Mail Call! Fidelia's Storytime

From FiranMUX

Supply Tent

The pungent aromas from medicinal agents mix and linger in this large space like a complex perfume, cloying to some and a comfort to those familiar with their uses. Countless yards of canvas stretch over the massive tent's sturdy wooden frame, forming billowing walls that guard and conceal all the supplies housed within. Meticulous organization leaves these supplies neatly divided and easily accessible, carving efficiency into what would otherwise be an overwhelming, confused jumble of resources. In a pinch, stacked storage containers can be shifted to create private space for wounded, backup territory should the nearby medical tents have overflow.

Daytime filters through the canvas roof and walls to fill the tent with light, decreasing dependence on the oil lamps burning from various stable places about the room.

Lemachus slips into the tent looking honestly a little baffled.

Kelarik is digging through the mail barrel, making a list of names. A long list of names. No, rly. A REAL LONG list of names.

Fiero tosses a bag at Lemachus feet, but he's too wimpy to carry it. "There you are soldier." *Firan*

Arik arches a brow at a bag and purses his lips before clearing his throat and raising it, "I am.... FAIRLY certain that this is not from my wife." He points out eyeing people dubiously. *Firan*

Veliana sits off to the side, as others come and go with their mail. She's got a couple bags to look through and she is quite pleased to do so without prying eyes at the moment. She focuses on one letter and seems to sink into the shadows of a corner somewhere with her whiskey.

Norik looks into his own bag, "And I'm fairly certain this isn't from your wife either." *Firan*

Lemachus picks up the gift with some effort and peeks into the bag with a continuing look of bafflement. He rummages around thoughtfully with its contents. Hey, cherries! "Uhm, who's it from?" he asks. He picks out the scroll and blinks at it. "I ... can someone read this?" *Firan*

Gemma has arrived.

Kelarik just lets out a soft little snicker, not saying a single word about where things come from. It's not his to judge. It's just his to go through the mail. Sort, sort... "Oh, sure, I can read it, but d'ya want me to," he asks over his shoulder, still sorting. *Firan*

"I dunno," Lemachus says. He lifts his thumb and scratches at the side of his face, beside the strap of his helmet. "But I never learned to read and I don't know hardly anybody from the city..." The idea of a ho bag is wholly foreign to his innocent mind.

Arik is most certainly not opening the bag. He just eyes Kelarik expectantly as if expecting the 5th divver to wave a hand and make the oddity disappear. Hell if he wanted things like this he wouldn't have 5 free dove visits in a scroll rack at home!

Kelarik drops the papyrus scroll.

Kelarik is not waving his hand and making oddities disappear. Oh noez. It's up to Arik what he wishes to do with his Official Ho-Bag. He's just digging through the mail. Sortsortsort.

Norik looks at the scroll in his hands now, "Ohhh..she's only 4'11 hmm?" moving to take a seat on the edge of the wagon, not caring much if Kelarik dissaproves of where he puts his lazy arse. "Oh..this says this Rose woman has a great arse too!" *Firan*

Kelarik glances over at Fiero. "Would you mind tellin' Centurion Jericho that he's got mail? I'm not to contact him, as per my brother's orders," he says with surprising coolness in his tone. *Firan*

And oh yes. Kel just broke the rank rule. With great pleasure.

Fiero smirks and nods, "Well tomorrow your brother can't boss you around anymore, can he." *Firan*

Fiero garners the exclusive services of a military messenger.

A military courier takes a message, salutes, and strides off.

Arik blinks several times and just arches a brow at Kelarik and frowns several times. He does a quick tally. Tomorrow's a battle the day after he can probably talk to Jericho and figure out the best method of beating him.

Lemachus glances at Kelarik, and then looks back down at the scroll, as though if he stares at the letters long enough he'll magically learn to read. "Huh," he says. *Firan*

Aeryk has arrived.

Aeryk enters followed by 2 Cockatrice clan guards.

"Nope, but he weren't really bossing me around much anyhow." Kelarik just keeps digging through the mail. Yay mail.

Norik grabs the doll out of the bag and just holds it up high, "The feck....ooooh." *Firan*

Gemma keeps waiting to see if she's got any mail. But, isntead she hears Norik and eyes him. "What the feck are you talking about?!" she asks. *Firan*

Jericho has arrived.

Norik hops down from the wagon to show it to Gemma up close, "Look at this thing! I mean..this is just..great!" wiggling it around in front of her. *Firan*

Jericho steps into the Supply Tent, raising an eyebrow. He has mail? His wife is here and his kids can't write...

Gemma oohs, "Um, yeah a doll." she says, eyeing it. "Looks like a floofy Firan." *Firan*

Veliana stuffs her letter in her backpack and looks around for a bit. She watches the others, as she rummages through the rest of the stuff inside. She just seems to shake her head at Norik's antics and moves further away from the crowd. She seems to be lost in thought as she pulls out a scroll and starts writing. Its time to send mail BACK.

Kelarik glances back towards the door, pulls out a scroll, passes it to Fiero with a nod towards the incoming person, then goes back to sorting without batting an eye.

Kelarik drops the papyrus scroll.

Fiero drops the papyrus scroll.

Fiero hands off the scroll, woosh

Norik puts The Littlest Dove Doll into <3 Lonely Soldier Care Package <3 Large Canvas Bag: MALE ONLY: Norik.

Norik puts on his Masculine White Dove Leather Loincloth.

Veliana writes on papyrus scrolls: To Ocarian.

Veliana signs her name on papyrus scrolls: To Ocarian.

Veliana writes the date on papyrus scrolls: To Ocarian.

Norik finally finds the real prize, the loincloth he pulls free of the heavy bag, already tying it around his armor and just checking himself out. "THis is fantastic..." *Firan*

Lemachus has apparently forgotten about the letter in his hand that he can't read. He is standing just to the side and watching the people swarming the mail organizers with vague fascination. "Is that a loincloth?" Yes, Lemachus. Yes, it is. *Firan*

Kelarik is trying not to bust out laughing at Norik. Really. He's barely managing to keep a straight face. "So, um. Anyone need me to read 'em their letters?" *Firan*

Norik shouts, "You guys check out this loincloth!?"

Fiero says, "I think you should read Lemachus' letter. Out loud.." *Firan*

Jericho has left.

