If I was asked to write a fifty-page dissertation on why Marth is my favorite lord with my favorite brand of character flaw I absolutely could. At his core Marth is simple and complex at the same time. His goal of world peace isn’t new, his desire for his friends to survive isn’t singly his own, but the glaring difference that sets him apart is that he believes in these causes to radical extremes.
A good ruler must accept that everywhere in the world there will be people in peril. Teetering on the brink of death for illness, accident, and sometimes natural human conflict. But like a reaper looming in the corner of his eye, Marth keeps these nameless, faceless phantoms obsessively centered in his thoughts. Casualties that must be seen as natural, a regular part of life, are to him avoidable. He believes that he can be their savior no matter where they are. Honestly speaking, his way of thinking is so positive it’s negative. It’s an altruistic obsession.
Elice: Yes. Of course, he was the hero who triumphed in the battle against the Shadow Dragon. However, behind his heroic face, Marth is an idealistic child who firmly clings on to his beliefs. And as you too must know, the real world... cannot be saved with just ideals.
Kris: Yes...
Elice: Even as we speak, somewhere unknown to us, our peoples' lives are being lost... Marth cannot save those people.
Kris: Yes, that's true... Even the most excellent of kings is not an omnipotent god. A king is no more than human, and there are limits to the things he can do.
Elice: Yes. Precisely. Most people realize this and can come to terms with that reality. But Marth cannot do that... He truly thinks that he can save everyone. In war, losing just one companion is unbearable for him... He suppresses his feelings with all his willpower, but I know that inside, his heart breaks and bleeds... (Prologue 4: New Friends)
No mere man is capable of preventing deaths without preternatural foresight towards their causes, yet failures in this regard aren’t marks of omniscient impossibility to Marth, but personal inability. That he cannot manifest here or there at will, that he cannot sally to the aid of his people fast enough, that he doesn’t have an eye and ear in the hearth of every citizen to prophesize their ills—that he cannot be God—he holds himself to unrealistic standards that no reasonable individual would.
In line with a reality where no lives need to be needlessly lost for causes beyond his control, what Marth essentially desires is an impossibly perfect world. A world where no man, woman, or child need perish in the backstreets beyond the king’s light, borders so protected and well-patrolled that no malefactors can slip between the cracks, a kingdom that smites down evil in the hearts of incipient villains with invisible ideals of right and wrong before the Hero-King can even lift his hand.
And what Marth wants doesn’t exist.
A prevalent theme in Archanea is the folly of mankind that created Medeus. The flaws that come of ignoble humanity who turn their swords on dragons and each other. The downfall of Thabes, the first civilization, mirrors the rise of the second, the Holy Kingdom of Archanea: greed for power. Trickling down to the causation of death and war—plunder, murder, arson, thievery, invasion, and persecution.
Good is not uniform. Evil is. But for Marth to speak these tenets aloud would no doubt make his dream feel impossible to his own ears. That’s why the most honest admissions about Marth always came from people in his inner circle of kin and kith who spoke about him when he wasn't there.
Tiki: ...I suppose he was unforgiving—at least when it came to himself. He never stopped looking for a way to lead the world to peace. And every victim and sacrifice on that path haunted him... (C Support: Lucina)
Paired with the Elice and Kris conversation it’s apparent what exactly the ‘peace’ Tiki refers to entails. If it simply concerned the peace that came of ended wars and empty battlefields then Marth would have long ago accomplished that. But he has chosen himself to fight a war that never ends. A truly self-sustaining, everlasting world peace.
Tiki’s account of the life Marth lived to completion suggests his resilience and hardship in pursuit of that ambition. When instances arose to prove his ideals impossible, he felt deeply haunted by the lives lost - he tried again - and the vicious cycle went on. This interpretation does accurately reflect Marth who, when citing the losses of the past war, expressed his regret over their lost lives as well as his position on the necessity of sacrifice. Sacrifices for which he sees only himself to blame. Deaths that he never allows himself to forget and forgive.
