Fable - Ask A Spectral Howl

[Chasmine]

She was the picture of health. Doubtful, but she said nothing in retort to that. For the time it took Sable to make his sandwich and hand it to her, Chasmine sat there staring at the broken hilt. It was a queer stare, lacking in intensity but nigh unbreakable in its directness. Like a stray cloud in the sky purposefully shading someone's picnic. A gentle assertiveness broken only by peanut butter and honey sandwiches... of which she now found one in her free hand.

Her pale eyes flickered behind their lids as she refocused her gaze to take in her new weapon. No, this wouldn't do.

"Sable we must continue our duel," she spoke plainly as if telling him it was a nice evening outside, "we must continue until blood is drawn."

 

[Sable Pembroke]

He blinked, then blinked again. Momentary confusion at Chas' statement gave way to amusement, but he stowed the feeling as quickly as it tried to bubble to the surface. Chasmine felt some degree of focus, of commitment, and Sable felt obligated to honor that. However, he also would not fight an unarmed opponent.

So he sat, cross-legged in front of her, sharing a similar, serious gaze with the ghostly girl. As he did, he slid the glove from his left hand.
"You are absolutely correct," Sable concurred, genuine. Without another word he slid the tip of his index finger along the broken, still-sharp edge of the colichemarde. He held his finger aloft in front of Chasmine as blood began to drip from the slit.

"Ah. It seems I must yield."

 

[Chasmine]

To anyone else the situation would have been wildly strange. That Sable concurred the duel was not yet done and began to remove his glove - might've indicated he was priming for a slap. Chasmine, however, seemed content in her curiosity of his actions. When the boy bulwark pricked his finger on the remaining edge of her hilt, those pallid eyes widened under a concerned brow.

The hilt clattered to the ground beside her from fingers gone wide with shock.

She ... she'd made him bleed. Sable, one of the nicest Initiates she knew, bleeding from her weapon. Oh gods, oh ghosts, oh no. Why was this so horrible?

"Sable-" Chasmine frowned deeply, "I am sorry, please forgive me. I would not have insisted but Proctor Basmarc said I must duel three people and draw blood each time. I could not bring myself to do so with Davi, but he cut my arm so that I would not need to. Proctor Basmarc did not clarify whose blood must be drawn. I did not wish to harm anyone!"

 

[Sable Pembroke]

In a quick flick of his wrist, Sable produced a compress and squeezed it between his cut finger and his thumb. He chuckled gently at his dear friend's reaction to the little wound, placing his free and sizable mitt on her shoulder to calm the ghostly girl.

"Hey, hey, easy, Chas. It's alright, see?" he assured her, showing her the compress as it stemmed the cut. A sad smile shown upon Sable's mien. Chasmine was many things: smart, kind, whimsical, better than anyone else at the Academy. But a warrior she was not, and that fact often wore upon the young vanguard's heart. How he wanted to shelter her always...he only hoped that Dorian could.

Sable exhaled heavily, his brow furrowed. This was probably going to be much harder than actually fighting.
"Look, Chas...for people like us, there are going to come times when we have to harm others. It's our duty. Even if you don't want to, someone, sometime, will want to harm you. And if that happens, you have to fight back, okay? If it's them or you, I want it to be you. Prioritize you."

The slight frown that the imposing initiate had adopted twisted into a brighter expression once more.
"As for us, if we're sparring, don't worry about me. I'm tough. Think of me like a big training dummy," he glanced down at the incision on his finger, letting up on the pressure. The bleeding had already come to a halt. He lifted the thing and wiggled it for Chasmine to see once more, grinning as he did so. "The scars just make me tougher, anyways."

 

[Chasmine]

For several moments there Chasmine's breathing became rapid and strained as she watched the blood drip. Behind those glossy eggshell eyes a litany of terrible things flashed. She grimaced, moments away from loosening a bolt somewhere in her mental stability that his big warm mitt on her shoulder somehow managed to keep snug in place.

She blinked, breath held as he spoke, and listened. Really listened with an anxious clarity that usually only followed her manic episodes right before...

"Sable," she said to him, and for once her gaze was clear and her voice direct, "it will never be me."

She fixed him with a look of abject fear of certainty before unfocusing back to vapidity.

"Do...you suppose Noel could fix it?" his cut finger all but forgotten, Chasmine carefully picked up the dropped hilt, "Proctor Basmarc said I need a colichemarde."