Veliana snaps her eyes up at Kelarik's offer to read the letters and gives him a soft shake of her head. She won't be needing anyone to read -her- letter. She might actually die of some sort of embarrassment, by the look on her face that much is evident as she takes another drink of that whiskey.

Kelarik opens the Letters From The Front- 42 A.U. Wooden Scroll Case: Kelarik Cylisti.

Aeryk puts papyrus scroll: Lord Aeryk IstaNydiam into Simple Leather Backpack: Aeryk's.

"Oh," Lemachus says. He holds out the scroll with, it would seem, growing trepidation. "Well. I can't read," he says.

Norik says "You want me to read it for you?" *Firan*

Gemma watches Norik put on a loincloth and laughs.

Norik puts papyrus scrolls: Scented Letter from Rose into <3 <3 Love Letters <3 <3 wooden scroll case.

Norik puts <3 <3 Love Letters <3 <3 wooden scroll case into <3 Lonely Soldier Care Package <3 Large Canvas Bag: MALE ONLY: Norik: hobag.

Kelarik takes the scroll from Lemachus, although not until he peeks into a scroll case labelled with his name... and breaks off the tiniest piece of blackberry crisp, slipping it into his mouth with a look of extreme rapture. Yes. Yes, this is heaven, right here. OH GAWD REAL FOOD FROM HOME. "Okay, um..." The scroll case is snapped closed, and he clears his throat in preparation to read aloud Lemachus' scroll. *Firan*

Kelarik eats 0.001 blackberry crisps.

Kelarik closes the Letters From The Front- 42 A.U. Wooden Scroll Case: Kelarik Cylisti.

Kelarik puts Letters From The Front- 42 A.U. Wooden Scroll Case: Kelarik Cylisti into a Sound of Silence Corbeau Leather Backpack.

Aeryk picks through the barrel and, thank heavens, finds nothing for him. He still has his half-finished letter in hand, though, so this seems like a - good time to write.

Norik simply does a quick flexing pose for Gemma in reply to her laughter while listening intently to what that scroll says. "Speak good and loud, Kelarik. I wanna hear this one." *Firan*

Lemachus pulls out one of the cherries from his canvas bag and eats it with a quiet contentment for the advent of fruit. "They sent honey, too. I could ... bake a tart," he says, more to himself than to anybody. He peers at Kelarik, after a sidelong glance in Norik's direction for that request. "Who's it even from?" *Firan*

Kelarik clears his throat, then starts reading aloud. And by 'aloud', that's more 'a-loud', yes. "Hello, my name is Rose. I am a 'working girl' from the Dove." Snicker. "I thought I'd write you a letter t'brighten your day. I know my writing ain't too good yet, but I'm getting lessons! Let me tell you a little about myself..." *Firan*

Lemachus eats 1 cherries.

Fiero bites his lip to keep from laughing.

Veliana looks up from her writing when Kelarik starts reading. Poor Lemachus is clueless. She shakes her head with a slight smirk and goes back to her letter writing. She's got something to reply to!

Fidelia has arrived.

Fidelia is followed by Justice, the large hound.

Justice, the large hound has arrived.

Fidelia enters followed by 15 Bear clan guards.

"I've just turned 18 years old. I have amber-gold hair that is rather curly, honey hued skin, and indigo eyes. I've been told I have a nice figure, but I'm not real sure of that myself. I know I do have rather.." Kelarik squints, shakes his head at one word, then continues, "large chest area and a nice rump... it's pinchable at least." Oh yes. He's relishing reading this. Obnoxiously.

Norik grabs some of the cherries from his pack and zones in on Lemachus, "Hey..thats what I got from Rose too.." giving a slight sigh. "Thats gonna be one overworked dove when we get back." *Firan*

Fiero almost falls over when Fidelia comes in, like he's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Aeryk endeavors to keep a very tight attention on his letter. Hmm dee dum.

Gemma is a little busy eyeing the men with their ho-bags to speak. She picks a wagon, leans on it, and listens.

Arik is standing around. He eyes Kelarik dubiously and gestures once more at the bag that has been placed near him. THis is does not compute. Why does he have this odd thing! He doesn't even want to touch it! He looks around trying to find someone better to deliver it. Hmm victim victim victim

Lemachus flushes an admirable shade of pink, which honestly doesn't go that great with his coppery hair, and says, predictably, "Err. She's -- I ... see," he mumbles, and the flush of his round cheeks darkens further. Oh dear. *Firan*

Fidelia wanders in, looking like any other soldier. Well, any other middle-aged soldier with an obscenely large honour guard. One of the military hounds trails after her, looking assertive, forbidding, and occasionally cuddly. She notes mildly, "I am sure she is actually a he and fifty-seven years old." *Firan*

Esen is privately enjoying listening to the letter being read aloud. When he hears Fidelia's voice interrupts, his face pales a bit, although he doesn't stand. Although everyone probably knows who she is anyway.

Tyrsun has arrived.

Tyrsun enters followed by 4 Gold dragon clan guards.

Fiero stands at attention when Fidelia enters, but after she speaks 'lil' Fiero falters and hides.

Aeryk either decides that 'dying in first major sortie due to very bad luck' is a terrible phrase to put in a letter to his sister, is suddenly and belatedly deeply offended by Lemachus's leader-read-by-proxy - or just noticed Fidelia. Because he looks up. Oh does he.

Norik is just standing there, wearing the shabby loincloth around his armor and listening to Kelarik intently.

"I do hope you are smashing the horned goats," Kelarik continues reading, blissfully ignorant of Fidelia's presence. "When I was a little girl I was almost taken by them. I thank the Gods every day that I am safe and alive. What else? Um... na! What I LIKE! I like..." Wait. That voice behind him. It's really, really familiar. He should really recognize that super-soft Clan Leaderish voice. But he's squinting at a word, too.

Justice, the large hound pushes into your leg and trods upon your foot, as if claiming you.

Fidelia contributes helpfully, "I like long walks on the beach, very sharp hairpins, and the smell of wolfsbane in the morning. Good day, all." *Firan*

Lemachus is not so fortunate as to miss the entrance of the Clan Leader. He ... squeaks.

Gemma can't help but laugh at Fidelia's words, offering a bow during her laughing.

Fiero clears his throat and says, "Kelarik...shut up." He then smiles nervously at Fidelia, "Ma'am..." He trails off. *Firan*

Blink. Blink blink. Hairpins, what? OH FECK. Kelarik nearly flings the letter at Lemachus, like it's a hot potato.

