#Beneath the gilded helm. ( Out of Character ) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pauldron-pieces · 3 years

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Perdita 'Aurelezra' Gentle's Backstory: From Elsewhere

Fandom: Dungeons And Dragons (5E)

Pairing: N/A, Perdita-Centric

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: This is a hypothetical narrative scenario featuring original characters in a world created by my Dungeon Master. As usual, this is non-canon and I own nothing aside from intellectual properties specifically attached to Perdita Gentle. This installment is mechanically unsound in a multitude of ways and ignores certain important lore facets.

Applicable trigger warnings are listed inside. Enjoy!

Taglist: @sporadic-fics and @cookiethewriter!

Inspired By: The Little Mermaid Score: Bedtime and sleepmakeswaves: One Day You Will Teach Me To Let Go Of My Fears

[Perdita Gentle is a Warforged celestial warlock utilizing the Pact Of The Bastion homebrew, and her appearance can be found here!]

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains multiple triggering scenes including vivid depictions of violence and brief mentions of character death. Stay safe!]

It came from elsewhere...

Amidst the hail of shooting stars peppering the landscape from the tail of the near-passing comet, something else arrived.

It was frail, fragile, spindly fingers clawing for purchase on the walls of the crater it emerged from. It did not make it much further than that, and it was discovered the following morning by two children surveying the damage in their family's garden.

Between the two of them, they propped it up, marveling at the chipped red gilding that coated its limbs. It stirred and they fled in a panic, running back towards the large house and calling for their parents.

×+×

Brand stared down at the crumpled mess of Warforged on his front terrace, an eyebrow raised. His two young children danced around his legs, alternating between pulling him forward and tugging him back. "This is the cause of all the fuss? This?" He asked incredulously.

"It moved by itself!"

"Aye, just as you move by yourself." The former captain commented dryly, ruffling his daughter's hair and utterly destroying the complex tangle of braids her mother had labored over. "You two lubbers have seen Warforged before, or have you forgotten?"

"Testin doesn't look like that!" His son protested. "Testin has a face!"

"You know how your hair is different from mine, pup? And how your sister's nose is less prodigious than this beak I sport? Warforged have such varied traits as well."

The head on the thing looked like an old Thanatonaut relic, just a smooth dome. It also bore archaic equipment for off-Flow navigation on the inside of its arms. Brand heaved out a sigh, smoothing a finger over his brown mustache in a meditative manner.

"Well, we can't just leave 'em out here. Ceere, have your mother ring Testin. And you, Kamer, are going to help me settle this poor rattler into one of our chairs out here." Brand rolled his eyes at how pale his son went, while Ceere stuck her tongue out at him. "Oi, chit, stop taunting your brother. Now shoo, and make sure your mother knows to tell Testin that it's important!"

×+×

Brand Gentle had made his fortune in his younger years as the eventual captain on a deep-space excavation platform. He had seen many odd things in his day, unearthed strange and unusual artifacts from times long gone by. Thanatonaut helms that predated mankind's fumbling into Flow travel, monoliths to terrible and forgotten powers; the refuse of man's advance into the stars.

Yet he had never seen anything quite like this. A Warforged birthed of a meteor, trimmed in battered red and gold like the veils of the Vespertine Order.

The former captain sat on his patio across from the mysterious Warforged, finally leaning forward in his chair after he collected his thoughts. "What is your name?" He asked quietly.

The thing ticked and whirred, and a hoarse voice answered, "I have no designation." A female voice.

Brand sighed heavily. He should have known it wouldn't be so straightforward. Beside him, Testin Awe cleared his throat. "Think back. Can you remember what happened before you woke in the Gentle's prize rose garden?" The hulking Warforged's tone was dry, blue eyes darting to Brand when he touched upon the sensitive subject. Brand was exceedingly protective of his roses.

More ticking. "Darkness." An odd shimmy of mechanics long unused as she tipped her head to the side. "I fell."

"I bet you did." Testin replied, then muttered under his breath, "Captain, she's battier than the Bakhroma Green."

Brand waved him off, giving the faceless Warforged across from him a tight smile. She cocked her head to the side again, and he got the unsettling feeling that he was being studied.

"I hurt your flowers. How can I fix them?" She queried.

Brand blinked. Testin, despite lacking an actual throat, seemed quite intent on clearing it today.

×+×

Calling her Perdita seemed to be a given. She was lost, constantly, wandering the grounds of the Gentle estate at all hours of the night and day. She had no physical needs, as was the custom of her race, so Brand saw no harm in her roving. She certainly didn't seem malicious, just curious in a blunt way.

Libertia, Brand's wife, took an odd shine to the spacey automaton. The former captain often found the woman chatting to her, trying to help her expand her ability for speech. Perdita was minimalist in her words, though she did eventually begin to speak more as the years passed.

Testin thought Perdita was a bit touched. "Still a little battle-rattle in that one." He had remarked privately to Brand, his craggy face oddly sympathetic for a Warforged. "Hard to shake sometimes."

Brand knew better than most folk that Warforged were more than adequate matches for their fleshy counterparts, and he took everything his old first mate told him as gospel. Testin was in agreement with Brand that the red and gold Warforged was decidedly not a threat.

"She just likes the flowers?" Testin asked suddenly one evening as he and Brand sat on the terrace. Brand nodded lazily, the smoke from his cheroot cigar twirling and arching through the air. "I don't get it, but...well, I guess you did have a penchant for gathering up the misfits." The gray-green Warforged allowed, his sidelong grin making Brand chuckle. "She's happy here, y'know. She mentioned it to me earlier. She thinks she's helping when you let her trim the bushes." His laughter was a rusty noise.

"She loves talking with Lib. Er, with may not be the right term. My wife could talk the legs off a table." Brand smiled fondly and Testin rolled those glowing blue eyes.

"Have you heard from Kamer at all?" The large Warforged changed the subject, frowning when the former captain sighed and shook his head.

"I'm not sure I should have sent him away for his schooling. What with the Empire gaining ground steadily, I'm uncertain how long the boarding schools will be safe."

"Hey, Kamer's smart. You know that. That kid won't get himself tangled up in anything. Besides, what the hell would the Empire want with a kid who's sole aspiration is to be an architect?" Testin tilted his head. "Now, Ceere-"

"Don't remind me, she's apprenticed to the Facturers now. Hopefully, by the grace of the gods, she'll put her tinkering tendencies to good use and stop destroying my beautiful skiffs." Brand groaned, putting his head in his hands.

"I mean, she's got great potential. Engine ripped itself apart in three different places."

"I'm well aware, you mechanical menace. It was my favorite Screamer class!"

×+×

Libertia was the one to suggest that Perdita consider taking up the habit of the Vespertine Order.

"You seem at peace whenever you come with me to chapel, Perdie." She commented one afternoon over tea. Brand raised an eyebrow at his wife, then glanced at the featureless automaton across the way. "Have you ever thought about joining the convent?" Libertia queried.

