#thread: cowa-bummer bro (+1 faith)

[peerlessscowl]

Cowa-bummer, Bro

“Hark! Hark, I say! No, no, down here!” If the sight of a ragged white horse grazing in the middle of the forest doesn’t grab your attention, the voice that calls from the bottom of a pit sure does. A tall man with tousled blue hair winces as he waves at you, claiming to have broken his leg when he fell into this *dastardly* trap. “I, King Sigurd of Grannvale, humbly request thine aid! Know that thy kindness today will reward thee handsomely in the years to come!” [Grants Faith +1]

(Starter for @ladyleonster)

Raven felt a little aghast at the mission. Part of him couldn't believe what kind of fucking idiot it took to play pretend as a king in a foreign land - let alone one who was even moderately famous. He wouldn't pretend to be an expert on full genealogies, of course, but he could at least claim to accurately point out who was in charge of which country at a given time, and even children in Elibe heard tales of Sigurd of Chalphy.

(For that matter, he tried not to be hard on the common folk of Faerghus, but their own nobility should fucking know better. How could they stand to be so naïve?)

Luckily for him, his chaperone for this mission was someone that he would consider an expert, at least in the legend of Sigurd of Chalphy: his sister.

He had spent his first few days at the Academy doing what might be called "settling in" - that is, he made a mental map of the layout of the monastery, made himself alert to entrances and exits and whether they were heavily guarded, and he learned who attended the monastery and in what capacity. It helped to know who would be useful, and when, and who to avoid, and why.

And wouldn't you just know it, a bona fide Knight of Seiros who just happened to be the sister of Sigurd of Chalphy was available when the nobles of Faerghus were being scammed by someone claiming to be that same man. Raven had pounced on the chance, claiming he needed help with his riding skills, and wouldn't she please give him some pointers along the way?

So they had ridden north to address the issue, meeting with various minor lords, but missing out on their quarry himself. He was wily, they were told. All charm and pluck, he always needed assistance of some sort - a nice lined wool cloak for the early fall chill, boots to replace his for the heel had begun to peel, a horse, you see, for his had fallen lame and he had needed to put the poor beast down.

Etcetera.

But by the time they reached each victimized town, the imposter had up and made his way gone, leaving a trail of confusion and consternation behind him.

And tracks.

The tracks were most important.

Raven tugged his cloak closer to his body, squinting in the low light of the forest. He nudged his steed gently with his heels, catching Ethlyn's attention before jerking his chin a few meters ahead, where a white horse grazed peacefully.

Quietly, he said, "Tied up. Nice bridle," he added, pointed. "Shall we?"

[peerlessscowl]

As Ethlyn dismounted, Raven allowed her to take point in speaking to the imposter, gently securing the horses nearby before approaching the hole with quiet footsteps. He took in the way the grass had been pushed aside in the area, the relative lack of damage to the trees, and the distinct manmade nature of the hole and he almost scoffed aloud.

He listened to the fake king entreat with Ethlyn, watched her shoulders round ever-so-slightly in her disappointment. He expected an outburst from her, admonishment or righteous fury, but instead she laughed, hard enough that the sound creaked in her mirth before she denounced the pathetic little man in his hole.

Raven was close enough to catch a good look at him now, and it was easy to see how some of the lesser nobles might have been fooled. He was handsome, and his eyes twinkled brightly, but the straw-color of his roots shone through his pomaded hair, and Raven noted with interest that his swordbelt was not even secured correctly (and likely on the wrong side, unless the imposter was left-handed).

"I bet your leg isn't even really broken, is it?"

The man in the hole made an ignoble squawking sound at the slurry of accusation, and his mouth opened to return fire with a, "Now see here, young lady!" and this is where Raven allowed his foot to fall on an errant twig to announce his presence.

"It can be." Taking advantage of their size difference, Raven loomed over Ethlyn from behind, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down his nose at the man in the whole, weighing him down with the full force of his disdain.

