#vicoya

[riandur]

@vicoya Notes: Progress Day baybeee

"Aren't you thrilled to be close to home?" The Tower, he was sure his friend had missed it at some point. Though he wasn't sure how much she missed it, all the Tower witches seemed to have spread far and wide. Still, the Darkspawn threat had moved to the South, as well, smaller raids that were lesser known. Still, Riandur had felt different – it'd been months now, months since he'd had to find his way with the others into the source of the Darkspawn. Of one of the Seven generals that would litter this world. There were others, had to be, and there was an unhealthy obsession to find them from the field officer. Pouring over things, readying himself to go to Caer Glas. Alucard telling him he shouldn't, he was sure Vicoya would say the same. Thoughts endlessly running through his head – he had to pause, clenching his hand where the ring pulsed. He looked at Vicoya again, aware she'd answered him, and realizing he hadn't heard a word she'd said. "Right. Yes."

[freydis-freydat]

Who: @vicoya Where: Caer Glass When: Miss Sunshine’s Big Ole Birthday Notes: The parade was in the morning. 

It was nothing short of a trek from Haven to where Caer Glas Keep sat watch over the bay between the Silverlands and the Feywilds, but Freydis was happy to make it. She had come to town a few days early, affording herself plenty of time to meet up with the artisan she had written to in order to commission a gift for her Legionnaire friend. The extra time permitted Freydis to be certain the gift was completed with the proper care, quality, and attention to detail. As the once-jarl rode a borrowed horse to a pasture near the keep she couldn’t help but miss her own horse. It had been a gift from another jarl, a foal that came into its own at the same pace Freydis had as a young noble. It was the first horse she had owned and trained for the sake of enjoyment rather than for labor, and she had loved it fiercely until she had parted ways with it during the initial flight toward Nornwatch. She had offered it up to an elderly man struggling to keep up, a quiet pact made between them that the steed would be returned to her once they were in the safety of the watchtower. The fates had divined so many cruel turns of events since then, and it was more than Freydis could manage to think of what fate befell that elderly man or her horse. But it allowed her to understand Vicoya’s widely known love for her own horse, Mabel. 

Freydis was not necessarily expecting a formal party. The other members of the legion she had met didn’t seem the type, especially the dark-haired moody one who seemed to be the catalyst for the event. But she noticed Etienne keeping the broody-looking host company, and suspected if he was someone Etienne approved of then there was more to him than what met the eye. She balanced the box meant for Vicoya in her arms as she looked for the familiar red-headed woman. With her signature, fiery locks–and it being that she was the reason for the festivities in the first place–it did not take long to find her. 

For some time now, every waking minute had felt like a violent tug-of-war between her head and her heart. In the night, her lucid dreaming felt like a nightly snipping of the sutures she spent every morning carefully placing in an attempt to sew back together her bleeding heart. But the last few days had had moments of levity, windows of time where her memories of the arches didn’t eclipse all else. This was one of those moments. Patiently, Freydis waited for Vicoya to have a small gap between chatting with her fellow Legionnaires and greeting the guests who had made the trip to celebrate her. 

“Happy birthday, Vicoya,” Freydis greeted, balancing the gift box on her hip as she used her free arm to loop around Vicoya in a warm, enthusiastic hug. So many of their conversations had been heavy, tear-stained affairs, but they had bonded over stronger matters than misery alone by now. Even so, it was a welcome change of pace to enjoy her company in a circumstance that demanded pure celebration. “I’ve brought you something, but I’m sure you’re busy–you don’t have to open it now. I just want to make sure it doesn’t get displaced.”

[steadythora]

who?: @vicoya where?: where the legion be in all this messi when?: while they're all flailing and failing

More accustomed to the concept of arcana, Thora didn't mind letting Vicoya tend to Kari's injuries. There were plenty of enemies to syphon from in the siege, but Kari needed a little more help to recover than Thora could provide. Vicoya was the only one of the Legionnaires who wasn't completely out of their mind as far as Thora could tell. "I can fight without her, but I much prefer not to. Kari is the only one I can count on to have my back. We're both used to cutting down darkspawn at this point and I can tell she's equally as eager to get back out there as I am. How much longer?" she questions, her arms folded as she stands guard in front of Vicoya and Kari. This Legion outpost was guarded and there was little chance another Legionnaire would pull Vicoya away. Still, Thora's stance was reflective of how little trust she placed in those who donned the black armor as she did now. She didn't Join out of duty but out of necessity. She was here because she had to be, and she would fulfill her role no matter what. But that didn't mean she magically warmed up to these people. "The less time we have to spend in this encampment, the better. Me and Kari are warriors, so we'll continue to go to war until every last darkspawn out there knows the taste of my blade. Please don't be slow about it."

[riandur]

@vicoya Notes: On the way back to Caer Glas

Riandur had come out only slight worse for wear from the temple, Haelim and Alucard at his side. The village itself, the one that he had left behind so long ago – well, he had done everything to avoid it. He'd sent Vicoya and Nurcan, the two that could save those that could be saved, and the others that wouldn't have a choice. Rian had even stood on the outskirts of it, until he'd been forced to walk in and make a decision on who would get to live or die. These were people he hadn't seen in years. Friends, children that he'd seen be born and learn how to take their first steps. It was heartache for those within, and it was perhaps a blessing that no one truly remembered him – until there were the few that did.

