#vicoya

[freydis-freydat]

Who: @vicoya Where: Caer Glass When: Miss Sunshine’s Big Ole Birthday Notes: The parade was in the morning. 

It was nothing short of a trek from Haven to where Caer Glas Keep sat watch over the bay between the Silverlands and the Feywilds, but Freydis was happy to make it. She had come to town a few days early, affording herself plenty of time to meet up with the artisan she had written to in order to commission a gift for her Legionnaire friend. The extra time permitted Freydis to be certain the gift was completed with the proper care, quality, and attention to detail. As the once-jarl rode a borrowed horse to a pasture near the keep she couldn’t help but miss her own horse. It had been a gift from another jarl, a foal that came into its own at the same pace Freydis had as a young noble. It was the first horse she had owned and trained for the sake of enjoyment rather than for labor, and she had loved it fiercely until she had parted ways with it during the initial flight toward Nornwatch. She had offered it up to an elderly man struggling to keep up, a quiet pact made between them that the steed would be returned to her once they were in the safety of the watchtower. The fates had divined so many cruel turns of events since then, and it was more than Freydis could manage to think of what fate befell that elderly man or her horse. But it allowed her to understand Vicoya’s widely known love for her own horse, Mabel. 

Freydis was not necessarily expecting a formal party. The other members of the legion she had met didn’t seem the type, especially the dark-haired moody one who seemed to be the catalyst for the event. But she noticed Etienne keeping the broody-looking host company, and suspected if he was someone Etienne approved of then there was more to him than what met the eye. She balanced the box meant for Vicoya in her arms as she looked for the familiar red-headed woman. With her signature, fiery locks–and it being that she was the reason for the festivities in the first place–it did not take long to find her. 

For some time now, every waking minute had felt like a violent tug-of-war between her head and her heart. In the night, her lucid dreaming felt like a nightly snipping of the sutures she spent every morning carefully placing in an attempt to sew back together her bleeding heart. But the last few days had had moments of levity, windows of time where her memories of the arches didn’t eclipse all else. This was one of those moments. Patiently, Freydis waited for Vicoya to have a small gap between chatting with her fellow Legionnaires and greeting the guests who had made the trip to celebrate her. 

“Happy birthday, Vicoya,” Freydis greeted, balancing the gift box on her hip as she used her free arm to loop around Vicoya in a warm, enthusiastic hug. So many of their conversations had been heavy, tear-stained affairs, but they had bonded over stronger matters than misery alone by now. Even so, it was a welcome change of pace to enjoy her company in a circumstance that demanded pure celebration. “I’ve brought you something, but I’m sure you’re busy–you don’t have to open it now. I just want to make sure it doesn’t get displaced.”

[riandur]

@vicoya Notes: On the way back to Caer Glas

Riandur had come out only slight worse for wear from the temple, Haelim and Alucard at his side. The village itself, the one that he had left behind so long ago – well, he had done everything to avoid it. He'd sent Vicoya and Nurcan, the two that could save those that could be saved, and the others that wouldn't have a choice. Rian had even stood on the outskirts of it, until he'd been forced to walk in and make a decision on who would get to live or die. These were people he hadn't seen in years. Friends, children that he'd seen be born and learn how to take their first steps. It was heartache for those within, and it was perhaps a blessing that no one truly remembered him – until there were the few that did.

When they'd left, they'd left with two. The Blight had impacted the region, and the temple was now magically sealed until those from the Tower could come and study it. He was walking beside Vicoya now, thinking of a bond that transcended time. "Are you okay after being in the village for so long?"

[steadythora]

who?: @vicoya where?: where the legion be in all this messi when?: while they're all flailing and failing

More accustomed to the concept of arcana, Thora didn't mind letting Vicoya tend to Kari's injuries. There were plenty of enemies to syphon from in the siege, but Kari needed a little more help to recover than Thora could provide. Vicoya was the only one of the Legionnaires who wasn't completely out of their mind as far as Thora could tell. "I can fight without her, but I much prefer not to. Kari is the only one I can count on to have my back. We're both used to cutting down darkspawn at this point and I can tell she's equally as eager to get back out there as I am. How much longer?" she questions, her arms folded as she stands guard in front of Vicoya and Kari. This Legion outpost was guarded and there was little chance another Legionnaire would pull Vicoya away. Still, Thora's stance was reflective of how little trust she placed in those who donned the black armor as she did now. She didn't Join out of duty but out of necessity. She was here because she had to be, and she would fulfill her role no matter what. But that didn't mean she magically warmed up to these people. "The less time we have to spend in this encampment, the better. Me and Kari are warriors, so we'll continue to go to war until every last darkspawn out there knows the taste of my blade. Please don't be slow about it."

