Vestige

Morganna's... boyfriend? "Good enough, I suppose," he sighed. Claire had told him to slow down, but what else was there for him to even ask? They'd have to monitor her over the course of the next few days to see if she ended up forgetting more than just Serge, or if she ended up remembering him. But for right now though, he wasn't sure what to do. He'd practically signed himself to a life and afterlife in servitude to Belial. By comparison, Emily had seemingly gotten the deal of a lifetime--or multiple lifetimes assuming she was truly immortal. He sunk back into his chair, feeling defeated. "I just... I don't know. At first glance she seems well enough. It's quite clear she doesn't remember Serge, but other than that she seems about as well as one might hope." He looked over to both Sebastian and Freya, and shrugged his shoulders. "Sebastian, can you tell me about Baleros? And also how Lady Claire came into possession of the vial, if you've any idea?"

"I'm the court wizard, Edion... but please call me Morgan." It wouldn't be too much of a stretch to imagine that the Uncle Morgan Emily was referring to was the very same Morgan that Charlotte had found as she wandered the halls of Hull's castle. But why was the court wizard's niece parading around as a common-born mercenary? And was the connection between Emily and her uncle actually something important or had Belial just decided to show Charlotte's meeting with Edion on a whim? He wasn't entirely sure, but those questions would have to wait. "I can't be the only one who realizes that there's something inherently wrong with this picture here, yes? I was led to believe that the contents of that vial could turn a man mad, not simply induce acute amnesia," he scoffed. Either Emily was playing some sort of elaborate jest, or there was something else about her that wasn't yet apparent. Of course, he himself knew very little of Emily, having spoken to her all of never--and Serge had left the room almost as quickly as he had entered. All men were destined to die, and yet Emily had awoken in defiance of that notion. He'd expected the man to at least find contentment in the knowledge that Emily was alive and breathing again, but instead he'd wilted away--pained that she didn't remember him. How disgustingly selfish... "And of course, Morganna isn't here either," he groaned, unaware that she'd taken her leave of Serge's mercenary crew shortly after arriving to Tytila. He began to pace the room, trying to temper his irritation before he began to speak to Emily. He had nothing against the woman personally, and he didn't want to appear overly abrasive if he didn't have to. "One of you," he said, pointing towards both Hans and Lars, "Stand by the door and make sure the only people that come near are related to Wyke's visitors. No maid, no servant, no guard--nobody else is to be allowed entry, on orders of Lord Duhamel," he commanded. Alain closed his eyes and let out a tired sigh. "Emily, I'm glad you're awake now," he said, turning towards her. "We've actually never had a chance to speak before so you needn't feel bad if you find that you don't remember me. I'm Sir Alain." He pulled up a chair close to her bedside, studying the woman's face intently for any signs of abnormality. "I imagine you might be feeling a little fatigued, but I'd like to ask you some things before I leave you to your rest. You said you remembered being with Hans and Lars, but I wanted to ask if you remembered anything after that? Something from before you woke up here? Do you remember why you're even in Raewald to begin with? Do you think you can still read magic tomes?" If Emily had truly been called back from the dead, then did she really have nothing more to say about it? Alain himself remembered with vivid clarity the depths of the abyss he had fallen into and everything that had occurred thereafter. She seemed relatively unfazed beyond her cursory confusion. And she seemed nowhere near as unnatural as Apellon and Arteria portrayed themselves. Was she hiding it, or had people been truly overselling the averse effects of the elixir? What even was the elixir to begin with? Who created it, and by what mechanism did it operate? Something wasn't right.

