World View
There's an odd hush over the Liberalis Estate, the guards outside appearing on edge. Eyes too shifty, voices too quite. There's the sense that something isn't right, especially after the lord of the estate had been shot and the eldest daughter in residence kidnapped.
Celeste makes her way up the steps a day after the assault; a day after she fought as valiantly as she knew how, but was utterly unable to predict what it was the six assailants were really after. She pauses in front of the door, and... well, doesn't so much surrender her spear, and ram the blade into the lawn and leave it there as she approaches. "Is yer lord 'bout?" she drawls, speaking in a more hushed tone than usual.
The guard on the left looks to his companion on the right in a sidelong glance before looking back to Celeste. "He's in residence, yeah. Lord Corlan's ... he's not much company, ma'am. He's up on the second floor." Obviously, the guards have seen her, know the woman was there a few night ago, know that she tried to help.
Celeste perks an eyebrow upwards. "If'n yer'd been all shot up in'a leg an' yer kid taken from yer, yer wouldn' be too cheery ter be about neither," she points out. She inclines her head towards the spear, "I'mma be back fer that; an' thank y'kindly." She nods to the two men, before passing between them, shield still slung across her back even if she is leaving her weapon behind. Her footfalls are just as un-subtle as ever as she makes her way through the estate, pausing once for directions from a servant, before making her way up to the appropriate place on the second floor.
A serving woman quietly closes the door, her eyes red rimmed and she looks as though she's taken quite the verbal lashing just from the man within the room. She pauses, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve, hiding a sniffle. The serving woman looks to Celeste, eyes wide. "You don't want to go in there, miss. M'lord's... He's not in the best of moods today."
The mouse warrior perks an eyebrow upwards, before reaching out to pat the woman on the shoulder. "Dun worry," she murmurs. "Yer ain' dun nuthin' wrong, yeah? ...But I oughta see 'im now. Sometimes yer just ain't wait fer someone ter be in some all peachy mood." She pauses, and turns to knock on the door; she waits long enough to be polite, before opening the door and letting herself in.
Inside, one can see the Lord and Master's personal chambers--not many women make their way into here. It's richly decorated, the walls covered in pristinely preserved Vieran tapestries from Tulque, and pieces of artwork that appear to be engineering sketches from Archadian workshops. Seated upon his bed, turned to face the balcony is Agrin, dressed for the day in simple attire while his leg is propped up, bandages recently changed. His face is closed off of emotion, bags under his eyes, generally stressed.
The door closes with a soft click. Celeste remains there; her eyes wander around the room, taking in the fine appointments, the art, the engineering sketches... the nobleman and his wounded leg. She finally unships her shield, and leans it up carefully against the wall; and then her audible footfalls carry her across the room, to stand beside the bed, though not so close as to crowd Agrin's personal space. She doesn't speak; her presence is known through proximity alone.
"Thank you for attempting to help," Agrin says, voice raw. His eyes remain looking to the balcony, hands tightening in his bedding. "Lamed in both legs. Very difficult to get up and lead a rescue effort." It must be bad if he's not speaking full, coherent sentences when he's known for being eloquent.
Celeste perks an eyebrow upwards, and nods her head in acknowledgement of the thanks. "Temple'a Alexander has ex'lent white mages," she points out, her voice uncharacteristically soft. She brushes her fingertips through her hair, and finds herself generally at a loss for words; what does one *say* in a situation like this? Probably, she ought to have thought this through ahead of time. "I'mma sorry," she says, at last. "Sorry they snatched y'daughter an' sorry I'mma couldn' stop 'em."
A rueful laugh comes from Agrin, turning his gaze to look at the warrior woman who has entered his private bed chambers. "I tried that, once, when I was younger. After my accident that lamed my right leg. They couldn't do much." He gingerly picks his leg up, repositioning the pillows under his knee. "The Temple Priestess they sent told me that she'd be more than happy to heal it, but there's the little issue of missing bone fragments. Bone on bone rubs."
Celeste shrugs her shoulders lightly. "So lose th'bone," she replies. "There'a feller in Kandhala I heard 'bout what makes mythril ones. Yer gets it stuck in there, yer ain't got no more issue. ...'Cept it all hurts like... well, like yer bone done been ripped out, fer a while." She drops her hands from her hair, back down to her sides, and then to clasp behind her back. "Can prob'ly find'm fer yer, if yer wants," she adds. "Though I imagine yer gots other things on yer mind."
"This ... this will heal. Eventually," Agrin responds, letting out a long, bone weary sigh. He is silent for a long while. "Masha ... I need to get her back. Somehow. If who has her is who I believe ... time is critical." He looks extremely uncomfortable. "My brother is not exactly the most gentle."
Celeste pauses, and bobs her head once, taking the time to compose her words. "Yer said yer brother'll be comin' o'er land," she replies. "When we all talked, b'fore. Yer think he'a still stick ter that? An' if'n 'e does, will 'e bring yer Masha with'm?" She tilts her head to gaze out the window, pursing her lips in thought once more. "Yer daughter's very brave," she adds.
"Daschel will more than likely continue to employ a combined effort. Now that he's working with Corana and Varyn." Agrin's lips purse as he resists the urge to throw something. "We saw him adapting tactics by having a raiding party, those suits, and using airship bombing tactics." There's a long pause. "I just hope Masha's brave enough to hold out against what Daschel will do to her."
Celeste nods thoughtfully. She takes a deep breath, and lets it out in a soft sigh. "What all were them suits all 'bout? Thought they was war golems," she observes. "They was summin' else; couldn' hardly hurt 'em. An' I ain't weak," she adds. "I can't 'magine anyone showin' up wi'out no land army," she adds. "Airship ain't take cities... boots on'a ground do. he gotta come by ground... sooner'r later." She pauses, and turns her gaze back down, to face the wounded nobleman. "Whatever all happen," she adds, "If'n I sees a chance ter grab yer Masha, I'mma take it."
"I appreciate it, Miss Celeste." Agrin's features look a little less stressed as he a hand up to scrub at his face. "The suits must be something new. I've never seen them before, even during my own service with the Imperial Army. They must be new. They didn't appear to shrug off magic as easily as they did physical attacks."
"I'mma saw, Ainsley an' t'other fella was hittin' 'em with fire an' seemed ter be gettin' summin' done," she replies. "Weren't s'much me spear wouldn' hurt 'em as I'mma couldn't hardly get'r past they's shields. Ain't met summin' s'much stronger'n me b'fore," she adds, holding one hand up to look at it. "An' y'ain't gotta thank me. Ain' done nuthin' yet. Jes' gonna see what all I'mma can do... an' hope is all enough, yeah?"
Agrin nods mutely, a grimace coming over his features as he rubs very carefully at his ruined knee. "Yes. Hope." His voice sounds hollow, the man trying to find amusement in the younger woman's statement.
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