eradicate the enemy.

i prayed to the gods first and then to her. first to the gods and then to her. then to her and next to the gods then just to her. hardin, former emperor of archanea. ashen wolves faculty at the officers academy.

[archanear]

𝙪𝙣𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣

[floreix-deactivated20250406]

To say this was the first time he was chased would be a lie. That time in Shadowy Moor still haunted him, having lost friends in the hand of the enemy and needing to run for their lives as corrupted and four hounds hunted them down was nerve-racking but there Alfred was, reliving the experience—though without his life on the line.... hopefully—once more.

Whoever planned these traps had a curious imagination, between ones that could trap the victim's foot and keep them in place or even pull them down depending on the speed they were running or ones that upon impact would knock a person off their feet he was actually not so sure if anyone would make it out of there without a bruise. It could be much worse, he knew that, but outside of the positive mindset of it being a wonderful training he didn't think of it as the sweetest way to learn—war wasn't nice though, this sure did prepare him and anyone else for that.

Shutting his eyes when a figure stepped before him the prince believed he had been caught, only to hear the sound of fabric and words that relaxed his shoulders. A brown eyed man not much taller from him had taken his place to shield him from a trap, as impressed as he was at the quick reflexes to do that Alfred realized he needed to learn much more to be a shield for others too. "Thank you!"

Without time to stand still and do introductions the Firenese set himself in motion, controlled breathing as he inspected their surroundings. "I'm Alfred, thank you again for the help." Said the prince running towards a different direction from the one he was set on. The trees seemed free of traps, nothing strings that could possibly launch anything at them... wait.

His steps shifted to the left as he noticed a trap slightly peeking out from the dirt and grass below them. "Be careful, there's a trap to your right." If he were to get caught in that his ankle would get a nice bruise.

[archanear]

hardin grimaced as he shook off the latest trap. it won't be easy, this dark forest is teeming with things to trip on. still, there is nothing to do for it apart from press onward. he's curious to see what lies at the end of this stretch of woods. clearly this is set up so as to make it very difficult to succeed. the instructor seems to wish for everyone to be caught, as if the real lesson is in what happens then.

but hardin is stubborn.

he is stubborn and still, at times, acts as if he has something to prove. maybe he does, maybe he is not the man he once was, but he can still act with honor, and do his best to get another to the finish line.

"alfred. a pleasure to meet you," he says, and means it, though of course the circumstances leave much to be desired. but meeting someone in the thick of an intense situation can be enlightening.

he still, after everything, considers himself an excellent judge of character.

hardin follows after him, careful of the traps he notices. the one alfred points out, however, had evaded his gaze. he narrowly jumps over the trap and shoots alfred a grateful glance.

"ah. i almost fell for that one. then i'd be of no use to you, with a twisted ankle, most likely."

[archanear]

𝙪𝙣𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣

[archanear]

recovery mission board | sword task.

when asked to assist with the 'supervision' of a task deemed 'unconventional' hardin had a number of things in mind, but he would be the first to say that being chased, actively, was not one of them. he was known, once, for keeping a cool head under pressure. for facing even difficult situations with his head held high.

snagging his foot in a tangle of thin wires, though, he's starting to let his composure slip a little, especially as the handful of students he's ostensibly supposed to be 'supervising' fall one by one, to capture at the hands of the instructor and his more informed assistants. hardin grits his teeth as he stumbles out of the latest trap, and toward one of the last students standing.

the seminar's numbers had fallen greatly in even just the first few minutes. what a strange practice, he hasn't been at this school long but this seems... unusual.

still, the student in front of him is the priority. he spies another trap ( a dart, of some kind ) and shields the young man with his back, letting the dart hit his thick clothing and narrowly avoid his skin.

"wrong way, boy."

@floreix

[ventusanimae]

Surprise! You Bet I Thought I'd Seen the Last of You || Merric & Hardin

[ventusanimae]

Hardin hesitates to answer Merric's question, but - as shocked as he was, and still is, to see him - the Mage feels like he can understand the reasons behind the apprehension.

In between standing in front of one he last saw among the enemies, and the unspoken yet still clear question of how and why are you not dead - deep down, Merric is fully aware that the inquiry he had posed is difficult to address.

Still, addressed it eventually is, and the Altean mulls it over for a moment. He knows many who would have sneered at Hardin's wish to put things behind him, laughed off his remorse as worthless in the face of all the lives lost, or simply run him through with the first weapon available at the mere sight of him.

But Merric is not one of those people.

"... I don't blame you," he finally says. "Archanea has not fully moved on yet, and it probably won't for a long time." He shakes his head. "I was... surprised to see you, well... like this, is all. I didn't know it was possible to be freed from the Darksphere's influence and return to clarity of mind."

When the topic is shifted onto his person, he nods.

"I started here as a student some time ago, and then accepted a teaching position, though I'm still learning at the same time. I need to better myself to help Lord Marth with the reconstruction once we return."

A moment of pause.

"... Speaking of, does he know that you're here? And did you know that he is?"

