Hushed Arguments in the Red of Knight

[freezn]

No sooner had her last pupil turned in the final exam she would hold for the year of Three Streams Blooded, than Meesha departed in a haze of thick black smoke. Her purposeful stride quickly taking her across the stone of Suzail's cobbled streets. Scarcely a pleasant smile or a small nod given to those she passed along in the cold winter night. It wasn't long before she shut the doors to the Red Knight's temple behind her.

Her movements became measured. They were careful things that did little to disturb the hallowed ground as she gracefully glided across the marble floor to speak with Raillia. A quick and quiet deliberation saw Meesha then turn back for the benches that lined the temple's outer wall. There she sat, reading over various notes and reports. There she waited as the night wore on with the never ceasing depths that winter bore.

Before light ever had chance to rise with the new day the Mistress of Sorcery once again approached the temple's priestess. Her stride more determined, her placid face set with annoyance. In the hushed whispers that seemed determined to echo off the walls Meesha argued with Raillia. Her eyes flashed with sparks of arcane energy each time she threw her hands in the direction of the temple's barracks.

Yet as the darkness of the eve fled, and the light of the morning sun rose, the Enchantress can be see walking once more down the cobbled streets of the city. The disgruntled annoyance written plainly upon her expression as she turns up the road towards the Healing House. Her satchel of surgical supplies and notes of anatomy well in hand.

[Warlord]

Dec 6, 2020 22:37:07 GMT -5 freezn said:

No sooner had her last pupil turned in the final exam she would hold for the year of Three Streams Blooded, than Meesha departed in a haze of thick black smoke. Her purposeful stride quickly taking her across the stone of Suzail's cobbled streets. Scarcely a pleasant smile or a small nod given to those she passed along in the cold winter night. It wasn't long before she shut the doors to the Red Knight's temple behind her.

Her movements became measured. They were careful things that did little to disturb the hallowed ground as she gracefully glided across the marble floor to speak with Raillia. A quick and quiet deliberation saw Meesha then turn back for the benches that lined the temple's outer wall. There she sat, reading over various notes and reports. There she waited as the night wore on with the never ceasing depths that winter bore.

Before light ever had chance to rise with the new day the Mistress of Sorcery once again approached the temple's priestess. Her stride more determined, her placid face set with annoyance. In the hushed whispers that seemed determined to echo off the walls Meesha argued with Raillia. Her eyes flashed with sparks of arcane energy each time she threw her hands in the direction of the temple's barracks.

Yet as the darkness of the eve fled, and the light of the morning sun rose, the Enchantress can be see walking once more down the cobbled streets of the city. The disgruntled annoyance written plainly upon her expression as she turns up the road towards the Healing House. Her satchel of surgical supplies and notes of anatomy well in hand.

An elder male would occasionally hold the door open, and close for, Meesha. He frequently seemed a bit crippled - weak - just tired. A trimmed beard sponsored, and a soft smile given, to the busied sorceress he did give. Despite the haggard nature and cane held, he still had vitality that was pursued for recovery.


At the healer's house: Quake remained lifeless and gradually mended. Her tattoo's seemed polished at least and richly maintained but the Strongest kept KO'd. Ronnie herself struggled to balance time between church and state elsewise, very hard to encounter. Quake wouldn't breath though despite the news her spirit was slow moving for returning.


Meanwhile...

At 6'6, a being with a veil would walk up and down the stairs of the Red Knight temple, carrying reading material from the library to the locked barracks and moved very slow. Blue eyes would watch Meesha on the occasion of the sorceress' entry. It'd be hard to miss the tall gal with her height and shape: while the white veil would be rather culturally iconic of whom they may be related to. If not for the cloth, but for the height, shape, and eyes: Borghild wasn't from around these parts. Great beauty exceeding another clankins own might be observed by the hurried sorceress from afar.

It was obvious they were repressing arcane energy..

[freezn]

In those first visits Meesha had stalled more than once when gaze spied the white veiled northerner. The immediate and uncanny resemblance tricking her tired eyes.Slowly, her mind caught up to the true differences and she was quick to pull her gaze away before she could absorb more detail.

She had enough on her mind and didn’t need to add another maladjusted illuskan to it. The sorceress maintained focus upon the task she had set herself too. She would patiently wait for as long as she could afford, before arguing with Raillia. A task that was as futile as winding back time.

