Venla Thiel

Venla Thiel

Lettucewielding foreman
Astenvale Monastery, at last.

The damp air here tasted of greenery and living things, soil and bark. Venla stopped at the crest of the slope, boots muddy to the ankle. Her green dress was muddied near the hem with the stubborn dirt of the roads and damp with dew. The sleeves pushed back to her elbows. Stray strands of her red hair had slipped free from the braid. Her fingers brushed the edge of a broken stone marker half-buried in earth and vine. She pulled a slow breath, and the scent of moss and blooming things filled her lungs. The air felt strange here, but not hostile. Not entirely

Primroses crowded the edges of the path, their dainty yellow faces nodding in the breeze. Delicate petals caught the sun that filtered down in golden shards through the high canopy. Venla watched the birds, small, dark things circling above the monastery’s outer walls. Beyond them rose the real structure: tall halls of pale stone, their spires wrapped in creeping green, archways open to the wind. The buildings looked like they belonged more to the forest than to men. There were roots braided through the foundation stones like veins through skin.

Something made her skin prickle. Something restless coiled inside her chest. The colors at the edge of her vision shimmered wrong again. Not bright, not beautiful, just… colors she had never seen before. Something old was beneath this place. Something in her chest tightened. She didn’t have a name for the feeling, so she didn’t try to identify it.

Smoke curled lazily from one chimney; figures moved distantly between the courtyards and wards. After a moment, she turned to Willard and said “It’s beautiful here.”
 
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Willard nodded. 'Yes, it is.' Swinging a leg up and over, the young ranger dropped from the saddle to join Venla. 'Just wait until we're through the gates. You'll have a better view of the place from inside.' Taking Hellion gently by the reins, Willard started walking towards the monastery. Soft mud clawed at his boots. It had rained sometime before first light, and the ground had yet to harden beneath the Sun's warming rays.

'I sent word ahead. They should be expecting us.' Turning, he gazed back at Venla, his free hand coming to rest upon the pommel of his longsword. He had considered taking hers but thought better of it. Too much had happened in too short a time for him to quite wrap his head around it.

Still, he had no regrets.

Glancing up at the monastery, the dawnling waited patiently for Venla to find her nerve. It was a fair distance back to Arrowdale; a week by road, granted there were no complications. Now was not the time for second thoughts, though, Willard doubted Venla harboured any. It had been her idea to come here, after all, despite Drachenberg being much closer to home. Not that he could blame her for choosing otherwise; the fortress-town was an eyesore, and the shroudweavers inhabiting it nothing more than strangers to the pair of them.

At least here she would be among friends. The type of folk that didn't balk when confronted with odd magicks. Willard had promised her safety, and it was a promise he intended to keep no matter the circumstances.

A redstart alighted atop Hellion's back, as around them the wyld continued to sing its song. Willard watched the bird a moment, a small smile upon his face. It spoke to them both briefly, though the knight didn't understand bird-talk quite so well as the beastkin among their ranks. Chirping still, it took flight in a flurry of feathers, shooting up and away towards the monastery's summit. Home, in every sense of the word.

'Someone's coming to meet us,' he told Venla, his expression growing solemn as realisation set in. 'How're you feeling?'
 
"Sworn Knight of Dawn, Willard," came the clear cut of authority from across the way. Captain Helena, tall figure draped in a quartered tabard in the gold and white colors of Dawn, made her way to the ranger. "You will explain to me, why, after a fortnight of, ranging, without a sanctum counterpart, I only just received message of your whereabouts not two days ago?" her eyes like cold irons set unto the sworn knight. A look that said so much more than what she could say before an uninitiated.

You should damn well know better with all that is going on. You should damn well know better no matter what is going on.

A breath, and her gaze flit to the young woman at Willard's side. Softened as they took in the sight of her.

Venla Thiel, wild mage from Arrowdale. ​

She looked no older than Helena herself. Wide eyed, and road ridden.

Helena's gaze softened with a flame of empathy. A flat palm pressed to her heart and she gave a bow that bid the woman welcome. Rose up. Straight backed. "Forgive my interjection, mistress Thiel. I am Helena, Knight Captain of Dawn." she affirmed, looked again at the ghost of a man that was directly under her command. Her stoneface expression daring him to smile. Joke. Play this off in any which way. For there would already be consequences for his stunt. And so help him, or any sun headed idiot that thought her too harsh.

"Willard had mentioned in some part, your reason for arriving," she let her eyes return to Venla. "You are most welcome to the grounds," she motioned about them. "We have rooms aplenty amidst the dormitories, as well as communal baths, if you would like to get some of the road off of you before you set to explore the grounds proper. I am sure we can find someone to accompany you, while I discuss with Syr Willard,"
 
She didn’t answer him at once.