[archanear]

of all the people hardin could have come across, merric is among the more pleasant. this is likely in part due to never having known the boy well. there's something to be said for distance, perhaps. still, hardin respects him. the quiet consideration that is merric.

hardin merely nods. "archanea will perhaps never truly move on. i do not wish to make that process any more difficult than it will be."

to leave is not inaction. to him, it is penance.

"i think the removal of the darksphere coupled with the gravity of my wounds did it. i gained back my... clarity, as you put it, when marth dealt the final blow to me in battle. my survival alone is a miracle, but to have back my mind..."

more or less hangs in the air, but goes unspoken. he does not know if who he is now compares to who he was before he took the mantle of emperor. he does not know how much it matters.

what matters, he supposes, is that he would much rather be alive than not. men who are alive get to try to right their wrongs.

"he... knows, yes. we have spoken only briefly, but we have spoken." he says, glancing away. with shame, rather than deception.

[alunyna]

She cannot think to imagine him in what should have been his final moments, in the agony it must have been to rise from the carnage of his own tragedy and carry onward. In her life there has been slaughter, misery, loss. She knows every term intimately, has hollowed out a space in her chest for each.

And yet to picture his own, Nyna finds herself incapable.

In the pale blue of her skirts do her hands find a reprieve from themselves. His voice-- every breath, all of its pain-- sinks into her skin like ice. She had known him once as a friend, in a time before obligation outshined love, and for that man she mourns. For her selfish hands had taken a chisel to that visage, carving away at his kindness until he became something unrecognizable.

Lips move, form around words she cannot find the voice to speak. That she is happy he is alive, that she is glad to see him again. She knows the veil of those words is thin over the reality of what his life means for her. She owes him more than what he can see past.

"Archanea deserves better than I am capable of giving it."

It deserves what could have been, were her heart less stubborn. Hardin had been a brilliant man then, more than capable of shouldering the role he inherited as the price for loving her. He had deserved that throne, that honor, and yet here he sat in exile.

All for the crime of being in love.

"I have been careless, selfish, afraid," she shakes her head. Had she been any less-- had she loved her home more than the ghost of a knight-- Nyna might have learned to love the man to which she had been sworn. Theirs could have been a happy future. Instead it is this. "I am unfit to be its ruler."

Shame washes over her, sends her gaze to the floor. "I have left it in the hands of Prince Marth, and I have come here to make use of whatever is left of this life."

[archanear]

he notices her shame, and files it away, never to be looked at again. no part of him has ever blamed her, save whatever wretched thing was yanked out of him by the darksphere. even then, he recognized the irrationality of it. that it had gripped him at all was his own shame.

they are both flawed. pitiful and pathetic. this is, of course, the nature of being human. sheep climbing to the top of the altar to slit their own throats to right things for everyone around them. long way to the end of the road but oh, nyna, what a view.

"it is in good hands, if you left it to him." he does not say marth's name. is that bitterness, or unworthiness? he cannot tell.

something is due to them both, likely, but hardin would shoulder her punishment for her if she but asked. to argue that hardin should be excused on the grounds of ignorance is to diminish to absurdity the weight and meaning of his own actions.

the redeeming insight comes too late to mend what was broken. hardin pulled himself out of the funeral pyre, so to speak, and walked away. he would do no one any good standing where he was. the twist of the net that brought him down, turned him from a ruler worthy of the title into the dark emperor, was an accident of circumstance ( for he could not, would not, ever try to control her heart ) but still it was a mesh woven into life itself, inextricable from it.

"your reign would have been one i'd have loved to see. still... i understand your reasons. better hands than either of ours are on archanea now."

to ask why the two of them had been chosen for their agony, is to ask for reason and justification from the world itself. there is no answer. why should there be? if there was, then there would be a distinction between just and unjust suffering, and hers could never be the former.

"i only wish i could have offered you some form of... compensation. for what time you lost during our marriage."

[arcstral]

❛  𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 ❜

[arcstral]

Hero-King; though he has heard the title touted beyond any capacity to count, this single way of utterance is different. One he remembers - or rather, one he cannot ever bring himself to forget. Bounding off the tongue of the former Dark Emperor it is a bitter sound, as much now as it was then; when sword and lance and axe crossed within the Millennium Court. Dragged low from its storied heights, a tainted palace of twenty-four Archanean kings no longer deemed so glorious painted in Hardin's colors. In Hardin's blood.

The wind catches in his throat as if he has forgotten how to breathe. With a quiet noise the Hero-King stills, dominant hand alone taken to movement in the clenching and unclenching of fingers at his side. Confusion. Unrest. Fear. Gratitude. Curiosity. Guilt. It is difficult to discern what commands his army of emotions first and foremost. Between they who stand one before the other - once as friends, once as enemies, then as living and dead, and now. . .

"So it is truly you. Our meeting here falls as a sort of belief that strains the mind." The words settle with cautious inflection, equal parts surprised and unsure. For the valuable moments that peace - or truce - affords, he gauges the man before him, finding on his face a lack of hostility, hatred, and ambition. Of anything notable at all that once defined his rule by the Darksphere.

". . .a long time," he agrees and says after a silence, unknowing of what to think. What wariness to assume within the realm of obligation held not only to Archanea but also to this land. "—and were it not for your appearance here, I would have assumed it to be an eternity."

