“Her aptitude for problem solving and empathy will prove to be a useful asset on the field. However her lack of adherence to protocol and willfulness have led to unideal situations in which lives are needlessly put into danger. Based on this assessment, I judge that her skills are still useful to the church and suggest that she be reassigned solely as the monitor for the subject “Destiny’s Guide.”

  - Appeal For Reinstatement And Restriction Lifting (Draft)

  “I uhh, I can assure you all that my beloved sister exaggerates a little. Though I will not deny the chronology of events and what had happened.” Sophie tried to deflect some attention for herself.

  She had spoken up numerous times in front of crowds, but those were moments where her convictions were at the breaking point. When Arteria threatened to ignore those most hurt by its own hubris and anger that it caused her when she saw it. Now, she was just nervous, no convictions or even a coherent plan. Just the broad strokes of what needs to happen, and far too many unknown variables.

  “You’re ‘ere to solve notre problems too?” A heavily accented and drunk Gratian knight drawled.

  A few more voices chorused in what Sophie could only assume was affirmation of the drunk man’s question.

  “Ahh, eerrr…no?” Sophie mumbled, shooting a quick glance at Elaria for advice.

  The bard just smugly smiled and shrugged, gesturing for her to simply go with it. Easier for you to say, Sophie quietly scoffed.

  “Nothing um, quite like that. I’m here as part of an adventuring request.” She answered earnestly.

  “A quest!” Someone shouted.

  “A quest for the grail!”

  “L’armure du chevalier vert!”

  “Ou le noeud du ciel! Ah! La glorie!”

  The Gratians interjected their own thoughts and opinions. The rowdy crowd seemed to be a fine enough job keeping themselves entertained and distracted. She caught enough of a gist to understand that a few of the more drunk patrons were crying out about holy relics of Gratia. What they were or did however, was another question entirely.

  Letting the Gratians fawn over their own legends and history, Sophie collected herself. Her calm did not last long. For almost as soon as she had regained some semblance of self control, she could feel more than a few soldiers return their attention to her.

  “Madam, what treasure do you seek from our homelands?” One of them slurred out a question.

  “Like I said, I’m here on an adventurer’s commission.” Sophie tried to answer.

  “A mission!” The man cried out deliriously.

  “And she was with church too! C’est vrai! Saw them enter town myself!” Another joined in.

  “We are with church folk, yes.” She replied.

  “Comme votre soeur?” Someone shouted.

  “Pardon?”

  “Like your sister?” Someone else unhelpfully translated.

  “Eueh?”

  “You like your sister, many stories?” A third gruff voice chimed in.

  “Ah. Oh! Some? I uhh, I’m not sure what the question is-”

  “Le source primaire!”

  “Tell us your legend!”

  “I’ll buy her a drink!”

  “I’ll buy her two!”

  The patrons called out to each other.

  Catching the general idea of what they wanted, she reluctantly complied in order to give herself more time to think of how to remove the capitaine. Stealing a quick glance over, she breathed a small sigh of relief. Both she and Elaria had been causing such a ruckus that the chevalier still didn’t seem to notice that the others had absconded from under his nose or perhaps that he didn’t quite see anything suspicious just yet. Have to keep him here for now. Give Ela room to leave.

  “Alright, alright.” She acquiesced more loudly to their demands, “I have a few tales of my own. Though I’ll say that I’m not very good at uhh, at speaking as my sister-”

  Her voice was drowned out by the uproar of approval that rose up amongst the soldiers. Buoyed by their already jubilant and celebratory mood, they cared little of what she actually said, only that she had agreed to recount to them tales of her adventure.

  Many of their faces seemed young and eager, likely fresh faced soldiers still full of life, brought up to the front during this brief peaceful lull in the civil war. The few experienced soldiers amongst their ranks were less welcoming. Doubtful gazes and annoyed scowls at their time with comrades being interrupted by such trivial matters. Though if their hushed discussions and full attention were any indicators, they were perhaps even more curious about the scrawny elf warrior that now stood at the stage than their green counterparts.

  In a way she understood both their sentiments. For the more unrestrained bunch, she was almost like Gunmar or Aurelia, some strange beast who had managed to see the world and now stood ready to regale them with equally bizarre tales if Elaria’s song had truth behind it. Whereas the weary warriors likely saw her not as an equal, but potentially something between them and their less experienced counterparts. A new perspective nonetheless.

