[Log] Chill Wind

[reynardfox]

Who: Agrias Oaks, Simon Parker
Where: Lesalia - Kingdom of Ivalice - Fantasy Sector
When: 27 August 2008
What: Having lost track of his boss, Simon goes looking for Agrias and finds her in one of her usual haunts, overlooking the ruins of her old home. Discussion - including a few unwelcome conversation partners - ensues.
Watch For: Nothing in particular, really. Cheap foreshadowing, maybe.

Fantasy Sector - Nelveska Temple

The Nelveska Temple is a small temple on an island in Ivalice, which has long since fallen into ruin. The grounds on the outside are littered with fallen pieces of stone from it and crackled floorstones leading into the temple itself. The interior is dark and dank, often difficult to see into. Nonetheless, adventurers sometimes come here, seeking their fortune and hoping forgotten treasure lay inside of it.

Contents:
Simon Parker
Ivalice, Good End
Obvious exits:
Southwest leads to Fantasy Sector - Lesalia Imperial Capital.
ut of the temple leads to Fantasy Sector.

The Kingdom of Ivalice may be an unsafe place, xenophobic among the multiverse at best, but the cunning may find a way to deal with it. Some areas are simply beyond the reach of the major cities, outside of their spheres of influence and trading. Lingering in these hinterlands isn't as unsafe as the cities, though one must still remain wary.

Some of these areas are simply open field, rolling grasslands that cast on as far as the eye can see. Lesalia houses a particularly long tract of plainsland, dotted with hills and the occasional grassy basin. These open seas of grassland are both mostly deserted and quite calming, with the wind soughing through the grass and the grain bending gracefully in the breeze.

A stunted tree stands dominant over a particularly broad hill, unremarkable, though other oak trees are also far-flung through this particular stretch of grasslands. It isn't far from the ruins of House Oaks, and though a distance from them, it in fact overlooks the ruins, buried in ash and greenery by this point in time. Suggestions of walls are still visible, and areas of rubble overgrown by plantlife.

Tied to the ruined tree, twisted and burnt and most likely dead, is a chocobo's reins. Alkoun seems in a state of rest, head lowered but not tucked under his wing, one large eye half-open. As for his master...

Agrias Oaks herself wears her traditional armour, hair braided in its usual manner. She sits atop a small outcropping of rock, one leg folded a bit, the crippled one stretched out to dangle. Her sword lies in reach, and in her hands is what looks like a wooden whistle of some sort; a surprisingly full-sounding, wood-whistle dirge echoing over the deserted plains. Her eyes are closed, brow knitted just faintly in concentration, fingers flying over the holes.

It's time to check up on her again.
Simon has tried his level best to keep from moving too much, but some things just need to be taken care of, wounded leg or no. First among these is his monitoring job-Parker shook down a few of the stablehands to find out where Agrias had gone, before taking Octavian out for a ride of his own. It's clumsy, given that the demon's right leg is still healing from last night's escapade, but eventually he gets there.
Octavian trots up to the tree without balking. Gingerly, Simon dismounts from the chocobo, landing on his good leg first. He reaches behind his back, and draws something from beneath his cloak...
A cane. He leans on it as he ties Octavian's reins next to Alkoun's, and walks over to his superior. "Captain," Simon says. He salutes, crisply. "I... Yes, I remember now, you played the recorder. Beautiful."

The first to notice the new arrival is Alkoun, snapping out of his dozing state as though he had been called to battle. The chocobo begins to backs his crest, hissing, but then he seems to recognise Simon. Apparently, familiarising himself with the chocobo has begun to pay off.

He didn't even snap at him!

There's a pause as Alkoun fixes Simon with an avian glower, before drooping his head back to his half-doze. He completely ignores Octavian.

Agrias doesn't seem to react, at first, lost in the music. Her fingers dance deftly over the whistle's holes, the pads of her fingers catching on the old, polished wood. It looks to be hand-carved, with its holes burned through rather than cut, the whistle fire-hardened at its edges.

Her eyes open to slits as she seems to near the end of the song, but she doesn't stop to address Simon, playing the whole thing through. It skirls like the lonely wind, though not shrill; playing among the trees and grass and, maybe, through the ruins far below.

She sets the whistle aside almost reverently, tiltling her head just far enough to cast an oblique glance towards Simon.