Then again, perhaps it is Marth who should be aware of Hardin's fate more than anyone. He who held the sword; he who landed the blow; he who in the split second of indecision realized, then buried, the knowledge that his rapier had not twisted as deeply or precisely as it should. It is no stretch of limits to think this moment could be that result; the ability to converse with a dead man, to count the miraculous rise and fall of his chest with unblinking attention.

A blink occurs. Snapped out of his reverie, lips curve - the nature of their twist teetering between sadness and amusement. "You cannot haunt me as a living man, Lord Hardin. Although, with your return to life naturally I am but lead to ask. . .what is your path now?"

[archanear]

he is not surprised to hear that marth had not expected him here.

the feeling is mutual, of course, and yet... while for him this reunion is a mere defiance of expectation, for marth it must be an intrusion. hardin in a place he does not belong in. removed from context. difficult to define, perhaps.

marth is steady, like the sea, he feels. even when hardin looks away from him he feels he is still looking. the great expanse of marth's legacy. hero-king and more. there is a part of him that still, after everything, feels a bit of pride at seeing marth's accomplishments. he's proud of him, as he would have been before his own fall.

"forgive me for my unexpected arrival," he says, and his voice is low, but soft.

any bitterness he had once felt has long since cooled. he counts it among the things he could not carry with him, left behind. not gone, likely never gone, but no longer within immediate reach.

this is repentance, right? old sword-wounds ache. scars that he bears without complaint. wounds justly inflicted. it has been made clear to hardin that he cannot be trusted with an intact body.

he manages to smile at marth. it is not easy. it will never be like it once was. in an authentic tragedy, the gates of hell stand open and the tragic person cannot evade responsibility.

"my path now...? everyone asks me about this. is it not enough to declare... that there is nothing for me back home? i have lost the right to return to my country of birth, or anyplace else i could claim connection to. the only answer was to travel as far as i could."

[archanear]

january activity check !

total points 5 → 6

activity check passed, point allocated to Sword. E → E+

[archanear]

𝙬𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙘𝙝 𝙪𝙥 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚𝙨

[freedomarrow]

If the world was a just and rightful place, someone his age would have no knowledge and experience preparing for a siege and war. Unfortunately, that is not the reality in which he finds himself.

Leonardo moves from one section to the next, cataloging weapons – ensuring they are in the correct place, counting, checking their sizes, weight, condition; it would spell potential disaster for a soldier to run in here for a spear only to find that there is not one, or that it is damaged. On his way, he had already taken notes of fortifications, found a crack in a wall to report, familiarized himself with the location of the ballistae and the bolts for them – the ammunition really needs to be moved closer to the weapon – and although he has studied at Garreg Mach long enough to know the layout of the monastery, he has never done many rounds in these parts, so he needs to do that later. Maybe he should invite Edward to come along, too.

Just as he considers these ideas, a voice speaks to him. A decisive tone of a man – a commander, perhaps, is the conclusion his well-trained mind instinctively jumps to as old habits take over; he ends up stopping himself from saluting as he turns, but he does stand on attention, only relaxing after a moment as he realizes he was addressed just by a Professor, from the looks of things, rather than a general of the Knights or anyone of the sort.

“Oh… Good afternoon. My apologies,” he responds as he slowly relaxes. “I have been here for a while, going through the armory. I, uh… have a good amount of experience with battle and siege preparations, at least for someone my age,” he explains, a light wince that flashes across his lips as he speaks these words a clear sign of how he feels about it.

It will come in handy here if worse comes to worst, that is for certain; but why must such knowledge be necessary in the first place?

“What about you, sire?” The honorific more familiar to him from wartime slips out in place of Professor without Leonardo realizing it at all. “If you’re here to inspect the weapons as well, I can show you my current notes… Unless you would rather see for yourself, of course.”

[archanear]

hardin's brow furrows slightly as the boy speaks. it looks like a great deal has been done already, which makes hardin feel somewhat superfluous here. this is not a bad thing, per se, especially as he has been in situations of under-preparedness before, and more hands make for lighter work during uncertain times.

he nods once, at the offer to be shown the other's notes, noticing the title used and wracking his brain for familiarity. was this someone who knew him, knew the typical title to select, or was it only a reflex, reacting to some air of command that he demonstrated without meaning to.

"yes, please show me your notes. i trust that you've been adequately prepared for situations such as this, either here or before you arrived..."

again he glances at the face before him, and finds no one familiar. this is, thankfully, not someone he knows. his eyes turn toward the weapons, mentally making a list of all that they have to work with. it's perhaps not as much as he might like, but it will do to defend a school... probably.

what a ghoulish target for attack. he has little room to speak, of course, but still...

"i'll trust that you've taken good notes. let me see what you have."

that begs the question of what else must be here, apart from students, to make it so tempting an attack, and whether or not the officials here are deliberately using the students as shields or not. but these are not questions for this time and place.

