Battle Hymn of the Republic

As Drysi took a bite of the bun, she’d find it wasn’t a pastry at all. It appeared, felt, and tasted as though it were pizza dough that had been buttered and salted before being turned into a pouch. Inside was a tasty spin on a breakfast sandwich. A bed of savory, juicy breakfast sausage flavored with sage and thyme; complemented by pillowy, cheesy scrambled eggs. Somehow, it still tasted as hot and fresh as if Drysi had snagged the very first one from a new batch. So alas, the flavors faded when she began brushing her teeth.

Once she was finished in her room, Drysi made her way back through the guest commons which had a number of individuals lounging in the comfortable chairs while enjoying their morning. Most of them seemed to still be in business mode, despite the weekend, and Drysi could recognize various emblems, patches, and decals denoting other magical associations. One group of elderly individuals sat in an alcove near the stair began to chuckle amiably at the sight of a young acolyte dashing around while multitasking.

“You were like that, Agnes,” the elderly man said as he tapped his partner.

“Always use’ta spit in one of the plants so I’d’n’t be late to lecture,” the woman said back.

Into the stairwell Drysi scampered, and down and down she wound. She could recall seeing a W.C. in the first floor commons before entering the dining hall, and would find one across from the stairs on the main floor; Gideon bringing up one he had seen down a bit in the same hallway leading to the stables. Having spent little time herself down on the main floor after passing through it fairly briskly the day prior, Drysi would find a modest crowd of druids standing around and socializing. The air smelled fresh and felt slightly damp from morning mist that had drifted in to hide as dew from the morning sun through the great doors. One side of the doors to the hall had been left ajar to allow easy passage, and the young druid could smell the morning air. She could also hear the sounds of calling voices, the chorus of chants and spells being cast, as well as the staccato and boom of sergeants blowing whistles and calling orders.

Passing through the hall to the entryway brought her into a room that felt like springtime. The air was cool, even for morning. While enchantments were in place on the Keep to moderate even the outdoor temperature, it seemed the Isle of Skye and its average temperatures were still able to push its influence. As such, despite being almost smack dab in the middle of the calendar year the high for the day outside was a balmy fourteen degrees Celsius. This cool temperature combined with the damp air and the smell of blossoms and greenery elicited the image and feeling of early spring for much of the year. Although, thanks to enchantments, the temperature of the Keep would rise to a more widely comfortable temperature; perhaps its magical canopy acted similar to a greenhouse.

The doors leading from the entry to the courtyard were wide open and let in a cool breeze, bright sunlight, and the smell of magic in the air. A number of other druids stood by the doors idly chatting and watching the show, for out in the courtyard the Keeper garrison was running drills. Dozens of individuals wearing gambesons of crimson and ochre were scattered across the wide space, with a number of different exercises being demonstrated. To one side, the largest cluster of druids stood in neat rows while performing what looked like katas. As they shifted from pose to pose a couple of instructors who still wore cloaks paced around, correcting stance and posture where needed. This group looked to be adjoined by a couple other similar groups with different focuses. A smaller group was similarly performing katas, but they were equipped with sleek silvery longswords. Drysi could spot Brooke in this group, holding her sword in what looked like a defensive stance as the instructor passed by. Behind these two groups was a somewhat odd sight. What must have been dozens of familiars of all shapes and sizes were practicing their own katas; with a bit more leniency from the grizzled wolfhound that appeared to be the one inspecting their form.

At the same time Drysi noticed the familiars practicing, several lithe forms darted past the door causing a few of the druid observers to gasp. Several more forms followed in pursuit. It appeared to be some of the more agile familiars playing what looked to be a form of tag. Wolves, hounds, several types of large cats, deer, and even a large jack rabbit the size of Alva chased after a single target. Once tagged, the familiar that scored the point became it and had to then flee the pursuers. The jack rabbit scored a tag, and shifted direction as though it were fueled by lightning. The pursuers chased it towards a wall tower door, but were thrown off as the jack leapt a good ten feet to catch the wall before leaping back the way it had come. Clearing the chase with ease, the pursuers stumbled over each other as they tried to avoid running headlong into the wall. The jack turned and did a taunting jump by clapping its large feet together, only to then be tagged by a lynx that had performed a similar maneuver against the wall.

Back by the Keepers Drysi saw that there were a number of other competitions taking place. The largest clearing saw two Keepers in the middle of a magic duel. Spikes of ice scattered the arena, and a large torrent of wind erupted to divert what looked like a fan-shaped slime attack off to the side. There was also an accuracy range, and a quick draw event. The accuracy one was an easy guess, but the other looked like a group of people trying to quickly say tongue twisters. The sergeant bellowed at them about their only hope in combat was that the enemy would die laughing as one of the druids appeared to bite their tongue. Amid all of this, Drysi couldn’t find Ruarc.

