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chrysalispen · 4 years

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xxii. men who know their secret safe

She was awakened from a deep and dreamless sleep precisely an hour before sunrise, as light shimmered sullen and gray on the very edge of the timberline. The small partition that passed for her sleeping quarters were unlit, and she blinked owlishly into the near-total blackness, trying to get her bearings while fumbling with the laces of her kurta.

"Look alive, novice." This growled from what she could glimpse of the stooped figure, standing by the small window on the other side of the partition. "Henceforth your day starts as early as does mine. Up with you. Trevautioux's already gone out for the day's hunting."

Ewain was as good as his word, it seemed.

Suppressing a yawn, Aurelia drew herself to dirty stocking feet upon stiff and sleep-wobbling legs. Her back ached from the narrow hardness of the wooden cot and the cabin was cold and damp - to say naught of her hair, which likely resembled a destroyed bird's nest from all her tossing and turning. She combed at it with clumsy fingers.

Her erstwhile teacher watched her preparations with ill-concealed impatience.

"By the Matron," he groused, "you're slower than a three-legged eft."

"Surely you were not planning to walk 'round and make your introductions of your new whipping girl to the townsfolk at half five in the morning," came her retort, made quite surly for her lack of proper sleep. She rolled the scratchy, worn fabric up to her elbows. "The good townsfolk whom, I daresay, would be remarkably unappreciative of any accidental revelations about an imperial prisoner in their midst."

Rather than the scowl she'd half-expected the Hearer laughed, a chesty guffaw that ended in a wet cough into the elbow sleeve of his stained and rumpled hempen robe.

"I believe I'm starting to see why E-Sumi-Yan insisted on ridding himself of you, girl," he said. "You'll want to work on that bedside manner of yours if you hope to become a successful healer worth the name."

"It would appear the Guildmaster did not inform you that my lack of experience lies wholly within the context of conjury." With an attempt at neither softness nor grace she plucked the lantern from his fingers to hang upon the hook that dangled from the nearby rafter. "I was a chirurgeon when I served in the army."

"Aye, well, mayhap 'twould serve you best to keep your prior experience to yourself - or lack thereof."

"I beg your pardon," the Garlean snapped, now quite offended.

"You heard me. You're to smile and nod when we make our rounds later today. These folk can be prickly - and to my way of thinking, 'tis best that a lass with a sweet face and a shrew's tongue be seen and not heard in any case."

The stare Aurelia gave him was hard enough to strike sparks upon flint. He ignored it.

“I’ve already roused your Keeper friend,” he said. “I assume you want to wash before you eat. You’ll need to draw and boil your own water for that. You can make use of the buckets by the door; there’s a stream that runs behind the house. Make sure you boil the water before you use-”

“I’m aware,” she said shortly, already turning her back and making her way for the door.

One glance at the sky as she stepped outside revealed a sliver of pink dipping its toes into that sea of dull grey. The sun would be rising soon.

Aubin sat a few fulms away on the far edge of the porch; his ears swiveled forward at the sound of footsteps, but other than a soft whine the old wolf made no move to aggress her. He watched her movements with a sort of guarded curiosity as she reached for the wooden bucket on its peg by the door and wrapped her cloak about her shoulders.

The wolf seemed to lose interest once it was apparent that no food would be forthcoming; he yawned in a display of yellowed teeth, then dropped his greying muzzle back to his paws.

She made her way down the steps. It was a cold morning and twice-frozen snowmelt made the trek to the river muddy and fraught with slipping hazards. She moved with care, hopping from outcropping to outcropping like a mountain goat, making her steady way down the incline towards the creek as Ewain had bid.

The currents in the center of the creekbed still flowed unimpeded, but the slower-moving waters along the bank were trapped beneath a layer of dirty ice. With barely a pause the Garlean lifted one foot to stamp on its surface; it was obvious at a glance that the ice was far too brittle and thin to hold any substantial weight, much less withstand a blow.

A bright and shallow crack snapped through the morning silence as she stooped to fill both buckets with cold water before lugging them back up the steep hillock from the bank to the porch.

She had to set the bucket down to remove her shoes and hang her cloak on the peg over the others, then awkwardly kick the door open. The Hearer didn’t react to the sound of her entrance. All of his concentration was bent upon the heavy pot over the fireplace. Even Keveh’to’s glance in her direction was brief (if somewhat apologetic) before returning his attention to the wood he was feeding into the hearth.

So she continued past the men with buckets in hand to the partition with the tub. Aurelia had learned from her sojourn in Gridania how to use the crystal-powered camp stoves that the Eorzean Grand Companies used in their pavilions: shards of fire crystal were set into the space between the pilot switch and the range top to send aether into the coiled heating element.

She had not, however, seen one of these stoves employed to heat a bathtub before, and was a bit surprised to see that the Hearer had such a luxury in his house-- if anything, she had thought she would be expected to spot-wash herself with thawed icemelt. It was a relief to know that would not be the case. The water warmed in short order, and as she settled in with the soap bar to wet her hair she listened to the muffled bits of conversation on the other side of the partition.

“Might as well go ask the garrison if they’ve aught to be done about town,” Ewain was saying gruffly. There was the hollow rattling sound of a trencher smacking against a ladle. “Eat up.”