[veseniya-tqd]

who: @vicoya where: Marinus Bay, medical tents when: After the Legion Fall of Aventia notes: Please let me know if you want any adjustments!

Rarely did Veseniya enter the medical tent in the encampment outside of Marinus Bay, at least no longer than it took to collect the unfortunates who were past the point of hope. Today, no names or locations of beds had been shared with her, but that didn't stop the injured or unwell from looking suddenly somewhat more feverish and pale as she approached their cots. Lucky for them, Veseniya's gaze did not stray from their path. She was not there as a Legionnaire moonlighting as a mercy killer, she was there to assist her fellow Legionnaire Vicoya. Though she was still learning much about this world that had moved on an entire century without her and though many of the secular customs and attitudes confused her compared to her upbringing in the cult, Veseniya was not cruel. She simply did what she had to do with little room for what-ifs and could-bes. Today, that meant assisting Vicoya, another member of the legion who seemed dead set on illuminating something within Veseniya that simply was not there. Still, Veseniya respected the work that Vicoya did, she viewed the flame-haired woman as her foil, and the quiet druid held a deep respect for the idea of balance. "Vicoya," she greeted quietly and simply at the foot of the bed where Vicoya worked. Veseniya was not as skilled in healing as her partner for the afternoon, but what she could do was calm frightened patients and create the conditions on which they would be still. Her spores could create vivid delusions of terror, but they could also produce a calming haze that softened every edge. There was little more she could offer Vicoya in terms of assistance, but Vicoya had never uttered a word of complaint. "It is good for the people of this camp that you have returned. Success has been the overall consensus of the reports of your travel. I would like to hear the account from your recollections."

[blightedmikhael]

Consideration of their limited resources has Mikhael removing his gloves hesitatingly. It’s a preference to keep his hands covered, the cross shape burned on his palm all too telling as a sign of his Abyssal ties, but they are not somewhere where he can afford to be picky. Medicinal herbs are rare as it is, and traveling with refugees through the Hrimthur’s Wasteland means it is more than essential to make sure nothing is lost on a clumsy movement of hands or something of the like. Putting his gloves away on a pouch in his belt, he considers the table before him turning to Vicoya to ask a question. 

Said question is left to stall on his lips when he feels Vicoya’s hand brush against his. That alone already leaves him blinking in surprise, unused to touching others unless seeking pleasures of the flesh or amongst those he trusts nearly entirely like his mother. It’s Vicoya’s reaction, however, that leaves him off-balance, flinching back as surely as she recoils away from him, a confused and wounded expression on his face as he does.

“Are you—,” he begins to ask, but there is something in her expression that steals the question away. Again, he is left speechless and confused, wondering if he should offer to collect the herbs for him but deciding against it as he gathers that she would like him to leave rather than do anything else. Hurt swells, but he suffocates it under a guise of civility, a pleasant smile wiping any trace  of surprise or hurt from his expression as he moves towards the entrance of the tent. “Of course, let’s not bother our best healer more than needed.”

With that, he gives Vicoya a last, fleeting smile and heads into the cold.

Bright blue eyes watched her friend stack one crate, then another, then a third, until all of the supplies were secured inside her healing tent. Coya could spend hours talking the ear off anyone willing to listen to her ramble on about recipes and remedies and antidotes. She knew Mikhael didn't have that kind of time likely, so a simple demonstration would have to do. Delicate hands of a healer reached out for the empty bottle in palm, prepared to give her spiel on the medicinal properties of wormwood whilst she walked him through the potion making process. Yet, when she reached out to touch him, what she saw next stopped her in her tracks.

