#riandur 01

[veseniya-tqd]

Who: @riandur Where: Outside Caer Glas When: ~5 months ago when she first exited the arches Notes: The anti-yapper

The Arches, in all of their cruelty, seemed to have one final trick up their sleeves when they finally released Veseniya from the labyrinth of space and time. She had expected the endless, unforgiving dunes of Ankhuria to await her beyond the shimmering threshold of the open gateway. Instead, she found herself somewhere unfamiliar; lush, coniferous, and green. The arid air of the forest chilled a decades-long cold sweat that beaded on her skin and she pulled herself from where she’d landed in the tall, itching grass. Veseniya held her own shaking hands before her, learning that time had looped back upon itself again; they were devoid of the deep lines and swollen knuckles that seemed to fade in and out. She flexed them before she wobbled to her feet, no joints aching or fighting even her most minute movement. With nothing to do but wander, a looming shadow above the treeline garnered her attention. Little stretched out beyond her but the dappled light from between the tree cover. Veseniya would not recognize Caer Glas for what it was; perhaps if she were familiar with the secular world or the region she might have recognized the characteristics of the building that signaled its near-ancient watch. Instead, it simply loomed large and frightening in its novelty. Something else caught her eye from near the walls of the keep, the movement of a figure. Silently she watched, too far from the tree cover to dash behind it without going undetected but too fearful of the secular world and this strange new setting to engage directly. As her anxieties arose, the forest around her seemed to respond, spores and dust becoming unmoored and clouding edges of her form as a wispy spore cloud crept upward from the forest’s edge.  

[freydis-freydat]

Who: @riandur Where: Caer Glas When: Post-Neptunalia, a little more than a week after her quest in the Arches

Caer Glas, now inhabited by the handful of Legionnaires who had helped shepherd the Iskaran refugees to the queenslands, stood as looming and ominous as it had been the first time Freydis had seen it. The first time she had walked the halls logically ought to have felt like a colder, more foreboding setting than it did now as she had made the trip to the Legion’s lodge some weeks back with the intention of simply helping clear a room or two for the group to settle in. Although she hadn’t been able to provide her help for more than a day or two, bringing the abandoned barracks back to working order had been quite the undertaking. She was glad to find it much improved from the state it had been in a few weeks back, but it would be a lie to say she was happy to be there. 

Riandur, who she had come to understand as the authority of the Legion, had not struck her as an unkind man. He had not approached her on the pitch after the fight with the blighted dragon nor had he spared a few moments from his duty to speak with her when she had lent a hand to fix up the keep, but he had never necessarily made her seem outright unwelcome. Even so, she had dispatched some page to send him a note a few days prior to request an audience with him to discuss a topic she doubted many in Taravell would know more about: the Dark One. Several days later, she stood outside the main doors of Caer Glas wishing she could turn back and go to the comfort of her own home instead of engage in another conversation she didn’t want to have that was focused on a topic that made her blood run cold. But she felt she had a duty to be here, and that this was a feeling she would be better for getting used to sooner rather than later. 

Freydis only made it a few paces into the keep before recognizing Riandur’s face. She had barely pulled off her riding gloves before she met his eye, and suddenly she felt at a loss for a place to begin. Small talk seemed a bit frivolous in the face of what she had come to speak with him about. At least she had waited long enough to come to speak with him that she didn’t fear she would burst into tears at any given moment. Weeping was probably the only thing that would help less than small talk. “Thank you for setting aside the time to meet with me,” she greeted, tucking the gloves away in a pocket of her riding cloak. Although she vaguely knew her way around Caer Glas she remained in her place waiting for him to indicate where he wanted them to hold their conversation.

[vuldak-juneau]

Who: @riandur When: After the battle with the blighted dragon Where: Lostlands Encampment Notes: "A master sneak meets a sneaky legionnaire!"

Many stories about the returners had been circulating the camp, and it wasn’t often that a particular detail was included in each and every retelling. However, it did seem unanimously agreed upon that one of the spoils of the battle was a blighted dragon scale bestowed upon each survivor. Juneau had never seen a dragon scale up close, and it sounded like a wondrous thing to possess. Sure, everyone was warned of the nature of the scales, riddled with the blight, but Juneau was already as blighted as they came. This convinced her she had nothing to worry about as she schemed over how to get her hands on one of them.

