[IC] Swords Beneath the Starlight

Lucrezia nods to Mazelina.


"Yup. Not just 'can, either - they love it. Just like their mumbo-jumbo about being the will of Progress - it's there to make 'em feel powerful. All it does is give me hope. If you've got a military like that, and you still need to bolster your spirits? That sort of insecurity tells me there's a weakness somewhere in there waiting to be exploited."

Before the prince can raise his voice to respond to Sunny, an azure-clad knight gallops over to meet her. He somehow manages to make a bow while on the horse.


"The pleasure is mine, miss! Abner Galante of Renault, at your service! Keep that name in your pocket - you'll be hearing it sung from all the taverns of Ilya in a year's time, once we show these devil-loving machine-heads back to their embarrassed mothers!!"

The prince coughs. He's clearly embarrassed by his companion.


"If you have prior obligations, I understand. But I hope we can find some way to work together. If you need me, we'll be here for a few more hours. Our supplies have run low, and as sorry as it is to say, the dead of a battlefield are a cheap source for goods. I'll let you know when we're about to leave - feel free to reach out to us if you need anything."

With a few orders to his compatriots, Roland departs. Mere minutes later, your other companions return! They are injured, but only barely. It looks like Philomel's staff has been as hard at work as Mazelina's. Once you're finished expositing, they all seem deep in thought.


"...I don't like it. Guy shows up claiming to be the prince? You'd think he would have taken some precautions. Maybe not spill his guts to the whole world the moment they show. I think this is a trap."


"But... Could someone truly be dishonest without our friends noticing...? If all of you looked into his heart and saw someone bold and honorable and true, I have faith in your judgment...!"

Dermid, for his part, is uncharacteristically quiet. He's stroking his beard. Taking this seriously.


"...Hrm... If he IS the prince, though, then we've reached our destination, aye? Maybe you wee ones can finally stop with the charade?"


"Quiet old man. You may have years on me, but--"


"No. It's... frightening to admit, but he's right."

Lien steps forward. Her eyes are tempestuous - full of fear and worry. Her voice shakes as she speaks. Still, she marches forward, closes the distance between your parties, and maintains eye contact with you - albeit not all at once, of course.


"I have been dishonest with you. I don't doubt that you suspected as much. Our disguises were hardly the most convincing, and Dermid refused to cooperate with the play altogether. But you have demonstrated your valor and conviction on two occasions now. You deserve the truth."

She places a hand to her chest. Maybe it's a mere motioning to herself; maybe it's to slow her quickened heart-rate.

"I am Lain Altena, daughter of Lord Hubert Altena, leader of Achaim. Philomel is, in reality, Lysistrate,  our city's Cloistered." Her eyes shift to the Revotrians and the Laguz as she explains: "It is an old practice;  one my father hoped to see stamped out in his lifetime. As a child, she was selected to become a conduit for divine power. She was meant to live her entire life in isolation, only making occasional contact with the other nuns of the Church when it was necessary: lessons, food, the cleaning of her space, and the delivery of books and toys. When the walls fell, though, she fled at the behest of her sisters - the only people she had ever known. A miracle must have led her to Dermid; he found her, picked her up, and took her along with us without hesitation. She has not seen the world beyond the walls of her church since she was three."

Lys seems to have trouble making eye contact with all of you.

"Carlyle is Taras, a bowman with our city watch. He is not famous, but he wished to go by a different name. His reasons are his own."

Taras follows Lys's example.

"And Dermid is... Dermid."

Dermid beams with pride. After expelling her stress with a great big sigh, Lain resumes her speech.

"...My father died defending his city. He sent me off with Dermid as a bodyguard, and entrusted me with a pack. Within were three things: first, a map showing a trail into the Laguz kingdoms. Second, a large sum of money. And third..."

She draws a sword from her back; not the one she fights with, far too big for her to use safely. She plunges it clumsily into the ground.

It's about six and a half feet from hilt to tip, its blade a deep silver. It catches the moonlight in such a way as to give it an almost otherworldly glow. Its cross-guard forms a strong V shape, reaching up from the hilt. The metal of the guard and hilt is a deep black color, with red leather forming the grip.

"...The Fragarach. The sword left to humanity by the Goddess."



"...I don't expect you to trust me. I lied to you, as did my companions. But it is our hope that, by delivering this weapon to the Knights of Renault and seeing it given to their most able warrior, we might be able to turn the tide of this war. I... I hope you will join me."

There's a brief silence. She coughs.



"...Which is to say, I-- I think we should join with them."