rokubiraijuu

B7.

E4, Slim Lance Maid A.

Something falters in his chest at Shin's call nearby. Knight. That may not be who he is anymore. But the people of Virtuous who he'd once thought could be some kind of redemption... If that's what they wish to continue to believe, he's in no place to stop them. Steel Javelin Cavalier D, Canto to G11.

His grip tightens on his lance at the call of Lizaveta's impassioned speech behind him, and the soaring of her dark magic through the air at their enemy. Of course he hadn't been gone for long, but... Virtuous didn't change, did it. The look that passes over his face like the sun moving briefly behind a cloud: it's hard to tell exactly what kind of expression it is. Attack Soldier A with Steel Jav, Canto to L13.

Fighting like this again... It's just a means, for now. J12, Steel Javelin Soldier C.

The injuries from the first wave of assault still smart, but he gives no indication, urging Bradwr forward in front of the others. Even after his talk with Kane, it doesn't feel right to be here. But now it's simply a matter of allying with Virtuous to pursue the same goal. It's only been a year, but it feels like a vast time since he's had a goal. A reason for being. Even the conjured image of the spear he'd put through that murderer's back, the stunned look on his face as he'd realized he'd been caught off guard, makes him regret he hadn't been strong enough to end it there. I15, equip Iron Blade.

He had set his sights on a different future. Once before, it'd been like this, too, the lands of Ceda to his back and the staggering uncertainty of the whole world ahead. He would have to find a form of income first; perhaps he could do what he'd done before meeting Kane, before this mesmerizing fever dream. Virtuous. He'd been a fool to think that clinging to a shining name would wipe away anything, as though through nothing but hope, he could erase what had been done. Naivete was pretty, a glittering tapestry to believe in, but when pretend ended, reality still waited. In the long hours he had to ruminate, he decided that before thinking about a new life, there was one duty he still had to attend to. And perhaps it wasnt even useful to consider a life beyond it yet, until he got there. ( If he got there. ) The band of four. Before anything else, he had to put a stop to them. It'd been over a year now, but he couldn't forget them if he tried: a green-haired young man, angry and impatient; an older looking man with a ready smile; a young, meek girl; and the flame-haired woman. A flash of red hair from behind a hood; a triumphant smirk. The leather of his gauntlets tighten audibly around Bradwr's reins. Burned behind his eyes, His Majesty's body lies as though in peaceful sleep, an arrow embedded shaft deep in his neck. He's only one man, and against assassins so prolific, he knows it may well be hopeless, but if he loses his own life in his pursuit of them, then at least it will have been given for something worthwhile. He can say he tried. This resolve is no victory march; it's cold and small and hollow. But it's what he can hold onto as he turns Bradwr into the rising sun, setting his sights on a new goal. They couldn't have gone far. He had to have departed Ceda Castle only shortly after them. However, he has no way of knowing in what direction they could have gone. But... if they're hunting royalty, then the next reasonable target would be Ulux Castle. ... ... It's been a long time since he's traveled this far on his own. If he can even arrive in time to warn the monarchs of the approaching threat, then perhaps there was a chance. It would be preferable to turning his eyes away from the disaster he knew would come. The Forest of Ulux's thick cover grants some shade from the grating light of the sun. According to his map of the area, once he was through this se— The sound of hurried footsteps rustling through the underbrush nearby draws his attention, and he raises his head just in time to catch the flapping tail of a cloak between the trees off to his left. "Ah—" A flash of red hair. His heart nearly stops beating. No, it couldn't... "Wait!" He pivots Bradwr sharply, about to give chase, but either the figure didn't hear him or didn't care to stop, and soon they're lost in the thicket. Ferdiad bites down on a curse; are his eyes just playing tricks on him? Or could he have been lucky enough... He looks off in the direction the figure had come from. Perhaps... There isn't a moment to waste. Digging his spurs into Bradwr's flanks, he urges him into as swift a motion as he can through the trees. Quickly, he realizes, from the broken branches, trampled brush, that he's coming up on something — then, sounds of shouting up ahead. Voices. A break in the tree line revealing a large clearing — the back of a hooded figure — a strident, crowing voice in mockery — he would recognize it anywhere. Is that Mim in his grasp? "... dered King Tobias of Ceda... King Cyrus of Vini as well!" In a rare surge, red curtains Ferdiad's thoughts. He doesn't remember reaching for his lance, doesn't register the others of Virtuous, the marks of a fierce battle strewn across the plain. All he sees is a bow and arrow whose fletching had been bloodied by the life of his King. The flash of red hair and the smirk. "You are a disgrace to this Kingdom." Stella's stricken cries as she falls to her knees. "All because of you!!" A tremor as the impact shudders up the length of his arm, all at once momentous and distant. A crunch as the lance's blade pierces a lurching back. He wrenches it deeper with another crack of splitting flesh, sinew, bone. "I'll kill you!!"