Juneau wasn’t sure if the scale itself actually had any practical use, or if she intended to actually steal one or just engage in some temporary, aggressive borrowing. She realized she would have to make her mind up quickly when the opportunity to loot one presented itself. The owner was some lumbering man with a dark look about him. Ideally, this would be her last choice to steal from. Luna or Alessia would have been easier and might have even handed the thing over for her to inspect if she had asked (or tried to ransom Stupid the cat for it), but her penchant for thievery and selfish nature had prohibited the idea from even crossing her mind. The man, whoever he was, hadn’t gone far, but it was far enough. 

The plan was a bit of a gamble, but Juneau was confident in her abilities. Juneau had watched from a comfortable distance, coming and going to check in periodically, until he became engrossed in some task or conversation on the far side of the makeshift tent set aside for him in the encampment. It would be easier to take the long way around, which she did, to ensure the ratty burlap of the temporary structure obscured her from view entirely. No one paid her mind, which suited her fine, as she surveyed the ground before her and picked the best possible path to slip into the opening of the tent. Inside, she found his pack, knowing that even if the blighted scale was not within, something else to catch her attention and make the heist worthwhile would be. 

With a careful finger, she lifted the top of the bag. Inside was a small bundle wrapped in a cloth–she suspected this was the artifact she sought. Amongst it were other small baubles, vials, papers, and other such materials that, if she was not careful, would make enough noise to foil her plan and blow her cover. She glanced around to try and find what was at her disposal as thieves' tools–she was used to having to work with makeshift tools, repurposing whatever was around her, and two half-burnt candlesticks caught her eye. She would make them useful, carefully and slowly placing them at the mouth of the leather bag and using them to hold the mouth of it open so that she could see inside easily and use both of her hands to retrieve the small cloth bundle out from the other items. 

With a patient, practiced dexterity, she used one hand to lift the parchment and hold it in place without it crinkling noisily and betraying her position. Then, one by one, she moved the glass vials away from where they may clink against one another taking great care to make sure they would not roll. She let out a silent, calming breath, and while ensuring the papers in the bag were secure in one hand, she used the other to grab the small cloth bundle and slowly, steadily began to pull it out from the bag, away from any of the other items. She held her breath to steady herself, all of her concentration bound up in ensuring this extraction was silent and smooth.

[faelortianyou]

closed starter for @riandur location: lórien’dal note: flashback baybee

It had been quite a long time since Tianyou had stepped foot into this realm. Lórien’dal had not changed though. He could remember seeing those silver elvhen just living their lives as he did. He had remembered the first thought he'd had once he stepped out of the Feywilds. After trekking through that, it felt like anything could be beautiful if you looked long enough. But something about Lórien’dal made him wonder if he was missing out on something. That thought had disappeared the longer he stayed though. Silver had always cost less than gold. What could he have in Lórien’dal that he couldn't have in Avalon? Maybe he should have made a pros and cons list back then to help. Instead, he'd just passed his judgment and went on his merry way back to his luxurious life as a noble in Avalon. Coming back to this place had been him giving it a second chance. His mother had hoped for him to not do the same thing she had when she had came to the mortal realm. He supposed he wouldn't have ended up back here if it weren't for her. Maybe he wouldn't have been souldbonded with someone that was dreadfully mortal if he had just stayed in Avalon his entire life.

Nevertheless, here he was. Tianyou had never really thought he would ever find something like love within a place like Northreach. Yet, again, here he was. How embarrassing for him truly. Even more embarrassing? Riandur was never up to any good. Not that he had ever been either, but the silver elvhen sure as hell drew danger towards him at any given moment. Perhaps it was the fact that Tianyou felt like he was Riandur's only friend other than a bunch of corpses. Again, pretty embarrassing for the both of them. Was he supposed to tell his parents he fell in love with a guy that could reanimate corpses and then called them friends? His father would wonder where both of their heads were and his mother would give him a fake smile that would never truly meet her eyes. Nevermind his siblings. Still, here he was. Here he probably always would be. Somehow, Riandur had him wondering if he should ever even think of going back to Avalon now.

"Hanging with the corpses again?" That was all he asked as said silver elvhen walked through the door.

