[Skell]
Vermillion myths soared over the emerald acres. Legendary flying beasts. Gryphons.
I'm shocked no one tripped as we tromped down the slope, since our eyes were too busy sky-watching to check our footing. Only when we reached the bottom - breaching the stables' perimeter - did we look back to ground level. Mostly because of the panting.
Two people sprinted up to us. Getting close, they doubled over, hands glued to their knees.
"Goodness," a tall, lean woman caught her breath first, "its the Lionheart!"
She rose, lifting a dirt-smeared face into view. "You might nae remember me; I've just recently been hired!"
"I certainly do remember you, Maunie," Lucival smiled like a warm sunrise. "Your grooming and clipping of my partner was truly spectacular. Although I noticed you took a few… liberties during the process."
Maunie gave a toothy smile. "You mean the wee bowtie, sir Lionheart? I knew it'd make an already so-handsome gryphon even more fetching. You did like it, didn't you?"
His eyes flew away. "I… must say it was an inspired choice."
"This the new meat?" barged in the second stable-hand, a man much shorter, older, darker, and pockmarked-er than Maunie. He leaned forward - not all that far thanks to his height - and turned a big yellow eye toward us. "…Not bad fer a litter o' rugrats. Give 'em some years and they might start makin' you look bad, Lucival. Not that doin' so is any great feat, o' course. "
The Lionheart's features seethed. "Lucival? That's 'Judge' to peons like you. Do not dare disrespect my authority with such snide informality."
Completely unphased at the gold-haired hero's sudden seriousness, the stablehand stared at Lucival for tense seconds. Most of us Squires took wise steps back. Just to be startled anyway when the two clutched the other's forearms and… pulled each other in, laughing heartily.
They eventually slapped each other on the back and let go. "Never one to change, eh Hillcoat?" Lucival jabbed between chuckles. "I see now that you'll remain a little goblin until the end of your days."
"A goblin, am I?" Hillcoat crossed thick hairy arms, beaming inside an even thicker and hairier beard. "As if I don' got more charm than ten scores o' them green rascals put together."
"That… might just push you further into the negatives," Maunie mumbled.
Hillcoat shot her a blocky brow. While he did, I looked the two stablehands over. Adjutants, they were: those given a taste of the Order's coffers to perform the side-work needed to run such a massive organization. Quartermasters, blacksmiths, housekeepers - people the legends never noted, but were crucial to producing the ink that penned them. Templars weren't gonna slay undead across the nation and do the chores, after all.
According to Lucival, these adjutants were experts in their fields. Professionals. Chalk it up to the bandaged fingers, or the history of dubious brown stains on their overalls - but I sensed they embodied that label.
Mostly.
"Anywho," said Hillcoat - momentarily shaded by a flying gryphon, "I'd ask why yer the one takin' these runts to the festival instead of the Commandant, but I don't much need ta' know. Clock's tickin', so let's get a move on." The man turned to his junior. "Maunie, call 'em down."
"You got it boss!" she shot two thumbs up, before racing deeper into the stables' center.
Inside the intersection of roofed stalls rose a white post crowned with a golden bell. With a measured ring, the bell chimed loud, and every gryphon instantly changed course. They gathered and descended in a synchronized spiral, landing in the grass around Maunie.
Then they crowded her like an angry mob raring to tear their victim apart. Except this mob couldn't have adored her more.
Purring beaks nudged their delighted "victim" in a way totally unlike either of the gryphons' constituent animals. Doubly so when treated with strips of red meat from Maunie's calloused hands.
"Alright, alright - that's enough embracin'." Hillcoat shuffled away from our group and toward Maunie. "Let's get these bird-cats back to their-"
All of the short man was drowned beneath a mound of loving red fur.
Herding the big beasts to their respective, roomy stalls took time, but working together, the stablehands put away all but one, whose robust presence contradicted the sparkly pink bow on its chest.
"There's no need to put away my own," Lucival lifted a gauntlet. "I plan on leading the other gryphons across the usual route - with Baudelaire's permission, might I add."
"Say what?" Hillcoat scratched his hollowed temple. "I thought this guide fella was supposed to be, well, guidin' 'em through Selem?"