A few more hours pass, and the late morning begins to wane into afternoon. Before the sun has dipped too far, though, the silhouette of winged shadows appear on the horizon. A handful of Dragon Knights, it looks like, have responded to Johanna's missive in surprisingly quick fashion, and approach after dismounting. Though they don't look fresh from the battlefield, there's a bone-deep weariness in their eyes that tells of the struggle of these last weeks further up the mountains. Just hearing their words of gratitude, Johanna begins to wonder if things had been worse than the messenger had known when he'd found them in the Warriors Village. It doesn't take too long to find the others of the Guard. The news of Gareth's disappearance is a heavy weight, and Johanna spares a moment's look at Ceridwen — the other rider looks distraught, but... there's not much to be done about it right this moment. Once she speaks to the Captain and gets the full story, maybe she'll be able to find a way to locate him. They could definitely use some heartening news. Unfortunately, the Knights who've flown down to meet them don't have much of that to spare. The Guard's assault on the castle had done its job — once news of General Oppenheimer's defeat had reached the front lines, the Calissian troops had lost their nerve, allowing the Knights the opportunity to push them back just enough to force a retreat. It's unlikely, they said, that the Republic soldiers would be continuing their offensive; Milich had appeared to be the one behind it, as far as they knew, and there was little incentive to keep fighting when their base had been taken. Some of them would stay here to guard Scarleticia for now and maintain it, but the others would be heading back, and invited the Guard to go with them. The Captain had welcomed them all to recuperate at the Stronghold as thanks for their efforts. "It's hard to say what state the Stronghold is in right now," Johanna addresses the others as they gather. "When we arrive, I'll be leaving to speak with the Captain and get to the bottom of what happened here. There is one task I have for all of you in the meantime. Verden has decided to leave the Guard's service; he has other duties that need his attention. I'd like not to have to take on another mission without a healer. Try to locate someone qualified for the task there, if possible." For those who haven't been on dragon back, it's a new experience, not at all like riding a horse or even a pegasus. As Johanna lifts herself into Idriss' saddle, she waits for everyone else to be situated behind the other Knights before lifting off. The ground and trees blur with every flap of the crimson dragon's powerful wings, and soon Scarleticia is shrinking, dwarfed by the surrounding woodland... until it's no more than a speck far beneath an expanse of green and brown, quickly replaced by the brown and white of the Antei Mountains as they stretch far into the horizon like a crooked spine jutting out from the earth. ----- CHAPTER 3 : The Apostate Solis Y3302, Autumnswax The Stronghold is a well-concealed fortress despite its massive size. Towering peaks obscured by thick cloud cover block it from sight, even in the air, and one has to take several precise turns through narrow valleys in order to glimpse it, nestled in the wall of a deep, yawning ravine. The surrounding cliff sides have been eroded and carved by centuries, millenia of life here, generations upon generations of Knights and their companions dying as they lived: defending the awesome expanse of these mountains, the only known home of dragons. Temperatures drop in these higher altitudes, the air thinner here than in larger Caliss. As they alight on the long land bridge that connects the Knights' Tower — the heart of the Stronghold — with the surrounding small city, Johanna dismounts and breathes in deep. But this isn't time for relaxation or homecoming. Evidence of the brief but bloody altercation with Republic forces is everywhere; Caliss' army had never made it to the Stronghold