before the ship out to Vrashne. Happy reading!]

Say What? Part 1

She was, unfortunately, her father?s daughter.
This fact had long been a thorn in her side. She?d tried her best to fight the bloodline, and the battles had cost her; she had endured hours of discomfort in-between church pews, had suffered a decade?s worth of kneecaps made sore from genuflection, and had been forced to wear scarves and gloves to hide the spots where her rosary had occasionally singed. The worst, of course, was when puberty had swept away what little progress she?d made in the years building up to it. You see, a child primarily ruled by lust (with a few of the other Deadlies to flavor) stands no chance against surging hormones?no matter how well versed in the Bible she may be.

The back-slide had started off slow, with mood swings that plagued most teenage girls and little acts of rebellion, such as swearing in the house and sneaking out past curfew. However, after a transfer to an all-girl prep, things had really begun to take off; she had started letting slip on Hellspeak, had broken a majority of the Commandments (especially the one about coveting wives), and had become increasingly more violent. The aggression had come to a head during a spat with her younger brother, and once the burn ward had tended to the poor little bugger, she had found herself on the road to Rhydin.

Now, she was a couple years older and slightly less repressed. She had given in to the wickedness of the populace?s ways and rather than break her, it had made her stronger?literally. Her abilities had expanded to the point where she could charm when it suited and summon when necessary, and much to her still intact moral compass? dismay, her list of ?talents? was still growing. It was the newest addition to the bunch that had her standing here, ready to knock on the plain, dark wooden door before her.

When her fist made contact, the wood trembled and retreated, creaking the door ajar. Evidently, this was surprising, as her first reaction involved a widening of eyes. After a breathless moment, she bent down enough to investigate the knob and her gaze went almost saucer-wide; the strike plate on the jamb was smooth and left no room for the latch to fit. She?d never seen that before, not when invading like this and really, there was no way to curb her curiosity. She entered both unexpected yet apparently invited, and after not even three steps inside, she found her would-be hostess.

The woman turned to regard ?Lanta, sending wild ribbons of hair into motion around her thin face, and for a while the two ladies shared the same enthralled expression. It was so very bright around them and their silence was swallowed up by the sounds of a babbling brook, various bird calls, and a slight breeze through tree branches. Yet, despite these pleasant surroundings, the pair seemed intent on one another.

The other spoke first, far too calmly for such an intrusion: ?How did you get here, girl? Do you bring a message...or do you seek one??

?I?uh?? ?Lanta fidgeted, ?I didn?t know the latter was an option.?

The female with the white-blonde hair watched the younger woman for a spell. Her body shook and swayed. ?No, no. I see it, now.? The accent on the words was light and hard to place. ?You are just passing through, ah? But,? she advanced about a foot as her body continued to quake softly, ?they have things to tell you if you should like to listen.?

It was only then, once some of the space between had been eaten up, that ?Lanta felt it; there was the itch of her Sunday best and the sting of incense in her nostrils. It wasn?t strong enough an aura for the woman to have truly been one of the clouds and there was some unfamiliarity to the sensation that made Atalanta question the divinity surrounding the lady?but something was there, all the same. She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. ?Who??

The woman carved out a smile and partially veiled her eyes.

?Lanta frowned. ?Right-o. Well?what things??

Her hostess laughed and dipped her head. ?Sit, girl. Sit and we will discuss.? She made a sweeping gesture with her hand to indicate a circle of chairs formed from stone. They had not been there a moment ago. A fire sprung up in the center of the ring. ?I think that should make you comfortable, ah? ?Did you get Caoimhe a gift? It is her birthday soon.?

The blonde was already moving for a seat as the question fell from her mouth and she left a dumb-founded cambion in her wake.

The wonders of the realm never ceased. The girl had barged into this woman?s resting psyche ready to meddle and make off with information, but instead, some of her own secrets were waiting for her. It couldn?t be an accident. This mind wasn?t shielded like the majority of the town?s, nor was it as chaotic as a psychic?s. There was a quiet organization underneath, a structure lurking. The dream-crasher regained composure and trudged over to take a spot, already silently preparing for what was to come.

Atalanta, it seemed, had found herself an oracle.