“I’ll be coming with you.”

“No, you won’t.”

“The hells I won’t. She’s my job.”

“She’s my job too. And she’ll not be able to accomplish what needs must with you dogging her every step. You’ll only be in the way.”

“If you mislike my presence so much,” Keveh’to said stiffly, “then make your complaints to the Grand Company. Or Brother E-Sumi-Yan.”

“I’m not saying you can’t do your job. I’m saying it’ll be easier for you to do your job if you help out with the watch. There’s all of three full-time Wailers here and I’m sure they’d appreciate another pair of hands, especially if the help was volunteered.”

“The villagers we saw yesterday didn’t look very appreciative.”

“Do your bit and they’ll warm up over time.” She heard the Miqo’te’s sulking sigh, followed by silence and pouring liquid. “Here. I think it oversteeped a touch, but it should still be drinkable.”

“Mm.”

“Anyroad, if you get bored walking about the village alone, there’s a rest stop about a half-bell out.”

“The Druthers, aye. We passed it on our way.”

“Aye, that’s the one; a decent watering hole from what I hear tell.” Another clink of the ladle against the pot, and Hearer Ewain grunted. “Wouldn’t kill you to try and make nice with the owner, too, while you’re here.”

“I’ll give it some thought.”

“Well, think harder, lad, because I’m not asking you to stay out of our way. I’m telling you.”

“Commander Heuloix-”

“I don’t give a shite for some stuffed shirt behind a desk in the city. I’ll not be having a bleeding soldier along on my rounds.” Aurelia heard the clatter of a walking stick, and through the edge of the partition she watched the old man hoist himself to his feet. “The villagers will start asking questions and before you know it you and your friend will be the talk of the village. Won’t be long before rumors start if they haven’t already-- and I’m willing to bet your secrets don’t guard themselves half as well as they should. Nor hers.”

“Come now,” Keveh’to scoffed, “Aurelia’s not stupid.”

“She’s not,” agreed Ewain, and the subject of their conversation nearly dropped her washcloth in surprise. “Unaccustomed to Eorzean ways, to be certain. But the last thing any of us needs is for wild rumors about the new conjurer in the village to be running rampant. If she’s being trailed by an armed escort every second of the day, it’ll only prompt awkward questions-”

“Awkward, my arse. Just say what you mean, oldtimer. Inconvenient, more like.”

“-and offering your sword arm - or bow arm, if you like - to the watch takes that pressure off the both of you,” Ewain finished as though he’d never been interrupted. “Novice! You can stop eavesdropping now. Get dressed and get out here so you can break your fast. We’ve places to be this morning.”

Aurelia said nothing but let herself fix the blank face of the hempen curtain with the most ferocious scowl she could muster. Seven hells, this was like being ten summers old all over again, if not worse. Even L’haiya hadn’t been this much of an autocrat; surely he didn't plan upon haranguing her for the most trivial of infractions every single day...

Well, sitting about sulking in cold bathwater and turning into a prune surely won’t impress him nor anyone else. Get moving.

The cabin was cold and it took her a few tries to work her fresh set of smalls on for the shivering, but once she had warm socks and breeches on it was more easily managed. After pulling the simple robe over her head she pulled the curtain aside.

“Leave the water. We’re running behind as it is,” was the gruff response. “If you-”

“I’ll see to the tub,” Keveh’to interrupted. It prompted a startled glare from the old man, who’d clearly intended to lecture. “Come get your food.”

Breakfast turned out to be more frumenty (and Aurelia was certainly becoming tired of porridge with cinnamon by now, but there was little to be done about it); she all but shoveled the trencher’s contents into her mouth between sips of the mint tea from her tin cup, then hurried into the back of the room to grab one of her bags.

Her hand lingered over the carbonweave strapping of the field kit before some unknown instinct caused her to shove it back in the cabinet, and she grabbed the leather herb satchel with her logs and inkpots instead.

“Don’t get too fancy with that,” Ewain said when she came out, fumbling with the square of hemp in her hand. “As long as they can’t see it without attacking you you’ll be fine. Just a light covering under your hood will serve. Put your boots on so we can go--and… you there, lad.”

“The name is Keveh’to, Hearer,” the Miqo’te said, no small note of irritation in his voice.

"Thought it were Sergeant Epocan." The wrinkles around Ewain’s eyes deepened into canyons as he squinted and pointed one gnarled finger in the younger man’s direction. “Well. Keveh'to, then. You mind what I said. No following along behind, you hear?”

“I heard you the first three times you told me,” was the grumbled response, one that went largely unnoticed as the two conjurers made their exit.

The old Hearer wasted no time in herding her down the small stone path and through the gate. She rearranged the covering on her head just in time to flip the hood up as a pretty Midlander woman of middling age came strolling towards them with a basket of dried grass listing upon one hip.

“Good morning, Hearer Ewain,” she said with a friendly smile, one that became guarded and painfully polite when turned upon Aurelia herself--only a glance, but a glance was enough. “Going into town, are we?”

“Morning, Mistress Frieda. Aye, I’ve a new fledgling under my wing and I thought ‘twould serve her well to know where you lot live, in case it’s needful. I won’t be able much longer to come running to your doorstep every time one of those boys of yours takes a fall from a tree.”

