#interaction: inserviceto

[sayhwaet]

"Excuse me, sir," Harken clears his throat, his expression mostly neutral but with an undercurrent of displeasure. "I do not know what you hope to gain from plying my young lord with alcohol, but I would ask you to desist. Lord Eliwood has a good and kind soul, he is a man who would indulge those around him -- even if they do not have good intentions towards himself."

There was something about this man that spoke of...not an outright bad nature, but someone who was perhaps not afraid to take humor in someone else's foolishness -- by their own hand, or with a helping nudge from his own.

"If you do not cease, I will be forced to act on behalf of my lord's best interests."

He almost didn't notice the other man's approach. It wasn't that he was quiet - he was - or that his appearance was unremarkable - it was - but it was that there was something in his manner and bearing that Beowolf found...

Hm. He didn't quite like that. It wasn't so offensive to his senses as some men had been - strong moral backbone always ticked in the positives, but there was something else that at the moment, grated underneath Beowolf's skin.

"Eh?" He rubbed the tip of his pinky into his ear, as though he had not quite heard. "Plying? Nah, friend, I'm enjoyin' the party, same as - well, I guess you ain't enjoying the party, are you? Lookit you, stiff as a board - what are you even wearing? You look like it's a damn wake. Liven up, pal, maybe we should get a couple'a drinks in you, hey?"

A yawn, long and intentional but without the heft of any real fatigue, and Beowolf waves a hand, a dismissive gesture. "Guess you c'n lead a horse but can't make him drink, isn't that what they say? I don't know your Lord Elle of Wood or whatever, but if y'ask me - "

He lowered his voice and leaned forward. "I'm pretty sure I heard that some young lord has had more than two glasses of champers. Yeah. I heard it was some teacher - Nannies of Archanea? Queen or something, I don't have the head for all of these titles, so forgive me friend. But best of luck on your mission."

And with a jaunty wave over his shoulder, Beowolf turned and meandered back into the crowd for another drink, and another dance.

Weird fella.

[blaiddllodi]

"There they are!" the head of their expedition called out with a laugh, sheathing the knife back into his boot as he rose from where he crouched, the twine of dismantled trap curling neatly around his fingers before he let it drop to the ground. Tipping his the brim of his hat back, the man assessed them with creased, amused eyes. "Thought the two of you mighta gotten lost. 'Bout ready to put lunch on, was just waitin' on you to catch up."

Dimitri's boots crunched through the underbrush, breaking through the dense line of jungle and into the clearing immediately within proximity, noting the familiar lines of their base camp - had they truly made so little progress in this area?

"A-ah…yes, thank you, sir. We…were held up."

"Careful you don't stray too far next time, huh? If we venture out too far from the cabin, we might actually get lost in these wilds." Another laugh, then a wave to gesture them inside - in the dry, in the cool, where awaited them a fresh change of close and some reprieve. "I think we've got some sandwiches."

- fin.

Rambi II: First Blonde

[peerlessscowl]

It seemed incomprehensible that they could have gotten so lost in such a short time, but between the snow and the wind, the howl in their ears and the vast expanse of white before them, it was clear that Harken had the right of it – they were off course, and by no small measure. 

Raven nodded, preserving the heat of his breath from escaping into the cold, and began the arduous work of tugging his horse gently off the course they were on, guiding the beast as best he could out of the wind, out of the ploughing snow, and into the bare cover of the trees that lined the area. 

He waited for Harken to follow, eyes scanning the area around them desperately for any indication of where they might have ended up and only finding the same nondescript blanket of white as before. He sighed, a single, gentle huff of air through his nose, and shook his head at the other man. 

"It doesn't seem to me like we've been on the road proper for some time." He didn't spend too long wondering what had happened in that short amount of time, forcing himself instead to focus on orienting himself, trying to bring the spinning compass needle in his mind to a halt and failing. "We shouldn't continue in the direction we were going – we're better off moving back, to see if we can find the path we came from - " 

But that too had filled over with the driving snow, and Raven restrained the urge to grunt his frustration upon realizing. 

Was this where he was to meet his end? In the middle of a snowstorm, with a stranger? 

No. His brow beetled, and he blinked away some of the snowblindness, squinting into the distance, shielding his eyes with a hand to see -  

There. 

"Smoke." He pointed, and gently began to lead his horse in that direction. "There must be people there. We can regroup once we know where we are." 

