Legend of Ransera

Evening breaks through the glass of the greenhouse. It is a universe made of orange and green, with constellations of flowers in every shade imaginable. Carefully cultivated by the local town council, it is one of Kalzasi's lesser-known beauties. Slightly off the beaten path, a little far from the fashionable promenades, it is all the more beautiful for its quiet. Birds flicker in the boughs. Roses blossom in an artificial heat. Water trickles through irrigation, and the vines crawl hungrily up the well-manicured trees. Hungry roots dig deep into the soil, while fragrant shrubs nestle beside every white-stone pathway.

It is balmy, even in the evening, but Petra doesn't mind. Dressed in her tight leggings, high boots, and bolero jacket, she cuts a handsome and all-weather form. Her ponytail twirls in her fingers, an unhelpful habit that nevertheless at least keeps her hand busy while she waits.

Waiting is something she does well. In all honesty, it's something she was born to do. Watchful as an owl, and just as patient, she contents herself with examining minutiae - the trickles of water off rocks, the flights of butterflies, the coming and going of young couples, old widows, and nursemaids with schools of young children. She makes a census of faces, and then a census of birds. She tests her memory, and listens, and waits.

My fault for being early, but I suppose there are worse things in the world than passing a quiet quarter-hour in a garden. It's a fine change from books, at least.

She sees Lucia before Lucia sees her. It's not surprising. The woman is everything Petra isn't. Tall, buxom, beautiful, strong... Petra admires her as she cuts through the modest crowd. The shock of blonde hair is especially fetching in Kalzasi, and she has to admit that the mercenary air suits her well. Most sellswords reek of desperation and hunger, but she looks every bit the professional.

"Maybe they breed them different in Zaichaer, Yesod. With a little more pride in their work. I like her already."

She stands, and Yesod falls in behind her. The tall demon, the work of metal and impossibility, was doing a fine job of staying somewhat out of sight, but with his master moving, so is he. He looms behind her, bathing half of her in a surprisingly dark shadow. She is split in half, orange and black, with only her eye showing on the benighted half.

She doesn't smile. Her face is just as much a mask as Yesod's. But her manners are good. In the Zaichaeri fashion she steps forward and offers a hand, her palm slightly upward - polite submission. She looks up at Lucretia with a placid, attentive expression, and speaks first, as is proper.

"Miss Schildknecht, a pleasure." Her pronunciation of the foreign name is imperfect, but her voice is striking. High, sharp, calm. Like a shard of glass, still sharp, in the bed of a smooth, glacial river. "Thank you for meeting me here. I think it a better environment for pleasant discussion." She plucks a small purse from her breast pocket and hands it over - a mix of gold and silver, a fair pay for an afternoon's work of bloodshed.

Always best to overpay on the first meeting, and it's not like my research budget doesn't have some wiggle-room. Conversation is cheaper than violence, but a good impression is worth any sum.

"This is Yesod. Pay him no mind." She nods back to the demon, and then starts walking, intending her new friend to follow. As if that is all that is necessary to explain a looming demon.

"How long have you been in Kalzasi, Miss Shildkneckt? I hope it is to your liking."

It wasn't so much that she didn't notice Yesod in the same way that it wasn't that she didn't notice the beauty of the flowers given her forward gaze, the heat given her long-sleeved shirt with sleeves rolled up to her elbows and long pants, or what appeared at first glance to be the apparent tiny frailty of Petra. To Lucretia Praskovya Schildknecht, seeing was believing. She saw the flowers, she saw Petra, and she felt the heat, and so all of these things were real to her. The same was true for the demon looming behind her. A simple way to live, for certain, but one that Lucia was used to.

The Zaichaerean handshake was unsettling to say the least. The mispronunciation of her name - well, she'd gotten used to it by now. After a few moments of hesitation and staring at the gesture dumbly, as if Petra's hand had eight digits on it, Lucia grasped the other woman's outstretched palm firmly. With a twisting of her wrist, the two's clasped hands became vertical, palms even with each other - signalling an equality of station. Her lips curled upwards into an amicable smile, her head tilted downwards towards the other woman, paying no mind to the hulking abomination behind her. She allows Petra to finish talking and ask her question politely, and taking the cue begins to follow along.