Kelarik gave you papyrus scroll: For a lonely Soldier!.

Kelarik drops the papyrus scroll.

You pick up the papyrus scroll.

Norik turns around abruptly, hands trying to cover the front bit of the loincloth as if he were naked or something and just going into stealth mode, trying to tiptoe his way toward the exit, if possible.

Fidelia gives an icy sharp Ista Aldrik 'you will behave' look. To Justice, the pushy hound.

Aeryk laughs. It is a very, very quiet laugh, as much startled as anything, but Aeryk accompanies it with a low bow in the Clan Leader's direction.

Lemachus almost fumbles it spastically in his haste to ... hide the incriminating document in the bag from which it came. He makes a little gibbering noise which doesn't actually resolve into words, but is neither a swear word nor a passably coherent attempt at saying "ma'am". *Firan*

Lemachus puts papyrus scroll: For a lonely Soldier! into large canvas bag: For a lonely /MALE/ soldier!.

papyrus scroll: For a lonely Soldier! has left.

Kelarik scrabbles frantically to get himself turned around and bowing Fidelia-ward, the hood of his robe dropping over his suddenly-crimson face with the depth of the cowl. Crap. Crapcrap. This is bad, yes.

<OOC: ROLL> Fiero rolls his Willpower at difficulty 8 and gets NO successes.

Esen tries to hold back a laugh at Fidelia's comment, but he has trouble keeping it in. Just a little laugh escapes his lips, small enough that he can stay a face in the crowd.

Tyrsun slips into the tent, as the murmurings about what's going on seem to be making the rounds in camp. He ducks inside and steps to one side to get out of the aisle, eyes fixed on Fidelia.

Arik freezes. Like many of the rest he just isn't sure how to do with this He purses his lips and just observes. He offers his own quiet, "Ma'm." along with the rest not sure of what to make of it. *Firan*

Fiero bites his lip, and he's turning red. Really he is...suddenly his willpower gives away and he just bursts out laughing. Tears rolling down his cheeks laughing. Worst. Bear. Ever.

Kelarik remains bowing towards Fidelia. Face crimson, completely unmoving, scarcely breathing. He's so going to die. He just knows it.

Red? Oh yes, red. Lemachus is red, from the tip of his nose to the edges of his protuberant ears, never mind the plump roses of his round cheeks. He looks to Aeryk for ... some reason. Possibly hoping for the advent of telepathy.

Fidelia's face is impassive. She's very good at impassive. She toys with Justice's ears, and comments lightly, "I did rather wonder why everyone was here. The mystery has been solved." *Firan*

Impassive is good.. right? Right? Kelarik ain't moving. Nope.

Veliana just seems to put her scroll down. She is a bit distracted by all the laughter and the commotion. She stops writing and cocks her head to the side. The men have been -caught- red handed. Tsk. Her grey-blue eyes fall on Fidelia as she watches the woman with interest. She pulls a wood carving out of one of her bags as she watches, absently moving her fingers over the edges of the wood. She can't seem to tear her eyes away from all the men, red-faced and laughing. Its actually quite amusing.

Aeryk looks back, but telepathy is not adventing - and while Aeryk's face is not completely without sympathy, it's pointedly not much of anything. Aeryk has been on the nerved side all day. He is not going to move too quickly to do anything.

Fidelia glances about her. "So this is the supply tent, is it?" she inquires, apparently completely oblivious to laughter and embarrassment. Or savouring it in her own special Ista Aldrik way. "Is there somewhere for an old woman to sit? It is my birthday, after all, and it would be terribly rude to leave me standing." *Firan*

Gemma looks around, after bowing to Fidelia. She doesn't speak but points to some of the padded wagons -- one which she's having a seat on.

Norik has left.

Aeryk takes - takes stock. Whilst still not doing anything, nor following up his laugh with another one. Let us see. There is a wagon. And a wagon. And a wagon. And a wagon. Alternatively, an ox. Aeryk decides to stick to not doing anything. Gemma has this well in hand.

There are some moments which are frozen in time. Lemachus comes out the other side of one of his with a jagged breath, and manages not to faint. He still stands there totally tongue-tied, and there may be danger of trembling. People are laughing. Is that a good sign? He doesn't know. He clears his throat to make sure that it still works, and then quails in the fear that someone will take this as preparatory to actual speech.

Arik blinks several times at this. First okay High Priestess of the lands? In the Supply tent. Next she needs a seat and doesn't have one! And last it's omg her birthday and he has no present...or cake! there must be cake! He purses his lips again but leaves it to the 5th to sort out. After all it's Kelarik who got caught! He looks around. He supposes he could order one of the sentry's into a seat... Kelarik is a sentry.

Bow. Scrape. Edge back /behind/ the mail barrel. Kelarik knows when he's in deep, and while the mail barrel isn't really any sort of protection from Clan Leadery might, he feels just the tiniest bit more comfortable there, as if perhaps it gives meaning to his existence. "Uhm," he begins, his voice literally cracking, and he clears his throat, trying to figure out how to speak again. Tongue-tied much? "Your Honor, lemme get a chest for you to be sitting on real fast promise it won't take long--" And he bolts for his tent. Fidelia doesn't have to sit on the dirty back of a wagon. She can sit on his comparatively clean chest.

Fiero ponders getting on his hands and knees to let his CL sit on his back in absence of a seat but decides he's not comfortable as a chair. He looks around sharply and then pulls a trunk off one of the wagons. "Here you are Ma'am..Happy birthday, you are looking wise and youthful.." *Firan*

Fidelia scans those present for a moment, and then regally inclines her head, accepting Fiero's offered trunk. She settles onto it, smoothing the wrinkles from her robe. Justice pads over to her, and rests her head on the clan leader's thigh, who regally ignores the doggy drool. "You know," she says, stroking the dog's head. "I spent my nineteenth birthday at war, too. So very long ago." *Firan*

Aeryk opens his mouth to say something. Something witty and relevant like "I may see my seventeenth here, won't that be swell?" Or "Cool dog." Or - Aeryk shuts his mouth and inclines his head in sort of a shadow of the bow he did earlier. *Firan*

Gemma keeps sitting on the wagon, listening to the Clan Leader.