 

[Sable Pembroke]

The expressions that washed over Chasmine's face told a story that, at first, Sable could not keep up with. He worried for her. He always worried for her. And for just a moment, as lucidity took hold of the girl, he wondered if he might not have to.

"it will never be me."

"Wh--I..." he tried to choke back to her, but the pain, the fear, the knowing...they were all gone as quickly as they'd come. Sable felt his heart sink and dread fill his gut. He squeezed her shoulder one last time, pat her, then let go.

"...Yeah, Chas. I think she could."
Quiet, somber acceptance filled Sable's voice as he began to gather the pieces of her shattered blade. With any luck, maybe she really would.

 

[Chasmine]

The next day. Late evening. Noel's room.

Unlike her previous entry into Sable's room, Chasmine arrived to Noel's in the way that one would expect any normal person to do: at the door. Noel was a very proper student who took her manners and propriety seriously; even if they had enjoyed one another's company several long months ago in Chasmine's room over tea that did not devalue what Chasmine believed Noel would find appropriate.

She knocked thrice, then looked down to the small wooden box in her hand and stared at it with the same amount of anxiety that one might give to a box containing a severed hand.

That is how Noel would find her upon opening the door.

Noel

 

[Noel]

Noel was nose deep in a text that described old Anirian war tactics. She was going to finish the chapter before moving onto the next pre-bedtime ritual she'd developed at her time in the academy. Lighting a scented candle, working on her cross-stitch, and then sleep so she could be up by dawn for more training.

But, her study was suddenly interrupted by a knock.

She arose and slowly creaked open the door, anticipating it to be one of the Proctors coming for a late night training session. "Chas?"

To her shock the person standing at the threshold of her dorm room was none other than the waif of an initiate holding a mysterious box.

"Um," Noel glanced out into the hallway to confirm the alabaster girl was alone, "is everything, like, okay?" She assumed for the timid initiate that barely seemed capable to keep up with the rest of the class to visit her something had to be horribly, horribly, wrong.

 

[Chasmine]

"I would not ask it of you unless it were very important," Chasmine replied in a tone and tamber that likely came across as practiced. It absolutely was. Except she couldn't seem to get the rest of it out and opened her mouth to speak once, twice, ...thrice with a squeak or a croak.

Chasmine felt the words she had prepared in her mind melt away and after a few more moments slowly held the box out to Noel.

 

[Noel]

Noel blinked a few times, trying to process what the girl at her doorstep could possibly want, until she extended the little box towards her.

"This isn't one of those...dead crows is it?" While it didn't necessarily bother her that Chas had an eclectic collection back at her own dorm room she didn't much care to handle the carcass of some dead creature.

Although, seeing her classmate's demeanor she almost instantly regretted how dismissive she'd sounded. It was obvious the other girl was, nervous, maybe? "Whatever it is I'll help out," she began to, carefully, crack open the box to examine it's contents, "if I can, that is."

 

[Chasmine]

Chasmine shook her head gently in response but for whatever reason could not seem to form words.

The box contained nothing anyone would likely expect from her. No dead creatures, no wiccan supplies, no herbal remedies or mushroom caps, no weird fae objects or spirit tchotchkes. Instead it contained the shattered pieces of her colichemarde sword.

She wanted to explain herself and tried to, but the story wouldn't clarify past the knot of anxiety in her chest. Noel was given a most pitiful look of desperation as Chasmine's hands came to gently clutch at her own front.

"Can...can you fix it?"

 

[Noel]

Shards of metal and a broken hilt lie inside the box. That explained the weight, at least.

"Maybe." Her lips scrunched as she examined the thing before her. It was in a rough shape and as her magic extended she could feel the small thrum of iron. A lucky break, to be sure, she'd only just recently discovered her affinity for that metal on her wayward journey with Edric.

Noel turned and moved into her room, clear her book and a few pieces of parchment from her desk, "come in, come in, this will take a minute." A gesturing hand reached out to signal her classmate to enter.

Plucking a small shard up and holding it close she tried to focus on the unique thrum she could feel with iron. "I may have to use a bit of platinum to make it work." Noel assumed that wouldn't be a problem but proceeded working on the thing before Chas could even respond.