“Maelgwyn! Eyes up!” called a voice that Drysi would be at least somewhat familiar with. Mealla Brennan stood up on the battlements. She wore a gambeson like the other Keepers, but hers was adorned with a hip sash that bore the Fifth Circle’s sigil, and her saber sheathed on her left side. With a gesture that would be recognized from across the courtyard better than more words, Mealla motioned for Drysi to come up onto the wall via a door in the wall that she pointed towards.

It was chaos, utter chaos.

Drysi’s eyes could barely follow all the action, it looked like an ongoing war, or at the very least, a very rowdy field day. When she had picked Brooke out of the crowd, she found herself stricken by an almost painful envy. The drill was clearly a massive event, and it showed a diversity of combat that rivaled the diversity of nature itself. This was the virtue of primal energy, extolled in the wildness of exchanges in weapons, spells and even words. When she had managed to take in everything that was happening, Drysi suddenly found herself eager to record what she was seeing.

How many of the druids made it out to watch the Keepers practice their trade?

She took out her notebook, and began setting up for a new section after her notes for the chain. Gideon dove into her bag and slithered about, emerging with a purple sticky note on his forehead. She thanked him warmly, and set it in place and began to go on recording the basic structure of what she saw, everything that stood out to her.

It was in the middle of a particularly detailed sketch of two Druids striking at eachother like hawks, that Drysi heard her name. The call was so loud, so sudden, that she almost let her pen clatter to the floor. She snatched it short and looked up to see none other than Maella Brennan herself, a woman in her element and among her people.

And she was beckoning her forth.

Drysi pointed at herself, and looked around at the other druids, before realizing how silly it would be to expect anyone else in the world to be named Maelgwyn. Tentatively, she made her way to the door, and found herself swiftly ascending the stairs to meet the Chief of the Keepers on the battlements.

Despite meeting Maella at her initiation ritual, and also knowing loosely of the Chief being a bit of a big sister to her Master, all of her confidence since the kitchen suddenly evaporated. Opening the door to the battlements, she saw the woman in all her glory. She was the youngest of the circle’s heads, and yet she was the Ard Rhys’ second in any time he was not there.

“M-Ms. Brennan, m-ma’am,” Drysi walked up with her notebook still out, “I’m Drysi Llewy–... Um… I’m… apprentice to Ruarc– – Fly–nn…”

Her words dwindled off to silence, when she realized her practiced greeting didn’t make sense now, “Um… hello. G-good morning to ya.”

The Keeper Chief blinked a few times in response to the odd greeting before snorting and hunching over a bit as she laughed a couple times. Waving her hand dismissively, the older woman settled herself before straightening and speaking.

“You can relax, kid, I’m not asking you to come up and give a speech,” Mealla’s voice was a somewhat rough baritone that sounded as though she could easily bark an order that would get the attention of the entire courtyard. Her demeanor though was as easy going as ever, if not a little stiff in the gambeson. With a sweeping motion, she gestured for Drysi to walk with her.

“I’ll admit I’m being presumptuous in assuming you’re here to see the tables turned on your Master. If you were just here to ogle some of my Keepers like the others by the door then I am sorry for drawing attention to you. Or should I say, you’re welcome, for giving you a better view?” Mealla’s tone was light, and a playful smile belied her joking. The Chief strode casually along the battlement, giving the added impression that she had jumped on an opportunity to wander and not be official. “Flynn’s not in the courtyard. Wall Marshall Wigmund insisted on Ruarc joining the Advanced Exercises.”

"Advanced exercises?" Drysi felt all her nerves light up, even in all this craziness, there was yet another level unseen. The acolyte opened her notebook and wrote aloud, "There are advanced exercises… Where?"

She looked up at Maella realizing that it may have been a bit presumptuous to demand anything from anyone like her. It was evident that Drysi was still nervous despite the woman's easy-going nature. Until this very moment, Drysi hadn't ruled out entirely that Brennan didn't like her. She wasn't Willow and she was very much not a Keeper. The story she knew was that Ruarc was kept in the close care of the Keepers' Chief, and the first apprentice he produced to the Order went to the circle of nerds.

Nonetheless, that fiery personality was hard not to like, and speaking to Maella was like speaking to one of the Menagerie.

"I mean… Can I see the Advanced Exercises? … For science."

