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  Ithran let the dye sit in his tail for nearly an hour before he dared wash it out. He'd already dyed his mane earlier, and had cut it until it was barely visible, just a thin line of hair down his crest. After months of being Maera, his Aodh alter ego, it felt strange not to have a massive weight of hair falling against his shoulders. Still, it was good to have it back to a practical length. He'd miss the fun of putting it up in braids but it was just so much easier to keep it short.

This assignment would be the first time he'd actually spent a lot of time as Redcrosse, his Onean character. Redcrosse was a powerful Raider in his mid-thirties, with a dark coat and a military bearing. The dye job for his coat had been complicated, to say the least. Ithran had bleached his legs to give himself socks, an uncomfortable process though it had worked well enough. Redcrosse was also a lot scruffier than Ithran's other characters, Maera and Carter, so Ithran had let his beard and fetlocks grow out. They were long enough to braid, finally. It had taken weeks to get them to this state.

He'd had a few trial runs as Redcrosse. He'd gone to a few outlying villages as a less elaborate version of the character, one without all the dyes and scruffy look. He hadn't been questioned or even given a second glance. That was good. It was comforting to know he could hide in pain sight like that; he'd gotten used to playing a role, had gotten used to walking down the street in disguise. The feeling of being naked, of expecting every second to hear a shout of "He doesn't belong!" or "Vagabond!" had started to fade. Even in Valore, where there was a Chevalier every other block and a price on his head, he'd felt safe. Or, not safe, exactly. Hidden. He'd lived in the city for a few weeks, making contacts for Dinah, and — disturbingly — had caught himself enjoying it. It was all well and good to play a role to serve a cause, but what happened when you started to become that role? When the character's ways of thinking started to become your own?

Ithran shook his head. The soul-searching could wait until after the assignment was complete. For now, he needed to keep his head clear and his mind on task for the Vindicators. To start, he could finish the costume. With a few precise cuts he brought his tail down to a more manageable length. It hung to his hocks, which was still fairly long, but instead of cutting it further he braided it and folded it in half, out of the way. A strip of cloth tied down its length to hold the braid in place finished it off. He gave his tail a few quick shakes to make sure it wouldn't fall out, then nodded. Perfect.

His gear sat in an untidy heap a few feet away. Ithran was in a clearing not far from the Bunker, where he and Eshana would be meeting in an hour or so. They would be traveling together again, at least for the first part of the journey, which would be nice. He liked traveling with her; they worked well together and her conversation made the time seem to pass far faster than normal. Though, admittedly, he would have to be in character for the last day or so, to make sure he didn't slip out when he actually joined the War-Forged horses. He didn't bother to prepare so thoroughly for becoming Maera or Carter; those characters were far closer to him in personality. Redcrosse was an amalgamation of Raiders Ithran had known as a child, with a dash of his father for good measure. He was stoic, a tad violent, and not too bright. Not that he didn't have a gentler side. It was there, buried deep. Despite that, Redcrosse was a stallion who followed orders without question and spent most of his time preparing for the next fight.

Ithran pulled a sword and scabbard out of the heap of gear. It wasn't his own longsword, Adynaton, but it was of similar quality. He slipped it out of the sheath and gave it a few cautious swings. The balance wasn't perfect, but it would do. He laid it aside and picked up the shield that had been sitting on top of it. The shield was his own, and he was eager to have an excuse to use it. It, too, had a leather harness for easy carrying, but he laid it aside. His saddlebags lay in an orderly heap. He'd packed them early that morning with everything he thought he would need for the trip. Food rations, a blanket roll, bandages, and — hidden deep in one of the pockets — a novel he'd been meaning to read on political theory and the best ways to rally support for a cause. It was a very un-Redcrosse item but Ithran had been meaning to read it for weeks. The trip with Eshana would allow some time to start it, even if he couldn't bring it out while he was undercover.

Ithran unbuckled the straps and slid the pack on. Once he'd tightened the straps and made sure it was settled comfortably, he added the sword and shield over the top. The weight felt comfortably solid and somehow very Onean. Perhaps it was openly carrying large and intimidating weapons. Ithran chuckled at the thought. Yes, that was probably it.

After a few more quick adjustments he felt ready. Or, as ready as he'd ever be. He hadn't needed to actually wear the pack and sword just yet — they wouldn't be setting out for at least another hour — but he'd wanted to be ready. He pranced in place, shuffling a bit from side to side, then winced. He'd need to stop doing that; it was one of Maera's quirks. Redcrosse was no foal, to dance around as if he couldn't control himself. He could stand still.