Marth: My father among them... Many Alteans sacrificed their lives in the previous war. I couldn't save them... That's something I must never forget. (Base conversation: Marth)
Marth: ...Jagen often tells me that, too. "He who leads people must see the big picture." If one sacrifices few to save many, that was the correct decision to take. I understand that, too. But... I don't want that. Having to sacrifice someone... Maybe I'm unfit to be king... Perhaps it's a naive way to think... But, that's how I really feel. And I can't betray my feelings. (Base conversation: Marth)
Marth is aware of the quandary posed by a king who cannot exorcise emotion from issues based in logic, reason, and utility. Moral predicaments of greater good require a certain detachment but he is nevertheless resolved on his course. This is no different from self-immolation. Pursuing an impossible ‘perfect world’ where he can play the godlike arbiter king while knowing of its futility. Holding himself meticulously accountable for things that lie beyond his realm of control while burning those self-perceived failures into his mind.
He’s both a capable ruler and an incapable one, unable to come to terms with the sacrifices that are inevitable throughout the course of his reign. And, in the end, it’s not singly the king that protects others. Marth himself must also be protected for the glass ceiling not to shatter.
Elice: In this cruel world, it will become increasingly difficult for him to continue to hold those ideals... Kris, if some day you should achieve knighthood... Please, protect him somehow and keep his ideals safe... (Prologue 4: New Friends)
Merric: Bandits... Prince Marth would be saddened if he saw this... (Prologue 5: March Duty)
Caeda: Thank you, Kris. Yes, if you are there, then surely... My apologies, Kris. Marth and I only ever ask favors of you. But if you are with him, then I know... Yes, Marth and I believe that you'll manage. Kris, from this moment I ask that you always stay by Marth's side... and help him... (Prologue 8: Assassination)
Kris: Upon hearing your words, I decided that I would work hard, so that I could be of assistance to you, sire. I want to become like you. There is no need for you to shoulder everything on your own. Your pain, and your suffering... They are not yours to bear alone. I will always be by your side. (Chapter 15: Return of the Prince)
Behind his shining exterior is a over-fragile paradigm that all including his childhood friend, elder sister, royal guard, and lover were implied to have understood. Even the terminal conflict of FE3/FE12 with the struggle to save each cleric balanced on top of a greater struggle for the world is a direct reflection, and contest, of Marth’s idealogy.
Marth did not believe in compromise, in sacrificing others even to save the world. Even if the motions of bringing their loved ones were calculated, it was largely by fortune that he was able to accomplish the positive resolution he did that favored his savior complex. The commander he was in the War of Shadows, and especially as aligned with the remake continuity, would have likely never taken this approach. A pragmatist, he would have done what was necessary. Instead, the changed Marth took a humanistic wager, believing in the reach of interpersonal connections into sorcery-muddled hearts. Would he have been successful a second time in another situation of the like? I don’t think so. Marth was lucky.
Putting his stock in the perfect outcome, adamantly refusing to sacrifice anyone to get there. Viewing the bird’s eye trajectory of his life, his reasons for being this way are transparent. He was a child-messiah, educated on the necessity of his role, but powerless and unable to ‘save’ the people he personally cared about through an elder sister and a family knight. A fourteen-year-old prince in his most formative years of existence who found himself postured as the single hand capable of bringing an end to their war, and then later progressing in his mind, an end to all ‘wars’ because he believed his duty to champion human life never ended.
The beauty (and tragedy) of Marth is that his perspective, and to another extent change, is explainable. When you tell a prince that this path of duty and compassion has chosen him, when you march him through the wars in full sight of a suffering humanity, and when you give him the power to change everything in his image, that is the king he will become. No matter how unrealistic his idealism, no matter how straightforward his path to failure, even if the fool is reproachable the process that made him is not.
Hello, hello! This has been a few months coming but I think the end of his anniversary month is a good place to do it.