"'Tis not a recorder," she states, firmly, but there doesn't seem to be that much venom in her words. "'Tis a wood-whistle, and thank you. But it is hardly my song." Her eyes cast back out towards the ruins, narrowing slightly. "'Tis a song of mourning."

He might notice, if he looks carefully, that she's wearing her winter cloak; a much thicker fabric, lined in fur. She seems to be wearing a thicker undershirt, as well, below her armour; fur lines her boots. The wind is indeed stiff, but the temperature is hardly like Golland's. Yet she still seems somewhat pale, as though bloodless and fighting to stay warm.

Simon, on the other hand, is wearing a simple cloak over his suit and tie. The cane is elegant yet simple, a holdover from the last time his leg was injured. He frowns thoughtfully, take in the peculiar manner of dress. "Are you cold or something?" he asks, bluntly. "It's... really not that chilly out. Though I did wear a jacket for the first time in weeks today-home was cold and rainy."
Then, a pause. "A song of mourning?"

Agrias remains hunched atop the stone, one hand lowering slowly to brace herself against the relentless wind. She watches the ruins below, as though there were something to see there besides the scampering of small creatures.

A shadow passes overhead, and should the pair look up, a broad-winged eagle rides the wind downhill, swooping so close they can likely hear the whirr of its feathers in the wind. It streaks like an arrow towards the ruins, plummeting to the stones. It rises a moment later, screaming, wings beating powerfully as it carries something small in its talons.

Even as the eagle retreats, Agrias' brow furrows, faintly, as she watches the abandoned ruins. "Aye, I am. I've been cold for days. I don't think I'm ill," she adds, shaking her head. "I feel fine, otherwise. And it does not interfere with my duties; so it's of little concern to me."

He should see her home. Blankets everywhere.

She pulls her cloak a little tighter about herself with one hand, shivering. It certainly seems genuine; and her skin does seem awfully pale, even for such a gloomy, overcast day. "Lesalia is rarely known for its warmth save in high summer. The sun does not shine here as often as it does elsewhere." The wind works her braid free from her shoulder; and it's strong enough to send it streaming over her shoulder, towards her face. A hand brushes it away.

"If anything, this region is known for rain, and quite a lot of it. 'Tis what makes farmers fain break their backs over this earth... crops grow well here. Farmers seldom must needs concern themselves over drought, in this small area, though such problems are certainly north and south of here... if anything, they must be wary of flooding." She takes the flute, pointing it straight for the ruins. "I remember when that place was still a proper estate."

"There were no crops grown here but for what was needed for fodder. Chocobos were bred, here; the finest warbirds to be found in the whole of Lesalia-province. Alkoun is among the last of such pure-blooded stock, though he be a half-blood, himself." She pulls her cloak tighter around her shoulders, huddling atop the boulder. "And there were people here, bannermen and servants and scullions and maids and an occasional priest... it was always full of life."

"The laird was neither too harsh nor too soft with his people and his family. He was wise in managing his troops and winning their hearts, and he fought well in battle. He was a captain in the Fifty Years' War. The lady was cunning in the ways of managing the estate, and seeing that everything fell into place as it was meant."

The Holy Knight sinks into her cloak, as though to leach what warmth she can from the fur-trimmed garment. Those golden eyes narrow, as though Agrias isn't watching lonely ruins, but what the estate once resembled. "Her children were four, and though they did not love one another, they still did what was required of them. Some were cruel to the others, but the weak stood together, and stood their ground, when such was needed..."

"They were not considered nobility in the purest sense. They had very little standing in the royal courts, but they had enough to ensure what they needed. One son became a lord. Another became a powerful merchant. A daughter became a knight, and the first of the family in recent memory to be ordained by the Church. And the last son became a priest, though he was frail."

The Oaks estate. He should've known. It's one thing hearing Agrias describe the murder of her family, and another seeing a weed-choked ruin where their home used to stand. Parker sighs faintly, hobbles over to Agrias, and takes his seat on the rock outcropping beside her. He sets the cane crossways in his lap, and nods somberly. This time the emotion isn't entirely calculated-he greatly dislikes such excesses as this. Did they kill the children, too? Parker wonders.
"You miss them." It's a statement, not a question, though Simon's eyebrow arches inquisitively. Perhaps a bit too inquisitively, given the subject matter, but the curiosity is there. "Even the ones who hated you, and wanted to hurt you. Why did you come here-did you feel the need to grieve?"

