thinkofduty

[thinkofduty]

PROMPT #19: Where the Heart Is

“Higher than I’d expected to find you.”

But from here, the sky was unbroken, and the rose-hued peaks bowed below their towering vantage. Ingvald did not turn to greet his brother: it was in many ways easier to continue drinking in that big swath of blue before them, unblemished save for a few spots upon the windows of the specula at Castrum Abania.

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#wilhelm #ingvald #westerly writes

[thinkofduty]

PROMPT #3: Muster

“I saw that.”

Orella glared, but she halted in her tracks all the same and slunk back to her station without a word of denial or protest.

Yet he could not resist a jibe at her expense, for he came by them so rarely. “You must truly be getting old, to skip out on your last rotation.” The words themselves curled the corner of his mouth, before even he could see her reaction. “Either that, or you counted wrong - which means your mind is going.”

She threw her sweat band at him with a huff but returned to her pushups. He sat down beside her. His own practices that day had been much more aetheric in nature, and he knew better than to tax both his physical and magickal reserves without sufficient rest - but he could muster the energy to offer her some company nonetheless.

Her left arm was improving, at least. It was not and likely never would be as strong as it had been before the Lucavi Zeromus had gotten to her, but she retained her balance during her exercises so far as he could see. Each set came fluidly, each count of tens and twenties an even pace in his mind, even before he realized he had not meant to spot her.

When at last she reached her next hundred and rolled off onto her side, she closed her eyes and heaved a deep breath. He could envision the lightning in the pulse running beneath her sweat-streaked skin.

“Shower?”

She nodded wordlessly, and he stood to prepare it for her.

#westerly writes #orella #ingvald #AAAAAAAAAAAHHH.

[thinkofduty]

A Ringing in the Ears

She still had not grown used to being one of only a few women at a gathering, no matter how few they had been before. Since the executions of the queen and her entire entourage, Orella had been surrounded by men.

Nowhere was that more evident than here, with all her brothers-in-arms gathered for the annual tourney.

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#p00 #ingvald #zartosht #kingsguard #westerly writes

[thinkofduty]

It’s a little while into their search for the scouts that Nive goes to walk next to Orella, instead of Linini or Ivan. She’s taken to wearing what looks like a ornate headdress with a horn in front, and her carbuncle is off on it’s own, helping them scout. “You’re Orella, right? Hel’s told me a lot about you.”

Orella’s only been paying moderate attention to the group she’s with past their footfalls and their names. She almost wishes she hadn’t taken point - the last time she’d hunted down people was so long ago, and back then she hadn’t exactly been alone. It’s almost a relief, for that reason, when the miqo'te falls in line with her stride, and she glances sidelong down at her. “… Hm,” she grunts, in way of agreement. “Steelhand, yes. I’ve only your name rather than your deeds.”

Nive nods at that. “Not surprising. What I hear about you probably isn’t exactly indicative of your character either, merely what Hel’s told me.”

Orella Steelhand quirks her eyebrow at that. “… Hm,” she says again, with a completely different feeling behind it. There’s all sorts of things Hel could have told.

Nive can’t help the slight chuckle that comes out of her, and she shakes her head. “She likes you, despite the fact that she complains that you’re stubborn and won’t accept her love.” There’s a quirk of her lips at the last bit. Clearly what Hel said was sarcastic and needlessly complaining.

That gets a snort out of Orella, at least, and a twitch to her lips that wouldn’t have shown itself months ago. “Aye, sounds about right,” she says, biting back the grin that’s struggling to break free. “Stubborn and bull-headed, that’s me to the core.” And she shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “… I confess, when she spoke of a sister, I wasn’t exactly expecting a… uh…”

“A non-hyur?” Nive asks wryly. “Most don’t. She and her mother adopted me after my clan perished when I was twelve.”

Orella simply nods at that, all traces of a smile vanished. For a moment she looks almost wistful… and then it passes. “Glad they found you,” she says, and means it.

Nive rubs the back of her neck, and sighs. “… I am too. It was a few years after that that she and I took to adventuring, when we met up with another. Our other sister perished in the Calamity, and … Hel took it hard. She probably hasn’t mentioned her to you.” She flicks an ear in Orella’s direction, and sighs. “… I’m only saying this because she likely asked you to look after me. And, as understandable as that is, I don’t need you to.”

Orella snorts again, back to slight amusement. “Oh, you’ve her measure, alright… Except she didn’t ask me to. Sure, she agreed when it was suggested… by my partner. But she’s innocent in this. For once.”

“Your partner being the highlander man dressed in red?”

Orella simply nods at her question.

Nive rubs her temples with a frown. “… I see. ‘For once’ is right, she gets into enough trouble as it is.” When she looks back up, Orella can see the dark circles under her eyes, and a general air of tiredness.

Orella snorts again, and resists the urge to muss her hair like she might with her sister. “… Siblings,” she says amiable, in the way of someone who Knows. “She’ll be fine. And so will you.”

“I will be, so I don’t need you looking after me,” Nive says, sounding a bit prim. “No matter what she’s told you about my … situation.”

Orella doesn’t manage to hold back an eyeroll. “Whatever you think she gets up to, put it from mind. She’s not once blabbed about any matters not hers in the time I’ve known her.” and she glances at Nive, perhaps a little sharper than she ought. “If your situation stands a chance of becoming a liability on this mission, tell me, otherwise I don’t care.”

Nive simply nods at that, her tail flicking thoughtfully. “It shouldn’t. Thank you for not caring, that sets my mind at ease.” She says this completely straight, no hint of sarcasm at all.

Orella’s quiet as she regards her after that, not sure what to make of her… and simply grunts, leading them on further.

Nive just nods in return, and goes back to searching, peeling away from Orella, now that she’s said her piece.

