RP:How to Succeed in Frostmaw Without Really Trying

The Royal Academy of Aramoth

Leone || Like the great hall all Aramoth faithful proclaim awaits them in the here-after, the Royal Academy is decked out as if it were a center of not only study, but revelry as well. One of the tables is occupied, full to the brim, of young soldiers. They are clustered around a rather short, elderly human woman. She is greying, one half of a severe, coal black widow's peak succumbing to the silver of age and experience. The sterling strands scatter over her crown, growing fewer in number as the go, like shards of a shattered mirror. Clad in black leather and sporting a low-slung bun, the woman is no startling eyepiece. The crowd is for another reason. In orderly fashion, the would-be combatants kneel before the seated female. She expresses oil onto one finger from a small phial, drawing sigils and shapes on their foreheads while muttering prayers and dedications.

Bastion found himself fascinated with the temple and practices of the Aramoth devout. They were the only other monastic order he'd yet found in these lands... though their martial disciplines were a far cry from the gentle fist. He watched as an elderly woman anointed the faithful before combat, giving unto them blessings in sigils and holy symbols. Before he'd come to these lands, he'd been strong enough to face whatever had come... before dragons, and vampires, and huge orcs. Before armies stepping out of shadow planes, before... well, everything from fairy tales had come to life. He'd worked the day long, arranging for fields to be sown, even in the cold, hard earth of Frostmaw. He'd found sturdy plants, and fae willing to adopt agricultural fields as their own wards, in Frostmaw, no less. Certainly, many fae loved this boy, to do such. Druids would tend to them, magi would grow larger foods, making normal foods suddenly fit for giants. IT would help, but none of that work would make him stronger. And the next time an army stepped out of the shadow plane, and he was the only one there who could so much as slow the tide of bloodshed... he saw heads torn from shoulders without effort, blood splashing in the snow. Perhaps he should talk to the elderly woman as well. He felt out of place, though, and would not dare ask for the blessing of a God he did not worship.

Leone looks up from the gaggle of soldiers and warriors around her to spy the monk from the meeting earlier. She waves him over, a hand raised in greeting and welcome. "Hello there," the equal parts gritty and glossy timbre rises above the clatter and clamor of warriors. The smith looks the monk over, taking particular note of the dirt under his fingernails. She smiles softly, and gestures to a seat beside her on the bench beside her. "I've heard from some of the giants that you've taken over the greenhouse, and have already produced some promising results. With the influx of refugees and the concerns of the giants about what might result in a less-than desirable state of provisions, we owe you our thanks. It will certainly ease minds and tensions. Now about the heirloom crops I mentioned earlier: I believe we have some seeds available, if you'd like to experiment with them?"

Bastion blinked at Leone, startled out of his reverie. He'd been working, indeed... trying his own might against frozen earth that did not easily yield, and enjoying the far easier work of the greenhouses alike. "Yes, I'm hoping that the magi will be able to produce giant sized foods, and our druids might increase mammoth fertility, for wild and domesticated stock. It'll require careful long term balancing... providing better supply for the livestock and wild mammoths, rotating and fertilizing the soil carefully, and well, nature wasn't ever intended to be manipulated so. Many druids and some of the fae are upset by some of it, but they don't protest too strongly. We'll find a good balance. Such inhospitable lands were never meant to provide for so many. Still, it won't be enough on its own. I've talked with traders from Xalious. They have great sums of foodstuffs they're willing to part with easily... though they too are scared of Kahran, especially seeing as villages are disappearing quickly. They want protection. If you're willing to trade in promises and military might, you might be able to secure all the supplies you need, at incredible rates. It makes me wonder just who else might be willing to trade less preciously for alliances." He shook his head. "But, I'm just good at making people agreeable. I'm no merchant prince. Frostmaw needs more... experienced representation for such things." He watched the monks and warriors being blessed. "I've never followed a God. My duty has always been to my fellow man. Well, to all peoples. Faith has always been my source of strength, but I'm afraid my strength is not enough to accomplish what I wish, anymore. These lands... are filled with powerful people, and powerful creatures." He looked to Leone. "Is it true you are not only a priestess, but a blacksmith of great reknown?"