[etienneulven]

Person: @riandur Location: Caer Glass Goose is busy surveying outside and so it'd given him an excuse to sneak a moment with Riandur. Whom he'd been mentally referring to as 'Riandur the Commander' and making it rhyme in his head so he remembered. Not like he could really forget him, the man was huge and he'd been one of those he'd glimpsed at Nornwatch. He hadn't approached him then because while he'd been friendly with Alucard and Vicoya at the time, he hadn't really had reason to talk to him. Also he kind of thought Riandur had a lot more to do than talk to some kid and his dog. But now they were his kid and his dog, technically and he'd caught him using the same shortcut to the courtyard through the library. "Can I rattle off my list of questions and get it out of the way?" Etienne isn't afraid of Riandur, he's not even intimidated, he's kind of just in awe of him and therefore wants to avoid being some kind of unhelpful rookie.

[shewolfaurea]

Person: @riandur Location: Haven, celebratory bonfire "I owe you more than a few drinks." Those that had led at Aventia had saved her home, her people, her friends. "You're always welcome here, if Caer Glass gets too stuffy." Aurea hands off the large tankard of mead off to the man built like a brick house. Haven had welcomed anyone coming back from Aventia with open arms, with food and a warm bed for all that had a hand in keeping the swarms of darkspawn from them. But she'd wanted to meet with the leader of the squad of Legionnaires herself in a more informal way, sharing a drink in dressed down regalia would have to do.

[emissaradia]

closed starter for @riandur location: caer glas keep note: put ur tiddies away riandur

If there was one thing to know about Aradia, it was that she understood positions of power. As much as she would have loved to not have to take orders from a man, Riandur was indeed the Field Commander. He also had a little sweetness to him and that made up for it all. She didn’t mind taking orders from him because he hadn’t disrespected her once since she had joined. Plus, she was a soldier. She had worked under people that didn’t give her the same luxury. All of these people that she had sort of met in the Legion so far had been decent. Aradia wasn’t the best at socialization, but she also wasn’t bad at it. She was bad at making jokes though. Really just horrible at it. She wondered if that would cause a rift with the people here. Maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe the rift would come from the fact that they all had so much experience working together and she was the new girl. Thank goodness she had her sister here with her.

As she wandered the halls of Caer Glas Keep, she finally stopped where she knew she would find that very gay and very big-tittied man. She was sure those things were bigger than hers. Nevertheless, she knocked on the doorframe to get his attention before speaking. “So how long have you all known each other?” She clarified. “You. Alucard. Vicoya. Haelim. Isak.” Aradia had made a point to at least know all of their names.

[strigoisak]

Isak liked Riandur. Not like he entirely had a choice, but he'd been led around by worse men. It's not something he'd ever say out loud, but the fact that Alucard seemed to trust him means Riandur is okay in his book. He holds the son of his sire in a lot higher regard than he'd ever say out loud to probably anyone but him. Then again, it's not like the two of them talk. "Not really. If I don't find some trivial fiction after pouring over medical journals all day I get bored." He explains, the pages of his book flipping via telepathy once more. It's a romance novel. A heterosexual romance novel. How enticing could it really be? "Find anything with that liche?"

Caer Glas wasn't exactly bumping, but it was doing what it was made to do. The Legionnaires had removed most of the stray vines that had been strangling the Keep, and more legionnaires had joined them over time. Isak was a strigoi, another that was researching all the effects of the Blight. It was the theme, it seemed, for the season. Ever since Nornwatch had fallen, the Blight had been becoming more...ambitious. Each place around the Keep was riddled with invisible threats. "Finding anything interesting?"

[afshinxeldar]

Darkspawn in his bed? Scribblings on the walls? He was better off having slept where he was before. Nothing about this room seemed all that great, but he guessed he would have to thank the legionnaire for his assistance in finding something better. "Somehow I doubt interior design is actually your passion." He let out a breath and let his eyes focus on the scribblings that were on the wall. A hand brushed against them as if trying to decipher what they all meant. It didn't mean much to Afshin, but he'd probably end up trying to read it all out of boredom. His head tilted towards the hole in the corner that was now a toilet. Another breath left his mouth. "Great. Well, thanks for the tour. I'll take good care of the room." If there was anything to take care of in the first place.

END.

"It could just be dark, and dreary. And you could have a darkspawn in your bed. But the skylight? Adds value. I know these things. Interior design is my passion." Rian tilted his head, "Do you think scribblings will come out and get you or something? Come on now. The rantings and ravings of an old legionnaire shouldn't bother you." He waited until the other was done looking around, and while he wanted to scare the other, he wouldn't – his minimal self control was enough to do that for him. "If you're done looking around, that hole in the corner is your toilet. Enjoy."