#RVL #nivelth #orella

[thinkofduty]

As the shuttle touches down upon a sandy tropical beach, half the Riskbreakers aboard depart quickly and quietly; within mere moments, the shuttle departs for its next destination. Only when all is silent do you hear movements within the trees.

"HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEADS!" roars a voice - a voice belonging to a tall Hrothgar, who steps out from behind a tree, pointing a gunblade in your direction.

And as the shuttle proceeds to Rabanastre, the air is quiet - muted from anxiety.

Orella Steelhand: "Oh, for-"

Linini Mooglesworn: "Lay down your arms! We've come on behalf of Ashelia Riot of the Riskbreakers."

Nivelth Ajuyn holds up her hands to show she's non hostile, and puts them behind her head, as three different people come at them.

Ivan Amov wonders if they even know about the Riskbreakers, really. He holds up his hands, eyes briefly scanning the guards to see if he recognizes any of them.

The middle one with a gunblade frowns at them all, his odd eyes narrowing. "The Riskbreakers?'

Linini Mooglesworn tilts her head. "Er... no one was notified of our coming? We have contacts within the Dalmascan Resistance. We have... aided them in the past."

The man frowns at her, then takes stock of the others before lowering his gunblade. "We were informed that help might be forthcoming. We weren't given much more information than that."

Orella Steelhand: "Help." it's... too blunt to be a question.

Ivan Amov takes the lowered gunblade as opportunity to look around the camp. "Yeah, that's us. Hopefully. The help."

Linini Mooglesworn: "We the Riskbreakers have fought on the frontlines of battle against Garlemald for quite some time now. We have ousted the Empire from Eorzea, Ala Mhigo, and Doma. And intelligence suggests that a certain legatus has sights set on a location near to here. We mean to find out why."

The camp itself is bustling, people running back and forth, as well as what looks like a scouting party being treated at a healer's tent. It's fairly obvious that the scouting party was attacked, and that's what has the hrothgar man on edge.

Nivelth Ajuyn frowns, and nods at the man. "Our contacts in the Doman Resistance said were the ones to give us information on you all."

Orella Steelhand takes the opportunity to look around. She recognises the kind of place this is; she'd stormed one or two of them serving the Garleans, long ago.

Linini Mooglesworn: "Might we help with anything? Give us a task, if you feel the need to gauge our skills or gain our trust."

Orella Steelhand: "... Were there any stragglers?" Orella asks, slightly more directly. "Of yours or them. Doesn't matter which."

Ivan Amov: "I'll be glad to finally get the opportunity to aid the Resistence." He says this quietly in Bozjan.

Orella Steelhand looks over at Ivan with an eyebrow raised, not recognising the language.

The man sighs, and runs a hand over his head. He sheaths his gunblade. "My apologies. Bajsaljen is my name, and you've come into my camp." He blinks at Ivan, and nods to him. "Tis good to see another brother helping the fight." He responds in the same language.

Linini Mooglesworn fails to understand Ivan Amov, and makes a note of that for later.

Bajsaljen clears his throat, then looks to Orella. "We haven't taken tally yet. If you've a mind to prove your worth, we're missing two scouts."

Ivan Amov nods to Bajsaljen.

Orella Steelhand: "Which direction, and how far."

Bajsaljen beckons them over to the table inside the main tent, over which a map spreads. "Our party was in the south and east, closer to the Dalmascan border. According to those that came back, they lost sight of the two missing scouts no more than twenty malms out. Far too close for comfort."

Linini Mooglesworn: "I see. We'll find them." (says Linini, who can barely see over the table).

Ivan Amov seems lost in thought.

Nivelth Ajuyn goes over to the table, frowning down at the map and tracing border lines with her finger.

Bajsaljen nods at them, and then reaches to pull out what looks like linkpearls. "Here, to keep in touch. They're set to a specific frequency. Please call in if you find them."

Linini Mooglesworn: "Thank you, Bajsaljen."

The group takes the pearls, and turns to leave.

Linini Mooglesworn: "Before we proceed, might the four of us talk in private?"

Each of them shrugging in turn, they find the quietest area they can in close proximity to the main camp. It's not exactly private, but it will have to do for now.

Linini Mooglesworn: "Ivan... I take it you are familiar with this area?"

Ivan Amov: "I'm not. Unfortunately, my clan is............elsewhere, so I'll be as much help as any of the rest of our group."

Linini Mooglesworn: "Ah... I was mistaken, then. But you share a common tongue?"

Ivan Amov: "We do. We're still from Bozja, in the end."

Linini Mooglesworn gazes upon Ivan Amov in deep reflection.

Linini Mooglesworn: "Hm. Well, that is good to know, at any rate. It may help us in the future."

Ivan Amov nods to Linini Mooglesworn.

Ivan Amov: "I hope so."

Orella Steelhand, who knows what it's like to come home painfully, looks at Ivan carefully, trying to take the measure of him.

Nivelth Ajuyn nods slightly at that, frowning. "Any help might be good, when it gets down to it. Admittedly I'm not the best tracker -- is anyone else better than I am?"

Linini Mooglesworn: "Now... I am no scout, but I do have experience tracking down criminals and other sorts who do not wish to be found... Though we are at a clear disadvantage here because we do not know the area."

Orella simply nods at Nivelth Ajuyn.

Orella Steelhand: "Soldiers are easy to find."

And at Linini's words, all she says is-

Orella Steelhand: "I can lead."

Linini Mooglesworn: "Is that...?" She glances at Orella's arm and cuts herself off. "Very well. Ivan, I am familiar with Nivelth and Orella's skillsets, but what is your area of expertise?" She eyes his bow, but does not want to make any assumptions.

Nivelth Ajuyn: "Well.. At the least, we won't be dealing with dangerous stones like we did before..." She mutters to Linini and Orella. She turns to Ivan, and nods to him. "Nice to properly meet you, by the way, I'm Nivelth Ajuyn, but everyone calls me Nive."

