territory, an opportunity to deal with him once and for all, perhaps.

Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd was one of the few that had the luxury of not making it onto one of his myriad target lists, and yet the heir to the throne of Fearghus not someone to be trifled with. He'd had the opportunity to witness the man's proficiency with a lance before, lingering out of sight to observe the various tendencies of the man while he had the time and opportunity to do so. Underhanded, he admitted, and yet far too necessary to ensure Lady Edelgard's plans would not go unhindered by the blond prince.

Ah, he was talking, better to slip back into that icy demeanour before they arrived, lest it cause issue with the Adrestian guardsmen lingering outside the nearby town. "Count Varley cares little for the monastery, there will be no escort for us here." A scoff, clearly disapproving of whatever spies hid in Fearghus if they couldn't retrieve even the most obvious of information for their future king. Hushed words are uttered to the midnight black steed beneath him, pulling to a stop and dismounting lest it become more and more agitated by whatever maliciousness lingered in the air.

A gloved hand intertwines with the reins, moving slowly towards the distance town with the horse in tow. "The steeds are agitated here, we'll move faster on foot." A matter of fact statement, reaching his hand into the leather pouch and retrieving the sugar cubes he kept within. "Calm girl..." This is too unusual a situation for the winter months, and yet to delay any longer would leave them at the mercy of the wilds by nightfall, something that would require him to utilise far more than he wished to do so in the company of the future king.

He doesn't like the idea of making the trek to Varley, and yet his meagre riding skill lent not to a fight were it to arise in the meantime. "No doubt you know this, but Count Varley maintains relations with the Leicester Alliance, so avoid making reference to your status, the people won't take kindly to the idea of another country trying to worm into their graces." The land is far too arid for his liking, irritating the man who preferred to spend his time away from the sun, a trait made visible by his irritation.

Wait a second this isn't Disneyland

[crimsonretainer]

@hresvelged asked:

It is the crisp nighttime air and sight of distant stars that grants her comfort. On a darkened eve, Edelgard finds herself in the company of her retainer. She beckons them to move away from the dorms and towards a less populated area before bringing light to her call. "Perhaps we should consider a more appropriate time for meeting. Then again, I am the one who asked to speak with you at such an hour." Turning towards the monastery's fishing pond, she listens to the echo of water splashing. "I will make it quick today. I hardly want to attract the attention of nighttime staff." Tucking her hair behind her ears, she swivels on her heels. "It's a simple question, but I must know the answer." Lilac hues look up, etching the same line of confidence she always wears. "How are you finding your studies? Our classmates?"

Moving amongst shadows has seemingly become a pastime of his as of late, slipping from the monastery is more of a challenge than he'd expected and yet even carefully watched walls does not keep him from slipping into the lands of Count Varley, eager as he is to gather information on the man who'd risen steadily to the top of his personal lists. Yet still, it doesn't stop him from stepping into the moonlight, cloak pulled tight around his shoulders as he follows steadily behind Her Majesty, weaving through the grounds until they're secluded behind the groundskeeper's hut.

"Lad-- " no, honorifics were of little use when alone, despite the distaste it left, "Edelgard, no faculty will patrol here at this hour, students prefer to congregate in the dorms rather than risk their gaze." A simple yet candid statement of thoughts, an almost inaudible incantation of Miasma to scare away the rats scurrying around in search of the stacks of bait lingering inside the wooden walls. Better not to mention them, he supposed, lest it drag up the illness of the mind it oft did whenever they dared to cross her path.

He listens to her question attentively, watching the glimmer of light in her eyes she preferred not to quell in his company, lest it cause his concerns for her wellbeing to grow in the wake of the approaching hour. His studies? Hmm, they were as fulfilling as always, leading him to search for other means to answer the knowledge he sought in the darkest corners of his mind, yet it is her second question he's answering almost too quickly for his mind to realise.