The Holy Knight rests the flute across her lap, narrowed eyes still out towards the ruins of the manse. There's little left of it; vague suggestions of walls and chambers in the debris.

When Simon sits down beside her, she doesn't seem to react, nor does she immediately correct him or debate what judgments he makes.

"I do not miss them." She looks down towards the dust at her feet, tiny and resilient weeds already threatening the base of the boulders. "I only feel empty at such waste, this outright murder." She spreads her arms, in a gesture not quite helpless. "Why did this happen? They had naught to do with the crimes I was accused of."

"But no... I do not miss them, Lucavi curse my bloodlust-stricken brothers. May they remain dust. I only wish that my younger brother had not been put to the sword. My lord father. My lady mother." She shakes her head. "They were not young, but neither were they old. And Crevan still had a life to live... but Ser Cadern and Ser Belus, no. Dust keep them. I'll have naught to do with them."

Her eyes narrow. No, she didn't come here to mourn. She came to consider whether that insidious voice in her head was worth listening to - would it make any difference to accept that power and avenge their deaths, after so many years?

"No." Her voice is naturally quiet, but when she continues, her voice is naught but a whisper and nearly lost to the soughing wind. "I came here to think, and mayhap ask their forgiveness..."

Simon's lips tighten in a thin, bloodless smile. "Forgiveness from the dead?" Were he dealing with anyone else, he'd reach out to put a hand on their shoulder-but this is Agrias, and doing the same to her might cost him that same hand. Instead, he inches a little closer, perhaps to provide comfort-
More likely to see if he can tell if she's really as cold as she claims to be. "Wise woman," Parker murmurs. Memory twists, and any mention of Agrias' feelings is erased from the demon's mind. "If you gain anything from the past, let it be the strength to keep going. If you feel you must 'make peace' with your family in order to do this, then do it."

Golden eyes flick towards Simon, and the look in those eyes is as cold as the knight claimed to feel. Best he not approach any closer, or he may be worrying about more than a cane.

"Aye." It's her only answer to the demon's advice. Her eyes are still on the ruins, her mind still on the proposal. With that power, she could destroy the Church and root out the corruption that's eaten away at the remainder. She could do it herself. No waiting for years on a mere possibility. They would be destroyed - it would be done.

She could return and lay to rest these blackened bones.

The Holy Knight seems deep in thought, though - lost, if he should try to say anything; eyes narrowed, as though considering a difficult choice. She is.

How far would she be willing to go...?

Simon gets the idea. He scoots away from Agrias, wincing a little as his injured leg decides to protest. He takes a deep breath, and lets it out.
"I don't know what else to say. I have no family, but rest assured that if someone did to my... allies what Glabados did to your family, I wouldn't rest until they were brought low. But... You don't have that option, now."

"I never had that option." Agrias picks up the flute, considering it with a half-hearted glance; her attention is clearly elsewhere. "To stand against the Church is suicide, with the influence and authority that they wield in Ivalice. Glabados is not on the same level as the Crown, but they hold the hearts of the smallfolk as the Crown never has and never will."

The knight sets the flute down again, as a particularly strong breeze rustles through the grass. A few leaves and dead stalks are brought with it, tumbling end over end. Agrias glances up, and after a split-second, she reaches up, snapping her fist closed.

She uncurls her hand, showing a withered stalk from the fields; the feathery head still on the grass. Agrias opens her hand to release it a moment later, letting the wind take it.

"And if I recall," she adds, casting a dry look towards the demon, "I did not ask for you to say anything at all. I do not need any... comforting words, or pithy reassurances that I know you do not feel."

Silence is just as eloquent.

"But tell me, Parker... if you were given the option to right any wrong in your world, anything that was out of place to you, struck you as the mightiest and most cruel injustice or affront to the order you so hold dear..."

She looks up towards the grey sky. "Would you take it, even if your work and your sacrifices to set things aright may be forgotten? Ser Beoulve took that chance. He knew history would erase him, and I do not doubt that he had to know what the Church would do to him... but he drew himself ever deeper into their tangled skeins and their convoluted plots."

"I only fear to think what they would have done with him, had he any family left alive before the close of the War of the Lions. Doubtless it would pale in comparison to what they've done to House Oaks."