Her gaze lifted to the monastery again, its towers half-wrapped in ivy, catching the light in strange angles. She felt it, not in her bones but deeper: a kind of stillness threaded through the air, like the pause between breaths. Beautiful, yes. Peaceful, even. But...

Venla drew in a breath, slow and steady, and shifted her pack higher on her shoulder.

“I’m alright,” she said, glancing sidelong at Willard.

Her magic, it hadn’t settled since they crossed the first threshold of carved stone. It hummed beneath her skin in low, untrusting pulses, tugged sideways toward corners she couldn’t quite see. Not dangerous. Not yet. Just... aware.

The redhead flinched at the Captain’s words, cutting though the air between them like released arrow. Venla stood a pace behind Willard, close but not sheltered, her hands relaxed at her sides. Captain Helena’s presence was something she felt, not like fear. It was strength and stern roots. Venla lingered behind Willard as the exchange unfolded, then stepped forward.

Her green eyes met Helena’s without hesitation. Not with challenge, just a steady, tired clarity. The kind you get after too many nights sleeping in damp blankets, on the hard ground.

Whatever passed between Willard and his captain was theirs to settle.

Venla bowed her head in return to Helena.

“Thank you, Captain,” she said, her voice calm, but warm. “That’s very generous. I’d be grateful for the bath, and somewhere to lay my head down." She smiled a faint, tired smile. Her voice was soft, polite without shrinking, spoken like someone raised in a small village with where you mind your manners.

She came to stand inside the gates if the outer walls and to the side.
 
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'I'll take your word for it.' Nodding, Willard turned his attention back to the gate. A figure in a quartered tabard was descending the slope towards them. Frizzy hair, dark skin, and a commanding voice that would have made a Shroud Fiend wilt.

Up to my neck in it now.

Squaring his feet, Willard stood up straighter as the Dawn Captain came to confront him. It was strange seeing the Captain fired up. Stranger, still, that she would be the one to welcome him home. Fighting down a rising sense of panic, Willard met Helena's gaze, hands held behind his back. Her words cut into him like a knife. There was no point trying to avoid them.

'No excuses, Captain.' Eyes front, the dawnling's stony expression faltered, shame overcoming him a moment as his sins were laid bare. 'I take full responsibility for my actions, and accept whatever punishment you see fit.'

Glancing at Venla, the young knight listened in silence as the two women shared greetings and extended courtesies. His eyes lingered on Venla longer than he realised, and he turned away, knowing in his heart that he had done right in bringing her here.

Even if it ends up costing me.

He was lucky, in some regards. Helena's was a warm anger, fuelled as much by concern as it was disappoint in his flouting of the rules and procedures. A reckoning was due, and Willard felt no need to defend himself, for everything she had accused him of had been true. Now, he would have to live with the consequences.

'It's good to see you,' he said, after Venla had given them some space. 'I will explain what I can. I am only sorry that I did not send word sooner.'
 
What in the goddamn.

He’d stopped at his tracks some minute ago, if in that particular slow and meandering way men used when they wanted to seem as though they yet remained in the middle of something, running their errands. Definitely not staring, nor forming up piping hot gossip as the goings on got louder. After blowing past him in their previously brisk pace through the yard, Joona had ground to a halt too, but without any pretense or subtlety. Fast and obvious as a cart crash on fire.

“ You go ahead. I’ll— “ Figure out an excuse. He begun in a mutter, waving the squire off and shifting on heel to go. This was cut off as Joona didn’t budge, signing briefly at him.

' Why? '
“ You’re a squire. “
' You’re nosy. '

And they stared at each other, but it was no contest. Yet they listened, learning details as for what should’ve wrought the Captain’s wroth, spoken there beneath their mute suspense and the monastery ambience. His face drew to a frown, his taller shape striking something terribly grave next to the squire who remained outwardly unaffected, brows lightly arched over alert eyes.

The spell broke at once. And having lingered, in tune they decided to just keep at it and stare, though for his own part he decided to sidle next to the horse pens by the gatehouse.

' She looks worried — the stranger. ' The squire spoke, wordlessly. Squinting and having no eye for fine detail at this range, Aarno had to figure it was true. The way she was standing did seem a little— forcibly meek or even distant.

Could be an effect imposed by the Captain. Nothing like standing next to a good scolding.

“ Everyone is, at first. It’s a rather big— What are you doing? “ His voice elevated but the tad as he caught the sight of Joona having launched off and towards the group. The youngster turned for just the moment to respond, walking backwards and wearing a wide smile.