Baudelaire's cheeks reddened, "S-sire, you would ask my permission? Truly? I would be honored to yield my position to the Lionheart!"
"Why, thank you kindly," Lucival bowed.
"Well," Maunie added, either not knowing or not caring about the feathers poking out of her red hair, "if yer all aboot to take off, first we'll need tae see which gryphon you'll be riding."
"And how are we to do that?" Yamui stepped to the head of our group.
"Follow us," Hillcoat gestured, turning to the nearest set of stalls. "We'll get y'all paired up."
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"What's the trouble, lad?" asked the short stablehand, noticing my expression.
My eyes weren't on him, but on the gryphon ahead. The beast leaned in to sniff my hand. Its feathery face squinched and it backed into the stall corner like I was the most revolting thing in Lumerit. That was the eleventh one to think so.
"…Aye. That's what." Hillcoat's eyes wandered to find something reassuring. "You'll, eh… you'll find one that likes you, lad. Gryphons are picky beasties, but one of 'em will match you perfect. Keep searchin'."
A polite lie, considering how easily the others found their mounts for the festival. Still, I muttered a "thanks."
Shade, I've seen half the gryphons. If they all dislike me and I ride one anyway, they might buck me off - well-trained or not. And if that happens in Selem's skies… I might just have the shortest Templar career in history.
I slouched over to the southeast collection of stalls. Soleil was there, accompanied by Maunie.
"Are y'sure you're sure?" the taller stablehand questioned. "She's one of our wildest, with the temper to match. The poor girl's headbutt smashed up a Knight's two front teeth when he slapped her on the heinie!"
"Sounds like my kinda gal," Soleil casually slid the stall's latch open.
"No, wait!" Maunie warned.
Soleil pretended not to her hear as she cracked her knuckles and kicked open the stall door. She waltzed in, and out of my sight.
A few beats of tranquil silence made me second-guess Maunie. Then came the bumping, the crashing, the roaring, and the cawing, and human laughter. Dust clouds leapt outside the stall as if even dirt wanted to escape the skirmish. The stablehand's rosy face turned deathly pale.
But eventually, the frantic duet settled into silence. Maunie's jaw dropped.
Because then, the gryphon strutted out.
With Soleil on her back.
"Told ya she's my kinda gal!" the minstrel smiled from above. "She just wanted to wrastle, is all."
The gryphon chattered, as if in agreement.
I guess animals have their fair share of misfits too. Just like people.
"O-oh…" trailed a stunned Maunie, staring up at Soleil. "Mibbe I've still got things to learn aboot gryphon care…"
"…Wish it was that easy for me," I mumbled under illusory breath, before turning to see there was something close enough to hear my whispers: another gryphon. Smaller, scrawnier, and wearing a more washed-out red than the rest. She leaned her head over the stall door to steal curious sniffs from me.
By this point, I counted the seconds 'til she cringed away. But I quickly ran out of fingers, and before I could start on my toes, she leaned further - as much as she could - and rested her head on my shoulder!
It's not disgusted by me? Wh-what do I do? Just stand here?
"Gah ha ha!" guffawed an approaching Hillcoat. "Go on and pet 'er already. Don't be lily-livered!"
I listened, lifting my arm and stroking the gryphon's neck - where feathers met fur. She didn't seem to dislike it. Neither did I.
Rows of pleased teeth shined through the man's beard. "What'd I tell you? Though, with so many other options, I didn't expect any o' you Squires to give her the time of day."
I looked the gryphon up and down as chirps floated from her sharp beak. "This one… she's old, isn't she?
Hillcoat pulled at his beard. "Oldest we got."
Right. The longer I look, the more I see the years pull at her body - especially the face.
"How many Templars ride her?"
"Same number o' Templars that ride you, lad. Our warriors in plate only take the younger stock - not that I can blame 'em with their lives on the line and all. But by usin' nothin' but the cream of the crop… they leave behind the less capable."