Nobody Said It Was Easy


Her first order of business had been to plead with Seamus, obviously. It had taken over an hour of her dancing around the ?whys? and the ?whats?, but in the end, she felt she?d finally convinced him. She wished she could explain it all in full, however, the mere thought of divulging just how she came into contact with the prophet made her cringe. That Seamus, goofy and loyal as he was, was also a knight of God?a God she didn?t fully belong to. She couldn?t bring herself to tell him, and luckily, the sincerity of her request meant she didn?t have to. Not yet. He was going to ask for the mission off from Alain and the Boss would take his service into consideration. He would let this one go. She couldn?t save everyone, but at least she could save one.

Speaking of the Boss..where the Hell was he? Ever since their last 'disagreement' over the matter, 'Lanta had demanded that she start getting penciled into his busy schedule. As the person who kept his pub running fairly smoothly, didn't she at least deserve some of his time? The Mark was cleaned up, the clock was about to strike 4, and she was sitting at the center of the room impatiently.

Ah. There he was, returning with Jean! It was another leash-free walk, which meant that the dog was prancing happily around his first owner's heels while the Baron babbled at him in Newbreton's unique bastardization of the French language. He tossed the leash he'd never gotten around to using over the coat rack on his way in, and ruffled the dog's furry head as he skittered past.

"Hey," he said with a little smile at 'Lanta, and went to a spot at the bar. There was something in his smile and his glance -- its brevity, mostly -- that spoke volumes, that meant a lot was going on in his head, and that 'Lanta had something to do with it. For the moment he kept his cards close, and the mood light. "You wouldn't think it, but Jean'll listen to me go on about the price of hops for nearly an hour." He stretched.

Despite the long gaps between seeing one another, she still had a feeling for his habits and his expressions. She narrowed her eyes just slightly, the purplish-red ring of weariness around them briefly contorting. She smiled throughout, though. "Ya really think the sook is listenin'? He was probably checkin' for rabbits the whole time." She grinned and pointed her toes. "I forgot to get myself a drink. Ya mind?" He was closer to the bar.

The Baron, ever increasingly 'proper,' made sure no one was peeking through the windows before he slid over the counter. "What'll you have?" He'd already grabbed a chilled glass from the little fridge for himself.

"There's some lemonade tucked in there." She reached out to snap her fingers at Jean's passing tail. When he cleared her safely, she turned her look over to Alain. "Are ya going to try to talk to me about hops for an hour? 'Cuz if so..."

He grinned. "You're lucky Jean already took the bullet for you." He tapped out a very sour, hoppy ale for himself, and slid her a glass of lemonade with ice cubes. He enjoyed a few moments of silence in her company, sipping at his beer, watching her. "How've you been?"

She stretched her legs again then rose to her feet. After the short walk to the bar, she lifted her glass to him. Then came the question. She crinkled up her nose and shrugged. "Oh, ya know. Busy. Did I tell ya I'm trainin' a new girl?" The accent lifted up the melody of her voice as she smiled over. She figured that would give ample excuse for the somewhat sleep-starved features of her face. "And you, Boss?"

"I've been busy," he replied, which was the most guarded way he could say 'not well.' "I'm putting DE into Jaster's hands, which'll open up my schedule for other things... but the transition isn't easy."

He set his glass down, eased his back against the counter. "New girl, huh. Anyone I know?"

She studied his face for a moment or three. They'd revisit it in a minute. Right now, she had to quip. "Not like that, ya don't." Cue the smirk.

"Not Biblically." He grinned. "I've been getting more flak about that lately than you'd believe... I've been good. I behave," he added, pointing past his glass at her, then taking another sip.

Something was hanging in the background, something he did not want to bring up. Seamus had said earlier in the week that he would talk to Alain...

She giggled and put her hands up. "I know, I know. 'Sides, if you were being a dog, your sheila looks the type to make you pay for it." She bounced her brows twice and laughed, again. Once she quieted with another sip, she wiggled in her seat and wrinkled her nose up. "You just keep pawnin' off your businesses to other people, huh?" She was teasing, of course, and trying to skirt around whatever was making him tense.

He grinned. "Now 'Lanta, I still own the Silver Mark -- I'm just willing to admit you're a much prettier 'tender than I am." He chuckled a little and let silence reign for a bit. Massaged his right palm for a few moments, and once he realized what he was doing, he said, with his eyes down,

"Seamus talked to me, after Mass today."