Kelarik manages, with difficulty, to skid to an abrupt halt before crashing into his tent. Whew. Fiero got it faster than he did. But that looks like a far, far better place for him to stand, really. It's just slightly more distant from Fidelia, anyhow, and that in and of itself makes him a lot more comfortable. Breathing just a little raggedly with his nervousness, he looks over at Fiero, mouthing something nervously.

Fiero looks worried when Justice starts to drool. Damnit dog! I raised you better! He thinks... "Did you Ma'am? I didn't know you had been to war so recently..." He looks around for cake or something and then says, "Ma'am..Justice there seems to have taken a liking to you. I would be honored if you would accept her as a gift, and take her with you when you return home.." Oh Gods let her like hounds.. *Firan*

Arik is content to let others handle seat producing and tents. He blinksnoting doggy and clan leader and SEES NO DOGGY DROOL. He pauses and then like usual when it's inappropriate for him to comment he says something doing a quick tally and realizes he doesn't actually know the Clan Leader's precise age. Even he's not crazy enough to ask her how old she is instead he steps forward a bit nearer to speak and might say something but Fiero's got the conversation in hand.

Tyrsun strolls a bit further into the tent, perhaps to get a better look at his new Clan Leader, or maybe even just to hear her better. Unlike some of the others assembled, however, he's not fumbling over himself to fetch a seat, or to goad along her stories. He seems quite content to let things approach at their own pace.

Esen leans forward as he listens to Fidelia talk. It sounds as if she's about to begin reminiscing, which can be entertaining in itself. Again, he stays back, trying to remain one of the faceless crowd instead of drawing any attention to himself. At least, not yet.

Fidelia snorts at Fiero. "You are a dreadful flatter. I turned nineteen and Elianos and my aunt still ruled in Anarinuell. It was a long time ago. But if you can spare the dog, I would appreciate the gift. The older I grow, the more I appreciate animals. They give what is very difficult to find in a person -- love without treachery." She continues stroking the dog's head. "Let's see. I was eighteen when we shipped out, more or less fresh out of Nelanos. It might be hard to realise now, but I was no one important then, even if I was an Ista Aldrik. I was a priestess and an healer, and I could shoot and sneak a little, and my aunt and my sister gave me my blessing to go. I had plain armour and a spear, and I was terrified." *Firan*

While Fidelia keeps most of the soldier's captive with her riveting stories, Gemma stands and sneaks out.

Gemma has left.

The tips of Fiero's ears turn red and he bows his head, stepping backwards as he says, "It would be an honor if you would have her..." He keeps edging backwards, as Fidelia begins her story, glancing back at Kelarik.

Cautiously, Lemachus begins to acknowledge the possibility that the coast is reasonably clear and that there is no need for him to die of mortification or attempt to physically retreat entirely into the shell of his armor like a white, clumsy tortoise. Still clutching the incriminating canvas bag in the press of his fingers, he leans against one of the wagons slightly to use its support to hold himself up. He brushes the fingertips of his other hand against the shaft of the spear, lower lip caught in his teeth as he listens. His soft brown eyes are dark with contemplation, flicking from Fidelia towards his sponsor and then back again at the mention of that long-ago fear.

Veliana perks up a little when Fidelia starts spinnign her memory. She tilts her head and listens. An initiate and healer, Veliana actually finds this story to be something she might be able to relate to. She watches the woman with great interest. She looks towards the others, who are falling all over themselves, but the woman simply stays in her quiet corner, scroll on her lap and listens. She seems genuinely interested.

Kelarik seems to steel himself, digging around in his backpack for the scroll case that came in the mail, and very hesitantly moves across the room. Must make apologies for reading the contents of a ho-bag in front of Fidelia, yes. This is a wise safety maneuver on his part, intended to hopefully save his mangy hide. Edging carefully around the supply tent, looking beyond nervous, he offers quietly to Fidelia, "I'm about to be turning eighteen in a couple days, so I kinda might maybe know how you feel a bit. And my wife sent me some crisps. Be glad to share some with you for your birthday, Ma'am, although I'm afraid I don't have no cake to offer you or anything right now. But they're real good. Tasted part of one just a few minutes ago. But a birthday, it oughta come with sweets." He abruptly runs out of words, falling awkwardly silent. *Firan*

Esen wiggles his fingers as he starts counting backwards. Hey, he might've been at that battlefield, too, but he's darned if he can remember ever meeting her back then. Now that would be a story to tell the grandchildren.

Aeryk stops attempting to speak, one way or another, his expression seguing back toward an unstudied reserve. But his eyes remain on the Clan Leader with a hint of fascinated intrigue. A story is a story - and the old ones are sometimes best. Still, either through pity or instinct, he takes a careful sidestep toward his sponsoree.

Arik listens curiously tilting his head to the side. He knows very well how ignominous those in power could have been. After all anyone who has heard Urtenia's stories of Zarid could hardly know better, or snuck Nydiam inside the mansion after a long night... or Zaridos...Still it's curious to hear such things. And fighting in the glorious army in the time of Elianos. That if nothing else has Arik staying.

Donos has arrived.

Donos enters followed by 10 Bear clan guards and 2 republic guards.

Fidelia's expression is thoughtful. "I haven't thought about that war season for a long time. My memories are hazy now; but I kept a diary. Perhaps I should put it in the library." She pauses momentarily and smiles faintly to Kelarik. "I used to have a lady's maid, long ago, who sent me blackberry crisps every day. I hadn't thought about her in years either. She married into the Cockatrice and died, poor thing." She takes up the flow of her story again, however. "I had many friends at war, however; mere priestesses can have friends in the way clan leaders cannot. There were my cousins, Lords Thaddeus and Erythes; and friends like Nazeera Ovinik, and Lord Idham of Emran, and Lady Neshi Manosik as she was then. Lord Garen Rissik himself was the air force commander -- and, well, all sorts of people. Very few of them still alive." Her voice falls into lazy patterns as she remembers. "I went as an healer, but because I could shoot a little and sneak a little, I was asked to scout for one of the first battles. My cousin Erythes scouted with me, and there were a few others. I remember sneaking through the battlefields in the haze, and us stumbling on the Shamibelian army in the morning mist. I remember my cousin screaming, "Fiddy! Run!" as they sprang after us. I was only a girl, so I ran with the rest, and was the only scout to return on her feet. The others collapsed, unconscious, died, or were captured." *Firan*

Donos's initial words on walking towards the gathering of troops in the sprawling supply area are "Does anyone have any..." He trails off as he hears his sister's voice. Pulling his byrrus up over his head he remains quiet, a dark shape in a sea of them. *Firan*

Esen leans forward as the tale unfurls. He finds himself getting wrapped up in the tale, and he holds his breath as she discusses escaping from the persuing Shamibelians.