  Again, there was that blurring moment, when Ithran felt as if it wasn't himself thinking. It was probably just the anxiety of testing out Redcrosse for the first time with real stakes, but it made him worry a bit, his ears flicking backwards as he frowned.

The past few months had felt surreal. Ithran was finally using his acting, something he'd never thought would be more than marginally useful for the Vindicators, and he was doing it to further the Cause. That was how he'd started thinking of it, as the Cause with a capital 'C.' It seemed reasonable to name the thing he'd dedicated his life to; Redcrosse thought that was ridiculous, but of course he would. Redcrosse put no stock in sentimentalism unless he was drunk. Maera lived on cheap romance novels and Carter performed ballads every night, while Ithran was somewhere between the two extremes. He was very comfortable there no matter what the characters thought. Actually, he'd always been pretty moderate until he'd joined the Vindicators. It had been inspiring to find something he truly felt passionate about, and he'd channeled that into his work. Still, he'd started to feel disillusioned, even stagnated, until Dinah had approached him with the idea of starting a spy network in Aodh and Onea. It had changed him even more than the initial commitment had. He'd started running operations in Aodh, contacting smugglers to offer Vindicator support in getting slaves out, organizing waystops for escaped slaves and vagabonds, even spending several weeks in Valore itself. He'd started to see tangible results in the few months since he'd started. Several smugglers were willing to work with him, and he'd brought back valuable information on Valore's political climate for Dinah.

So he was fairly annoyed at being pulled away from Aodh just as things were starting to come together. Not that this mission wasn't vitally important, but he was in the middle of trying to contact several smugglers and that was a time-sensitive operation to say the least. He agreed with Dinah that there was no better way to get information about the coming war than to actually be in the groups preparing to fight it, but still he hated to put his other work on hold. This was a dangerous mission, though, probably more dangerous than his trips to Valore, and he was looking forward to that. Testing a new character in the field was exhilarating every time, and Redcrosse was so new.

Ithran corrected his posture, standing in a calculated slump, head low but looking ahead. This was how Redcrosse would want to present himself; he would want to look at rest, though he was always ready to spring into action. It advertised that he was a soldier who knew how to use the sword he carried. Or, at least, that was the plan. Ithran straightened again, taking a deep breath. Hopefully this would all go as planned.

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

  Ithran let the dye sit in his tail for nearly an hour before he dared wash it out. He'd already dyed his mane earlier, and had cut it until it was barely visible, just a thin line of hair down his crest. After months of being Maera, his Aodh alter ego, it felt strange not to have a massive weight of hair falling against his shoulders. Still, it was good to have it back to a practical length. He'd miss the fun of putting it up in braids but it was just so much easier to keep it short.

This assignment would be the first time he'd actually spent a lot of time as Redcrosse, his Onean character. Redcrosse was a powerful Raider in his mid-thirties, with a dark coat and a military bearing. The dye job for his coat had been complicated, to say the least. Ithran had bleached his legs to give himself socks, an uncomfortable process though it had worked well enough. Redcrosse was also a lot scruffier than Ithran's other characters, Maera and Carter, so Ithran had let his beard and fetlocks grow out. They were long enough to braid, finally. It had taken weeks to get them to this state.

He'd had a few trial runs as Redcrosse. He'd gone to a few outlying villages as a less elaborate version of the character, one without all the dyes and scruffy look. He hadn't been questioned or even given a second glance. That was good. It was comforting to know he could hide in pain sight like that; he'd gotten used to playing a role, had gotten used to walking down the street in disguise. The feeling of being naked, of expecting every second to hear a shout of "He doesn't belong!" or "Vagabond!" had started to fade. Even in Valore, where there was a Chevalier every other block and a price on his head, he'd felt safe. Or, not safe, exactly. Hidden. He'd lived in the city for a few weeks, making contacts for Dinah, and — disturbingly — had caught himself enjoying it. It was all well and good to play a role to serve a cause, but what happened when you started to become that role? When the character's ways of thinking started to become your own?

Ithran shook his head. The soul-searching could wait until after the assignment was complete. For now, he needed to keep his head clear and his mind on task for the Vindicators. To start, he could finish the costume. With a few precise cuts he brought his tail down to a more manageable length. It hung to his hocks, which was still fairly long, but instead of cutting it further he braided it and folded it in half, out of the way. A strip of cloth tied down its length to hold the braid in place finished it off. He gave his tail a few quick shakes to make sure it wouldn't fall out, then nodded. Perfect.