Perdita hummed thoughtfully. "I like the chapel. It's quiet. Makes me feel like I can stop moving." She offered a shrug. "I know I'm not...quiet." She was a much older model than Testin and her body tended to rattle or squeak at odd intervals.

"You don't feel like you can be still here?" Brand asked curiously.

"I am restless." The Warforged admitted quietly. "Some things help. The garden. The chapel."

Brand grunted, settling back in his chair and lapsing into thought. The Vespertine sisters were a formidable bunch, for all that they resided on this backwater planetoid. They seemed to have their proverbial fingers in a multitude of pies. He wasn't sure if he trusted them with his Perdie.

His mustache quirked up in a wry grin, realizing that he was thinking of the Warforged like she was one of his own children. "Do what you think is best, Perdie. Perhaps the quiet will help you sort yourself out. Gods know we tithe enough to the church, maybe in exchange for our continued generosity they'll accept someone a little less fleshy than their usual ranks."

He got the faintest impression that Perdita was beaming at him, her whole body haloed with a strange golden light. But Brand blinked and the light was gone. He shook his head at himself, vowing not to spike his afternoon tea so strongly next time.

×+×

When the Empire came to the planet years later, they struck without warning.

Evening prayer had just finished, the last fleeting rays of sunlight peering through the simple leaded glass windows of the chapel. Perdita sat docile in the pew, her head bowed beneath her veil.

"It makes me glad to know that you've found some sort of peace and purpose." Brand commented, the now-elderly man ambling up alongside her. "Never put much faith in this church business, myself. Give me the Flow and a nimble craft and I'm a content man."

"Captain." She inclined her head. She had heard his sentiment many times before.

"I'm surprised you haven't gone out to chart the world, my dear. Your cartographer's gear will get rusty!" The former captain teased, settling down into the pew and patting her arm. "Surely, the Vespertine sisters ought to be spread?"

"It is dangerous." Perdita sighed. "I am trying. The Ferrarium Empire-"

"Bah, belay that codswallop here." Brand groused. "Bunch of nobles in stuffed shirts with too many guns and not enough good sense. Stole my good boy away and turned him into a simpering buffoon." He bowed his head, touching his thumb to his left cheek and then his sternum. "Thank the gods his mother passed on before he made that terrible choice."

An odd whistling caught his attention, and Brand cocked his head. His hearing had been shot for years, maybe he was imagining the sound-

The windows abruptly exploded inwards as an impact rocked the ground. Sisters scurried this way and that in panic, their veils fluttering like butterfly wings as they ushered the last few stragglers out of the structure. Brand, his ears still ringing from the first bombardment, felt a second one strike outside. Perdita was stiff, unmoving in the pew, so he seized her hand and made haste for the doorway.

"Perdie, we cannot linger in this place!" He tried to snap her out of it, her deceptively-heavy form slowing their flight. "It's the Empire, Perdie, we have to--" Through the haze of dust rising, the former captain caught sight of a massive dreadnought's keel flying low overhead. Rage burned at his soul; why would they come here of all places? This was a planet of agriculture, not manufacturing!

Perdita tilted her head, and Brand knew that she must have noticed the ship. "What is that?" She asked, her voice ticking up slightly in query.

"That is something that should not have turned its eye upon us!" Brand snapped. "Why the devil would they-" There was shouting up ahead, and scattered pistol fire. "Martyr's malfeasance," the elderly man swore, "I ought to have known."

The Inquisitors had arrived, bearing overpowered arms and causing chaos as was their want. Brand managed to slip around the edge of the advancing line, searching the crowds for Testin's large form. His old first mate was nowhere to be seen and Brand's heart sank.

An Inquisitor loomed up out of the smoke in front of them, halting the former captain in his tracks. "Identify yourself, civilian." The armored man droned.

"Or what? You've already blown the chapel and convent to pieces!" Brand spat. "What could the Ferrarium Empire possibly want from a sleepy little colony planet?"

The Inquisitor's baton met the side of the elderly man's head with a dull thud, felling him with ease.

×+×

Brand started awake, hacking and wheezing as he inhaled ash. He sat up, ignoring the throbbing of his head. Where is-

"Perdita!" He yelled, struggling to his feet and cupping his hands around his mouth. "Perdie, where are you?"

The cobblestones underfoot had been broken and scattered by the mortaring, making the footing uncertain. The former captain stumbled forward over the rubble, continuing to call for the Warforged.

A shimmer of red and gold flickered through the hellish smoke up ahead, and he fancied it might be her habit. His suspicions proved correct as her frail form solidified out of the clouds of billowing dust and ash.

"Perdita!" Brand exclaimed gladly.

She turned slowly at the sound of his voice, that damned veil still flapping fitfully in the turbulent air. Beneath the gauzy shroud where her domed head was, the former captain saw something blaze to life. Eyes, hundreds of them, glowing through the fabric. Brand stopped in his tracks, uncertain of what he was seeing. That blow to the head must have rattled him, now he was hallucinating!

Her hand pressed to her chest over the long habit. "I am the bastion." Perdita said calmly, as though they weren't being bombarded by low-flying aircraft. "I am Vespertine, I am Alizarin, I am reborn. My name is Aurelezra, and I fell to defend."

A shell plummeted from the sky and with a single motion, she obliterated it. One moment it was there, the next, she simply pointed at it and a shimmering golden manifestation that resembled an enormous rose blossom appeared directly in its path. The shell struck it, the impact sending foiled shrapnel flitting listlessly to the ground.

Brand was wholly bewildered. The only other time he had witnessed such power was when-

The thousands of eyes swiveled to stare at him, blinking rapidly. Brand swallowed hard. "What did those blasted nuns do to you, Perdie?" He asked, his voice so low he wasn't sure if she would hear it over the pandemonium.

Perdita tipped her head to the side, those eyes writhing and teeming nauseatingly over one another, flickering through the habit in a way that made Brand exceedingly glad she was wearing it. "I am the bastion." She repeated. She sounded hideously serene. "I am Alizarin."

Rifle reports barked through the air and Perdita turned towards the noise, setting off over the debris with sure steps. "Wait, Perdie!" Brand protested, fumbling after her as best as he could. "Perdie, are you mad? These are Inquisitors, you can't just..." He trailed off as he watched her simply walk through the line of gunfire. "Or perhaps you can." He muttered.

A strange golden haze shone around her body and every time a bullet struck the haze, a malevolent eye roiled to the surface to fix the attacker with a blazing stare. More shells rained down and each one was foiled or thrown off-target by shimmering, sunset-hued roses, blossoming riotously to life in midair like some grand fireworks display at a midsummer fair.

"Captain!" That was Testin's voice, thank gods. The elderly man turned this way and that, breathing a sigh of relief when he finally spotted the towering mass that was Testin.