The false king blubbered for a moment before he recovered, screwing up his face with mock indignation. "I - I'll have you know, you lout - I'll have you know that I, Sigurd, King of Grannvale have no sister!"

"No one cares if you have a sister," Raven snapped at him. "But the man whose identity you've stolen does. Just admit it so we can get you out of that hole you've dug."

"I shall not, you cur! You knave! Why, I'll have you - "

"Would like to see how you get out with us standing here, then." Raven canted his head, turning his gaze skyward toward the setting sun. "We've got all day. All night."

That cut him short. The imposter chewed on his lip for a moment, clearly battling with himself: he could insist, and dig himself in even further (metaphorically), or he could admit defeat. He looked hesitantly to Raven, then Ethlyn, then back to Raven, fidgeting all the while before he jerked a short nod and shuffled over to the wall of the whole, reaching upward.

Raven returned the nod, curt, and reached a hand down, clasping perhaps too hard on the imposter's - soft, no callouses, clean fingernails, some warrior - and tugged him upward -

Then let him fall back down after several feet.

"Oops," he intoned, reaching his hand down again, gesturing impatiently.

Ethlyn is so quick to volunteer her services in tracking down this Sigurd imposter. By running around and scamming poor villagers, this man is dragging the good name of Chalphy through the mud and she will not sit back idly and allow that to happen. She might have nagged and teased her brother but he was a good man and his memory deserves far better than this. He deserves far better than the hand he was dealt but this, at least, Ethlyn can do something about.

She is paired up with a student. He's quiet, kind of scowly, but Ethlyn doesn't mind. She can tell he's not here to fall for any bullshit and she appreciates that. The sooner they can track down this faker, the better and with someone no nonsense to help her, she's feeling pretty confident.

Raven draws her attention to the horse tied up ahead and Ethlyn raises an eyebrow. "Sigurd did always have a white horse, even when we were kids. Maybe our imposter is better at impersonating than I was expecting?"

She urges her own horse slowly closer. The approaching hoof beats alert the owner of the tied up white horse to their presence and, as they get closer, a voice that is very much Not Sigurd's rings out.

"Hark, hark, I say! No, no, down here!"

Ethlyn dismounts and follows the voice to a fairly large hole in the ground. She leans over and whatever tiny spark of hope that might have been able to light within her that she'd find her beloved brother alive and well is quickly extinguished. This is absolutely not Sigurd.

"I, King Sigurd of Grannvale, humbly request thine aid! Know that thy kindness today will reward thee handsomely in the years to come!"

Ethlyn laughs. She laughs so hard it almost turns into a cackle. He has got to be joking, right? It's funny. It's hilarious, even. She really wishes Quan were here to see this.

"Yeah, no." Ethlyn calls down to the man. "You're not. Hi. I'm Ethlyn. Ethlyn Claus but I was born a Chalphy. Sigurd was my brother. You can cut the act now. I bet your leg isn't even really broken, is it?"

[peerlessscowl]

Cowa-Bummer Bro

Ethlyn had never wanted to be a healer. Ever since she can remember, she's dreamed of being a brave and virtuous knight with a shining silver sword. Just like her brother and their father and every other major blooded Chalphy. But she was born second, with minor blood and she was born a girl so she was given a staff and taught how to support.

Eventually, she learned to like and appreciate her role as a troubadour. She is good at it. And more importantly, it gives her the chance to distinguish herself from her brother. As a healer and a staff user, she can step out from his impossibly large shadow and do something he can't.

"I would," Ethlyn answers with a smile. She knows how important a skilled healer is now too. It's why she insisted on leaving Leonster to help the real Sigurd. Her partner here might not have hit anything vital, but it would still be dishonorable to force the poor man to suffer a wound when she can do something for him. No matter what his crimes, a man does not deserve that.