Oh? Her eyes widened, but she tamed them back down when she caught the muscle twitch. She pretended there was a spot on her glass, instead, and busied herself with removing it using thumbpad. "Yeah? How is he?" She heard the accent betray the tremor in her voice. Damn.

"He asked to stay in RhyDin, during operations in Vrashne." His eyebrows climbed, and he set his glass down. "...It made me angry."

"Why?" Alarmed. That was the best way to describe expression and tone at his confession.

"I asked myself the same thing," Alain answered, his tone darkening. "Sir Seamus has been one of our greatest assets in Vrashne, and our best link to Sir Javal and his Prince. People are dying, and we need men like him to stop it." He folded his arms and looked at her. "He's never asked for anything like this before. Not once, not ever."

Eventually his gaze slid away from her, and fixed on the window. "Why ever he did it, he's a grown man, and more importantly one of my knights. He should know better."

"Well..." That should have been the first sign. The word rose up, shaky but still defensive. "Shay...mus," she corrected herself quickly, "is a real dedicated guy. It would...it would have to be a big reason. Probably a good one." She was sitting up straighter.

"Did you ask him?" he said flatly. His arms folded tighter. This ached, but there was no stopping it now.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and looked up to meet his gaze. "Yes." Lying wasn't going to help her out. Not with him.

Alain sighed quietly and looked down again. Sat on the edge of the bar and drummed his fingers. "...I won't pretend that I don't put these men in harm's way... or that their odds are very good. You know how many have died."

He forced himself to meet her gaze again. "But what they do is important. They do it because someone has to, and no one else will... and they do it when I ask them to."

"Yeah, I do." She gave him a sour look and then turned her head away. She studied the tap handles. "And normally, he jumps when ya tell him to. He does--they all do--whatever ya ask of them. I don't see why this one request is gettin' you all upset."

"I don't see why it's doing the same to you," he replied. "He puts himself in harm's way, time and again... This is no different."

Alain couldn't finish his beer. He tipped it into the sink, ran the water for a moment. Washed it in silence, put it on the rack, and said carefully, "I've allowed him to keep his rank... and he's leaving for Vrashne in three days. Where he's needed."

"You..." She snapped her gaze up. "You've allowed him? You can't!" She smacked her fingers against the rail for emphasis. "It is different! He's a person, Alain! They all are! They're not just toy soldiers you can shuffle around a board whenever it suits you."

Alain was leaving already. He stopped near the door and hung his head, shaking it as a scowl clawed its way to the surface. "...Don't think I don't know that." He looked over his shoulder, sharply. "Other lives than his are on the line -- thousands more, and he knows it very well."

He paused. "And that's what makes me so mad." At that he left, slamming the door behind him.

No rest, her parentage, and the conversation all got the better of her. She let out a throaty protest and reached back to grab the glass he'd used. Poor door--first the slam and now the shattering cup. There was a brief segment of muffled Hellspeak when she realized she'd have to clean that up later, as she turned to stomp upstairs.

]

here.]


About seven days after they'd shipped out, Atalanta had holed up in The Mark for hours on end. The reality of the situation was taking its sweet time sinking in, and some part of her honestly believed that if she stood behind bar long enough, the boys would come waltzing in. Of course, when this didn't happen, she could no longer stand to look at the building. She wrote herself off the schedule and switched to isolation inside the comforts of her little rental home.

The small property sat on the outskirts of the marketplace, in that ring of territory that was just far enough away to feel private without being too removed from the goings on of the bustling downtown. It was cozy, painted pale yellow with forest green trim, and encircled by a darling fence. The fall had taken away some of the color provided by her garden--much to her dismay--but the home still retained its charm. The short walkway she?s been keeping clear of leaves stretched out an inviting length from door to gate.

On the rare occasion that heavy horses galloped in this busy city, especially up to Atalanta's home, all signs pointed to 'the boys,' the Knights of St. Aldwin. Two arrived at once at the head of her pathway, hooves clattering to a halt on the cobblestones, and two figures wearing long coats, broadswords and revolvers dropped to the street. It would be the Order's first visit to 'Lanta since the Spring Hare departed.