' Mayhaps Syr Willard would like me to relieve him of his horse. ' A shrug and a wink.

Now there was an idea. Putting on all the effects of an exasperated master of an unruly apprentice, Aarno huffed and took to the squire’s wake in an unhurried hobble. Allowing just enough headway.

By the time they were at the gates Joona was way ahead. They merely glanced past their shoulder at him as the young woman moved herself right on in, taking to the gloom and shelter of the walls. Waving the squire go ahead on their way, which they did without slowing down, Aarno stopped.

“ Good day. “ He begun, leveling an openly curious look at the stranger. His instinct was to not approach, just in case— something — but decorum won out and after an indecisive pause he stepped closer.

“ Aarno. “ Offered a hand, trying a cordial smile. His look bounced at the exchange betwixt sworn and captain sidelong, indicating.

“ You waiting for him? “
 
Venla turned slightly at the voice, eyes meeting the stranger's cautious gaze. His presence, like so much here, felt composed. Even his hesitation before stepping closer was quiet and very much deliberate.

She looked at the offered hand for half a heartbeat, then took it gently, her grip light but firm. "Well meet," she said. She paused before she introduced herself. Her smile was easy, but there was something behind it.c, maybe, or simply uncertain. "Venla" Her green eyes followed his back to Willard and the Captain. "No. That might take a while..." she said dryly.

She glanced back toward Willard then. She'd brought it down on him, hadn’t she? He’d come to her to help her. And already it looked like it was costing him. Maybe I should’ve gone to Drachenberg after all, she thought. The thought soured in her chest. The guilt sat uncomfortably under her ribs.

“I was told there are baths,” she added, a little more softly, as someone might do when she wasn’t sure of her footing. Her gaze drifted past Aarno. The entire place breathed with a quiet order, not rigid, but rooted. Ancient. It was a kind of magic, she could feel it. The old, deep kind, tied to the land itself. Nature magic. It was… harmonious.

That was the word. Harmonious.

As it pulsed through this place, she’d always thought of nature as wild, but standing here, now she felt the difference. It was ancient and slow; it lived through its cycles. It rooted itself deep and weathered all things with patience. Even the violence of it, flood, fire, decay, was part of some old, unspoken order. A pact was struck before men walked upright.

No wonder the air here felt too quiet, too clean. Too harmonious. Nature had a rhythm, an order and laws ... and something inside of her wanted to break it. It clawed through her blood when she slept. It spat sparks when she felt too much. No wonder it felt uneasy here. The ground knew her, maybe not by name, but by nature. And it wasn’t sure she belonged. Her fingers flexed once at her side, subtle, like she was trying to shake something off.

“And dormitories, for guests. If you know where they are, I’d be grateful if you would be willing to show me the way."
 
Thanks given, a nod returned, a gesture of welcome with hand over chest to the young woman. "Of course, mistress Thiel, please, make yourself at home," a hand that urged her on. Easy and open. No cage nor door there to snap shut behind her.

That she saw Joona quick stepping over to tend Willard's Hellion, and Aarno looming neath the shade of the outer wall as the young woman strode onward, quirked something like a smile on her face.

When her eyes fell back to Willard, that all but dried up.

No excuses, Captain...

Her head keeled with the weight of those words. Brow quirked and lip screwed as she drew her breath.

It's good to see you... I am only sorry that I did not send word sooner.

Another quick glance about her. Saw Joona, big eyeing it behind Hellion's neck. Squire's ears as big as squirrel tails. She shook her head. Huffed.

"Do you think I am some chaste princess, stuck in a tower, Willard?" she clipped the last syllable. Set her eyes hard to him. Sure fists, rather than needle points. "You go out of contact, for weeks, and show up with a tavern girl on your saddle?" she hissed between them. "Left it to Syr Breklinn, to report those... effigies upon your first outing, then left us to piece the rest together?" she shook her head.

"No, this shan't happen again, Willard, not so long as I am your Captain, do you hear me?" She would dig that in. Wait. "You will pull squire duties for a month, atop any deployments you are issued." Her jaw was iron, her eyes cold hammers. "We aren't children anymore. You aren't some squire. You are a bloody knight of Anathaeum, and you must act as such," She loosed the bloodless fist she had clenched at her side. Let her fingers spread and cool against the air. Tingle with the heat that climbed up her throat. "Always, Syr Willard. Am I understood?"
 