While Alain's Wykian companions walked through Castle Tytila with a budding sense of awe and amaze, Alain traversed the halls with self-assured diligence. The castle had become something of a second home for him, having rapidly replaced the dormitories of Wihtwar following his graduation. But his feelings of familiarity and affection towards the castle walls quickly melted away as he was reintroduced to the inane bureaucracy that so often plagued the houses of royalty. How foolish of him to assume that he would be granted a seat during the meeting of royalty that he had staked his life to ensure. Clearly it was preposterous that the fledgling diplomat might wish to be present during what could perhaps be the most important diplomatic procession in the years to come. Of course he, as the only returning diplomat, had no need to be present. To say that he was feeling 'upset' would be a vast understatement. He resigned himself to quietly seething in the common quarters, hoping beyond reason that someone would think to rectify the travesty that had befallen him. He'd only just seated himself however, when Hans rushed into the room bringing dire news. It seemed Emily was finally beginning to awaken from her extended slumber. Another cause for irritation. He'd hoped to get at least get a brief an opportunity to examine Emily's medial state more closely--he'd requested as much from Cassandra. But if she was waking up now, there wasn't much he could do about it. If nothing else, I suppose this ought to prove interesting. It wasn't like he had anywhere else important to be anyhow. Without too much delay, he made his way to Emily's chambers, eager at least to find out first hand how Emily's resurrection would stack up against his own.

For the scant few moments that Alain spent diverting his attention away from Lilith, he managed to catch furtive glances piercing him from all directions. He wasn't sure if he should feel amused, or wary. The most likely explanation though, was that everyone was quietly cursing him, wondering how the 'badger in a dress' had managed to last more than a minute in conversation without being "given an alternative lesson" as Lilith had put it. Her mention of Belial put a playful smirk on his face. Among nobles and royals he had to be guarded, but here in anonymity, the dense irony of her words were far too palpable for him to simply ignore. Was she testing him? Simply trying to entice him by acting devious? Or was she perhaps coyly trying to hint at something? Either way, he felt content. Alain dipped close towards her, his lips gently brushing against her ear. "If the heart is willing, then perhaps..." "But first, a proposal." He straighten himself up, moving away from Lilith and creating some distance between them. "I will admit I'm finding myself increasingly enthralled by the pleasure of your company Miss, however, I also happen to value practicality." He spoke slowly, keeping his gaze level. She was sultry, and refined yes--but he had enough sense not to be so easily deceived by mere seduction. "Perhaps you might be interested in showcasing your skill at the coliseum this evening? Although your last outing was apparently rather fruitful, I'd still be willing to sponsor your entry as a courtesy. If you perform well, you can keep the excess for yourself--and then we can discuss the matters of contract. If not, well... I'm afraid you'll have to return to frivolity among brutes and barbarians for some time longer," he mused.

1. If you click on each thread, generally Shin will have a plot summary at the start of every arc in a spoiler tag or something. You can read those to initially familiarize yourself with the story. If you get accepted, others/Shin can likely fill you in on more in-depth plot points if they need to be discussed. 2. Here's a link to the Google Doc which we use which shows all the current active players and the characters they are associated with: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1NkJejtfCVnA2zzQbHTc216aj9HiBp9c4AB7FVkk9gjU/edit?pli=1#gid=315093604. You can read the bios tab for a small blurb on each character, or go to the Useful Links section near the end for a separate document collecting the various bios of each PC. 3. A lot of the "roles" from the sign-up page aren't really applicable anymore in the standard sense. This far into the game you can hash out any character idea with Shin and that would probably prove more fruitful than trying to shoehorn your character into a set category. I say this, because initial sign-up options like Lord/Sibling/Lancer are still filled, and likely wouldn't make sense adding on to at this point. But Shin will allow a certain creative flexibility. For example, my character is currently acting as a liaison for the Queen of Raewald and the Twin Royals of Wyke. You're not going to see something like that in main post. 4. It's pretty varied. The glass cannon role is currently occupied by yours truly. (According to most, it hasn't worked out too well). But don't let me stop you of course. If you're more into originality though, or trying to fulfill party needs, light magic could be your niche. There's also a lancer, which we have relatively few of among the PC's (actually one, and it's not a main weapon).

"Dragon Breath. Rawr." - Nowi 2017

If they don't want to keep the whole asian aesthetic of the class, I feel like they could easily re-tool the whole ninja kit into the traditional thief/assassin class. Every shuriken can easily be replaced by a knife. I feel like shoehorning "ye typical ninja country" into every future Fire Emblem would get tiresome very fast, as has been seen with children already (though perhaps not nearly as egregious).