It didn't happen often, but sometimes touching another living being allowed her to see into their soul. It was unpredictable at best, and such a sudden shift caused her to startle, dropping the flask in her hand onto the floor. Mikhael's body became nearly transparent, with a glowing orb in the middle. It was made of shifting sands, whirling around tumultuously with dark veins of black energy crackling through the middle. The Blight. She'd recognize it's presence anywhere.

Vicoya recoiled involuntarily, quite unsure how to process the information. Why did the Blight run through his veins? He was no Legionnaire - some kind of demon, or vampire, perhaps? Either way, she felt uncomfortable knowing this information he clearly was trying to keep secret. She cleared her throat awkwardly, suddenly very busy with emptying the crates he'd just brought into the tent. "On second thought, I just remembered I don't have all the herbs for my potions! I'll have to ask the hunters to gather some later." she said with a lump in her throat. She knew she was a terrible liar. "Perhaps you can come back another time, and I'll show you then?"

[strigoisak]

Person: @vicoya Location: Lil Path between the Keep and the stables It's not like Isak doesn't have friends. Back in Veilcrest he'd had.....Well he'd had Dracula's friends technically. And then when he'd ventured to Eterna he'd made...Colleagues with other physicians, alchemists, scholars, and the like. Carys probably counted as at least an acquaintance. Other members of the Legion in Ankhuria were also kind of coworkers but he had been fond of them in his own way. Vicoya though, the redhead was actually so kind that Isak didn't quite know what to make of her. Which was why with whisperings of her birthday, he couldn't not acknowledge it and so inside the pocket of his coat, there's a particularly pretty leatherbound journal. "Do you have a moment?" He asks as he falls into step with her on the path, his hands in his coat pockets.

[haelimthewatcher]

Date: BIRTHDAY SURPRISE PARTY Location: Outside Caer Glas Keep Characters: @vicoya & @haelimthewatcher Notes: thanks for the fireworks alucard

Parties, back in Iskaldrik, were violent or sordid affairs amongst the young Witchers. All of them young and hot-blooded, full of hormones and poison and violent-tendencies. Parties in Nornwatch were small affairs, quiet and intimate and rarely did they have much to celebrate with. But here... perhaps this was Haelim's first look at what a real party should be like. He didn't know enough to help with the organization, but he did help set everything up and gave his expertise on what Vicoya loved. He went on a flight with Daewonsa only a few nights ago to try to figure out how to gift the person who meant most to him something... anything good. He peered into shops, he walked among the merchant's bazaar. Nothing. All their time together, Haelim had only gifted her picked herbs and little trinkets he carved out of wood. He played Iskaran songs on his flute on her special days, songs everyone knew and could enjoy. But, so close to civilization, he had to try to find a better gift. He had some money to spend.

Haelim ended up finding jewelry he would have wanted to buy, if only he'd had enough gold. Instead, he settled on a little vase that he could afford, one with lovely flowers painted on it. A vase Vicoya could put some flowers within, and a decoration for her room to make it feel like home. Little did he know that fragile things like that did not do well on bumpy wyvern flights. It wasn't until he got back to Caer Glas Keep and the day of her party came that he realized her present had, indeed, broke within the box. There was no time to find another now. He wasn't sure he'd ever been so brave at the moment that he stuffed something else into his pockets and wrapped up the box. The party was going wonderfully thus far and he loved to see Vicoya surrounded by the people who loved her most.

By the time night fell completely and Alucard announced fireworks, he sat at her side, in complete awe of the lights as they lit up the sky. It was the first time the Witcher had seen them, and his eyes were glued up until the very end. But Haelim happened to glance to see Vicoya's reaction as the fireworks started to stop, and the smile on her face made his all the more wide. He couldn't look away from her after that. "Happy birthday," Haelim said again, though he'd already wished her the same at breakfast. It was her first one, in many years, back home in Lysara. She seemed happy and it kept the smile on his face. "How are you feeling? It hasn't been too much, I hope."

[alucardrakul]

@vicoya location: Hrimthur's Outpost notes: emo boy and sunshine girl

Misery permeated the paths that the legionnaires had spent their time carving out through Ymir's Northern Spine. The Wastes were treacherous and the Iskarans had lost more over the cliffs than Alucard cared to consider, but they'd made it to the broken village of stone, and for the first time in over a month, the spirits of these refugees had lifted. The Legion of the Dead were without their field commander, Deidameia. Iskrates, their archivist, had also perished in the battle and what few secrets had survived Nornwatch Keep were carried on the backs of the Legion.