[freydis-freydat]

The Calling sounded intimidating, daunting. Freydis felt there was enough clutter in her mind amongst her own doubts and fears. She did not cut in to comment on this, or otherwise, as Riandur explained what he knew. It was hard not to feel stupid and naive for not questioning and pushing past how cloistered off from the world Iskaldrik had become, to not look past her home kingdom’s history and borders for knowledge. But, truly, if she had, could she have reasonably foreseen the turn the world would take? Regardless, it loosened some of the tension in her shoulders to not be made to feel foolish or simple for her penchant to house so much fear inside of her. And it made her feel less foolish not to know what to do with the knowledge of the Red Hand, or the guidance of a why. Regardless, she was glad to find an ally in Riandur. “I’ll leave a note for you to know where to reach me, but at this point I’m not sure if trouble follows me or I follow it,” she thought aloud, “so it’s equally likely we may just run into one another as it were.” She lifted from her seat to exit, a brow lifting at his joke that she suspected was very much rooted in truth. “It would hardly be the strangest thing to happen these last few months.” She offered him a half smile and a nod before turning to go, “Until the next time, Commander.” 

END

"We live with the Dark One, in our head. It's what we call the Calling. The Gods that brought upon the Cataclysm, they control the Darkspawn. And we hear it. Until it starts to...change us. So I understand – your fear." That's why the Legion took themselves to their deaths first, before anyone else could do it for them – before they could become a mindless ghoul. It was the only honor they were afforded. "Can I think of anything?" He knew her meaning was well, and Riandur only grinned, "Unfortunately, no. My world is not as small as just fighting Darkspawn until we die, there are many of us here that are going to fight with all we have to bring the Dark One down, but it's hard to do so when he is...what, a manifestation? The Dark pulls at everyone, friends who have hidden deals, those that give themselves freely – it's something we all have to do. I think we've been awakened for a reason, but I have not a damn clue why." Riandur stood now as Freydis apologized, and he shook his head, "No need. This has been helpful. We'll do what we can as the Legion, and as the Red Hand. Whatever the fuck it means, right? I'll write to you if you let me know where to send it. I could use my magic, but might be a little weird if you have a corpse showing up at your door with a letter."

[veseniya-tqd]

Veseniya seemed to understand the words you and home, and the way he spoke the words shaped them like an inquiry. It was enough for her to comprehend his reason, but that didn’t mean she knew quite how to answer. If she could understand the way that the world had moved on without her as she agonized through a century in the third arch, the answer would be both. But the druid still hadn’t realized she’d woken up in a new land and a new time. She pressed her fingers into her chest a few times to indicate that the answer was herself. 

It unnerved her to be left alone in the big room. The tastes of the Silverlands were far different from the nomadic tents and sparse living she had become familiar with in Ankhuria. She took a seat in the chair he had gestured for, rigid and contained as if making sure nothing but her seat touched the chair. To brush the armrests or the back seemed like it might be a sin to her. Even as he left the room, her posture remained steadfast. But Riandur returned with food and drink for her, she was not sitting at all.  Instead, she stood before a map of the world hung on one of the walls. Veseniya looked back at Riandur when she heard his voice and pointed at Ankhuria. She would eat whatever strange food he brought her in a moment–when she was sure he understood. “Home.” She remembered the word he had used moments before. 

Riandur led the way into Caer Glas keep, though he wasn't sure what she meant by her few words. She hadn't answered when he'd pressed about the different languages, not even mentioning her first language, but for now, Riandur would do what he could with her broken Common. It wasn't the first time he'd had to do such a thing. "Nowhere left for you? Or your home?" He asked, sure that she could answer something like that easier than anything else. For now, the Commander led the way through the gates, motioning for her to take a seat near the fire. When she was seated, he brought her a cup with water, and a bowl of...whatever it was Jon had cooked. The bright side was the Legionnaire was their self appointed chef, and he was damn good at it. "Eat."