She was standing in the kitchen, trying to perfect the presentation of her dinner, when she heard the arrival. Her pulse froze and she stood desperately still. She had to be sure before she could move.

The two knights advanced up the walkway; one stopped halfway and looked out into the street, out of more discomfort than wariness. The other, Sir Malcolm, reached the door and knocked firmly.

He hated that he was always chosen for this job -- they always chose him because his wide, bright eyes were so difficult to read. Few could look the man in the eye and tell what he was thinking.

The knock shocked her back into the moment. A jolt traveled through her torso and out her limbs, causing her to drop her ladle and dash for the entrance. She slid to an awkward stop while pulling open the door; in fact, her hair was still settling from the sprint when Malcolm came into view. 'Lanta's excited expression fell flat with suspicion, though she did her best to bring some cheer back to her voice. "G'day, fellas."

" 'Lanta," Malcolm smiled, the expression flickering across his features, and bowed his head deeply with his hand on the hilt of his sword. The gesture lingered, then he straightened again and looked her in the eye. "May I come inside, please?"

The other knight further back, Lucas, looked over his shoulder and away at the street again.

Her face fell another fraction at the question. She felt her heart start the horrible slide into the pit of her stomach, even as she silently reassured her insides that she didn't know what was up, yet. Curse Malcolm's stone features. 'Lanta dragged a feeble smile to the surface and stepped off to the side of the frame. "Please." She looked past the first knight to the second. "Stayin' out here, Lucas?"

Lucas tossed a quick wave and a nod to 'Lanta and moved to check on the horses' reins. A sudden wind picked up, rattling and scattering dead leaves in his wake.

Malcolm slipped inside and detoured into the kitchen, where he turned and waited for 'Lanta. He had been to the cottage just enough to remember the layout.

"Righto..." Her voice tapered into nothingness as she moved to close the door. After catching up to Malcolm, she worked around him to get a cup. "Want anythin', Mal?" Her tone had gone up too high and stretched out too thin with anxiety.

"I could make us tea," he offered, and moved to put a kettle on. It was barely filled and set to a burner when he spoke again: "We've had news, from Vrashne."

"I should make it, it's..." Her protest butted up against his comment and she lost all the air in her lungs. Preparing for it, her body dropped into a seat at her little kitchen table. She couldn't say anything, so she just looked over expectantly, all of her a shade paler.

His heart broke all over again when he looked at her and watched her sink. "The Spring Hare was sunk off Dalibad... all hands... reported lost." His hand moved over her arm, but he wasn't looking at her, couldn't look for her, head bowed, still mourning the loss of a brother he'd thought he still had only hours before. "I'm so sorry, 'Lanta."

Everything shut down all at once and the tension fled her muscles, reducing her to a slack mass upon the chair. She couldn't feel what comfort he aimed to provide; in truth, she couldn't even see him anymore. Her field of vision had narrowed severely and fixed on a blank spot of wall. The only response she could provide was a choke on the despair blocking her trachea.

The man of stone, Malcolm, could do nothing but hold her and not tell her how he ached, how he desperately wished to embrace despair on the same level that he thirsted for revenge. But no mourning, nor enemies vanquished, could change the awful news: Seamus Morvan had fallen.

Joy to the Girl

It was several weeks until Christmas and in The Silver Mark, several creatures were stirring. Some had purpose, like the bartender revising schedules and working on her gift list; others, namely Mimi and Jean, were aimlessly investigating the wilds of the upper level. Atalanta could hear the snuffling of Jean's wet nose and the sound of claws on wood, both of which she focused on as a reprieve from the holiday music spewing out of her radio. It wasn't right to be this anxious for the Yuletide; it didn't suit her to be this glum. It'd only gotten worse since Alain had sailed off for his daring heroics, as the combination of uselessness and dread had really swelled up in her. She frowned at the storm-cloud growing over her head and eased back into her chair. Bah, humbug.

"...Rrr-whuff!" Jean padded across the floor upstairs and scrabbled his claws onto the windowsill. There was a long pause, another huffed bark, and the fuzzy dog ambled his way down the stairs, with the alcoholic beverage-namesake feline hot on his heels. He ignored Atalanta besides a turn of his head and a doggy grin, and he plopped his butt down in front of the door, wagged his tail and waited expectantly.