To start, I've been writing Marth for five consecutive years between TOA and indie FERP. I've had a lot of fun with him throughout that time and made so many wonderful memories. Five years without breaks for one muse is impressive by any standard, and more importantly, by this point I feel that I've explored everything with him that I wanted to. I feel very satisfied with where's he at, where he's gone, and the connections he's made.
All that said, Marth is very important to me and will stay important. He was my first muse coming into this community, my original foothold into TOA four years ago, and the character that got me into Fire Emblem. He may come back, he may not. But right now, I'd like to treat him with the respect he deserves and give my old dog a well deserved rest.
This is now the end of the post. It's been a blast and more. I've sent in my drop ask and I'd like to give a big, big thank you to everyone in TOA who's played with him throughout the years. Much love, and at least in one respect: farewell.
"marth…" she murmurs, looking up into his eyes lovingly. what was once cold and dark with worry was now warm and bright, and caeda thinks that this is the best part of being there for him. when she can see how much she has really helped him; when the moon lowers and the sun rises once more to replace it. they both have put effort into understanding each other that much she is well aware of, but it never fails to make her heart skip a beat in knowing she is able to save such a wonderful man with her words and her affection.
"oh!" she cannot help the quiet gasp that escapes her when he pulls her closer and embraces her, nor the rosy pink that lightens up her cheeks. years spent together and even the proper bond between their bodies cannot erase the butterflies in her stomach— the very same long ago from island talys when marth would smile boyishly at her or their hands would graze and she would end up thinking about it the rest of that day. her gaze falls to the nape of his neck as he speaks and not soon enough does she reciprocate his embrace with a wrap of her arms around his back.
"is it selfish of me to say that thinking of our children living in this world motivates me further to make archanea a better place?" she wonders out loud, though her voice is lighter than it normally would be in thanks to marth's embrace. "that i would think first of my own blood rather than my people, i…" she closes her eyes, brow furrowing slightly though he may be none the wiser to the expressions on her face at the moment. "i cannot help but feel a bad queen, in that sense."
Anxious considerations leave his beloved that spin the tale of her inner conflict. Unbelievable and understandable all in one; such being the depth of Caeda's compassion, that she would cast doubt on a selfless desire and wonder it selfish. The king smiles as he releases her, short of a laugh and reaching instead for steady confidence. Caeda? A bad queen? Never in all their years of acquaintance to one another had he thought her bad of anything, and surely, most definitely, not in this.
"It isn't selfish, Caeda. I imagine every parent would want to forge a peaceful country for the sake of their child. How could you be a bad queen sharing in the desires of your people and making their fight your own?" His shake of head is followed by the silent gauging of their circumstances. Their efforts joined, invisibly. Stronger as one, and beholden to the same duty no matter the struggle or age.
Together, he knows their hands will bring the reality of gentle ideals into view. Not just writ on paper, not just relayed in words, but enacted with truth and substance for others to indulge. It can happen and they need only believe, because belief does not start with the people, but with the leaders that show it can be done. That goodness is mutual with the crown and the examples of two.
Set in the clear and mild expression he wears is a living vow of confidence, immovable as rock - just as everlasting and engraved within him to the extent of eternity. "What matters only is that the world is better for it. That we make it that better place not just for our children, but for all children."
A noble assertion, holding firm as a fisherman's tautened line, until that line should slacken ever so slightly with a shy return to their days in Talys. To the eve of a final battle, even, where not-yet-king should face not-yet-queen and make his feelings known. He looks down at their hands.
"With that said, I would be pleased to craft that better world with you. I don't say it enough, but. . .you are a truly remarkable woman, Caeda. That we uphold the same wish for a kinder future, I couldn't ask for someone more."
Indeed; not merely lovers, but partners in every way.
"huh?" the fell dragon blinks, looking up at him fully now in surprise when he laughs— such a gentle and beautiful sound. one that she does not think she deserves to hear with what she has done in the past to the emblems; to marth especially she's sure, even if she doesn't remember what her otherself did in full detail.
that being said, she still owes him the truth.