[archanear]

@alunyna asked:

It is through a doorway that she sees him, so human in the late afternoon sunlight that her steps halt and her breathing slows. He sits before her like a memory, untouched by the grief that had turned him into a stranger. He is a ghost, a trick of the light meant to pluck cruelly at her still-torn heartstrings. He is her failure, her mistakes. He has haunted her since well before his end.. His love, its sincerity, all reminders of the guilt she had taken to bed with her each night since it had become theirs. Only when she realizes that he is looking at her, not through, does Nyna realize that before her is neither ghost nor griefless man. She swallows bile, becomes suddenly aware that her hands have begun to tremble. How he stood before her did not matter, it was that he did at all. What words could she afford to a dead man, what excuse or apology could even begin to undo the damage that she had done. That he had done in her name. What good would it do, to tell him that she wishes she could have loved him, knowing that even now she cannot? But her feet do not move, do not allow her the cowardice of running. She has fled from everything now; from her home, from her heart. She knows that he does not deserve to see her run from him once more. "They told me that you had died," her voice comes out a whisper, still too loud for the silence that hangs like smoke between them. "They said..." Her lips press thin, that recounting of his final words still branded on her widow's heart. "I shall not trouble you for more than this," Nyna swallows, fighting the ache that tightens her throat, "how?"

to love someone for any length of time is to attend a thousand funerals for the people they once were. to mourn the people they simply cannot be any longer. he wonders how many of his own funerals she attended, before they finally told her he was dead.

it was what he wanted them to tell her, of course. better to let her think herself free of him. he feels as though he attended a dozen funerals for himself, long before he had suffered injuries grave enough that he should be dead anyway.

it is not her job to hold him accountable for the man he could not continue to be. still, the betrayal of everyone else pales before the betrayal of the woman before him.

she is, in a word, everything.

that does not change. when he caught sight of her, oh, of course he assumed it was a coincidence. some trick of the eye, a woman who just had a similar bearing. but looking closer, no, of course it is her. he would know her anywhere, and as always he cannot keep his eyes off of her.

he has a mind to flee, then, feet already turning to lead him away when he sees she's caught sight of him.

when she speaks, it is an agony. like desire itself is agony.

"as they should have," he replies, and his voice is gruff, stilted. like each word is something he's trying not to choke on. a man who desires to leave home must be rid of all he has. what he cannot be rid of, he must bury. what he cannot bury, he must burn. what cannot be burned must be carried with him. and, oh, what comes with is always so heavy. shapeless, like regret.

she inflicts hope, she inflicts life. he cannot bear to stay in her presence.

"i nearly succumbed to my injuries on the field. i let them think i did. i crawled away from the funeral pyre and... i did not look back."

his eyes finally meet hers. "why have you come here?" it is not an accusation, only a question most sincere.

[unsungblade]

✦ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥.

[unsungblade]

Kris refuses to take his eyes off the older man, as if he might simply vanish into the night otherwise. Unflinching in the face of one he has regarded like a ghost until this moment, though he has never particularly believed in their existence to begin with.

Yet they do stand in a cemetery, surrounded by the gravestones of those who have since passed on. Would that he were being haunted by a different specter instead, if only to ask, “Did I make you proud?”

“If that man were anyone else, maybe,” he says in lieu of this, picking the questions apart in his head alike tugging loose threads until they unravel further. Until the entire tapestry comes apart, eventually. “You can run, but I think the past catches up in the end whether you want it to or not. Like right now.”

Just one more piece of proof that Hardin wasn't, isn't as strong as Kris had once thought him to be. They are both only human, after all.

“...It would do his heart good to know you live on, if nothing else.” Stay away from him, stormy eyes glare bitterly. Haven't you caused enough grief?

As for the rest, it is perhaps better to keep his remarks to himself. Better not to speak of what little he does know — or rather, can imagine — regarding Nyna's disappearance, or that... Well. He does have some semblance of tact, for all his usual social gracelessness. That long-ago agreement to keep what he had unwittingly seen a secret still holds even now, and he has no intention of betraying his word to anyone, much less the Dark Emperor.

“Perhaps so. I can't imagine sleeping well tonight now that I know you're here. It doesn't matter that you may not be an enemy anymore.”

The atmosphere grows darker once more, moonlight blotted out anew by a passing lump of cloud. “If ever that should change, though...”

[archanear]

the past has a way of catching up. the boy ( he cannot help but continue to think of him as such ) speaks true, certainly. that does not mean hardin needs to like it.

he's not exactly in denial, but leaving had been the only thing left to him. the right to leave, after his defeat at marth's hands. to survive against all odds, despite being cut down, and to make the decision never to be seen again...

well, there is meaning in that. he does not expect anyone to understand it, but it is there.

"i will not seek him out, but if we cross paths, i will not avoid him," he says, soft and without a trace of bitterness.

he exhales sharply, the sound bordering on a bitter laugh but not quite tipping over into one.

"it's not my concern how well you sleep. all i can do is assure you i mean no one here any harm. not you, not your liege, not anyone else." if kris believes him or not, it matters little. hardin does not fear him, much as he does respect his battle prowess. the tragic figure seeks out, and then attains, something like divine completeness. the issue with that is that for the human spirit, completeness is akin to death. it leads to the figure's downfall.

