#cavalry:chat

[northernsfury]

L O C A T I O N  :  center  aisle  . S T A T U S  :  open  .

               THE  LAST  THING  HE  WANTS  is  to  be  shuffled  into  a  crowded  space  full  of  potentially  disease  ridden  people  .  had  it  been  his  own  desire  ,  perhaps  he  would  have  closed  the  gates  to  his  home  and  ridden  out  the  sickness  with  suggested  remedies  .  though  ,  gates  were  not  to  be  closed  in  aura  .  he  certainly  hates  to  uphold  appearances  at  a  time  like  this  .  with  an  aggressive  cough  the  morning  of  ,  his  panic  set  in  and  he  traveled  to  where  the  only  known  cure  was  rumored  to  be  .  now  ,  he  thinks  ,  he  would  have  rather  succumb  to  smallpox  .

                         IN  THE  BEST  DISGUISE  HE  CAN  MUSTER  ,  which  is  barely  anything  to  hide  him  at  all  ,  he  holds  a  handkerchief  to  his  mouth  and  makes  quick  to  step  away  from  those  that  come  too  close  .  in  his  opposite  hand  is  a  list  --  a  list  of  those  in  his  court  that  have  been  confirmed  to  be  sick  .  an  encouragement  ,  if  anything  ,  to  be  where  he  is  .  it’s  then  that  someone  sprinting  through  the  market  knocks  past  him  ,  causing  his  cloth  and  list  to  scatter  to  the  ground  .  with  a  panicked  gasp  ,  he  leaves  the  items  --  spinning  around  to  condemn  whoever  it  was  .  instead  ,  he’s  met  with  another  .

               ❝    leave  them  ,  they’re  not  important  .    ❞

[batteredshlds]

𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧  𝐭𝐨:  all.  

𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧:  solis,  front  of  the  lines.

      𝐅𝐎𝐑  𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄  𝐖𝐇𝐎  𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐃  𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅  on  the  skills  ingrained  in  her  since  birth,  iris  had  never  seen  the  face  of  true  war.  there  were  people  falling  left  and  right  around  her.  this  was  probably  the  furthest  place  dominic  had  wanted  her.  but  she'd  be  damned  if  she  just  stood  idle  in  the  depths  of  acacia's  castle  grounds.  the  rebels  had  far  more  people  than  she  anticipated  and  for  once,  the  queen  felt  fear  instill  in  her  hardened  bones.  fear  for  her  husband,  fear  for  her  people.  fear  for  the  end  of  their  worlds.  there's  a  body  that  comes  tumbling  forward,  her  hands  eagerly  seeking  them  out  before  calling  to  the  person  nearest  them,  despite  being  in  the  line  of  fire.      ❛  quickly,  they're  too  heavy  !  we  have  to  tend  to  their  wounds  !  ❜

[josslyndeclaire]

          Was it appropriate for her age to spin round and round like a whirligig toy in the middle of the garden? Not quote. Did she care about it? Not quite. She saw kids playing in the garden and decided to join. Soon enough she was whirling along with them, laughing an having fun. “And you spin and spin, and spin around and then, when I say ‘now’, you stop and run to the closest tree!” she chuckled, whirling, not realizing there was someone approaching her. “Now!” Josslyn called and stopped, almost losing her balance, a roll of laughter erupted from her. Only when she stopped Josslyn realized she almost fell onto that someone.

[flagonsandfortunes]

And they’d called him a witch; only kings and queens could summon whole wars out of nothing, with the power of draft orders and press gangs, requisitions and iron fists. These satin-frocked bastards, playing at their bloody games. All because some rotten fool had lost his head, and a crown had rolled. 

“Slow, now,” Esker murmured, with a gentle pull on the reins; Zabetha, the mare under him and all the weaponry he was delivering, was the sturdiest draught horse the inn had to hand. A towering, broad beast, certainly - the only one in their stable who had any hope of carrying so much steel, so far, so fast. Serene as any angel, but. She’d never been to war. He could see her soft eyes widen and roll, ears pinned as the stink of the wounded and dead drifted from the sagging tents they passed. Shushing, softly, he gave a pat to her sweat-roughed neck, a stroke down the line of her mane. As they jogged towards the sturdier parts of the place, Esker unwound the heavy traveling - and hiding - scarf from around his head, shaking his hair out, glancing about the camp he’d been told to ride for. Far from the fighting, tail-end, as they said. There was livery and standards from all over the kingdoms, and soldiers of every caliber imaginable, milling across the trampled-down clearing, marching, limping. Losing. As far as he could see. As far as he’d heard. So the rebels hadn’t been lying about that much, certainly...

Clearing his throat, Esker let out a sharp whistle, turning heads. Not about to waste any damn time. “Evening, all. We’ve bushels of arms, here, fresh-forged at the Dark Destrier. Official order. Sharp edges. Pointy ends. Swords. Spearheads. Bolts. Where’s it all going to?” 