Ivan Amov: "I'm Ivan. And.. ah, I was .. my main role was a scout. Or.. something like a border patrol, depending on what was needed."

Linini Mooglesworn grins. "Perfect - exactly what we need."

Ivan Amov agrees wholeheartedly with Linini Mooglesworn.

Ivan Amov: "I'll do my best."

Nivelth Ajuyn: "You'll be fine." She assures him. "If it's needed, I can also send out one of my carbuncles to cover more ground."

Linini Mooglesworn: "Let us be off, then - time is wasting."

#RVL #linini #ivan amov #nivelth #orella

[thinkofduty]

The Victor’s Laurels

[In which a drop-off occurs…]

It’s early evening by the time the party arrive at the Prima Vista, with scarcely any time spent in Kugane at all. Suraja Solveig has been talking Lif Silverlode’s ear off about how pretty Kugane is since they arrived, having never seen anything like it. Lif Silverlode happily listens to Suraja Solveig’s wonder and passes along as much information as she could about the city’s history and culture, most of which was learned from books. Kiri Kha hangs by Lif and Suraja, listening to them chat and throwing in a few things she’s learned specifically from living nearby. Suraja Solveig: And now this place! A theater ship?! Sure I’m an entertainer an’ all, but nothin’ like this…

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#RVL

[thinkofduty]

The Victor’s Laurels

[In which travel arrangements are discussed and plans are made…]

Ingvald Bloodhound: You’ve got friends in high places, miss Alaq'it. Ingvald Bloodhound realizes he made a pun, and coughs. Alaq'it Moks looks at Ingvald Bloodhound in shock! Alaq'it Moks: I-What now? Who? Ingvald Bloodhound: The Majestic Theater Company. They’ve offered to lend us passage to the Far East. Linini Mooglesworn almost lets out a groan at Ingvald Bloodhound’s words.

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#RVL

[thinkofduty]

"Hey," he whispers, in Ala Mhigan. "I'll miss you."

#RVL #ingvald #orella #img

[thinkofduty]

Ingvald Bloodhound is fuming just a little bit; he's trying to calibrate his aether reserves on the crystal and read a book at the same time.

Ingvald Bloodhound: "Finding anything?"

Orella shrugs at him.

Orella Steelhand: "Depends what you're asking about. You want to know about Ul'dahn tax returns? Could probably find something for you over here."

Ingvald Bloodhound snorts, unimpressed by her dramatics.

Ingvald Bloodhound: "Yes, I would love to know about Ul'dahn tax returns."

Helisent Wynter walks over as she hears two familiar voices, and pokes her head around the partition. "Oh, hey. Didn't expect to find you two here."

Helisent is dressed more in something approaching a monk's gear, and she's filled out some. Ingvald actually smiles a bit.

Ingvald Bloodhound: "I wasn't expecting you back for the time being."

Orella Steelhand: "Well, if you'd specify," Orella mutters, and cuts herself off when they're approached, greeting Hel with a simple nod before looking back at the papers she has spread out around her.

Helisent's mouth twists into a frown. "I came to check on Nive, and I --" She cuts off, crossing her arms, and there's a breeze that ruffles her skirts. "Well, I'm back for now. I let Wilhelm know that I'd have to keep an eye on my sister."

Ingvald Bloodhound: "So you've heard the news. Orella and I were... looking. For anything that could be of use."

Ingvald, at least, is doing that; he figures Orella was doing the same, but isn't sure. The woman in question simply nods, only half-paying attention and picking up another book to riffle through.

Helisent Wynter: "Sort of. I heard something about the Riskbreakers going on a mission, and from what I understand, Nive's going to join so she doesn't have to deal with her fucking feelings, and probably work herself into the ground."

In case it isn't obvious, she's not happy about this.

Ingvald Bloodhound: "Hm."

Ingvald is feeling a little called out, but definitely doesn't say so.

Ingvald Bloodhound: "So you'll be coming along?"

Orella Steelhand looks up at Ingvald's quiet noise, paying attention finally to the people more than the books. "... are you going?" she asks Hel simply. "This one's seen fit to come along to keep an eye on me after the last fucking thing the Riskbreakers put us up to."

Her tone makes it Very Clear what she thinks of That. Hel nods at her.

Helisent Wynter: "Yue suggested it, actually. I figure I can offer some healing, or whatever is needed. I just--" She throws up her hands. "If anyone comes back from the dead again, I'm going to have words with the Twelve."

Orella Steelhand: "... again...?"

And then she shrugs, like it's not worth thinking about.

Helisent Wynter looks down and says sourly, "Nive's father showed up. The one that she thought she lost some fourteen years ago. Apparently some old kingsguard he met in Ala Mhigo said she was here, or ... something. I didn't get all the details."

Ingvald Bloodhound: "You know - like all the other Corpses Ala Mhigo buried."

Helisent Wynter mutters something under her breath that sounds very much like "jackass".

Orella's eyebrows raise and she glances at Ingvald at his muttered aside, and grimaces when the words unwind in her mind to make sense. She isn't gonna touch that with a longsword.

Ingvald Bloodhound: "We'll be all the better off for your presence."

Helisent Wynter doesn't quite know what to do with that sort of compliment, and rubs the back of her head. "Uh. Th...Thanks?"

Ingvald Bloodhound: "But you said you were following Nive." He turns to regard Orella. "Where was it you were aiming to go? Bozja?"

Orella Steelhand meets his gaze coolly, and nods. "What remains, anyway. You heard Linini." And she shrugs, before he can get a word in. "I'm playing nice and making up, before you say anything. No time like the present."

Helisent Wynter gets the distinct impression that she's out of the loop, but doesn't ask for elaboration.

Ingvald Bloodhound: "What about Nive? Has she given voice to any of her plans?"