"Bernadetta, she is far too light for a woman so capable with a bow." A slip of his carefully contained mask, letting scorn and hatred flood into his eyes for that shrewd, noble father of the woman in question. "One of the Deers left their bow lying around, so she had a rather unfortunate fall, My Lady, which gave an opportunity to assess the rumours from Varley for myself." How very unlike him to care so much, and yet it was in his nature to care for all the Black Eagles in his peculiar way.

"It would seem in his attempt to mold her into the perfect bargain piece, Count Varley has forgotten his obligations as a parent, Lady Edelgard." Such a clear shift from friend to spymaster, mind racing to the myriad plans to deal with the wayward Count lest he cause even more harm to the woman who scurried to and fro at the sight of his own icy demeanour.

Words that have circled in his mind, coded plan after coded plan hidden below the monastery designed solely to deal with the man who'd found himself at the edge of the mage's fearsome temper. No slight against his house, his comrades, would go unpunished in the eyes of the noble retainer.

[crimsonretainer]

@encantresse asked: "there you are! goodness, you're hard to track down." but she's succeeded all the same, hasn't she? surely that warrants a small, triumphant smile. "with the amount of time it took, you'd think i was on a quest to find a golden goose egg." a soft hum. "but then again, i suppose you wouldn't be our hubie if you were so easy to find in the first place. at least, not when you're apart from edie." speaking of— "anyway, if you have a moment, i was actually hoping to ask you something." dorothea's hands fold across her front expectantly, head cocked to the side as she gauges his expression. "you know better than i that all our dear house leader does is work. i think we'd both agree that she deserves a break of some kind." there's a playful gleam that shines behind those eyes, and the songstress continues, "what would you say to helping me organize a picnic for her? no one knows her as well as you do, and i've got a flair for this sort of thing. i dare say we could pull something wonderful off."

HE HADN'T INTENDED to be hard to find, merely enjoying mid-afternoon coffee on the balcony behind the greenhouse. The gardeners were used to the rare and eccentric seeds from abroad in return for allowing him to skulk around where no one could disturb his reading with an unfortunately released bolt of lightning or stray arrow. If it made him hard to find, that was merely an unintended consequence of his desire to enjoy the serenity of his own company and whatever door stopper of a novel has found itself removed from his collection. Yet the Songstress has dainty fingers lifting the bookmarker from the table with an uncharacteristically light, "Sit."

The Opera singer is, in truth, a rather informal confidant of his, after all, his cold demeanour did not lend to likeability so it was only all too natural for him to lean on other methods of learning about the student populace that inhabited the halls without relying on the almost haphazardly collected records by the Archbishop. Still, she had come to him with a request, and their informal contract dictated he not deny her when it was fair and balanced to both to give her the requested help.

His hand reaches down to the pouch by his feet, lifting the parchment, quill and ink from it and placing it down onto the small table. "There are... a number of things that must be considered then." A silent hope Her Majesty would not hold the secrets uttered against him, and yet he knew she would need more than just him in the coming years. "It can neither be near the stables nor the cathedral, Lady Edelgard prefers open grassland to both." A hum to himself, quill coming to parchment and silently marking down the information for the songstress, rather than expect her to memorise everything at the pace he spoke.

"In return for the information given so far." A gaze full of ice and steel, yet one that rarely worked on the woman who'd seen much worse in the slums of Adrestia in the wake of the insurrection of the Seven. "What gossip spreads from the other houses, Lady Dorothea?" Edelgard's idea and one he willingly acquiesced to, to refer to the woman by the title of lady regardless, or rather in spite of, the nature of her social standing.

The quill is placed into the pot before she can speak, pale hands reaching to pour from the pot of coffee cooling in the afternoon sun before she can react, the porcelain cup slid deftly across the table in a trickery of the sleight of hand long perfected. Part of him, after all, looked forward to the weekly gossiping with the woman before him.

[crimsonretainer]

[crimsonretainer]

@tomestudyholic asked: "..." Hold up those are her books on dark magic, like, no one studies those and she needed it what the hells- "...Make sure it gets back - I needed that for some study." ...Slimy, sinister-looking man. Of course someone like him would pick dark magic. ...Wait, she's seen him by Edelgard. Goddess-damnit, she insulted a friend of a friend mentally.