Admittedly, Alucard knew little of druids and their secrets. The elvhen did not smile kindly either on their vampiric cousins - but here in the midst of this broken ruin that was once a bustling metropolis was a waygate etched in runes far too intricate for even his eyes to digest. In the distance he heard the songs that rose from the refugees, Alucard could feel the warmth from their fires, and the light that filtered laughter that felt premature.

Iskarans were known for their mistreatment of witches and the supernatural as a whole. Alucard had suffered the withering glances of these refugees that had been pushed from their homes; they didn't trust a creature of the night, they didn't trust anything that lived a life that they deemed unnatural.

Alucard had no mind to join them, nor did he really know how. When they arrived in Lysara, word would need to be sent to Commander Silas Dagon at Amon Sûl, the darkspawn were more organized than even they had predicted.

"It's hard to believe that long ago this used to be-" whatever this was. "someplace important, it's easy to forget how fragile things are." How easy it was to forget a thing once it had been broken and thrown away. "You should join the party." Alucard commented over his shoulder, he recognized the sound of Vicoya's boots in the snow, her steps, like Riandur's were a pair that the dhampir knew well by now.

[vicoya]

There were many stories and songs spun of heroes, even those of the Legion who'd left their mark on history after giving everything to face the Blight with the bravery of legends. To think of herself in that way felt strange, as healing had become as natural to her as breathing itself. To her, her powers weren't anything extraordinary, nor did she aspire for them to be. Whatever this little life of hers threw at her, she was content saving who she could, and keeping her loved ones safe. Wasn't that what everyone wanted? For the world to be a better place? It was hardly inspirational.

"A poor story, or an oblivious healer?" Coya chuckled, clearly poking fun at her own naivety. She'd been told before she was more modest than most. Compliments usually flew over her head, but she would always return them without fault. "When your sister returns - having survived whatever she's going through right now - that will make for a legendary story, I'm certain." Vicoya didn't know Alessia too well, but if the girl was anywhere near as stubborn as her brother, they would be seeing her soon.

Stories painted from the obvious entertainment around him were easy enough but boring in their predictability. Locked away in this tower while the frigid, indomitable cold howled outside had left little in the way of potential muses for the witch. Naturally, he had to turn his eye toward his immediate surroundings; the children were material but nothing he'd bother sharing with any beyond them.

Maybe it was in bad form, but Alrik didn't think so, what was a tale if not a mirror? "It isn't obvious? A poor story then." Alrik would need to consider an amendment or two to make his inspiration more obvious. His eyes wandered back toward the healer's hands and the faint pulse of arcana that worked at the tension around the broken limb. He owed Vicoya a great deal and Alrik was not in the habit of allowing debts to go unpaid.

[freydis-freydat]

Who: @vicoya When: After the battle with the blighted dragon and the ranks of the Legion of the Dead have grown Where: Lostlands Encampment Notes: Took me long enough : (

Keeping count of the days had been difficult between the onslaught of new information, the strange cycle between dreamless sleep and nights when she couldn’t determine between Tove’s recycled memories and visions produced by her own subconscious. Things were better, but they were different. The relief she felt to be back at the encampment with the overall group could not be understated, but it felt altered somehow compared to the time spent in the tower before being abducted. Freydis was unsure if it was a change within her or because of the constantly shifting state of affairs in the way Iskaldrik found itself embattled that caused this. 

And then there was the sudden loneliness. It was strange to be alone after what she and the other women had endured together, how dependent their survival had been on operating as a unit. That simply wasn’t so any longer, and though Freydis was grateful her isolation was a direct result of safety she still felt like something of an open wound. 

Freydis suspected it would take time to reconcile this–to compartmentalize her feelings as herself and the way her shared knowledge and memories with Tove now colored her perceptions. The protectiveness she had felt would not wear off, but she knew better than to insert herself or intervene too directly. Even so, she found herself wandering a stretch of the camp that many of her peers might assert someone of the nobility had little business deigning to enter. The Legion of the Dead seemed to have cloistered themselves off, and why shouldn’t they have? While some minds had been opened, or at least convinced to play as nicely as possible with the magic-users and non-human beings of the troupe, many remained as stonewalled as ever against the idea of cooperation. Freydis felt their salvation, or any hope for survival at all, lay within wider cooperation across all factions.