"You would be surprised the places this gentleman has managed to find himself," said, trying to stifle a laugh. The sewers, the void, and a twisted reality. One of those things was perhaps less impressive compared to the other two, but it was the most fitting in context of the conversation at least. "Though I don't think you're going to be able to teach me much," he said, having himself a bit of a drink. "Not if you're anything like the last woman who said that to me." He thought back to the brief conversation he'd had with Morganna on the boat. How clever she must have presumed herself to be, trying to talk down to him like he was still a novice. He'd had his fun exceeding her expectations though, so he couldn't be too upset. "Still, if you have ample time to be wasting in a place like this--on people like these--I take it you've been unemployed for some time?" He pushed the mug away, sliding it back towards the woman. Part of him wondered why she was wasting away time at a bar instead of putting more effort into looking for work. He didn't particularly care, but still. "Are you fond of traveling?"

"My first time?" he asked, slightly perplexed. "My first time here? I suppose it would be, yes. Though the area is not altogether foreign to me," he replied thoughtfully. "That said, I was told to always keep my wit sharp and my manners proper," he further explained. He'd just come away from traveling with a Prince and a Princess. It was a hard habit to drop, even though he'd faltered earlier at the door. "Would you prefer the alternative? Fish-guts and badgers--dirty droogs and all that? I'm sufficiently out of practice, but I've spent the better part of my day observing," he quipped, showing the faintest bit of a grin. "As for my curiosity... well at first glance you seem to be cut from a different cloth than the other guests of this fine establishment. So I suppose I was simply curious about how a mercenary like you might have found herself part of such a gathering," he gestured at the slobbering, drunk, and otherwise unruly men that surrounded them. "I suppose I'm also curious about why I'm the only one seated next to you? Surely a lady like yourself would attract more than a meager crowd of one?" he mused.

"The roast!" he exclaimed, hoping the bartender would hear him over the incessant whining of the other patron. The tea store had done little to remind him just how obnoxious bottom-dwellers could be when they congregated en masse. That said, he would never admit that he had been anywhere near as inane as a child. Thinking about how he could have very well ended up like these men given enough time though, made him shudder. He thought to make a prayer for his family, but he wondered if invoking Belial's name would be more akin to a curse rather than a blessing. Reward them for their kindness and keep them from despair--for it is by their hand that I was led to your service. Good enough. His order taken, and his prayers said--he looked out now into the sea of "badgers" and "fish-guts" wondering which man he'd have to throttle before they collectively understood that he was "danker" than all of them combined. Much to his surprise, he realized that the answer might very well be no one at all. He had to look twice to make sure he wasn't suffering from any adverse side-effects of the tea he'd been served earlier. But no matter how many times he looked away, she was still sitting there. It was a wonder the whole room wasn't transfixed by her. Boorish men like these, and not even a half-dozen of them even paying her any mind? If anything it was absolutely suspicious. He thought about asking the bar-tender but he'd already gone off somewhere, likely taking more orders or some such. She's pretty yes, but in a place like this...? He didn't doubt the possibility that she had some fatal flaw about her. Something not apparent just on the surface but he wouldn't find out unless he spoke to her first. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he recognized the amount of shallowness his reasoning exuded, but he just couldn't persuade himself to have to deal with the alternative. Fish-guts or pearls? The answer was a little too obvious at that point. "Excuse me miss, I hope this seat's not taken?" he asked, seating himself next to her. Her features were even more striking up-close and the way she juxtaposed the room was rather astounding. He sat in silence for a moment, deliberating on how best to proceed. It's a conversation Alain, not a political discourse. "Are... you a mercenary by chance?" he asked, noticing the blade by her side. Good enough.

