expiationlogs | Some fields will blossom while others lay brown beneath the August sun.

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Some fields will blossom while others lay brown beneath the August sun.

Who: Ethlyn and others
Where: Mostly around Aldrip
What: Open log for August!
Warnings: Probably thinking about her own death in here.

Keeping busy
[She's been feeling unsettled since last month's journey to the desert, so much so that part of her wishes she hadn't gone at all. That's not a very productive or mature feeling, in her opinion. Still it is there, dogging at her heels as she buys vinegar for the clinic, fruit for her kitchen, takes her boots to be mended after their punishment in the hot sands.

She's so focused on getting her tasks done that she's too busy checking her little list to realize she's about to walk right into another person--until it's too late to stop it.]

Oh no--! Sorry!!

More monsters more problems

[Ethlyn's already somewhat used to the wildness of the animals that live around town, but they've still been animals that she recognizes. She can handle precautions against wolves and wildcats and territorial deer.

What she's not expecting to see as she gathers medicinal herbs in the woods is a huge... mossy boulder... with eyes. And arms. And a froglike mouth. And disproportionately tiny little legs.

She's frozen for a moment until it lumbers past the clearing she's in, and then she backs away slowly.]

I have never see that before.

The voices

[Ethlyn is sleeping less than soundly in her room at the boarding house. This time the new arrivals aren't people--they're plants and animals, some benign and some frightening. Between that and other people's disturbing speculation on the plantlike colossus that attacked the town in May, she's been somewhat on edge.

She's sure it's only the remnants of a dream when she hears a familiar voice--but then it comes again as her eyes fully open. She hasn't heard that voice in months. The last time she did...

She's up and out of bed in a moment, pulling on her boots over bare feet, throwing a coat over her nightdress, her sword in one hand and her staff as she pelts downstairs and out the front door. Quan's voice, calling her name away towards the meadows, and she doesn't hesitate to hurry and find it.]

Quan! Where are you!

Wildcard!

[None of these starters suit? Hit me with your own, or hit me up in the discord, via PM, or @

compassinks to plot something out!]

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[ A terrible Empire, huh? Now if that isn't the most familiar thing he's heard in weeks. It's not entirely accurate and not entirely fair - he and Edelgard have great differences in opinion about the way to enact change, but there's a part of him that knows that they have just as many similarities - but when an Empire is sweeping across the land in a bloody war? He'll go with terrible. ]

Interesting. So the stories say that your gods showed up personally, huh? That's not too dissimilar from the way religion works in Fodlan. Our ancestors have been blessed, and so we receive the blessings in return.

[ He doesn't think that the gods intended for things to go so sour after that, though. ]

It's only natural for people to be drawn to worship. We all want some reassurance that someone is looking after us. In life as well as in death.

[ Who wants to think that after you die, that's it? ]

[She nods, thinking back to the priest at Chalphy in their family chapel, narrating the tale in his sonorous voice. That is one of her earliest memories, and she can fairly say that the history of the Crusaders has shaped much of what she tries to be today.]

It was called the Miracle of Dahna. Those who received the blessing went on to be called the Crusaders, and their descendants founded most of the free countries that arose after they pulled the Empire down. [She smiles at Claude.] In fact, I'm one of them... Baldr the Paladin was my family's founder.

It is a comfort, to be sure... that when things are dire, truly dire, there is a power greater than even the most barbarous emperor. Someone looking after us, and who won't be distracted by the petty games of power that humans play with each other's lives.

I don't suppose you also carry a blessing from your god? [It's a half-playful, half-serious inquiry--really she's very intrigued that Claude can tell a similar story about his homeworld.]

Huh. [ Claude straightens, forgetting himself as he stares at Ethlyn in shock, still dripping wet. That is scarily close. ] I always knew we were kindred spirits, but I wasn't expecting our worlds to be quite so similar. That's uncanny. I can't tell you how true this all is, but the story goes that when a terrible force of evil rose, the Goddess blessed the Ten Elites with her gifts, allowing them to fight alongside her in the War Of Heroes. Once they were victorious, they went on to establish Fodlan as we know it today, lands that are still ruled by their descendants. Having a Crest is... incredibly important in Fodlan. It dictates who's allowed to rule, and who isn't.