Leone nods along and smiles, her brows moving up the canvas of her forehead at the voiced difficulties. "Well, truly, the people of Frostmaw prefer more natural methods as well," the High Priestess confesses. She doesn't let that bog her (nor the conversation) down, and continues on genially, "They do have an innate (though tempered) aversion to magic and, while we freely aid and welcome visitors and migrants, can be slightly xenophobic. So it's slightly uncomfortable all around. None the less, I'm sure that you'll find your way through. I am glad that you're making use of the greenhouse. The giants, while practiced over generations in agriculture and husbandry in our traditional ways, are always open to learning new methods and cultural standard. Have they taken you to see the herds yet? They are hundreds of years old, you know, having been tended by the same families for generations. It's quite a point of pride," the smith beams to the naturally-altering monk.

Bastion grinned from ear to ear. "Ergritt did take me to see them! Her family tends the herds. When I mentioned I had been a shephard for many years, they were ecstatic to show off their pride and joy. The giants are a very patient, and tolerant folk. I'd have never imagined such a thing, before coming to these lands. It surprises me, how many take me up on my offer of acupuncture. They're skeptical until I tell them that nothing I do is actually magic, then they seem utterly fine with the idea. Especially after I did a few sessions, though I had to find bigger needles. I have a lot of giants wanting more acupuncture." Most of the less xenophobic giants took very well to Bastion... he worked hard, and demonstrated a certain fearlessness, not shying away from their feet as though always afraid they'd step on him, and the like. Bastion was just so likeable in that way. "I do think I should take to heart what you're saying though, High Priestess. I have suggested these methods and the like, but where possible, I'll keep the magic minimal. The work of fae and druid are natural, and I hope they'll be less offensive to the sensibilities of the giants. I realize I'm a guest in their home here, and I do care deeply about how they feel about such things. Most have been too polite to tell me as much as you have, here." Probably because of simply how much they liked the little guy. Ergritt was about the only giant comfortable enough with him at this point to talk straight with him, and she was in an adolescant stage of life where she cared more for adventure than tradition.

Leone listens to the tales of Bastion's exploits within the frozen city with an amused smile. She leans back and chuffs a laugh at the mention of acupuncture. "Well," the dichotomic tones slide over one another, "We are a city of war. It shouldn't be a surprise that they find relaxation through something that should be painful. On first explanation, being stabbed dozens of times sounds like it should hurt, and we do enjoy our combat. In particular the glory of combat as told via war wounds and scars." She pauses, nodding along with Bastion's explanation of his attempts to win over the giants. "And the camaraderie will do much to further bolster the alliance with Enchantment, the fae helping us out in this. I'd just...not use them much past germination, mind you. The giants will protest if things are allowed to progress magically beyond that. They'd rather it take time. They are a patient lot, and will wait. There is no immediate and dire need, so best to play to their desires for now." The smith pauses a moment, and then sweeps a hand around the Academy's hall, as if showcasing it. "And what brings you to Aramoth's Academy today? Just exploring?"

Bastion considered her words carefully, and nodded. He'd do it as she suggested... she knew more of the giants than he did, for certain, and he didn't wish to offend them in any way. He looked back at her, at her last question. "I've been considering training alongside the monks of Aramoth to hone my skills, though my discipline is... significantly different. I'm concerned that I'm not strong enough to make a difference when it matters most, when lives are at stake. I wasn't strong enough to stop those orcs... I might have been able to save more lives, if I had been. I'd heard that you were a great blacksmith, as well as a high priestess, miss Leone. I actually wanted to ask you something. My horns... I was wondering if you could inscribe blessings into them. Wards, sigils. I'd like to be able to... help more, when the time comes. Also, I'm not physically strong enough for some of the labor I need to do, anymore, since I'm, uh... younger. Breaking frozen ground with a shovel is something I have to stand aside and let men and giants do, and that's a bit embarassing, to be honest. I hope I can increase my strength through mystical means, that I can work properly, and perhaps, be of greater use to others."