Alain couldn't help but be amused. Proud to the very end. Oh well, he'd gotten what he wanted--no need to pull rank in a place like this. "Good to hear it, be seeing you then," he said, nodding rather politely to the burlesque man, and making his way inside. The Cursing Horseman was... an interesting place to say the least. The atmosphere here was far more wild than at the Codger, which he'd noted had been a little subdued. Maybe he just hadn't been paying attention though. He'd gone to the Codger for business, here, he was actually a patron. And as a patron, the first thing he wanted to get out of the way was food, so he set about doing just that. "Hey," he said, beckoning the bartender towards him. "Mind tellin' me what you guys got for food around here?" He wasn't expecting much, just something to sate the hunger and last him through the afternoon.

Ves' Angelshin Tier List 1.0 Here are the average stats referred to (averages are not referred to as unit growth averages, but party averages. "Ves, you're missing luck". Yeah, I didn't bother. HP: 34.1 STR/MAG: 12.8 SKL: 14.7 SPD: 13.3 DEF: 10.6 RES: 5.7

For some time Alain once again began to wander the sullied streets of Tytila's underbelly, passing by men, women, and children who reminded him all to much of who and what he used to be. And now I speak to Kings and Queens. That would never stop being a surreal thought to him. Eventually, he managed to find The Cursing Horseman. Now it was just a matter of getting in. Simple enough. Or maybe not. Turd...burgler? Is he talking to me? Is that really what I look like? Really? Is that better or worse than being a droog? He sighed. It seemed every establishment of this breed had an equally mind-numbing doorman at the forefront. Actually, that was an incorrect observation. The man at the Codger spoke a wild language, but at least he was easy enough to talk through. This man seemed to be a completely different beast. Or perhaps this was supposed to be par for the course, and the Codger had been the foreign exception. Either way, it looked like he'd have to strong-arm his way through. Just like the old days. "...Listen closely piss for brains," he hissed, "what I think is that instead of making you look like those drunken shit-muffins on the floor, I'll let you keep your dignity for a bit and show you something interesting," he replied, bringing out Claire's Frost tome. He hadn't spent too much time with it, but he'd played around with it enough to be able to manage some theatrics. Within moments, visible wisps of chilled air began forming around his freehand, slowly deposing into a thin needle of ice, barely longer than his hand and no wider than his finger. "Just don't get too close, you really don't want to see this in red," he cackled tossing the icicle to his side. As the ice shattered on the ground, the resulting shards erupted into a conglomerate of jagged spines nearly half the doorman's height, all stretched in his direction. Carefully, Alain broke off a piece and offered it to the man. "So..." he whispered, leaning in close. "Do you think a wimpy little weasel in a skirt like me can get into a shit hole like this? What do you think? Hmmm?"

"Maybe I'll give it a go next time around," he said, not entirely sure there even would be a next time. Just because he didn't want to forget his old life, didn't mean he constantly wanted to relive it. He held the cup up to his mouth, cooling the tea as best he could before taking his first sip. He tried not to think too much about how the cup had been cleaned. "It's got a nice ah, flavor to it..." he remarked, spending a few idle moments thinking about his plans for the rest of the day. At some point he presumed he would have an audience with the Queen. He needed to talk to Claire about Emily. And before that he needed to have a space set up for him at the college. Perhaps some food was in order as well. "A dentist, a shop-owner, a tea-maker, and a deliverer, huh?" he mused. This man had built himself quite the resume. "I'll be sure to stop by if any of my friends need a gift, but for now, I suppose I must be off," he said finish up as much of the tea as he could muster. He bid the owner a good-day and left the appropriate amount of coin next to his cup and walked out, feeling slightly reinvigorated. It's a wonder how I used to be able to live like this... worse even. Then again, he'd faced his fair share of trials even as a noble--it would be a lie to say his life was now strictly easier in every aspect. Next Stop: The Cursing Horseman