Aeryk's eyes half-lid, as if this were better to take in diluted. Half-word by half-word until, gradually, there is the whole. He is a young man whose single claim to glory involves being a comatose warrior carted home by companions he may or may not have saved. Survival is a different story. Being the last standing - a different story. He absorbs.

Kelarik, still nervous, seems to lose just a hint of that discomfort as he listens, if only because he's starting to get caught up in the story. It's really an absent gesture as he pulls open the scroll case he'd gotten in the mail again, breaking off one more tiny piece of crisp to taste them before taking the rest and sidling to Fiero to pass them over so that they can be delivered through the Bear guard flotilla to Fidelia. There, he's had his official two tastes of his wife's cooking. Clan Leader gets the rest. Fidelia FTW.

Kelarik opens the Letters From The Front- 42 A.U. Wooden Scroll Case: Kelarik Cylisti.

Kelarik eats 0.001 blackberry crisps.

Kelarik drops the blackberry crisp.

Veliana seems quite drawn in by the story that Fidelia spins. Her eyes look around at the others, perhaps picturing in her head, her own role as a healer in this war. She tilts her head towards the woman. Her stone features are locked into a rigid stance. When she says she was the only to survive and return, Veliana's eye brow quirks. She looks down at her scroll in her lap and then flickers her gaze back at Fidelia. She has a rather flat expression, but that doesn't reach her eyes. Her eyes are swirling with all the thoughts in her head. And especially the thoughts that are provoked by the story.

Lemachus shivers quietly in his lean against the wagon, embarrassment receded like a tide. He listens in rapt silence, his head tipped slightly to one side. He catches the details around him and spins them quietly away in his memory, hoarding them for treasures.

Fiero watches Kelarik taste the crisp and hands it to one of the guards closest to Fidelia, in case she wants it later. He leans against one of the wagons, hanging his arms over the side as he listens intently.

"There was a great battle," Fidelia continues, her words coming a little faster as she is more certain of her memories. "I fought; I did not heal, but I was a very beginner archer then and barely knew what I was doing. A Shamibelian griffon actually grasped me in its claws; for years afterward I had the marks of its claws on my arm, but I think they've faded now. I thought my time had come, then, but Lord Idham sprang up with his spear, and launched himself at the griffon. The battle continued, and I managed to drag myself back to the fort, my arm torn and bleeding. In tatters, the Firan army retreated. So many did not return. Taha, a very young Cockatrice girl; a pilot who had loved to fly, lay dead and her sister wept above her. I bandaged my arm and went to see to the wounded. Taha's sister -- what was her name? Sarkana, I think. So long ago. She sat beside her sister's body, clutching a horn that Lord Unot himself had given her, or so she thought. She wept. I crawled among the wounded and found my friend Nazeera there, bleeding from half a dozen wounds. There was a piece of griffon claw caught in an ugly wound on her chest. I attempted to extract the claw. My fingers trembled, and twisted it, and her lifeblood gushed out, all over my tunic. My friend twitched, and died in my arms there, among the wounded and the dead."

Fiero drops the blackberry crisp.

Arik listens quietly along with the rest. After all the names are not small ones. Garen, Thaddeus, Erythes, Nazeera, Idham. While it doesn't surprise him to hear the story. It's still hard to think of Fidelia as a gangly youth rushing in a begrimed state of war and crawling through the wounded and dead.

Aeryk glances down with his half-lidded eyes, as if expecting to see some echo of light and color of the battle described. The fallen drawn faint among spilled blood and stained grass. His right hand contracts slowly and he runs an absent finger along the back of one knuckle.

Fidelia takes the crisp and nibbles at it absently, her expression distant. "We felt so so lost," she whispered. "It had been a great defeat. So many had fallen. So many had been captured. The hall of the fort was silent expect for whimpering and tears. Sarkana put her horn to her lips and sounded it again and again, hoping the gods could hear us. 'Unot!' called out the wounded soldiers, the dying and bleeding, calling out for him, for anything. I sat there, with Nazeera's body in my arms, and broke into tears, praying with all my might, praying and praying because it was all I had. Nazeera twitched again, and gasped a breath, and opened her eyes. To my dying day, I think I will remember how very green her eyes were. 'Owls, Fiddy,' she whispered, as the warmth came back into her body. 'I heard _owls.'" *Firan*

Tyrsun glances towards the tent as he hears someone intrude on the story, but too late to catch who it might be. They're byrrused... Not that that's a word. He peers for a moment, and then lets it slide as he goes back to listening to the gory details of Fidelia's story with a grim smile, his thumb, traces over the stitches on the back of his right hand.

Its quite evident that Veliana has gotten lost in that story, and she seems to be able to play it out in her mind. She stands quietly and after some time, she listens, she looks like she might want to leave the tent, but she doesn't move. She watches the Clan Leader with intense eyes of grey, though her expression is clouded over as if she is picturing things in her head. She seems to be lost in throught now, but she can't seem to move. Her eyes are all that move as she darts her gaze to the door. Veliana is slowly drifting into a reclusive state, she just can't seem to move out of the tent.

Aeryk's rub of his knuckle becomes less absent and more focused, the spot between his eyebrows taking on a light clench. Not quite troubled, not quite awed. In the grey space, perhaps.

Kelarik is rapt now, listening intently, transfixed by the story. The names are familiar, but they are the names of legends, not men and women - and his eyes are distant, almost but not quite misted over as he envisions the scene and the hope it holds within it, gory as it might be. It's a story of the Gods, of legends, of myth and memory. And while it's hard to say how it affects him, it is, at least somehow, having its effect.

