Ignoring the blood and whatever else she might have on her, Vesta steps forward and wraps E’ni’cala in a tight embrace. She holds on for a few long seconds before pulling back.

“Sorry. It’s been a rough morning.” She sniffs, brushing quickly beneath her eyes. “I… need to send a letter to Tristan. A missive.”

Her fingers twist together in front of her.

“I know I could go to the Mage’s Guild, but I don’t really know anyone there. And this…” Her voice wavers just slightly. “This is too important to place in unfamiliar hands. I need someone I can trust. I was hoping you might know someone here.”
She straightens a little.

“I can pay, of course.”

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The young woman with long brown hair is waiting around the front of the guild and sees Vesta approach. She lowers the wards for Vesta. Then she waits for Vesta to approach and gives her a soft smile.

"I'll fetch her. Wait here for me." The woman says and then heads off to disappear further into the Guild.

A few minutes pass and both the brown haired woman and E'ni'cala come into the room. They are speaking quietly. E'ni'cala has rings under her eyes and her robe sleeves are pulled up and tied at her shoulders. She is wiping a cloth down her arms to clear off any remaining blood or sick from her hands and arms. 

When E'ni'cala sees Vesta, her expression turns worried and she rushes away from the woman beside her and up to Vesta. She starts to reach for her friend's hand but stops herself short.

"Vesta! Are you okay? You..." She looks Vesta up and down. "What can I do for you, Vesta? I want to help you however I can."

E'ni'cala presses her lips together in a firm, determined line.

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Vesta approaches the Guild of Light looking like a shadow of herself. There are no silken skirts, no glittering jewelry save for the ring on her finger. Her curls are not carefully arranged. Instead, her hair has been pulled up hastily. Her clothes are practical. Where kohl and shimmer would normally frame her eyes, there is only bare skin and the faint redness of someone who has been crying for far too long.

She pauses at the entrance just long enough to steady herself, gathering what composure she can. 
Once inside, she moves quietly to the desk. Her voice is softer than usual, stripped of its usual lilt.

“I would like to see E’ni’cala, please.”

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“Thanks. I appreciate that.” 
Vesta turns towards the vardo, taking a few steps before hesitating. She pauses at the threshold and glances back at Storm.

“My ear’s always open for you too, Storm,” she says softly. “Goodnight.”

She gives her a small wave, then slips inside the vardo and closes the door gently behind her.

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Storm shrugs. "You needed an ear. I had two. I'm not the best with advice though. I'm a hunter. Not a philosopher."

Storm jerks her chin back towards the path they traveled. "I'll get you back to town. I honestly hope everything works out for you. Just keep in mind you're dealing with nobility and they do whatever they want. Us small folk don't really matter."

She waits for Vesta and then turns to lead her back through the woods to town.

When she gets back to the vardo, Storm rubs the back of her neck. 

"I know I'm not the best person to come to but..." She sighs and shrugs. "I don't mind lending an ear when you need one."

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“Yeah…” Vesta says quietly, her gaze lowered. “Friends should matter to us…”

She smooths her skirts absently, drawing in a slow breath.

“I feel a little better. Not a lot. But… it’s something.” She gives a small shake of her head. “I suppose that’s better than nothing.”

There’s a faint, tired curve to her mouth.

“I don’t think there’s anything else.” A brief pause. “Thank you for listening, Storm.”

She hesitates, then adds softly, “Sorry to disturb you with my antics.”

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Official Proclamation from the Seat of Dalefaer

Dated: 19th of Xaraxia, Year 426

Let it be known by all within the bounds of Forsetidale and the Empire beyond:

I. Regarding the Cessation of Private Courtship It is with a spirit of mutual respect and continued dedication to duty that I announce the conclusion of the private courtship between myself, Baroness Charlotte Greyshield, and Knightmaster Sir Fallin, Seneschal of Forsetidale.

Sir Fallin’s service to the barony is, as ever, invaluable. He shall retain the title of Lord Seneschal. However, the path of the heart and the path of the state have diverged. We return now to a relationship defined solely by our shared burden: the protection and prosperity of this land.

II. Declaration of Intent Regarding Suit With the weight of the Barony settling squarely upon my shoulders, it has become clear that the future of House Greyshield requires a partnership not merely of affection, but of fortitude.

Therefore, I declare my hand open to suit from those of noble standing or proven merit who wish to petition for marriage.

Let potential suitors heed this warning: I do not seek a decoration for my court, nor a placeholder for my lineage. I have recently disposed of those who treat titles as privileges rather than jobs. Do not bring me gold; Forsetidale has trade. Do not bring me armies; Forsetidale has steel.