proper, but signs of war are everywhere she turns her head. Knights, some young enough they must be apprentices, are carried around on stretchers: some into the Knights' Tower for medical care, and some... corpses, coldly still and in various conditions, out into the mountains for air burial, as was tradition here. More guards patrolled than normal, security still tight as the fighting had only stopped some hours before. There's motion everywhere, and the air is pervaded by a grim, somber atmosphere. Losses had been heavy, and the end of the fighting is more a relief than a victory. The Allied Guard is led into the large Ground Sanctum of the Knights' Tower, a cavernous open foyer with numerous halls branching off into other parts of the Tower, two guards standing at the mouths of each. Now indoors, the hub of activity seems even louder as it echoes off the vaulted walls and ceiling. Johanna reaches up to loosen Idriss' tack, the large dragon shaking his head in a corkscrew, glad to be free of the pressure around his neck. Before she can say anything, however, a sudden commotion from one of the hallway entrances draws the attention of just about everyone in the Sanctum. "... Out. Send him out. Send him away." "There is still some use. There are others who—" A woman, tall, angular face framed with a shock of blond hair and a lance gripped tight in one hand, strides into the Sanctum from the hallway that those familiar with the Stronghold would know led to the infirmary. There's tension thick in her step, in her posture, in the furious lines of her face. Her tone is surprisingly even given that everything else about her looks like she is ready to snap the necks of anyone who comes close. She's wearing the distinguishable armor of a Large-Wing Commander, a prestigious and coveted title earned through achievement and not simply longevity as that of Mid-Wing Commander is and of which there are currently only three in the whole of the Dragon Knights. The plate is dented and streaked with blood both old and new, as is her lance. "Don't. Argue with me. Send him away. We have enough healers to handle the situation. We should have known better than to trust someone who's not our own. What of healing does he know? Were he half as good as ours, Sharon would still be alive." The healer who had been jogging to keep pace says nothing under the sharp tone that's barely keeping composure. The woman purses her lips hard, then turns and continues on her way down another hall. None approach her, those near her as she passes moving to give her space, several bowing their heads. The healer silently grips his stave, then turns and goes back the way he had come. "... Commander Milia..." Johanna breathes once it seems safe to, once the noise in the Sanctum has begun to rise again to its previous levels. She sighs deeply. "So Sharon is..." She looks up again to see two other figures coming down the hallway from the infirmary. One is a holding a stave and supporting the other one who moves slowly, almost dazedly. As they come into the light of the Sanctum, the first is unfamiliar — a young man with green hair — but the second figure is Futch, his own armor in a similar state to Milia's. He looks shell-shocked and unsteady, and one of the guards to that entryway gently stops them both. The exchange is inaudible with the distance, but he relieves the green-haired healer of his burden and slowly eases Futch down onto a nearby bench. The Rider doesn't fight it, merely dropping his head into his hands and going still. "... The situation here is still tense," Johanna says to the rest of them quietly. "Right, as stated before our departure, I'm leaving to speak with the Captain. Try to do as I asked in the meantime, but don't stray from this area. I don't anticipate it being too long of a conversation. I'll return shortly." With that, she nods to them all and makes her way to one of the branching halls at the far end, Idriss following close behind. INTERLUDE START. Enter CLEMENT. ( NPCs open for interaction: Futch )