"well, it's a little bit more than that, i guess…" her gaze searches around her for the courage to speak to him the truth. he was kind to her when he was purely an emblem (her friend) so it should not be any different this time. there is no reason to fear a bad reaction when he is the way he is.
"on the last mission, i failed to be of use to anyone. all i did was make mistakes or even make things worse for everyone." her voice trembles ever so slightly as her gaze returns uncertainly to his. desire for approval shines clear in her tone— habit from when her papa still lived and she loved all her hounds still lingering. "i'm a fell dragon, even if i'm a defect." her brow furrows, fists clenching so tight that you'd be able to see the red of her knuckles had she not been wearing gloves. "if i'm not strong and i can't help people then there's no point in me being here. i can't waste a single day in bed— especially not when there are people faring much worse than me."
The girl's wavering voice works in tandem with her dejected account of a failed mission. It is made clear that Veyle is deeply affected by her experience, afflicted by the troubled self-image many soldiers suffer across their battles and wars, but there is also more to her tale than that.
Marth listens quietly, snags his attention on the evocative mentions of strong and help. To hear this kind young woman speak of herself as if she were inconsolable - expendable - without strength is disagreeable, particularly to a wise heart that knows her quality to be better than that, but a part of the once weak, still weak, Hero-King would simultaneously understand the source of her conviction. He too has felt the need to be strong and to better his uses for the good of all. Such is natural; a desire beyond any reproach.
"Thank you for you being honest, Veyle," he starts gently, practiced in the motions of reassurance, but all too ready a supplier of them also. What tragedy; for Veyle to view herself with harshness, and her own existence without countless wonderful boons, many of which are put on display just by her words alone. "I have grasped your reasons for training. And I would understand. Though I know not the full measure of your mistakes, it is impressive that you push forward to amend them. With your determination, I believe it will help you fulfill your goal of strength. Never mind that with such resilience you are already strong."
An expression of contemplation hangs over his thoughts. Fell Dragon—defect—was it? In Archanea there are no dragon species of direct equivalence, he has no way of knowing what meaning the words hold to the greater world, and to her. Even so, fearsome is the sound; the association with negativity an instinctual reflex. But imagination can only provide so much by way of knowledge and so well-meaning questions are next in order.
In their answers, another key to understanding: "You called yourself a Fell Dragon and a defect. If I may ask, what causes you to say that? Would these things inhibit your means to strength?"
Diamant continues to watch from his spot in the trees, eyes widening when both Alear and Marth almost immediately stumble into his first trap. He certainly expected them to sense it, or at least have the caution to proceed more carefully... hm.
He makes a mental note to bring it up in his next lecture.
And pray—to the very Divine Dragon currently dangling from his net—that neither of them would hold any hard feelings over this. With a soft sigh, Diamant slings his bow over his shoulder as he scales down from the tree, his footsteps measured and light as he travels through the brush, maintaining a respectable distance from the Venerated Two.
He wanted to at least give them a good working start, before the pursuit truly began...
"We can only pray that Professor Diamant has not gleaned any information toward our whereabouts from the noise."
Having circled around to the area to their left, Diamant carefully takes up his bow again, slowly nocking another arrow; he waits for them to take a few more steps, before shooting it into the tree behind Alear.
"I hope that is the case," Alear could only reply as she took back the hold of her own weapon. Despite having only started, they had already stumbled onto their first trap, perhaps a reminder of clumsiness she carried with her no matter what. With the decision of keeping her weapon drawn in case another trap were to be less friendly, she smiled in an attempt to lighten the mood. "Let's be off then, if we continue Diamant m—"
But the words died on her throat the moment the sound of an arrow made its impact behind her, she almost shut her eyes closed but instead of allowing surprise to get the best of her she turned around to see if the Brodian was in sight. Mismatched eyes could not spot him but with the precision of his shot, he knew where they stood.