Helisent Wynter: "She just told me she was leaving for a mission, that's about it. I'm not sure if she means to go with the Bozja team, or the ... the Rabanastre team, was it?" She shakes her head. "She might go to Bozja though, because of her heritage. She's probably curious. Sorry, I know I'm not much help, but trying to get answers out of her is even worse than you two."

Orella frowns. "Hey."

Ingvald Bloodhound manages a chuckle.

Helisent Wynter: "Am I wrong?"

Orella Steelhand: "Tell me one time I haven't answered your questions, you brat."

Helisent beams at her. "You're still a prickly bastard who doesn't like to talk much," She informs Orella with a smile. "And I still like you for it."

Orella Steelhand scowls at her, and then promptly picks up another book and opens it at a random page rather than deal with either of those statements. Helisent gestures at her to Ingvald, as if to say 'See?', and he grins, knowing with his back facing Orella he won't be in trouble for doing so.

Helisent Wynter: "Are both of you going to Bozja?"

Ingvald Bloodhound: "Orella's right: I had meant to go where she meant to go. But it may be overcrowding, at this point. I've a mind to see what can be done in Rabanastre. Especially if new imperial protocols are taking shape."

Orella mutters a little "I'm not going to get possessed." ... and follows it up with a quieter "... again."

Helisent Wynter: "... You too? For Twelve's sake--"

Orella shrugs.

Helisent Wynter: "Why is everyone in my family just bound and determined to give me a heart attack before I'm twenty five?" She demands of the world at large. Orella simply laughs.

Orella Steelhand: "That's just how we are."

If she's smiling a little at the mention of family, well. No she's not.

Ingvald Bloodhound: "How about this, then."

Helisent Wynter tilts her head, listening.

Ingvald Bloodhound: "Orella takes care to look after Nive in Bozja; you come with me to Rabanastre."

Orella Steelhand opens her mouth to say something about babysitting but thinks better of it and simply inclines her head in acquiescence.

Helisent Wynter: "I... I think that could work. Admittedly I was wanting to travel with at least one of you -- I've never been to either place, and the last time I was in the Far East, I got thrown off a cliff. And was involved in an attack on a shrine. So it's probably better if I go with someone I know."

Orella Steelhand: "A--"

Ingvald Bloodhound's eyes grow wide with awe upon seeing Helisent Wynter.

Orella Steelhand: "Now who's giving who heart attacks?!"

Helisent Wynter: "Neither were my fault, before you accuse me of it. It was just a minor imperial raid, nothing really! And then some jackass on a throne demanded if I was his Moon, or ... something."

Orella Steelhand: "I... Sure. Sure, whatever."

The young girl confuses both her elders; they share a bemused-at-best glance, before Orella's expression melts into her much more usual frown."... You're sure?" she asks. "Won't be too much for you?"

Ingvald Bloodhound: "The Grand Steward will be there as well. I imagine that'll be all the backup any of us will need."

Orella Steelhand: "I meant-" and she casts a brief glance at Hel before swallowing her pride. "I meant if it wouldn't worry you too much."

Ingvald Bloodhound: "Of course I would worry."

His voice is patient, surprisingly, and even a little soft.

Ingvald Bloodhound: "But if it must be done, then it must be done."

Helisent Wynter looks between the two, lifting a brow, but keeping quiet for a moment. It's the least wooden she's ever seen them act around one another.

Orella Steelhand: "Only if you're sure."

Ingvald Bloodhound: "I am."

He smiles, just as soft as his words, and she nods, softening considerably. It's noticable even to their audience of one, to whom Ingvald turns.

Ingvald Bloodhound: "That's assuming you'll be able to tolerate me while we're afield together for the next few weeks."

Helisent Wynter bites back a comment about how Orella can be soft, and instead just clears her throat. "Thanks, and I mean it." She shrugs at Invgald. "You're trapped with me, not the other way around. Though I'll try to be on good behavior."

Orella Steelhand snorts.

Helisent Wynter: "I did say try..."

Orella Steelhand grins at Hel. Just slightly. "Good luck with him."

Helisent Wynter: "Good luck with my sister, you're going to need it," she mutters. "I can give you the care package, if you like."

Ingvald Bloodhound: "We'll all have a means to contact one another, I imagine. This won't be the last we speak for the foreseeable future, that is."

Orella Steelhand: "It better not be."

Helisent Wynter: "Probably won't, no. I'll be sticking around until we're all ready to leave, instead of going back to Wilhelm."

Orella Steelhand grins. Craftily.

Orella Steelhand: "How is the prettier twin?"

Ingvald just glares.

Helisent Wynter laughs, and coughs to smother it up. "I suspect he'll finally get his voice back, after yelling at me to stop jumping off cliffs. He gets very offended."

Orella Steelhand: "Definitely related."

Ingvald Bloodhound: "And I'll have to see to it that you don't get any new ideas before he can see you again."

Helisent Wynter: "He also has been teaching me how to spit properly, so I can really show my disrespect to any Imperials that cross my path. He was really insistent on it."

Helisent Wynter beams at Ingvald, and Orella bursts out laughing.

Ingvald Bloodhound has no real objection there, and he simply shrugs. "Right. I'll begin making our preparations."

#RVL

[thinkofduty]

Linini Mooglesworn: "...Orella. Might I have a word?"

Linini steels herself as she approaches Orella, who flinches at the directness of Lini's words, and actively leans back as she approaches, looking almost horrified. A quick glance around with wild eyes, and she opens her mouth, but no words seem to come to mind. She wasn't prepared for this. Her expression doesn't go unnoticed by Linini, who feels as though the shock is a knife in her chest.

Ingvald, having come down late, sweeps the bar, and his gaze ends at Linini... and Orella.

Orella Steelhand: "... Linini," she says, and can't manage more than that.