"About a year or so... Cormorant? Was that right? Nice to meet you too." The purse of money jangles slightly in her hand as she attempts to stow it away as they walk. "And Lucia's fine. I really hate all that formal stuff." There is a particular clearness and honesty to the way she speaks, in her tone of voice; not as if she cannot lie, but in that she doesn't know how to deceive.

"And... am I liking it here?" Lucia's hand moves to her chin, cradling it as she ponders over Petra's question. She knew how long she'd been here, in Kalzasi. A year, maybe an extra season or two. But was it to her liking? That was a tougher question. Sure, she'd made a couple friends, and sure, she had her own place to live, but both of those things probably would have been true back home too. Her life had certainly been turned upside-down and it was a negativity that was the deciding factor in why she was even here in the first place. She had been "reduced" to a sellsword. So was she liking it here?

"Yeah, I think it's fun. When you live somewhere new, you're seeing new stuff all the time, so it ends up being pretty interesting. Even if I don't get it all the time," she finally decides. "Like your buddy, there. He's pretty interesting." Lucia's manner of speech is, by comparison, much less refined, dignified, and practiced than Petra's, but it seems she has no issues in getting these simple points across. Her hand finally removes itself from her chin, letting her arms move naturally with her walk. "You? Like, how long've you been doing... whatever it is you do? You like it? And what did you hire a mercenary for if you just wanted to talk, anyway? Ain't there other people you can hire for that?"

A million questions, this one.

If Petra is offput by the question, she doesn't seem to mind. She hangs a right at a fork in the path, and leads the pair through lanes of topiary carved into magnificent shapes and specked with parasitic flowers digging into the hidden branches. They pass swans and horses, noble houses' sigils and magnificent creatures. Petra seems fixated on a firebird, wings spread and flames represented by roses, but she doesn't stop for it. Three strides of hers are two of Lucia's - she has no ground to give.

"Cormorant, yes. Initiate in the College of Spells. Call me Petra. I don't like formality much either."

Laconic to a fault, her questions are short, sharp shocks. Like little hailstones raining in an allotted order, they seem to stop as soon as they have achieved their purpose. But they do not run dry. Petra is a woman of few words per idea.

Ideas, well... no one ever said I was lacking in them. Only in ones of quality.

"I've been here from birth. I lived in the Middens - the underground shanties just above the Warrens. I grew up in the gutter, very literally. I found my way up to the surface, and then to the tower. I've found it..."

Petra pauses for a word, searching for it. She looks up at the panes of sheet-glass, and the refraction of the sun into a narrow spread of beautiful color. It is as if she thinks she can find her answer up there, somewhere. As if she can simply look to heaven to give her the word she so desperately needs.

"Fulfilling. I imagine it is a similar appreciation of a mountaineer to his mountain. Kalzasi is all I've known, outside of books." Petra shrugs, noncommittal. "History is, admittedly, the record of human tragedies and follies, but judging by it, Kalzasi has treated me better than many."

A pair of perfumed dandies pass Petra and Lucia by, and Petra quiets herself as they pass. Secretive, surprisingly so. Petra has no desire to be listened to - her words are not for sharing.

"...grateful, though, would be a bridge too far. I've earned what I have, and I intend to earn more. Which brings me to my point."

She pauses at a bed of tulips, and bends to breathe in their delightful mixture of aromas. Yesod shudders, inhuman.

"I could have hired anyone to speak to me, but I hired a mercenary because I need a mercenary's perspective. I want to turn a profit with my research, and that means selling to people with money. No one buys like armies. So, I want your perspective. As a soldier, and a weapon-for-hire."

She rights herself, and Yesod looms over her once more, inhuman and tall in his dark-metal silhouette. "Tell me - have you ever fought beside a mage? Ever fought against one?

Petra. Petra Petra Petra. Never particularly good with names, Lucia repeats it in her head a few times, her lips silently mouthing it. She had only remembered the other woman's last name because she'd re-read the letter requesting her own presence just before she arrived. However, Lucia's ability to follow is impeccable, and no amount of twist or turn is enough to even begin to shake her away from the focus of her attention. She listens dutifully to the brunette's answers to her own rapid-fire barrage of questions, and although the loftier thoughts escape her - especially the bits about history and what it is and what it means - she gets the general idea.

"A couple times, in exercises. On both ends," she answers, herself not caring much for whether she is overheard or not. At this point, she has already committed treason; what's a few more counts? Her footfalls are in contrast to Petra's: confident and unafraid to make sound, the buckles on her boots only adding to the noise of each step, almost something like a march.