“Aw shucks, but I simply invited you up here to chat,” Mealla kept her tone even this time, but let a vulpine smile creep in as she led Drysi along the wall. The stone beneath their feet was a dark gray that had been well worn over the Keep’s long lifespan. Rising twenty-five feet over the surrounding landscape, Drysi was treated to a good view of the Black Valley of Cuillin. Passing over the thicker section of wall above the gate she also got a view of Roan’s cottage; the idyllic homestead was quiet this morning, occupied only by the flock of sheep grazing by the stream and Roan’s Australian shepherd dutifully watching them. The breeze up on the wall was a bit brisker, but combined with the growing warmth of the midmorning sun felt invigorating.

Suddenly, the valley echoed with the sound of thunder, the sheep perking up before their shepherd’s punctuated bark settled them back down. Rounding the wall further, Drysi could glimpse the source. Up the valley a short ways, the young druid finally caught sight of her mentor. Ruarc, along with four other druids including Roan, were sprinting up the slope of Sgùrr Alasdair. The catch was that as they ran up the slope five other druids standing on an outcropping of stone fired magic down onto the runners. The runners then either needed to dodge, deflect, or absorb the attack. Currently all five casters were assaulting the runners with an enfilade of lightning.

Two of the druids were hunkered down a ways down the slope. One looked to have made good progress but had taken a hit to his gambeson and was sent rolling back down the slope. Roan chopped a bolt of lightning that was coming towards him with a silvered sword that glimmered in the sun. The Scotsman was pulling ahead and turned to flash a cocky smile back to Ruarc. The Irishman was not far behind, but appeared completely focused on the caster aiming at him as he moved in a low crouch and his hands held forward. A bolt was cast, and Ruarc planted his feet as his opponent said their chant. The lightning arced, and the Irishman looked to almost catch the lightning in his hand. Drysi’s analytical eye could see the bolt connect with Ruarc’s left hand, jump to his right hand, and then directed into the mountainside in front of him. Shaking his hands vigorously after the fact, Ruarc broke into a sprint before dropping into a crouch once more as the caster looked to be preparing their next bolt.

Roan made it to the base of the outcropping first. Taking a moment to catch his breath before running back down the slope with no opposition. Ruarc made it to the top not long after, but opted to catch his breath back at the starting line.

“This exercise pushes endurance and adaptability. The longer it goes on, the more tired the Keeper becomes, the longer it takes to make decisions,” Mealla explained as she looked at Roan and Ruarc catching their breath downhill as the other druids finished. Eventually the last of the five made it and returned to the bottom. Back up by the casters Drysi saw a stout man in his late sixties step forward wearing a breastplate.

“That’s Wall Marshall Wigmund,” the Keeper Chief answered an unasked question. The man was somewhat portley, and had a bald head that looked vaguely like a tomato aside from a large braided gray beard. Drysi could hear the man’s voice even from where she stood.

“Next volley will be Fire! Casters! No set targets! Fire at will!” Wigmund bellowed. Immediately the runners began their ascent as the caster began to channel and work their chants.

“What a dick,” Mealla glowered.

With her paper magic ability, Drysi had a couple fresh notes set like a floating easel. She had spent the first few heartbeats taking in the exercise, when some subtle urging by Gideon reminded her that she needed to be recording what she saw. A few quick scratches with her quill shaped the valley, and the paths the druids took. The girl's fingers moved quickly, and, as Ruarc and Roan made it to the finish, she had a respectable diagram of the drill sketched on one piece of paper.

Between recording Maella's description she worked on a snappy sketch of what looked like a man splitting lightning with his fist. Then, below him was a sprinting man channeling a bolt from one hand to another.

"Why do they look so handsome?"

Drysi's face soured at Gideon's innocent remark.

"Everyone sees the world differently, Gideon."

While it would have been interesting to see someone topple her Master, Drysi relished the opportunity to see him in action since the incident in Hawaii. Ruarc wasn't just an ordinary Keeper, as much as he blended into the ranks here at Carneath. He was a member of the Menagerie. He rubbed shoulders with the Ice Queen and the Gunslinger. He had worked with Riley Erin Alstad. In short, he stood with titans of the Occultus, and while that inspired adoration with people like Brooke…

… Drysi wanted to know what made him special.

Still, the exercise as a whole was pretty cool. Even as Drysi pursued more data for her personal project, she couldn't shake the thrill of watching mages work and move. Movies couldn't compare to this.

"Willoo woulda' loved this," said Drysi suddenly, staring intently as the mages came back into position.

Drysi’s intent gaze let her see Wigmund motioning to the casters. Mealla had adopted a stern look with a severe squint as she stood with her arms crossed; looking like a proper commander inspecting her men. The runners were about a fifth of the way up the slope when Roan looked to call something over to Ruarc who was neck and neck with him. Shortly thereafter, Drysi would see why Mealla had called Wigmund a dick. Once the casters had readied their spells, all five attacked. All five aimed at Ruarc.