Linini Mooglesworn: "I... I'm sorry. Perhaps... perhaps not then."

At Lini's tone, Orella's mouth parts again, and she takes a breath - and then sighs it out, almost resigned. "... No, that... We can talk. ... Sit."

Pikna Popp floats over in front of Lini and bows as deeply as moogle bodies would allow. "Lini just wants to say she's super sorry, kupo!" Lini herself stares down at her hands as Pikna Popp speaks, staying silent.

Orella's gaze slides from the lala to the moogle, and she looks not at all impressed. "If she's that sorry, she can say it herself," she says, and reaches for the bottle of wine stashed just the other side of the bar, where she knows it always is. She's not meant to be drinking, but she's not quite strong enough for this, and uncorks iteasily, drinking from the bottle.

"Orella," Ingvald says, having approached. Not with any particular tone.

Linini looks at him as he arrives and takes a seat, before looking up at Orella. "I am sorry, truly. It is what I wanted to talk about. I know hollow words are not enough to make up for what I did, but I ... I will do whatever it takes to prove it. To redeem myself. T'is why I volunteered to go to Bozja, in truth. I must atone."

Orella jerks at Ingvald's words, and takes another glug from the bottle before setting it down. "Can't stop me," she mutters, and takes a long, almost shaky breath. "... Atone?" she says, staring straight ahead, and drums her fingers on the table. Hard. Glancing over at Linini, she's doing her best to keep her tone level. "And what, pray tell, are we atoning for today?"

Each tap of her fingers is like a bludgeon to Lini's chest. "For being weak enough to fall under the stones' thrall. For almost destroying the Riskbreakers. For nearly killing you."

Orella snorts, turns her attention to the wine bottle, makes a move to grab it, thinks better of it, and curls her hand into fist instead. "Say I accept that," she says. "Then what exactly, in your eyes, ought I to do, then?"

Ingvald folds his arms over his chest but continues to say nothing.

Linini shakes her head "I... I can't tell you that. I know not what sort of hold your stone had on you, but if it was anything like mine... I would like to think... we could work through this together."

Orella sniffs, and turns fully toward Lini, ready to snap - and instead sighs at her request. Her tone's a little softer, at least, and she lifts a hand to count off on her fingers as she talks. "... Possessed by a stone. Would've let it do whatever it wanted if it'd kept its shit up. ... Tried to kill you." and she wrinkles her nose. "Would've managed it, if that magic hadn't demolished my arm. But..." And she huffs again, and flexes the arm in question, only wincing a little. The ache isn't so bad anymore. "... It happened. It's in the past. The stones are gone and neither of us can change what's happened. ... That's not..."

When she glances away, she looks exhausted. "Atoning doesn't bring you as far as you'd like."

Ingvald simply listens. This is the first time Orella has admitted directly, even to him, that the Lucavi was what caused her arm to go to ruin.

Linini lets her speak in full.  "Even so, I will try my hardest to do right by the Riskbreakers. By you. And... and I'd hoped to fight alongside you. In Bozja, or wherever this next mission may take us."

So small it's almost imperceptible, Orella's lips prick up at the edges. Barely. "Fight?" she asks. "What makes you think I can fight, now?"

Lini blanches at that. "W-well... so your recovery has not gone well, I take it?"

"She hasn't been able to lift her sword the same way since," Ingvald cuts in, and weathers Orella's glare easily.

"Granny can tend to you, if need be! Her healing abilities are unparalleled, if you ask me!" Lini looks quite worked up, biting her lip as she looked to Orella's arm, then to Ingvald as he speaks, and then back toward her hands, the exuberation dissipating.

Orella snorts after she's done scowling at Ingvald, and shrugs. "... Didn't lose the arm," she says, easy enough. "Could be worse. I'm sure there's other things I can do. Here, or..." and she hesitates, for a moment. "... Or in Bozja."

Pikna Popp floats over to Orella's side. "I can look at it too, kupo! Moogle magic is unparalleled. I don't know what Lini was saying, kupo!"

Linini herself looks perplexed. "Er, yes, Pikna Popp, but... I think we should leave the conjury to Granny."

Orella doesn't even look at the moogle. "Touch me and I'll de-pom you."

Lini just barely manages to stifle her chuckle at that as Pikna Popp backs off, horrified. She glances at Ingvald. "I'm sorry, ser. I do not believe we have met yet. I am Linini."

"Ingvald Bloodhound. I was aboard the Prima Vista as well." He does not say that he spent most of that time consorting with the actors

"I see. I'm sorry, I must have forgotten."

Orella snorts, this time honestly amused. "He'll thank you for that."

Ingvald simply shrugs at her, a silent warning.

"Right. It's... probably for the best..." And Linini sighs, quietly. "But... is there anything I can do for you? Or your arm? I can go find Granny right now, if need be."

Orella frowns and shakes her head, lifting a hand. "... No magic, if it's all the same to you. It is what it is. ... Consider it payment, if you must."

Linini tilts her head. "Payment for what, exactly?"

Orella slides from the chair easily and stretches her shoulders, with one longing glance at the wine she'd uncorked before glancing down at Lini. "I'd have killed you, otherwise," she says, simply enough, and shrugs. "... I look forward to working with you, next time, then. In Bozja."

Linini Mooglesworn nods. "I see. I look forward to it as well, and the day where we could put this entire..." She pauses, thinking of a word. "...fiasco behind us."

#RVL

[thinkofduty]

Ashley Rosenheim looks around, saying nothing for a time. Ashley Rosenheim: “Is this everyone?” Linini Mooglesworn zeroes in on Orella Steelhand when she arrives, but quickly averts her gaze, chest pounding. Nivelth Ajuyn has the look of someone who’s yet to sleep, both her hands wrapped around a mug of steaming coffee. She nods at Rosenheim in acknowledgement, her head bare of her customary hat. Linini Mooglesworn: “I trust everyone has been well… It has been quite some time.”

