NPCs for The Officers Academy

[venalier]

　the lone eagle's flight.

　　　　　　 　　 　 ❪　⠀boel 2026: round 3　/　battle twenty　⠀❫

[viridescent-lance]

Forsyth's words fall on deaf ears, and his feet move too slow to prevent his fears from coming true--the student hits Leif square in the chest, and no amount of immediate healing will return him to this battle. Forsyth is on his own, now.

"Nothing to do about it, then." The student isn't wrong, per se, but could he not see the value of sportsmanship in a mock battle? Though, Forsyth can't help but see the irony, given it was initially him and Leif with such an advantage. He sighs, readying his lance. The battle isn't over until it's over. "Face me!"

A strange glow emanates from Forsyth's person, the magic he'd been lent coming forward all at once. Partially a last gambit, partially a straightforward enforcement of his declaration.

@venalier

[venalier]

LEIF FALLS SO ABRUPTLY, OUT OF NOWHERE,　𑣲　that for a stunned moment, she isn't sure what just happened. eyes blink, mouth agape——and then of course it all falls into place, the only way that it can. he—! fauntleroy! she whirls around on her feet after leif disappears in a flash of warping magic and stamps her way across the damp and torn-up grasses, spear in tow.

face me, the remaining deer calls to her ' teammate '. oh, they'll face him all right, but not——before!

"i've. . . HAD IT!" in a declaration of frustration, she throws her spear to the ground at fauntleroy's feet with enough force that it clatters in the dirt, then storms up to his face with a jabbing finger. "what's wrong with you?? do you think this is how an eagle should act? or a self-respecting student of this academy??" she throws both arms wide, glancing down at herself as if to say ' look at me '. "i'm exhausted, i've been on my feet all day, out here fighting——dragon's teeth, the places i was hit by that war fire thirty minutes ago still smart like crazy, but i've gone back out on this dragons-forsaken field to keep fighting because this once-a-year event should be taken seriously. it's a chance to prove our strength, not goof around and show up if and only when we feel like it. if you have to do that with your classes, and you think it makes you so much better than us who care about the time and money we spent to be here, then fine. but i can't——stand it! when you all show up like you want to show off how little you care, then demand to be the main character and ruin it for everybody else!"

in perhaps a declaration of outrage equal to that of her frustration, she swipes her spear back up before giving fauntleroy a terse shove to one shoulder. "we're teammates, so let's finish this. but shape up. think of someone else besides yourself for once."

[toa-npcs]

"Urk!" Fauntleroy flinches; the physical damage of Caeldori's shove is minimal, but the emotional is nearly enough to send anyone packing. For him, especially, because as far as he is concerned he has been taking this seriously. He'd shown up, even if it had been late. He'd done his best to adapt to the circumstances, even feeling at times out of his league. He'd seen Caeldori looking worse for wear, and doing his best to put into practice what he felt important, he'd stepped in to protect her.

So, trying to figure out where he's gone wrong, he's left a little lost!

He finds himself deferring to her regardless with a "yes, ma'am,"—the honorific slipping from him seamlessly. Entirely despite his confusion—has he been acting the main character?—it is easy here to recognize the difference between the two of them. Even in the midst of obvious righteous fury, she commands such respect.

There really always is someone else from which to learn something new.

"You're right. I should treat this with more severity." If not the main character, maybe he is still acting the child. He pulls what remains of his baguette from his bag, exterior hard as a rock, but inside still... not quite soft and fluffy, but tender. She had taken issue with this, hadn't she? And why wouldn't she—come to think of it, it was something of a crutch. And so, furrowing his brow with determination and shutting his eyes, he pulls back his arm,

and pitches it. As hard as he can.

[venalier]

　the lone eagle's flight.

　　　　　　 　　 　 ❪　⠀boel 2026: round 3　/　battle twenty　⠀❫

[viridescent-lance]

Leif and Caeldori circle each other, clearly familiar in some way. Caeldori gets confident, cocky, and dives in...there! Electricity and metal mix poorly, and for a moment he's sure Caeldori will be knocked cold.

No such luck, unfortunately. And the other student remains, taking a jab at Forsyth that catches him offguard. It's a blow he should have dodged, but his attention is divided.

"You think to interrupt a duel?" The deed is already done, to an extent, positions scattered and weapons askew. "Show some respect!"