She holds her staff out and allows the healing magic to wash over him. When she is finished, the fake turns to her and is a blubbering mess. "Oh thank you! Thank you! Your kindness is legendary and I do not deserve it!"

Ethlyn holds up a finger and wags it at him. "Ah ah. My friend here requested silence. You don't want to make him angry, do you?"

His eyes widen and his mouth slams shut as he furiously shakes his head.

Raven watched, silent, as Ethlyn healed the man – watched as the skin in his shoulder knit back together, the muscle and sinew underneath it, watched as the scuffs and abrasions on his face and arms shimmered for a moment before appearing as they had before, clean and smooth. He watched as the pain in the man's eyes turned to instant relief, gratitude welling up inside the man and spilling over in his tearful thanks. 

Watched as Ethlyn used him as a threat, the flat, serious expression on his face pulling enough weight in the situation that the man silenced himself immediately, following Raven back to the horses docile as a lamb. 

The ride back to the monastery was a silent one, though the silence was not the comfortable, watchful silence of two people on a mission that it had been leaving the monastery. It settled over the man as an oppressive cloak, tighter than the rope about his wrists, and for Raven it was the silence of awareness, every action amplified a hundredfold in his senses. 

When they arrived, Raven allowed Ethlyn to take the lead, frogmarching their captive until the opportunity presented itself to hand him off to another knight, and he followed still as Ethlyn went to deliver their mission debriefing. He did not necessarily need to be present – one mission report was as good as another – but he waited for a while in the hall, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled and rubbing gently against the bridge of his nose. 

Before Ethlyn had come back out, Raven rose from his seat, slipping down the spiral staircase and felt his legs moving him not back to the dormitory, nor toward the dining hall, nor toward the training hall, but toward the chapel. There was no service currently being performed, but there were parishioners present taking their prayers, scattered about the cathedral. 

Taking a seat in an empty pew in a back row, Raven simply watched for a while, eyes scanning about the room, before he lifted his eyes to the great stained glass mosaic of this continent's goddess. Thoughtful, he raked his gaze across the details of the scene, the trumpets, the clouds, the wings – the light. 

After a few minutes, Raven brought his elbows to his knees and steepled his fingers, pressing them into the corners of his eyes and the bridge of his nose, and forced his mind into stillness. He could not claim to be particularly devout, although perhaps he might once have been, a long time ago, but in that stillness he found his lips moving to a familiar pattern. 

Oh saints above us, heroes of old who have their eyes upon us, greet me, your kin, for I am in your grace.

- Fin

[peerlessscowl]

Cowa-bummer, Bro

ladyleonster

Ethlyn is furious, embarassed, that she’s forced into this position of hostage.  Even more so that she’d allowed this asshole to use her own weapon against her.  It’s shameful, really.  It’s been difficult since learning about her brother, the actual real Sigurd’s death after her own passing since she came here but has it really been so bad that she would let her guard down in front of any man with blue hair?

Is that why she was so willing to go out of her way for this stranger?

She considers her options. A swift elbow to the ribs or a hard stomp on his toes could startle him enough to drop his guard. But she is a lot smaller than him. If he is expecting her to fight back, this could go very poorly. She's already underestimated him once.

Fortunately, Raven is quick thinking and accurate with his sword. Ethlyn is impressed. She'd probably be more impressed if she wasn't so salty about having to be rescued like some sort of damsel, but she's still quite impressed.

He's after the man who, for some reason, still thinks it's a good plan to try and run. Ethlyn isn't sure what he thinks is going to happen when he tries bolting but she is confident enough in Raven's skill that she stops to tie up the horses before joining the two men.

She stands over the now wounded scammer, arms folded across her chest and eyes narrowed. "He's right. I tried being nice but it's his turn now. Better hope you're lucky enough that he lets me use my staff on you."