Neither Snow Nor Gloom of Night

[bxldrsdraumar]

Sigurd could scarcely take the time to enjoy the presence of his friend before the two other men began to snip at each other. It was understandable, he supposed – he had heard that this happened, sometimes, with those who drank coffee to excess, and though he did not know for certain, he felt that he had perhaps learned something about his friend in that moment. 

"Peace, gentlemen." Sigurd stepped between them bodily, placing a hand in warning on the others' chests – he did not want to believe that it would come to blows between them, but the hackles were up. 

The young knight, who had yet to introduce himself, seemed barbed and ready for violence at the barest word, and Sir Lloyd seemed happy to meet his challenge. He knew not what tensions lay between these men, but it was clear that it was not merely to do with the unfortunate events that had befallen the knights lounge coffeemaker. 

Did they know each other? It seemed a most fair bet, from the way the young knight assessed Sir Lloyd, the rake of his eyes and the disdain in his voice. Perhaps Sir Lloyd had sense it as well, a familiar enemy from a familiar home. Sigurd had heard little of Elibe, but he did know one thing, from those he had met: they were ready to fight. 

"We are no closer to our goal if we take each other as enemies, and I should hate to take sides in a fruitless squabble." 

It did not bear saying whose side he would have taken, if it came to it. 

Shaking his head, Sigurd's eyes raked over the area, scrutinizing the mess. Indeed, it was not something he could have ever in good conscience attribute to Sir Lloyd, who for all else had seemed a particular sort of man, and ill-favored of mess. Propping one hand on his hip, chin on the opposite fist, Sigurd could not say that he could attest the other man had done so either – his hands, figuratively and literally, appeared quite clean. 

"I know that it was not I," he announced, stated the fact as simply as he breathed; "I drink only water before the sun rises. Whatever benefit this concoction has, it is not something that affects me. And, it seems to me, that it was not our friend here," he added to Sir Lloyd, flicking his eyes to the other knight thoughtfully. 

"So, perhaps we ought begin there. You were here first – no, my friend, I do not blame you, I merely seek answers, " he insisted before Sir Lloyd could take offense, "so please. Tell us. When did you arrive? Did you see anything that might mark suspicious?

"And you." He turned to the young knight, assessed him from top to toe. "When did you arrive? Can you account for yourself?"

@inserviceto

Who Broke It

Court is now in session! Inspiration has struck Garreg Mach from an unusual quarter: a series of novels featuring the exploits of a Knight, Shane les Parodee, trying his best to reform a corrupt justice system through trial and investigation. The more curious minds of the Monastery are ablaze with the chance to host their own 'mock’ trials! Whilst a fad likely to sputter out under the pressure of the Church, for now students are gathering together bands of defendants, prosecutors and defence to try their own hand at this enticing new system for all manner of grievances, either real or created for the trial itself! Which role will you take, (or be roped into?) and, is there something to this system of trial? [Grants Authority +1]

[blaiddllodi]

- ?!

He had quite expected for Sir Harken to stumble into him, but allowed it - the steady rock for the other man to brace himself against, to buffer the tides of whatever pain came roiling from deep inside him.

Time halted in those seconds - could have been minutes or hours - until Sir Harken composed himself enough, and they began their trek forward once more. The heat, for all that it had not seemed to change in the time they had been in the dark of the jungle, pressed in closer, forcing the space more claustrophobic than Dimitri could remember feeling in quite some time.

"Ah!" After several yards, which had felt like miles, Dimitri waved excitedly to Harken, clapping a hand to his shoulder in unmasked delight. "The footprints! I believe if we follow these, then surely our companions will not be far off!"

Rambi II: First Blonde

[blaiddllodi]

"Sir Harken…?" The man wasn't well, he could tell that much from the deathly pallor that sat heavily beneath the fine veneer of sweat, a filmy sallowness that had seemed to creep in underneath the heat without Dimitri noticing until he focused his entire attention on the man before him.

For all that Dimitri preferred titles be left back at base camp, if at all, he knew when it was out of character for someone to get them wrong. He was not a majesty, and he certainly was not whoever Harken had seen hovering just past his shoulder.

"Come." He extended a hand, and tugged the man to his feet, kept his grip firm in case Sir Harken faltered, and looked about the space. "I do not think either of us are skilled enough trackers to notice whatever they might have left behind, but if we look, perhaps we will find the signs of movement - cut vines and foliage, if not their footprints."