Leone examines Bastion for a long time. The farrier falls still and silent while faceted, jadeite sights rove over the monk's face. The quiescence goes on for minutes. Finally, the fine-featured farrier sighs. She rocks back, her posture balancing over the hind edge of the bench. "Bastion," she says firmly, though not sternly, "I am a priest. I have been in battle dozens of times. Survived more wars and conflicts than I have any right to. But I don't fight. I have very little capacity to use a weapon. None the less, I am indispensable on a battlefield - and my warriors protect me dutifully and vehemently. Not just my paladins, no. The warriors of my ilk that I am on the battlefield with, too. I heal. I ward. I bless. I bind, cast and, yes, I even curse. Verbally and semantically. All in the midst of steel, blood, and chaos." She pauses, lips pursing together before her crown lists to one side, and she looks at Bastion through a new angle. "There was plenty that you could do, but you panicked. You don't need to be stronger. You need to be steadier. Clearer. And perhaps a bit more practiced," she invites gently, one finger rising into the air. The gesture causes her sleeve to ride up, displaying the old, weathered, dark blue runes inked onto the inside of her wrist. "So," the sacred smith is soon to continue on, "I think that it is a good idea for you to practice with the Monks and Paladins of Aramoth - though not for the reasons you've stated. You need to learn how to use what you can do to bolster their skills. To lend yourself to their actions, and to aid and support their endeavors. This is not about you becoming stronger nor learning how to be combative. This is about you learning to better use what you already have." The request of runes is given little consideration, and as an afterthought, the petite plover adds, "I believe that I can help you there, yes. We shall discuss it more in depth and detail, of course - after you've started your training with the monks, and can display some of what you've learned."

Bastion hefted a brow at that. That was... quite an assumption to jump to. "Only once in my life have I panicked, miss Leone. I saw something not meant for mortal eyes... only once. I did not panick when the orcs came. I acted, without hesitation, and to the very upmost of my abilities. I was not lacking in forethought, nor patience, nor clarity of purpose. I lacked only strength. I had only myself, not an armed contingent of guards. And I do not do combat... I do no harm, ever. I do not take life, either. All of my techniques are of the gentle fist school, a unique pacifist school of martial and healing arts. Considering what I am capable of, yes, I can safely say I did everything within my capabilities. My mind is as clear on the battlefield as it is in the fields, plowing the earth and sewing seed. Clearer, when I fall into a trance. I value your advice, but I do not think that you understand me quite as well as you think you do." He had a conciliatory tone of voice, not liking to tell people that he thought they were wrong, but he also wouldn't enter into a practice under false pretenses... pretending that what she said was true would be as much.

Leone shakes her head before lifting one shoulder in a half-shrug. "Then you're wrong," the smith says, obviously not sharing Bastion's need for delicacy in these matters, "And what's worse is that you won't accept that you were. I might not have been there, no, but your insistence to be stronger, to be more powerful, to be more than what you are - it's the wrong perspective. More adept at what you do? Certainly. More confident in utilizing what you have? Absolutely. But changing or altering or adding to without first mastering? No. No, I disagree with your course of action entirely. As I stated: I do not fight - typically. So in absence of that, I would have spread out a shield of warding over each those victims nearest me. I would have put up repulsive blessings and wards. I would have put up binding spells so that once the enemy touched down, they couldn't move from their spots. I would have done everything I could, to the best of my abilities and skill and training - all while realizing that the flood of thralls and accursed pouring through the portal vastly outnumbered me, and there was going to be a limit to what I could do, to how many I could save," the High Priestess rebuts in low, almost whispered tones, "I'm saying that you did all that you could, and that your quest to become stronger is jaded by your feelings of inadequacy during a fight that no single person - not even Hildegarde - by themselves could have gained any ground in. You did exactly everything that you could do, and it was a great feat. If you feel like you're lacking and could have done more - should have been able to do more- then we need to explore what you can do with what you already have. Change your perspective, your position, your point of view."

