Taalia Giovanni


Though her mind was drawn into the possibilities and explanations that hung in the air over the investigation, Taalia could not help but take in her new environment from the lofty vantage point this mystery had furnished her with. If society were a pyramid, she stood adjacent to the very tip, from which she was able to assess the breadth of how the social order unfolded in these lands. And so far her estimation was very, very different from that of Tilea.

Where Tilea was a sun-kissed land where a man would largely write his own destiny, misfortune or the deprivations of the powerful aside, Bretonnia had a caste system. For them the class-consciousness wasn't just a feature of the order, it was the order. As noble spirited as Briant may be, he, deep down, considered himself at least somewhat above the 'peasants' that were populated the land, even if his elevation was one of believed benign stewardship over a people who didn't know any better. To the former slave, this hierarchy mirrored the society of the Skaven to a disturbing degree. Even among the rat-men, there was a sense of 'class', with those born most mighty and dark-furred making up the bulk of warriors and warlords while those of grey hue were destined to be the famed Grey Seers, leaders of the Under Empire. Though social mobility was not unheard of, to traverse from slave to the highest echelons was almost unheard of.

This thought echoed in Taalia's mind as she peered across the beautiful, verdant fields of the lands of Bretonnia.

Would the lands of the Empire be this way? What about her own homeland?

When Taalia had pulled her mind from social meditations, she applied it to her situation. Writing down and taking notes what she found and observed, the sheperdess showed decorum where she could, such as gentle smiles to the men-at-arms who had initially impaired their entry into the castle. When able, she had called upon Giorno's translation, to confer a message of gratitude and relief that she had not needed to use her firearm in the process.

However, pleasantries aside, Taalia could not yet determine a lie or inconsistency. Donalo's words seemed true, the men and knights had been sent forthwith as described, in directions appropriate for their missions.

But it was her first interaction with Lady Margot that Taalia felt the first pang of curiosity. Often she had noticed Briant's attempt to avert his eyes from looking Taalia directly in the face, eye-to-eye, because to do so would bring her own white-blonde hair into the periphery of his attention, even if it was just her fringe beneath her steel helmet. Bella, meanwhile, received similar caution on the knights behalf, with Briant only ceasing his apprehension once one of the village women had provided her with the necessary cloth to wrap around her pretty face, her wavy, dark hair extending away from her head at a 225 degree angle.

But Lady Margot showed no such concern.

Were she solely in the presence of Taalia and Bella, this could be excused, for this custom of decency was not employed in the company of only other women. But, Briant was a presence, as was the other male attendants of the castle.

This...troubled Taalia. Trauma did not explain such a lapse of judgement. Being a noblewoman, Margot would have had such foundational decorum groomed into her muscle reflexes from a very young age to the point that it would feel odd not to be wearing such an important element of ladyship. Taalia remembered her own behaviour after escaping the Skaven. It took her weeks to eat food at a pace that wasn't hurriedly stuffing whatever she could into her mouth, even though plenty was available and no competitors existed. Habits that were so deeply ingrained were not so easily thrown off.

But as Taalia sat there and watched Margot speak with Bella, other questions floated up in the shepardesses mind, like if the Daemon had possessed her, it clearly did not have access to all of her memories.

"Singora Margot," Taalia would speak up, her steel helmet off and resting somewhere else as her white-blonde hair framed her angular, northern features.

"Earlier in our travels with Ser Briant, Bella and I prepared a feast for the men guarding the roads after fighting off some goblin wolf riders. There are still several sheep and chickens left, as well as ingredients. After these grim tidings, I think it would be a wonderful event if we cooked another feast for the guards and village folk! A little festival to show that all is well again! Bella and I can prepare Tilean dishes, do you think you could do the same for Bretonnian cuisine?"

Perhaps Bella, with her new found mastery of Bretonnian, or Giorno, could translate.