A pause, uncertain. "Everything will be all right, Sir Harken."

Rambi II: First Blonde

[blaiddllodi]

That Harken was as startled and unsettled as he was a disquieting notion - the man had thusfar been the pinnacle of professional bearing, had been quiet and staid, a shadow at Dimitri's heels that he thought he might be able to depend on if the worst came for them.

But now that something was indeed coming for them, the man seemed…to be fraying at the edges, unraveling by inches the longer they spent in the buzz, in the heat, surrounded by nothing but vibrant, lively green.

Quietly, Dimitri leant forward and placed a hand gently on the knight's arm. "Calm down, Sir Harken. If we keep our composure, then surely this threat cannot get the better of us. Not for long."

It wasn't much reassurance, but it seemed to him that the man was in dire need of it. Carefully resetting the trap, Dimitri stood, dusted off the knees of his trousers, and offered his most encouraging smile. "Let us press on. I believe we can catch up, if we get our bearings and discern the direction our comrades went."

Rambi II: First Blonde

[blaiddllodi]

"You've nothing to apologize for, Sir Harken. Your diligence is appreciated. If there is something in this jungle with us, it would do us well to be on alert for it." Dimitri canted his head, swiping once more at the vines that proliferated the area. If only he could see - !

Shaking his head, Dimitri spun in place, a moment, then sighed. "It appears that we've lost our party…and, I fear, the trail. Come, we should retrace our steps, if we can and - ah!"

Rather than doing that very thing, Dimitri pointed, moving through the dense brush: another trap, dismantled. Neatly untied, with the twine discarded in a pile on the loamy soil. "How could they have gotten past us, even now?!"

Rambi II: First Blonde

[blaiddllodi]

Right, so, about those monsters! It turns out they might be smarter than you are, because you can’t just walk up to them and start swinging, and they also look to have little interest in your cute traps and snares. You’re going to have to get creative about it, before the hunters become the hunted. [Grants Any Skill +1] (word count challenge 200 - starter for @inserviceto)

"Sir Harken! Will you come to look at this?"

They had been at it for what seemed like hours, the backup strike force for a coterie of knights in the dark jungle - the knights, keeping a good distance in front of them, moved carefully about the dense undergrowth, focusing on finding careful paths about the island, and it was Dimitri and Sir Harken who had been tasked with ensuring that no danger reached them from behind.

It had been…slow going, as every few meters they had needed to stop and assess.

Something in these woods was startlingly intelligent, dismantling trap after trap, navigating the terrain expertly.

Dimitri held up a section of twine which, in the delicate, diffused light, might have been hidden if one had not known to look for it. It was cut neatly, as though with a blade.

"I…find this troubling," he admitted, taking another skein of twine from his satchel to reset the trap. Were there eyes on them, even now?

Rambi II: First Blonde

[blaiddllodi]

Sir Harken's jump grabbed Dimitri's attention immediately, swiveling him in place where he was, lance at the ready. His eyes scanned the thick green of the area about them, prepared for any sort of beastly menace which might have been stalking them, but he found only the varying shades of green and the shimmer of humidity and heat.

"I do not. Where did it go?" His steps could not have been more cautious, a semi-circle at Sir Harken's flank, seeking where the threat might have disappeared and coming up wanting.

The buzz about them began to feel as though it was sinking beneath his skin, rattling him. "Are…you certain that there was something? Perhaps…perhaps it was merely the heat, and an errant vine…?"

Even he didn't believe that.

Rambi II: First Blonde

[blaiddllodi]

Disconcerting was the proper word for it, certainly. It felt, even in just the short time they had been walking - for surely, it could not have been more than an hour? - that they had taken more steps to circle back than they had to progress. The enveloping buzz, the stifling heat and close humidity, and now the oppressive sense that there was something in the jungle with them.

Dimitri smiled, though he did not mean it. "Too true, Sir Harken. I am lucky to have you at my side for this venture, you are…surely more experienced in such things. It is difficult not to get too wrapped up in details."

Their steps carried them forward, dense foliage padding a soft carpet underfoot. Dimitri shoved a curtain of vines aside with the butt of his lance, grunting. "I am amazed that anyone - or, I suppose, anything? - can even think to navigate in this, let alone to employ such trickery."