"Testin my boy, you're a sight for sore eyes!" Brand said with a wry grin, taking in the small cluster of nuns that were teeming anxiously in the shadow of the massive automaton. Among them was the Mother Superior, her black veil a stark contrast to the usual red. "You've got some explaining to do, woman! What the hell have you done to my Perdie?" Brand thundered, itching to shake her until her teeth rattled.

"Sister Perdita has spent many, many hours reading the scriptures and studying our texts, Captain Gentle." The woman replied, almost infuriatingly calm. "She was brought to this planet for a specific reason."

"What are you on about? Look at her! It's like she's possessed!" The elderly man shouted.

"She has become more, Captain. A vessel for something that we mere mortals have only glimpsed. Alizarin, the Red Saint."

"There's a thousand blasted eyes all over her and she's sending out starbursts of roses that intercept cannon fire!" Brand roared. "I'll only ask once more, what have you done to her?"

"She willingly accepted this power, Captain. I suggest you calm yourself. I know you do not believe or trust in the power of the Red Saint, but Sister Perdita does." The matron retorted haughtily. "And when Libertia was alive-"

"Keep my wife's name out of your mouth." Brand snarled, his hand instinctively twitching down towards his hip for the piece he had carried in his younger years.

"Easy now, Cap." Testin intoned, raising a hand. "Easy."

"You planned this from the start." Brand accused the woman, a sick sense of realization blossoming in his gut. "You put the idea in Libertia's head, didn't you? Why Perdie?"

"Warforged make excellent vessels." The Mother Superior said simply.

Testin rumbled in threat overhead, one large hand settling heavily on the woman's shoulder. "I suggest you choose your next words very carefully." The Warforged paladin's tone was one of extreme irritation. "Unless you'd like to find out how bad of a vessel I can be."

"She has become a warlock of exceptional power." The woman hurriedly continued. "The Red Saint is pleased with our offering, and he will-"

"The Red Saint, aye? Unwilling martyr himself." Brand scoffed. "You've gone and turned my girl into a nightmare for the glory of that flayed demagogue."

"A nightmare that can go toe-to-toe with Inquisitor gunsmithing." The Mother Superior shot back smugly. "You knew as well as I did that it was only a matter of time before the Ferrarium Empire turned their gaze to the Fringes. Their grasping for resources is ceaseless."

"As interesting as your bickering is, we're wasting time." Testin growled, gesturing vaguely forwards. "She's gaining on their dreadnought. We following her?"

×+×

Everything was so loud.

"It is time, Aurelezra." His voice was like smoke, like whispers. He drew her attention upwards to the ship, He guided her hands as she wove the spell and He found her the suitable target. "They will not take this planet. They will never take again."

Perdita nodded shakily, power dripping and sparking from her fingers. "Never again."

"You have done well, Aurelezra. You easily outstrip the mortals." He praised as she raised her hands. "I shall do such wonders through you."

×+×

Without warning, a bolt of red light shot from Perdita's hands and arced up at the command ship. Testin swore loudly, the Warforged's face twisting into an approximation of a grimace. "Oh, that's not good." He said hoarsely, leaving the cluster of nuns behind as he moved forward.

"What, what's happened?" Brand asked frantically, trying to keep up.

"That was something that uh, I wouldn't have used. A little too spicy for me." The Warforged grunted, readying the hand cannon integrated in his left forearm. His heavy, elephantine feet easily crushed the rubble beneath him, clearing the way for the former captain. "If everyone on that ship isn't dead after that spell hits..."

"What?" Brand gasped.

Testin shook his head mournfully, not finishing that trail of thought. "We need to figure out where the ship will go down. Figure out whether we can break it apart ahead of time or whether your Perdie has a few more Red Saint tricks up that veil." Testin's sigh was heavy. "I'm sorry, Captain."

The command ship began rapidly losing altitude, listing slightly to the right. Perdita pursued it doggedly and Brand watched her raise her hands again. "Perdie!" He shouted, heartened when she paused. "Stop, Perdie!"

"Stay put!" Testin yelled, then said, "Cap, either get onboard or get left behind, we don't have time for your old bones."

Brand growled something uncharitable about his former first mate, then swung up onto the pro-offered arm.

Testin sprinted forward, easily catching up to the waifish Perdita and grabbing her around the waist with one massive hand. "I'd like to shake the marbles clean out of your chest right now, but we don't have time for me to be pissed off at you." Testin snarled at her, still at his full sprint. "You got anything else in that arsenal of yours, or are you gonna' let that ship crush someone's farm?"

"I can do it."

"What, exactly?"

Perdita pointed upwards at the ship and simply said, "shatter." A massive golden rose exploded into being on the keel, blowing a hole in the hull the size of the town square. Splinters and beams rained down, Testin barely managing to dodge a few of the larger chunks.

"Martyr's malfeasance, you're a menace!" The larger Warforged said in disbelief, the cannon in his left arm whirring to life as the ship sank within his range. "I mean, keep it up, but saint's blood you are an absolute terror." His cannon glowed, shoulder tight when he fired and sent the projectile rocketing upwards to erupt in a radiant blast. "Not fancy, but any port in a storm." He huffed, trying to chamber another round without releasing Perdita.

"There's so much." Perdita was shaking in Testin's grip. Molten gold trailed from her fingertips and every eye that shone through the veil was wide open.

Brand clambered across Testin's shoulders, the elderly man reaching out so he could grab one of her hands. "Listen to me, Perdie." He said loudly, trying to make sure she could hear him over the rapidly-approaching creak of timbers and warning system alarms. "You've got some kind of hellfiring power now, right?"

Perdita nodded slowly. "He's so loud." She breathed, and Brand knew with crushing certainty that she wasn't talking about himself or Testin.

"Aye, I'm sure he is. But if he wants to have you as his vessel, he needs to understand that you're the captain." Brand reasoned fiercely. "You bite back at that freeloader and you tell him you're the damned captain, you hear me girl?!"

×+×

I'm the captain.

Perdita clung to the thought, staggering through the red haze of her subconscious.

I'm the captain.

Alizarin nodded in acquiescence. "That you are, Aurelezra. For now. For this moment. What will you do?" He chuckled. "You are unfamiliar with such power. You have already overdrawn yourself. What will you do, Defender?"

It doesn't matter whether I'm tired. I'm the captain. Me. Not you, she thought stubbornly.

×+×

Perdita clawed her way up Testin's arm to his shoulder, the larger Warforged rumbling in confusion. "What the hell are you doing now?"

"I'm the captain." Perdita said sharply. Blast after golden blast was flung by her hand, the ship groaning under the assault. Timbers cracked and creaked like the ship was caught in a ferocious gale. "I'm the captain!" She yelled, "I'm the captain!"