To Aurelia’s surprise, the woman - Frieda - offered a bright laugh, shifting the basket in her hands.

“Oh, come now, I’ve not had to call you nor Conjurer Trevautioux since last spring.”

“Aye, I'd be that surprised if you had, lass, seeing as there are no trees to climb inside a cabin.” His free hand clamped down on Aurelia’s shoulder and she had to steel herself not to jump. “...This young lady here is Aurelia, my newest pupil. She’s been sent to us fresh from the Conjurers’ Guild in Gridania to learn how the job’s properly done, and I thought I’d take her about the village. You’ll be seeing much more of her in the future.”

Feeling unaccountably awkward, Aurelia offered a quiet “good morning,” unsure what else might be expected of her. In the end she settled for a middle ground and inclined her chin towards the woman in what she hoped would appear as a grave but amiable greeting.

“Good morning to you, Conjurer,” Frieda’s smile was still rather polite, though Aurelia thought it had thawed perhaps a degree or two for Ewain’s introduction, “and welcome to Willowsbend. You’ll find this part of the Shroud a good sight different from the big town, I'm sure- but I’d never want to live anywhere else. The forest and the elementals provide all that we need.”

“Indeed.”

“Really, you’ll find no lack of things to do about the village. Why, just the other day, I-- Blessed Nophica,” she gasped, eyes wide, “my distaff! I’ve got to be along, a pleasure meeting you both, good day!”

Aurelia blinked as the woman, suddenly flustered, dropped a quick curtsy before dashing back the way she came.

At her side, Ewain cackled. “And that forgetful lass will be Frieda Miller,” he said. “I cut the cord myself on her nameday and was there for all four of her sons to boot---though that goes for most of the village these days, I wager. She’s right though, you’ll find no lack of things to do here.”

“Shall I be allowed?” Aurelia asked. “I assumed I’d be kept busy with other duties. About the cabin and such.”

“Only during certain times of the year, and now that we’ve four pairs of hands about the place I’m not opposed to you using a bit of free time to get your feet wet and learn about your new home. The village was hit hard by a recent illness-- one that came from soiled waters. We aren’t sure how much of it lingers still; that’s why I told you to wash up -- and they could use the help.”

She nodded, silently wondering if the damage she’d seen to their walls came from the falling moon or something else. It didn’t seem extensive enough to have been caused by shrapnel.

“Besides,” Ewain said, apparently taking her lack of response for agreement, “I wager they’ll take a bit more quickly to a lass who shows she’s willing to get her hands dirty. Now, come this way. We’re stopping by the Starke place first.”

She shifted the bag on her shoulder, bowed her head, and measured her pace so as not to stray too far ahead.

The morning wore on.

~*~

Keveh’to stepped onto the porch, tail lashing hard enough in his agitation to thump against the door he’d closed at his back. The pathway leading into the village square was, other than a few souls and the odd pig wandering through the muddy road, empty. Cold wind bit at his cheeks. Winter still had a grasp, if a slowly weakening one, on the Shroud.

The Keeper sighed, his ears flattened against his head. Wisps of his own hair tickled them uncomfortably but he barely marked it for his worry.

“I mislike the feel of this place,” he muttered aloud.

Were this Gridania, Aurelia would be here, and she would chuckle at his remark and make some wry-tongued jest about it. That thought made the invisible and oppressive heaviness on his shoulders seem to weigh him down further. He hadn’t realized how accustomed he’d become to having her there until she suddenly wasn’t, and the maddening thing was that he knew she hadn’t actually gone anywhere.

She’d become a friend, a good friend, and that surprised him more than anything.

Keveh’to Epocan was entirely unaccustomed to the notion of having friends. He had acquaintances aplenty to be certain, but ‘friend’ was a category of acquaintance rather more intimate than a professional relationship allowed, and he was rarely willing to be so trusting with others. He’d drifted about the fringes of Shroud society most of his life, as all too many Keepers did. Becoming an adventurer had brought him neither coin nor glory nor camaraderie.

Even the formal affiliation with a Grand Company brought with it only the structured drudgery of rank-and-file military existence. When the newly instated Commander Heuloix had called upon him to mind one of the VIIth Legion soldiers taken prisoner by the Alliance in the wake of the disaster, Keveh’to had been none too thrilled. In truth, he had seen it as a punishment detail. Keepers and Duskwights in the Twin Adder (whether any of the Grand Company's officers wished to admit it or not) so often drew the short straw where such matters were concerned.

He was painfully aware that he’d been saddled with this “privilege,” simply because no one else was willing to damn themselves by association in volunteering for the duty. But he’d taken the job, of course. What else did they think he was going to do? It wasn’t as if Keveh'to could be more of an outcast than he already was. A tolerable local nuisance, one of three boys born to a mother who’d left them with relatives before she had disappeared into the depths of the wood, and that when he was barely three summers old.

And really, no one else was going to look after the safety of a godsdamned Garlean, not of their own free will. Not even a Garlean that the Seedseer had seen fit to spare for reasons unknown.

Might as well be him.