"it will not change. my word is all i have left to offer, however. if it is not enough, let your paranoia become like a grain of sand in your eye."

[ventusanimae]

Surprise! You Bet I Thought I'd Seen the Last of You || Merric & Hardin

[ventusanimae]

> @archanear

If he thinks about it a bit too long, it feels a little unsettling to Merric, how quickly one can get used to just about anything if it lasts for long enough without hope for quick change on the horizon.

Once upon a time, he grew accustomed to the thought that his homeland was no more. It was a shocking revelation in the beginning, to learn that he could not return home without risking his life and those of his family, or that Lord Marth and Lady Elice would not await his visit in Altea Castle; the former embarked on exile to a place of which Merric was one of the few to know, but of which he would not utter a word even under capture and torture - and the latter vanished, spirited away by the Dark Pontifex. But over time... well, of course he was still worried. He was always worried. And yet slowly, little by little, the feelings grew somewhat numb on a daily basis. The world moved on, uncaring of Altea's predicament and his friends' whereabouts, and he had no choice but to keep up.

Later, he got used to the idea of war raging on around him. First one, then a few years later, another. The thought of killing or being killed, of snapping the wings of pegasi if he did not wish to see himself or his allies pierced by their riders' spears, of every day possibly being his last - that, too, grew normal eventually. So normal, in fact, that the regular life, where a moment's distraction need not spell his end, also took some time to return to properly.

And now, dark clouds gather over Fódlan, gashes in the sky open up as though the firmament has been clawed straight through; common folk are in a panic, disorder spreads across the town. And though the monastery - and Merric, too, as part of the staff - do what they can to keep a semblance of order... It all eventually grows into something that is simply there. It pains him, but by now his experiences have taught him that, however he tries, he cannot fix all of the world at once. And so he does his part, holding lectures, calming down the students, helping out in the infirmary - and then goes to the library to borrow some new books.

However, every once in a while, the world sees fit to test also one who thinks he has by now seen everything. If not by challenging his ability to grow accustomed to the worst it has to offer, then by placing him face to face with something, or someone, he thought long dealt with.

And so it happens that, as Merric browses the history section of the library, he freezes with a soft gasp, his hands instinctively tightening around the tome he is holding in a stress spike, at the sight of a tall, commanding figure standing not far away. Though he has not seen him that many times, he would recognize this man anywhere.

A man of greatness, in both the good and bad sense. A man he could swear he last saw dead.

"L-Lord Har—" How should he even address him? "—Your Highness? How... Why are you here?"

[archanear]

this place is full of familiarity, it seems.

hardin is—surprised. he thought he was leaving more behind him, but this place has people he knows even still.

it shouldn't be surprising, but it is. he turns, eyes on the young mage. has he grown, in the interim? certainly he's come into his own. hardin cannot claim to know merric well, but they fought beside one another, once. he does not regret his time among marth's army, before he was crowned emperor, before he had deteriorated.

he does not know how to answer the question posed, though. "i..." he begins, low and soft and uncertain.

he is not used to being uncertain, used to command and authority, to little worry and even less hesitation, even during the worst that wartime has to offer. but with each familiar face, each person who thinks ( wishes, likely ) that he had perished there...

well, more hesitation seeps in.

they all want to know the why of it, too. sometimes the how, mostly the why.

"i wanted to put things behind me." is that a sufficient answer? it doesn't always hold up. "i cannot redeem myself there. my actions are inextricably tied to those i harmed as emperor. it would be... wrong, to stay."

that's not all of it, but it's a significant enough part to answer merric's question, he hopes. the books in his hands feel heavy. he slowly begins returning them to the shelf. he can come back for them.

"and you... i assume you're here for personal betterment? learning, or teaching, perhaps?"

he leaves out, for now, his own status as a professor. he students are fewer in number, and have their own reasons for not being out in the open.

[archanear]

𝙬𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙣'𝙩 𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙜𝙤𝙙𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙙𝙤 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠…

[archanear]

A band of mages commissioned by the nearby lord has been experimenting for their latest commission work when suddenly disaster strikes. Their spells go haywire, exploding and devastating the building they had been working in and many of those in the organization themselves. However, none of them are receiving medical aid, the entire town turning them away and the lord being unwilling to pay for their expenses seeing as they have yet to produce a finished work. It looks as if they could use the extra hands and medical attention if you could spare it… [Grants Faith +1]

hardin casts a critical eye across the scene before them. the destroyed building, the injured mages...

it's a mess, however you slice it. they ( hardin and the black eagles professor he was given this task with ) had been briefed on the generalities, but no specifics. perhaps they were to find out the specifics, that had been left frustratingly unclear.

but a monastery school cannot be expected to be perfect in all things, he supposes.

he does not know the professor he's working with, has not had time to meet his colleagues, much less the professors from other houses. especially with how little time he spends above ground.

but if there is one way to get hardin out and about, it is with a task, something measurable, something that can, and indeed must, be accomplished.