She sighs, letting herself droop a little, more of a relaxed posture, though she still looks pale and cold; and more than that, tired - not the worried exhaustion of a concerned captain, but the bone-weary exhaustion of somebody facing a difficult ordeal or decision. "I am the last of them, now. My brothers are slain. My lord father and lady mother have been laid low. I've no real kith or kin who were not taken in the warring."

"I do not see myself having children. I've desire for little beyond keeping true to the oaths I've sworn as a Holy Knight of the St. Konoe Order, to the oaths I swore as Lionsguard... and I suppose I've grown too bitter for love." She shakes her head. She doesn't sound regretful or bitter; just... tired. "No doubt the line will end with my death. But I've some power in how it may be remembered, I suppose..."

"It may not seem like much, to you, demon, but that is a sizable weight for me to bear..." Especially now, when she teeters so dangerously close to the vengeance that part of her has wanted for so long. "I suppose I could marry and bear children, were I so concerned over continuing the line, but... what for?"

Agrias snaps a gauntleted fist out, capturing another handful of chaff. She releases it again, holding it up and letting the wind whisk it right off her palm. "House Oaks is in disgrace, and ever it will be, after what has been done to it... it would be kinder to any future children of mine if I never had them at all." She chuckles, sardonically. "Just as well that it works that way, aye?"

Once again, the faint stirrings of something that might be empathy in any other person flicker behind Simon Parker's eyes. "I..." The demon sucks in a breath and holds it. He closes his eyes, and lets the wind play with his hair and coat. Finally he lets it out in a single word.
"No. At least not in the matter your Ramza did. Subterfuge is best countered with subterfuge, that's what Captain Ava taught me. When the enemy is embedded too thickly to root out by straightforward brute force, you must strip it of its supporting pieces until it, too, can be captured."
"You never struck me as the type to employ that strategy," Parker says. That's putting it mildly.

Agrias looks away from the ruins, instead looking towards the looming sky. The scent and taste of rain are on the air, and thunder growls in the far distance. Such a storm would be impressive here in the valley, but it sounds like it's still trapped on the other side of this particular valley.

She looks away, then, down towards the resilient weeds at the foot of the boulder. To Simon's assessment, she shakes her head and pulls her cloak tigheter around her shoulders, huddling into it. Her eyes close for a moment.

"No. I will not resort to such methods against these opponents." After a moment, her eyes open; but only halfway, as though she were looking inward rather than out. "I may be exiled and branded a heretic, but I am still a Holy Knight of the St. Konoe Order. One does not simply discard their training. It is who I am."

She looks out towards the ruins again, eyes still hooded. It would hardly be subterfuge, that insidious little voice seems to whisper. Would they not deserve such swift retribution?

No, she tells herself, brow knitting as she sinks further into her cloak, grip tightening on the edge of it. A knight must not employ such dishonourable tactics. He must not compromise his pride, and set himself an example to the smallfolk who look up to him-

Pah. Smallfolk. Who are these smallfolk? Those jeering, reeking masses who would have you burned at the stake, like some common criminal? Who would come watch it like some comedy in the market-square? You are better than that, Captain Agrias of Oaks... You deserve better than that...

Agrias makes a quiet, disgusted - or perhaps despairing? - sound in the back of her throat, sinking even further into her cloak. "It is... more complicated than that," she manages, unhappily.

The demon heaves a long-suffering sigh, and turns to Oaks, meeting those half-lidded golden eyes with his own. "Are you in there, Captain?" he asks, half-jokingly, half-annoyed. "You're just making things difficult for yourself, you realize." Oh, if Simon could only hear the little voice in Agrias' head right now.

Those golden eyes narrow into slits, like some upset feline, staring down at the ruins. The wind is biting, and as the veiled sun sinks beyond the hills, it's getting a little colder.

"Of course I am." Her response is just as annoyed, measure for measure. "Do you realise what would happen to the people even if I had the power to destroy Glabados, piece by piece? The smallfolk believe in it. They need it. They've nothing else to sustain them in these times."

Cast them aside, that insidious voice whispers. You use them only as an excuse, as you always have. Cast them aside and succumb, my Knight, to the power you know you crave. You shall be as us...

"No." Agrias hisses and shakes her head, and then she seems to realise she said it aloud. "No," she continues, in a more level tone, forcing herself to calm. She just seems tired, as though all the life's been wrung out of her.

This constant battle is wearing her down.