From his periphery, Raven heard Lady Ethlyn recover from her shock, her wits enough about her that she went to soothe and secure the horses before she approached. For half a moment, he thought that she would scold him for the brutal method he used to subdue the imposter, who had simply devolved to blubbering and sobbing facedown in the dirt - but as she approached, she said nothing about his sword through the man's shoulder nor his boot between the man's shoulder blades, simply speaking to the man.

Is she…? The offer to use her staff on the imposter caught Raven off-guard, and he blinked owlishly up at her for the briefest moment before shaking his head infinitesimally.

She still wants to give him clemency. It was a foreign concept to him, not something that he had practiced in, and certainly not something practiced against him - but no matter how many times this fake burned her, Ethlyn still seemed to be willing to set him on the right track.

And if that was the case, Raven found he could not disappoint her.

He heaved himself upright, the blade of his sword digging into the ground through the man's shoulder a further inch before Raven tugged it free, securing a fist on the man's collar and tugging him upright. Dragging the man to where the horses lingered, Raven resecured his bonds - a mite looser, though he couldn't fathom why - and sheathed his sword.

He shoved a finger into the man's face. "You'll ride with us back to the monastery, and you'll be silent the rest of the way. Nod to let me know you understand."

The man nodded, attempting valiantly to stifle his sniffles, and failing when he tried to rub the tears from his face onto the shoulder of his cloak.

Turning to Ethlyn, though unable to look her in the face, Raven gestured at the man. "If you'd like to heal him, now's the time, before I get him back onto the horse," he said, hesitant. "I - I've no such skill, but I didn't knick anything important."

[peerlessscowl]

Cowa-bummer, Bro

ladyleonster

The man grows silent and sulks in his bound state and they ride on in silence.  Ethlyn takes it as a good sign and is glad to see the man at least appearing to consider his options.  It does hurt to see someone use her brother’s fine name to scam but she is glad Sigurd’s imposter is not a complete scumbag.  

Eventually, he pipes up again, “these bonds are quite tight and painful.  You wouldn’t happen to have it in your hearts to loosen them, would you?”

Ethlyn looks over at Raven and nods her approval.  He is already bound and being dragged to what will end up being some sort of punishment.  The least she can do as a knight is give him some dignity to be more comfortable.  It isn’t as though he’ll be able to run far without his horse.

She helps the man off of Raven’s horse and starts to undo his write bindings with the intent of retying them a bit looser.  But when the knots are undone, an arm grabs her around her middle and the other pulls her sword from its holster and holds it to her neck.

“I trusted you!  I was willing to vouch for you and help you!”  Ethlyn is furious.  That this honorless swine could have ever been mistaken for her older brother makes her blood boil and her fisted hands shake in their fury.

“No hard feelings, alright, sister?  You don’t know what they’ll do to me if they know I’ve ratted them out.  You’ll come with me a ways until we’re far enough away from him and then I’ll let you go and you’ll forget you ever saw me.”

Raven grimaced at the mention that the imposter's bonds were too tight, and he opened his mouth to confirm that yes, that was on purpose – as a captive, Raven had no intention of making him comfortable – but Lady Ethlyn again took pity on the man and threw him a nod before he could say anything. 

They pulled over to the side of the road and Raven dismounted, holding the horses as Ethlyn assisted the man, tugging at the tight knots about the man's wrists. Gently, as if to distract himself, Raven held a hand up and patted each mount on the nose, clicking his tongue softly to them as they knickered. If the imposter could have just waited a few scant hours, it would have been more efficient to simply get back to the monastery – provided he cooperated as the Lady Ethlyn suggested, he could have his three hots and a cot, and spend his time in relative freedom as the Church saw fit. He shook his head, trying to dismiss his frustration. 

And then he heard the shout, and alarm bells went off in his head. He whirled where he was, sword out of its sheathe and at the ready before he had fully turned around to see that the criminal had secured Ethlyn against him with an arm around her middle, and the glint of the blade in the early evening sun against her neck. 

Raven's eyes narrowed, and his focus sharpened. Perhaps the man was speaking, it was difficult to tell, but it didn't matter in the end. 