  Whatever the case, she felt a slight sense of dread. Not at the plan but at the daunting task of trying not to disappoint the crowd before her. Unlike her sister, she doubted she had the gift of knowing exactly what to do or say in every single moment. Nor did she have her innate elegance or grace. Even knowing that she would likely see none of these people on her journey back, or perhaps that they would even be temporarily hostile during her current escape attempt. A part of her still didn’t want to appear as a fool before others. Though I’m certain Lucinia and the others would disagree, heh.

  “A tale from the maiden!” An impatient patron cried out.

  “A tale! A tale!” More voices cried out.

  “Okay, okay!” Sophie tried to calm them to little effect, “I…” She froze, her mind suddenly going blank.

  In desperation, she looked to Elaria. Her sister didn’t do anything to draw the attention away from her, just offering a supportive bob of her head in an effort to coax her to continue. Bah, that’s no help at all. But all these eyes, I can’t think. I need… I need time, time. How to get time? A question?

  “What would you like to hear?” She managed to yell the question to the crowd. Right, they can choose. Gives me time to think.

  A few more cheers, clearly those too inebriated to actually understand her words. The others just looked at her mutely or roared their own garbled suggestions.

  That’s right, a question. Stories. Right.

  “What do you want to know about? The horrors or Melisgrad? The horrors of Arteria? The peoples that I’ve met?” She continued.

  Her newfound surge of energy slowly quieted the more cognisant members of the crowd.

  “I’ve seen the peoples of the mountains, up high in the Frostwinds, where the cold winds tore my very soul. I’ve watched the sunrise over Arteria, the gleaming jewel of the west, the glorious glow hiding the sickness within it. I’ve walked the realms of the dwarves, deep under their mountains, the abandoned halls that glittered with… with treasure and danger alike.” She could finally sense her own rhythm, the words now flowing out like a confession to the world. The audience before her acted as judges of her conduct.

  “I’ve explored Myndiri ruins, unearthed strange sights and creatures that terrified me. I’ve also witnessed the joys of many during a festival in Ostia, one of the most delightful times I’ve had in recent memory.” She unexpectedly found herself smiling at the thought.

  A low murmur of understanding ran its way through the crowd. Clearly, the idea alone proved to be a pleasant one enough. Though none seemed too eager to listen to it. Then the spark hit her, a tale that was both tame yet tough. An experience that could appeal to those sitting before her. A story of honor, courage, danger and perhaps most importantly, something that would likely appeal to a warrior's heart. She smiled.

  “But what about this?” Her voice boomed, finally commanding the full attention of the room, “A quest that I took not all too long ago. One in which we fought to preserve a village only to discover a far greater treasure than any reward or object of legend. One done in conjunction with the saints themselves!”

  Hushed mumbles of approval and disbelief in equal measure. So they do revere the sainted outlanders here too, huh? At least they aren’t interrupting. She was on the right track.

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  “For I can tell you now, I found myself, that’s right, me.” She played up the moment by waving her arms around, “I found myself lost and separated from my friends and comrades. Lost underground in a cave, working under the fear of the tide itself swallowing me whole. Having no idea where I ended up, only to awaken from my stupor in the arms of a maiden. Her skin soft and resplendent in a manner befitting kings, her eyes kind and glittering like beacons in the darkness, a guide to lead me from my despair and to offer me comfort.” She paused, searching the crowd for their reactions.

  They were listening intently, be it curiosity or genuine interest she still couldn’t tell. But they were invested.

  “How do I know she was a maiden, you might wonder. But the truth was plain and easy to see. So much so that it was due to one very simple fact. She was bare as the day she was born, completely exposed to the world yet unblemished by the world around her. I can… I can still remember waking up in her arms. Her chest pressed up against me, her tail keeping me in place as she nursed me back to life.” Forgive me, Sigrid. “Twas’ a fine maiden, not as fine as my love but…” She exaggerated a seductive lick of her lips.

  There was silence. Then a few snickers and giggles, some jeers, maybe even a hoot or holler.

  “Bullshit!” A soldier yelled.

  “Quiet!”

  “Impossible.”

  “A naked maiden?!”

  “La femme de la mer!”

  “La mer? Ah, mermaid?”

  “How about it then?” Sophie bellowed, her voice cutting through the crowd for the first time, “Would you like it if I told you my time spent with a mermaid?”

  The men hooted in delight, a few scoffing in disbelief. The mood however, had noticeably improved and Sophie even felt a little gratified by the positive energy of the crowd all because of her. Elaria even shot her an approving wink. Her heart swelled with no small amount of pride.

  “A tale!” A few soldiers chanted.

  “A tale!” She chanted back.