The stablehand stared at the caged creature, sympathy in his eyes. He came to notice me watching him and quickly cleared his throat. "But don' worry yerself with such things. You've passed the Ordeals, become a Templar. Today, you'd like to ride the best the Order has to offer. Come." He shuffled past me, gesturing towards the next row of stalls. "Most o' the others are already strapped in. Let's see if any of the remainin' gryphons'll change their minds about you."
He kept walking.
I stayed. And shook my head.
"I want this one."
Hillcoat stopped in his stubby tracks. "Excuse me, lad?" he turned.
"I pick this gryphon. Assuming you're fine with that."
"'Course I'm fine with you riding Mori! Question is if you are."
"Mori?" I repeated slowly. At the utterance of what I figured was her name, the gryphon leaned in again to drag a big, slobbery tongue across my cheek. Were I alive, I'd have been disgusted. Abyss, I was still disgusted. But I also laughed.
"She's definitely affectionate," I wiped my cheek. "I like her."
Hillcoat paused. "…Yer a touch different than the rest of the new meat. What's yer name?"
"Skell," I replied a few seconds late, splitting attention between Hillcoat and petting Mori.
"Alright then, Squire Skell," he stated a title that hit me harder than I expected. "Funny thing is, Mori's real reserved. Strange she's so taken with you, but who knows. Might be you got yerself an old soul."
"Maybe…" I broke eye contact, before realizing something. "Wait, she's old, but she still flies, right?"
Hillcoat unleashed another belly-busting laugh. "Think those wings are fer show? She may not soar like in her heyday, but the girl's far from lame. And besides, flyin' fer a gryphon is like walkin' fer us." He placed fists on his sides. "Point is, you two won't drop outta the sky."
"Good," I relaxed. With any worries assuaged, I released the stall's latch, Mori's ears perking in response.
"I'll tell you the truth, Squire Skell, I'm glad to see ol' Mori so giddy. She rarely sees the outside o' the stables these days, let alone to taste the city air. Though you got me wonderin': what about her made you so dead-set on takin' her to the festival?"
"Honestly?" I tossed open the stall door. "I just think she's my kinda girl."
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Noble, crimson wings swept shade over the grass below. Proud yellow eyes scanned the skies above. And… a cutesy pink bow sparkled on the furred chest of the gryphon.
Lucivan's gryphon - the Lionheart perched upon the majestic beast with his locks flapping in the winds like a golden flag. The larger-than-life legend mounted ahead of our group of Squires in the stable's center. There, each of us sat atop our own regal steeds. Soleil. Hyland. Yamui.
And me. Me…
I reached down to pet my purring mount's red-feathered crown.
…along with Mori.
"Now," announced Judge Lucivan, "as this is doubtlessly a novel experience for you all, I shall announce your instructions for the flight above Selem."
He grinned. "That is to say - you have none! Relax and simply enjoy the ride. Smile and wave as well, if the mood takes you."
"Oh! I meant to ask before," Ryzza respectfully raised a hand, "but I notice we haven't been given reins for our gryphons. In fact, I haven't seen any at all in the stables."
Yamui grunted, himself having found a smaller gryphon to fit his pint-sized stature. "The Templars cannot truly expect us to fly without a method of guiding our companions."
Lucivan laughed infectiously. "I nearly believed we'd take off before anyone begged this question. My fellow Templars, there is no need for such tools. Gryphons share a deep bond with their riders. One leaps and bounds beyond mere camaraderie. Some say, it borders on the supernatural."
Without warning the gryphon leapt high and hovered above us with heavy wing-flaps. "This action - flight - did not happen because it struck my partner's fancy; he flew because I willed for it to happen."
H-huh!?
Hillcoat, standing a fair distance away alongside Maunie and Baudelaire, guffawed at our faces. "That's one way to describe it. Ride a gryphon once, it gets a feel fer you. Ride it more, and it gets ta' know what you want, and more importantly, where you'd like ta' go. Every Knight and up has this sort o' wordless bond with at least one gryphon. Makes gettin' to faraway or time-sensitive assignments a cakewalk, as you'd imagine."
"Well said," noted Lucivan. "As for you Squires, no such bond exists between yourselves and your mounts. Yet. However, these gryphons are well-trained, regardless. Once I take to the skies, they shall follow."