The dreadnought rent itself apart at the scuppers with one final impact, briefly looking like the massive ribcage of some eldritch horror. The engines tore free of their mooring, the shriek of metal heralding doom for the trio as they plummeted downwards. Testin tried to backpedal, but he had built up such a head of steam and the engines were so enormous-

Brand fumbled to catch Perdita's hand once again, closing his eyes as he heard Testin grit out what he assumed was his final swear.

Looks like I'll be home soon, Lib.

"A Bastion for my faithful." That was not Perdita's voice. It was barely a whisper, smooth as silk and light as a favorable breeze. "Blessed are you, Brand Gentle, for you have seen my power once before. Blessed are you, Brand Gentle, for you have survived my power once before. Blessed shall you be, Brand Gentle, though you do not believe."

A golden dome sheathed the triumvirate of individuals, millions of eyes scattered across it opening and closing at random. Brand gripped Perdita's hand as tightly as he dared, uncertain if he was the only one seeing this...wonder.

"Fear not, Brand Gentle. She will not be harmed."

The dome vanished and Testin fairly seethed with curses, the gray-green Warforged reeling back a step from the flaming wreckage of the engine that surrounded them. A neat circle had been sheared out from the dome, the edges still molten and smoking.

"That's it. Whatever's gotten into you, I'm tearing it out of you!" the paladin announced, grappling Perdita around the waist again. "Send that cosmic bastard back to the Deep Reef where it belongs, I-" He paused when she went limp in his hold, lowering his glowing right hand after a moment. "Uh...Perdie?" He asked warily, shaking her until she rattled. "Perdie?"

"I'm the captain." She responded, her voice reedy with exhaustion. Perdita reached out to Brand, and he carefully laced his fingers through her own. "I-I'm the...captain..."

"Aye child," Brand murmured, "that you are."

×+×

The whole colony banded together to scuttle the dreadnought's bones. The Vespertine sisters made themselves marvellously useful when it came to putting the dead to rest.

Most of the ship's crew had been slaughtered by whatever Perdita had done with that spell, and the few left alive had perished on impact.

Testin had grunted in satisfaction as he surveyed the red veiled sisters scurrying to and fro in the wreckage. "I think your Perdie just fired the galaxy's largest warning shot."

"Aye." Brand had agreed wearily. "Now all that's left to see is whether the Empire will take notice."

"Their dreadnoughts aren't usually...destroyed, Captain. Once word gets back to them, all hell's going to break loose." The Warforged predicted grimly, his arms folded over his chest. "You'd better make sure she clears atmosphere before they come back around."

"I don't think I could make her stay!" The former captain chuckled. "She's always been on the move, Testin. High time she did something with all that energy."

×+×

"The Gotengo has been moored for years, Captain. You think it can still hold up?" Testin mused, poring over the old schematics.

Brand sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "It's the finest craft I have at my disposal, dusty or not. And she'll need something nimble if she's planning on trekking out there through the blockades." He meandered to the window of his study, staring down at his rose garden without actually seeing it. "I've already gotten in touch with Squire Deering, and he claims he's found a slew of candidates for her crew."

Testin snorted in disbelief. "And you trust that penny-pinching miser? Guy probably trawled through three different wharfside taverns and asked for able-bodied seamen."

"Deering may be a...bit tight fisted, but he's a good man. I have great faith that when Perdita arrives, she'll be shown nothing but courtesy." Brand assured the gray-green Warforged, stroking his mustache.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I distinctly remember that waistcoat-wearing ponce saddling you with a ship that had a rotted out mainmast." Testin deadpanned. "What did he blame it on? Moths?"

Brand coughed awkwardly, clearing his throat. "Regardless, he will treat her right. Warforged or not, she's the captain."

"A new Captain Gentle." Testin shook his head ruefully. "Never thought I'd see the day. Bodes pretty shit for the Empire, if you ask me."

"All I hope is that she and that blooded saint first mate of hers give them hell."

#perdita gentle #captain perdita gentle #dungeons and dragons 5e #dnd writing #dnd 5e character #dnd warforged #dnd warlock #celestial warlock #dnd npc #dnd backstory #warlock backstory #dnd character #dungeons and dragons #she's been retired but I love her #my lil captain #pact of the bastion #warlock pact

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korkrunchcereal · 5 years

Text

Calm Before the Storm

((Read the previous story here. The events of the Tales of the Gilded Lands concerns World of Warcraft: Legion and can be found here.))

Sunrise in the Crescent Hills was always a beautiful sight. It was becoming increasingly rare for Aurelian to be awake when such occurred, and so he always took some small pleasures when he could witness the dawn. It was no secret that he preferred the quiet solitude of night and the haunting beauty of the moon, but the glimmer of light that crept over the hills of his domain always filled him with some small sense of satisfaction and joy. This was his; everything that the light fell upon was his.

In time, the lands beyond would be his too.

That however would be a time in the future, and even such a future was not guaranteed. The Legion’s tightening grip on the world would ensure such triumph would never occur if they could not be stopped. Thus he awoke at dawn, facing the coming morn with some small hope of what may be and plans to secure his own fate. When he had awoke, he had bid the servants to fetch his meal and, when that was done, to fetch his armor.

So now he stood upon his private balcony, looking over his kingdom as his servants prepared him for war. Two men attended him, strapping in steel and hoisting on padding and mail to sit beneath the alabaster plates he wore so proudly. One had provided him a small platform to place a foot on, the other a glass of wine so he may drink as he was armored.

They worked their way up, affixing plate to pant leg and boot even as he drank deep a crimson. They had done this before, careful to ensure their lord did not spill a single drop of wine. Next came the armored skirt, the plate glimmering like dragon scales in the morning sun. Slowly they worked their way up, affixing every piece of armor with expert patience until at last Aurelian was adorned in the armor of his lineage save his helm. By the time they had finished, Aurelian had finished his glass of wine and so gave the servants the empty glass to be rid of.

“You are up quite early, my lord.”

“Cyvar.” Aurelian craned his neck behind him, already recognizing the voice as his second approached. “Is it not best to meet the morning sun each day?”

“Yes, if you’re not recovering from the night before…” Cyvar moved beside his lordship on the balcony even as the servant slinked away, their duty done. “Are you sure about leaving? You can send another in your place.”

“And miss the glory?” Aurelian scoffed, placing a hand to his chest with the lightest tap. “I am Aurelian Indaris; I cannot hide on my throne whilst others earn honor and renown. No my friend, It is my duty. Besides, the Crescent Hills will be fine. Speaking of, any luck concerning the Arrowmere investigation?”

“No, my lord.”

“Damn. I liked the Arrowmeres. And nothing, truly? I figured Salas was behind this, that deviant.”

“Not so far as we know, my lord. Unfortunately, there has been some delays due to Rivervale’s former bailiff.”