"Uhm...Well...! Seems he found us." A simple fact was stated and the dragon resumed their pace. She had ran for her life before and that experience could be used in this, they needed to be quick but mindful of their surroundings—a task that had been much harder when uncertainty had once chased her. "Let's head over there, i believe we can try blending with the scenery using this path."
As proud as she was of her colors in this light and with all their surroundings being fairly monotone in their hue, she unfortunately stood out like a sore thumb and the length of her hair did not help either. The density of the flora did all it could to cover for them, as a decoy of sorts.
A decoy...
"Do you think we can use branches to mark a fake path we followed?" It wouldn't cover for much, she assumed, but chances for it to work were existent at least. They could also split to distract him but she didn't like the idea of potentially leaving each other behind and they agreed on doing this together. "The one time i was chased like this, i didn't get the chance to think of the sturdiest strategy so... do you believe this is a good idea?"
Found, indeed, and yet perhaps little more than to be expected. Such rancor with an experienced warrior in their midst is certain to catch his attention. Wary scanning of the treeline abates with the Hero-King's tilt of chin, shadowing her wake with his faithful steps and easy agreement in both motions. With their approximate location singled out, it would do well to disperse their trail once more by concealment. As Alear would wisely suggest, they are not without their resources to do so with nature's bounty at their disposal.
"That is an excellent proposal, Alear. Should we avail of this method, I suggest also that we further the scale of persuasion. Broken branches, stomped leaves, kicked aside stones. . .all can support the solidity of a faulty trail." A council of two that might build and hone ideas among themselves, traveling together, thinking together, as partners in every way. Their efforts are improved and so too are their chances of success. The sense of reassurance in their collaboration surfaces a quiet warmth, joined soon by curiosity at their mutual ground.
"You spoke of being chased. I would sympathize. In my youth, I too was pursued, and by an enemy host that desired my ransom. Back then I—watch out!"
Roll d6. Result: 6, obstacle found! Tripwire arrows
It is too soon to speak of the past with the present as their heavy engagement. At the height of their ankles suspends a nearly imperceptible tripwire; a fickle silver thread that goes unnoticed until too late. Pressure applies and the trap activates. Above Alear's head suspends multiple teethlike glints scarcely tucked between the treetops - then those glints moving closer at an expedient rate.
Over the course of mere seconds, Marth shoves aside his divine companion with an outreached palm, stumbling back himself but catching his arm on a stray arrow with a wince. Flesh and sleeve tears together; nevertheless, the pain is nothing granted the silver lining that Alear is safe, and there are more important signals at hand then that of compromised body to brain. The trap another reminder by their dutiful instructor; stay on your toes, you're not out of the woods yet.
Roll: d4-1. Result: 3, Marth 9/10HP -> Marth 6/10 HP
The Altean king obliges, seizing a quick grasp of his bleeding arm, and readying to mobilize without a single moment to waste. "Do not worry for me, we have no time to dally. We must first distance ourselves before we rely on other strategies."
The noise is loud and electrifying, drawing forth all of their foes onto a singular face. Céline watches in awe, keeping her distance. One falls, then two. They deign Denning their source but find themselves nearly at an impasse. The princess's eyes widen between the mighty cannon and the strong attacks Denning whisks away.
With such admirable allies at her side, it is only natural for her to want to keep up.
Now, only two faces remain. She finds no delight in such a duel, holding true to her heart as she avoids the one resembling Prince Alcryst. Céline steers her griffon towards the Blue Lions house leader, seizing the momentary silence to redeem herself from her previous failing. A strong, bated breath leaves her pale pink lips. Her sword is raised in one hand, steering the griffon with another. A whisper, only to the fluffy creature: "Do you see that one down there? Please.. Lead me towards him."
The griffon sweeps Céline down with great abundance. They flutter and soar. In fact, she moves so fast she nearly topples off. Nonetheless, she strikes towards the student's right arm. While it does hit, it is not nearly as impactful as one might believe from such a momentum. Strong, indeed.