As the days wore on Meesha could afford less and less time to her visits. She gave in to the clergy’s insistence that there was nothing she could do for the barbarian in the Healing House, and eventually ended her visits there entirely.

The visits to the Red Knight’s temple, though shortened, never ceased. She would come with reports, treatises, notes, and all manner of busy work. Quil, ever active as she sat upon the bench near the barracks door. Still her mind would wander after becoming numb to the words she read over parchment. A clear lack of sleep lately gave way to wandering thoughts as she’d catch herself staring at the crippled man, whom she shared pleasant smiles with at the door every day.

It was however, the woman who more often drew Meesha’s attention. The Mistress of Sorcery could feel the subtle changes in the Weave whenever the other woman was around. The way it folded in upon itself, thinning the bindings that connected the illuskan to the endless potential of the Art. Meesha could pick up the distortion in her sleep she imagined.

How many promising students protected themselves in this manner? Not quite ready to reach out and intertwine their will with reality. She often associated the distortion with those who’d already touched the Weave and found the power a stray thought or emotion might bring forth. Typically with disastrous effects.

It was in this line of thinking that she would find herself staring at the opposing beauty. Strained eyes never truly focusing as she tracked the slow moving woman.

On one particular day, after having been lulled away from reading a piece arguing in the favor of the World Tree model of the cosmos, a thought occurred to her. It came with a rush of heat that quickly refocused her tired mind.

As casually as she could, the instructor gathered her papers and placed them back into her satchel.

She offered the man another of her warm smiles, as she quickly stood and fled temple grounds.

[Warlord]

When Ragnhild herself made her way back into the temple, news was brought of Quake's passing. The Strategist sends a letter to her commanding officer for a break. A notice is sent to Cloudstone too, specifically to Swordmajor Sylus of the passing of Quake.

Champion-Strategist Shea Qualls, is informed as well, and if unreachable then the notice is sent to Tethyr to the family there.

The introvert side of Ragnhild thickens as she recluses in the private barracks. The elderly and part-time-door-greeter pursues the youth.

The passing of Quake is a sad chapter in a difficult year...

Meanwhile..

As a veiled youth watches the on goings, observing Meesha or the others, her arcane ties shrink heavy into a singularity. What would be silence of arcane ties is a silent monster of potential choked down still. Her slow movements are still obvious and shows hands shaky hands frequently. The sisters arcane pains, and her mind maturing to catch up to the body after 4 years of a coma, weighs heavy to contribute to her slow movements. Blue eyes lock a time or two at her observers, but unlike her sister she is not easy to be read by eyes alone.

[perspicacity]

"That candle which burns brightest burns shortest." The broad-shouldered woman intoned, her deep brown eyes watery and limned in pink. "Pablum of the highest, entirely insufficient, despite however apt it may seem."

Shea thins her lips, taking a deep breath. She bends, solemnly tracing a fingertip across a smooth, youthful forehead, tracing down a cheek, along a strong jaw and underneath a sculpted chin. A thumb brushes across lifeless lips, parting them a fraction, then stills as another pair of lips above those clamp shut, another jaw clenches for a long mute moment.

"Relentless, in everything you did. Utterly. Even in your sleep. I used to gaze upon you, amazed by the utter bliss that seemed to possess you then. How imponderable it is that a being capable of such relentless energy could banish it so quickly, so completely." Shea swallows, her thumb moving again, to part those lifeless lips, slipping a small alabaster pearl between them.

"-I- was as insufficient for you as that paltry epitaph. I'd never thrilled until you looked upon me. A rarer creature I cannot imagine. To be so utterly without doubt that your eyes banished the doubts of another, even one such as me, forged, wholly, on that crucible. Know this, Relentless Reaver, though I never took to the ink, your mark upon me is as indelible." Shea swallows, pausing again, blinking back tears from eyes she'd thought already spent. "Take this Pearl of Ankhapur, filled with the fervent prayers of all that I wished to gift you, to the next battlefield, there are no regrets within it. I shall bear those."

With that, the broad-shouldered woman turned crisply on heel and made for the stairs and the reading room above. She selected a tome at random from the shelves and flopped into a seat to feign reading while she fought to regain her reins.