[ It's hard to tell what Claude thinks about that. Something about him seems utterly detached, as though regaling Ethlyn with a fairy tale he learned when he was very young and only barely remembers. That Ethlyn considers hers to be a comfort isn't strictly surprising, but an entirely foreign concept. She is faithful after all. What must that be like? ]

That both our worlds carry some sort of holy blessing that we can track down to our modern-day leaders -- what are the odds? [ He shakes it off, answering Ethlyn's question now. ] I do have one. The Crest of Riegan. He was the founder of our territory, just like your ancestor was the founder of yours.

[Ethlyn can't help but stare as well. She wasn't expecting it to that close. She wouldn't say that Holy Blood always dictates the right to rule in Jugdral. Verdane's royal family lacked it, and so did Agustria's, but everywhere else--Isaach, Leonster, and even barbaric Thracia--the throne is held by someone with the gift. And in Silesse, it was the case that only Lewyn could inherit, because only he had the major blood.

There's something a little of Lewyn in the way Claude speaks of it, in fact. Ethlyn can't quite put her finger on it. Lewyn ran from his responsibilities, and Claude certainly can't be accused of that with the hard work he's been doing. But he doesn't seem to feel any sense of superiority about it. Maybe that's it.]

That is remarkably similar, indeed. [Uncanny, even, although she hesitates to say that in case it sounds credulous or superstitious. In a thousand worlds, there can be variance so great that people can talk of traveling space and time as easily as the seas, but there can be remarkable likeness as well, just as there is sometimes with unrelated strangers.] So you too, have a great legacy to live up to.

...I guess so.

[ How much can he really afford to say? If he were back home, he would smile and nod along: I have a grand legacy to protect, and I'll do my best to honour it, as my grandfather did before me. A lie, of course. Claude has no such ties to the Riegan legacy. How could he? He only learned about it a scant few years ago, his childhood spent worshipping the land, not the Goddess.

He's not home. He will face no repercussions for speaking his mind. But what if his word spreads, gets misconstrued? What if Gloucester shows up here, eager to rip the already tenuous power out of his grasp? What if one of the Church officials shows up and heeds his heresy, robbing the Alliance of a potential partnership? He's no godly man, but he's willing to take advantage of it if he can.

He's already been silent long enough that anything but the truth (or half-truth, as it may be) would be unbelievable. ]

It is a great legacy, don't get me wrong. And I intend to live up to it, and lead my people to peace. [ That much, everyone can agree on. ] I'm just not sure if we should hold our Crests with as much esteem as we do. It's made life -- [ He waggles his hand in mid-air. ] Complicated. Especially for the noblewomen.

Yes... that I understand. [She props her chin on her hand, an elbow resting on her knee. It's the most relaxed she's felt in a while. Curious that talking about serious matters from home would allow her to uncoil.] My husband and I were fortunate that our parents cared as much for our happiness as for the match. Others aren't always as lucky.

[Really, she suspects that it's the present war that's allowed so many Crusader heirs to marry as they will. Lewyn, Tailtiu, Lex, Claude--all so removed from everyday concerns of family polity that they were able to simply follow their hearts.]

It certainly isn't a passport to virtue--not Holy Blood, and I suspect not your Crests either. My family's enemies stood on the same footing as us, not four generations out from those that founded their lineage, but all their heroism has been forgotten in the name of petty squabbling over position and power.

Your husband...? I didn't know you were already married. I suppose that makes sense, though.

[ As far as nobility goes, Ethlyn is of ripe marrying age. Hell, Claude knows that he himself would be expected to be wed by now, if not for extenuating circumstances; nobody is eager to marry or to bear children until the current conflict has come to an end, the nobility expected to go out on the frontlines if need be. To be with child in such a time would only be a liability.

Still, the revelation that Ethlyn does in fact love her husband is a good one. If only all nobles were so lucky. ]

Women bearing Crests have it worst among us -- married off to wealthy men without Crests so that they can reap the privilege while paying good money for the right to wed them. [ He's seen it mostly outside of his own house, which has been comparatively lucky. He's heard of no such thing from Marianne, from Lysithea, from Hilda. But Ingrid? Bernadette? Mercedes? What little he's heard has been horrific. ]

So... no, not a sign of virtue at all. Just of bloodline. And of a little more extra power, depending on the Crest. [ He eyes Ethlyn curiously. ] What does yours do?

[Ethlyn feels herself tighten a little, and she's glad that the conversation moves on, even if it's to a depressing topic. It's much easier to talk about the generalities than it is to speak of the man she loved dearly and who, she is sure, did not survive her by more than a few minutes... if that.

Instead, she nods in understanding. She's heard of too many situations where that was the case. Life is already difficult enough for women, and sometimes, the blessing of ancestry only makes it harder.]