Thus, with no small amount of underlying rancor Keveh’to had watched his charge struggle to find her feet in a place full of people who hated her kind and would have liked naught better than to see her fail. Watched as she endured the same sort of hostility he had- that many outsiders had- from the townspeople. It had been almost every day on her way to the Fane, in those first weeks. The Stillglade Fane, where it had been the prisoner’s lot to deal with more hostility in the form of conjurers and chirurgeons who - at best - refused to trust her with aught save the most menial of tasks.

It reminded him, with a sort of bitter irony, of his own treatment growing up.

At first he had found himself with little reason to care beyond following the letter of his duties. Oh, there was little love lost between himself and Gridania’s townspeople, of course; he was precisely as fond of them as they were of him. But the fall of Dalamud was a different matter altogether and a pretty face and a lady’s fine manners didn’t change the facts. She had been a cog in the machinery of an invasion force, one which had quite nearly broken the land itself.

His charge was a living, breathing symbol of imperial oppression. Small wonder few had pity to spare.

Still, he had marveled in silence at the breadth of her patience, for Keveh’to knew he would not have been able to exercise the same level of discretion and self-control were their positions reversed. The snail’s pace with which the Gridanians were willing to give her or the other prisoners any chances at all often frustrated Aurelia, and she was of a certainty no saint; she had let her temper get the better of her tongue a time or two in more private settings.

But she had never once given into the urge to become truly embittered by her treatment. If anything, she seemed so sorry for her own part in it that she seemed to have quietly accepted their harsh treatment as the punishment she was due.

Before he realized it, his own attitude towards her had started to thaw little by little until he found himself looking forward to their trips into the forest. He’d found her wanting in the beginning, and now he found himself wanting for the company of one of the few friends he’d ever had. It wasn’t the old man’s ire that gave him pause now, it was the possibility of her disappointment in him.

As galling as the old bugger’s grouchy lecture had been, he had to admit (however grudgingly) that the man’s assessment was a valid one. If Keveh’to wanted Aurelia to be successful during her time here, he needed to call as little attention to her as possible, and if that involved giving a bit of slack to her leash then he would have to do just that.

But something about the woods here did make him feel uneasy. Keveh'to didn't like feeling watched.

Yet that was what he’d sensed not a quarter-malm past what folk called the Druthers, little more than a rest stop composed of two thatch houses and a tavern. Eyes that had lingered until they came within sight of the perimeter of the village, and by the fidgeting he’d felt at his back he suspected Aurelia might have sensed it too.

With all of that in mind, Keveh’to amended, perhaps Hearer Ewain’s suggestion to befriend the villagers hadn’t been as daft as he’d initially thought.

He shifted his shoulders beneath the weight of his worn gambeson, paused, and decided to leave his yellow Twin Adders overcoat hanging on its peg. This was just a visit, he told himself, a means to feel out the mood of the local garrison-- or what passed for one-- and offer his assistance should they deem it needful.

The reaction of the villagers he passed was, he thought grimly, no less hostile than he’d expected. The suspicious glares, mothers dragging their children out of his reach, fading smiles, eyes hastily avoiding his: every bit of it the reception a Keeper could expect in most small villages in the Shroud. Just as he'd told Brother E-Sumi-Yan, this one appeared to be no exception to the rule.

Keveh’to bore it with the stoic mask he had so carefully built over longer years, making his way down the muddy main thoroughfare as if he had noticed nothing and would not care a whit even if he did.

Security in a village this size would have been an afterthought at best to the Twin Adder. The Grand Company’s purpose was specifically to fight Garlemald; defending the Shroud itself came a distant second, and only where they were needed to bolster ranks. The Wood Wailers existed for the latter purpose, though even at a glance he had seen yesterday that their presence in this place was equally minimal.

Out of the dozen faces he’d seen along the wall to accost them, only three had worn the monoa masks typical of the forest guardians. But he still didn't rate his chances against three Wailers if they decided to deem him hostile.

Best tread carefully, he thought.

He took care to approach the wall from as open an angle as he could manage, bow and quiver on his back, hands exposed and posture relaxed. The Wailers at the gate watched him approach with visible tension. Although their faces were hidden from his sight, he could see how tautly the strings of their bows were drawn, the nocked arrows, the adjustment of the grasp upon a lance, the slightest crouch into a battle stance.

They wanted a fight and he wasn't here to give them one, as much as he would have liked it.

Mildly he said, “A good morning to you.”

One of the Wailers chose to simply ignore him; the point of the arrow did not waver.

The other relaxed his stance, though he was in no wise unprepared to fight. His tall and lanky frame marked him as an Elezen even were it not for the sight of his ears, pointed and prominent as they were behind carved ash.

“You came in with that conjurer yesterday,” he said. The flat, unimpressed undercurrent was no less obvious for being muffled behind the mask. “What do you want with us?”

Keveh’to supposed the truth would serve as well as aught else he could say. “Under advisement from Hearer Ewain, I’ve come to offer my services to the watch.”

The pair exchanged long and meaningful stares before those unsettling and near-featureless masks turned back on him.

“Why?”

Taken aback by the question, he countered, “Why not?”

“Why would an outsider care about a place like this?”