“Rhega?” At that Aurelian sighed, shaking his head. “Ugh; I can’t believe it. I always considered myself a good judge of character and I thought Rhega would at least have the common sense to not take bribes from those outside my circle. What of a new bailiff?”

“Mayor Shana has promoted a Dora Ferus to the position. Apparently, he’s served Rivervale with distinction and good character.”

“With good character hmm? The place is a den of backstabbing so such ‘good character’ I find hard to believe. Still, if Mayor Shana vouches for him, I suppose he will do. Work with him to find anything on the Arrowmere murder. Ugh, it leaves such a bad taste in my mouth.”

“Wine, my lord?”

“What? Oh, no i’ve already had a glass. Thank you though. No, it’s the bitter taste of…well something.”

“Defeat?” Cyvar suggested.

“No. Aurelian Indaris is never defeated.”

“Mhmm…what about-“

“Aurelian Indaris is never defeated.” Aurelian interrupted with annoyance. “Just…set back.”

“Of course, my lord. Defeat or lack there of, I will nonetheless continue investigating the matter. Gods knows it’s riling up the nobility.”

“Have there been any reports from the noble families?”

“Discontent over the murder, my lord. So far however, nothing serious.”

“Yet.” Aurelian corrected with a finger raised. “All it takes is one spark to light the fire, and I worry this could be it. What does it say that I can’t guarantee the safety of those closely allied to me?” He turned, beginning to pace. “What does it say that those who pledge fealty to me are subject to such gruesome murder?”

“You fear they may turn against you?”

“Why not? Many did when my father passed. Oh, how the vultures of court descended to feast. They thought the Indaris family a corpse to devour then; it wouldn’t take much for them to do so again and I fear this time they would succeed in eating us whole. My brother is comatose, my sister remains in a similar situation which leaves me the last Indaris. If I cannot…” Aurelian paused, taking a breath he did not realize he had been holding. “If I cannot guarantee the safety of my people then they will turn to others who will.”

“You helped lead your house through the death of your father, Aurelian. I do not share your fear so readily.”

“Ah, Cyvar. Your words are what I need to hear.” Aurelian stopped his pacing, placing a hand on Cyvar’s shoulder. “My friend; I need you to not fail me in this task. Find who orchestrated the death of the Arrowmere family. I feel in my gut they are related to the Unbidden. And mark my words, the Salas have a hand in this.”

“I will not fail you, my lord.”

“Good.” Aurelian squeezed Cyvar’s shoulder before removing his hand, turning back to face the horizon. “Light, isn’t it beautiful?” He walked to the balcony, leaning against the stone railing.

“It is, my lord.”

“Look at all we have built. My lands are vast and wealthy, my people fed; whatever is causing this disruption to the order of things here is certainly not of the Hills.”

“Mm…that reminds me. The annual inspection of the Hills’ towns is in a few week’s time, if I recall. Will you be there to attend?”

“Ugh; I nearly forgot about that.” Aurelian curled his lip as he waved a hand dismissively. “It is likely I will be away at war. I can’t have it cancelled though, for it does much to boost the people’s spirits when the Indaris family rides through. Besides, there are debts incurred each year that need collecting. Hmm…Have Calithiel go.”

“Do you think she will enjoy it?”

“I think so but even if she doesn’t, she has to. If she is to be the lady Indaris there is much she will have to learn and do.” At that Cyvar chuckled, drawing Aurelian’s attention to him in confusion. “What?”

“Ah, it is nothing my lord. Fate is strange, that is all.”

“Mhmm.” Aurelian’s skepticism was clear, but he did not press the matter. “You will protect her, yes?”

“With my life.”

“Well hopefully it does not come to that. Speaking of however I do need to speak with her before I leave. Did you see her on your way up, by chance?”

“I believe she is in the gardens, my lord.”

“The gardens? Interesting. I wasn’t sure she was awake considering…well never mind it’s not important. I trust that is all you have for me, Cyvar?”

“Aye my lord. Actually, one more thing.”

“Yes?” Aurelian turned fully, arms crossing.

“Be safe.”

“Oh please,” Aurelian waved a hand dismissively once more as he left the balcony. “Aren’t I always?”

“Safer than a newborn babe, my lord.” Aurelian moved across his quarters to the door, turning to call out behind him.

“Besides. If I die, the Crescent Hills will collapse, and I certainly can’t have that as my legacy. So long, Cyvar.”

“So, what did you discuss with Cyvar and your betrothed?” Balasar leaned forward on the table, hands clenched together.

“With Cyvar I told him to continue his investigations whilst my betrothed I merely bid a goodbye kiss.” Aurelian raised the corner of his lip ever so as he spotted Balasar’s elbows upon the table but said nothing of it.

“A goodbye kiss…”

“I also might have told her to be careful. Oh, and the inspection, of course.”

“Yes, the inspection. Where everything went to hell in a handbasket. Tell me about it.”

“Ah ah ah; you said you wanted the whole story, yes? There is a couple details to go over. I’ll skip over our heroic defense of Azshara for such tales of my valor would undoubtedly bore you, and instead go to when the Legion invaded Lord Truefeather’s domain.”

“Ah yes. If I recall from my reports, that is where you nearly died, no?”

“Indeed; a grisly affair but one I feel needs explaining. You see, it happened at the Evergrove…”

#Aurelian Indaris #World of Warcraft #Skullcrusha writing #Tales of the Gilded Lands

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pastelgrungewrecker · 6 years

Note

"Mourning Star" by Kamelot with Drift and character of your choice?

They Know Not Who I Am

Tell me when the night is gone, Like washed away, Make a wish beneath the mourning star.

================================================

You have had so many anchors, star’s sailor. Wanderer, pariah, martyr, fallen one.

You have had so many hands offered in both peace and in war; hearts offered in love and in lust.

But there is but one voice, in your helm. One voice that you follow to hell and back. When you no longer feel hymnals whispered through kisses in a shining underground city, you follow. And when you no longer feel worship in servos used to chemical compounds and plasma rounds, you seek.

When the light of grace is gone, and you have turned your back, you search- but you have lost it, haven’t you, little lost soul?

The one who calmed you and kept you, the one who sheltered you and saved you the very first time. Your northernmost star, your guiding constellation and the guardian angel you prayed to every night with tears and grief.

And as long as you felt their pride, felt their warmth in your spark and thoughts, you were safe. But he is gone, you gilded messiah, his voice is silent and his presence is absent in cold space, no matter how frantic your pulse or how you call out for him.

And you swear you see him in the mirror, and he refuses to meet your optics for reasons you wish you didn’t know...

Because you do, don’t you.

Your cowardice, your self-obsessed desperation for absolution you refuse to believe you do not deserve. Your mock-martyrdom, the veneers you paint yourself with in the shape of so many others.

Megatron. Wing. Perceptor. Rodimus.

All of them are notches in the bedpost of your self-worth but the one who’s judgement you fear is so much simpler.