It's often left unspoken in Jugdral, but it's always on people's minds. It's... not unheard of for houses to find cousins with a trace of the lineage and marry them to the heir, just to ensure that the line is maintained. [Every house in Grannvale does it. She suspects even branches of the Chalphy family have, even though her father would never.] It's shameful, how mercenary it is--the jealousies it drives people to. I knew a prince with no Holy Blood, and he was one of the noblest people I've met.

As for my blood, my ancestor Baldr was a paladin... he's known as the Paladin. [She smiles.] All of his descendants have a particular gift for swordsmanship, regardless of whatever else they might choose to pursue. Or swordswomanship, in my case.

I'm not sure if that would be possible in Fodlan. The position of Prince, King, or whatever else falls to the one with a Crest. I suppose if their parents were gone and there was nobody else of the bloodline to take over, they would allow a crestless person to seize control, but... [ He tilts his head, considering this. ] I couldn't say.

[ There's so much he doesn't understand about Fodlan, still. So many unspoken rules, so much that is taken as implicit knowledge of everyone who was born and raised there, the sort of thing he can't seem to figure out no matter how many books he reads, no matter how many people he speaks with, no matter how much knowledge he seeks out. ]

But as far as gifts go, the gift of swordsmanship is a fine one. [ His lips twitch upwards. ] Are you certain that it's up to your gift? Perhaps you all just happen to be industrious workers and trained your way into fulfilling your birthright.

There is a kingdom like that, where the holder of the Crusader's major line is the only one permitted to inherit--and the late king's brothers were so unhappy about it that they started a civil war.

[It had been ridiculous to Ethlyn. Lewyn's uncles didn't have a drop of Forseti's blessing. They had spent their whole life knowing they would never be eligible under the laws that had founded their kingdom. Why, in the past numerous decades of their life, had they never made peace with their nephew's birthright? They had tolerated his mother, as bloodless as they were, but couldn't abide Lewyn's absolutely inarguable claim.

But her lips also twitch upward when Claude suggests that a hearty training regimen must be responsible for her family's ability.]

I'm sure I could pick up a sword without having trained a day of my life and fight someone to a standstill with it--I can feel it even when I pick up a blade of a type I've never used

That doesn't mean I wouldn't be sore and stiff for the next week if I neglected that industrious training.

You think so?

[ Well... if she says so. He's not convinced, though. If he knows Ethlyn the way he thinks he does - they may not be bosom friends, but they're fond of each other, and have been through enough to get a feel for the other one - he's certain that she has trained with a blade from the moment she was old enough to do so, that the idea of fighting, training, improving is natural to her. ]

Some gift. As for us, we get the power to wield weapons that... other people aren't able to. [ He wades out of the water enough to perch on a rock and sun his upper body, relishing in the heat. ] But if you asked me what I wish my ancestors would bless us with for leading, I'd say I'd prefer knowledge. Or a gifted tongue. The skill to tell what our people want, and why. The ability to change minds, to shape history without raising a single weapon!

[ He raises one hand for emphasis as he speaks, then lets it fall back to his side, granting her a smile that makes it sound like he's just making fun. Though he's not, not really. Not unless someone takes issue with his ideology. ]

It's a shame, isn't it? That the gifts given to us are used only for conflict, and never for peace time.

[That gives Ethlyn pause, and she looks up at Claude, surprised. Such an idea had truly never occurred to her.

All the gifts that Claude names may actually be more useful to a king than simply the ability to fight very well with a sword, or a lance or a bow. To be able to understand the shifting hearts of the populace--what they hope, what they fear--maybe that could keep the peace better than any blade.

He's very passionate about it--and then in a moment, he isn't anymore. But Ethlyn finds herself not quite trusting that. She remembers the lecture that Lewyn, "just a bard," gave her brother on the responsibilities of a general and a leader.]

...I suppose it is, when you put it that way. [She stands again, wading a bit, feeling the river stones with her feet.] My ancestors needed their gifts to win a hopeless war. But if their gifts had... I don't know, if they had grown or changed into the ones you want for yourself, Jugdral could be a more peaceful place. I know a few people who would rather have that than a holy weapon.

That's precisely it. These gifts, they do serve us well in war. And sometimes war is inevitable. But a line of rulers with gifts that seem to assume war in every generation thereafter... I know it's not what I'd want for my kids. I can't imagine it's what our parents wanted for us either.

