#also his cane is the same/similar colours as the snow misers cane!!!!

[pixelatedmars]

stupid stupid man with a stupid cane (jk he's so silly billy (but i still hate him a little bit))

[progeny-of-the-fury]

Drachen Trials: Endurance | Part IV

Log date: 3/8/18

OOC Note: The text in these logs are strictly for the reader’s enjoyment. Anyone using the knowledge displayed within this text without the participant’s knowledge risks the potential of blacklisting from future communication and roleplay. Please do not meta-game!

Tags: @truth-of-the-warden​

And then came the third. Each one that passed, worse than the other… by more means than one. How I dreaded this all. How this once proud tradition I could not wait to fulfill was sullied with each passing trial.

Hestia De'bayle approached with Killian, adjusting her gauntlets over her arms. Dogs at the man’s side, Hestia looked over the two before her. “Good to see you both again. How are you faring?”

Killian Waltz says nothing, holding Summer and Mercy to heel at his sides with one hand, his cane in the other.

Lucius Guiscareaux: “I am faring well, despite this weather.”

Hestia De'bayle: “Not a fan of lightning?”

Gaelle Favagenieur pulls the collar of her coat tightly around the nape of her neck, offering the pair a curt nod. “Good evening Baroness, Mister Waltz.”

Killian Waltz: “Good evening,” Killian echoes in a cool tone.

Hestia De'bayle: “Well then Ser Lucius, to cut to the chase. What is my trial for today?” She asks flatly.

Lucius Guiscareaux: “You will be partaking in your trials of endurance. Specifically you wil be journeying from henceforth to falcon’s nest. Without succor. You will complete this task without footwear and you will be weighted down.”

Hestia De'bayle: “With…” she inhales. “Understood,” she says simply. Turning toward Killian, Hestia cleared her throat. “Killian, might you have a potions to help me along the way? In case I need one?”

Killian Waltz presses his lips together. “You’ll get frostbite walking barefoot through the snow for so long.”

Gaelle Favagenieur ’s eyes flit immediately towards Hestia, then to Killian, studying their faces.

Hestia De'bayle: “I will take the measures needed to prevent such along the way. Endurance is not simply just the walk, but the survival of it all. I will take what is necessary of me to care for myself along the way. If I find myself failing, I will contact you all. Obviously resulting in my failure of this trial.”

Gaelle Favagenieur: “Let us hope it does not come to that.”

Hestia De'bayle: “I have faith in myself, that it will not.”

Lucius Guiscareaux: “If you manage it, consider this trial completed, Hestia.”

Gaelle Favagenieur nods, “As you should, Baroness.”

Hestia De'bayle: “Understood, Ser Lucius. I will carry out my duty to my utmost capabilities.”

Killian Waltz tucks his cane under one arm to pull his shouldered bag over his head, offering it to Hestia. “This is all I have. Don’t push yourself too hard. Losing a foot or even just a toe will upset your ability to walk and fight more than you might realize, and I can’t undo frostbite with magic.”

Hestia De'bayle: “Ser, if I may. To prevent potential injury that could inhibit my ability as a Dragoon after the trials needlessly, might I at least don a light pair of leather espadrilles? I do not imagine they will offer much protection, but I certainly think they can hold me out and offer me a more fair chance at crossing.”

Lucius Guiscareaux approached the woman, handing her what appeared to be old, but not ancient, body weights. Arms and ankles respectfully, he nearly sneered for a moment, before considering her words. “You may.”

Hestia De'bayle: “Thank you,” she accepted the weights, they dipping her hands a moment with the unexpected weight before she also accepted Killian’s bag. “I swear to you Killian, if things are looking grim, I will ensure I make contact.”

Killian Waltz: “You’ll know you need to take a break if your feet start to cause you a lot of pain, replaced by a prickling feeling and numbness. You need to tend to them then or the damage will be irreversible.”

Hestia De'bayle: “Mm. Understood. Have you anything in here to help with such? Frostbite or anything of the sort?”

Killian Waltz: “Those are potions, but…” Killian pats down his jacket until he finds another pouch, pulling it from his belt and offering it to Hestia. “Fire-aspected crystals. They can help with rewarming the skin, but it’s…not an ideal method. Don’t touch them directly.”

Hestia De'bayle: “Mm. Alright, I will shove them in some socks I have, and use them similarly to an ice-pack if needed,” she accepts the crystals. “Thank you. I imagine you will be waiting for me at Falcons Nest?”