Concerning Rumors No Justeace "Cow milk's fine, thanks," Alain replied, turning down the more...exquisite milks. He had to admit though, he was surprised at the wide variety the mangy shop had to offer. That being said, he also wouldn't be surprised to find out if it was all the same stuff just under a different label. Hearing about the shop owner's 'last lady' put him in an odd sort of mode. But he had to remind himself, that in this area stuff like this was a more common occurrence than in the more amicable parts of society. He wasn't here to act as an arbiter of justice. He was just here to sate his whims, and for a bit of tea. "Aye, cryin' shame that is. Hope you find another lass without a fancy for ass. It's always the good men with the rotten luck isn't it?" he smirked. "But I don't know, maybe" he lied. Perhaps King Olaf wouldn't mind a foreign gift, hmm? It was an amusing thought, but not one worth entertaining much thereafter. "For now, I'm just here to taste the goods, hope you don't mind," he admitted. He'd only just got back to Raewald--he didn't want to spend his first moments trying to pick out political enemies and debating whether silencing them would be worth it. "How'd you get into the business anyway," he asked, finding himself slightly more curious about Raewald's underworld and it's inhabitants.

Alain recoiled at the sight of the shop and it's keeper, almost turning back the way he'd came. But he powered through his aversion and stepped inside, if only to appease his conscience. He was the only customer it seemed. I can't imagine why... "Just give me whatever's cheap--with milk," he sighed, picking a table at his leisure and seating himself. "And it better be tea, not 'tea'," he clarified, pulling his hood up. He took a moment to look around the store. It was dirty, mangy, unkempt and worn-down in every corner that he looked. "You seem like a swell guy, you got a missus? How often do you make deliveries? ...Any recent orders?" he inquired. He thought about asking about repeat customers, but he knew well enough how these places worked. Ratting out a patron was a surefire way to either lose ones business, or lose ones life.

Tytila at last. With all that had happened, it had started to feel like he'd been away from his homeland for years, not weeks. Just seeing the iron-gates of the city was cause enough for a wave of relief to wash over him. It was likely the Queen, or one of her representatives would want to speak with him at some point for a progress report, so he'd have to be careful not to lose track of time. By the week's end he hoped to get some time to return home and spend some time with his family. He was especially keen on telling his brother about everything that had happened thus far. But for now he decided it would be best to relax a little and ease the weariness of travel. No princes, no princesses, no kings, no queens, no sirs, no ladies, no wizards, no executions, and no diplomatic duty. Every now and again he liked to remind himself of where he came from. He wasn't born into nobility. He'd been plucked from the heart of poverty and worked relentlessly thereafter to make sure he was up to par. He had moved on since then, but he wouldn't allow himself to forget. Alain the Ragamuffin was every bit a part of him as Sir Alain Duhamel had become. First Stop, THE TEA STORE.

1992 Celica looks like she got raised by an amazoness tribe. I wont harp on it too much though. 25ish years ago, etc etc. 2012 Celica looks like generic loli waifubait. I've seen this art before, but I didn't even register that she was the main character for a mainland title. 2017 Celica looks like a dignified young lady. She actually looks fantastic.

It came as a bit of a shock that Prince Owen hadn't heard what happened to Scuttle. Is he feigning ignorance? The importance of the matter was almost synonymous to Scuttle's own crime, and yet she was still free to roam as she pleased and Emmet was about to be put to the sword. He didn't want to argue about unfairness for a guilty man, but that's what it came down to. And yet, Owen's expression remained resolute. That said, standing in the way of the Prince of Wyke wasn't something he would consider without an extremely good reason. And unfortunately for Emmet, he just wasn't good enough. He would leave it to Queen Ethel to voice any objections if she chose to do so. "Very well, if that is your desire," Alain replied, recoiling slightly as the Prince brought out his Epee. Despite whatever crimes Emmet may have committed, having him drown in his own blood seemed far too grim. Emmet himself figured as much, and Owen decided that the man's final request be granted. Part of him felt something close to pity for Emmet. They had both been striving for something to achieve--Emmet with his fountain, and Alain with his magic. But Emmet's lack of foresight and inability to control himself had led to his downfall. That's where Alain managed to supersede him. And perhaps Emmet was none to pleased with that outcome, as even while he prepared for death, he still tried to bring light to Alain's darker dealings. "There is only one principle which remains immortal for our kind. Death. May you find peace in yours," he said simply, turning away as the sword was brought down. He wasn't sure whether to applaud Emmet's persistence, or laugh at his folly.