Johanna doesn't say anything, her expression remaining unchanging. A lot they needed to talk about? "You don't have to explain anything to me, Fallon," she replies. "I know what happened." There were things that were unavoidable; she, more than most, understood how it worked in the Stronghold. No use crying over a broken lance, as the saying went. "But yes, let's talk later." So many years. She can't help but wonder... isn't it all long past, now?

Nil sends another swarm of insects at the four-legged youkai. Rushing forward, Megumi strikes at the fox spirit, wounding it. Cheat Sheet:

Ivoh'to finishes off the troublesome wolf cleanly, with a blade replica through the skull. Cheat Sheet:

Unfortunately, distracted by Nil, the swordsman's strike swings wide, granting the wolf an opening that allows him to counter twice. Further back from the fray, Yoriie goes to where Bakudai signals him, footsteps crunching in the frozen grass. The energy swells in the air like a miasma as he draws close, but through the teeming haze of nether force, he can make it out. "Mm." It's a sound of approval, and he takes out a talisman from between the folds of his robes, focusing on the way the invisible pathways intersect in this space. The ki bursts forth in a rippling wave through the frosted treetops, knocking some snow off branches. In the distance, his shikigami near the front lines of the current battle would hear the groaning of thick tree branches twisting, old wood creaking and cracking as it shifts. Two of the trails seal off with newly-formed flora. "It won't last. Move quickly." Yoriie activates the Realm! [ ENEMY PHASE ] Demon Wolf 1 attacks Kietasenshi. Once more, the wolf retaliates, bringing the sword spirit to his knees. Kanko 1 to K11 and shoot Megumi. Advancing up somewhat, the kanko leaps up onto its bamboo tube, firing a cannon-like shot of ki at the other sword shikigami. Jinba-Ittai 1 to N9 and attack Ivoh'to. A great centaur-like creature charges at Ivoh'to, but underestimates his slipperyness, taking a slash from the ice dagger in answer. Kodama 1 to O9 and attack Bakudai. The spirit vanishes among the branches of its native trees and attacks the baku with swirls of cutting wind. Demon Wolf 3 to O6. Kanko 2 to M6. ??? 1 to P6. Turn 2 The Realm lasts for 2 more turns. Cheat Sheet:

Back in the throne room, Johanna looks fairly strained, rubbing her temples as she walks, possibly returning from some other conversation, so much so that Idriss, who has remained near the doorway, begins to growl deep in the back of his throat at anyone else coming to disturb her, following Fallon with watchful eyes. Johanna looks up at her name, though, and returns to a much more neutral expression when she sees him. As he gives his report, though, a small furrow returns to her brow, and she sighs, nodding once. "I do, too. I have since we left the Warriors Village. Hearing that the prisoners were a definite set-up just confirms it." She reaches a hand out to rub idly at Idriss' crown of formidable head spines, trying to calm him as his wings rustle, suggesting the beginnings of a threat display at Fallon. "For a mission like this, I would have expected confirmation from the President, but our order only came from Captain Levenheit, and looks like it was only in the Dragon Knights' best interest. It is concerning." For such a new — and now tenuous — alliance, it was important that the Allied Guard be nonpartisan and represent a union, not favoring one authority's command over the other. "Hopefully our victory here has ended this fight. I'm going to speak with the Captain and find out what's going on." She pauses, then lowers her voice a bit. "... How are you feeling, Fallon?"

A look of surprise crosses Marsilia's face. "You don't know..." Then she seems to remember that Caim had had to tell Fallon about Matthias and the Windamiers. "You know, it's really hard to find someone so out of the loop... but in a way, I guess it's refreshing. Henrietta Grandchampion's my little sister." She gives a small bittersweet, somewhat humorless huff. "I'm going to guess you don't know her either somehow." She shakes her head in an almost admiring disbelief. "I don't doubt you all will meet her sometime, with her being one of the Five Generals. I guess I'd thought you already had. If you do... I hope it's not against her. Either way, good luck."

"An oddity, for sure. Though I've met weirder." That gets a laugh out of Marsilia, but her expression goes back to neutral, even something of resignation, when Klaus is brought up again. "Fallon, I'll be honest. It doesn't sound like you're a bad guy, but..." She shakes her head. "I don't disagree with what the Allied Guard's doing. I fought in that Liberation War myself. But you all were sent to subdue Kiba Windamier and now here's one of you coming around asking about his son. You said you were in Foen until recently, so maybe you don't know that anyone with Imperial ties is treated pretty badly nowadays. So, sorry, but I'm not going to say any more about that." "There is one thing you should know, though. That mission you guys got sent on to chase down those prisoners? That was a red herring, and it's the reason why General Oppenheimer was able to attack the Knights. I knew because we all heard the General boast about it, obviously, but I also heard about it from my sister, who didn't like it. Now, I don't know how pervasive the plan was, so it'd be wise not to go pointing fingers just yet. But I thought you all should know there's some strings somewhere being pulled."