Bring me competence.

I seek a consort who understands that to rule is to serve. I seek a partner who will stand beside me in the mud as readily as in the manor. If you cannot carry your own weight, do not expect to share in mine.

Petitions may be delivered to the Lord Protector’s office for initial vetting.

Signed and Sealed,

(Signature) Baroness Charlotte Greyshield Baroness of Forsetidale
 

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Writ of Severance and Abrogation

Issued from the Seat of Dalefaer Dated: 19th of Xaraxia, Year 426

By the hand of Her Excellency, Baroness Charlotte Greyshield Under the Auspices of His Majesty, King Vlastimir Daggerheart

TO THE FORMER LORD, TRISTAN AND CITIZENS OF THE REALM:

It is written in the founding tenets of Forsetidale that "power, like burdens, should be distributed amongst us all". You were given a share of this weight, a sacred trust to uphold the balance and protect the community. Instead, through gross negligence and a willful abandonment of your station, you have let that burden fall upon the shoulders of others. You have sought the privileges of the Gauntleted Fist without respecting the Scale it holds.

Therefore, in accordance with the laws of the Ariadnian Empire, which designate the Nobles as the Eyes, Ears, and Voice of the King , and with the direct ratification of the Crown, I hereby enact the following Noble Order:

Stripping of Title: You are hereby stripped of the title of "Lord." You hold no rank, no station, and no privilege within the peerage of Ariad.

Abrogation of Lineage: You are severed from the House of Greyshield. You may no longer bear the name, display the crest of the Gold and Blue, nor claim kinship for the purpose of succor or status. The history of the Greyshields is no longer your history.

Exile: You are hereby branded an exile within the borders of Forsetidale. You have three days to cross the border. Should you be found within these lands past that hour, you will be treated as a trespasser and subject to the judgment of the Baronial Court.

Seizure of Assets: All lands, estates, and assets previously held in your name within this Barony are reclaimed by the last living heir of the Greyshield estate and Baroness of Foresetidale, Charlotte Rose Greyshield.

So Ordered,

(Signature) Baroness Charlotte Greyshield Baroness of Forsetidale

(Royal Seal) Ratified by King Vlastimir Daggerheart King of the Ariadnian Empire

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A few days after escorting Lord Tristan through town, the heavy doors of the Foresetidale Embassy burst open and an entourage of troops file out.

At their point, is a man with short, neatly trimmed salt and pepper hair. He is wearing gleaming heavy platemail that is decorated in medals with the Foresetidale favor hanging down the front of his waist. On his hip is a sword that glistens brightly in the sunlight.

The remaining Foresetidale knights, equally as polished and neatly organized, form a sort of diamond around a young man in the center. He is wearing fine silk clothes of yellow and blue with a bag on his hip, a common sight for a courier.

The soldiers march across town and into the tavern, all eyes forward and not stopping for anyone. People part around them like the sea parting for a ship.

When they enter the tavern, they approach the missive board. The leader of the knights steps aside in a sharp, curt step with his hand resting on the pommel of his sword now. The courier steps forward, pulling a scroll from his sack.

In a few short moments, the young man has it pinned to the board. Then he reaches into his sack for a second scroll which he unrolls and posts to the board as well. He takes a second to make sure they are perfectly placed at the center of the board, nods once with satisfaction, and looks to the lead knight.

The soldiers shuffle and reform their diamond around the courier before marching back across town and back into the Foresetidale Embassy.

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Storm chuckles. "Ok. Well. Make something from werewolf or not. As long as you apologize especially since she already has. Our friends should matter to us, ya know?" 

She pushes away from the tree and wiggles her shoulders so her wings fluff out. 

"Alright. Well. I listened. And offered some words of advice." She shrugs. "I got nothing else for you, really. I hope I helped. Anything else you need to get off your chest? Now's the time. No one around but us."