"No. I cannot do that to the people. What has Ivalice, if not her people? When the kingdom nearly became part of Ordalian territory, they stood, they marched to war, they defended her. Their bodies have already been broken. It would be an injustice and a cruelty to break their spirits..."

They have no spirits left, that voice continues, almost mockingly. What is there left to break, proud Dame? Perhaps you speak only of your own spirit. It is already broken.

Never, Agrias thinks, almost savagely. Her hand involuntarily twitches tighter around the hem of her cloak. I will never be broken or brought low, and certainly not by you, creature.

We shall see about that.

She relaxes, bit by bit, and finally lets her eyes close wearily. "I am just tired..." Her head shakes, faintly; bangs fall into her face, but she ignores them. "This is a problem more delicate than 'destroy them,' Parker. I must consider the people, as well. And I must consider the Crown. What, then, would they do, if the Church were not there? Oh, aye, things would be better, of that I have no doubt. But what trials and tribulations would the Crown impose upon the people in the Church's place...? They're already at their limit."

A limit that has long since passed, comes the taunt. Agrias shakes her head as though to clear it, continuing without skipping a beat.

"So we cannot..."

-cannot see, can you? You lie to-

"...simply let them go like this..."

-yourself just as much as you lie to any other. Disgraceful! What kind of Knight are you-

She shakes her head again. "Heiral will not be let to seize such power." Her eyes are clear, this time; and she resolutely tries to ignore the Lich King's treacherous whisperings. "I will not be fooled by his parading about as the hero of the people."

She points northeast, towards where the royal capital's tallest spires can be seen on the horizon. "He sits in the halls that generations of Atkaschans have held. He cast her out under pretense of death."

"He would not fain see her in those halls again, though they rightfully belong to her. That tells me he would not dare suffer sharing his power... so what, then, would he have in mind? To what further lengths would he go?" She draws her cloak tighter. Is it the light, or does she seem even paler; more drawn?

"He has no sympathy for the people. Of that I've little doubt. These matters are not so simple... would that they were," she adds, casting an oblique glance to the lawyer.

"The people would survive," the demon says. "And really, isn't that what counts?" He scoffs, letting out a hiss of breath that almost turns to vapor in the air. "You're caught in what amounts to a catch-22, Oaks, and you're making it worse by agonizing over it. Come to some sort of decision, or leave it be. And really, this is all an exercise in futility, since neither of us are in any position to destroy the Church or the Crown. Why did you even bring it up?"

"Aye..."

You lie.

Agrias still looks a little troubled, but she doesn't press the issue. She wills her expression to smooth a little.

"I only wish that there were some way to set things aright." She shakes her head, shivering and huddling into her cloak. "Even the chocobos were slaughtered. The household knights' children. It was not just my family..."

Avenge them. You know that is your deepest desire-

Agrias just sighs, looking back towards the ruins - understandable, maybe, if she seems a bit haunted.

But not for the reasons Simon may think...

Simon frowns, thoughtfully. He looks at Agrias, notes the pale face, the way she's bundled up like it's wintertime, and thinks. "Are you feeling... sick? Like, some sort of chronic thing? Seriously, it's not that cold out."

"I already told you, I feel fine, beyond such a chill." Agrias shakes her head, glancing over towards her subordinate. That haunted look vanishes as she shoves that insidious voice away, back to some back-corner of her mind. "Perhaps just from lack of sleep?" But it looks worse than that.

She sighs, resettling her cloak around herself and pulling the cloak tight. "I never did like the cold. Lesalia is cool, but not harsh..." Agrias chuckles. "Gollund was a nightmare, the first time Ser Beoulve's battalion went through it. We had no proper equipment for winter, and aye, it was winter."

"Even the chocobos were balking." Agrias huddles into her cloak, shuddering. "Something in the wind was frightening them."

"Heh. General Winter strikes again," Parker quips. "Ask Captain Ava about Stalingrad, if you ever get the chance to. She's got plenty of stories to tell about that sort of thing." The demon offers Agrias a feeble little smile, and then shakes his head.
"Right now, you've got to live. For yourself, if nothing else. And here is where I'd say something sappy about never giving up, were I an angel-all I can say Truthfully is that I hope you have the satisfaction of grinding the bastards that did this under your heel. If not in this life, then the next."

"General Winter is quite persistent. And he has quite the foothold in the Kingdom of Ivalice, even in autumn." Agrias chuckles, gesturing vaguely towards the southeast. "Gollund has the most savage winters. Even in midsummer, snow covers its highlands. I will, should I see her."