(Forsyth does believe the words he speaks, but with Leif and Caeldori on their last legs, putting his trust in Leif's strength feels the right thing to do--granted he gets a fair match.)

[venalier]

THE LAST TIME SHE'D WORKED ALONGSIDE LEIF ,　𑣲　it'd been as partners. now she faces him on the battlefield, even if only a mock one. as he charges, she strengthens her stance, braces herself for the strike——father, will you be proud to hear of this?

but she doesn't expect him to stop short, slamming the axe head-down into the ground ; eyes only have a split-second to widen as her vision is overtaken by a shockwave of surging white-gold.

like with most seismic blows, she feels only impact, little pain. she's flying through the air, hits the ground, air rushing from her lungs, but training kicks in and she thrusts out an arm, letting the momentum carry her until she's back on her feet again, stumbling backwards breathlessly as she struggles for footing.

miraculously, there are no major injuries. he'd shown her all the power but spared her from serious harm. this, more than anything else, strikes her as awe-inspiring. "ha. . . ha. . . wow!" she's winded, muscles twitching where her hands return to her spear in the aftermath of the thunder's shock. her legs wobble, threatening to give out.

but they won't.

as a spear of heaven, on her honor to be worthy to fight now alongside her father in the fullness of her birthright, she refuses to buckle! in her single-minded focus, she doesn't even hear her teammate's calls, nor his skirmish with the green-haired deer not far away. "now, my turn!" without hesitation, she lifts her weapon back and high, poised to throw——

[toa-npcs]

——and soaring through the air instead comes that unmistakable Wishblade, so true its path that it is as though it exists to bring about preemptive ends.

Snatched with ardor from where it had embedded itself in the ground and pitched without hesitation despite Forsyth’s admonition. In fact, it is only after he acts that he even seems to register what has been said and respond in turn: “…a duel? This is a team match!”

What else was he to do, watching the way she wobbled on her feet as the dust cleared? What kind of knight or member of the Black would he be to leave an ally in the lurch?!

“We’ll only be able to succeed if we work together. As will you!”He states it so obviously; it is, by this point, entirely clear that any mood that might be in the air misses him entirely. 

(Still, is it him, or has the temperature dropped a couple of degrees?)

[venalier]

　the lone eagle's flight.

　　　　　　 　　 　 ❪　⠀boel 2026: round 3　/　battle twenty　⠀❫

[venalier]

A FEW THINGS HAPPEN AT ONCE.　𑣲　at the cry of the brown-haired student's name, she has a sudden moment of recognition. "oh, leif." or, really, she should probably also be saying ' lord ' leif, but it didn't exactly feel right calling anyone that but hoshido's royalty, or corrin, or those around the likes of her father. she hopes he doesn't mind——he'd never seemed like it when they knew each other before. "i didn't realize. . . you look a little different."

but a battle isn't the place for conversation ; she'd thought as much when the blond boy had tried to chat up a storm before too. she's quickly reminded of this when fauntleroy shouts something and runs off just as suddenly as he'd rushed in——fortunately, not completely away from the battlefield like her last teammate, but that doesn't mean she has any idea what he's trying to do. and she doubts he does either.

"wait——!"

put some distance? why?? when their opponent clearly has a bow——and an axe, which her attention is only drawn to at the green-haired deer's mention of it, noticing that it sparks with electricity. so not just an ordinary axe, but liable to punch right through her chainmail as the man helpfully pointed out.

there's not much she can do to stop that but keep an eye on it most likely, but she still regards the now-running green-haired man with a brow-arched smile. "careful what you say out loud for your opponents to hear!" and, to leif, hands closing more tightly around her spear as she stands her ground⠀(⠀whatever fauntleroy's doing elsewhere⠀) : "let's see your best hit!"

[diadic]

    The notion that he might look different to someone since the last time they saw him years ago hadn't occurred to Leif. It is in being around oneself all the time, in looking outward as a measure to define oneself rather than at one's actual reflection that perhaps Leif feeling himself stuck in constancy.

Constancy, stagnation— whichever word one uses for it, this perception warps a little by a simple comment. He comes to school and training exercises like this in search of progress, yet he finds himself struck by an indirect acknowledgement that he has somehow captured it.

Leif shakes his thoughts out of this. It's not the time to reflect, not when every moment counts and Forsyth has preoccupied one of their opponents, giving Leif the moment to breathe.

Caeldori stands direct from him with an open challenge. Not a dour expression, not a mocking word, but instead an invitation.

