[IC] Swords Beneath the Starlight

Barnabas

Lain doesn't flinch, doesn't back down. She simply closes her eyes and thinks for a moment.


"I can... I can relate to how dreadful that must feel. To count yourself among a class of people who exploit and pillage wherever they go; to look at those you share history with and see only a cadre of bandits. But they are not you -- you may both be Laguz, you may both be wolves, but they have no bearing on your life. They haven't lived as you have, and they cannot make your decisions for you. You may have fled the battlefield and found wickedness among those who share these traits with you, but in a sense, you've found new kin, too, right? Kin among the dispossessed, the frightened, and the fleeing. I think that's richer and more powerful than a kindred bond forged by blood and birth."

Airitech

Lucrezia puffs a tuft of hair out from her face, arms retreating into her cloak in a manner that is at least a little frightening.


"Hah. You think your being from Ossory matters to me? That I'm some bigot, judging you on your parentage? Let me be very clear, then: no. Those in my line of work can't afford to let prejudice cloud their judgment. Not if they want to be good at their jobs. People like me have to know where to keep their eyes glued, how to accurately assess a threat. If you're some idiot who thinks all Laguz are a threat, you miss the Beorc with a knife in your client's ribs."

Her eyes narrow. It sure feels like she's staring those daggers you know she has under that cloak into you.

"I want to know what you're hiding. What you're ashamed of. What you've done. I want to know if you're a threat to the Prince. That's it."

Mazelina

Lys nods emphatically! It seems she's eager to put you at ease.


"C-Certainly! I mean, certainly not? I would be happy to answer your questions, ma'am, is what I meant to say!"

Sunny

Roland chuckles to himself, a rare display of gaiety from the ever-serious prince.


"Glad to see I've found you well! I heard you took some scrapes in that last battle. I hope you're treating yourself accordingly - magic may heal the body, but it doesn't cure fatigue. To get to the point, though, I was just wondering -- how was it you did what you did? I mean, joining up with this little band. I don't mean logistically -- I can't imagine it was incredibly hard -- but... how were you able to work up the courage to deliver yourself into the hands of people who, under any other circumstances, would undoubtedly be your enemies?"

Casey

Dorian nods without hesitation.



"Yeah. I think I'd be good for a chat. Don't know how much I can answer that'll be of help to you, though - I imagine I'm as lost and confused as the rest of you."

Milo

Dermid snorts.



"Hardly met any urchins what protected 'emselves with a spear, but you must've done yerself good with it. Not much versus little Abner? Hah! I've my doubts, lad -- I'd be willing to bet you could match him in no time, with a wee bit of practice, maybe some time on a horse. Nae, no putting yerself down, laddie -- we've got no time for any of that hereabouts."

He pauses a moment before speaking again, tender and kind.

"Soldiering, though? With who, if you don't mind my asking? Again, I hardly know any armies in the whole League what teach that kind of fightin'."

Saya

Abner BEAMS when you remember him, and his face shines only brighter when you announce yourself as a fellow warrior!



"Hah! A fellow after my own heart!! Right-ho, my good companion! So long as the blood of heroes pumps through our veins, none will put us down!"

Then he arrives at your second question, which leaves him thinking a moment.

"...Hmm... I suppose they haven't really defied my expectations? Mostly because I had none to begin with! It hardly suits one to have expectations of people one hasn't met yet, right? Assess every foe and ally head-on, that's the way of the chevalier! Why? What did you expect, my good companion?"

Baylee

Adara's head droops for a moment, and her shoulders begin shaking. For a moment, you think perhaps you've made her weep-- until she can contain herself no longer and bursts out into uproarious laughter.



"Pffffthaha!!! Hah! Bandits trampling the wee folk?! Oh, sweet naive village girl -- we are the little people! What, some high-born prince makes it sound like we stomp about burning villages and you just believe him? No! We've never raided a caravan that wasn't noble-run, never shed blood that wasn't blue, and never taken anything anyone would starve without. Bandits? Yeah, we're bandits, sure enough -- but only in the eyes of the powerful, the rich, and the coddled!"

She wipes a tear from her eye, finally managing to silence her guffawing.

"No, little village girl, none of us came from the lap of luxury, and none of us would dream of putting others in the sorts of situations we found ourselves in. Bandits -- REAL bandits -- are just as much our enemies as the nobles. See, if you ask us, instead of some hoity-toity princeling, you'll find we don't particularly think of ourselves as bandits. We see ourselves as the future. A revolutionary army ain't gonna make much progress if they prey on the people they're looking to save, now are they?"