Fidelia continues, "I wish I could leave the story there, with the resurrection, with Unot hearing prayers in the fort. But that's not where the night ended for me. I wish it was, but it was not. Lord Garen entered the fort, with a grim expression -- of course, he was always grim -- and a chest under his arm and asked to see me. He took me to the edge of the camp, and opened the chest. There, fastened to a mask..." Her voice falters if the horror of the day is still so very clear to her, "was the eyeballs and tongue of my friend, Lord Idham, who had given his life to save mine. The Shamibelians had did this to his corpse. And at Lord Garen's request, I burnt those pieces of my friend in a tiny fire at the edge of the Firan camp, praying his soul would somehow be intact, and praying that he and Unot would forgive me." *Firan*

Fidelia eats 1 blackberry crisps.

Lemachus closes his eyes and swallows wonderment, his exhalation slow and a little shaky as he tightens the grip on the spear he carries, and lowers his head slightly. It is not quiet a prayer that grips him at the dream's edge of thought. As the tale goes on to blood and soul death, he shudders and clenches his teeth, like a whole-body wince.

Fiero looks reflective. They have a battle tomorrow and imagining broken and bleedings bodies and the death cries of friends weighs heavily on his very soul. As she talks about Idham he loses all color, he lived with the beasts and memories of what they do flood back in vivid detail.

Esen leans back, letting out his breath and giving a sympathetic grimace to the mutilated corpse of Idham. It may be long past, but realizing what the enemy is and the reminder makes him ball his fist and want to fight even harder.

Aeryk stops rubbing. His hands rest together in a lax clasp and he looks down into them. His expression has lost all clench to be nothing but indrawn and blank.

Kelarik's eyes abruptly slam shut against the mental image. That's a complete emotional recoil there, and while he's hearing the words, the look on his face is sickened. Then again, he's seen the skulls of Firans worn on the helmets of the enemy, the hideous standard they bore into his first battle. He swallows hard, and while his eyes don't open, it is obvious that he is still listening, perhaps too closely, too intently.

Veliana finally finds the moment to breathe and tilts her head towards the woman and she shuts her eyes. She seems to be trying to turn off the images. She shakes her head and whispers softly, "Excuse me.." She finally finds her legs and starts towards the door, "I am .. needed in the medical tent." Veliana makes the quickest exit possible out of the tent. *Firan*

Veliana has left.

The smirk drifts from Tyrsun's features as things turn especially dark, but he's clearly steeled himself against such gruesome details. As Veliana excuses himself, his eyes flit to follow her, absorbing the image before him carefully. His eyes narrow just slightly, but he keeps his mouth shut. For now. Dun dun dun.

Arik continues to listen. The tale of Nazeera's life. It's one he's heard bits and pieces of. Not one Nazeera particularly spoke of often but one no few number whispered of. It's not names to him and faces. He does glance around blinking as no few blanche at the image. Still standing over a field littered with Firan dead and maimed, with troops men and women singing and fighting hours before left to be policed and shipped home or burned on the sight. It's not a new image to him. Nor is the things that have been done on the Firan and the Shamibelian sides. He reaches back to absently brush to butt of his spear and murmurs quietly to himself if to no one else, "And that is the cycle to break this year." *Firan*

Donos's hood is pushed back, a grim smile upon his face as he announces to those soldiers in the tent. "The battle cry tommorow is Republic, Unity...And Lord Idham" He turns to look around the tent, marking the expressions of thos present before looking back to his sister. *Firan*

Fidelia looks down at the crisp in her hand, as if she had forgotten it, and finishes it with a few bites. "No one remembers him any more," she says quietly. "He had not yet married his betrothed, and had no children. Today he is a signature on a few pieces of art and a few altars, including the one in Unot's temple. And nothing more. He may have been the first to die for me -- but not the last." She is quiet for a long breath, playing with the hound's ears, before she continues, "A few days later there was a battle in the fort, in the room atop the tower. They fought outside as well, but some griffons had flown right into the tower and fought there. This time I was an healer only, but a battle healer, hiding behind a crate with a pouch full of healing supplies, and tending to our fallen, hoping that no Shamibelian would see me as a greater prize than any soldier. The battle was furious, but as it raged...the tower began to _shake_. Shake in a way that no mere griffon could shake it. The Shamibelians gibbered in terror, and retreated unexpectedly. We looked at each other across the room, wondering what this was now...and then one of our infantry commanders ran in. It was Zayes, not yet a Lady and still a Bear. She was a tall, strong woman, with all the courage in the world, but at that moment the look on her face was pure terror." *Firan*

Gemma has arrived.

Fiero snaps his head up when he hears Donos, pulling his arms from hanging over the wagon. He nods towards Donos and then turns back to listen to Fidelia, why she doesn't have story hour more often is beyond him.

It is the mention of Idham's memory being one largely forgotten that sends a ripple of evident unease through the young lord. Which is not to say that Aeryk has not perhaps been half concealing bits of it all along. But he composes himself dead-still again, to hear the remainder.

One of Kelarik's eyes creeps open, then the other. Zayes. He knows /that/ name. He's read too many scrolls about that one. Once more focusing on the woman sitting on the trunk, so calmly talking about things of both death and of life, he remains absolutely silent, every bit of his being focused on the story she's telling, forcing himself not to think about the horrors she describes but the reasons for it.

Gemma sneaks back in to listen, perching herself on the back of a wagon after giving her customary bow.

Fidelia carries on, "There was abject confusion, mutters of beasts and borrowing. They began to evacuate the tower by griffon. I was one of the first to go; Lord Garen rather brusquely ordered me onto his griffon. I was an Ista Aldrik after all, and no one wanted to upset the Queen. My aunt could be a very scary woman, after all. I clung to the back of his griffon as we soared through the air, and glanced back over my shoulder to see the source of the disturbance. The tower was beginning to tilt. And at the base of the tower I saw it, digging, its bronze claws gleaming in the sun, its length barely glimpsed beneath me. One thing that could terrify Zayes herself: the Carnotti." *Firan*

Tyrsun takes note as Donos pushes back his hood, keeping his stoic state at its pinnacle as he gives a slow nod to the Bossman. He studies the General for a long moment, only peripherally absorbing the tale that Fidelia tells. Until she mentions Zayes. There comes the crack in the armor, and his eyes snap almost angrily back towards the High Priestess. And there they lock, intensely focused now.

Tyrsun takes note as Donos pushes back his hood, keeping his stoic state at its pinnacle as he gives a slow nod to the Bossman. He studies the General for a long moment, only peripherally absorbing the tale that Fidelia tells. Until she mentions Zayes. There comes the crack in the armor, and his eyes snap almost angrily back towards the High Priestess. And there they lock, intensely focused now.