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#RVL

[thinkofduty]

[The following message has been distributed to all Riskbreakers in residence at the Sandsea via an utterly exhausted blacksmith.]

Riskbreakers,

We’ve received reliable intelligence updating us on a change within the IVth Legion.

Malla, our contact in Dalmasca, bore witness to an official announcement. This announcement stated that Legatus Noah van Gabranth will soon be withdrawing the bulk of his forces out of Dalmasca and moving them north to the region known as Bozja. Malla has sent through audio files of this broadcast to verify her account. Since then, she has gone missing and is currently unaccounted for.

I ask all available Riskbreakers to meet in the Sandsea to discuss the implications of these findings - and our next course of action in Dalmasca.

Let it be known that I believe action to be necessary. For all of our past failures against the IVth Legion, we cannot abandon a chance to further the cause of freedom in the East - even if the battles we fight will be hard-won.

- Ashelia M. Riot

#RVL

[thinkofduty]

Ingvald Bloodhound: There you are, you hellion. Helisent Wynter does a ‘who, me?’ gesture. Ingvald Bloodhound: Yes! You! Helisent Wynter: … What did I do this time? Ingvald Bloodhound: My first-ever linkpearl call from my brother, and it’s about you. And your antics. Ingvald Bloodhound smirks. Ingvald Bloodhound: Well done. Helisent Wynter bursts out laughing. Helisent Wynter: You should’ve seen his face when I fell off the cliff when he refused to teach me initially. Ingvald Bloodhound: Oh, he told me of that. I can just about imagine the face he made. Helisent Wynter grins at that, shrugging. Helisent Wynter: I felt bad for giving him a heart attack so I kept it to a minimum for the next few days. Lif Silverlode descends the stairs with several books in her arms and nods a greeting at at the two unfamiliar Hyur as she passes them. Helisent Wynter snaps her fingers. Helisent Wynter: You’re … Lif, right? I think we met a while back. Ingvald Bloodhound is still ready to berate Helisent Wynter - lovingly - but stops at the arrival of the young woman. Lif Silverlode squints at the woman, taken aback, then her eyes light up.

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#westerly writes #helisent #ingvald #lif silverlode #I LOVE OUR DAUGHTER

[thinkofduty]

Ingvald Bloodhound steps outside and rests his eyes on Helisent Wynter, glancing first up at the stormy sky and then at the slippery-looking roof. Ingvald Bloodhound: Do you make a habit of soaking yourself through, then? Helisent Wynter waves at him, grinning slightly. Helisent Wynter: My mom and I made a habit of going out during storms. This is pretty normal. Then again, she’s from a line of Mhigan weather witches… Ingvald Bloodhound frowns but doesn’t belabor the point. Helisent Wynter raises up her hand and there’s a small bubble of air over his head, preventing him from getting wet. Helisent Wynter: There, don’t want to make you melt. Ingvald Bloodhound examines the bubble, still scowling. Ingvald Bloodhound: That wasn’t- Very well. I’ve been meaning to come talk to you. About what you did to my accelerator. Helisent Wynter grins. Helisent Wynter: Still having trouble getting spells to work? Ingvald Bloodhound isn’t in a mood to avoid humility, and he knew he’d be dealing with some level of sarcasm in seeking her out. Ingvald Bloodhound: That’s right. I’ve no idea why. Helisent Wynter sighs, and floats down off the top of the awning with a short puff of air. Helisent Wynter: I swear… Let me see it? Ingvald Bloodhound hands over his accelerator. It glows noticeably more brighter in the young woman’s hand. Helisent Wynter lifts it up and examines it, twisting this way and that. Helisent Wynter: Hm… It feels fine to me? What’s the issue, really? Ingvald Bloodhound: I don’t know if I’m… distracted, or what. But I can’t see the more powerful spells through to completion. The energy simply peters out before I can cast. Helisent Wynter bites back a smile and very deliberately does not say anything about performance issues. Orella Steelhand chuckles softly at hearing that; she’s leant against the beam of the porch with the door still ajar so as not to disturb them.

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#p05 #helisent #ingvald #CONGRATS ON THE CHILD

[thinkofduty]

Orella Steelhand is not sure what she’s expecting, really. An empty house. Dusty rooms, long abandoned in the wake of Theodoric’s reign and never settled into a new life. It’s certainly boarded up enough that it looks abandoned, from the outside… But she’d long since learnt that ghost stories were told for a reason, and, well, they can’t have an infestation of bhoots leashed upon Ala Mhigo, can they? It’d just be another layer of shit on the proverbial cake. No, better she sticks her nose in and finds out what the fuss is about before something happens. At worst, she’ll have a fight on her hands, but even unladen by the heavy sword she is today; it’s in Ingvald’s care, due a vacation from her shoulder blades- she has no less than six knives hidden on herself, and she’s wary. She can take whatever’s there, if it’s so inclined to scrap. At best, an empty house. So she bangs on the door, hard enough that wood dust is shaken from it and settles on the stoop, and waits for barely ten heartbeats before she tries the handle.

Rosenheim is about to settle down with a drink when there’s a knock upon the door. At first he wonders if he should answer it, but no one from the Riskbreakers has alerted him of the need for a place to stay in the city. It might also be someone looking for Ashe, in which case, he’d do better than to tell them that she was occupied. As the knocker attempts to turn the handle, however, he gets up and opens the door. He’s a little surprised to see Orella Steelhand, though not unpleasantly so.

“I’ve heard the news of your engagement,” he says. “Congratulations.”

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#westerly writes #ashley riot #orella

[thinkofduty]

“This is alright?” he asks once they’ve made camp. “Not too close to Ala Mera?”