 

[Chasmine]

The tepid flush of hope that rolled over Chasmine's glazed eyes could have made one wonder if she were about to be sick. It filtered through her and bubbled down to her feet, causing the girl to briefly roll up onto her toes in a muted little hop of enthusiasm. She said nothing for fear of jinxing that hope and quietly followed Noel into her room.

It was the starkest contract to her own abode she'd ever seen. Sable was neat and tidy, as was Ralene, but Noel was practically militant. Fitting, she supposed, that there would be no excess of anything or things to be found here. As if the girl had forgone all material possessions for the bare minimum required to reach her goals.

But even Archons had hobbies ...

Was that needlepoint?

Something about platinum.

"I do not believe it could make it any worse," Chasmine finally spoke, having decided to give the girl space to work in order to inspect the needlepoint project, "this is very good."

 

[Noel]

Noel, satisfied that Chasmine didn't mind if she mixed metals, began to lay each of the pieces out on the desk like a large puzzle. Arranging them somewhat in the manner they'd eventually need to be combined.

"May be slightly less durable than if it was all pure iron but..."

She stopped and looked up towards the phantom girl. "Uh, thanks."

Her cheeks blushed a light shade of red as she turned her attention back towards the colichemarde, tapping into the metals before her as they weaved together. "I know it's inappropriate but, well, after the revolution the Guard insisted we find something and," a few slivers and dots of platinum floated in the air from a container on an upper shelf down towards the desk, inserting themselves in gaps where the blade would eventually form, "I quite like stitching."

 

[Chasmine]

"Stitching is methodical," Chasmine said after a few moments to simply enjoy the project for what it was, "one cannot hope to master it without committed practice, careful planning, attention to detail, and determination."

She turned then to gaze upon Noel from her left with a better understanding and respect for her, "Curious that it would be deemed inappropriate."

 

[Noel]

"It won't help me fell an enemy," another piece of the colichemarde clicking into place, "nor will it feed me when I'm out in the field."

A pause as she considered her work, then turned to look at the cross-stitch Chasmine had been examining. "We learned to stitch rips in fabrics when we were children. Gaining skill to make elaborate patterns isn't necessary."

She'd managed to re-assemble pieces surrounding the hilt but the rest of the blade was still fragmented as she grasped for more platinum. "I enjoy it though. I suppose that's enough."

 

[Chasmine]

Those were all very good points Noel had to make. Cross stitching wouldn't block an incoming blade, nor would it keep a person dry in a deluge. It would not provide sustenance, nor carry a heavy burden. Fixing tears and holes made things last longer.

"Maybe it mends the rips you cannot see," Chasmine reflected, finally finding a smile. For many of them had suffered before without enjoyment, but look now what this small thing did for Noel. Something so simple could perform wonders for a strained mind or suffering heart.

"I enjoy gardening because it soothes the hurt I cannot bandage."

 

[Noel]

Noel continued her work as Chasmine spoke, a frown coming over her eventually.

"Chasmine," her tone was suddenly serious, her work pausing, "do you ever think of what our lives would be without all of this?"

She'd considered that a number of times. If she hadn't been sent to the academy in her youth she'd likely be working in her father's blacksmith. Toiling away day after day, but the smile of customer's would spread to her own face. Perhaps her mother's demeanor would've eventually softened and they'd have bonded too.

It was all a fun, fanciful thought game, one she assumed Chasmine must've suffered far worse considering the older age that she'd entered the academy.

 

[Chasmine]

"No," Chasmine replied without any need to think on the question and looked to Noel as though that were a very curious notion, indeed.

"The Academy is my home and one day," her eyes disengaged from Noel, focusing on some distant speck somewhere on the floor, her posture folding protectively at her shoulders as though expecting to be laughed at, "I will be a Proctor here and be very much content, indeed. Why would I want for anything else?"

 

[Noel]

The answer came as a shock to Noel. Chas had been a bit older when coming to the academy than many of her other classmates. She'd gotten to live in the 'real world' longer. Noel had always just assumed that Chasmine missed the life she had before the academy. "I guess it is our home," she had the right of it, no sense in daydreaming about what life could've looked like.

"A proctor, huh?" The blade was beginning to take shape now, "I think you'd be good at it. Have you given any thought to what sort of subject you'd specialize in?"

The academy had all sorts of Proctors. Some taught Anirian history, some were specialists in particular types of magic, although most of them were simply combat tutors who guided the initiate's progression.