"Magic's not really, um... it's not as common as it is here. You don't see a lot of people using it. Mostly because it's under pretty tight control." She pauses to brush a few strands of her hair out of her face and to adjust the collar of her shirt, undoing the first button which, hopefully, allows for more airflow. The heat certainly was killer today - perhaps she should have worn something a little cooler. "We - well, everyone seems pretty suspicious of 'em, but I never got the whys of it."

As if realizing she'd gone off on an unneeded tangent, Lucia clears her throat. She pays no mind to the tulips unlike Petra, and her gaze moves up to Yesod, staring lazily at the abomination, the demonic entity, for several seconds - entirely dismissive of him. "Sorry. Yeah, I guess I have on both ends," she repeats, "but never anything life-or-death. Why, are you trying to figure out how to kill mages better, or something? Or do you wanna know how we were taught to beat 'em?" Her amber eyes finally remove themselves from Yesod and slowly take in the scene around. Lots of pretty flowers, lots of people, a big towering demon. Lucia hooks a finger on her collar and tugs at it slightly, fanning herself with her other hand.

"Any reason you couldn't ask me all this in a letter or somethin'? Or are mages just secretive? It's what I've been told, anyway..." Again with the questions.

"I'm a researcher, most of the time." Petra rises from the tulips and turns towards a pond. Dragonflies duel above the water-lilies, and frogs prowl the banks. A few fish can be seen beneath the azure ripples, meandering between the long strands that hang down from the flowering islands. A pair of bluebirds watch, transfixed. Perhaps they too see the beauty in this cultivated wild.

"Which means I know better than anyone the power that the written word can have. Paper is a coffin. It boxes up the dead and living alike, and buries them for later grave-robbing. I prefer to keep myself out of a paper prison until I'm sure I want to let the ink dry. Besides." Petra glances over at Lucia. There is something approaching a smile on her face. Minute and furtive, but there. Playful, in its own lethargic way. "I need interesting friends. This is much more social."

"What I want to sell is... enemy-agnostic, ideally. Though, if you have ideas one way or the other, please share." Petra sighs, realizing she's gone down the wrong path in the conversation, if not in the increasingly-lovely walk. "...If I'm secretive, it's because the Order I've lashed myself to is based on a hypocrisy. Magic is sacred to the Circle - it must be preserved and protected. Yet so much of magical lore is stored in the minds of its practitioners. Each mage killed is most of that lifetime, lost in the blink of an eye." Petra raises one hand, like one side of a scale. "We are told that those who seek power should be guided to it."

The other hand rises. "But. We are told that the unworthy should be allowed to die in the pursuit if they cannot succeed on their own, and the Circle actively permits conflict beyond the walls of its sanctums. The right of magicide is protected in laws writ upon ancient stone."

"You see, then, that I would rather not have to explain myself yet. Let it be a fait accompli to my order."

Petra shades her eyes and looks out over a verdant lawn, which leads to a little pagoda. She makes a note of it for later.

"I am a summoner. Summoners exchange their aether with spirits to support them in the world. But I am different than most - I am a demonologist. I summon demons, like Yesod. And demons, more than any other class of outsider, are willing to support themselves, in exchange for goods and services."

"Goods like blood, and bone, and days of your life. Goods like sanity, and fertility, and sight. I gave up a very great deal for Yesod. I think that battlefields would have plenty to give demons. And that the side which offers the most could summon very powerful things indeed. Do you see?"

Being called interesting was certainly something new. Lucia had never thought of herself as that particularly, although she supposed the exoticism of being from a rival nation with whom tensions were high may contribute to that. Even she could understand that. Usually it was other less kind words that were used to describe her; while the words her peers often used to report her intelligence were more unloving, they were not necessarily untrue.

"Well, Petra," Lucia starts, leaning against a nearby railing as she casts her gaze in the other woman's general direction, "I, uh, think I get it. A little bit. Maybe." The more she talks, the more it becomes apparent that she is having a very hard time understanding these abstractions, these indirect questions, these things that make her guess. "You wanna find out what kinda demons you can sell to people. Or something," she says, her search for approval at her haphazard guess apparent in the insecure tone of voice she uses. "Or if anybody would be interested in buying them."