  “... and so with great gusto. We charged forward, hah! If the lizardfolk there hadn’t gone feral from isolation, I’d reckon they’d have some choice words for us!” Sophie boasted.

  The people approved, her crowd reacting with unrestrained laughter at the image she tried to paint for them. Two unclothed maidens, one a mermaid, rushing into battle with reckless abandon. All done in plain view of the Goddess’s holy saints.

  “Ah man. Simpler times.” Sophie sighed wistfully.

  Her face glowed red and she radiated warmth. Thanks to the unruly nature of the crowd, she found herself having joined them in an attempt to somewhat fit in. Having guzzled down a pint already, Sophie could feel herself gradually disassociating despite being fully present. Her lightheadedness was not helped by the loud noises made by the people around her.

  She wiped some sweat from her brow to find more than a handful still staring at her expectantly. She searched around for Elaria but found no sign of the bard, likely having snuck away during the ups and downs of Sophie’s recollection. Guess it was a distraction of sorts.

  Feeling that her throat had grown dry, she reached for her drink and made a face that elicited no small amount of laughter from the soldiers. Her experiences with alcohol were limited at best. The last time she could actively recall was back at Aetemo’s party where she had declared her love for Aryana through intensive action. Heh, she grinned, heheh.

  Shaking herself out of her mental blockage, she triumphantly stood up from her seat. Her sudden movement prompted a quiet hush to spread out over the crowd. She took a deep breath then let it out, wincing a little from the alcohol in her breath.

  “One more while the night is… uhh… night is young?” She asked the crowd.

  A deafening cheer.

  “So this one… this one sucked ass.” She frowned at her memory, “But what I can tell you is… well… There's a good reason why most of us live above ground.” She snickered.

  “Above ground? Then this is about the dwarves the song said?” Someone wisely questioned.

  “Aye. A tale of the underground. Of the darkness that wrenches at one’s soul where the light of the Goddess does not shine. And of a hardy folk who, though they might be shorter than us,” She paused, allowing the quiet snickers and chuckles to die down, “Fight with equal parts honor, courage, and stupidity. A desperate defense of their home, of weapons we can scarcely even imagine. And if you thought the fields of Gratia were big? Man, let me tell you, there’s never a reason why caves should be bigger than that.” She mimed a frightful shudder.

  “Goddess above guide us.” A man muttered.

  “Yeah. It was that bad.” Sophie drawled in agreement, “And you know how it starts? Smugglers, smugglers and me getting flung off a damned bridge. Almost died you know, probably did a little. I only lived because a cave spider the size of a house tried to ambush us. Plunged my blade into its carapace as it took me down with it…”

  “For honor!” They chorused.

  “For honor!” She echoed.

  “For justice!”

  “For justice!” She followed along.

  “To victory!”

  “To victory!” She let out a small yell.

  The room roared in affirmation and Sophie tiredly downed whatever was left of her mug. She coughed viciously and doubled over. Lightheaded and a little dizzy, she struggled to pull herself upright. Her head was pounding with a fury of a thousand needles and her senses felt almost distorted.

  Her body was one fire, the clammy sweat only making her more uncomfortable. Ignoring the gazes of those around her, she unbuttoned the top of her tunic. Her new round of coughs were drowned out by the celebratory cheers from those watching.

  Reveling in the attention, she managed to sit back up straight and patted the empty mug. She met the gazes of those around her. A few were too drunk to be thinking, some were curious, others still skeptical, another contingent seemed downright lustful. But they were her audience nonetheless and she had stories to tell.

  She stretched a few times to clear out the itchiness in her ears to no avail. Surrendering to the sensation, she returned her attention to the crowd. She then held up one finger to her crowd.

  “More story?” She slurred.

  Pounded tankards and more cheers signaled their affirmation.

  She smiled cheekily, an innovative idea popping into her mind.

  “Now, I told you two long stories already.” She raised her voice before dramatically searching their eyes for understanding, “So now it’ll cost you.” She grinned.

  The crowd waited with bated breath, uncertain of what trick she had up her sleeve.

  “One copper!” She proudly declared her new rate.

  They stared back in disbelief, exchanging glances with one another. Then in the next moment, before she could even begin feeling triumphant. A plethora of outstretched hands waved singular copper artes around. She was quite pleased that she would earn more than one.

  “Woah, woah. So many. No bag.” She jokingly pouted.

  “Make one.” A younger voice suggested.