Rambi II: First Blonde

[blaiddllodi]

The value that Dimitri placed on Sir Harken's insight was incalculable. This man was an experienced knight, having honed himself to a fine edge under a family for many years before coming to the monastery, if the history Dimitri had received was accurate, and it shone in the way he comported himself on this island.

Where the knights that traveled ahead of them might have opted for the lighter tunics and canvas trousers more suited for explorers of a new area, Dimitri had followed Sir Harken's example and had kitted himself in the breastplate, gauntlets, and greaves. They would not be taken so unawares by the threat.

Squinting ahead, Dimitri calculated the distance of their party, before shaking his head. "They're within sight, but perhaps this…beast took advantage of the din of the jungle."

The sound that enveloped them was a buzz, the vibrant life and sway of plantlife around them drowned in the rich cacophony of insects droning, birds crying, and…was he imagining the shift of something else, prowling in the dark underbrush?

"I cannot say that any part of this experience is familiar to me," he admitted, a touch ashamed. "Come, we should press on."

Rambi II: First Blonde

[peerlessscowl]

"Stop apologizing," he snapped, though he wasn't sure he could be heard over the howl of the wind that spiraled around them. From the fringe of his awareness, he knew that this knight Harken had fallen into step behind him as he led the way to the stables – he had already readied mounts for them? Dutiful man. 

It did not escape his notice how Harken chose to phrase it – to last you long enough – but he elected not to comment on it for the moment, saving his energy in the face of the harsh winds as they circled around to the stables before shaking the frost from his hair. 

Raven caught sight of the mounts immediately, and he greeted them with a warm palm to the nose. 

"Not much harsh climate like this in..." He trailed off, unable to say even the name of his home to this stranger who claimed familiarity. Instead, he shook his head. "Well traveled, though. We'll make do, regardless." 

He didn't want to dwell overmuch on the cold that awaited them, on the desolation and emptiness that the blizzard had promised with the taking of the courier's life. An ill-omen for a lost cause of a task, with no reward. 

He could not say that he trusted this Harken, either, this man so eager to throw himself into the flurry beside him, so willing to genuflect for a stranger. The cold would put the sort of man he was on display with a quickness, and the sooner Raven discerned whether he was a threat or dead weight, the sooner he could turn his focus back to the task at hand. 

  Raven shrugged on a heavy coat, spiraled a scarf over his face before mounting. "When you're ready?" 

Neither Snow Nor Gloom of Night

[peerlessscowl]

Mail arrives at the monastery for the first time in weeks, carried by a brave messenger who dies almost as soon as he arrives. With the break in communication and lingering unrest from the incident with the imposters, friends and loved ones from other continents are desperately trying to reestablish contact. Their frantic letters speak of trouble from home, but there’s no way to get a timely reply back in this weather…  (start for @inserviceto)

Raven had seen when the courier had arrived, had been in the main hall when the young man had burst into the shelter of the monastery's walls, the swirling of wind and snow in his wake as he tumbled to the floor, the weight of his sack of letters hauling him down. He'd helped others to get the massive doors shut against the wind, had kept his ears sharp for mentions of what he'd borne. 

Had heard when he died. 

Raven grappled with the information as the faculty decided what needed to be done. It was mail – it was just mail, many had said, and not worth risking more lives – but it wasn't just mail, was it? The letters were pleas, desperate cries into the void of the blizzard to reach their loved ones, for information on what was happening. Raven couldn't blame the writers, nor the respondents, for wanting to convey the information as urgently as possible. 

If he'd had a family to communicate to, that everything was all right, to set the record straight... 

He supposed he'd have braved the storm as well. 

But many of these kids didn't have that option, and though the courier had sacrificed himself to convey one message, that still left the matter of responses, so many fretting families, trapped in the dark without the ability to see or hear what was the truth. 

He'd offered. It was an easy decision – he was hardier than most, and able to make the decisions that he felt needed to be made to get many of the letters where they'd needed to go. Traveling all the way to other continents was out of the question, but at the very least he could get the letters out of the mountains, out of the worst of the blizzard so that they could then begin to move as intended. 

But because he was a student, the administration of the monastery had forbidden his going alone. He didn't need a babysitter, he'd traveled alone and in much worse condition than this, but they didn't need to know that, so he'd bitten his tongue and nodded, and now he waited in the main hall for the knight that was assigned to chaperone this venture into the unknown. 