"i think we should start by looking over the wounded. i believe you mentioned having some skill in that regard?" he suggests, glancing toward the man he's working with. jakob, he'd been introduced as. a reliable sort, apparently, though the knight who had introduced them and given them their orders from the monastery had a sardonic little smile when he'd said so.

hardin would judge jakob's aptitude for himself, though, rather than taking another's lack-of-word at face value. "i'll begin clearing rubble from this building."

helping the mages was only step one, though. the rest was a matter of learning what had happened, and why these people were being turned away...

@indevouement

[promptfairy]

❥     𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒    [   𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙳 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙼𝙿𝚃𝚂    ]   .

headcanon prompts with questions based on plants   &   what they represent in flower language .  happy roleplaying !!  ♡

abatina :   is there anything in life your muse has changed their mind about over time   (   due to becoming more educated on the topic ,   certain experiences  ,   etc .   ) ,    or that they   would   change their mind about under certain circumstances ?  

acanthus :   is your muse deceptive ,   or willing to lie or deceive to achieve certain means ?   why or why not ?   

aloe :   how does your muse handle grief ?

amaryllis :   what is something or someone that your muse takes pride in ?   how do they express that pride ?   

anemone :   how does your muse view the world ;   as a cruel   &   unforgiving place ,   a land full of wonders ,   or something in - between ?  where does that world view come from   (   what experiences ,   life lessons ,   etc .   ) ?  

angelica :   where does your muse draw inspiration in life ?   what motivates them ?

apple blossom :   how does your muse go about expressing or not expressing their sexuality ?  

bachelor’s button :   does your muse actively seek romantic companionship ,   or cherish the liberties of being single ? 

basil :   does your muse have a love - hate relationship with anyone or anything ?

bay tree :   does your muse seek glory   &   accolades ,   or do they favour a simpler ,   more personal life ?  

begonia :   how cautious is your muse ?   are they prone to noticing red flags ,   or paranoid to the point of untrusting most everyone ?   why or why not ?  

belladonna :   how does your muse respond to silence ?   do they take comfort in soundlessness ,   or seek to fill the void with noise ?   

bluebell :   does your muse learn from their past ,   or are they prone to repeating the same mistakes ?  

carnation :   what is your muse’s relationship with their gender ?   how do they express or not express this relationship ?  

chamomile :   what is your muse likely to take away from a painful experience ?   are they one to be haunted by adversity ,   or to use what they’ve gone through to become stronger ?  

chrysanthemum :   how does your muse express romantic love ?  how do they feel about love as a concept ?  

daffodil :   is your muse one to be loyal in relationships ,   or are they likely to quickly move from one bond to another ?

daisy :   did your muse ever feel as though their innocence had been lost ?   what moment in their life could be described as the end of their innocence ?  

edelweiss :   what was the bravest moment in your muse’s life ?  are they known to be courageous from then on ?  

fern :   does your muse believe in magic or cosmic forces ,   or are they more likely to think their life is ultimately a matter of their own control ?  

forget - me - not :   has your muse ever forgotten something that is or was important to them ?   are they afraid of forgetting things like that ?  

gardenia :   is your muse one to confess romantic feelings early on ,   or to conceal them for long periods of time ?  

gladiolus :   describe a moment from your muse’s life that they will never forget .

goldenrod :   does your muse believe in luck or fortune ?  why or why not ?   where do they believe these things come from ?  

heliotrope :   does your muse believe in soulmates ?

hibiscus :   how does your muse view the gentler ,   daintier things in life ?   as things worth preserving   &   caring for ,   or things only bound to wither   &   disappear ?  

holly :   how strong is your muse’s sense of intuition ?  are they aware of it ?   do they ever fear that it is only paranoia ?  

hollyhock :   how strong is your muse’s sense of ambition ?  what’s something they strive for in life ?  

hyacinth :   is your muse athletic ?   does it come naturally to them ,   or have they had to work for their physique and/or skill ?  

hydrangea :   how much does your muse value communication in their relationships with others ?  are they prone to being misunderstood ?

iris :   if your muse could convey one last message to someone they have lost or left behind ,   what would it be ?  

ivy :   what are your muse’s views on marriage ?   do they believe it is something strictly for love ,   or an institution rooted in business   &   social benefits ?   do they desire or have they desired to be married ?

lavender :   how easy is it to gain your muse’s trust ?  once their trust is broken ,   how might one go about mending it ?  

lilac :   what was your muse’s childhood like ?   how has their upbringing affected them as they’ve aged ? 

lily :   how does your muse view their mother ?  

lotus :   has your muse ever felt as though they’ve been reborn ?  have they ever desired the feeling of a fresh start ,   or a better understanding of themself and/or the world around them ?  

magnolia :   describe your muse’s relationship with nature   &   the natural world .  

marigold :   is your muse prone to jealousy ?  how might they handle envious feelings ?  

mint :   does your muse view themself as virtuous   &   moral ?  what do these words mean to them ?

nasturtium :   describe your muse’s relationship with their birthplace ,   or homeland .  

oak :   who would your muse consider the strongest person they know ?  

pansy :   does your muse often reflect on their own actions ?   do they ever think a lot about the past ,   and what they could have done differently ?

parsley :   describe a holiday your muse enjoys ,   and why they enjoy it .

peony :   what would a   ‘  happy life  ’   look like in your muse’s eyes ?