[linvism]

THERE HAD BEEN TALK. rumors amongst her brother and his compeers, whispered conversations that halted whenever lina entered the room. no reason to worry, lee, he had constantly assured her. she’d had no reason to disbelieve his avowals; he’d be privy to such information in his position, surely, so she’d taken his word as fact. and then, suddenly (to her, suddenly), war was at their doorstep, finding lina wholly unprepared for the letter that would arrive beneath her own front door. she was lucky, or at least thought she’d been lucky, to be assigned to the back lines - thought maybe she wouldn’t be required to face the brutal realities of a hard-fought battle that lived within a canvas hospital tent. she had, as it turned out, vastly underestimated the scale of a violent war. it was early when she’d reported to her assigned station, sun barely peeking through the crack between hill and horizon. she wouldn’t be removing arrows or stitching wounds just yet - today, her job was simply to run, between tents and manors, to fetch water, bandages, whatever supplies may be needed to repair the war-ravaged bodies that crowded every tent. she accepted her task readily, and spent the following hours ducking in and out of tents, weaving through castle grounds, moving as quickly as possible to minimize the damage where she could. by now, the sky had been dark for hours. the day faded quickly when she kept her head down, eyes avoiding the bloodied faces and ears tuning out raspy cries. the waves of injured soldiers had started to finally slow, but after a trip to deliver a sedative to a particularly battered young man - several years younger than her own brother - she felt the exhaustion seeping into her bones. she needed a break, excused herself under the guise of fetching more supplies and just walked. walked until she found a secluded shed, and relieved to find it empty save for a few dozen bandages, slipped inside.

she moved towards the back wall, letting her weight rest against it. she shut her eyes, trying to erase the images of blood and pierced flesh that played over behind them. breathing out slowly, she started to relax after some time. 

she’d lost track of how many minutes had passed when the door of the shed slammed. her eyes snapped open, startled by the sudden intrusion, slightly concerned that she was about to be berated for abandoning her post. “ I’M SORRY — “ she started, squinting to make out the silhouette in the doorway, “ i was looking for something. “

[isdecorated]

— OPEN LOCATION: center aisle 

while AURA was usually the swell of blankets and peace once promised to keep clive’s heart intact, anxieties are about as forgiving as a soggy boot adorned in the chill of winter. so, keeping busy felt necessary and relieving, trickling down with the buzz of the ceremony. an open space acted much like bandages to invisible wounds, clive was powdered and wandering. a little relentless! gaze falling over every tiny instance like drapes. it wasn’t until something bubbled up, maybe everything, sudden and choking, and they stop a stranger for solace. it’s not a guarantee of anything, not answers or kindness or something communal, but maybe something unexpected would be refreshing, should it arise as such. 

“pardon me,” clive begins, an attempt at a gentle, friendly touch falls away to nothing but a clutch at the side of their own lengthy coat. when had touch ever gotten them anyplace nice? an odd, nervous kind of smile occupies the space between dimples and blotchy pale. “..have you heard of these.. these stories. petty crime? i haven’t been able to shake it upon hearing. do you ever feel as if you’re being followed?”

[josslyndeclaire]

The illness had ridden most of the people out of the streets. If it was up to Josslyn she wouldn't be out in the streets of Centre Aisle either, but her father needed her to fulfill a task and she'd be a bad daughter to turn it down.

As she had fulfilled it and was going to the inn to wait for her company back to Eden Josslyn saw a beggar. He's just a child, she thought to herself seeing how poorly dressed he was, dirty and like he hadn't eaten for days. She pulled out her small pouch with a couple of gold and silver coins in it and was about to give him a silver piece, but suddenly someone ran up to her and grabbed the pouch. Her first instinct was to hold onto it stronger, which the thief wasn't expecting. 

"Let go!" he grunted. "No!" Josslyn spat back with a 'how dare you?!' look on her face. She took the opportunity to stomp his foot and throw a punch right at him, making him fall to his knees from pain. But what she didn't expect was that it would hurt like a bitch. "Mother..." Josslyn gasped clutching her hand.

[flagonsandfortunes]

Didn’t take cards and cups and all the rest of that nonsense to know that a royal wedding would mean hordes of traffic across the Aisle - and, for a well-stocked inn, plenty of coin. Esker had been planning for that blessed union nearly as long as the damn castle kitchens, he was certain. And it was quite literally paying off. With a stack of tips, on top. Very gratifying. Bloody exhausting, of course, for all hands on deck, but. He’d promised the staff a fine bonus, and they’d all more than earned it already. Tapping Jakob on the shoulder, Esker pointed him off the casks, to the kitchen; a wordless order, break for supper. The bartender sighed, gladly, and slipped off duty. Esker, Nell, and Karina, on the taps and orders; they’d be fine. 

The clatter of the heavy brass bell over the doors turned his head, and Esker set aside the steins he’d been racking, making his way to the bar. Fresh faces, these; fresh opportunities, potentially. With a warm smile, broad enough to fit his reputation, Esker prepared to serve a first impression. “Welcome to the Destrier, friend. What’ll it be, to make this fine evening all the better - beer, bread, or something with a touch more substance? Kitchen doesn’t close, tonight.” The cellar did, but that was more on an individual basis. A good tavernkeep knew when to stop pouring, after all. Lest they wind up with more to mop. “I’m pleased to provide suggestions, if you find yourself in need.”