His gear sat in an untidy heap a few feet away. Ithran was in a clearing not far from the Bunker, where he and Eshana would be meeting in an hour or so. They would be traveling together again, at least for the first part of the journey, which would be nice. He liked traveling with her; they worked well together and her conversation made the time seem to pass far faster than normal. Though, admittedly, he would have to be in character for the last day or so, to make sure he didn't slip out when he actually joined the War-Forged horses. He didn't bother to prepare so thoroughly for becoming Maera or Carter; those characters were far closer to him in personality. Redcrosse was an amalgamation of Raiders Ithran had known as a child, with a dash of his father for good measure. He was stoic, a tad violent, and not too bright. Not that he didn't have a gentler side. It was there, buried deep. Despite that, Redcrosse was a stallion who followed orders without question and spent most of his time preparing for the next fight.

Ithran pulled a sword and scabbard out of the heap of gear. It wasn't his own longsword, Adynaton, but it was of similar quality. He slipped it out of the sheath and gave it a few cautious swings. The balance wasn't perfect, but it would do. He laid it aside and picked up the shield that had been sitting on top of it. The shield was his own, and he was eager to have an excuse to use it. It, too, had a leather harness for easy carrying, but he laid it aside. His saddlebags lay in an orderly heap. He'd packed them early that morning with everything he thought he would need for the trip. Food rations, a blanket roll, bandages, and — hidden deep in one of the pockets — a novel he'd been meaning to read on political theory and the best ways to rally support for a cause. It was a very un-Redcrosse item but Ithran had been meaning to read it for weeks. The trip with Eshana would allow some time to start it, even if he couldn't bring it out while he was undercover.

Ithran unbuckled the straps and slid the pack on. Once he'd tightened the straps and made sure it was settled comfortably, he added the sword and shield over the top. The weight felt comfortably solid and somehow very Onean. Perhaps it was openly carrying large and intimidating weapons. Ithran chuckled at the thought. Yes, that was probably it.

After a few more quick adjustments he felt ready. Or, as ready as he'd ever be. He hadn't needed to actually wear the pack and sword just yet — they wouldn't be setting out for at least another hour — but he'd wanted to be ready. He pranced in place, shuffling a bit from side to side, then winced. He'd need to stop doing that; it was one of Maera's quirks. Redcrosse was no foal, to dance around as if he couldn't control himself. He could stand still.

  Again, there was that blurring moment, when Ithran felt as if it wasn't himself thinking. It was probably just the anxiety of testing out Redcrosse for the first time with real stakes, but it made him worry a bit, his ears flicking backwards as he frowned.

The past few months had felt surreal. Ithran was finally using his acting, something he'd never thought would be more than marginally useful for the Vindicators, and he was doing it to further the Cause. That was how he'd started thinking of it, as the Cause with a capital 'C.' It seemed reasonable to name the thing he'd dedicated his life to; Redcrosse thought that was ridiculous, but of course he would. Redcrosse put no stock in sentimentalism unless he was drunk. Maera lived on cheap romance novels and Carter performed ballads every night, while Ithran was somewhere between the two extremes. He was very comfortable there no matter what the characters thought. Actually, he'd always been pretty moderate until he'd joined the Vindicators. It had been inspiring to find something he truly felt passionate about, and he'd channeled that into his work. Still, he'd started to feel disillusioned, even stagnated, until Dinah had approached him with the idea of starting a spy network in Aodh and Onea. It had changed him even more than the initial commitment had. He'd started running operations in Aodh, contacting smugglers to offer Vindicator support in getting slaves out, organizing waystops for escaped slaves and vagabonds, even spending several weeks in Valore itself. He'd started to see tangible results in the few months since he'd started. Several smugglers were willing to work with him, and he'd brought back valuable information on Valore's political climate for Dinah.

So he was fairly annoyed at being pulled away from Aodh just as things were starting to come together. Not that this mission wasn't vitally important, but he was in the middle of trying to contact several smugglers and that was a time-sensitive operation to say the least. He agreed with Dinah that there was no better way to get information about the coming war than to actually be in the groups preparing to fight it, but still he hated to put his other work on hold. This was a dangerous mission, though, probably more dangerous than his trips to Valore, and he was looking forward to that. Testing a new character in the field was exhilarating every time, and Redcrosse was so new.

Ithran corrected his posture, standing in a calculated slump, head low but looking ahead. This was how Redcrosse would want to present himself; he would want to look at rest, though he was always ready to spring into action. It advertised that he was a soldier who knew how to use the sword he carried. Or, at least, that was the plan. Ithran straightened again, taking a deep breath. Hopefully this would all go as planned.