 

[Chasmine]

"I am not sure," Chasmine mused, "I am certain there are many things I could teach."

Though for certain they would not be traditional Dreadlord subjects.

"The Revolution has provided the Academy an opportunity to broaden it's educational horizon. I think I might like to teach Herbology or Apothecary subjects."

Things that present-day Dreadlords would find dull and pointless. Yet Chasmine could vouch that her knowledge and skills in both subjects had been of great use to many of her fellow Initiates. She did not keep her hidden gardens and stores of ingredients in her room for her own personal use. No, several nights a week she had Initiates knocking at her door for her tonics, tinctures, remedies, and more.

Of course it wasn't so broadly known. Most students would be mortified for the others to find out they'd interacted with Chasmine at all in a way that was not violent.

But there had also been violence, too. On more than one occasion she'd been attacked in her own room and her stores plundered.

"You would teach the sword?" she offered with some curiosity, "You are quite good at it."

 

[Noel]

"Yeah, you seem to have quite the green thumb, I can see it."

Noel never really felt pity for Chasmine. She didn't really pity any of her classmates. Everyone, Chas included, knew that the girl would probably end up a level four or maybe a level three upon graduation but that would be the absolute ceiling for her. She never seemed as motivated by martial studies as most of the others at the academy.

And without the revolution? Low chance that Chasmine would've survived graduation.

But, while Noel did think some of her lazier classmates had begun slacking since the changes she was glad that she wouldn't have to say goodbye to these people who'd become like a family to her. She was glad that someone like Chas could grow up and teach something useful to the next generation even if it was a subject she found little use for.

"Me?" The colichemarde was starting to really solidify itself, although she slowed her pace on it. Much to her surprise, she was enjoying the company. "Yes, if I were to become a Proctor I think I'd teach the blade. Or the spear. Maybe both."

"I don't intend to be a Proctor, however."

 

[Chasmine]

Both the spear and the blade suited her, Chasmine thought, and she smiled faintly in recognition of that. Yes, Noel could make a great instructor at the academy.

"I don't intend to be a Proctor, however."

The pale girl's brows knit in consideration of this. Less surprise and more understanding.

"You have much to accomplish before returning here," she said with assurance. The Proctors all spoke highly of Noel ... when no one was around to hear them. Chasmine was party to many private conversations in behind closed doors, in places the Proctors believed the students would not go. Never on purpose, though, oh no. Chasmine was only an eavesdropper by accident most of the time and necessity of self preservation all the other times.

"Your tea leaves said as much."

 

[Noel]

"My tea leaves," she nodded, contemplating if she should roll her eyes or not. Chas had a rare magical talent for communing with spirits but predicting one's future by staring at the soggy residue from Noel's tea cup?

She chose to be supportive, rather than dismissive. "They say I'll return to the academy?"

A grin tugged and several more pieces began to clamp into place. The blade was practically finished at this point.

"What else do they say?"

 

[Chasmine]

"Not the academy specifically... just home," Chasmine answered gently, her pale eyes slowly casting off across the remainder of the room and its few contents held within. It was nice to be in here, welcome as she was. It was a different sort of feeling than usual. A warm but wane smile shifted back to Noel as she asked after the tea leaves.

"There was a sun," she began thoughtfully as she recalled the mug after Noel departed her room some several weeks ago, "at the bottom of the mug. This speaks to an unsettled mind and goals left unachieved due to regular negative intervention. A sun will rise only with positive energy," her eyes met Noel's for a moment when the girl deigned to look her way again, "so it is important to find good people to surround yourself with."

"There was also a wavy line along the middle of the mug wall. This signifies that you are soon to enter a situation or event that does not truly belong to you, and your involvement will cause great strife with those you hold close. It's a reminder to remember the boundaries of yourself and others, to respect them, and not to encroach upon them. Imposing yourself on others will lead to broken relations and integrity, but by focusing on yourself and working hard you might straighten and strengthen those lines instead."

The pale girl's brows knit in deeper thought, whatever ghost of a smile that had lingered on her face shifted into a small frown, "You have a devisive path ahead of you, and your actions will bring a great deal of consequences for not just yourself but others. I'm afraid your tea leaves were not particularly uplifting, but even if the sun was at the bottom, I believe it to be an important anchor for you in the coming years."