Hearing the footsteps clicking in the main hall, Raven glanced over his shoulder and narrowed his eyes. "You must be here for me. Sir...?"

Neither Snow Nor Gloom of Night

[peerlessscowl]

Whatever Raven had been expecting – sneers, cruel jabs or haughty comparisons to this lord or that lady, the laughs that he'd heard following the whisper of his family's name, as though it weren't only something dirty, but something amusing, pathetic, a stray dog in a funny hat that one could throw stones at – it had not been what this knight had done. 

He had not expected him to fawn at him. 

He had expected less for the knight to kneel, as though the tension between them now were something so easily soothed by the proper due respect. 

Was it? Was it the respect he was due? The deference settled over him, suffocating as the whipping winds of the blizzard outside, and it sank into his skin with hooks, tugging him until he fidgeted under the bowing weight that the man didn't seem aware he was placing on Raven's shoulders. 

Eventually, he spoke, shattering the fragile silence. "You...you don't..." A grimace – this was not something he was used to, even in his family's high point, they could never have been the type of family who needed this – before he shifted his stance, tugging the man upright once more. 

"Get up. Don't..." A crease formed in his brow, and he shook his head, dismissing the strange heat that crept up his neck and sank into his cheeks as he turned his face away for a moment, then settled his eyes back on the man's face.  

Harken recalled their kindness. His lord had expressed sorrow. 

Raven's chest ached, and he swallowed the swell of emotion that threatened to climb up his throat and plop onto the ground between them. Blinking away the mist in his eyes, he turned away, snatching up the satchel of letters that rested by the column nearest the main entrance. 

"If you're done, then we'll get moving. The sooner the better." 

Neither Snow Nor Gloom of Night

[bxldrsdraumar]

Sigurd had been up for hours by the time the sun had begun to peek over the hazy clouds of Spring. It was through no personal preference, necessarily, and simply that his body called to attention earlier and earlier – a consequence of his military service, of his own time at the academy at Belhalla, at the sheer heat of his blood looking for an outlet at all times, ill-suited for rest. So, too, did he find himself awake later, moving about the monastery and town to keep himself occupied as his blood burned hotter, brighter. 

He found himself in the knights' lounge with some frequency, the social aspect as appealing to him as any other amenity, seeking and finding warriors of like mind and heart, those he sought out a pleasure of company even if it was just a moment in companionable silence. 

It was in this hall, in these odd hours, that he often found many of his dearest friends, and many of his newest friends, and quite often he found Sir Lloyd Reed moving about the space, brusque and efficient in the manner that he had come to expect of this quiet, stolid man. 

This morning, however, as Sigurd crossed the threshold, toweling himself after his pre-dawn run, he found his friend moving about in a sluggish, confused manner, pinpricks of panic coursing through the air.. 

Approaching, Sigurd peered over his friend's shoulder as Reed turned, and at the expression on the man's face Sigurd had to stifle a sympathetic smile – so desolate was he in that moment, so drained of his will to live, Sigurd's heart could not help but reach out to him. 

Cocking his head, he glanced at the pot in the man's hands, and he shook his head, a mite helpless. "Apologies, my friend. I cannot say that I know for certain who's done - " eyes flicked to the scattered mess of the knights' hall, coffee grounds in many crevices they did not belong in, stained paper filters caught on the side of the cabinet, and the coffee pot itself, pathetic and small in Lloyd's hands, unable to fulfill its purpose, "all of this. But, come," he addressed the other that had approached, a man so unsettlingly quiet in his presence that he scarce heard his approach, "We three can figure this out together. Surely we have all the facts, it cannot be such a mystery to elude us." 

@inserviceto

Who Broke It

Court is now in session! Inspiration has struck Garreg Mach from an unusual quarter: a series of novels featuring the exploits of a Knight, Shane les Parodee, trying his best to reform a corrupt justice system through trial and investigation. The more curious minds of the Monastery are ablaze with the chance to host their own 'mock’ trials! Whilst a fad likely to sputter out under the pressure of the Church, for now students are gathering together bands of defendants, prosecutors and defence to try their own hand at this enticing new system for all manner of grievances, either real or created for the trial itself! Which role will you take, (or be roped into?) and, is there something to this system of trial? [Grants Authority +1]