Marth is fond of battle only when it goes swimmingly and swimmingly does this one does. It is a masterwork of destruction to be sure, the manner with which his allies swoop in on trusty mounts or let fly their calamitous barrage, all wielding their weapons with an impression of outward excellence and expertise. He nurses a wave of subconscious pity for two enemies who lie flattened and smothered by Denning's blast, admiration to coexist with it. Fortunate, indeed, that he should stand on the right side of the battlefield, and not. . .well, on that one.
The king turns his attention to the remaining two opposition, and particularly, to one. Still standing is a faintly discouraged 'mage', shoulders bunched and arms cramped together as they cling onto a tome. it is natural to target those who cannot target back and so the king swings his steed into full throttle.
Marth 8.5/10HP misses and hits Tender Archer 6.5/10HP with Brave Lance -> Tender Archer 3.5/10HP
Tender Archer cannot counterattack!
Trample activates! -2HP, Tender Archer 1.5/10HP
More agile than expected. His lance misses then hits, nevertheless causing the enemy to stumble back against the faulty onslaught. Discerning gaze denotes the wobble attached to an unsteady stance; their third enemy will be soon to fall. To start one maneuver and finish it on the crushing axe, sword, spell, or blast of another will be necessary - collaboration proving the timeless recipe to victory.
His gaze shoots to the nearest able ally. "That one there is on his last legs. One final strike ought to do! I am relying on your strength."
Their last waking heartbeats filled with surefire defeat, the new scenery is initially hard to believe, almost insoluble a layer as it sits atop the frazzled mind. It feels as if only moments prior there had been a fever of dice, cards, and gold coins; games of ostensible life and death squashing them flat with their fearsome stakes. But instead, there is their dissolution, and there is peace with repose - the brief scarcity of it to be found, anyway.
Seated atop his new mount, the Hero-King possesses a fair vantage over the battlefield. Assessment of their ranks yields them all returned to consciousness and restored to good condition, and then his eye casts to the other side in reversal where five nameless enemies await their attention. Enemies from every sense of understanding with their brandished weapons and unseeing gazes, a haunting air as if they were not people but dolls. Even shrouded in smoggy vapors of energy, some even look to be vaguely familiar, though he cannot place a finger on the how or why.
Curious. Nevertheless, there can be no distractions; no devastating losses this time. Marth shakes his head, fingers clenching in readiness around the grip of his lance. He will lead their charge.
Glowing Ember activates! Marth10/10HP crits and hits Cold as Ice 10/10HP with Brave Lance -> Cold as Ice 0/10HP
Cold as Ice is defeated!
The closest foe is fixed in his sights, a female figure with hair wrapped in twin tails. The color of tinted ice. Easily does she topple to the twin strikes of his lance, like a clay effigy, crashing face first into the dirt without grace; or perhaps like a doll in more than one way, modeled not after mere imagination, but a living inspiration. How similar her defeated appearance to those of his allies.
He swallows, looking over his shoulder. "Is everyone feeling alright after the last battle? If anyone should suffer the effects of their wounds still, I will do my best to protect you. It would be wonderful if we could win this together."
raise the stakes is nullified by light rune!
card suite: broken heart debuffs wear off.
two bounces of winner takes all is nullified by light rune!
Their vision shrinks down on that broken heart, their awareness to the pinprick of gravity in their core, drip-dropping down languid and heavy until they are rooted to the spot. They do not hear the first round of coins and tokens rain down upon them, protected only by the now rapidly-faltering rune of protection once cast, the hope from a story fading out from 'harsh reality'.
the grandest party activates!
denning cannot move and automatically rolls a 0!
They fail to comprehend the feeling— A projected vision of ruin, of putting everything on the line and losing. As a tool with nothing to sacrifice, as a construct with no heart, how can they understand? The dice begin to spin and dance again, but they cannot move— Unable to risk any chips, unable to play the cards, unable to pull the lever, unable to hit it big.
There is no use for a client that will not play. So it is the gambler decides to see them out with the rest.