Lucius Guiscareaux: “That is the plan. I’ve brought a nice cask or two of the finer drinks in life to await your arrival, should you manage this.”

Killian Waltz: “I…I suppose,” Killian mumbles. He lifts a hand up…to Nogelle, surprisingly, close enough for the wyvern to respond to his following words but not actually touching him. “Can you make sure she doesn’t lose anything?” he murmurs.

Nogelle narrows his eyes between the three, eventually focusing his beady gaze onto Killian. Exhaling through his nostrils, he pecked at the mans palm some before poking Hestia’s head. “Alright. I am to go and prepare then. I will see you all in some… bells,” she mumbles, turning on her heel to retreat back into the settlement to set up.

After carefully organizing and familiarizing myself with the materials Killian offered me, fitting myself with the weights to my arms and legs, and appropriately changing my footwear to a pair of leather espadrilles, I moved out of Tailfeather to begin my journey.

I would not admit to Ser Guiscareaux, Miss Favageniuer or even Killian that I was afraid. Reminded of my time under Hitokiri when the man thrusted me into the wilderness. Alone, small. Afraid.

Afraid.

That was an emotion I had grown all too familiar with. And one he taught me how to lock away. I wished to be a knight. However, I knew better. They are not built without fear. I know once upon a time, even Ser Lucius expressed fear. Perhaps he still did. Though he was taught that the priority of the matters at hand were far greater than that of our own consternation. I was taught the same. Fear is what drives us to live, we all feel it or how would we survive in this world?

Already, I felt the snow begin to soak the leather of my shoes after breaching the Highlands, the cold blistering and fierce. Fury… perhaps She was listening during this all. I wish to walk in Her image, and here I found I was. Over Her glaciers, and chilling winds. Perhaps She was guiding me? Or perhaps after already a bell or so of walking through an endless wasteland of ivory, I was finally losing it.

It was then that I began to feel it. Pain in my feet. My legs and my arms. Pain all over. It was miserable, the journey. But… it reminded me of something. As though the pain was metaphorical. The suffering most Dragoons underwent for such a title. They went through anything. They would do anything for their people, for what mattered. To protect.

I thought of Killian, how he awaited me at Falcons Nest. More than likely having distanced himself from Miss Favagenieur and Ser Guiscareaux. Sitting in the cold. Waiting. Waiting for me.

I knew he was. And somehow, they drove my legs to keep moving forward. He would willingly bare the cold for me. To know I was safe. I did not want this for him. I did not want him to suffer in the cold on my behalf. This march I made, this fight I accepted. Is to protect him. My future family. My current family.

I was uncertain as to how much time had passed by now. My senses felt dulled by the cold, and all I saw was white. Everywhere. The snow stung my face as the wind only added to sharpness I felt. Like knives stabbing into me. I knew now would be a good time to rest. I had to. If I were to be stubborn and continue, I would risk hurting myself for the future. Then what? Would everything I allowed to happen, everything I worked so hard for be for naught?

I was not about to find out.

Keeping my weights on, I shuffled around to begin gathering what dry firewood I could. Situating myself under an outstretched bolder, I set up the camp just as Hito had once taught me, all those winters ago. Pulling out some flint from the bag Killian offered me, I worked to light the fire. It proved just as stubborn as I, my hands feeling numb and hard to use. After some frustrated cursing and struggling, I managed a small flame. Building it, it finally rose into a greater inferno. First warming my hands, I then situated myself by the fire and worked off my shoes.

My feet were certainly a sore sight. Red, covered in blisters. Thankfully they still had their feeling and colour, albeit I might have wished not so much on the former. Placing them by the flame, I lowered my head.

What was I doing…

I shook my head some, a deep huff of air visibly leaving my mouth. I felt Nogelle crawl himself down my legs, resting his warm body against my ankles. It was only then I realized there were tears running down my cheeks. The icy nature of them completely lost to the wind. Once my feet were warmed enough, I went through the bag once more in search of the fire crystals Killian offered me.

Warming my feet through the socks that held them, eventually they appeared in better shape, aside from the blisters. After such, I placed the crystals within my shoes, hoping to warm them some before I returned to my journey.

The rest was well needed. I felt starved, having not brought food with, but thankfully quenched as I gulped at the canteen I kept within the bag. I felt the hunger could work as incentive to push me. I certainly felt a drive to move forward. I rested some minutes longer before re-equipping my shoes back on and putting out the fire. Solidifying myself once more with a visage of focus, I found myself back in fond memories of a similar determined state. Back when I was a girl.