Pretty cool read, thanks for sharing. Rest in two pieces Emmet you glorious beheaded bastard. (If you're in the market for another meme build, Glimmering Blade... just saying...)

"Comfortable?" Alain chuckled, rolling his eyes at Emmet's futile attempts to turn the Prince and his men against him. "Standing next to a man like you doesn't do anything to comfort me. Please understand that I have every legal recourse to have you executed, never-mind imprisoned once we cross the border. Do recall that you yourself pointed your bow at both the Prince and Princess of Wyke. The Queen's would be allies. Breaking your contract should be the least of your worries. You are guilty of threatening regicide and attempted murder of your employer. I am no legal expert Emmet, but please refrain from spouting such nonsense. I'm sure even your brother would find it unbecoming," he grimaced.

As Larissa worked on his wounds, he found himself transfixed by the spectacle before him. With each passing moment, Emmet dug himself a deeper and deeper grave. It was astounding, really, how much he was willing to sacrifice for a chance to reclaim the fountain's elixir. Yet, in the end, it all culminated with an unsurprising betrayal from an unscrupulous man. He continued to watch as Emmet bit at the earth below, clawing like a rabid animal pleading to meet its end. It was a wonder how fragile the human mind could be. "If I may," he interjected, sliding himself between the royal siblings and Emmet. "It is my understanding that Sir Emmet here was under the employ of Lady Adele. However, he is first and foremost a subject of Raewald, and a member of house Dun. Should he refuse to listen to reason, I would humbly request that you refrain from passing any further judgement until after we have arrived," he said, looking back at Emmet. He was curious to know how Emmet would respond to the Prince's offer of redemption, knowing that his only other option would be to return home. "Thrice we have seen this accursed liquid, and twice it has been in the hands of our enemy. Malaphar is a threat to yourself, and until we find out his goals, he may very well be a threat to us all. It seems unlikely, but I wouldn't doubt the possibility that perhaps Sir Emmet here has been in conversation with the enemy prior to this moment--despite any proclamations he may have to the contrary," he said. "If you wish to pardon him, that is your prerogative Prince Owen, and if you find yourself wanting for him to atone for his misdeeds, her Majesty will surely have no qualms with that. All I ask is for him to be given some time. If Scuttle Thames was given her course, I would see that in fairness, the same be done to him," he finished, stepping away and standing over Emmet, curious if he would continue his futile attempt to run away.