(He sees summer, he sees ocean waves, he sees adolescent days where training, whilst it still had a purpose, felt lighter than it does most times.)

And for it, he crooks a small grin on his face too, taking his axe in hand. 

“Got it!! This is between you and me!”  he cries out in turn and rushes forward, hefting the weapon in hand before he swings it down with all his might. The axe carves into the earth, not skin, as Leif stops short in his pursuit, but for it, a wave of lightning surges from his weapon, finishing his dash for him to smack into Caeldori all the same.

NEXT:  @toa-npcs or @viridescent-lance  !!

[toa-npcs]

Fauntleroy winces watching Leif brings the full weight of his axe down into the earth, sending shoots of lightning out with an impact that he's not sure he — no, he shouldn't think that way, he would bear it if he had to! (But he hopes that he doesn't.)"Caeldori, are you alright?!" He calls out, squinting through the smoke brought about by singed grass.

...this field really has seen better days. Even last year, he is not sure it looked—or smelled—as bad as this. By how quiet it is... they couldn't be the only ones left fighting, could they?

His head pivots as he assesses the situation as a whole, and away the baguette goes when he spies an opening—not in Leif's defenses, but in that of his companion. Wishblade once again in hand, Fauntleroy knows that he doesn't have what it takes to cast that magical strike he did earlier, but... that doesn't render it entirely ineffective, does it?!

And so with as most force as he can muster and a grunt befitting of the effort, he pitches it at Forsyth. "Hang in there! I'll be done here in a moment, and then I'll join you to help!"

@viridescent-lance

[venalier]

　the lone eagle's flight.

　　　　　　 　　 　 ❪　⠀boel 2026: round 3　/　battle twenty　⠀❫

[venalier]

IF SHE HAD A COIN FOR EVERY TIME　𑣲　today that someone had either: 1) arrived late to the battle of the eagle and lion with food in hand or 2) come in to join her in battle when she'd thought she'd be facing unfavorable odds alone, she'd have two coins for both. which isn't that many, but it is strange that both have happened twice.

and like with the blond lion they'd defeated at the start, she casts her fellow eagle a disapproving look as he charges into the frontline with lance drawn to steal her thunder. were they still allowed to participate, arriving so late?? that seemed unfair, not to mention messing up all the planning and strategy.

but she doesn't have the heart to admonish him when he's yelling rallying cries like that, at least not for now, damaging morale on the battlefield and everything. but she'd certainly let him know about his tardiness afterwards. the eagles had a name for being disciplined, exemplars of the school——she doubted edelgard would be glad to know about this.

breaking her cover beside the barrels, she rushes out across the grass to join him, their two adversaries coming now into clearer view. "don't talk like that with food in your mouth——you'll choke!" it's still admonishment that comes out of her anyway though as she levels a sweeping swipe with another spear she'd grabbed from the small camp at the same brown-haired boy to push him back. "finish your bread first."

having to perform resuscitative measures on someone else after everything else today would be just her luck.

[diadic]

    “I didn't know you could heal,”  Leif observes, giving a quick nod after an equally brisk appraisal of the man's spellwork.  “You have my thanks.”

But thanks only go so far. The shouting of the Eagles lets them know there's two of them to contend with (he'd feared three, as tended to be his run-ins during this mock battle), and the two of them reveal themselves fully, one chasing the other into the full fray. Caeldori, he recognizes, and the other, Fauntleroy, the birthday boy everyone's eyes had been on.

But knowing either does not mean he knows either's capabilities in combat— something he has to learn on the fly with a brutal lance swipe to teach him.

“Forsyth, in front! There's no one behind you, is there?!”  In the time it's taken to get the Eagles out, if they had a pincer attack prepared, Leif expects it to have happened by now. Leif runs in accordance to his order, trying to position himself well. Despite his injuries, he merely grits through them and bears them, no stranger to fighting in dire straits.

“We're not getting through Caeldori head-on! Watch for Lord Fauntleroy's spear from afar!”

NEXT:  @toa-npcs or @viridescent-lance  !!

[toa-npcs]

"It's... it's not that big a deal, is it?" He asks, somewhat wondering why he is being admonished given his contributions and nevertheless hurriedly tearing a piece off of his baguette and taking a bite anyway. "It never hurts to be prepared! A pinch of prevention and all?"

It'd served him well enough last year. ...is what he might say if he hadn't been soundly eliminated from the tournament in round 1.