This was how he got when he knew Alain was coming to walk him, especially after he had been gone a long time. Unusually clever dog, thanks to the aura bleeding out of his enchanted collar over the last two years. Mimosa stopped, one paw off the ground, and gave her friend a suspicious look.

Having known the canine since he was just a...smaller bundle of fur, 'Lanta was pretty good at reading his behavior. She could pick his barks out of a pack and she liked to think she knew the meanings behind most of them. So, when Jean let out the 'here comes the Boss' call, the woman jumped to her feet. "Sook," she started, with a narrowed look between dog and door, "you sure about that? Or do you just hafta wee?"

Jean looked over his shoulder at her, then back at the door. Alain was not expected back from Vrashne for another twenty-four hours at least, and would go to St. Aldwin first anyway. The chances of his return, here and now, were extraordinarily slim -- but not everyone took the Baron's path back to Teobern.

Another ship left Vrashne, sooner than the others, and followed a strong current that swept way south of Narponte and the other island ports, straight across deep open water towards RhyDin. It had slipped into a small dock north of New Haven, by a lighthouse which had been abandoned until only weeks ago. Now Jean hopped to his feet, the door opened, and Seamus Morvan stepped in from the cold. He was dressed in his finest, a dress uniform with silver buttons and polished boots, and besides a fresh scar on his cheek looked no worse for wear on the outside.

He was nervous, from head to toe, but joy and bravado won out with a smile: "Evening, 'Lanta."

If Alain had been unexpected, then seeing Seamus was the shock of the century. The cambion turned a stunning shade of pale and froze in place. Well, not before her eyes grew three sizes that day. He wasn't a ghost and he wasn't undead--granted, she'd known this before, but rumors were just rumors until you saw them in the flesh. He looked so dapper that she thought her knees might give out and thankfully, she was too distracted to care about her far shabbier appearance. Sweats and slippers had not been the apparel she'd picked out for this exact moment in time.

Seamus smiled a little wider and pulled the door shut behind him, then closed the distance. He pushed his sword to dangle near the back of his hip and slipped his arms over her shoulders. "I'm home," he whispered.

He said the magic words. With a low squeal that sounded an awful lot like 'Shay!', she crashed into him, winding her arms around his middle and stitching her cheek to the crook of his neck. The green eyes leaked out a few tears that sizzled on the way down her cheeks; the man never failed to bring out a kinder sort of heat from her.

Jean bounced, barked, and bounced and barked some more while they embraced, but the knight wouldn't spare any of his attention. He buried his fingers in her hair and wept quietly, steadying himself with a few deep breaths and long sighs. Seamus was immensely happy to see her, but at the same time, all of the pain and sorrow wrung its way out of him. He pulled his face back with another sigh, wiped under his eyes, and grinned at her. "Hey," he said, for no reason.

She was reluctant to be pried away, but getting to see his face was a good consolation prize. She crinkled her nose up and smiled, moving her hands to his sides. She didn't care that she was too warm and that her skin was shining like tree lights. She had him back. She squeezed at his ribs and bounced up to kiss him in a simultaneous attack. When she'd taken what she wanted for the second, she relaxed. "G'day." After a brief pause, she pinched his sides, again. "If you ever do that to me again, fella, I'm going to box your ears."

"Oooo -- not there, not there, not there," he said, all very quickly on a single exhale, rubbing at his left side. The scar on his cheek was the only visible mark, but back in Dalibad, the head of the Prince's guard had done a pretty good job putting a tulwar into his ribs.

For which Seamus threw him off of a five hundred foot dam.

"Alright, I hear you," he added, smile coming back, putting his hands up in surrender as he backed over to one of the couches. He stole another kiss as they sat, and fiddled with the hair around her ear. "No more near-death experiences... and no more suicide missions. The Boss-man and I had a little talk."

?Oh! Oh! I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." She kept apologizing until they were both seated and relatively comfortable, though it took everything in her power to keep from sprawling over him. The bright gaze dimmed into a simmer as she lowered her lids in contentedness, once he started his fussing. "A good one? Because I'm only accepting good news right now." That was a warning.