It was that thinking precisely that landed her at Vicoya’s doorstep–if one could call it that. The tent city that served as the encampment had almost certainly seen better days, but trapped behind the shimmering wall of the arcane dome that trapped them, it served its purpose well enough. She worried she might be intruding on the woman’s privacy, but forced herself to extend a hand out to try and catch the woman’s attention nonetheless. “Do you have a moment for a word?” she asked quietly, something about her face looking sullen and wasted behind her eyes. Perhaps Freydis ought to have tried to make the connection with the woman sooner.

[riandur]

@vicoya Location: The Camp

"A dragon, Coya. That was fucking great. And Lilith? Been dying to teach that crazy bitch a lesson for years, now. Do you think our names are gonna be carved in the shitty stone of Nornwatch after what we did? Or do you think we'll have to charge our way down to Amon Sǔl and make sure they put it in the histories ourselves?" He was finishing up with the dressing on his side, the wound now an old scar thanks to the healing from Vicoya. The bandage was tossed and Rian looked at his fellow Legionnaire, "And now we have two more to watch out for. Should we do rock-papyrus-knife to see who is now in charge?"

[strigoisak]

Person: @veseniya-tqd Location: Caer Glass, thee Lab "What's it this time?" He doesn't look up from where he's been perched at his makeshift desk that's definitely more of an old dresser. Telepathically flipping the page of the book before him, Isak's eyes flicker up at her. Veseniya is a frequent flier in the infirmary, which considering between himself, Vicoya, and Nurcan, they often saw to most of the Legion, was a feat to accomplish. She's vicious, he can appreciate that about anyone. "I didn't think I'd be resetting any limbs before noon."

[vicoya]

Mabel nestled her head into Jamie's shoulder, as if she were approving her owner's words. Jamie had kind eyes, and perhaps a kind soul, deep down. He'd yet to give Coya a reason to believe otherwise, and therefore, she'd continue to have faith in him. It sounded like no one else did. "Well, Mabel sees it too, I think. So that makes at least two people who do." she offered, as if it were any consolation. She could see the sadness tinging him smile, weighing it down slightly at the corners. It felt all too familiar. It was why she tried so hard to spread kindness - there were too many people in this world with smiles that didn't reach their eyes. "Good is always of use in a world like this, I promise. And even if no one thanks you for it, I always will."

END.

Blinking not once, not twice, but three times, Jamie drew his hand back and looked to her. He doesn't know why he gets the immediate urge to tell her that she's wrong. That he's been a vessel for violence and vengeance and he doesn't regret any of the blood he's shed to get where he was. But he looks at Vicoya, with her flaming red hair that reminded him so much of his mother's and he can't. Instead he finds himself oddly touched, perhaps even hopeful. Jamie's young yet by undead standards, he knows that, the urge to rip and tear things apart is still deeply rooted within him. But he had no unfinished business anymore, he was left with the blood on his hands of those that had wronged him and the aftermath of getting out from Dracula's thumb. "I'm glad someone sees it." The grin that pulls at the corners of his lips aims for cheeky, but he can't help but feel a bit sad. "Din know if it's of any use."

[haelimthewatcher]

NORNWATCH LEGIONNAIRES ;

Years of friendship, turmoil, isolation and fighting against an enemy that few believe in anymore. They still live.

The ground walked here is a wonder It ceases never to hunger And all things nature's given She takes all things back from the living

@alucardrakul / @riandur / @vicoya / @haelimthewatcher

[steadythora]

who?: @heroic-ignus where?: the current refugee frozen dirt patch when?: after all the king's road stuff