This was where Ethlyn's jurisdiction ended, and Raymond the student was shoved back into a compartment in his brain. 

Raven the mercenary had arrived in full force. 

The man tugged Ethlyn back along with him, and the cogs in Raven's brain began to move. He eyed the man's arms, his legs, his general build in assessment – and he wasn't impressed. He recalled the soft grip and doughy skin of the man's hands. Not a threat – to him, eyes on Lady Ethlyn. 

She seemed more angry than scared, and that helped matters, but only somewhat. She wouldn't get herself sliced in a panic, but no telling how much struggle a woman like that would put up. 

A clean strike then. 

Without waiting for the man to begin whatever paltry negotiations he might had, Raven stepped forward and delivered a slice the long way down the arm that held Lady Ethlyn against him – not hard or deep enough that she was in danger, but it wasn't a superficial wound, either. 

The man jerked, dropping the sword as Raven expected, and stumbled back. He struggled to get to his feet again, but managed, stumbling off into the woods beside them. Raven tossed a brief flickering glance to Ethlyn – not harmed? Thank Elimine... - before he bore down on the man, taking long, deliberate strides into the brush after him before he caught him. 

He took half a moment to secure his footing before he crouched on the balls of his feet and leapt, swinging his sword in a neat arc with a flick of his wrist to turn it downward. Letting the weight of his body push the man to the ground, Raven pinned him with the blade through his shoulder. 

He leaned down to say into the man's ear, voice rough, "She's out. Now it's my turn." 

[peerlessscowl]

Cowa-bummer, Bro

ladyleonster

While Raven deals with their imposter, Ethlyn collects his horse.  It’s a sweet thing, nuzzling against her cheek as she ties it to her own mount to lead it along with them.  She’s always had such a soft spot for the animals and produces a mint for each of the three from her saddle bag before mounting up herself.  It isn’t the poor horse’s fault its master is who he is.

“That I actually believe,” Ethlyn looks over her shoulder at Raven when the man finally begins to drop his act.  The need for money can cause a man to turn to desperate measures and she supposes acting as a foreign king would be a lot more enticing than risking one’s life as a mercenary or thief.  While Ethlyn herself has never wanted for anything being the daughter of a duke and the wife of a wealthy crown prince, she’s witnessed what desperation can lead someone to do.  It was that desperation that lead to her own death, after all.  

“Listen, I get it.  Times are hard but whoever it is that’s running this whole thing is taking advantage of people who are struggling too.  You can make this easier for yourself and help us out.  Come with us, tell our higher ups what you know, and I’ll vouch for your cooperation.”  Her attention is on the imposter.  She trusts her horse enough to continue without her direct guidance as pink eyes train in on the man tied up.  “This whole thing is going to fall apart soon enough anyway so you might as well help us out.  Clearly whoever gave you the rundown on my brother knows only the bare minimum about him.  He was never a king and he definitely has a sister.  Let me guess, they didn’t tell you about Deirdre either, did they?”

The man looks confused and raises an eyebrow.  “Who?”

Yikes.

Raven had to bite his tongue during the imposter's back and forth with Lady Ethlyn. From the glance she shot at him, she truly did believe it – he supposed he couldn't fault her the faith in the imposter's honesty, caught as he was, but Raven wasn't so sure. So he let Ethlyn do the talking, attempting to convince the man to cooperate, pleading the syndicate's ignorance and shoddy background against them. 

Even he knew of Deirdre. An unassuming woman, though ethereal in her manner, he knew she taught as a Black Eagles instructor, and he knew that she was the late Lord Sigurd's wife. 

And he couldn't restrain himself from giving the imposter a discreet pinch at the display of ignorance, the show of disrespect to the family who had suffered so much, whose name he was dragging through the mud for some coin. 

"You'll listen to the Lady Ethlyn if you've any sense," he said roughly into the man's ear. "Your options are a jail cell, or a bargain with the church, and it's a far kinder set of options than you'd receive where I'm from." 

