[closed] DANGEROUS GAME

[esquive]

WHO: Kylo Ren, Anna, Etienne, and Marcoulf
WHAT: In exchange for his support at the front lines, a small group has been dispatched to clear bandits from the Comte Chantral de Velun's estate. Spoilers: they're not bandits.
WHEN: Early Harvestmere
WHERE: Orlais, the Heartlands
NOTES: CW: violence, death, murdering innocent folks on the behalf of THE RICH, setting-typical discrimination; it's not great, bob. ASSIGNMENT INFO

The Orlesian Heartlands bloom in every season. In Spring, it is daisies and apple blossoms; in Summer small white flowers and black-eyed susans and poppies all red; and here at the beginning of Autumn the trees burnish themselves and black-green and golds, yellowing grasses ceding to white limbed poplar with their spinning coin leaves. Even far from any field for growing in, the Velun lands paints itself in harvest colors. The land and air recognizes what Celene might not yet admit - that change is a season rotating, and that some things have been the same for long enough that they insist on circling.

Comments

[sangsues]

"My medicines are based in research and science. If you'd be happy to see people die through lack of treatment and progress impeded..." Etienne shrugs.

And he looks around them both, the corpses littered about them. "I think most people are more in danger of blades than medicine."

[notched]

"Some are meant to die."

Meant to die rather than be mutated by what the cures did to them. What would her life be like now, if she had let her sister just die. If she had never gone to Yharnam looking for the blood. Her sister -- Grace -- had died anyway. She'd just done it alone instead of with Anna at her side. At least she'd died human.

[sangsues]

"They are," he agrees, with a sigh. "All of us eventually, and some sooner than others."

The bag of teeth is slipped away, for now. "I will not apologise for my attempts to give people more time. If you do not agree with my methods, all you need do is not attend my practice, but there are many who prefer the attempts of an honest man who makes no deals with demons, than putting their faith in mages."

[notched]

"None of you are honest," she replies, dismissive of the entire notion. "You're all half necromancer, playing with bodies like you have a right to. I'd rather bleed to death."

It may be the most expressive string of words she's said this entire mission, and she doesn't say more. Still huddled into herself and her coat, she walks away to skulk or prowl or fuck knows what she does alone at the edges of their group.

[sangsues]

"Then please, feel free." Somehow he makes that sound terribly polite, even as he rolls his eyes at her retreating back. No, necromancy was the realm of Nevarrans, with their demon worship and blood magic, but he can hardly expect a rifter to grab such nuances.

Left in peace, he returns to checking the mouths for potential donations. Waste not, and so on.