[ Okay, he's fibbing a little. Both of his parents are proud combatants of their own right, so steadfast in their skills that they can't imagine a reality in which Claude can prove himself with a gifted tongue rather than his skill with the bow and arrow. But Almyra is a warrior culture, through and through.

But his grandfather didn't think like them. He wanted peace for Claude. Peace, and the chance to learn, the chance to grow. He had been embraced with alarming warmth, though for too short a time -- perhaps because his grandfather knew that his end was near and had the clarity of mind to realize what he wanted to bestow upon his grandson. ]

Is that what Jugdral has been like too? One war after the next?

...I've never looked at it that way.

[Yet now that Claude voices his discomfort with having inherited gifts only for war, she's forced to think about how much of a burden it could be. She's always been proud of being Baldr's descendent, sometimes even a little jealous that Sigurd got to be his scion. But what does that honor come with? Scrutiny... Sigurd has always been able to let it roll off his shoulders. But then there's Brigid, struggling with a legacy of honor and integrity she had no idea of for most of her life. And poor Eldigan...

But what she wants for her children is no hypothetical, and doesn't think there is any hope that they will live a peaceful life. She has to turn away from that thought quickly.]

My own country is constantly menaced by its southern neighbor. [That is still too close to home.] And there are always tensions between Grannvale--my birthplace--and its neighbors to the north, east, and west. We've had... three wars in three years.

[Her voice is somber as she recounts that. Because when she thinks about it, it all happened one after the other... Isaach, then Verdane, then Agustria. And while she knows some of it was helped along by the Loptrian cultists, it doesn't seem to have taken them much effort to convince various kings and lords to burst out in warfare.

Maybe he has a point. Maybe the Crusaders' legacy and their holy weapons are hard to make peace with.]

So you're flanked on all sides by enemies.

[ It sounds like Ethlyn's world, even moreso than his own, is in need of change. All of that war, all of that bloodshed, and for what? For being born in a different land? Petty disputes? Differences in culture? Claude knows now that it's hopelessly naive to think everyone could just talk it out...

But he really wishes that they could. A life of such constant conflict just seems so unnecessary. ]

No wonder you never considered what other gifts could be given to you... with a lot like that, you guys must not even have any time to breathe, let alone try to plan for anything other than the immediate future.

[ He grabs a smooth stone beside him, warmed by the late summer sun, and skips it across the river. ]

I don't expect you to be able to describe it all in one go, but... what reason is there for them all to target your people?

[Ethlyn watches the stone skipping. He's not bad at that. She could never get the knack of it herself--usually it results in it sinking like, well, a stone.]

It started over a hundred years ago... after a great war to overthrow the dark powers that once subjugated the continent. [The founders of the two nations that once peacefully coexisted on the peninsula did not get to enjoy their hard-won peace for very long.] My husband's ancestor Njörun founded a kingdom, and her brother Dáinn founded a neighboring one. He fought with her husband one day--when she intervened, she mistakenly killed her love.

[Killed him with the Gáe Bolg that had been given to her by the gods.]

She took her life. And her brother died mysteriously not long after. [It's a sordid tale, one that echoes into Ethlyn's life now... she was the one who gave that lance to her husband, praying that the tales of its curse were superstition but never able to shake the notion.] Ever since, there has been bitterness between Munster, our land, and Thracia, the land of our ancestor's brother.

[There is more to it than that, much more--the feud might not be so bitter were it not for Munster's fertile fields and Thracia's barren slopes. But as far as Ethlyn is concerned, the bitterness wells from Thracia--they are the aggressors, sending their dracoknights across the seas as mercenaries, constantly testing Munster's southern borders for any sign of weakness... and finally destroying its royal family.

That's too much to get into on such a lovely day.]

[ Claude winces at the tale. There's nothing like the stories of history, told at a stark remove from the people at the time, that throws into sharp relief the sheer tragedy of it all. A history, filled with people who would much rather live in peace, devolving into horrible bloodshed, one thing after the other. For commoners, family disputes die when they do.

For people like him and Ethlyn, folk of noble blood, their feuds last for much, much longer. ]

That's a damn tragedy if I've ever heard one, [ Claude says, sighing. ] And I can imagine if the dead could talk, they'd ask for everyone to cut it all out. Nobody wants something like this to end in decades, if not centuries, of bloodshed. [ He turns to her, raising a brow, trying to lighten the mood. ] Kind of funny. Our bloody history has an awful lot of fighting between family members too. Enough to make you think that all royal brats should be only children, huh?

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Some fields will blossom while others lay brown beneath the August sun.

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