When they'd left, they'd left with two. The Blight had impacted the region, and the temple was now magically sealed until those from the Tower could come and study it. He was walking beside Vicoya now, thinking of a bond that transcended time. "Are you okay after being in the village for so long?"

[riandur]

@vicoya Location: The Camp

"A dragon, Coya. That was fucking great. And Lilith? Been dying to teach that crazy bitch a lesson for years, now. Do you think our names are gonna be carved in the shitty stone of Nornwatch after what we did? Or do you think we'll have to charge our way down to Amon Sǔl and make sure they put it in the histories ourselves?" He was finishing up with the dressing on his side, the wound now an old scar thanks to the healing from Vicoya. The bandage was tossed and Rian looked at his fellow Legionnaire, "And now we have two more to watch out for. Should we do rock-papyrus-knife to see who is now in charge?"

[freydis-freydat]

Who: @vicoya When: After the battle with the blighted dragon and the ranks of the Legion of the Dead have grown Where: Lostlands Encampment Notes: Took me long enough : (

Keeping count of the days had been difficult between the onslaught of new information, the strange cycle between dreamless sleep and nights when she couldn’t determine between Tove’s recycled memories and visions produced by her own subconscious. Things were better, but they were different. The relief she felt to be back at the encampment with the overall group could not be understated, but it felt altered somehow compared to the time spent in the tower before being abducted. Freydis was unsure if it was a change within her or because of the constantly shifting state of affairs in the way Iskaldrik found itself embattled that caused this. 

And then there was the sudden loneliness. It was strange to be alone after what she and the other women had endured together, how dependent their survival had been on operating as a unit. That simply wasn’t so any longer, and though Freydis was grateful her isolation was a direct result of safety she still felt like something of an open wound. 

Freydis suspected it would take time to reconcile this–to compartmentalize her feelings as herself and the way her shared knowledge and memories with Tove now colored her perceptions. The protectiveness she had felt would not wear off, but she knew better than to insert herself or intervene too directly. Even so, she found herself wandering a stretch of the camp that many of her peers might assert someone of the nobility had little business deigning to enter. The Legion of the Dead seemed to have cloistered themselves off, and why shouldn’t they have? While some minds had been opened, or at least convinced to play as nicely as possible with the magic-users and non-human beings of the troupe, many remained as stonewalled as ever against the idea of cooperation. Freydis felt their salvation, or any hope for survival at all, lay within wider cooperation across all factions.

It was that thinking precisely that landed her at Vicoya’s doorstep–if one could call it that. The tent city that served as the encampment had almost certainly seen better days, but trapped behind the shimmering wall of the arcane dome that trapped them, it served its purpose well enough. She worried she might be intruding on the woman’s privacy, but forced herself to extend a hand out to try and catch the woman’s attention nonetheless. “Do you have a moment for a word?” she asked quietly, something about her face looking sullen and wasted behind her eyes. Perhaps Freydis ought to have tried to make the connection with the woman sooner.

[bountiesofkian]

who?: @vicoya where?: mercury's bazaar when?: progress day

Kian Sforza, more commonly known as Lady Aetos, was dead. This was a matter of public record, he made sure of it. No witch alive could've distinguished the double he wove from his real body, which was why he was so careful about concealing his identity and generally stayed away from the capitol. Progress Day was meant to provide a veil he could conduct his business under without raising suspicion, but the Wheel weaved. The Dreadnought paused when he saw Vicoya, and even though his plague mask hid his eyes, he was obviously staring. "Happy Progress Day," he says disingenuously, modulating his pitch with the second set of vocal chords he weaved in his throat. "Hope you enjoy the festivities, now excuse me…" Fate must've had it out for him because of all the people crammed into the city he just had to run into her. Kian Sforza was dead, which meant The Dreadnought couldn't do or say anything to make someone who knew his face question that.

[veseniya-tqd]

who: @vicoya where: Marinus Bay, medical tents when: After the Legion Fall of Aventia notes: Please let me know if you want any adjustments!

Rarely did Veseniya enter the medical tent in the encampment outside of Marinus Bay, at least no longer than it took to collect the unfortunates who were past the point of hope. Today, no names or locations of beds had been shared with her, but that didn't stop the injured or unwell from looking suddenly somewhat more feverish and pale as she approached their cots. Lucky for them, Veseniya's gaze did not stray from their path. She was not there as a Legionnaire moonlighting as a mercy killer, she was there to assist her fellow Legionnaire Vicoya. Though she was still learning much about this world that had moved on an entire century without her and though many of the secular customs and attitudes confused her compared to her upbringing in the cult, Veseniya was not cruel. She simply did what she had to do with little room for what-ifs and could-bes. Today, that meant assisting Vicoya, another member of the legion who seemed dead set on illuminating something within Veseniya that simply was not there. Still, Veseniya respected the work that Vicoya did, she viewed the flame-haired woman as her foil, and the quiet druid held a deep respect for the idea of balance. "Vicoya," she greeted quietly and simply at the foot of the bed where Vicoya worked. Veseniya was not as skilled in healing as her partner for the afternoon, but what she could do was calm frightened patients and create the conditions on which they would be still. Her spores could create vivid delusions of terror, but they could also produce a calming haze that softened every edge. There was little more she could offer Vicoya in terms of assistance, but Vicoya had never uttered a word of complaint. "It is good for the people of this camp that you have returned. Success has been the overall consensus of the reports of your travel. I would like to hear the account from your recollections."