And this is the unknown. Carnottis and dragons, the direct touch of the gods - the unknown. The beyond-Aeryk's-limited-comprehension. He looks up and watches Fidelia again, after that long hand-staring pause.

Arik blinks as Donos appears seemingly out of nowhere. He pauses pursing his lips before nodding his head in agreement with Donos. He murmurs again to himself but smugly this time, "Should all the people forget. The Republic Military shall never forget." He wrinkles his nose then as the story goes on. Carnotti. Buggering nuisance those things. He still needs to find and blow up those tunnels. *Firan*

Esen takes great interest in listening to the tale of his aunt. He never knew what to make of Zayes while she was alive; perhaps this brief glimse into her past will help him decide now.

And this is where Kelarik once again looks completely, utterly fascinated. Bronze claws? The Carnotti has bronze claws? Wait, she's talking about Lord Garen, too. There's a little flicker of something in his face, and he almost looks like he wants to ask a question, but he doesn't, not daring to interrupt the story. That direct touch of the Gods, to him, is both unknown and not-unknown, and there's almost a reverence to his silence now as he listens.

Lemachus is wholly quiet and wholly caught up. The slow stroke of his knuckles down the side of his spear have little to do with any reassurance the weapon bears him, against the images and ideas spun by Fidelia's tale. But it anchors him here.

Fidelia takes a deep breath. "There was no more fighting that year. The Carnotti lay between the two armies like a wall. It came as a relief -- we had too many wounds to lick. Slowly the damages mounted. Lady Neshi Manosik, my friend, a sweet sheltered Gold Dragon lady who had thought her gift of healing would help the troops -- she was captured. The Shamibelians would not trade her back. She was a virgin noblewoman, her worth to them obscene. My cousin Thaddeus had been captured, too; he was traded back but there was a shadow in his eyes that had not been there before. My role changed as we prepared to leave. No longer was I an healer, but as Priestess of Unot, in charge of the bodies as they were recovered from the battlefields and traded back from the goats. Lord Idham's body returned, battered and empty of his laughing blue eyes. And another body was placed before me; the battered body of a man I had known but little, but whose wife was both kin and friend to me. I bathed him and dressed him to befit his rank -- prince. For that was Prince Vahlon Elianik, and his wife Princess Inaya waited back in Anarinuell, with her months-old baby in her arms; Prince Torianos who would never see his father again." *Firan*

Aeryk makes a motion with his jaw as if he's reciting something to himself, but his eyes are still fixed, his attention still taken.

And now the names are starting to steadily grow more familiar to Kelarik, more 'real' rather than legend, more familiar as actual people - some of whom he's met. Especially the last couple which were mentioned. Those two, he knows, or at least has met and seen. He straightens slightly, his face grim, if still raptly focused towards Fidelia as she speaks.

Fidelia's hand clenches into a fist on her knee. "And so I went home, scarred and hurting myself, bearing bodies who I had been entrusted to see to Unot. I was glad to go home. I was so tired of the dirt and the blood; and I had missed my friend Lady Bashona giving birth to her son Rikon, which I had promised to be there for. But I was never the same again. I had been sheltered myself; I had always believed my aunt and my big sister would always be there to protect me. Which turned out not to be the case, but that's another story. I had been strengthened by my experiences; it beat the girlhood out of me as a metalsmith beats the imperfections out of a blade. So that is my war story. I wish it were more inspiring, of glory and courage. But we are only Firan after all, and it comes down to this -- the Shamibelians rape and pillage and enslave and kill and batter. And we have to stop them. Because no one else will." *Firan*

Esen dares to break the near silence with a call of "Hear, hear!" If he had an ale with him, he'd be drinking it right now. *Firan*

Nelisha sticks her nose into the supply tent to see if any fresh food is available.

Fiero sighs and pulls off his helmet, running his fingers through his dirty hair before pulling his helmet back on. He says quietly, "Thank you for sharing, Ma'am...We will stop them. It's time." *Firan*

Lemachus shivers once more, and stays wholly quiet. If words may move mountains, this small hillock of a man is moved -- but where to, how far, that is yet to be seen.

Tyrsun finally speaks up, from his secluded little perch beside a stack of crates. "If you'll pardon my saying so, Ma'am. I think it /is/ a story of glory and courage. Amongst this army of fifty thousand soldiers, how many true heros do we have? A dozen? Two dozen? But we are not two dozen strong. We are fifty thousand strong. More than fifty thousand. The whole of the Firan people is behind this war. Healers, priestesses, cobbler, carpenters. And there is more glory in than fact than there is in any single soldier." *Firan*

Kelarik has whiskey in the tent, but it's not fit to cheer with, only self-medicate. And really, even then, it goes down rough. Military whiskey always seems to have a way of doing that. "Gods willing, we'll all stop them," he murmurs, his voice very soft, and it comes more as an afterthought when, a smidge louder, he offers, "Thank you," towards Fidelia. After all, it's her birthday, and she's sitting on a trunk, in the Supply tent, in a military encampment instead of in the most exquisite of homes, sharing stories of death and determination. That's pretty formidable, right there. *Firan*

Ah. Rikon. Aeryk's teacher, brother, friend. Perhaps a bit of his hero. This - grounds the narrative for the IstaNydiam. Generation brings generation to the conflict, and the older fight then as the young do now - as the old still fight. The narrative is the same. Bannos stood as they will stand, Fidelia stands as the young heirs of today stand. Perhaps to die, perhaps to come home changed, tempered. The past is mirrored in the future - save that perhaps the future can build just enough on the past to reach the victories the past could not. Something like that. But Aeryk does not voice. He closes his eyes, lets out his breath, and nods his resolve. His eyes focus with lit intensity at the - ground when he reopens them.

Donos puts Shami Map into The Lord's Treasures Small Silk Pouch.

Donos puts iris flower into The Lord's Treasures Small Silk Pouch.

Fidelia looks to her brother. Her voice is a little tight, but she says lightly, "I think I could use a drink." She takes a deep breath, her eyes glistening just a little in the light. "Some of you are of age to have served with me," she tells them. "But most of you are the next generation, sons and daughters. So many have fought and died and bled and suffered to get you to this point. Make them proud. I know you will." *Firan*

Gemma jumps up as Fidelia asks for a drink. She's old -- well older than a lot. "Can I serve you some whiskey, Your Honor?" she offers, "I fear I don't have any tea except yarrow." *Firan*

"I will," is quiet from the Aeryk front. But this much - is voiced.