Back when I was left to travel and wander alone.

I was reminded of who I was made to be. Who I am now. Why I went through all this. The snow wished to break me… but I would not allow it to do so.

I returned to my wandering, Camp Falcon’s Nest now but a small blip in the distance. I knew I could make it. I could do this. I knew I could.

Trudging through the snow, I passed an abandoned settlement. Camp Riversmeet, I believe it was. Once a thriving lodging located over the vast green hills of Coerthas… now left to wither and fade away with the rest of the history that once lay here.

It was… almost tragic. No. It was. It was tragic. I recalled the melting of snow beside the fire I had lit, and the small remnants of what once was a grassy field. I felt my heart ache yet again. Wondering what could have been of a now desolate location.

More times passed. Presumably bells as the sky grew darker. I knew not how far I had travelled, lost to my own thoughts. Before I knew it, Falcon’s Nest was just ahead.

A small gasp left me as I looked up, my body once more numbed by the cold. Tightening my painfully chapped lips together, I made my final march up toward the stone fortress. This was a trial I would overcome, and with this… any other thrown my way.

Some bells passed, no sign of the half-Elezen in all that time. Eventually, the young woman made her approach on Falcon’s Nest, her legs just barely carrying her to the end.

Killian sits huddled up in a little ball with Summer and Mercy, enough snow gathered over them to suggest they’d been out here perhaps for the entire duration of Hestia’s absence. As the dogs stir, whining and wiggling against Killian, he lifts his head some, his face bright red with chill and wind burn. “Hestia?”

Dragging herself up the stairs practically, Hestia turned toward where Killian sat, her lips chapped and scabbed and her face bright red with burns. “Killian…” she rasped out.

Killian struggles up to his feet, reaching out for Hestia as he steps toward her. “Come here, come here,” he murmurs.

Staggering, Hestia took a heavy step toward him, her feet dragging loudly against the stone as she leaned forward. “I… knew I would make it. I knew…”

Killian’s hands find Hestia, Summer and Mercy yipping and whining excitedly behind him. He pulls her into his arms, then shifts to help her sit. “Let me tend to you. Let me…” He stirs again to search for Hestia’s legs. “What are you feeling?”

“They hurt…” Hestia noted out needlessly. “My arms, my legs… everything. The cold is a cruel mistress…” she laughs out dryly, a cough escaping her. “I can still… move them though. I feel numb, all over…”

Killian works his frozen fingers over the weights at Hestia’s ankles, then breathes into his hands in an attempt to warm them for her skin. His breath is too cold to offer much help, so instead he tries to offer healing warmth to her legs and feet with the blue-white glow of magic.

Regardless of how cold Killian’s hands might feel, they were still warmer than both Hestia’s frigids skin and the icy winds of Coerthas, providing some immediate relief. “Ah…” she exhales out as she felt the warm spread through her body. “That is nice…”

“Here…here.” Killian shifts to pull off his own boots, then the leathers wrapped around Hestia’s feet, quickly working to pull his boots over her feet and legs in their place. They’re too big, of course, but much warmer than the snow-soaked leathers. Summer and Mercy cuddle up with them as well.

“Thank you…” Hestia murmured, lying there exhausted. “I… I passed. I think?”

“You made it,” Killian murmurs, tucking Hestia into his arms. “I’m sure there’s…food and a fire somewhere inside. With Ser Guiscareaux and Lady Favagenieur. If you hold onto my cane and your lance in your arms instead of at your back, I can carry you there. Summer and Mercy can lead me.”

“I do not… I can… I can walk,” Hestia nods, struggling to stand up, using Killian for leverage. “I can get there.”

Killian rises up to his feet, snow quickly soaking through his socks. “Are you sure? I can carry you. I can help you.”

“You can carry me home. I will march all the way to him, so he can see I passed…” Hestia nodded, beginning forward once more.

Killian walks somewhat slowly alongside Hestia, shivering some as cold transfers up through his soaked feet.

Hestia De'bayle finally enters into the room alongside Killian and Nogelle. Her face was burned and lips cracked. “Evening…” she managed out. Slugging over toward the table, slamming her fist into the wood. “I passed,” she states simply, as though there was no argument for it.

Hestia De'bayle: “B-work,” she growled out, moving to sit herself down. Her expression was only determination, nothing else. “I will eat something, then I am to return to the estate.”