Slowly but surely, Marcus, Alain, and Scarlet made their way over to the unfolding scene where, much to Alain's contentment, his feet found the ground once more. He'd arrived just in time to hear Owen's conjecture as well as Apellon's reply and that set the gears in his head turning. Even if Apellon and and Arteria weren't directly working for Malaphar, there was no doubt in Alain's mind that the wizard could have been manipulating the two for his own needs from the very start. He'd done as much to them, so it wasn't entirely out of the realm of possibility. And if that was indeed the case, that would mean there was also the possibility that Malaphar knew that Owen and his company would be traveling to Raewald through Magonsaete and had the twins stationed to meet them upon the ship's landing. But how... With the way the wizard operated it wouldn't surprise Alain if the answer was 'he just knew'. But perhaps there was a more logical reason... was somebody in contact with him? Where is the logic in that? We've only just met him and he wouldn't have even known we existed until then. That's what he'd thought anyway. But then it dawned on him. Malaphar wasn't just some nobody. He'd apparently been in contact with Owen's father, King Oswald. He had history with Wyke, and he had history with Owen's family in particular. But Owen didn't know about Malaphar, which suggests Oswald never mentioned him to his children... He felt like he was on the cusp of something big, but it would have to wait. His head was starting to hurt, and he needed to rest before stressing out over theories and conjectures. It pained him to be so overly needy, but at the same time he was appalled that he'd gone so long without any healer except Emmet attending to him. And Emmet was as good as useless so that wasn't saying much. Speaking of... In the span of time that Alain had taken composing his thoughts, Emmet had gone from one side to the other, bow now drawn taut against Cassandra, Owen, and all the rest. He had to stifle a bit of a laugh seeing that. The man was a fool. In one swift stroke, he'd made an enemy of two nations. He'd like to tell Owen he was wasting his breath, but he didn't feel like getting involved in the debacle. With Emmet gone, he wouldn't have to worry about the man pestering him with suspicions. He was fine with that. "Miss Larissa, I'm sorry to bother," he said, tapping the woman on her shoulder. She seemed frozen, staring at the body that Sebastian was tending to. Perhaps Emmet's outburst had given her further reason to withdraw to herself. Looking over her shoulder, he began to understand that Marcus had been talking about Emily, and not Laudine's mercenary. And Emmet was likely brought to irrationality because someone had the bright idea to give Emily the vial. At least he could say he wasn't around when that decision was made, so whatever the outcome, he wouldn't feel like he would be to blame if something went horribly wrong. "If you'd like to take a moment more to grieve, I can understand... but if you could heal me that would be most appreciated," he said. He wasn't sure what sort of relationship Serge's mercenaries had with each other, but he hoped she wasn't too distraught as to not be able to tend to him. It's just one thing after another with these Reliants it seems.

"Sir Alain," he corrected, "you don't need to add the Raewald part either..." he said with look of amusement. He'd only ever admitted it to his brother, but he got a strange childlike satisfaction whenever he corrected people as to his title or rank. Years ago, the prospect of even having a title was such a foreign idea, it was practically non-existent. No doubt he assumed it to be a frivolity to those born into their status but for him, being in a position like his was, and likely would continue to be, a source of continued enjoyment in that regard. "The manner in which you communicate is rather... intriguing. Feel free to give Scarlet here my thanks," he said, approaching the griffin with a slight apprehension. He pondered the chances of the beast getting frightened for whatever reason and leaping off into the sky. And all the while he would be barely clinging on for dear life, primed to drop like a rock at a moments notice. Perhaps it would be best to reconsider? You're being stupid, just get on and get over with it. In the end, the fear of looking fearful won out, and he cautiously climbed onto the griffin. Oh dear...

Toulouse, huh? He could believe it. The giant griffin was proof enough. But what he couldn't believe was what Marcus told him after that. "Wait. They attacked a Toulousian diplomat?! Are they mad?" he asked, absolutely bewildered by Deira's audacity. It was well known that the country of Toulouse held some secrets that many countries and kingdoms in Angelcynn would love to get their hands on--but they primarily interacted only with Wyke. That's what he'd heard anyway. But for Deira to attack Toulouse's diplomat and Wyke on top of that was preposterous. He wasn't sure if it would be enough to cause Toulouse to mobilize troops, but at the very least it likely stripped away any chances the kingdom had at future relations with the foreign power. What sort of game is Olaf playing at? Alain got up off the ground, enough to bring the view of the other side into focus. He saw the two figures Marcus was talking about, and immediately put two and two together. The woman he could recognize even by her silhouette... he'd seen her fighting them when they'd first landed on Magonsaete's shores. She was also the woman that Cassandra had told him about. The man he figured, then, was the same one who Serge had mentioned. The pair of "immortal" warriors... "To some extent yes," he muttered. First the bandits, then the Deiran mercenaries, and now these two. How were people finding them so easily? And why did they all get together and decide to show up one after the other. Honestly, he wouldn't even be surprised if Malaphar showed up after this. "Marcus, could you help me up? The mercenaries are gone, and I'd very much like to survey the scene. Just stay vigilant and make sure I don't die. I'd hate for your conscience to shoulder more than it can bear..." It wouldn't be until later that he would actually get to thinking, but holding a debt from a Toulousian knight could prove to be worth something. A nobleman would have been ideal, but beggars couldn't be choosers. He'd learned that the hard way.