“Friend,” Keveh’to said with a patience he didn’t feel, “hard times have fallen upon us all, and unless I miss my guess, there are all of three Wood Wailers to protect this settlement. I can’t imagine that three of you against a full war band of Ixal is anything like a fair fight, to say nothing of any other dangers that might prowl the woods.”

“You won’t-”

“I am an adept hunter,” he said. “I know the forests very well- and as you can see, I’m a deft hand with a bow if I do say so myself.”

The man's posture, notably, had by now relaxed further to something almost approaching casual. By all appearances, Keveh'to thought, he was no longer considered a threat.

"....you said you belong to the Grand Company?"

"That's right. Sergeant Keveh'to Epocan."

An impatient sigh issued from behind the blank surface of the mask.

“Very well,” the man answered. “Since you insist upon making yourself available, Sergeant, then I wager we might as well make you useful. You are hardly Wailer material but the wall can always use more eyes, I suppose. Follow me.”

And that was how, within the first twenty-four bells of their arrival in Willowsbend, Keveh’to Epocan of the Twin Adder found himself deputized as the village watch’s first and only Miqo’te volunteer. It was, he thought, almost as hilarious as the realization that they harbored the Gridanian Conjurers’ Guild’s first and only Garlean novitiate.

With any luck, he thought wryly, no one would ever be the wiser.

#chrysalispen writes #reborn by fire #aurelia laskaris

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magmasliveblogs · 5 years

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1.05 R

i had a good week with everything so i should have time for another of these to recap: last chapter we learned that ryoka’s leg is currently shattered. she also punched a minotaur down some stairs and through said stairs because he couldnt take a hint.

also i will no longer be copy pasting most of the chapter, just the parts i comment on. to compensate, i will be adding the link to the chapter at the end, if anyone even reads these things and doesnt already know where to find the serial

As soon as she slammed the door shut, Ryoka collapsed against her bed. Static seemed to crawl over her eyes and roaring filled her ears.

Pain. It was coming back.

She would have lain there forever, but the pain made her move. There was only one relief.

Ryoka staggered over to a chest at the foot of her bed. She fumbled at it and realized it was locked. Key. Where was the damn key?

whats in the chest?

Inside the chest was a roll of odd bandages and several green potions. Ryoka instantly grabbed one and popped the cork.

Sitting with her back against the bed, she stretched out her bad leg as far as she was able. The bandages were red with blood now, and the flesh was beginning to puff up. She’d pushed too far.

Gingerly, blacking out with pain, Ryoka poured the green liquid over her leg and tried not to scream. But the effects were instantaneous.

The pain—vanished. For an instant, a wonderful instant, all was well. Ryoka watched in blissful peace as the swelling around her leg faded, and below the bandages, the broken skin and torn flesh closed.

But it didn’t last. After only a few seconds, pain started to return to the area. Dreadful, biting agony.

yeah lets not try to imagine that.

Magic bandages and healing potions. Ryoka thumped her head back against the footrest of her bed. They could barely keep her injuries in check, but not heal them. What they were really doing was buying time. Time, until she could find a way to heal herself—

Or lose the leg.

She couldn’t feel it anymore. Rather, it was the broken stump just below her kneecap that screamed agony at her each time she agitated it. But her foot and lower leg?

Nothing.

The [Healer] had told her it was still attached, still living flesh so long as she kept healing it with a potion, but it wasn’t about to start healing on its own. It was too badly damaged.

i say again, lets not try to imagine that. also, it seems celum’s [healers] arent suited for this sort of thing, and neither are healing potions.

Medically, the answer was simple. Until the modern era, there would have been no chance any other way. And even then—her legs wouldn’t have ever been the same. Ryoka knew what had to be done. They’d told her as she sat in shock as the [Healer] poured potions on her leg and tried to save her flesh.

Amputation. Either that or a spell that she couldn’t afford.

its like an ancient version of the american medical system, either a half measure or something that you cant afford

So what Ryoka was really doing, what she was really thinking as she sat in the wet puddle of the healing potion and blood was nothing. Nothing. She could worry, or fret, and she was afraid and in pain, but there was nothing she could really do. All she was doing, in truth, behind everything, was waiting.

Waiting. Waiting for her to arrive. Waiting to make the choice.

In her mind she could feel the wind on her face and feel the ground flying beneath her feet. In her mind she could see the consequences of her choice.

A world burned by fire. The dead lying in piles. War, endless and putrid. That was the cost.

Ryoka closed her eyes and tried not to cry.

just gonna let this stand

Wow. Look at that unmarked request. Whoever’s posted it is offering twenty gold coins for a delivery.”

Garia peered at it.

“It’s the same one I saw a week ago. Why hasn’t anyone taken it yet? I’d have thought you would have jumped at the opportunity, Fals.”

He shook his head.

“Are you kidding? I still want to live. Didn’t you see the location? The High Passes. That’s a death trap for anyone.”

“Even for you?”

He mock-glared at Garia.

“Even for me. For any Runner who takes it. I hope no one’s stupid enough to head out there, but with that reward—I think we might lose a few.”

“Then who will do it?”

“Dunno. Maybe a Courier will do it if the reward keeps rising. But even a decently leveled [Runner] isn’t nearly fast enough to avoid the monsters around there. Maybe the one who posted it will give up after a month or two.”