While the two of them quarrel, the Golden Deer rally, the sound of their strategizing bringing the young man back to the circumstances at hand. Provisions or no, if they stand around like this, the two of them are going to make themselves sitting ducks. "From afar!" He echoes aloud, as though the idea has only just now occurred to him. "That's a good idea, isn't it? Let's keep some distance!"

He doesn't wait for a response—he's already begun his dash across the scorched earth beneath his feet. His speed, at least, he does have going for him. Surprisingly keenly he mirrors his opponents' movements, forcing them into a position where they cannot evade.

[venalier]

　the lone eagle's flight.

　　　　　　 　　 　 ❪　⠀boel 2026: round 3　/　battle twenty　⠀❫

[venalier]

BY THE TIME EVERYTHING HAD CALMED DOWN　𑣲　after that fiasco with the sea fire spells, she'd thought that the battle had to be over. she could hardly see anyone else left on gronder field——it was empty, a collage by a giant hand left half-finished, places and patches torn up and scuffled between the floodplains to the north and the great, flat grasslands to the south, each isolated spot clearly the aftermath of a skirmish between house, a mark of one side's failing or the other ; it was impossible to tell which.

yet, she hadn't heard the last horns blow, so was it still going? maybe she'd just missed it in all the commotion.

no, surely she would've heard it. they were loud, long, impossible to miss.

maybe she should head back to the heart of the eagles encampment and find out, just to be sure ; she wouldn't want to look silly still running around out here when everyone else was already winding down for the day and leaving her behind. but as she passes by a stretch of empty barrels staked with a slightly charred scarlet flag, there's movement in the distance coming her way. staff, coming to find her?

. . . no, as they drew closer, they looked too young. well, one of them did. and they were armed, both wearing the yellow blazons of the deer.

drawing in a stiff breath, the sky knight's hand tightens on the spear she'd salvaged a little ways away, intending to help clean up the battlefield, not anticipating she'd still be using it in battle.

was it just her, against these two? it couldn't be, right? had the deer already won? the last time she'd thought she was alone, forrest had come to her aid. . . but she really hasn't seen anyone else in red for at least a quarter of an hour. was she all that was left?? the thought fills her with a bittersweetness, weary and bold. it meant that the eagles had lost their hope of winning the battle this year, even with all the preparations she'd made. it also meant that she didn't really have anything to lose.

might as well give it her all.

eyes set on the smaller of the two targets, she hefts the spear up into her hand, taking only a moment to call to her opponent —— "heads up!" —— before letting the polearm fly. swift and precise, it cuts a line straight to its target like the eagle's hunting dive.

　´ ✱ ‾‾‾‾　@diadic , @viridescent-lance ・

[diadic]

    The spear soars, and from the heavens, it comes down to split Leif in twain. The boy does not break to halves, but he curses as it strikes him and tears through cloth and skin alike. He'd left the forested edges of the field and come to open field, hunting, wondering where else to go in a field left so empty.

“Damn it... that came from the barrels over there, didn't it??”  Leif asks Forsyth, marked as an ally by the golden hue of his house's faction.  “I'll try to flush them out. You watch my back, Forsyth,”  he orders, knowing it is in having someone, anyone, there that has brought him this far.

Njörun's zeal takes him, guides him through her blood in his. Even with no earth lance in hand, his hands find his bow and his arrows, straining himself to fire a few projectiles in rapid succession. The arrows take to those skies, form that arc to match the spear that struck him, and rain down onto the other side of the empty barrels, hoping to find at least one target even if he shoots in the metaphorical dark.

NEXT:  @toa-npcs or @viridescent-lance  !!

[viridescent-lance]

The Battle of Eagle and Lion is nearing its conclusion, with few students remaining on all sides. Forsyth has found it difficult to find an ally, much less an enemy--happening upon Leif is a great stroke of luck, especially given their recent experience in battle together.

"On it!" The enemy has found them, it seems. A Black Eagle, clad in armor Forsyth quickly recognizes will be a problem. His lance surely will be unable to pierce bar a miracle, and he doubts his axe will fair better. "So, then. One last battle, for the honor of our houses!"

With the advantage in numbers, they can likely wear her down. There's a figure approaching Leif, though, and it does not bear the golden colors that would mark them an ally.

"Leif, behind you!" The warning comes too late. The figure's weapon glows, and suddenly Forsyth is stumbling backward as if he'd born the brunt of the impact himself. "Damnation..."