"Spoken like a scholar, all right." She sighs, shaking her head. "I'm surprised Caim couldn't get you what you wanted to know. Between you and me, I always felt like he's seen more than he lets on, though you'd never guess it by the way he acts." "If you're looking for connections to chaos magic, best follow whatever he told you. You're barking up the wrong tree talking to me. Matthias... I don't know where he learned chaos magic. I was a little girl during his heyday, and I don't know much about him myself. My sister still tails him, though; nowadays, she says he shows up randomly here and there, committing these brutal but isolated acts of violence. In general, he's persecuted just about everywhere now and isn't much of a threat, just a pain to catch. He's a bastard, for sure, but I don't know that you're going to find what you're looking for, going after him." "I hope your search is fruitful. It can't be easy. I just don't see dark magic around much. The few I knew who used it in the war... they were either Dragon Knights, or... out of the ordinary. Not bad people, just never your average joe. "

After he finishes, Marsilia exhales through her nose, shaking her head. "All that, and you manage to say almost nothing about who you are. It's impressive." He'd said he's a scholar, which she already knew, and that he's traveling with the Guard to 'find people' and the 'knowledge they had'. To keep something like that so vague says a lot in itself. "I can respect having secrets, but then you can't be too disappointed when no one else wants to tell you theirs, either." She uncrosses her arms, resting one hand on her hip. "Dark magic — or, chaos magic, whatever — isn't really the bogeyman it was anymore before the war. There were plenty of people who fought in it who helped fight the stereotype Matthias set up. If you ask me, people are so quick to jump on it because it's uncommon. Compared to anima and light magic, anyway. Or 'order' magic, as Caim would correct me. But what am I telling you that for? You probably know all that better than me, being a scholar and all."

Megumi's blade pierces the wolf's throat, severing its windpipe and killing it quickly. The dagger of ice embeds in the second wolf's throat and it reels backwards with a pained snarl. Cheat Sheet:

Spurred by Fuefuki's music, Nil launches another attack at the second wolf, this time doing a fair bit more damage. Lord Yama to M12 and attack Demon Wolf 2. Following up behind him, a flurry of slicing winds deters the first wolf from coming any closer. Cheat Sheet:

"Despite first impressions?? What in the hell is that supposed to—" For a moment, Caim is back to the somewhat vesuvian librarian who had warily watched Fallon from behind the desk, but there isn't much real fire to his words, and he subsides quickly to grumbling. As Fallon leaves and makes his way back towards the library's main foyer, though, his expression lightens, and he lets out a sigh, removing his glasses and fishing a cleaning cloth out of his robes. "A true scholar, hm? Well, better so late than never, maybe." ----- Finishing with writing up a list of tasks for some of the nurses gathered around her, Marsilia turns when she hears her name. Standing at nearly six feet tall, long, dark hair tied back in a low ponytail more to get hair out of her eyes than for beauty's sake, Marsilia had stood out among the crowd when Fallon had first walked in, but now it seemed even more so as the fear of Scarleticia's fall and uncertainty of their own fates had begun to peter out of the castle's staff. She had a rough, angular face, with a stocky, muscular frame that suggested it would take more than a stiff wind to knock her over. The axe resting blade-down against the side of her leg supplemented that, as did a stern expression and an authoritative voice that carried despite not being very loud. The other servants seemed to naturally gravitate to her for help and instruction, not unlike worker bees around a hive. It was difficult to pinpoint her age — she looked like she could be anywhere from her late twenties to her forties. She quickly goes from neutral to something more sour as Fallon keeps talking, and the mention of Matthias has her pursing her lips as her eyes drop to the paper in his hand. Silently, she takes it and skims it over — once, twice. Then she looks back up at him, evaluating. "Caim told you about them?" She pauses, apparently to chew on that for a bit. The next word she utters is muffled under her breath, but likely wasn't something of approval. Her annoyance doesn't seem to be directed at Fallon, though; she regards him carefully, but curiously, arms folding. "You said you're a scholar, right? I'm curious — I know the Allied Guard was sent after the Soniere prisoners, so I figure that's how you got this. But what kind of scholar goes poking around in personal family history? Looks like Caim's told you a lot already. Why don't you tell me who you are first?"