He shrugged.

“But frankly, even if they doubled the reward no sane Runner would risk a delivery like that. Profit’s important, but our lives are worth way more.”

high passes? i take it those are a monster infested mountain range. also, is [courier] the class up from [runner]?

“Lady Magnolia was here just half an hour ago. She came in person to complain to the Guildmaster, but he was out! She wanted to know where Ryoka was, and when she heard she was injured she was not happy. She even suggested that she might stop ordering through our Guild altogether!”

Garia and Fals stared in horror at the receptionist. Lady Magnolia was one of the Guild’s biggest patrons. Besides that, she was important. Even on the other end of the continent there were people who would know her name.

“Did she want anything else?”

“She wanted to know where Ryoka was right now. Fortunately, we at least knew her address so she was somewhat satisfied, but what will we do? If she stops ordering—”

Garia interrupted urgently.

“Wait, she wanted to know where Ryoka was?”

The receptionist blinked at her. Normally Garia would have been brushed off in an instant, but Fals was with her.

“Yes, she wanted to know.”

“And you told her?”

The receptionist grew defensive at Garia’s accusatory tone.

“What? It’s in the guild’s best interest to keep her happy. If she wants to know where one of our Runners is, we’ll tell her.”

“But she wanted Ryoka! And if she knows where she is, she’ll go and meet her!”

Fals groaned and pulled at his hair. He looked around frantically, but Magnolia was already long gone.

“Have you even met Ryoka? Remember what happened when she met the Guildmaster? She doesn’t respect anyone! If Magnolia shows up, she’ll probably throw her out of her room! Or—or—”

“Punch her.”

Fals turned to Garia.

“No. She wouldn’t do that. No one’s crazy enough to punch—she wouldn’t.”

Garia looked nervous.

“She punched a Minotaur when he tried to invite himself into her room this morning.”

The receptionist and Fals both paled.

“We’ve got to stop her. Or stop Ryoka.”

“Follow me!”

Garia turned and raced out of the Guild, Fals hot on her heels. She wasn’t one for prayers, but Garia still prayed that Ryoka would be civil, or at least acceptable before they got there. She didn’t have much hope, though.

She knew Ryoka.

this could be bad. very bad

“Well then, let me skip straight to the details, Ryoka. I understand that since you are still injured, healing potions aren’t working. As it so happens I have—let us call her a friend of mine—who is able to cast [Restoration] and other spells of the 6th Tier.”

and here is the offer ryoka dreaded. lets see the price

“Maybe. Maybe not. Can you just tell me what you want in return already?”

Lady Magnolia sighed.

“Ryoka, I have to ask. I have a number of skills, one of which is [Charming Demeanor], yet it seems to have no effect on you. I’ve dealt with stubborn generals and obnoxious Dragons and had more of an effect. Would you care to explain your extraordinary resilience?”

Ryoka shrugged.

“I’ve met people more charming than you. I didn’t like them either. What do you want?”

ryoka is just done

“Well. I’m prepared to pay whatever my friend desires and have her over here in a blink of an eye, even if I must pay for teleportation. But I do want something Ryoka. Nothing too arduous—merely answers to a number of burning questions I find myself saddled with.”

“Answers. How many?”

“How many? Ryoka my dear, I would hope for what I offer I would be allowed to ask as many questions as I dare. Not to put a fine point on it, but a spell to heal your leg is costly. Aren’t a few answers worth the price of asking?”

Ryoka shook her head.

“Not to me.”

what would you pay to ask someone from another world a few questions?

Lady Magnolia didn’t move. Her eyes were transfixed on Ryoka’s bound leg, and even Ressa looked ill. But Magnolia was genuinely shocked. She knew what bad injuries looked like.

“Ryoka. How are you still moving around on that leg?”

“Magic. Duh.”

Lady Magnolia blinked. She looked up and met Ryoka’s eyes.

“And how many healing potions have you used up so far?”

Ryoka shrugged.

“Forty? Fifty? I lost count.”

“And you’ve been sitting here, without going to see a proper [Healer]? Why?”

“Not enough money.”

“And you didn’t visit me and request my assistance because…?”

“If I tried to reach you, they’d run me over again.”

Lady Magnolia’s frowned darkly.

“No one would dare assault a guest on my doorstep.”

Ryoka shrugged again.

“It might happen. And I don’t want to lose both legs.”

understandable, still a bit shaken from the shattered leg

“Very well. I believe you will change your mind. I will wait for your response.”

Still, Ryoka didn’t respond. She heard rustling, and then Magnolia pressed something cold and hard into her hand. Ryoka raised her head slightly and saw it was a strange medallion—bronze and seemingly not that expensive, but inlaid with a precious blue sapphire in the center of the metalwork.

“Simply shatter the gem in the center and I will know you accept my terms.”

that stone is never going to be shattered

Even if I could trust her, the secret would spread. That’s how it works. She’d want to see a demonstration, and someone would put the pieces together. Ressa, her maid, maybe. Sooner or later technology would spread. I’d be responsible for bringing guns into the world. And maybe it’s not that far away from that level of technology already but—

“Belfast. Beruit. Phnom Penh. All flesh is grass.”