Jaw set, eyes fixed on a point beyond the horizon, Willard accepted the scolding in silence. Beside Syr Darthinian, he had yet to meet any princesses, and Helena was far too hard around the edges for him to ever mistake her for such. But then some questions weren't meant to be answered; just as some Captains weren't to be trifled with.

'Crystal,' he replied, the punishment not nearly so dreadful as he'd feared. Even so, he thought it wise to tread lightly.

Especially with the vultures circling, mused the dawnling, taking in Aarno and Joona with a turn of his head. Idlers and gossipmongers, the pair of them. Oh, how he wished to say something without incurring the Captain's wrath. Leave it, he told himself, be a good boy and keep your mouth shut. Or else!

Realising he had been holding his breath, Willard let it escape him in one long, calm exhale. His heart slowed as the monastery's quiet descended upon them in full, lulling him into a false sense of security.

The look in Helena's eye caused him to hesitate. He may have been home free, but he wasn't out of the woods yet.

'Am I dismissed, Captain?' Hands folded behind his back, the dawnling shuffled his feet, uncertainty keeping him from putting them to use the way he had been bade. Squire duties. Wasn't so long ago they had been just "duties".

His eyes narrowed as a strong breeze caught him square, dragging at his cloak like an incessant child who'd never been told when to quit it.
 
The blow came quick. Flat and hard across the jaw with enough force to drop a man into the dirt. Helena breathed hard. Stared harder at the result of her work. Splash into the mud, or red mark. She could give two shits. She would stand there tall and straight as she always did.

"Two months, Syr," the title smoked through air. every fiber in her body dared him to say another fucking word.
 
She caught him good, so she did. The prodigal captain, fast as she was fierce, fuelled by fury and righteous scorn. Staggering, Willard caught himself before he fell, cheek stinging, eyes wet from the pain of it. Never had he felt so young as he did right then. Shamed in front of his brethren. In front of squire and guest and the laughing wings that called the woods their roost.

At least he didn't end up in the dirt, though like as not it would've made no difference. The road had seen to that.

Holding fast, Willard blinked away the forming tears. It was one thing to take a hit, another to take one from a friend. Family. Are we? The thought shamed him more than the violent act he had suffered through. Sometimes it took a good slap to remind someone of who they were.

Meeting Helena's gaze, he nodded, the slightest of inclines. Two months.

Unless she wished to strike him again?
 
The tone wasn’t lost on him, nor the flicker of something hidden and untethered beneath the skin as she accepted the friendly gesture. Wild shroud. A magician, a witch. He kept his smile and let her go within the second, relenting his curiousity and his look that’d trace hers.

From the exchange at the gates to what waited around them in a brilliant morning. The path through that’d take them to where she wanted to go. Comforts and accommodations. He nodded, understood. A guest, all affirmed by the Captain’s gesture and gaze. One that’d long since turned away.

“ You are correctly informed. “ He started, shifting on heel. “ And yes, of course, I’d be happy to. They’re— “

The sound much resembling a clap, echoing off the gatehouse and walls, cut him off. The stagger of a man, eclipsed by something impeccably steady. Joona’s stare had grown wide-eyed and though they kept pace leading the horse, it was in a— wide grin? Baring teeth and perfectly visible in the gatehouse shadow. And they signed at him, realizing his stare.

‘ Fuck. ‘

Damn right. He cleared his throat and drew a quick breath.

“ Quite something. “ Deadpan, lest he betray the thrill in his heart, as he finally turned. “ Shall we, then, Miss Venla? “

Gestured for her to follow and took on a leisurely pace through the yard, pleasant smile returning. A bit of assurance for her sake. It took everything to not glance over his shoulder at the aftermath beyond the gates.

“ The baths and the dormitories aren’t terribly far apart. But perhaps you would fancy leaving your belongings at the latter, before? “ If you can spare the trust. Indicated the pack at her shoulder in a glance, idly wondering what was in it. The harder edges in the soft sag of it.

“ And we could add your clothes to be laundered. Happens at the end of every week. “ He added, considering the muddy hem of her dress and the rolled up sleeves. No judgement, just to note.

“ Have you brought a change of clothes? “

Not everyone did. He hadn’t, years ago.
 
She and Aarno were not that far away, and though Venla kept her eyes turned from the exchange with the knight, her ears had nowhere else to go. Authority that didn’t need to raise itself to be heard. The words were meant for Willard alone fell heavy all the same.

“A tavern girl.”

The phrase sat sour. Not because it stung, it didn’t. She’d heard worse. But the way it was said, as if it explained everything. Dismissed her with a single breath. She said nothing, of course. This wasn’t her fight. Wasn’t about her, not really. Still, Venla didn’t like the way her presence was turned into a mistake. A stain on Willard’s record. He’d brought her here because she needed help. Because she had asked. She had been desperate for help, frightened, uncertain, and dangerous without meaning to be. She was a wild note out of tune. But Willard had not followed her out of foolishness. He had answered a need, and done so with more grace than she could have asked of anyone.