"Hey, watch it now!" He gave her a warning look in return. "You should realize, you are talking to a Knight-Captain in the Holy Order of St. Aldwin, in charge of the newly established RhyDin Lodge."

His smile grew, and he returned to his petting. "More assignments over here. Protect the Baron while he's in the city, run a few missions in the neighborhood, find and train some fresh recruits... and, you know. Paperwork."

"Paperwork!" She crooned the repeated word, and in her excitement, she practically pounced onto the battered knight. Oh, she could just snog the Hell out of Alain (ick) and Sophie for this! However, given that they were not around, she did the next best thing to reward the information properly: she gave Seamus the sort of pecking that she couldn't attempt in public without grossing other people out. "Paperwork!" She sang, again, in the midst of it. There was a halt to her nuzzling when she leaned back a bit. "Congrats, Cap'n. Celebrate with a drink?"

"Mmf -- " Harder than it looks to shift gears from deep kiss back to conversation. "I think a few are in order." He slid out of his seat and finally paid attention to poor Jean on his way over to the bar. "Maybe Roland, Malcolm and Oishi could come over later. They're back in town already."

Roland's name conjured up a strange look, one that she shifted away from his figure and over to the bar. It passed quick enough. "Huh. Sure they will, if Mal's not sick of looking at me, yet." She got up to follow after him. More distance was not in the doctor's orders. "Is that all, though? I mean, aren't the others back, too?" She paused to tug her sweatshirt off, since the flare up was becoming a bit much. "Javal?" she asked once she was freed, bits of hair sticking out from the static.

"The others should be in Teobern tomorrow, and..." At Javal's name, he fell silent. He folded his hands and bowed his head. "...Javal didn't make it. He joined the insurrection with me and Soph pretty early on, but... he died when we attacked Ja'ir."

"Wha--what?" There she went, looking stricken. It looked more severe when the glow sat on sad expressions. "The prophecy..." she mumbled as she looked to her feet, and when she went quiet, they shared that reflective time for Javal. 'Lanta reached out to take his hand and seep out some comfort for her bruised knight.

"...He's in the hall of his fathers now," Seamus murmured, linking their fingers. Strange thing for a Christian to say. He did not seem to hear her own whisper. Eventually he broke the silence, switching tracks and shaking off the solemness -- mourning Javal was not something he would do here, and now. The loss of his friend would take some time.

"You know, we don't have to have a party here tonight." He shifted the mood and looked over at 'Lanta as he scooted back onto the counter itself. "We could flip that little sign over to 'Closed,' and the Boss would never know the difference." He grinned, tentative at first, then fully. "He's outta town, after all. We could raid the bar, watch a few movies, see what lost time we can make up for."

"Arf!" said Jean. It wasn't clear whether he was agreeing, disagreeing, or asking for attention. Probably the latter, though.

She let the sadness settle away for the time, off to the side but not forgotten. To help the new topic along, she tried to giggle all the way in to meet him. "Why, Cap'n! Are you tryin' to ruin my responsible side?" She scrunched up her nose and tried to tame down the burn. It wasn't working. "...Well...there aren't any specials tonight. And I am the only one on the schedule..." She pursed her lips and glanced at Jean, like he was the deciding factor. When the grin seized hold, she pressed her index finger into the space over Seamus' heart. "Don't swipe anything too pricey. And I get to pick the movies."

"I'm having beer. Buckets of it -- buckets filled with buckets filled with beer. They didn't have anything but weird wine and weird liquor in Vrashne, and I never got a drop." He stole over to the sign, and intercepted her on his way back. "Hey," he said, stole another kiss, and smiled.

"I missed you... It's good to be back."

She tugged on his collar and smiled in return. "Missed you more." And now, it was her turn. She got pensive and tipped her head. "Hey."

"Yeah?"

"Merry Christmas." She started to wriggle loose from him. This should have been a clue. "Also? I...uh...I think..." She felt the apples of her cheeks get all rosy. "IthinkImaybeinlovewithyou."

Approximately two seconds later, she was sprinting up the stairs.

Seamus gaped after her for a moment, then folded his arms and mulled over this very sudden turn of events that had him blushing brightly, too.

"Arf!" offered Jean.

"You know what? You're right," Seamus answered, snagged a sprig of mistletoe from a ceiling fan and marched up the stairs.

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