poppy :   what comforts your muse ?

rhododendron :   is your muse receptive to warnings   &   advice given by others ?

rose :   how much does your muse value other people ?   do they wish to have many friends ,   lovers ,   and/or associates ?   are they an easy person to love ?

sage :   what is your muse’s legacy ?   what do they want to be remembered for   &   what might they actually be remembered for ?  

salvia :   is your muse possessive over people or things that matter a lot to them ?  how do they express that possessiveness ,   or lack thereof ? 

snapdragon :   is your muse merciful ?  why or why not ?

southernwood :   how seriously does your muse take themself ?   do they prefer a solemn   &   intellectual atmosphere or do they delight in jokes   &   banter ?  

sunflower :   what brings your muse the most joy in life ?  

tulip :   how does your muse view people in general ?  

violet :   how does your muse respond to betrayal ?

willow :   how does your muse handle sadness   &   depression ?

zinnia :   how has the loss of fallen comrades and/or loved ones affected your muse ?   has it taught them anything or given them any new perspectives ?

[archanear]

"Hello. Professor Hardin, was it?"

They approach with a businesslike stride, identifying the imposing man as one of the participants in the gift exchange. Coming to a stop, Chad produces the small wooden box, carefully opening it to show a glint of the compass inside, careful not to overexpose it lest someone with similarly quick fingers as them snag it.

"I wanted to ask if you were my gifter for the seasonal exchange. You see, I'd like to convey my thanks adequately..." They pause, only a flicker of brown eyes betraying their unruly nerves, before they bow.

"Apologies if not. I'll not bother you further."

hardin inspects the gift as carefully as he can with the limited look he gets at it. he was unfamiliar with the recipient of the gift he'd procured, and so there was a possibility what he'd procured was passed to the one before him.

ah... but upon closer inspection, no, the gift isn't familiar. he shakes his head.

"i was not the one who gave you such a gift. my apologies for any confusion."

[archanear]

Sitri, carrying a rather heavy-looking parcel, tracks Hardin down. "This is from your Winter Envoy, sir," she says. “Season's blessings to you both.” The items inside the box collide softly against one another with dull little thumps. Upon opening, Hardin will find a complete assortment of top of the line horse grooming tools--shedding blade, curry comb, and hoof pick, among others--all within their own leather case. Lastly, wrapped in a protective layer of paper, is a bottle of imported deep red wine. Some of the identifying marks have been carefully blotted out along the label, though the vintage and type of cherry have been left untouched.

hardin quickly moves to take the box from her, to ease the burden of its weight. she's rather small, isn't she? to make her carry such a thing, for shame.

still, he does take a look inside, surprised by the contents wherein. it's nothing too extravagant, but the items do clearly have a decently high cost to them.

he's exceedingly grateful, the tools will come in handy when caring for his horse, and the wine... well, that's a nice surprise. he will have to save it for a special occasion.

he wishes he knew where the bottle was from, that might be some sort of clue toward the identity of the giver, how interseting.

"thank you. blessings of the season to you as well," he says, smiling just a little.

[unsungblade]

✦ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥.

[unsungblade]

Is that not enough? Hardin, as a person, is not evil at his core. Certainly not as he appears now. If he claims he does not intend to cause trouble, it is most likely true and therefore can be taken at face value. Kris finds that sort of straightforward manner easier to digest, staring back with only slightly less of a furrow in his brow; observing as if waiting for the other shoe to drop even though it has yet to do so.

He may not give his trust quite as freely as his liege does, but the inclination to do so is similar nonetheless. To believe that there is no deceit behind the other man's answer, and go about their separate ways relieved that they need not be enemies again.

For although he was shaped all his life to be a sword that cuts, tailored better to violence than to peace in accordance with the fact, he must take care to avoid cutting carelessly. Without purpose. There can be no illusions as to the vices that stain his heart; Kris had condemned Hardin, but he is not fool enough to believe he might resist where Hardin had succumbed.

Because if Marth is the sun, warm and radiant and a boon to most if not all that it touches, then Kris can only be the moon — its shine a mere reflection of its better half, invisible to the naked eye without it.

“No, it's not.” He shakes his head, as if to dispel the almost-agreement from having its say first. Reluctant to concede that his hostility is perhaps misplaced, unfair to this shell of a once-great man. “I find it hard to believe, having heard stories of what you were like before, that there isn't some larger reason you've come all this way.” Besides putting distance between yourself and Archanea, goes unsaid but perhaps not unheard.

What is it that you're looking for?

[archanear]

he nods, turning his attention back toward the sky. to be having this conversation, amid the graves that mark the dead in this place... it's strange. there is no comfort in a place like this. in aurelis, the dead are not left to rot beneath the earth, with only markers to suggest they were ever here at all.

the cemetery does not bring him solace, as perhaps it would others. despite that, the stillness of this place at least allows the mind a chance to rest.

or it would, were he not under such intense scrutiny.

his answer had not satisfied. perhaps he should have expected this. still, he is looking toward the sky, rather than at the young man before him, or at the graves.

the moon illuminates just enough to see by, and nothing more. as if even that celestial body is provides only what it must.