Orella squints out, and shakes her head. “… No. You know I’m not so delicate you need to worry about that, right? I’ve made my peace.” She trains her eyes on the ziggurat, instead. She’s made her peace, but it’s still easier to look at.

“…I don’t know if I’ll have made mine until that bloody tower’s torn down,” Ingvald admits. “And the Alliance have no plans to do so.”

Orella can’t help but glance past him, and… Specula Imperatoris is disgustingly close. She aches for him, then, and covers his hand with hers, squeezes it lightly.

“Maybe I should have asked you. We’re… awfully close.”

But Ingvald merely shakes his head. “No point in moving; it’s everywhere along these mountains. But thank you.” He heaves a deep breath, then- “For all else it calls to mind… it reminds me of Lamont.” And they both pause, considering the weight of that name. “Do you remember when we took him up to the top? How he said he thought he could see the Garlean capital?”

“Wouldn’t believe us when we told him no. … Sweet child, for- for everything.”

“For everything,” Ingvald repeats. He stares out across the valley again and sighs. He’s lost in thought for a long, long while, even when at some point he gazes up at the stars stretched high above them.

Orella is content with the silence, as ever. it’s the first chance they’ve had since the liberation just… to themselves. nothing to do, nowhere to be, other than to just exist. She’d forgotten what it was like to simply exist. Still, she keeps her hand in his, follows his gaze and can’t see what he stares at so intently. “…Gil for your thoughts, Bloodhound.”

“You’re certain you want to know?”

She snorts at that, squints up at the stars again, and goes quiet as she thinks. And she’s so very sincere. “Yeah. Positive.”

“I was wondering if you would marry me.”

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#westerly writes #ingvald #orella

[thinkofduty]

soror diu amissa

The sun is high and bright and warm and fooling absolutely no one.

Twice today has it rained already. The first time was just before dawn, the sound of heavy droplets waking Halgyth and refusing to let her go back to sleep. The stone roof was enough to shelter her from the worst of it, but it was still loud enough to keep her up until she had no choice but to rise. The dust had turned to mud in its wake and the people of Ala Gannha had woken with sour moods. This close to the river, the humidity is bad enough that no one wants it to rain, even in the midst of summer.

The second time had been just over a bell ago. Halgyth had been sat cross-legged with a circle of children sat around her, and the clouds had come on and fled so quickly that the patches of earth they sat on are still light in colour.

Determined not to let something so insignificant as rain ruin her day, she'd tried to continue the lesson, but she'd slipped in the mud and gone painfully to one knee when trying to rise. A simple spell fixed the worst of it, but she aches nonetheless, and her ego is bruised as bad as her flesh.

It might be miserable in fits and starts, but she still sits outside now. Being cooped up when the whole world is there is dreary, even when the wind is moist and the sun oppressively hot, and in the late afternoon of her life now she has zero desire to be indoors more than necessary.

What few children remain in the village are happy to let her teach them from time to time, but none of them show any particular love for the healing arts beyond the basics. Were there any young adults remaining she would try to find amongst them an inclination instead, but asides from the infirm and unsound, they have long since disappeared to serve the Empire or the Resistance. Two different names for the same kind of death, thinks Halgyth, and contents herself with the next generation instead. They still must needs learn.

Sometimes the days grow so long and uniform that even the elders come to sit by and listen, but they are as useless as their grandchildren to her, if not worse. They might as well be carved from the marble they'd once mined for how stuck in their ways they are: having known a few Peaksmen in her time, Halgyth wonders if it is a natural affliction of the land itself. They already know how to dress wounds and care for the ill; what need have they for a wandering shamanka?

Prone to forgetting details if not written down, she no longer recalls how long it's been since the Resistance swept through the state and threw off the heavy shackles of oppression. Not that it matters. Very little has changed for those who live off the land, asides from the colour of flags that now flutter from the village gates. Oh, to be sure, there are less beatings and less rapes, less men uncomfortable in steel wandering where they please with accents unfamiliar to her... but less is not none. Beneath the blanket of other, the Garleans are not all that different from her countrymen, something she is quick to remind those that lust for the good old days. At least Garlemald does not hunt shadows and string up the innocent in the name of justice, unlike other recent history she could name.

But that bears thinking about not at all: both of those pasts are firmly behind them now, and she must live in the present, as she always has done. And as for right now, the clouds are beginning to edge once more into view as though seeing how long they can get before being discovered, like children playing at Sly Fox or Sneaky Bear or whatever the newest name for the game is.

"I'm not moving," she tells them firmly, and someone laughs.

"You tell 'em, gramma."

In her sixties, Halgyth considers it a point of pride to have found and covered up every grey hair that sprouts from her scalp. The aging flesh she cannot help, not after a life so well-lived outdoors, but it is unblemished for the most part, and she does not yet stoop unlike the washers and menders that live in every place from here to the palace. Dyes, at least, are easy to come by, and cheap enough to make if she does not want to spend the gil.

"Excuse me?"

She doesn't recognise the man, but his manner marks him as one of Einar's boys. She'll have to have words with him the next time she sees him: it's quite one thing to have her brother's junior sass her from time to time, but this firmly steps across the line and shits in the face of her good humour. Thankfully, he seems to recognise that, and quicker than the last who'd been overeager to share jokes with her like mead with friends. He straightens and gives what might pass as a nervous salute to an untrained eye. to her, it looks like a nervous fumble.

"Er, Bayan Beygarz. Miss. Ma'am. S'cuse me. That is you, ain't it?"

Unspeaking, Halgyth watches him for a long moment. A natural teacher, she has perfected the art of waiting silently until the guilty party squirms and admits to their role in whatever mischief they've done.

"Uh... I'm here on behalf o' the Spray. He said I'd find a woman here, wi' pink in her hair. That... you... I thought..."