There'd been a lot she had to face down during their last mission, and she faced every challenge without hesitation. Minus those seconds she allowed that wench to alter her thoughts, Thora got everything she hoped out of her travels. Now, her grief surrounding her parents' deaths was more of a dull ache, the bulk of her emotions worked out through her slaughter of goblins, darkspawn, and the few hits she got in on Lilith. Still, there was a debt to be paid. Though Thora had lost much, she'd never lose her honor. TEK was someone she knew would understand her point of view. "I know you might not deem it necessary, but I do need to thank you. They said it was you who lifted the rubble from me when the mine collapsed," Thora said, still a bit surprised by that fact considering she thought she saw a much larger shadow than his. Then again, she did hit her head pretty hard. "So thanks. For that and..." As Thora trailed off, her hand curled into a fist. Lilith had targeted them both outright, but it was only her mind that got afflicted during the fight. "Vicoya still wasn't sure what her visions meant, but I'm guessing the greedy bitch stole every blade she wielded, including the one you plundered. She might've added mine to her collection if not for you so I owe you twice over."

[alrikhart]

@alessiathepath location: The Lostlands notes: im ready to be hurt again.

Alrik would know if she was dead.

Vicoya was gone and no longer working on his leg, but because of her he could still walk, and while he was doing it with a limp, Alrik managed his way around the old stones of the ruin just fine. The earth was soft here, deceitful in that way, one wrong step and a person could go in. Stray too far and the mist might take you, or something venomous might perceive you as a threat.

Keep them safe. That's what Alder had told him. It felt like the sort of affirmation you'd give a child and at first, Alrik had resented it, but a talisman hung on his chest and when his ire toward the Iskarans began to build, he'd find himself touching it.

For the first time in a decade, Alrik found peace in his dreams, Fharzai's rune let him shake off the darkness and settle somewhere more quiet. Serene. When the druid wasn't there, Alessia was. He'd talk to the ghost of her memory so that he could continuously commit her to his mind's eye. They'd sit for so long that the fantasy allowed him to forget the truth, and then when he awoke the horror began again.

He found comfort in distraction, his mind couldn't wander far if he was distracted. Alrik recalled Prospero's promise, and he let the validity of what the druid had sworn to settle on him. If Alessia died, Alrik would die: Prospero had saved them once, he could do it again. There was no reason for Alrik to trust him beyond that singular sentiment, but he did.

Idle hands saw him tinkering with what he could, fixing the bearings on carts, sharpening or mending swords in case the troupe was attacked here. They'd be ready this time.

A sound like a door creaking open muddled with the crackle of energy as the telltale note of arcana pressed itself against the tarmac of his tongue. The ball of Alrik's meteor hammer hung at his side in a heartbeat, already taking a turn as he searched for an advantage point. Ephemeral blue and wide split the air open like a door, and people began to step through.

The Princess looked insane, but he recognized most of them. Alrik's heart began to beat rapidly in his chest, harder and harder:

I would know if she was dead. I would know if she was dead. I would know if she was dead. A final figure skulked from the door like a shadow, a cloak of raven feathers with the cowl drawn low. The last of them. Beneath he saw the tip of what looked like bone.... But that wasn't his sister.

She wasn't there. She wasn't-

Something hateful bloomed in the witch's chest as his eyes bore into the hooded figure, they seemed to look at him from under their cowl, and then it was pulled back, the mask removed, and Alrik recognized Alessia immediately.

And yet, she no longer looked anything like his dreams. Older somehow, changed: Alrik could not know what she'd been to, but his hammer fell without a thought as it hit the ground beside him.

"Alessia."

Alrik was running, limping, and running and pushing despite whatever pain reverberated from the injury.

"Alessia!"

Alrik felt the smile on his face and heard it in his voice. So many years the Harts had worn their masks, now when he ran toward Alessia he felt it abandoned behind him, if only for the moment.

He'd watched the darkspawn take his sister and spent the last two months conjuring every possible scenario. Falling into despair and madness, lashing out at anyone who tried to broach her to him - but here she was. Alive. He'd been right.

Alrik's arms fell around her, large and crushing as he squeezed without thought, lifting and turning her in the air. He couldn't be cognisant of the way his tears fell, how they streamed as if he was taking his first steps from that Iskaran mine once more. They'd been children then, but if there was anything young about them still, it had died along this road.

"I knew you would find your way to us- I knew you'd-" His eyes searched her face, his thoughts worked too quickly to conjure a story of comfort or gratitude. He made eye contact with Alder and Prospero, they had kept their promise, and he would address that later.

Alrik smiled and tugged her toward his camp.

"Tell me everything."