[vuldak-juneau]

She averted her gaze as he pointed out the necessity for opposites, that the world they lived in existed and defined itself, in part, by dichotomies. This wasn’t the first time she had thought of such a reality or such a means of understanding the world, but it was the first time she’d heard it presented within this context. Juneau supposed he was right, but she wished that he wasn’t. The Dark One felt so present, so permeated into her worldview, moods, and personality, and the One God, or any other presence, felt so wholly and completely absent. Before she had assumed this new form, before she had become a conduit for the Dark One’s energy and held its influencing voices in her head, she was still capable of the peaks and valleys of her current emotions but the extreme shifts in mood were not triggered and engaged in a fraction of a second. Juneau wondered if that was how Riandur or the other Legionnaires experienced emotions now, or if they ever had. As calm and curious as she was angry a moment before, her brows knit together when he spoke of countless deaths and she told him, “I don’t understand.”

Juneau stared at him when he cursed at her, an ember of fury coming alight in the pit of her stomach. Are you going to let him speak to you like that? To treat you like you’re stupid–as if you’re the one who has castigated yourself to a life of fighting for a pointless, impossible cause. You should show him the error of his ways, that you aren’t nothing. That arrow in your hand would be much better lodged in his eye socket than it would in his quiver. Juneau looked perturbed, disturbed almost as she abruptly dropped the arrow she was using and the knife she’d been working with to sharpen it onto the ground and folded her arms tightly against her body, hands tucked against her ribs where they would be rendered useless. 

Her deep, green eyes shifted to him, and it was clear she understood his meaning. She didn’t bother to waste any time arguing her virtues or worth–she didn’t think she had any. Juneau appreciated that someone would call a spade a spade, even if it was something she loathed about herself. “Not everyone has to take the Joining to fight darkspawn,” she pointed out, though it was more for a projected sense of pride for those like Alder, even if she had been furious at him for going along on the rescue mission. She was far too cowardly to put herself on the line in such a way. “I just hate what…. What the full moon means now.” Her tone made it clear there were many things she would do to escape her fate of having to routinely consume another, to kill them. Surly and prone to an aggressive attitude as she was, she wasn’t a killer, and she despised what had to be done by her now as a result of what had been done to her.

"In order for there to be light, there has to be dark," Riandur figured that was the best way to explain it all, especially since Juneau had endless questions. He didn't really mind it, not when there was nothing else to talk about anyway. "So...if there is a pattern, a weave, then there are things that are chaotic." He was getting so much use out of all those history books. He didn't feel like he needed to answer her quiet question, his heightened senses enough to tell him it probably wasn't meant to be taken too seriously. However, she probably should've just said it in her head, as he always had something to say, "As many times as they want."

Her little bark and outburst made him pause, knife halfway down a stick that was getting sharper and sharper to his liking, "The fuck are you yelling for? Did you forget what you asked about a minute ago? If you're going to have a shitty attention span, ask one question at a time if that's all you can handle." Riandur started carving away at his arrow again, "The Legion is sometimes a choice, and sometimes it isn't." Her last little evaluation made him smirk, because it was so blind, he had to double check she had two working eyes.

"Like you were so quick to yell about earlier, seems like you didn't have a choice." Riandur didn't expect anyone to understand it, ever, really, unless they were faced with what he had been. Enduring nightmares every night, being the first to face the Blight and all that it encapsulated – ghouls, darkspawn – well, he was sure he'd think them crazy, too. The Legion had fallen out of everyday talk; once heroes of the Cataclysm, they were no longer needed. And if they were to all cease, and the Dark One's power came back in full force, well it'd be too late for everyone to start talking about it again. "It's not for the weak of heart." It was pointed, but Riandur wasn't apologetic about it either. He put another arrow down, looking at her once again, "And that's how we weed out those who are when they take the Joining. The Joining takes them instead, and they die."

[freydis-freydat]

Freydis’ posture loosened slightly when Riandur responded, she hadn’t realized how heightened her tone and the way she carried herself had become. “I’m sorry, I know you didn’t,” she said after a moment, trying to back track while also sounding genuinely apologetic. “Someone else seemed suspicious of it. I might be putting too much weight into their skepticism. It makes me nervous they might be right,” she admitted. The opinion of a witcher would be highly skewed by their socialization and lived experiences; could the same be said of a legionnaire? The thought process came to an abrupt halt when he said that others in the legion carried that red-handed sigil. It was difficult, she thought, to have been amongst the first–and a relief to know that first did not mean alone. “Is there anything you can think of that would help stop them?” she asked, her eyes hopeful that reason and bonds could outpace the work of fate. “To stop Him?” Freydis quieted herself listening to Riandur as he spoke of the Arches and the Dunedain. She simply nodded when he mentioned that those who had been marked were being brought together, and she hoped it was by some sentience stronger than the Dark One and the Aetheron combined. Her eyes settled on his face and though the answers she sought still eluded her, she did not look entirely disappointed. “You sharing what you do know is a great help. If you learn anything new, or think of anything I can do to help, I hope you’ll let me know? I’m sorry if this was a waste of your time.”