And at night, when you smell the thick air of the Dead End and feel the grip of age-old cravings grab hold of your lines to climb into your sparkchamber, you scream for him until the nightmares release you.

“GASKET!”

#pastelwrites #tf #drift #you brought this upon yourself #novacronums

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serainovel · 6 years

Text

Prologue Chapter Four: Sir Leon

[Quick AN: Sorry this took so long! I forgot I finished the first draft months ago and just needed to check it?? Oops! Also, after a recent review of the chapters so far, I’ve decided to use the main character’s real name in the main prose rather than his fake name, as was insinuated in the previous chapters. Sorry for the sudden change! I’ll go back and amend the previous chapters soon. Thanks again for your patience!]

Serai Kingdom, Brackenshire County, the Eastern Barracks.

The trumpets' piercing wails were ceased by a single dismissive wave of Sir Leon's hand. Their music was swallowed up by the night air, and amid the silence, the percussion of horse hoofs and heavy armour heralded the knight’s arrival. He marched his horse to stand before his trainees, joined on both sides by mounted soldiers. Mizuki glanced at the gold decoration seared into their breastplates and identified them both as lesser ranking knights. He couldn't place their exact identities. Not that anyone could, what with those cumbersome helmets concealing their features. Mizuki had always thought the Seraian military's regulation full helms looked a bit stupid. He knew better than to put pride before what was truly important, especially when it came to battle equipment, and while the knights’ helms undoubtedly guarded them well, Mizuki deeply hoped he would never have to wear one. One reason he had set his sights on the lofty goal of serving as a Royal Knight, rather than the more achievable goal of serving in the military, was so he wouldn't have to ride into battle looking like he was wearing a fortified bucket on his head. Sir Leon, by comparison, looked much more stately. Half-cape draped over one shoulder, gilded helmet under one arm, the other resting its elbow on the sword resting upon his hip. The very image of a bold and daring leader, a competent instructor, and a man worthy of the title of veteran knight. Still though, Mizuki thought, he has nothing on dad. Leon passed his gaze over his assembled troops, his dark brow drawn taught and his lips pressed into a fine line beneath his mustache. Mizuki knew the reason for his disdain. He couldn't see them, but he could hear the embarrassed chortles of tardy trainees as they shuffled into line. Even now, filing was not complete. Mizuki wondered what colourful and inventive punishment Leon would come up with this time. "How have any of you gotten this far in your training without learning when to fall in line?" Leon growled in his guttural and distinctly northern tone. "Hurry up! Or you'll be sleeping in the pigs' pen tonight!" Ah, a classic. So long as the trainees remained mischievous and Sir Leon remained strict, those pigs would never be without human company. It took a few more uncomfortable moments for the men to get into place, and several elbow jabs in their sides to silence their laughter. The air and the troops were still, so still that Mizuki could hear the faraway creaking of the opposition’s trebuchets, but the silence remained unfilled. Leon was in no hurry. He had mastered the fine art of intimidation, and knew better than to let a potential uncomfortable silence go to waste. He bided his time, waiting until their cheeky giggles had diminished into awkward coughs. His scathing glare seemed to have burned every ounce of joviality from the air. Only then did he draw a breath and speak. "Men! Our kingdom's enemy has come to threaten our peace once again. Our scouts have confirmed that the Telsan barbarians approach from the south, and they bring with them an army of women, children, and angry farmers.” This comment got a chuckle out of a couple of the trainees. A good sign. At least some of them were listening. “They are armed with much the same equipment we saw during their attack on the kingdom’s northern wall: axes, torches, spears, bows - a few swords here and there, but rakes and hoes are far more common.” Two rows behind him, Mizuki heard someone sigh. He could almost feel how they rolled their eyes and shrugged their shoulders. This tiny expression of apathy was enough to provoke another soldier into resuming their gossip, and the muttering began anew. Mizuki couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for Leon. It must have been difficult, having to keep finding new and inventive ways to spur inspiration and determination in such jaded soldiers, and to rally them against an utterly ineffective enemy they had been forced to fight every other month for years on end. In his last motivational speech, Leon had spun a tale of how the filthy Telsan barbarians had attacked a Seraian woman: a farmer’s daughter living on the kingdom’s border. The trainees knew this woman as Jo the milkmaid. They knew her because she would ride to the barracks to deliver pots of milk with the help of her brother, but the soldiers couldn’t care less about him. Because Jo was beautiful. She was young, she had a pretty laugh, and she had a propensity for wearing her bodice just a little too low and her skirts just a little too high. The trainees were often too distracted by her to notice how she overcharged them for her delivery services. So when they heard that the filthy Telsans had attacked their fair and innocent Jo, the soldiers were livid, and fought harder than they had ever fought in their lives. Leon was quite disappointed when Jo arrived at the gates not a week later, sprightly and vivacious and completely unaware of his lie. He had arrived too late to inform her of his scheme, and the trainees had not taken kindly to it. Now he’d have to come up with something else. Though Leon’s stone-faced expression remained unmoving, Mizuki could see the cogs turning within his mind. He cocked his head, curious to know what eccentric lie he might come up with this time. "This is all getting a bit boring now, isn't it?" he said, his frankness coming as a surprise to Mizuki. "Countless times now they have tried - and failed - to strike at our fair kingdom, and for all the years we have been at war what has it gained them? Nothing. Not an acre. They just can't seem to figure out that no amount of fury, determination or scorn will ever be enough to dent our great kingdom’s forces. They are like flies throwing themselves at windows. Ah, but we must not be so judgemental, aye? We should treat these poor, lesser people with benevolence. After all, we can’t expect much from a bunch of exiled muttonheads.” The trainees laughed. Mizuki did not laugh with them. He heard Morgan and Liam tittering behind him, while David remained stock still, his eyes on his teacher. They watched as Leon’s feigned smile fell from his lips. His eyes were dark, his voice grave. "You idiots think we're impervious to the enemy's forces because they're "just" barbarians?" The laughter died. "All this talk of their untrained soldiers, their lesser weapons, their failed invasions. Your arrogance will be your downfall!" Leon bellowed at the wall guards, ordering them to lower the drawbridge. It took all their strength to operate the machinery, heaving at levers almost as tall as they were to set the gargantuan wheels and chains in motion. Though they stood on the opposite end of the pathway, Mizuki had to wince to bear the rusty squealing cries of the wall’s inner mechanisms as they fought to raise the old and reluctant portcullis. The falling drawbridge revealed a familiar scene: the night sky split apart by smoke and flame, and the once muffled sound of