When I was a girl, I went to the Newseum in Washington D.C. I saw the pictures on the walls. I looked at the children, the dying and the dead. My dad thought I was too young to understand.

All flesh is grass. The “War Photographer” by Carol Ann Duffy. Is it a straight line between bringing the capabilities of gunpowder to the world and terrible war? No. But where there is knowledge, there is power. And even if she used her power to help her nation, that would only lead to war in the end.

Napalm. Mixed petroleum with a natural or synthesized rubber like latex. It wouldn’t be hard to create the same kind of thing. Not with Magnolia’s influence.

magic may be able to do much, but technology doesnt care about your mana capacity, it just cares that you can pull a trigger

The medallion is cold in my hands. I could shatter the gem in an instant. Grind it against the floorboards. It would be so quick, so easy.

It would—

The door opens. I look up. A face like perfection and a dream stares at me. Half perfection, half mortal. The cruelest of both worlds. Ceria Springwalker.

She hesitates, and then steps into the room. I expect hollow words and hollower promises. I expect to be let down, or to feel nothing but despair. But she doesn’t bring any of that.

She brings salvation.

how exactly is ceria springwalker, some random silver ranked adventurer supposed to save ryoka you may ask? well we shall see soon

“We owe you a debt. You might not understand it, but Calruz hired every member of the Horns of Hammerad because we believe in honor. If we can help, we will.”

Ryoka bared her teeth.

“Got a few hundred gold coins?”

“No. That’s beyond us, frankly. Even if we sold our armor and weapons – and Calruz might, to impress you – I doubt we’d be able to get close to a [Healer] of that level. They’re in constant demand. Thousands camp around the home of a famous [Healer] in Tenbault each day, hoping she’ll tend to them. Even if we had the money they charge it would take a miracle.”

i imagine a high level [healer] could be better than any doctor of our world if properly specialized, but how many of these high level [healers] are there? how many lower level [healers] who are just healing potion disturbers are there?

“My peo—I don’t trust the nobility.”

Ceria glanced sidelong at Ryoka, as if hoping for a conformation. Ryoka grunted.

“I don’t trust anyone.”

“I know that Lady Magnolia offered you…something. I saw her on the way in. You might want to accept, but all deals have a price. Even if she doesn’t say, she’ll want something.”

“I know.”

“A spell is probably the only way to cure your leg. But there’s magic that she offers, and then there’s…another way.”

“Another way?”

sooo something illegal?

Ryoka looked at Ceria. Her eyes seemed to pierce the young half-elf to her core. Ceria Springwalker had lived for over sixty years, but she hadn’t ever seen someone as desperate as Ryoka.

“Tell me.”

The eyes seemed to be boring a path straight into her soul. Ceria took a deep breath.

“…How do you feel about necromancy?”

well then, given necromancy is magic related to undead and skeletons are undead will this necromancer have skill with bones in still alive bodies? also just how illegal is necromancy?

aaaaaaand thats the end

will pisces be the one who helps ryoka? will persua try to sabatoge this? will magnolia try something more direct next time?

see you next post

#chrono

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thebookwars · 7 years

Text

Here on the Book Wars’ own Cover Wars, we judge books by their covers: front and back, art and blurb. The Cover Wars has a theme this month: books with ace (asexual) protagonists. Some of these characters are aro (aromantic); others are not.

[webcomic by Emily Griggs. Book 1 (of 3) is complete as of August 2017. #ownvoices]

It’s 1852, and Clara Adams has had her future planned out for her: find and marry a proper young man, then settle in for a life of quiet obedience and domestic bliss. She’s resigned to her fate, until a bout of curiosity leads to her untimely murder, and resurrection, at the hands of monsters that she’d never dreamed might be more than fictional. Death brings Clara unexpected freedom, along with new dangers and the sudden weight of responsibility. Thrust into unlife with no way back, Clara has to learn quickly, for her unique gift might tip the scales in the secret war against her murderer for control of all London!

Heartless is an action/adventure comic set in early Victorian London. It’s about vampires, self-discovery, more vampires, the struggle against oppression, and very pretty dresses. [x]

Janet: If the cover hadn’t swayed me, contrasting as it does the Gothic novel-style innocent heroine with her red eyes and bloodied sword, the back certainly would. Emily Griggs 110% knows how to write a blurb. I liked Clara and her friends & foes immensely and can’t wait to read books two and three. (Note: book 1 is 72-ish pages long. Reading is not a Gunnerkrigg Court-length time commitment.)

Nafiza: I am not that big of a fan of the cover but the synopsis sucked me in. Must find and read.

[Wayward Children #1. #ownvoices]

Eleanor West’s Home for Wayward Children No Solicitations No Visitors No Quests

Children have always disappeared under the right conditions; slipping through the shadows under a bed or at the back of a wardrobe, tumbling down rabbit holes and into old wells, and emerging somewhere… else.

But magical lands have little need for used-up miracle children.

Nancy tumbled once, but now she’s back. The things she’s experienced… they change a person. The children under Miss West’s care understand all too well. And each of them is seeking a way back to their own fantasy world.