"I never said anything was a trick," Riandur said slowly, though he could see that Freydis was insistent in defending what she'd seen. Or at least making sure that she could get confirmation from someone other than herself. "I hear you, Freydis. I know. There are many of us, a few amongst the Legion, that would understand what you've seen and felt better than anyone else. I've seen those who bore the Red Hand become part of the Dark One's army. And yes, some of them I knew. But where my past life ended, it was against the Dark One the first fuckin' time around."

That wouldn't happen again – though the joke was on him. With the Blight in his system, history would continue to repeat itself. "The Arches of the Dúnedain are said to test you personally. Killing those you know sounds like something you had to fight through, not related to the Dark One." Her other vision, however, was different. Riandur didn't have an answer for her about it, however. "It sounds like whatever this is, it's pulling those of us who are marked together, somehow. Why remains to be seen. I'm sorry if this isn't the answer you were hoping for."

[veseniya-tqd]

The word seemed familiar to Veseniya, a flicker of recognition behind her eyes but not a true understanding of what it meant. Perhaps if she had been throttled from the Arches and into Trivia’s Cove The Keeper might have taught her what it meant. Instead, all she had was the sound of the word and the strange context of her decade long dreaming of the arches. “Druid,” she repeated as if to try the word on and confirm what he had spoken, the small mossy arches flattening and reintegrating into the ground beneath her. 

When the skeletons all collapsed into piles upon themselves it did anything but eliminate her fear, at least for a few moments. It seemed after a few moments she understood he had not snuffed the life from them, but instead that he’d been controlling them outright. Still, she remained wary of him, which perhaps made her more compliant when he signaled for her to follow him. She did so, but from a safe distance of several feet. Veseniya seemed to understand the first part of what he said, her hand lifting to press against her hollow, aching stomach. It was only after several long, extended moments passed that she managed to think of the words to reply with to indicate she had understood the last part of his speech as she cautiously trailed him toward the keep. “Nowhere left.”

"A druid," Riandur echoed after a moment, watching as she placed the acorn through the arch like moss structures. He could understand that much, piecing together her accent and that she'd clearly traveled far to go through them. How she'd ended up further north, however, was a mystery to him. Rian didn't entirely pick up on what she meant by her pause on the last arch, but what he knew of druids, was that they all went through it. So she'd made it out, and perhaps whatever had happened within had been traumatizing enough to send her away from the others. Nomadic druids, it must've been difficult to come across another when she was done.

The distrust was still there, but Riandur knew he'd get an earful from Vicoya if he left the woman wandering, looking lost and frazzled as she did. The Elvhen sighed, following her point towards the skeletons that stood around. "They're mine," he said after a moment, waving his hand as his ability left the bones and they crumpled to the floor. His eyes no longer looked green, fading back to hazel before he waved his hand for Viseniya to follow him, "We have food. Water. Before you decide where you need to go."

[vuldak-juneau]

Apparently as anomalous as it was ominous, it seemed the Dark One was as much a person as it was a thing–or a concept. Juneau hated to think about it that way, but somewhere deep down she knew it was probably better to know the truth. “What do you mean the antithesis of the weave?” she asked, wondering if he would bother to elaborate on her follow-up questions. She wasn’t fully sure she wanted to know all of this, but it felt important to understand what she was and how she was now. It frightened her, but if she could at least make an effort to use it to remove evils from the world as Alder did and the Legionnaires seemed to, maybe she wasn’t entirely rotten. But she probably was. “How many times can one person die?” she mumbled under her breath, but if he chose to answer she would listen. She considered the Legion for a moment and rationally knew it was a better option than what she was. But Juneau suspected if she joined her freedoms would be forfeit, and that settled in her stomach like spoiled milk. 