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Undertaker652.png
The heavy, rhythmic thud of granite against wood echoes off the cobblestones as a long-bed hauler of deep, black-stained oak turns the corner toward the Artisan’s Guild. The carriage is a masterpiece of grim utility; its massive wheels are reinforced with iron bands that show signs of recent, meticulous grease, yet the wood of the chassis is weathered and salt-streaked.Stacked with clinical precision in the back are three rows of caskets. The brass fittings on each box catch the weak, filtered sunlight, polished to a mirror sheen that stands in stark contrast to the dust-covered street. Hanging from the sides of the wagon, suspended by thick, frayed hempen ropes, are a dozen blank tombstones. They sway with every dip in the road, clinking together with a sharp, percussive clank—a sound like a macabre windchime. Two large horses are anchored to the front of the carriage, their ribs disturbingly visible beneath their coat of matted hair as their breath vapors in the cool air. Master Silas Vane pulls the reins with gloved hands, bringing the heavy hauler to a halt. He wears a silk waistcoat of an intricate, dark brocade, but the fabric bunches and folds where it should be flush; his frame is noticeably gaunt beneath the expensive tailoring. He climbs down from the driver’s seat with a stiff, measured gait, adjusting a pair of silver-rimmed spectacles.He pauses at the footboard, looking up at the boy sitting there. "Elian," he says, his voice a dry, disciplined rasp. "Watch the stones. Stay with the carriage. I am not spending the night searching the alleys for you again. Stay here."The boy, who looks to be in his mid-to-late teens, doesn't offer a verbal reply. He wears heavy, mud-caked leather boots and a cloak of fine wool that is beginning to fray at the hem. He sits with his shoulders hunched, staring blankly at the gutter, his face pale and hollowing at the cheeks. Between his fingers, a small, orb-like flicker of pure white light pulses—a casual, bored display of his Light magic that dims and flares in time with the clinking of the tombstones.Silas doesn't wait for a nod. He turns and marches toward the heavy doors of the Guild, his boots clicking a sharp tempo against the stone. Elian remains behind, sighing heavily as he turns his head slowly, his eyes flicking rapidly about his new surroundings. As soon as the Master Merchant disappears into the guild building, Elian hops down from the carriage and begins meandering casually toward the direction of the tavern. 

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Vesta listens to Storm, nodding here and there, though her gaze stays lowered at first. Eventually she wipes at her face again, dragging in a slow breath that trembles on the way out.

“I can’t… not- not yet.” She shakes her head, fingers twisting in her skirts. “Not until I can get it together. Not until I can make it up to her.” She exhales shakily and tips her head back towards the sky for a moment, blinking hard as if trying to dry the last of the tears there.
 “It’s not her fault that I’m a coward. I can at least make an effort that’s more than just words.” Her breathing begins to steady. The sobbing has stopped, though her voice is still raw around the edges. She presses her palms flat against her cheeks, grounding herself.

“I can’t ask her to look into Forsetidale business.” She swallows. “I just have to wait to hear from Tristan… and hope nothing is terribly wrong.”

She mutters something in Tovi under her breath, then lightly slaps at her cheeks again, leaving them flushed. “It sucks not knowing if he’s okay…” 
A few more tears slip free, but she brushes them away almost irritably this time.

“Ugh. I’m annoying myself with all this. If I could fight half as well as I cry, the famine would have been resolved ages ago.” She gives a breath of a laugh that borders on hysterical, then reins it in, drawing her shoulder back, finally caring enough to sit properly.

“I still need to find a group to go hunt werewolves. That definitely can’t happen until I know Tristan’s okay. But I’m going to do it.” Her jaw tightens slightly. “I might even… take a swing at them myself.” Her fingers curl into her skirts again, but this time it’s in resolve.

“Perhaps Jade would appreciate something tastefully made from a werewolf.” She shudders, as if the words are contradicting themselves. “Maybe something from the teeth. Or whatever those from Seshtau like.”

She waves a hand dismissively.
“She knows how terrified I am of the creatures. If I'm willing to face that for her… maybe she’ll forgive me for being stupid.”

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Storm listens with a neutral expression on her face, continuing to lean with arms and ankles crossed. She remains quiet the entire time Vesta speaks, her tail slowly swaying behind her. 

Storm waits patiently for Vesta to finish. 

When she’s sure Vesta is at least pausing to breathe, she clears her throat.

”So… I’m not sure I’m really the best person to turn to cuz I’m not very good with… Feelings? So. Hope I don’t. Make things worse.” She sucks in a breath. You do need to get it together. You don’t know what’s happening with Tristan. You don’t know it’s your fault. And you’re absolutely right. You shouldn’t look. Don’t those visions hurt you? Besides, whatever is happening is totally out of your hands. You aren’t some hoity toity noble. He is.”

Her tail flicks. Whatever happens is between the nobles. Us commoners…? We don’t get a say in their business. No matter how important we think we are to them.”

She sighs. ”And you absolutely should go apologize to your friend. If she wanted you dead, you’d be dead. You said so yourself. She killed you once right? I don’t know if she did it to make a point or what that has you so scared of her but obviously, she can kill you if she wanted and she hasn’t.”

Storm takes a breath. ”You aren’t pathetic. You’re human. It’s just human emotion that builds up and needs a release. Kinda like my rage. I’m pretty level headed most of the time but sometimes, I’ve gotta let it out.”