"a larger reason...?" he asks, eyebrows raised. he does not look back, but the slight tilt of his head allows his profile to be seen. "you have such fanciful ideas. is it not enough for a man to run from his past? do you think i could be here in pursuit of your leige? or seeking my wayward wife? or chasing after some other third party?"

no, it is not as simple as wishing to leave the continent he had thrown into disorder, but... neither was it as simple as some grand plan. in truth, he seeks solace, though he knows not what could provide it. it seems that everywhere he goes, he finds echoes of the past, as if in reverberation. what is that if not fate? and yet...

"perhaps i'll leave you guessing. i don't believe i owe you any answers."

[unsungblade]

✦ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥.

[unsungblade]

“I chose to fight at Prince Marth's side. From the moment I understood the kind of person he was, I had found a liege worth dying for.” Worth living for, too. He'll exist for as long as he is needed — and disappear quietly when at last he ceases to be. “Don't you dare say it like I got involved by chance.”

Kris has always preferred to believe in one's own choices shaping their path over a predetermined destiny, after all. Words like fate and providence sound pretty, coming from the mouths of others, but they are not for him.

...Hardin may not have meant it that way. It doesn't matter. Kris has no intention of taking back what he'd said.

“Queen Nyna abdicated the throne after the war. The other kingdoms followed suit and entrusted everything to Marth, crowning him not just king of Altea but of a united Archanea. The people adore him.” Adore the Hero-King, rather, their star and savior. He sees no reason to not answer, petty and spiteful though it would be to withhold the information instead. They are about as far from Archanea as can be — it serves no purpose save his own selfish ends, and Kris is ill-practiced at being openly selfish for its own sake.

The anger had simmered down at some point too, though the resentment yet remains. Perhaps it always will. For the fact that Hardin hadn't been stronger, that he had allowed his weakness to be preyed upon and hurt so many as a result. That Nyna had been pressured into marrying, and chose Hardin though she did not love him as he did her.

Kris does not envy them. Having been born into nothing himself, content merely to fulfill his duty as knight and Royal Guard without recompense, he feels... pity for their particular circumstances, maybe. For lack of better phrasing.

“...What do you intend to do now, then?” Why show up here, of all places?

[archanear]

hardin lets him speak. it is not as though he'd claim insight into why people rallied around marth. why he himself judged him worthy, before—

before.

simply before.

he does not intend to critique this knight's choices, nor does he think they were bad ones.

so he merely nods. "of course," he says, because perhaps he misspoke. he knows not to what extent things like destiny have a hand in these sorts of matters but... there must still be a person in the right place at the right time to become a knight, to be able to choose to follow another man.

still... those are semantics. "i respect your dedication to him. i didn't mean to imply that yours wasn't a choice you'd made of your own free will."

he does not look bothered. in fact, he seems to be scrutinizing him, trying to read something in kris' face. he doesn't make it clear what he's looking for, or if he's found it.

"thank you for telling me what became of the empire." he says, quiet and clearly strained. "i should have suspected. i know that my own kingdom's fate—aurelis' fate, that is, was sealed, devoid of heirs as it was... but to know the entire land now bows to him, each kingdom, united... i suppose i can stop worrying."

he has confidence in marth's good intent, if nothing else. his strength of will, all the rest. kris also told him about nyna, if only inadvertently, and for that he is grateful as well, though he says nothing about that subject. something to file away under for future consideration, perhaps. perhaps something to lock away in his mind and never consider again. nothing is always an option. or isn't, technically. semantics.

"now? i don't intend to trouble you or yours. is that not enough?" he asks it with as much certainty as he can muster, as if it's simple. it is not.

[archanear]

𝙙𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙨

[archanear]

Amid all the gloom and doom, there have been rumours of a pop-up ice cream parlor come to lighten the mood. Trouble is, it’s a fairly exclusive set-up, and is never seen twice in the same place. Maybe you’ve been lucky enough to receive an invitation, or have a friend who can show you the way. The Ice Creamatory welcomes all who should find their way. But as you leave, delicious treat in hand, one of the letters on the sign falls, revealing the shop’s true name: The Ice Crematory - which begs the question: just what have you all actually been eating…? Better go stop the shopkeeper from running if you’d like to find out. [Grants Riding +1]

he is not here for a treat.

if anything, hardin is here because the situation is so peculiar. a place that appears mysteriously, only to sell treats in a famine to those in the known and then disappear? that's not... logical.

he's there to see what can be gleaned about this situation. he does not see the need to report it, or intervene, at least not yet. in his hand, he holds a steadily-melting ice cream cone that he has no strong desire to eat, and his eyes are trained on each face he passes, inspecting them.

"have you noticed anything amiss here?" he asks one of the nearby patrons, a dark-haired younger man, possibly a student.

there's a loud crash as one of the letters falls from the sign as hardin is leaving. just as he had started to think that perhaps this place is not suspicious after all. what auspicious timing...

he turns just in time to see what it says now. squinting, he reads the new word on the sign. an odd coincidence, to be sure, but still nothing to—oh! well, seems to have set off some of the patrons. he grimaces as he looks around to see what's going on.

@cremisii