It takes all her willpower not to roll her eyes. Einar's ridiculous nicknames are no longer as necessary as he seems to think they are - though he at least has assured her that they'd once been more elaborate than the ones he currently wears like fancy coats in the middle of summer. Needless.

The man before her fidgets some more, eyes trained on the patch of pink she'd thought stylish only a few weeks before. "Is or ain't it you?" he asks. "The description was thorough..."

"I'm sure it was," she says. "Come inside."

*

"Where're we headed, anyroad?"

Thankfully, the rain hasn't made it too difficult to travel. Chocobos would have complained the whole way and any cart they could have hired would have gotten stuck in the mud. All six of them have no problems picking their way across quick-flowing streams until they get to the red earth that was once Ala Mera. Orella spares it barely a glance: the landslide that had taken her home village off the map had been so long before, and everyone had gotten out, besides. It had been rain much like the one they'd walked through that had done it: years and years of water built up and swelling the cliffs until the earth could take it no more.

Honestly, a village on the edge of a cliff was a stupid place to build in the first place.

The Peaks have changed a little, but not so much she doesn't recognise the distant mountains. "We're still going east," she says confidently, and Wilhelm nods agreement.

"Ala Gannha," he says. Gisfrid harrumphs. "Better than any other place round here to ask questions, unless you want to put one o' them chapuli to the question instead."

Berend snorts. "For all we know, they'll squeal sweeter than any Mhigan will. Folles isn't stupid, he'll be hidden away nice and safe if he has any sense at all."

"Tell you what," says Orella, "Fifty gil says he's burrowed down in one of them antlion nests. You know, the ones we-"

"Could you not," Ingvald grumbles, and she laughs. He still has a scar somewhere by his ankle - faint, but white and rigid all the same - from the day after his induction to the Kingsguard had been formalised. "Be serious."

Orella shrugs. Likely he wants to forget that time of his life, and the anger he'd once borne his brother; she can't fault him for that, not when they seem to be getting along so well. "Suit yourself," she tells him. "There's no reason we're going there, then? Other than looking for any scrap of information?" When Wilhelm nods, she scowls. "You don't have anything to go on? Nothing at all? No dossiers, no eyes on him, not even an idea of where to start?"

Both Bloodhound brothers open their mouths at the same time, but it's Berend who beats them to the punch. "What, you think he's the only one the Resistance ever kept eyes on? We aren't perfect, Steelhand, and undermanned anyway - well, we were when it mattered most. You can't fault us for one man slipping through the cracks."

"Oh, it's we now, huh?" she shoots back, unwilling to let the truth silence her.

Beside her, Ingvald sighs. "Orella."

"Weren't you with the Garleans long enough yourself?" Berend snaps, and she clenches her hand into a fist. "What's your excuse?"

A pregnant pause settles across the shoulders of everyone present. Ahead of the rest of the group, Gisfrid and Milleuda have stopped to watch.

"I'm sorry?" Orella asks, so sweetly.

If Berend can hear the obvious warning, he heeds it not. "I said," and his own hands mirror hers, "Weren't you one of them for long enough?"

The brothers move in tandem before any blood can be spilled. Ingvald grabs Orella's wrists and wrestles his arms around her chest to stop her from leaping across the mountain pass and tearing him limb from limb. Wilhelm takes Berend by the shoulder, and then the face, and says something low and serious to him. Gisfrid's laugh is a backing track to the whole affair, infuriating Orella further. "Cram it, bastard, I'll do for you too-"

"My, my."

Perhaps it is the unfamiliarity of the voice, however soft, that silences them all. Still tense, Orella struggles to push Ingvald aside to see the newcomer; he holds her tighter.

"Aren't you all grown? You ought to be ashamed."

The woman is dressed in the local style, suited for forays along the mountain paths, with actual boots rather than the rags poor men sometimes wear. A Roegadyn, a few inches taller than Orella, with bright eyes that study them as though they are simply misbehaving students. A shock of pink in her hair stands out against her dark skin, though otherwise she's as plain as can be.

She sighs. "Oh, dear. Are you going to say I'm not welcome?" Her gaze flits between each of them in turn; she doesn't seem bothered by their suspicious gazes. "Tell me the road is free to all and you can act as you please? Tsk. Which one of you breaks arms?"

No one moves, and she tuts again. "Come now, 'tis not a difficult question."

"That... would be me," says Berend, taking a hesitant step forward. He hasn't bothered to make to unsling the spear across his back, but he could have it out and pointed at her in seconds if he chose. The woman is either very brave or very stupid. "Who-?"

"The Spray bid me pass this on to you," she says, and reaches into a deep pocket to pull out a folded paper and hold it out to him. "I trust you know who that is? No," she adds with exasperation. "By your face you don't. Take the damn paper, boy, I'm done playing the messenger."

He reaches for it warily and takes it quick enough that her eyebrows raise at his bad manners, but skimming it does nothing for his frown.

"I don't get it," he says, and passes it to Wilhelm, who has to shake the hair out of his eyes to read it. "Who are you? Who's the Spray?"

Orella, now relaxed enough that Ingvald lets her go, raises one eyebrow and then the other. "Wait. The... The Eastern Spray? About yay tall?"

She gestures, and the woman nods, and then her expression smooths over. "Ah," she says, matter of factly. "You must be Orella. Which would make this gentleman Ingvald," she says with a glance at him, and then moves between them, mouthing their names in turn - all of them but Milleuda. "You don't look quite like I imagined you to. His tales never did you justice."

"What the fuck has Einar been saying about me?"

There's mutterings from the others at the mention of their once-comrade; the stranger tuts. "Language, if you please. Not Ser Einar, though I'm glad you know our mutual friend. No - my brother."

"Your brother?"

When Halgyth Beygarz smiles, she looks weary, the lines at her eyes creasing the same way her brother's had once down.

"Why, Zartosht, of course."

#p07