The book is interesting to say the least, a tome on dark magic that he hadn't poured over in detail and yet, judging by the worn spine, someone had clearly been opening it more and more as of late. Perhaps something within held the secrets to the depths of Miasma that attempted to elude him. Still, best to copy the relevant section and leave before the more boisterous types barged in and ruined a perfectly peaceful afternoon spent among the musk of aged tomes with nothing but his thoughts and fresh tea for company.

AND YET, all it took was five little words to ruin his rarely free afternoon, the lanky man turning with a cold fire in his golden hues for whoever dared to interrupt his finely laid plans, only to find himself looking down at a shorter woman with strikingly familiar pigmentless hair. It's only then his cold rage at being disturbed is replaced with something far more sinister, the cackle of magic lighting up the palm of his hand carefully hidden from sight. 'No wonder Lady Edelgard was so interested,' oh yes, he knew that pigmentless styling far too well, a flash of memory of a woman with brown hair only for her to re-emerge without the hint of colour all those years later.

No, it is not pity he feels, only that deep binding anger in his bones, room made upon his mental list for more and more names to be added in the future, slipping the mask into place as easily as he does whenever he stands fatefully behind Her Majesty. "Ah, my apologies." A bow, before the idea strikes him to light up a rapport with the woman so interested in magic that required you to willing carry an anger that remained ever tenacious.

"You're welcome to join me, Lady..." A pause, shuffling through his memory for the name Edelgard often used in midnight musings, "... Lysithea, I won't be long with it, and it'd be a shame to let the tea go to waste."

[crimsonretainer]

@hermidetta asked: here it is. the moment we've all been waiting for. bernadetta spots hubert and screeches and falls on her face trying to scramble away. unfortunately as is often the case she gives herself a concussion and knocks out on the ground. welcome hubert

Despite the cold demeanour adopted, nighttime strolls have been a welcome attempt to clear his mind, something not uncommon for the students of Garreg Mach, not when so many were unused to the guilt of bloodshed and the weighing of the sins on their shoulders, perhaps that was why the faculty left the mess and stores open into the night, under the care of whoever saw fit to swap their classes with someone else the next day. Typically, the man preferred his own stores of coffee, yet even he had sleepless nights, when screams haunted his thoughts and led to greater bags than typical for the light sleeper.

One hour turns to two under the burning lanterns, eyes trailing across the students gathered with a silent lament for the younger and younger faces haunted by scars of battle. Perhaps this was why he worked in the shadows, a silent childish hope that he'd never see those gazes in a distant future. It's only when Lilac trails across his gaze in the wake of returning his cup does that blank expression return to his face. 'Bernadette,' three years his junior and already bearing the burdens of nobility thanks to her waste of a father, the man had already landed himself on the long list of names to deal with, in the future, heinous crimes against kin earning him an owed penance.

Yet he doesn't have the chance to greet her before she's scrambling away, only to trip over a carelessly placed bow from an underclassman who's scrambling away before that fiery look can begin to reach his eyes. No matter, the professors have already moved to apprehend the fool for his misdeeds before the raven haired man has a chance to reach the smaller woman. Perhaps he should thank Casper for those ridiculous weights after all, hands slipping beneath the woman and slowly carrying her back toward the Black Eagle dormitories without as much of a struggle as he'd expected. 'Too light,' the only thought that enters his mind, one to convey to Edelgard later perhaps, when the younger archer was securely in her room and sleeping away the pain of a nasty fall.

He can see the bruising form already when she's set down on stiff sheets, looking and listening before a hand is hovering over the bump, invoking the tingling white magic to jump between palm and wound with only the hint of green to show for it. "Heal." An invocation of faith spread across her head before the man is turning to the desk covered in arrow fletching, a single gloved hand removing the vulnerary and placing it down before he leaves without a word.

[crimsonretainer]

Writing sampler on dash for posterity--

What has led you to where you are today?