Juneau considered his words and she supposed that if she really wanted to she could fight darkspawn as she was. It was likely that something in the Joining gave the Legionnaires an edge against their foes, or maybe there was just an advantage in numbers. Her taste for working with Riandur died in an instant though, and her temper flared suddenly. “I didn’t have a choice,” she barked at him, fury underpinning her words. But the flame of her indignance burnt itself out quickly, and then as pathetically and hopelessly as she felt she muttered, “Who would choose something like this? I’d rather be dead.” She had hoped, deeply and desperately, that the Joining might offer a full liberation from The Dark one. Juneau knew she’d be a deserter at the first chance she got, but she was good at disappearing herself and others. Now it didn’t seem like a worthwhile plan.

"The Dark One is...well, no one knows what it is. Who, I guess. It's old, older than the Cataclysm, older than everything that followed...but the antithesis of the weave. Of what we all pull our magic from. The Dark One had his champions, those he raised up to become what we know as the Old Gods. They were trapped, but not killed. No one knows how to kill a god, or the one who created them." He had a teasing lilt to his voice, though he couldn't blame her for asking. Riandur's history of the Blight was...extensive, but he didn't know all the answers, and what he didn't know, he tried to fill in the blanks with his best educated guess. "Because you're already dead, and when you die again...you become more useful to me and the Legion." It was a morbid, harsh truth – but Rian didn't think she was one who enjoyed getting sugar coated information.

"We all hear the call of the Dark One. Legionnaires included. And we choose to fight as many darkspawn or blighted creatures as we can, until our wounds take us. It's better than letting the blight take you, it's a very slow, painful thing. And as for you –" he paused in his arrow making, looking over at the girl, "Some of us don't have a choice – hence why you would say such a thing." Riandur had to laugh, putting another arrow down. "When the Legion is no more, and there are none left to fight the Blight, everyone will be wondering why they never signed up in the first place." He could tell she was invested now, always bringing up the great evil of the world. Rian could give her what he knew, but he was never going to be able to give her full answer, "I mean that we hear the madness, but we have enough to control it. And when it becomes too much, we're able to make our own choice. We fight it when we take the joining, and if you are weak in your spiritual fortitude, you'd never make it past the joining anyway."

[freydis-freydat]

Freydis nodded, sitting alert as Riandur moved until she realized he simply meant to pace the floor. Her eyes tracked him, and though she already knew the meaning of the red hand she did not interrupt him. Who was to say he might not know more than she did? “I am not the only one of the women who was marked,” she responded. If he pressed, she might deliver names, but it likely was no difficult task to surmise who else may have been marked by mere conjecture and context. “And how is it that you’re certain what you saw wasn’t a trick either?” she asked. It wasn’t a challenge, nor was it born out of disbelief. If anything, she was clawing her way to any reason, any confirmation bias to trust what she had seen herself. 

“Were they souls you recognized, or were they unknown to you?” she asked. In accordance with what Tove had shown her, the Dark One was returning and amassing an army stronger than his previous attempt to break the world. Any loss of a Red Hand would be a critical blow to the cause. “It was a memory,” Freydis responded with confidence, her forward leaning posture complimenting her conviction on her words. “But in one of the Arches, I was made to kill some of those who have been with me since the initial flight from Iskaldrik. The witchers and humans specifically. For one reason or another, before and after the war was won, I killed them all… That part wasn’t a memory, that much I know, but the thought that it could be a prophecy…” Her stomach flipped and she hid the shaking of her hands in her lap.

Riandur listened as Freydis spoke, and while he had questions, he was able to resist until she spoke of the red hand. He tilted his head at it, but again – Freydis seemed to question what it meant. He wanted to know more specifics, if she understood what she had seen, "So you saw your past life. This...red hand marking, do you know what it means?" Riandur stood now, though only to pace. The Elvhen legionnaire always had to be moving, it seemed to help him thing a little better. "Hrimthur's Heart was once the greatest achievement someone could receive, from the King himself. You're not alone in what you've experienced. I saw myself, as well – who I was, or perhaps who my soul once was."

The rest of her vision, however, was different than what Riandur had seen. In his own memories, mixed with his past life's, there was a muddle of rage, and his death had come fighting with the king and the rest of the Red Hand he'd been surrounded with. His hands had always been scarred with murder, "I have not seen that, not what you're explaining. I've seen those with Hrimthur's Heart turn to the Dark One, promised more than what they were already given – did it seem like this had yet to pass? Or is this something that you have witnessed once before?"