"So you say, brute," the imposter replied, in a tone of voice that seemed just seconds away from sticking his tongue out at him. "But you don't know the resources this group has. I've still got my paycheck waiting for me when I get out of this." 

Raven could almost laugh at the prospect. "You're welcome to try escaping," he said. "But if I were you, I'd take the offer the church is giving you. What's the chance at more gold if you lose your life in the process? Don't be stupid. You can't leave Fodlan if you're dead, regardless of whatever goals you've got." 

[peerlessscowl]

Cowa-bummer, Bro

ladyleonster

She wants to be petty. She really, really, really does. This pathetic man in a ditch is attempting to impersonate her brother. Her brother the hero. Her brother the kindest, bravest man she's ever know. Her brother who died tragically. She wants to walk away and leave him there.

But she can't.

There is no honor in striking a man down when he is unarmed and vulnerable. Even is this impostor is a scumbag and a dastard, he still deserves a helping hand. Her brother, the real Sigurd, was the epitome of such knightly ideals.

Ethlyn turns to Raven and gestures him away from the side of the pit. Not Sigurd doesn't need to hear her defending him at least. "Listen, we can't leave him here. He's a dastard but, well, we're not. Besides, I'd rather make him come with us than let his friends find him, right?"

She cranes her neck to look back down at the man below them before turning back to Raven with a snicker. "He does look pretty funny all pathetic and stuck down there like that though."

The false king in the pit glowered up at him, eyeing his extended hand dubiously. "Fool me once, knave, shame on you. Fool me twice - !"

"You really wanna go that route?" Raven cocked a brow, gesturing again for him to take his hand.

Ethlyn had been quiet while Raven and the man sniped at each other, and after a moment she got Raven's attention, pulling him away from the pit. She looked…sad at the whole ordeal, and Raven felt a tug deep within his chest.

Perhaps bringing her to deal with a man impersonating someone she loved was cruel. Raven grimaced at the thought, looking down at the disappointment that seeped from every line in Ethlyn's bearing. He'd had a sister once, after all, had lost family - he thought that if someone had been impersonating the Cornwells he would have torn them limb from limb, and that if she wanted to mete out justice for her brother's good name that it was her right, but looking at Ethlyn now he understood that he had been wrong to force her to face this, especially with a cold stranger such as himself.

"As you like, Lady Ethlyn," he said with a nod, expression soft, and when she gifted him with a laugh he graced her with a rare smile in acknowledgement. Raven had less kind things to say about the man in the hole than that he looked funny, but he kept the thoughts to himself.

Stalking back over to the hole, he crouched once more, and called down, ignoring the murmur of rage flickering in his chest that scorched anew at the sight of the faux Sigurd. "I'm gonna extend my hand down now, and you're going to take it," he said. "We're going to restrain you, and then take you back to the monastery. Yes?"

It was not a question, and the imposter seemed to understand that something had shifted during that sottovoce conversation. In short order, Raven tugged the man out of the hole, binding his wrists uncomfortably and with jerky motions before hefting him atop the back of his horse.

After Ethlyn mounted her horse again, Raven hopped up behind the man, settling himself for the journey. "Seems like a pretty bad gig," he said to the man. "Lotta manual labor to dig a hole, climb into and out of it, and for what? To convince some country nobles for some petty cash?"

"You wouldn't understand." Dropping the kingly act now, the man's tone took on a distinct Faerghan edge that Raven had started hearing in his time in this country. "I'm doing it for my family. My sister is - "

"Thought you said you don't have a sister, Sigurd." To tamp the stoking of rage in his chest, Raven clicked his tongue softly at his mount. He didn't look over at Ethlyn. How fucking dare he…

Surly and childish, the imposter sulks in silence for a moment before, eventually, "I get paid twice, once as Sigurd, and then again when I debrief. It's good money to get me out of this place."