He listens keenly to what Fallon has to ask him, a bemused expression crossing his face about halfway before he was finished talking. "Yes... we'd heard that the Allied Guard had been sent to deal with the escaped prisoners from Soniere..." He gives a heavy sigh at that and holds up a finger. "Remind me to say something to you about that before you go. Or get Marsilia to tell you, since what I'm about to say is— Who doesn't know about the Windamiers? Were those the years you spent in Foen? I can't think of any other reason why you wouldn't know. Unless you're one of those sheltered Knights." He peruses the letter briefly, lips pursing in apparent sympathy before giving a nod. His hand moves to rub deeply and slowly against his temples as his brow furrows. "Where to even start..." Another long several seconds pass before he can gather the pieces of what seems to be a long story. "I don't know how much you know about the Windamiers. Though I guess if you don't know about Matthias, you don't know much. If you'd spent any time in Caliss at all before the war, you'd know they were the finest military family in the Empire. Generations of Windamiers served as military advisors to the Rugner Dynasty, and the family produced a number of the Five Generals over the course of history. Respectable lot. The kind of people it was hard to dislike. Hardworking, honest, loyal. Kiba Windamier was Barbarossa's Minister of War, but when the Court Witch Windy took over things, she did her damndest to further Barbarossa's madness by separating him from those closest to him however she could, so she could totally control him. That included General Kiba. Unfortunately, it wasn't hard for her... Matthias was the General's elder son, Klaus'—" He waves the letter to indicate the same Klaus the epistle is addressed to, "—older brother by another mother. Much older. I don't think they knew each other much. By the time Klaus was born, Matthias had already distanced himself from his family... to study chaos magic." Caim rests a hand against his cheek. "I don't know the details of it. But I know that he's much of the reason chaos magic had such a bad name in those years. I'm certain it had nothing to do with the magic itself — as you know, chaos magic has no inherently 'evil' properties, as some fools claim; it dissembles and breaks down; it's anti-matter; it deconstructs, reduces matter to its natural state, and that doesn't mean that it's vile." Caim pauses and seems to realize he's gotten off topic. "Ahem, sorry. At any rate, whatever befell Matthias — everyone has their theories — he became a monster. To say he brought shame to the Windamier name is putting it lightly. He became... the basest of humans. Utterly rotten to the core. Obsessed with control, drunk on having power and getting more of it. For several years, he..." Another deep breath, and Caim shakes his head, more somberly this time. "... Here is where you ought to ask Marsilia for more of that story. In any case, not much has been heard from him after the war. He would have to be... in his thirties by now. Marsilia tells me there's rumors here and there of a wild-looking bandit who seems to fit his description, committing these brutal murders... but to be honest, bandits do that all the time." He shrugs. "Anyway, with Matthias' infamy in those years, it was easy for Windy to convince Barbarossa that General Kiba couldn't be trusted. Of course, to have his family branded traitors to the Empire would mean ruin for them, or worse. General Kiba had disowned his son well before that, but only actions spoke to Barbarossa at the time, so he had to demonstrate his loyalty by fighting the Witch's war." He looks down at the letter again before handing it back to Fallon. "But from what I know, the General did make a deal in secret to protect his younger son in case the worst should come to happen to him and the Empire lost the war. The prestige of the Windamiers is a decade lost now, but Klaus has been..." He heaves another sigh. "I really need to stop running my mouth about this before Marsilia has my head. Ask her if you want the rest of the story. Honestly, it shouldn't be mine to tell."