marching grew louder and louder, nearer and nearer. Worst of all was the creaking, the groaning wood, the cranking iron, none of which were coming from their own walls. "You at least noticed the trebuchets they bring with them, yes? Or perhaps you heard about them in rumours? I know how much you lot love to gossip." There was no response, not even a mutter. All eyes were on the bridge. "How can you remain so complacent? Are you not afraid? Are you so sure of victory that failure is not even a possibility in your minds? Look again!" Leon pointed through the gap in the wall, not with his finger, but his drawn sword: a hefty gilded thing engraved with the Seraian insignia. Mizuki tried not to smile. His teacher had quite a flare for dramatics. However, the thing he was pointing at certainly called for alarm, he would give him that. It was still only a speck in the far distance, like a golden star that has gotten lost in the night, but the soldiers would recognise their kingdom’s sigil anywhere. "You don't recognise your own Kingdom's weapon?! Those trebuchets bear the Seraian insignia! Or are you all so blind drunk you didn't notice?!" That woke them up. Mizuki, eyes set on the glint of the trebuchets’ insignias, listened as an uneasiness rose around him, the disturbed voices of his fellows chattering in confused hysterics. Even Liam and Morgan were having a hard time keeping still. "It's ours?" Morgan asked, leaning over Michael's head to get a better look. "Did they steal it?" "Of course they did, how else would they get it?" David snapped, not taking his wide eyes off the barbarian's raging torch fire. "But how? I hear what Leon's saying but they wouldn't have a chance of stealing something like that. They just don't have the manpower." "Don't let them catch you unawares!" Leon's voice boomed over the trainees' rising chatter. "It’s likely those aren't the only armaments they have with them. Following the attack on the kingdom's walls, our military stationed at Telsa has reported several cases of captives making off with our supplies." Mizuki knew what Leon was going to say next. "They could do it if they had Magic Stones," he whispered to David. The air around the boys went still. Even as Mizuki kept his eyes on his captain he could feel their horrified stares weighing on him. "What?" David hissed. "They're rogues, not an army,” he explained. “They don't obey the same rules we do. The Telsans had Stones with them when they attacked the North kingdom wall; wouldn't be surprised if this lot have Stones with them too." Leon’s voice boomed. "They've taken our soldiers' armour, weaponry, ammunition, rations, water reserves, and a few light-fingered little buggers have made off with their Magic Stones." Stillness. Leon’s warning had drained the air of its merry energy, leaving only apprehension in its wake. "There you go," Mizuki said. "What?!" David snapped again, his voice joining the rising chorus of frightened chatter. Behind them, Liam squeaked through the fingers covering his face. "Oh my giddy aunt!" Morgan, however, was laughing. It wasn't uncommon for Morgan to laugh, but never in his life had Mizuki heard him make such a high-pitched titter. "Well! Glad we've got you on our side, mate!" Morgan punctuated his sentence with yet another friendly, if not a little half-hearted, elbow to Michael's arm. He almost retaliated, but his fist stopped before it could make contact. What did Morgan mean by that? Leon's soldiers called for silence. Their thunderous shouts were only just loud enough to carry over the flustered trainees’ cacophonous chatter and suffocate it. Once he was sure he would be heard, the knight continued his speech. "They're as crafty as they are desperate," he said. "Not one of them is trained in the Magical Arts nor do they have any understanding of the Seraian laws of magical conduct." He quirked a brow. "Not that it ever stopped them before. The casting we saw from them at the north kingdom wall was desperate and volatile. Though most of their spells were utterly ineffective--" Hearing this, Liam perked up. "Oh good!" "They took out a guard tower with just one Earth spell." Liam wilted. "Oh no." "We won't be taking any chances. All archers are to man the wall and towers and focus the enemy's siege weapons. Mounted units, you will fight off the foot soldiers -- and for goodness’ sake, keep away from their spearmen!" David, unconsoled by Leon's plan of action, shook his head. "We can't defend ourselves against magic!" "Hope you know how to use a shield," Mizuki said, adjusting his own. "I don't!" cried Liam. "Foot soldiers!" That meant them. Every pair of eyes in the boys' regimen was fixed on their captain. They were the kindling, he was the fire, and his words were the tinder that was failing to strike a light. "Fend off their swordsmen and hinder their advance. If you can strike at their mounts, do so: their horses are not trained for battle and will likely bolt at the first provocation. And if any of you spot a mage, incapacitate them immediately. Don't let a single one of them through these gates. Understood?" "Aye, sir!" the soldiers agreed, though their battlecry lacked even a spark of the fire Leon had tried to ignite. Mizuki heard a mumbling coming from behind him. Liam tapped him on the soldier. "Wait," he stammered, "did he say "decapitate" them?" "No, mate," Morgan chuckled. "Incapacitate." He nudged David's back. "Write that one down, Dave." "Oh, be quiet!" he snapped, clearly in no mood for Morgan's jokes. "How can you be so cheerful at a time like this?" "Sorry, friend," Morgan said with a shrug. "I just think laughin's better'n cryin'." "Laughter won't bring you back from this battle alive, dimwit." David let out the rest of his anxious vitriol in a shuddering sigh. "Sir Leon is right. We can't hope to beat mages without any magic of our own. Our best option is to incapacitate them and bring them back for questioning--" "I still don't understand what that means!" Liam said. David clicked his tongue and looked away. "How long did you say you've been here?" Mizuki asked, brow quirked. Liam lowered his head, sheepish, and his helmet fell onto the bridge of his nose. "Two weeks..." he admitted, pushing the helmet back up. Mizuki resisted the urge to sigh. The hypocrisy was becoming harder to ignore. Seraians loved to criticise the Telsan barbarians for sinking so low as to send mothers and their children into battle. Mizuki wondered how they would blush to know that the barbarian infants were doing battle with their own kingdom's children. "It means 'make them unable to fight'," he explained. "You don't have to kill them." Liam's eyes lit up. "Oh! Oh, good! In-ca-paci-tate. That's a good word, I like that word." Mizuki chuckled. "Yeah. Me too." David hushed them. "I can't hear Sir Leon!" He faced front, watching his knight with rapt attention, and didn't notice how Mizuki mockingly mimicked him while his back was turned. Morgan and Liam stifled their snickers behind their hands. "Treat the barbarians as you would any other worthy opponent," their teacher said. "Their strength may be inferior to ours but their resolve is just as great. Don't let your guard down! Complacency will get you killed!" Leon looked out over his men. All were stood stock still; not one dared to disobey his authority. Even the drunks had forced themselves to stop swaying. When his gaze reached Mizuki's group, he stopped. Stared. David straightened, shoulders straight and chin raised too high. His friends did the same, Liam with a little too much gusto, as he knocked his helmet down onto his nose again. It wasn't clear from this distance who Leon was looking at exactly. Mizuki hoped it wasn't him, but stared back nonetheless, waiting for him to stop pausing for dramatic effect and just get on with it. "That being said," he said, and Mizuki could have