His is a cold demeanour, one that lends not to standing in the light of day, and yet this ridiculous question serves only to drag him into the burning sunlight. Hubert has never been under the illusion of being anything but a tool to ensure Edelgard’s objectives are met as swiftly as necessary. His father, that shrewd cowardly man, is the hammer that forged him into a blade worthy of opening the path to her goals with his betrayal of the Emperor. 

Perhaps that’s why the dagger remains firmly in his boot, why those creeping thoughts linger in his mind every time he sees that traitor sitting at the head of the table. It’s out of consideration for her plans that he has not slit his throat too soon for subjecting Edelgard to the experimentation of those who slither in the dark, yet even now he maintains carefully encoded lists, names upon names of every collaborator in the scheme’s that led to Her Majesty’s cruel fate at the hands of the man who called himself her uncle.

Yes, it is his Father who set him on the path of spymaster, assassin, all those years ago with his desperation to seize power, that led to his isolation from his peers in an attempt to ensure each one would rely on Edelgard more than they did him. From the Songstress to the noble of Brigid, all would rally behind her Banner, even if it meant sullying his hands more than his father already had. No… Hubert does not weep for innocence lost, he plots and schemes until the day She can ascend to the throne his traitorous father tried to steal from her so long ago.

“What are your strengths and weaknesses?”

Hmph, how ridiculous, clearly the so-called Ashen Demon was not as adept at teaching if they expected him to view a question such as this with anything more than scorn and distaste. And yet, how long has it been since he was so openly vulnerable with his thoughts? To acknowledge the deep seeded flaws in his carefully crafted persona required a catalyst he often refused to himself. Oh, Edelgard had requested it of him often, to bare his thoughts, be they filled with rage or dangerously calm, and yet here the professor stood making him act like an open book. Perhaps that’s why he takes up the quill, discards the engrained calligraphy and bares his rage onto the parchment like tomorrow will be denied to him.

“Weakness… Is it weakness to be so young that fleeing home and the role I was expected to play came naturally, Professor? Maybe it’s better described as hubris, to see your one friend torn away and for what? The schemes of a power hungry fool who sends the hounds after you for daring to defy him?” And just like that, the paper is slid from the table, deft sleight of hand hiding it within his sleeve with only a raised eyebrow from the songstress to his left to show for it. She’s always been far too smart when it came to matters like these, and yet he couldn’t help but admire that resilience in his own way, clearly she had been a smart decision when he leant into his greatest strength. 

“My strengths lie in strategy, to view the world as just another chessboard to manipulate to my advantage. Everyone has hidden strengths, and mine lie in drawing it from them, whether they’d like me to or not.” The writing is neater now, slipping back into the mask of the Noble man his father had raised him to be oh so effectively, despite the fact it put the traitor’s life on the edge of the myriad knives he’d prepared for every conspirator.

If a story were to be written about your life, what role would you play?

Hm, now that was a question he’d grown so familiar, one posed by every member of the conspiracy to overthrow the order that the crests had instilled upon society. Would he be viewed as a hero, with every dark deed committed wiped from his record for the service he’d given to her majesty? Perhaps the Church of Seiros would blacken him for his sins, erase him and his house from the annals of history for the hubris of rising against their order, yet another failed rebellion against the control they’d ensured the crests gave to their favoured noble houses.

Perhaps he’d fade into obscurity, with every deed and every sin assigned to the faithful few who they’d gathered to stand against the storm. Yet all the man known as Hubert Von Vestra knew was this, his name would never be recorded in the annals of Garreg Mach’s alumni, no matter the triumphs or the sins committed. The only role for him in history was Her Majesty’s right hand, a weapon to be wielded against her enemies, a shield to be raised for her allies until the end of his days, be they long or short.

[crimsonretainer]

CRIMSONRETAINER: A Study in what it means to take a stand against fate, to be the dagger waiting in the wings, service above family, to sacrifice all you know for something more.

CLOSED AND AFFILIATED HUBERT VON VESTRA WITH The Officer's Academy

Channelled by Viis, He/Him, GMT+0

Ask || Writing Sample || Best contacted through discord