Having done all that she could, the servant spares one more glance at the group before making her exit. A somewhat uncomfortable silence descends, punctured only by the soft sounds of Ceridwen's hiccuping breaths. Chin stares at the bundle in her arms, then looks up and around the room when Rhian finally says something. "Don't worry. I will find my own way. If the General is dead, then I can go back to my village when I can fly again." She sounds a little faraway, as if she still can't quite believe yet that she had made it out alive, and is now free again. "You... should look for this commander who is so important to you." ----- Caim doesn't seem at all surprised by Fallon's confusion or response. "Taught? I should think it wouldn't be taught. No... in my experience, it's always been something more of a... rural folktale, if it's known at all." He sounds somewhat wistful, but then shakes his head emphatically at Fallon's next careful words. "No no no, don't misunderstand me. I'm not trying to get anything from you. I asked because there is someone... who might have some answers for you... might. I spent most of my career looking at the Ancient branch of magic... although that was back when... well, anyway. Of course, you're welcome to look around our stacks! Who knows; you might find some jewel around here that even I forgot we had. I'm always forgetting we have things around here... Er, sorry, I was talking about... yes, someone you should look for." His expression grows more serious again and he takes out a piece of paper and a quill, hurriedly scratching a name down. "She's capricious to say the least, but..." He thrusts the parchment into Fallon's hand; the writing is scratchy and a little messy — a librarian's scrawl, for sure — but legible. "Sierra Andon. She comes and goes, never stays in one place for long, but if you're lucky, you might catch wind of her somewhere. She's the only person I can think of who's done anything close to what you're talking about. Even if you find her, she might not help you, but—" he gives a shrug, "—take it from me, it's probably your best bet."

As it was, Ceridwen asks her question to thin air — so absorbed was she, maybe, by scanning the room that she'd failed to notice the servant's note about leaving to find clothing. Fortunately for her, the storage rooms hadn't been far, and her voice had carried enough through the open doorway that the servant had been able to catch most of it on her way heading back. "I don't know. I didn't see him before he left," she replies as she walks back in, handing a bundle of clothing to Chin — they're just standard issue servant's garb, made of simple cotton, but certainly an improvement from the bloody rags she wore now. "We don't really get told important stuff like that. I'd guess the only one who knew is the General. But, well..." She trails off with a matter-of-fact look on her face. "I did find this again though. It was left behind when this room was cleaned, and I remember that they couldn't figure out what to do with it. And then we all got so busy with all the fighting going on, I think we just forgot about it." She passes over a hefty ledger to Ceridwen, old, obviously well-used, covered in soot stains so permanent they might as well be part of it. The buckle had worn through and no longer fully closed properly, and some patches had been worn off the soft leather cover. The pages were almost full, with only a few at the end that were still blank. Most were covered in various drawings — blueprints for armor designs, it seems. One of them, dated a couple of years ago, detailed various drafts that closely resembled the armor Ceridwen wore now. "Not sure if this'll help, but it's something."

As the magic wrought by Nil surrounds the wolf, it yelps in surprise and pain, snarling. Cheat Sheet:

A wan smile seems to flit across Caim's face at Fallon's words about the pursuit of knowledge. He can see they're earnestly spoken, and yet... Well, all that doesn't matter anymore. Still, it brings something to mind... and as Fallon keeps talking, expanding on the kinds of things he's looking for, Caim can't help his thoughts from continuously returning to the same picture. He stands there for several long seconds, mulling over the proposition, an odd quiet stretching out between them considering how much he'd been jabbering so far. When he speaks again, it's thoughtful, rubbing at his chin with one hand, a rather intense look furrowing his brow behind the large circular glasses. He doesn't meet Fallon's eyes, though, rather resting his gaze contemplatively down and off to the side. "Hm, hm, I understand... in fact, I wonder— no, no, never mind. This isn't the place to get into that." He waves a hand quickly, as though dismissing an irritant. "This is going to be an odd question, but humor me. Fallon? Fallon. Do you know anything about... the undead."