Killian Waltz murmurs a command to the dogs, who sit obediently at the table’s edge. Searching and approaching the nearest seat, he pulls off his socks, curling up to warm his own feet.

Lucius Guiscareaux: “You asked for shoes.” He stated, picking up his own glass and taking a sip. “Regardless, fine work.”

Killian Waltz: “No she didn’t.”

Hestia De'bayle: “Yes I did Killian,” she sighs out exhaustingly.

Killian Waltz: “Those leather skins weren’t shoes. They were soaked through with snow. Shoes are protective. Those aren’t.”

Gaelle Favagenieur sets each plate in front of the respective members of the group before taking a seat of her own. “Welcome back, Baroness” she’d remark, her gaze shifting towards Killian with noticeable annoyance in her eyes.

Hestia De'bayle: “Thank you, Ser Guiscareaux.” She looked over toward Gaelle. “Thank you Miss Favagenieur,” she answers blandly, accepting her plate of food. “Enough Killian.”

Lucius Guiscareaux: “I’m not here to argue semantics, Mister Waltz.”

Killian Waltz pushes his plate away and uncurls from his ball, taking his cane again and moving wordlessly toward the door.

Gaelle Favagenieur: “Please, eat.”

Hestia De'bayle shakes her head, bringing a miserable hand up to rub at her face. “Soon… soon this will all be over,” she murmurs, pressing a fork into whatever dish was provided before her to slowly bringing to her mouth.

Lucius Guiscareaux: “You’re going to be a dragoon, the hardship doesn’t end, its part of your life. It’s the sacrifices you make so that others may live without having to make these same choices.”

Gaelle Favagenieur: “…”

Lucius Guiscareaux: “This is child’s play, please. Relax and enjoy your meal, you’ve earned it and then some. I’d dare say I’m proud.”

Hestia De'bayle: “I do not mean the trials,” she says grimly.

Lucius Guiscareaux: “I am aware of what you speak of. It is nothing, now stop being so dour and enjoy the food Gaelle had ordered, and get some rest.”

Hestia De'bayle: “I am eating it,” she gestures up her fork, continuing to eat in silence as she stared off blankly.

Gaelle Favagenieur: “I grow tired of this. I have attempted to be amicable, to disregard the events of your previous trial—yet any and all civility is rebuked as though I am some feral beast,” she spurts, jabbing into her own meal with her fork.

Hestia De'bayle: “He does not handle frustration from others well. It only upsets and draws him away further…” she mumbles. “Worry not. Once these are all over, you need not see him again nor vice versa.

Gaelle Favagenieur: "Let it be known that I had tried,” she’d remark blandly.

Lucius Guiscareaux: “I will not bother to try. The final door was closed when he interrupted your trial. I do not forgive those who do not respect our nation’s customs. YOur trials will continue, and you will succeed, or fail.”

Hestia De'bayle: “Mm,” she shrugs her shoulder up, moving to shovel her food into her mouth.

Lucius Guiscareaux: “I need to depart, my brother needs me yet again. Speaking of insolent.” He shook his head, making sure to actually take the dinner with him, wrapped in the napkin he was provided. “Thank you Gaelle, and Hestia, your trials will continue shortly. Pray, recover from the madness of this trial and we shall continue.”

Gaelle Favagenieur offers a wordless grunt in response, slicing into her dinner with a dull knife.

Hestia De'bayle: “Mm,” she murmurs out in a similar wordless grunt, her plate now finished as she pushed herself away from the table. “I am to return to the estate now,” she says in a coarse voice. “Thank you for the food, Miss Favagenieur. Take care the both of you. I would like to accompany you, Lucius, if you’d have me. I wish to return to the See at once.”

Hestia De'bayle: “Killian.”

Lucius Guiscareaux: “Please, lets.”

Killian Waltz sits curled up in the alcove, his scarf now wrapped around his otherwise bare feet to protect them from the cold. “Do you have your boots?”

Hestia De'bayle: “I do not, they are back in tailfeather. Take them back. I can walk to the See. I will be fine on an airship,” she moves to remove the boots, tossing them to the man. “If I can survive as long as I did, I can survive a bit longer. I am leaving now.”

Killian Waltz: “No. Keep the boots. And take the dogs. I’ll teleport.”

Hestia De'bayle: “Fine.” She moves to take the dogs and re-fasten her boots before taking her leave.

Miserable.