Lucia ponders over the idea for a short time. All that about the circle, about the hypocrisy of magic and knowledge and all that junk being sacred while also allowing - and encouraging even - its loss forever... that managed to get through. A placid expression on her face, her attention focusing more narrowly on Petra, she stops leaning on the wooden rail with a short, energetic hop. She approaches the other woman. "Can't say I ever had too many friends who were mages, so I guess I'm happy to accept that part of the job. If you're wondering what kinds you could sell, I guess anything that's really good at killin' people. Armies love those kinda things." She seems satisfied with her answer, until her face lights up as if she's had a life-changing epiphany. "No! Wait! Us foot soldiers, we always really liked it when we had extra food, so maybe some kind of demon that would increase morale like that. You know, something that could make food. Or booze, for the heavy drinkers."

She seems very happy with this idea until something hits her like a stack of bricks. Gone is the expression of epiphanic bliss. She bites her lip, looks off, hand moving to rest on her head; it almost might be possible to see the gears turning in there. "But what in the world would you give it in return? I guess a demon that kills people could just eat the people, but what would a food demon eat, rocks?"

It is at this exact moment that Petra notices two things. First, she rather likes this girl. Tall, strong, beautiful, and pleasant are all good features on their own, but there is an earnestness to her that Petra can't help but find appealing. She feels as though she can be herself, or at least, be more herself with this girl than she can with most of her acquaintances. Though, admittedly, that is not much of a high bar. Lucia seems unjudgmental and vivacious, and Petra rather likes standing in her shadow.

It certainly beats standing in Yesod's.

The second thing she realizes is that Lucia is not very bright. But, perhaps she likes that too. Magi tend to work out at the library, so to speak, and while the intelligent conversation and atmosphere of scholastic peers is welcome... with intellect comes ambition, and also the means of carrying it out. Perhaps, for a change, she wants to be near someone who doesn't seem like they are predisposed to putting a knife in her back.

Even if, judging by Lucia's build, she most certainly could.

"...I never even considered food and water, but they must be brutally valuable in certain situations. Long operations away from camp, deep into enemy territory... food could be more precious than gold. Or water, in the desert..."

Petra thinks, the gears turning in her mind. She can take this. Reduced logistical burdens, their possible effects on campaigns. Already, a door has opened. She murmurs, half to herself.

"The payment varies, but the one thing that demons like more than anything is blood. Sacrifice, murder, and victory are also all good things. I could find a list of demonic names who would be willing to work for blood by the liter - there are plenty of water-elementalist demons, if nothing else. Being able to turn the blood of your enemies into water. And if I could get scrollwork on swords, the ordinary kills in the line of duty could be used as sacrifices, the aetheric savings..."

Petra spins out her mind, and then reels it back in, clearing her throat. "Interesting. You've already earned your payment. Tell me about your campaigns, then. What have you wanted, but not had, when death is on the line?"

Lucia miraculously manages to absorb the lessons Petra has to teach about demons, regardless of how basic the explanations or Lucia's understanding may be. She politely waits for the other girl to stop muttering to herself, though an eyebrow does cock itself at the behavior. Well, sometimes it's good to say your thoughts out loud to yourself.

"Hmm. That's a good question, actually. The closest I've ever been is when I was on my way here, so..." she trails off, eyes looking upwards as if focusing on some mental image with her eyes and begins tapping her foot on the well-manicured grass. "Something I wanted but didn't have when I was close to death. I guess I already answered food and water, so medicine? Medical supplies? I got a pretty nasty cut and it hurt a lot. Didn't have anything on hand to help it, either. I've heard guys complain about firewood when it gets cold too, or stuff to keep 'em dry when it rains."

She holds up a finger, as if to tell Petra not to interrupt. It is clear she is still thinking; and in due time she gives a due answer. "Strength too, I guess. Or better armor. Or like, skin made of metal, or something. I wouldn't say I was close to death, but it was in a real fight that I got hurt in. You know, being one person fighting a couple is pretty tricky, so you wish a lot for stuff like that so you can keep going, or at least not get hurt." She scratches her chin as her posture relaxes even further, gaze wandering across the gardens; there's a small hint of an undertone of something more to that last statement - perhaps regret, anger, or sadness, or perhaps all three.

Fanning herself with one of her hands, Lucia watches as two birds fly around the manufactured garden; it was certainly a different atmosphere from her place of upbringing. There it was largely industrial; smoke often filled the sky even in the nicer parts of the city, and mines both active and abandoned were commonplace. A butterfly gracefully flitted on past her, and she took in its beautiful blue-and-black hues, patterned with stripes. She couldn't shake the feeling that anything she was saying wasn't worth the money she was being paid for it, but at least it was easy work. No running, climbing, jumping, fighting...