Drink. Wait. WHISKEY. Kelarik quickly looks towards Gemma, then towards the wagons. That is some BAD whiskey. Military whiskey sucks. "Um, wait. I've got some good Eagle whiskey," he offers quietly, "if you'll give me a moment to get it. Brought it from home with me. And Gods only know, drinking to the future and the freedom it holds, it deserves good whiskey." Yeah, he's an Eagle. It shows.

Donos says "This time next year, we will sit around the campfires in Ellish, as we wait for the Shamibelians to fail at our walls, and tell stories to new recruits, of how we took the city they stand in. Add a new generation of names and heroes to the annals of the Republic." He looks towards Fidelia, squeezing round in the tent to get to her and rests his hand on her shoulder, fingers tightening a moment in a gesture of support. "Whiskey we have by the barrel load, but I have some tea in my tent if there is none here to drink." He looks about the crowd in the dark. "When you fight tommorow, remember the stories you have heard. Tell them to others, be sure that you do all you can, so the sacrifices of those before...will not be in vain. Their souls cry out for vengeance...give it to them." *Firan*

<OOC: ROLL> Fiero rolls his Passion + Feeling at difficulty 6 and gets 3 successes.

"Whiskey will do," Fidelia says a little hoarsely. "After all, I am a soldier again, if only for a few days. Mind you, I'm not sure I was a particularly good soldier. But I survived, and I stayed sane, and I came out stronger."

Arik simply listens and nods along with the rest. What is there to say after such stories. Veteran of dozens of battles and a man to have served with no small number of persons accounted heroes. Hell his brother has a fair number of medals to himself, still Arik wonders if he'll ever hold a crowd as the Clan Leader did.

Fiero gives a firm nod to both Fidelia and Donos. He looks determined and he reaches down to feel the knife in his boot. He gives a nod and then pulls off his helmet and starts moving out of the tent. He's shaving his head. It's game time.

Kelarik nods, finally vanishing into his tent to get /real/ whiskey. After that story, he can certainly see Fidelia needing it.

Kelarik has left.

Kelarik has arrived.

Fiero has left.

Kelarik is more than willing to prove it's good whiskey, should it be required, but carefully - since Fiero's gone now - he edges towards Donos. Better that the Bears take things past Fidelia's guards. They might eat him.

Donos tries to take Whispers in the Forest glass bottle from Kelarik but it's too heavy and he has to put it down.

Kelarik drops the Whispers in the Forest glass bottle.

In such company, a burning desire to be a hero - a name - alongside those of legends seems almost slight and petty. The desire alone, anyway. The point - the point is - Aeryk is reaching for it, Aeryk does not yet have it, but his eyes again remain on Fidelia as he searches for the words to describe this to himself.

<OOC: ROLL> Gemma rolls her Passion + Feeling at difficulty 6 and gets 2 successes.

Gemma is moved by Fidelia's story, but she is NOT shaving her head.

Donos upends the bottle, taking a swallow first before passing it to Fidelia "Does anyone have a glass...note, a clean glass." *Firan*

Donos drinks 1 wolfsbend whiskey.

Justice, the large hound pushes her body into you, as if to show you who's boss.

Glass. Yes. Yes, Kelarik can provide a glass. He's into another wagon to find one quickly, and after some rummaging through dishes, he finds one that's pristine. It's not /fancy/, mind you - maybe not up to Clan Leader standards, certainly function over style. But it's spotless. It's delivered to Donos without a word.

Donos gets nudged by Justice as he swallows, looking down at the dog, then to his sister as he pours the drink into the first offered glass. "I see you've already got your guard dog trained the way you like it." *Firan*

Gemma closes the Licking Kiss of the Cat <> Backpack with Silver Flaps.

Arik has for whatever reason a relatively untouched drinking glass. He starts to draw it from his backpack reverently but as Kelarik produces one quicker he lets it disappear back into his pack carefully settling it and whispering a prayer over it as he does.

Arik closes his eyes momentarily as if in prayer.

Arik puts Red-Tinted Drinking Glass into Guardian Eagle Leather Backpack.

Fidelia replies to her brother, voice still a little hoarse, "Lord Fiero says I can keep her. Do you think she'll get along with Rosebud?" *Firan*

Tyrsun closes his eyes momentarily as if in prayer.

Donos chuckles lightly. "Knowing Rosebud as I do, I think the hound would be the one fleeing when she barked." *Firan*

Gemma has left.

Gemma has arrived.

Gemma drinks 1 wolfsbend whiskey.

Nelisha casts a look at Kelarik, saying "hmm?" *Firan*

Aeryk is not the swiftest, most innovative thinker on Aerval, but he is a thinker. Which unfortunately means he'll probably be mulling toward a difficult conclusion for a while yet. At least he has some time. With a last deep bow toward the Clan Leader, he slips out.

Kelarik sort of blends back into the background, leaving his personal stash of booze with Donos. Eyes slightly distant, as if he's got his focus elsewhere - likely on Fidelia's story - he distractedly responds to Nelisha, "Yeah, food. Here," and slings his backpack off his back, producing a small, covered wooden bowl of cold stew. It's easier than climbing in a wagon. His thoughts are far, far too heavy to do much more climbing right now. *Firan*

Fidelia actually laughs. True, it's a very shaky laugh, but it's a laugh all the same, and that might be a miracle in and of itself. "I hear there's a rumour that Rosebud has poison fangs. True, I think I may have started it at a clan council meeting." *Firan*

Kelarik drops the meat stew.

Nelisha smiles and takes the bowl. "Thanks.", she murmurs to Kelarik. Having missed the story, there's little she can do or say and so slips out again quietly. *Firan*

Nelisha has left.

Aeryk has left.

Arik skulks out to go bully some people into patrols and sleep and the like.

Arik has left.

Lost in thought, wreathed in history and legend and imagining, Lemachus bows his head, and murmurs, or mumbles, thanks too thoughtful and misty to approach much true courtesy. He slips back out of the supply tent to decompress, having rather completely forgotten about the bag he's carrying with him. There are prayers to offer, among else.