Ormine forced her enamored jaws shut. "Then, Judge Lucivan, your flight path will be what we follow through the city?"
He nodded from above, then turned to gaze beyond the Citadel towering walls. "In any case, it's high time we depart. Hillcoat, Maunie, and Baudelaire, thank you for your service."
Maunie beamed with hands on her hips, "You're welcome, sir Lionheart!"
Hillcoat looked away with a faint grin of his own. "Just get movin', mister hero. You got people waitin' for you - and not just in the capital."
And as for Baudelaire? Well, I didn't care enough about the sycophant to remember his words.
The Judge nodded toward the three, then hovered even higher. "Squires! Are you prepared to fly? And not simply to fly, but to display yourselves to those you've sworn to protect!?"
His change in tone was staggering. Above us wasn't the buddy-buddy guide we'd gotten accustomed to; this was the Lionheart of the Templars. Though he wasn't the only Templar to rise. Our own gryphons rose to follow as air brushed down my ears.
Last time a beast's body was the only thing separating me from ever-growing heights, I was too preoccupied to take in the experience. Now I could experience flight with full focus. And boy, was it just as chilling as it was exciting. Far below, the three adjutants waved us goodbye, steadily shrinking.
Lucivan then surged in speed. Crimson wings cut looping circles through the sky - our own gryphon's following in a "v" formation like migrating birds.
I traced behind Soleil in that formation. Exhilaration lit her face and wind whisked ripples along her torch-like hair. Same with me. While I couldn't exactly feel the air rushing past my skin, excited laughter poured from my lips all the same.
Then everything stopped.
We hovered, near the lazy clouds above the Citadel. The stables looked small enough to fit between my outstretched fingers. Hillcoat and the others were specks. Even the Crystal Château didn't strike nearly so imposing a figure from its raised position in the Citadel's center. Not when it peaked under you. But our view wasn't just relegated to the Citadel; we peered over the hexagonal walls into the city itself.
On foot, Selem's size was impossible to grasp. Though even so high up, I couldn't spot the city limits. Neither did I have time to keep searching. Lucivan soared off again, this time forwards instead of upwards.
That way? If I remember right, that's the Argent District.
Right when I made the connection, Mori jolted forth to shadow the group. Quickly we crossed over the Citadel's lofty walls. Soleil thundered a "woo-hoo!" into the skies. Yamui rested with quiet reverence. Ryzza palmed over her lips to suppress a scream. Cirian fondly stroked the feathers of his gryphon. And the Lionheart focused on the fast approaching district ahead - slowing us all to a glide alongside the highest floors of the main avenue's symmetrical, vividly colored buildings.
Down under, I expected to spot small crowds gathered on the streets, waiting for us to soar by.
I was very, very, very wrong.
Dense hordes of buzzing bodies were barely reined into an orderly fashion by the overburdened city guard. Streets and windows swarmed with numbers that made it feel like the whole world came to see us. I knew people loved the Templars. But this sight? Of so many men, women, children - all so thrilled to see our faces - see my face… I'd never pin down the words to describe it.
What did come to mind, though, was the day I was 'born'.
More specifically, that evening at Sienna, when my skeletal face was unveiled to the villagers. Memories of that day clashed with the present like ice and flame. Love and hate. Life and death.
Instead of rocks pitched at me, now it was petals and confetti. Instead of suffering threats and insults, I was treated to acclaim and applause.
People didn't despise me. Or fear me.
They loved me.
It was such an alien, almost forbidden feeling. I don't know when the tears started falling. I only noticed them when they flung off into the winds behind me. And they didn't leave a composed face, either.
I sobbed. Messily. Blubberingly.
But when the crowds noticed my drenched cheeks, the cheers only intensified.
Acceptance… so this is how it feels…
Somewhere deep below the waves of a sea of emotion, hid a treasured realization: I was really, genuinely happy. More than I could ever remember. The feeling was something I never, ever wanted to end.
If I have to leave the Order to resurrect myself… I'll miss this. But for now, this whole Templar thing?
I'll enjoy it as much as I possibly can.