The sound of the slap cracked through the air like a branch splitting in winter, clean and sharp. The silence that followed was worse. Not the hush of peace, but the heavy stillness of people pretending not to hear. She turned around, Venla stared, throat dry. Willard with his cheek red, eyes wet. Shame flooding her chest. A small part of her wanted to speak, to step forward, to tell the Captain that Willard had done nothing wrong, that if blame was to be laid, let it be hers.

"Did she just...?" She turned back to Aarno. Venla let out a breath, slow and quiet. Somewhat reluctantly, she followed him. “Do you lot get slapped often, or is that just a him problem?” She tugged her satchel a little higher on her shoulder as they walked, falling into step beside Aarno with a faint shrug.

“There’s not much in it anyone would bother stealing, unless someone here’s desperate for a few buttons, a cutting board, and some hard cheese." she said, about the bag. Venla followed Aarno through the yard, eyes tracking the tall archways and vine-laced stone with something between wonder and unease. Still walking, he talked about laundry, and she muttered more to herself than to Aarno. "Doubt I’ll stay long anyway… Should’ve never come here." Her first instinct had been to keep her chaos tucked away, not pulling anyone else into its wild currents. It had been the right one.

The room was simple, bed, bench, small chest, a narrow window looking out over the herb beds, but it was clean. Dry. Likely warmer than anywhere she’d slept in days. She lowered the satchel onto the bench with a soft thump, it tipped onto its side and the sharp corner of the candlestick thunked the wood. She tugged open the bag and confessed to the knight. "I messed up." Not in some grand, fiery way. Not counting the flesh altar! But it settled in her gut and stayed there. Irritation showing in the way her fingers shoved past the contents of the bag. "Shouldn’t have asked Willard to bring me here. But it felt like the right thing at the time. Ought to know better than to lean on someone like that.”

She hadn’t meant to cause trouble. But that’s how it always began, wasn’t it? A small choice. A need. A hand held out on the road. Then suddenly someone else was paying a price you hadn’t counted on. She pulled out a clean shift and a spare overdress, softer wool, less road-stained. She turned a half-step toward Aarno, meeting his eye. “Can you point me the right way? To the baths. You don't have to escort me if you say it's close by.” she sighed, softer this time. “I’ll find it myself.”
 
The girl had a frantic energy to her, muttering and ignoring his words, composure splintered by the sight of what’d happened to Syr Willard. Or, what his experience told him, the young man had wrought upon himself. The discipline through violence, pain twofold.

He didn’t think it devastating. But it was unusual enough for it to be a brand of shame. Everyone would know of it when the Captain was involved, and he hadn’t but to sympathize with the girl. For her unfortunate arrival and how it must’ve reflected on everything around it. Herself, the monastery, The Order, even himself that’d played the pleasantries as he always did.

What was done was done. We go forward. His look alighted back on her belongings as she spoke on them. Ignored the rest.

“ Whatever else you might require, besides those buttons, cutting board and hard cheese— “ Splendidly miscellaneous as they are. “ Will be provided to you. Just ask. “

It felt a safe offer. And if it wasn’t, he’d correct expectations to the best of his ability.


*​

He’d settled to hovering outside by the door of the room as she hassled inside. Leaned against the frame and looking away to provide the privacy, glancing at her only when she spoke. There was a bond in the words, he felt — how she didn’t use titles, how genuinely torn up she sounded when it came to Syr Willard. How quick she was to assume blame for what happened, how hellbent to dismiss herself before anyone else would get to do so.

Shame or guilt? Both, probably. His instinct was to soothe them, exercise his presumption, but something told him that effort was born impotent. Powerless against her self-conviction.

He eyed her in his grave manner for a beat, then spoke. Measured and softer than his face would’ve suggested.

“ Of course. “ Shifted off the support of the frame, leaving it open for her exit to the corridor. “ But entertain me first with an answer, if you may, Miss Venla— “

Cocked his head, concern in his eye.

“ Are you dismissing the escort for your own comfort or because you’ve the sense you’re bothering us? “ Either way, to be alone.

“ Because I assure you — this is nothing but basic courtesy. But if you do truly want to be alone— “ Or hoping to bump into Syr Willard on the sly, perhaps?

The hand he’d rested against his hip reached out, opening to offer her the key to her room.

“ I shan’t fight you. “
 
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