  Bobbing her head, she agreed. She just needed more storage space for her new gains. She soon realized however, that most of everything she had was not with her. She thus restored to something she had seen every once in a while at the Academy and the city. And attempted what she knew Elaria would be proud of. Making sure everything was just that much tighter, she then pulled her tunic a little lower and pushed her bosom together until the created a nice little bowl between them.

  Her coins came in fast, though she found a few of them had come a little too enthusiastically. Still her payment was received and now she had a story to deliver.

  “I hear that Gratia has some, ummm, some undead problems, yeah?” She asked.

  The enthusiasm faded a little, more murmurings and mumbles. Most just nodded in acknowledgement of her query.

  “Well, well. Have courage dear uhm, dear comrades. For I have fought the dead. Not once, twice, thrice or… err… was it thrice? Whatever the case, I’ve fought them before. From the Mistveil to Melisgrad. Then to uh, a ruin I guess. Sounds a little lame now that I say it like that.”

  Hushed whispers, though with a hint of excitement.

  “So uhh, the message is… don’t be afraid.” She nodded to herself, “Yes, don’t be afraid. I mean, I was, but now look where I stand.” She wiggled around proudly “So listen here, because I won’t repeat things.”

  After wagging a finger in warning, she sat a little straighter and began recounting her tale.

  “It started just after I had been taken from home, you see…”

  “... the ruins were practically infested, you know? Undead, trolls, and even mind controlled cultists all worshipping this… this enormous crystal. Except unlike the one in Melisgrad, this one had rivers of blood flowing all around it.” Sophie paused, trying her best not to cough once more, “Then there were their uniforms, the strangest things I swear.”

  “Oui?” Someone half heartedly prompted.

  “Yeah! They were wearing metal armor, but some of them were segmented strips and others in full plate. Really old and ancient looking too! Got rust and stuff all over them, but signs that they uhh, what’s the word, polish them and maintain them. One funny looking one even got a bunch of feathers on his head.” She mimed to the best of her ability, what she remembered of the destroyed Myndiri city of Saclia, “Really strange folk that.” She fought to stay conscious.

  “A plume?” An icy cold, but helpful voice suggested.

  “Yeah! That’s it! A plume! Like those things that I heard the traxian officers wear. But this definitely wasn’t a traxian. Super ancient, definitely undead.”

  “And how would you know that?” The voice asked, Sophie unable to locate its source within the crowd.

  “Uhm, cause I’ve fought the dead before? And it was like when the templars were fighting with me back in the Mistveil, fuck, that was a rough time.” She lamented.

  “How so?”

  “Oh. Cause the undead guy, he wasn’t the one in the plume but he had this fully visored helm. He moved with super speed and strength, or maybe I was really exhausted by then. I do recall getting absolutely pummeled by a troll. Goddess above, that definitely hurt.”

  “The undead?”

  “Eh? I mean, right. We fought a duel, one on one. Elf versus the dead.” She snickered somberly, “Then he lost. Maybe he wanted to die. Maybe I got really lucky. I just remember that when I…” She briefly stopped, barely aware enough to remember not to reveal her own secrets, “He tried to cut me, sideways. Broke my blade practically. But that left him open, and I uhh, I guess I just hit a weak spot or got really lucky, after all, the relief expedition finally arrived by then. Anyways, what matters is that when I hit him, he just began crumbling and turning into bone dust you know? Like when the undead have their magicks cut off or something. Just poof, and he was dead.” She finished her recollection.

  Only now was she keenly aware of how quiet her audience had gotten. There was an uneasy tension in the air and she wondered if she had said anything wrong. Going through what she could in her mind though, she found no reason why she would’ve said anything that was overtly offensive to the gratians. So what’s wrong? They look nervous even. A shadow descended upon her and she froze.

  “Wha-? What is it?” She asked, “You’ll have to pay another copper for more story.”

  Then she recognised the capitaine. He stared at her with a grave expression on his face. Even the lower level footmen shared this expression.

  She suddenly felt very alone.

  “That’s impossible.” Capitaine Fontaine growled, his eyes practically boiling with rage, “You? You alone fought one and lived to tell the tale? To brag about it when you're not even a proper chevalier? Bah.” He spat at the table in front of her.

  Sophie couldn’t respond, her mind was too addled to form a coherent response.

  The man then dropped a glove in front of her.

  “Huh? Copper, not items.” She managed to say.

  “Trivial. Prove to me your skill, simpleton. I challenge you to a most honorable duel.” The capitaine snarled. The whole room fell silent.

  Sophie’s eyes widened, her mouth agape with shcok. What the hells is going on?