To his advice, she only shakes her head. "Of course. But you are not an angel - a Seraph, was it? - and I would not expect 'something sappy' from you." She grins. "Hearing that from you would be like to seeing a dragon pulling a wain."

...If Reis' favoured pet is any clue, they're not known for being docile.

Grinding the lowborn bastards 'neath your heel is what you want.

A stark, chill wind sweeps over the plains; enough to send Agrias into a shudder, clutching her cloak as though it were protective; even Simon might notice the sudden drop.

No, she tells herself again, quiet but insistent.

Stop lying to yourself, whelp. You want that satisfaction. You want it more than anything else. It is wine to you, sweeter than honey; would be the greatest ecstacy to you...

No. Agrias huddles into her cloak, golden eyes slits above the silvery fox pelt. I will not let myself fall prey to such corruption.

You cannot stay awake forever, my Knight, the voice taunts. You will be mine. Come howling ice, come dark winter; you will learn to love the ice and the darkness.

Agrias only huddles deeper into her cloak, looking troubled.

"...Agrias?" Simon asks. The hairs on the back of his neck are standing on end, and he can feel the chill from here.
"Is something wrong?"
Beneath her skin, Rimehowl slithers.

The chill wind plays about the hill the two agents sit on, skirling as it moves across weather-beaten, time-worn rocks. Even Alkoun seems uneasy, hissing in distress and raising his crest, backing up towards Octavian as though he might find an ally in battle.

(Yeah, right.)

Agrias only clutches her cloak all the more tighter, and doesn't seem to hear the lawyer for several moments. Though it doesn't show beneath her armour and her layers of winter clothing, her shoulders are a mass of tension. Something seems to slither in them.

The Holy Knight shudders. "I-I am fine," she manages, at length. The cold wind seems to pass, but both Alkoun and his master both remain uneasy.

A few moments later, Agrias manages a wan smile. "It is nothing. Really. Dinna fash y'rsel'." She glances over towards Alkoun and Ocvatian, perhaps to make sure that Alkoun, in his distress, is not trying to eat Octavian.

Thankfully, no.

"That was odd," she adds, shaking her head. Look. Shiny change of subject. "The winds are rarely so cold, down low... there are valleys like this all the way to the royal capital." She points towards Lesalia's far-distant spires. "The only real mountain ranges are south and north. 'Tis like to a tunnel headed straight for the capital... only the palace and its surrounding city are on higher ground. They've none of the rain that the lowlanders have."

Simon sighs and nods at Agrias' explanation, but still doesn't sound totally convinced. "You swear on your honor as a Holy Knight that it's nothing?" the demon asks.
Octavian, for his part, is looking somewhat distressed as well, perhaps sensing his master's feelings. He starts tugging gently at his reins and warking softly.

"My reckoning would be an early winter." Agrias glances towards the skies, pointing northward. "See, that way? The storms often come from that direction. By the look of those clouds, I would say that there is a storm headed here soon... a severe one. With all of the troubles this year, I would not be surprised by an early winter."

Disease, drought, famine... it's a wonder there are any people left at all in Ivalice.

Swear it on your precious honour, my Knight. The voice is there, right at the bounds of her awareness. Swear it, because you will have little honour left. You'll have no need of such things.

I will resist, Agrias tells herself, savagely, temper flaring in silence. You'll not have me. I'll not lend my sword to your unjust crusade, your aimless slaughter. I've enough training and strength left in me to do that much.

Tell yourself that, the voice whispers, sickly-sweet. Tell yourself that even as we shape you in our image.

I will take pleasure in purifying every last one of you, Agrias counters hotly. I will turn all of your kind to ash, just as was done to that dread blade.

Keep telling yourself that, the Lich King counters patiently, with laughter like the keening of wind between glaciers.

Agrias is chalk-white by this point, but she only shakes her head, smiling wanly. "Aye. I swear it." Gods forgive her. She'll just do her best to buck the traces of this fell creature. There's no need to worry her allies, her friends. Besides, there's little that could be done. Such voices in the head are a symptom of madness, no?

It's probably nothing.

Keep telling yourself that...

"Saa," she calls softly, twisting her head just far enough to spot Octavian fretting at his traces. "Saa. Easy, Octavian, Alkoun. No need to fret. Just a bit of wind, aye...?"