The raging mass of writhing flames bolted down the mountain and enveloped the Irishman. The three runners to Ruarc’s right stumbled away but otherwise kept running, taking the opportunity presented by no attacks coming their way. Roan side stepped, turned, and after planting his feet in a solid stance cast a spell making a slab of rock jut up. This disrupted the flames enough to reveal Ruarc. He knelt close to the ground and was channeling wind around himself. With an opening courtesy of his Scottish counterpart, he rose, shifted his spell, and threw it as a blade into the oncoming flames. The flames subsided, and both Ruarc and Roan took off running again. The other three druids had almost finished, and when the casters readied another volley they looked as though they were aiming at just the two Celts further down the slope.

The display had been impressive, but it had awoken something terrible in Drysi she hadn't expected. A white hot anger broiled in her throat, the same that had roiled her when she spoke to the librarian the night before. She had seen something she had wanted to see, her Master proving himself, but it was not how she intended to find out.

"Those fookin' cunts just focused on my Master," Drysi's anger became manifest as all her scholarly decorum went out over the wall along with her handsome rendition of Roan. "They were told--... Any five'o'em-- I swear... If I wasn' a proper lady I'd walk down their and show my arse. Fookin'... Blightin'..."

She leaned forward on the battlements and shook her fist, yelling, "I'll fight every fookin' one of ya!"

Drysi froze when she remembered who she was in the presence of, and flattened her rage-filled fists flat on the edge. Her hooded head slowly turned until just one of her eyes could see Maella.

“Sure I can’t steal you from the Thirds?” Mealla asked. A smirk sat on her lips, but her eyes remained strict and focused on the exercise. “It’s for the best you don’t, I suppose. The Keepers have always been a bit of a boys club, if you will. Sometimes I feel like I’m in command of a bunch of billy goats. Always butting heads over something or other. Can’t blame Flynn for preferring seclusion.”

The next volley of flames came, but two druids had slowed their pace and looked to have fallen in line with each other. Ruarc once more cast a wide torrent of wind, but angled the gale to wedge under the flames. Reading the opening, Roan darted forward as the roaring winds whipped his hair around his face. After proceeding a ways, Roan began casting his own wind spell. Raising the angle of the diverted flames, Ruarc now used his opening to race up to Roan. The flames died down, and the two runners pressed forward once more.

“Seclusion isn’t the right word, I suppose,” Mealla began once the flames abated. “He can function solo, but Flynn works best when fighting next to his friends… that sounded super cheesy. Gimme a do-over. If it were up to me I’d make a team with Roan, Ruarc, and one or two others, but he’d wither with that much oversight. That gaggle of misfits out East seem perfect for him.”

The next volley came, Ruarc and Roan were ready for it.

Maella's words seemed to click something into place in Drysi's mind. It wasn't that Mr. Flynn had earned a spot on the Menagerie, he was one part that made the Menagerie. She could see his skill as he charged up the hill, but it only confirmed Maella's words. Her Master looked like he hadn't expected Roan's help, because he wasn't Kagami Miyuki, or Jane Smith, or Riley Erin Alstad, or…

…whoever the fifth member was, she could never remember him.

Suddenly, she understood the man's trepidation in coming to Carneath better. It only made her more angry. This place had been so welcoming to her, a young outsider. Mr. Flynn may have been an old outsider, but he was still a druid.

It was frustrating her to the point where she began to gnaw on her knuckle.

"I'mma Keeper's apprentice," muttered Drysi, her voice gaining volume when she took her knuckle out of her mouth, "I realized that this mornin'. I don't do drills, but as long as I am Ruarc Flynn's apprentice, I'll go in harm's way. Whether he likes it or not."

The triclops stared on, watching Roan and Ruarc charge the hill again, and gentle words passed over her lips, "It will be Drysi's spell that brought down the wolf."

Then, with a sharp inhale, she clapped her hands on the stone.

"So, what if it's a boy's club? I'm a third, and I can see at least a swath of lads out there I could bap on a bad day," proudly announced Drysi, feeling fiery. She spun about on Maella, her eyes shimmering that brilliant emerald color, "You're a lass and you're the baddest of them all!"

It was then, that something needed to be said. Drysi's face was struggling to contain the words, but she fed greedily on the airs of others, and Maella's air made her feel unabashedly confident.

"Can I sketch you?" sputtered the awkward apprentice, "It'll be fast, I promise. This is my last day at Carneath, and I didn't think I'd get a chance t'speak to you… and… and…"

Drysi looked like her nervousness was tempering her will, and she shook her fists to get the next word out, "Please?"