“So, yeah. Cry it out. Then get it together. Go talk to your friend. If she really is your friend, maybe she can help lover boy. Or at least find out what’s going on for you.” Storm leans forward a little and wiggles her shoulders, stretching the wings on her back before folding them again and leaning back once more. ”That’s really all I got. I think.”

 

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Vesta follows Storm with uneven steps, her breath hitching, small broken sounds escaping her no matter how hard she tries to swallow them down.When Storm tells her to sit, she collapses onto the rock, skirts spilling over the stone. She draws her knees to her chest and tries to steady her breathing, but it only comes in sharp, shaking pulls.“I-I’m sorry if I’m bothering you,” she blurts through tears. “I know this is ridiculous. I know I’m not exactly… likable. I know I can be a bitch, and dramatic, and if you think I’m insufferable and pathetic I really don’t blame you. If you never want to speak to me again after this because this is embarrassing, that’s fine, I just-”Her voice cracks.She folds in on herself, burying her face in her hands as a sob tears out of her chest. It’s ugly and unrestrained. She drags her palms down her face, then slaps her own cheeks lightly as if she can shock herself back into composure.“Normally I’d just talk to Tristan,” she says. “But yesterday the Forsetidale Knights showed up and said he had to come back with them. They had their swords drawn and everything-”Her breathing quickens.“And I know it’s because of me. After what happened with Jade, I got drunk and upset and tried to leave Volaire in the middle of the night when it was freezing, and if Tristan hadn’t come after me I would have died. And it’s not the first time I’ve almost…” She trails off. “So I know I scared him, and he stayed by my side. He’s been missing classes. There’s rumors going around, and now all the nobles are furious, and Charlotte’s putting out the fires. He had to go back. He said not to worry, but how am I not supposed to worry when it’s my fault?”The words tumble faster and faster, barely separated by breath.“And I can’t even scry to see what’s happening, because if I look and something’s wrong, I won’t be able to fix it. I’ll just spiral. And I can’t handle that right now because I’m just-”She scrubs at her face again, eyes red and glassy.“I can’t talk to Edgar. I can’t talk to Zinna, or Zuigrii, or E’ni’cala, because I can’t bear looking like a fool in front of them.”Her laugh is brittle, collapsing immediately into another sob.“And I can’t talk to my best friend because I fucked that up too. I yelled at Jade in front of her barony. I knew we were walking into a death trap and I panicked. It turned into a screaming match. She pulled her rank on me, so I left. Kalil told me she could have me killed for it, and I know that.”

Her hands curl into fists in her skirts.“Every time I think about apologizing to her, all I see is death. All I can think about is the time she did actually kill me, and I’m scared to go through that again. She’s my best friend. I love her.” Her voice thins. “And I’m scared of her…”Her shoulders shake harder.“It’s so stupid! She apologized to me. I doubt she would actually hurt me. And I still can’t make things right. I’m just a coward.”She presses her fists to her eyes.“Jade would do nearly anything for me and I can’t do this for her.”Her voice cracks completely.“What is wrong with me? I ruin everything. My clan calls me a curse and maybe they’re right.” She says hollowly. “Everywhere I go, I just fuck things up.”The words spill out without restraint now.“I wasn’t even supposed to live this long. I was supposed to burn out. And now I’m engaged, and I have people I actually care about, and I can’t even be there for them because I’m selfish and stupid and weak.”She chokes on the last word.“I’m drowning in all this guilt.”She drags in a shaky breath.“And now I sound like some self-loathing pity party and you’re probably regretting not just turning me away, and I can’t even leave because I don’t want to be by myself-”Her voice breaks again, sharp and painful.“I’m sorry,” she whispers hoarsely. “I should be pulling myself together instead of just crying about this shit. I’m sorry.”

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Storm flinches back when Vesta bursts into tears and her wings flutter. She looks away awkwardly until Vesta starts explaining.

Storm stares at Vesta who is staring down and then she chuckles. "Oh man. You must be in a real bind to come to me."

She sighs and looks around. Then she half turns and waves to Vesta. 

"Come with me." She turns to begin walking, grabbing her crackling glaive from its place against a nearby wall. 

She walks through the village, greeting those she passes by name and smiling at them while they exchange quick pleasantries. She leads Vesta all the way to the edge of the village and past the wall. Never once looking back to see if Vesta is following, she leads them up to the forest and in. 

There is a clearly well traveled path winding through the trees. It is wide enough for one person to pass through. Storm ducks under branches occasionally but the branches are above Vesta's head with no need for her to duck. They walk for several minutes until they come to a very small clearing. 