If this Petra woman was so keen to pay her for nothing, then perhaps she quite liked her too. Well, not just because of that. To Lucia it was cute that she was so inward, so absorbed and dedicated to her work. Sometimes she wished she could be like that too. Ambitious. There was only one thing which she was truly ambitious towards, but it wasn't like there was any opportunity presenting itself for her to jump on, so her life for the last year had been neglect of that ambition. It still burned inside her, sure, and some nights it kept her awake - but she was not actively working on it. She was also appreciative that Petra had not insulted her, so far - and in fact valued what she had to say, could get something out of it. Lucia knew she was not the brightest crayon in the box, but that didn't make it sting less when people pointed it out.

"Oh, and stuff for finding your way around. They teach you some basic navigation, but usually the only people who get the neat tools and stuff are officers and stuff, and I can think of more than one time where someone got lost and we either had to go find 'em or they turned up hours later a little worse for wear. I guess if you got lost in a real war you could die, so it applies. I think."

"I'm afraid neither I, nor the legions of hell, are much good at healing. Demons are breakers-of-chains, and ignorant of law. The human body has too many rules for them, by and large. Look no further than Yesod." She flicks her head to her aidolon, who prowls in their shadow. An incohate mockery of a man - the image of a mortal being cast by a lunatic sculptor with neither understanding of nor respect for reality.

The passing butterfly lands on Yesod. A few other insects join. Perhaps they are entranced by this silent, moving, metal tree. Perhaps they are drawn to his twisted boughs of limbs. The insects come and go, but Petra keeps on walking. No nature rushes to her - if anything, she is just as unnatural as her monster. Still, and quiet, and pensive, and self-contained. She is a vacuum of ideas and an absence of feeling, and nature abhors both.

A woman born for the modern age, perhaps, into this world where man, at last, can oppose the might of nature and emerge victorious.

"Navigation, healing, protection, endurance... warmth and food, and water aplenty. A shopping list like no other. There might be demons that could help, whose names are known. I could have schema designed, to aid in the summoning, especially if I can charge for a baseline contract that will beckon them nearer to the fold..." Petra grasps at straws. She wants this to work, untested as it is. She wants it to be possible.

Perhaps then the vision will be reversed. Men, as Kings, commanding legions of faceless demons to glory them with each waking moment. Not the reverse. Never the reverse.

"...this will require testing. My dream is to have each sword swing summon a monster. Blade cuts in, blood is offered, demon appears. I doubt it will be that easy. The binding, and the bargaining, and the cost... but I have seen it. One day, it will be true. And you'll help."

Petra stops at one of the gates to this great arcade of cultivated nature. The insects flutter off of Yesod, perhaps finally convinced there is neither fruit nor nectar in his inhuman limbs.

"Where can I find you? If I need someone to kill chickens for me with inscribed swords for an afternoon? Or go to a fighting pit armed with one of my creations? Do you have a residence here, or are you vagrant?"

A straightforward and slightly insulting question, though Petra clearly did not mean it as such. Mercenaries have a certain reputation, after all, and Petra has always valued prudence and never had as much time for decorum. She cuts to the heart of the issue, and waits patiently for an answer, ready not to judge but to simply accept.

She is the definition of a scholar. No judgments does she pass, no verdicts offered. Merely the collection of information, and the finding of patterns. Thesis, test, and adjustment.

Petra

Lores: (7 Requested, 10 Eligible)
Summoning: Military Applications
Traversion: Military Applications
Tactics: Campaign Requirements
Tactics: Soldierly Travails
Tactics: Soldier's Armaments
Tactics: Fog of War
Tactics: Free Cities Military Culture

Loot: N/A
Injuries: N/A

Points: 8, 1 point may be used for Summoning (Summoning [Apprentice], Traversion [Apprentice])

Comments: Another fun thread, I was rather enjoying the discussion they had going on, and it's a shame it ended early. I look forward to more from Petra!

I only gave 1 point here for while there was some insights into her magic and how it was used, it was barely touched on at all.

---

Lucia Schildknecht

Lores: (0 Requested, 8 Eligible)

Loot: N/A
Injuries: N/A

Points: 8, no magic as none was requested

Comments: Was deemed abandoned.