Leif still stands, his determination and grit carrying him through. It looks like they're in for a grueling battle, but it's nothing they haven't weathered before. Forsyth nods, letting a healing spell wash over his ally before turning to face their foes.

"It'll take more than that to bring us down!"

@toa-npcs

[toa-npcs]

“A two-on-one fight would be a little unfair, wouldn’t it?”

In spite of the even-temper he musters, his body language speaks to remnants of fluster. It’s only after a pregnant pause following the tempest born of his attack subsiding that that figure, clad in the black and crimson of his very own Black Eagles, lowers his lance. Fauntleroy is better equipped this year than last, which he hopes will make up for how… belated his arrival is. A year of earnest study has culminated in the Wishblade he brandishes here, and while he’s under no mistaken impression that he’s a proper knight yet, he does think it just about makes him look the part.

(But of course, his breakfast still sits in the bag at his side. He never felt right going anywhere without it. Provisions were more versatile than many gave them credit for)

His tardiness did not relieve him of the responsibility to give the battle his best effort, and so he summons the even keel many of his peers bore as he moves to put himself between their opponents and his sole remaining teammate. “We won’t be letting you seize victory that easily. The Black Eagles will be seeing this fight through until the end!"

@venalier @viridescent-lance @diadic

[beholdenning]

There had been something off during his hunting trips with the other knights for a while. This Crest Stone business may as well be the cause; A strange energy, foreign but potent, setting even their senses akilter. A dull curiosity rose, even then. Adept with tracking, handling animals without a hampering mercy, and a sure shot besides, it is easy to accept the task when it floated Denning’s way upon the wind now — Doubly so with the expectations the other knights placed upon him for what reputation he has garnered besides obedient, off-putting and quiet.

The burden of presences upon eachother is lesser in a group. The blue knight, Sigurd, is familiar, a presence like a heron amongst hens, the other, Nessie, likewise has a surety about her, though she is not as known. The two knights converse with eachother, and Denning is content to listen, to nod silently, return the man’s handshake only somewhat haltingly, and continue to listen...

If it weren’t for the canine. Denning knows of hunting hounds, does not particularly care for nor mind animals, but while some are content ignoring him or treating him as a fixture like the horses in the stables, this one is like others which know not what to make of him; This hound refuses to break its gaze, stares at the morph, clearly alert. Golden eyes return the stare silently, impassively, unblinking.

They flicker up to meet Nessie’s, unchanging, when the hound’s clear attention draws yet more to them. If this tracker-knight speaks the truth, this hound will not continue staring at him so. That seems a desirable outcome. He does not speak as well as he listens, and yet there is always a wish for him to speak, one way or another, and he would invariably try to meet that demand...

Fingers tap into palm in consideration. He’s heard the word knight in many intonations, many contexts. A hum close to the word starts up in the back of his throat as he considers the sound, before he instead nods in agreement to her second assumption.

“yes, a knight.” his hands speak for him, more as supplement than requirement, before gesturing to the bow at his back. He then taps his temple, the tip of his nose, gestures at the road ahead with two fingers; i can also track.

@bxldrsdraumar

[bxldrsdraumar]

Within moments, all attention seemed to be on young Denning – first the hound, then his owner, and finally Sigurd with some curiosity. Yes, he would be interested to get to know the young knight as a comrade, for Sigurd wasn't sure he had seen quite their like – knighthood tended to attract boisterous souls, full of fire and righteousness, or full of a steady assurance and easy manner, as Nessie seemed to have. But this Denning... 

He smiled at the sound of a hum in the young knight's throat, eager to their voice for the first time, and canted his head when they responded with hand movements instead. He could not claim to understand the meaning exactly, but Denning's body language was calm, so he took it as confirmation, willingness to communicate. 

A mystery, as promised. 

But, Sigurd reminded himself forcefully, a mystery that surely does not appreciate being stared at like some streetside dance troupe.  

"Ah," he cleared his throat, sweeping his arm to gesture the lady Nessie to move ahead of them, "perhaps we should be on our way. I would imagine light is scarce in the Sealed Forest, so we must make use of what precious time we have. Come, my friends." 

Making their way into the forest, Sigurd kept himself on the lookout – it had been some time since he had hunted last, and though he was unused to the terrain of this continent and its woods, the instincts he had honed over the years served him well enough, catching sight of branches that dipped too low, clumps of fur in the mud and the foliage, and after a short enough time he caught sight of a strange series of footprints. 