The clearing is a small circle of flattened earth that has a large flat rock in the center and nothing else. All around the space, the trees lean slightly, providing plenty of shelter while leaving a gap in the bare branches to see the open sky. 

Storm steps aside and gestures to the rock. "Have a seat."

She finds a tree to lean against with her glaive resting nearby within reach. She crosses her legs at the ankle and folds her arms across her chest then watches Vesta. Her tail flicks slowly behind her while her colorful wings are folded against her back.

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Nill is crouched a few feet away from Storm, rolling a small black die across the dirt with careful concentration. She glances up as Vesta approaches, before dropping her gaze back to the die, uninterested. When Storm asks what’s wrong, Vesta bursts into tears. They start flowing down her cheeks, and she drags the heel of her hands across her face, visibly irritated with herself at being unable to keep it together.

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry,” she rushes out, voice wavering. “I’m trying not to be so… dramatic, I just-”  She hiccups. “I just don’t have anyone else to talk to. Tristan got taken to Forsetidale by the knights, and I can’t get into the manor to see Edgar, and I obviously can’t talk to Jade right now, and I was up crying all night and I just can’t-”

The sentence collapses under another wave of tears. Her shoulders hitch as she struggles to steady her breathing.

Nill looks up again. Her expression stays flat, but her wings give an awkward, unsettled twitch.

“I… will go do the helping of Cassia,” she announces quietly.

Without waiting for a response, the pixie gathers her die and scampers off, disappearing around the nearest structure. Vesta shakes her head quickly, as though embarrassed to have caused a scene.

“I just… I thought maybe I could talk to you,” she says, her voice smaller now. “But if you don’t want to deal with me, I can just go back-”  Her words falter. “I-I’ll be okay by myself. I just…”

Her arms fold tightly around her torso, shoulders trembling as she stares stubbornly at the ground, unable to meet Storm’s eyes.

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As Vesta travels through the village, she sees orcs of various heights, sizes, and ages all working or playing.

There are orc children playing some sort of game with pinecones, chasing one another around the village which has them cross Vesta's path by nearly colliding with the Ramtovi. They snicker, wave, and then rush off to continue their game. A young female orc is flailing an arm and chasing after them, screaming something in orcish at the children. She appears frustrated, not aggressive, as she chases them.

The adults of the village watch Vesta as she enters and as she passes but they offer only curious glances, nothing more. Some of them give her distracted smiles while others just glimpse her and return to their work. 

Vesta hears Storm before she sees the Draconian.

"Not right there! Not right there! Oh shit." Then there is the sound of something large collapsing. 

As Vesta turns the corner, she sees Storm and a couple of other orcs. They are waving hands in front of their faces to clear away the dust kicked into the air by the debris piled in front of them. The debris appears to be a small hut, partially built. The walls stand anyways. The roof has capsized into the walls surrounding it. 

Storm sighs and plants her hands on her hips, shaking her head while her lion tail swishes behind her in quick strokes and her wings flutter restlessly. "It's okay. We'll just try again. Maybe with something a little lighter this time."

The two orcs with her nod and walk through the gaping archway in the wall. They get to work gathering the pieces that fell inside.

Storm sniffs and sneezes, quite a dainty sneeze for someone like Storm. Then she turns her head as Vesta turns the corner. 

"I'd know you anywhere smelling like that. Always like... Incense and tea." Storm chuckles and waves the last of the dust from her face. "What are you doing here? This place doesn't exactly scream.... Vesta." Then Storm takes in her appearance. "What's wrong?"

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The day after Tristan returns to Forsetidale, Vesta finds herself walking the road to Kog’Thrak with more urgency than she means to show. Her steps are quick, arms folded tight against herself. Her hair has been hastily twisted into a messy bun, loose curls falling free. Dark circles shadow her eyes, faintly puffy from a night that offered little rest. When the village comes into view, she slows. She stops just outside the entrance, hesitating. After a moment, she turns and takes several steps back the way she came, only to halt, jaw tightening. With a frustrated breath, she pivots again. Forward. Back. Forward once more. The indecision plays out in small, restless movements before she finally steels herself and steps inside. She approaches a guard and asks, as evenly as she can manage, where she might find Storm. Given a direction, she nods and moves on. As she walks through the village, she keeps her gaze forward and to herself, ignoring any looks that may follow her.

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The guard on the left clears his throat. "I know you. I can let him know you came to see him. Next time I see him anyways. But I'm not sure when that will be to be totally honest."

The guard on the right dips his head to her. "Have a good evening, ma'am."

The guard on the left releases the pommel of his sword and relaxes his arms at his side again. "Safe travels, miss."

They watch her go and then return to their conversation.

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