Bastion frowned. Again, he disagreed, but wasn't one for confrontation and debate. "A monk's path is self knowledge. Knowing my capabilities and limitations was the very first thing I learned, and is a lesson I learned well. It is a lesson I teach to myself again and again every day. When I ask to become stronger, it is because I know myself, and know what I am and am not capable of. Learning new things and acquiring new strengths is not inherantly wrong, or unwise, I believe. Self mastery comes first, this I agree with... but again, I do not think you know me as well as you think you do. I do not feel inadequate. I know my capabilities are far and beyond the norm, but that is no reason not to search for greater strength, when it may aid others. Perhaps I could have done more, perhaps not... I do not allow myself the distraction of guilt. It is self defeating. I seek to move forward, always, and no matter what pains lie behind me, I do not let them bind me. Not in the here, and now. Please understand, miss Leone... you keep asking me to change my perspective, to understand something, but you do not know what my perspective is. You do not know what I do and do not understand. I want to be of greater use to others... this is not a desire born of recent events. Strengthened, perhaps. But my whole life has been dedicated to civil service, from the time I could walk on my own two feet, and lift a crook, a plow, a rake. My pilgrimage of labors is to find ways to better aid the people I live to serve."

Leone again shakes her head. She sighs, and pinches the bridge of her nose with two fingers. "And yet your own actions, or the actions you seek to take, refute the words that come out of your mouth. If you wish to train with the monks to physically become stronger, to add muscle density and thereby increase the force you are capable of exerting outwardly, then I have no problem with it. You may do so for a month's time. This should allow you to develop a curriculum that you may use to train on your own using their methods adapted to your needs. I will not, however, condone, consent, nor participate in magically strengthening you. I do not believe that physical strength is what you need to be developing. There is no shame in not being able to accomplish everything yourself. Assisting and depending on others builds communities; give and take is needed. Knowing that you can depend on others as much as they can depend on you is a necessity. It's part of the foundation of trust. The giants will not ridicule you for not being able to shovel frozen earth - again, they have been cultivating it for centuries, and have developed a method for the madness. And being able to stop an orc through sheer force is a feat very few are capable of. Perhaps physical strength is not something you're meant to excel at. Perhaps lacking in it will endear you to people, and make them trust you. Someone who can do everything - that's not real. All of our heroes have faults and failings. All of them. You want to aid people? Then teach them how to do for themselves. Give them a reason to be proud, rather than just grateful. You need strength of character and purpose, not strength of body, for that."

Bastion had a confused expression on his face. "Force of blows? I do not use force in combat. I do not wish for greater strength for purposes of combat, miss Leone. I would have no use for it... I only wish to be better able to till frozen earth, and carry heavy burdens with it. Please... you make many assumptions, but I digress. I apologize if I have misled you. When I asked for greater strength in combat and mentioned strength for tilling fields, I talked of two different forms of strength." He sighed, exasperated at this point. He sounded like a broken record, and didn't think this conversation would go anywhere. "Regardless, I understand if you do not wish to aid me. Such is yours to choose. I hope that, if you decide I am not of enough merit to warrant your aid, or that I am undeserving in any regard, you will reconsider another time. For now, let us speak of more pleasant things." He looked at her, his wine pink eyes innocent and free of worry or burden, confident, yet humble. "I believe you could benefit greatly from acupuncture, miss Leone. Would you like to know how it works? It is the same basis of application as my pacifist martial discipline."

Leone sighs once more, pursing her lips. "I never said force of blows," she states. Tiredness is beginning to take over, a certain weariness that is bordering on exhaustion. It is the mark of a woman who has already put many hours into the day. She stands, and moves to, hopefully, gently lay a hand on the monk's shoulder. "Some other time, perhaps," the farrier remarks, "Unfortunately, I don't have time for such indulgences today; I have to coordinate craftsmen to build a new Shrine to Aramoth - and somehow manage to be fair and spread the work around to both Giant and non-giant faithful, without upsetting standing Giant craftsmen guilds and traditions -" The sentence cuts off, and the cleric waves a hand through the air, as if to dismiss the subject. "Forgive me, I'm rambling. Simply shouting into the sky what it ricocheting around in my head," the bantam blacksmith chuckles out, "I do hope the rest of your day is a pleasant one, and I do look forward to seeing you again." After a slight incline of her head to indicate farewell, the sacred smith exits the Academy - no doubt on her way to find those aforementioned craftsmen.