He whistled softly, jerking his head in the footprints' direction. "My lady, do these tracks seem familiar to what you have been seeing?" 

@toa-npcs

[toa-npcs]

“Spot on, sir. And see that fur up there?” Nessie lifts a claw up towards the trees, pointing out the clumps of fur and skin trapped within the branches above. “No forest creature is that tall. And a scrape against the trees wouldn’t tear out that much hair. 

“Crest Stone magic, or something similar to it, can transform a body beyond recognition. You just… grow and grow, skin and bone twisting all the while.” The gauntlets Nessie wields, the Relic-like remnants of her lower arms, are proof of that—twisted bone and calcified muscle, and no trace of the hands she once had. And those tracks in the mud… Nessie swallows painfully. “You can see it right there. Those footprints…” 

Cloven hoofprints, likely from a deer or boar, but they come with some unwelcome sights. Extra toes, some kind of claw that drags along the mud as they walk. The poor thing...

“But these tracks look fresh. And from what I can tell, it’s walking like a drunkard.” The way each of its hooves land, uneven in distance and pressure, it looks like it’s unsteady on its feet. No wonder it’s causing all this damage, stumbling about like this. “Thoughts?” Nessie asks, looking over at Denning. “Think they’re nearby? The hound is on the scent, but I’d rather he not play hero.”

@beholdenning

[bxldrsdraumar]

What Do You Have In Your Mouth? Drop It

There’s been an uptick in monster sightings in the Sealed Forest, coinciding with the decline of wildlife in the area. Crest stones found in animals’ mouths and embedded in their skins confirm the Church’s suspicions: bad actors, likely Agarthans, are turning these beasts into vicious monsters. One of the Knights of Seiros has plenty of experience with the Agarthans’ tricks. She’s asking for volunteers to help her gather whatever Crest Stones they can find and put the infected wildlife out of their misery.

(starter for @beholdenning)

He had not been active long before word had begun to spread: there was something wrong with the animals in the Sealed Forest. Or rather, not animals - monsters. Sigurd didn't have much experience with monsters, save those in the hearts of men, but he knew that an upset in local wildlife would very surely lead to an upset with the people, regardless of the cause.

Sigurd had been happy to volunteer his services for this mission - it felt good to be working amongst a group again to achieve a goal, and he was happy to forge camaraderie with his fellow knights in any way that he could. And given his proclivity for hunting when he was a teenager, this seemed a natural fit for him.

He could not say quite the same for his partner, a knight that had worked their way up from the bottom. He had been told that the knight did not speak - much - nor behave in a way that was quite usual. He had been told they were responded to Denning (well, he had been told they responded to anything with appropriate eye contact, but a name was important, he thought).

"Denning, is it?" Sigurd smiled, reaching a hand out to shake. "Well met, my friend. I believe I've seen you about the monastery. It will be good to get to know you as a comrade."

The other knight with them was a woman named Nessie - a friendly knight with her hound Lockie, whom Sigurd knelt to scritch under his chin before greeting Nessie as well. "We thank you for your hard work in this matter, my lady. I should hope that we are able to find a way to rout this issue at its source."

[toa-npcs]

"Ha! No need to call me 'lady' anything. Nessie's just fine. I'm not much of a knight anyhow." That, Sigurd seems to embody wholeheartedly, fancy speech and all. Nessie's dealt with nobles before, but she can't say she's ever been comfortable with them and the kind of luxury they like to surround themselves with. Sigurd at least doesn't have their snobbiness, and his friendly attitude is something Nessie can appreciate.

As well as his handsomeness. "The help's much appreciated, sir," Nessie replies with her own warm smile. "I'm looking forward to working with you and Denning here."

Speaking of. Scritches from Sigurd haven't distracted Laelaps from his staring contest with this 'Denning' guy. The hound leans forward towards the second man, eyes and ears alert. Danger? Not likely, Nessie decides. Her companion would have sounded the alarm, and he doesn't look like he's raring to bite. Nessie's sure he has his reasons, one she can't sense, but she's always been one to give the benefit of the doubt. And so the woman turns to Denning with a kind smile, stepping towards him and inviting him into the conversation.

"Don't mind Locks," she tells him. "He's not the best with strangers, but he comes around eventually. So are you a student, a knight...?"

@beholdenning