But Nancy’s arrival marks a change at the Home. There’s a darkness just around each corner, and when tragedy strikes, it’s up to Nancy and her new-found schoolmates to get to the heart of the matter.

No matter the cost.

Janet: Still not over this cover. It is so perfectly beautiful and suited to the story. I like that the back copy suggests how thoroughly tension and danger pervade the school. (Reviewed here.)

Nafiza: I like this cover fine. I just wasn’t too much into the book.

[Abhorsen #4 / Prequel to Sabriel]

Sixteen-year-old Clariel is not adjusting well to her new life in the city of Belisaere, the capital of the Old Kingdom. She misses roaming freely within the forests of Estwael, and she feels trapped within the stone city walls. And in Belisaere she is forced to follow the plans, plots and demands of everyone, from her parents to her maid, to the sinister Guildmaster Kilp. Clariel can see her freedom slipping away. It seems too that the city itself is descending into chaos, as the ancient rules binding Abhorsen, King and Clayr appear to be disintegrating.

With the discovery of a dangerous Free Magic creature loose in the city, Clariel is given the chance both to prove her worth and make her escape. But events spin rapidly out of control. Clariel finds herself more trapped than ever, until help comes from an unlikely source. But the help comes at a terrible cost. Clariel must question the motivations and secret hearts of everyone around her – and it is herself she must question most of all.

Janet: I don’t love either cover, but both have something to recommend them. The first gives a sense of the scale of the troubles: not only Clariel but Belisaere and the Old Kingdom are in difficulties. The image positioning also suggests isolation, and casts Clariel and the dragon as shadows foregrounding the city. On the other hand, the dragon scene doesn’t play out quite like that (uh, spoiler?), and part of the whole point of the story is that Clariel is not the calm, long-dress-wearing young woman she seems to be here. The second cover shows Clariel in action with gloves and blade. I admire how the colouring of her face suggests a mask, while the detail suggests this is her skin – very fitting! She is a single figure seen at close range, however, which gives a new reader little sense of the story as a whole or of Clariel’s context. The back copy is pretty accurate.

Nafiza: I looove the first cover. Especially for the dragon kinda creature who turned out rather sinister and no, this is not a spoiler. I didn’t like the book as much as I thought I would but I still liked it enough.

Princess Lasva is about to be named heir to her childless sister, the queen. But, when the queen finally bears an heir, Lasva’s future is shattered. Grief-stricken, she leaves her country of Colend and falls into the arms of Prince Ivandred of Marloven Hesea. His people are utterly different-with their expertise in riding, weaponry, and magic- and the two soon marry.

When the sensational news makes its way to Lasva’s sister, the queen worries for Lasva at the hands of the Marlovens, whose king’s mage is in league with the magical land of Norsunder-considered by Colendi to be their enemy. The queen orders Emras, a scribe, to guard Lasva.

But it may be too late-Lasva is already deeply involved with the Marlovens and their magic. War wages on, and all are forced to redefine love, loyalty, and power…

Janet: Ha. I cheated. This isn’t YA; on the other hand, if teens read unending series comprised of tomes (*coughWheelofTimecoughGameofThronescough*), there’s no reason they wouldn’t pick up this single, if thick, self-contained book. The cover and back are – interesting, in that they posit Lasva and Ivandred as the central characters, when in fact Esdras is protagonist and narrator. On the other hand, this decentralization of self is part of Esdras’ character and training, so that a front and back cover that mention her only marginally is very, very apt. That said, I don’t love back or front cover – but I did like reading about Emras.

Nafiza: That cover though >.< But I like Sherwood Smith’s books so I will probably like this one. Now to find time to actually find it and read it.

After a shout-out from one of the Internet’s superstar vloggers, Natasha “Tash” Zelenka finds herself and her obscure, amateur web series, Unhappy Families, thrust into the limelight: She’s gone viral.

Her show is a modern adaptation of Anna Karenina—written by Tash’s literary love Count Lev Nikolayevich “Leo” Tolstoy. Tash is a fan of the forty thousand new subscribers, their gushing tweets, and flashy Tumblr GIFs. Not so much the pressure to deliver the best web series ever.

And when Unhappy Families is nominated for a Golden Tuba award, Tash’s cyber-flirtation with Thom Causer, a fellow award nominee, suddenly has the potential to become something IRL—if she can figure out how to tell said crush that she’s romantic asexual.

Tash wants to enjoy her newfound fame, but will she lose her friends in her rise to the top? What would Tolstoy do?

Janet: The cover grabs my attention but wouldn’t make me pick it up if I hadn’t recognized the author’s name and previously heard that the protagonist was ace. The back copy could do with more of Tash’s best friends, since a) best friends, and b) they’re both involved in Unhappy Families.

Nafiza: Kath’s wordsmithery is such that I have had this on my TBR for a while now. I just need to find to pick it up.

The Cover Wars: Asexual Protagonists part 1 Here on the Book Wars' own Cover Wars, we judge books by their covers: front and back, art and blurb.

#Banner of the Damned #clariel #Emily Griggs #Every Heart a Doorway #Garth Nix #Heartless #kathryn ormsbee #Seanan McGuire #Sherwood Smith #Tash Hearts Tolstoy

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