sworn he saw his features soften, "we will only use as much force as is necessary in this battle. It would be a waste of resources otherwise. Cannons, you will focus fire only on the trebuchets. Once they are destroyed, you will cease fire immediately." This disturbed the crowd's obedient silence. The men shared concerned glances, noses wrinkled in confusion, and their murmurings began anew, now dismayed and utterly sober. Around the boys the voices grew in volume and urgency, asking "What did he say?"; "Why would we hold back when we're under attack?", and "I know they're just barbs, but that's stupid!" Another warning shout from Leon's knights silenced the crowd. "I suggest you lot act accordingly!" he said. "And I don't want to hear any more complaints! Remember, you fight for the honour of your Kingdom. Have faith in your King! Your heritage gives you strength! We fight for the glory of our beloved Serai Kingdom!" The soldiers cheered in agreement. Mizuki quirked a brow. "S'a bit much, innit?" "Hold your tongue!" David hissed. Leon tugged on his horse's reigns. His speech was done. "Let's send these farmers back home where they belong. Ready men!" "Aye, sir!" The soldiers' raucous shouts of agreement echoed across the fields. Liam copied them, a moment too late. "March!" The clanking of metal plates and the pounding of boots stomping the earth resounded across the field as the sobered soldiers journeyed to the gates. Morgan and Liam, still untrained in how to properly march, followed David and Mizuki's example, watching them closely and copying their movements. Morgan swung his arms too widely and walked with too much spring in his step, and Liam squeaked apologies every time he accidentally bumped into Mizuki's shoulders. David’s demands that Morgan stop kicking the backs of his heels almost distracted Mizuki from the sound of his name being called. Startled, he searched for the source of the voice, and found Sir Leon looking back at him. He nodded toward the wall. "Follow me." Mizuki watched the knight pull on his horse’s reins and lead the way, not looking back to see if his student was following behind. He could feel his friend’s gazes boring a hole into the back of his neck as they waited to see what he would do. Mizuki left before David could make comment, following his captain to the edge of the barracks. Mizuki fell out of step as he hurried after Leon, and even as his captain dismounted his horse, he did not salute him. He knew he didn’t have to. Leon wouldn’t correct him. From this distance, even under the shadow cast by the walls, he could see Leon’s features clearly. Peeking out from beneath his armour and the bushel of coarse red hair smothering his lower jaw was a patchwork of scars. Mizuki had seen them in full once, during a particularly hot summer when Leon had gone shirtless during a sparring lesson. He looked like he had been torn asunder by a hail storm of swords and knives, and sewed back together by his own wounds. Each one was significant to him, each one had a story to tell. His scars were so great in number, and all of equal significance, they had no beginning and no end. So no one bothered to ask. They wouldn't know where to start. "Yes, sir?" he asked. Leon passed a critical eye up and down his armour. Mizuki was certain that everything was in its proper place, just as his knight had instructed him to wear it. Still, Leon's brow drew together in disapproval. With a firm grip he tugged at the plates on Mizuki's chest and arms, and adjusted several straps that didn't need adjusting. Mizuki had to chew on the inside of his mouth to stop himself from rolling his eyes. "Was that all, sir?" The knight harumphed, and nodded his head at the weapon strapped to Mizuki's waist. "You sure about that choice of sword, Michael?" "As always, sir," he said, not missing a beat. Leon searched his pupil's eyes for doubt, finding none. With a sharp chuckle, his moustache twisted into a smirk. "Well be sure to keep your shield just as close," he said. "You heard what I said about their Magic Stones, aye?" "I did, sir." "Good." Mizuki blinked, waiting for Leon to let him go. He didn't. He leaned forward conspiratorially, speaking in hushed, serious tones. "And try not to set off any magic spells of your own, aye?" The image of bright sparks breaking forth from his sword and colliding with a training dummy flooded Mizuki’s thoughts. He shifted on the spot. "With all due respect, sir," Mizuki growled, "that was a year ago. And an accident. I don't even have a Stone, I don't know how--" "Let's hope so, son." Mizuki frowned. He didn't like Leon's patronising tone. "I'm not lying, sir-" "I know that. You wouldn't. I only hope what you say is true." Mizuki’s expression creased up in confusion. Leon smiled, and it was kindly. "Food for thought." He nodded at the marching soldiers. "Off you go." Mizuki considered pressing Leon for answers, but he knew Leon well enough to know he wouldn’t give him any. Without another word, he left to catch up to his regiment. "And stay safe, you hear?” Leon's called after him. “You and your friends." He couldn't ignore that. "I barely know them!" he retorted. "Back in line, Michael!" He begrudgingly obeyed, turning away before Leon could hear him mutter under his breath. "You could at least use my real name, sir..." He had to jog to catch up to his regiment. They had already passed through the gate, over the drawbridge, and were marching down the hill. He slipped back into file as discreetly as he could, which was not at all, as he was followed by every pair of curious eyes that could get a glimpse of him. David was ready for him the moment he got back in line. "I saw that," he snapped, leaning in close. "What was that? What did you do?" Mizuki leaned away, as though repulsed by the stench of David's suspicion. "Leave it, David!" "Was he checking up on you?" Morgan asked, equally as eager to invade Mizuki's personal space. "Aren't you special!" "He did something wrong, I know he did!" "Are you gonna get in trouble, Mike?" Liam asked, peering up at him. "Nah, he's Leon's golden boy!" Morgan reassured him, slapping Mizuki's shoulder with a congratulatory palm so hefty it almost knocked him over. "He wouldn't let anything happen to him." "Really?! How did you get him to like you, Mike? He's scary!" "Oh stop it, it'll go to his head," David said, marching with his nose stuck firmly upward. "Leon's only got his eye on him because he's such a damn troublemaker." "Oi, what's that on your face, Dave?" Morgan grinned, pointing at David's cheek. "You're going green!" "What? There's nothing- Shut up!" There wasn't a speck of green on David's face, but there was a whole lot of red. Morgan and Liam’s giggling was infectious, and Mizuki couldn’t help but join in. He didn’t know how Morgan managed to keep in step and keep up the banter at the same time. He was almost impressed. For just a few moments, the air felt light again, like they were inside a bubble that shielded them from reality. Until the horn sounded. The soldiers came to an immediate halt. Mizuki narrowly avoided butting heads with the soldier in front of him. Liam wasn't quite so quick and smacked right into his back. "Sorry!" he said, rubbing his nose. Mizuki didn't respond. He was struck by the weight of the silence, how heavily it pulled at his legs and firmly rooted him to the ground. Beyond the walls the winds, unfettered by walls or by trees, blew stronger and colder. It cut through his armour and sliced over his skin, robbing the colour and smiles from the soldiers’ faces and snatching every last scrap of merriment from the air. The army was drawing near.

#Serai: In Living Memory #Serai (VN)#original story #fantasy #knights #prose #long post #Mizuki Shiro #David #Liam #Morgan #Sir Leon #Prologue Arc

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