The dice hops, skips forward, bumps into them and bowls them over off their steed into a pile of chips, before yet another cascade of chips rains down on them, burying the knight under the sheer weight. The wyvern chuffs and lumbers away.
They open their mouth, as if to cry out— In what? To call their steed back? To ask Céline to continue her tale? To give the acrid feeling in their throat a voice? They do not know.
A perfect imitation of the slot machine Jingle of Defeat plinks out between their teeth instead.
His defeated allies register one by one as chilling bites of despair, eating away at the heart greater than any wound. Their falls from grace enact with such harsh reversal to the stable reality of mere moments prior. Their odds of victory had not looked particularly promising, no, but nor had they been on any solid track to defeat. So quickly and mercilessly would that change, would the tides shift to herald an abandonment of all fortune, and the defeat that seemed more imminent with each passing second.
Mind fixated on their culled numbers, his concentration strays and fails to produce a noteworthy effort for it. The card suite of 'broken heart' is all too apt for the Hero-King who is able to ascertain his own heartbreak alongside one other. A whimper sounds from the disheartened wolf that soon proves his only company on this side of the battlefield.
Marth 10/10HP hits Dordice with Flame Lance [Roll: 17 ]
Marth 10/10HP rolls D10: 5
Maddest Hatter 20.5/25HP wins!
Maddest Hatter 20.5/25HP hits Marth 10/10HP with Tea Time’s Over -> Marth 7/10HP, Marth 7/10HP receives Card Suite: Broken Heart!
Marth 7/10HP cannot move this turn!
Ewan, Yuzu, Cêline, Denning; all have done well.
Marth admires how far they have come together, his admiration come in the same stride as lamentation. For a man who would convey the unity of bonds and people as his strength, there is no longer any bounty of it to be availed, neither bonds nor strength. But no doubt it would be an injustice to say that in his state his bonds were totally lacking. His smile extends downward with the ruffle of his affectionate hand. With a nod toward, a nod back, lance and fang readies in tandem, man and wolf together with a final wind to their movements in light of all that they now possessed; one another, only.
Momentum activates! Marth 7/10HP hits and crits Maddest Hatter 19.5/25HP -> Maddest Hatter 14.5/25HP
Maddest Hatter 14.5/25HP hits and crits Marth 7/10HP with Raise the Stakes -> Marth 1.5/10HP
Maddest Hatter 14.5/25HP can double and hits Marth 1.5/10HP with Raise the Stakes -> Marth 0/10HP]
Marth is defeated!
A futile maneuver executed by two on their last legs. The gambler brandishes a shower of coins and immerses the valiant pair until there is little else they can see, like golden seawater flowing up and over their heads. Victory, defeat, color, pain, all to fade into the warm wash of unconsciousness. Temporary oblivion until the next rise of curtains and rekindling of five bonds as strength.
They notice the flow of magic too late to slow down, and Ewan trips over the gamblng paraphrenalia at their feet with an odd noise.
That is a student. Immediately, Denning beckons the wyvern into a turn to swoop down again, if only to make sure he is alright— But in doing so (the boy seems fine) it is approached once more by Céline.
She speaks, once again weaving golden light, and in tandem with it, a tale; One Denning had asked for, one the morph listens to raptly, unsure as to the reasons why itself. There is no room for rebuttal to mortal care, pragmatism stalled, for the moment, for this is part of the precious few seconds that pragmatism needs anyhow.
A classic hero, likable and capable. But: 'Their once upon a time was closer than they thought'. A subverted cliché— A prelude to the story most would deem worth telling. Still, it is told.
If it is told, Denning would listen. Unfortunately, the gambler begins to saunter up to them to see what has them so interested out of its periphery, and it would ill deign for the story to be interrupted. The morph snaps the wyvern into action, hurtling out of a standstill to catch the man off guard—
denning attacks maddest hatter with kaladanda!
roll: 20 - 2. crit! nine of gods own motherfucking damage points!
maddest hatter 0/25HP*.
denning absorbs 1 luck!
If nothing else, he seems genuinely surprised. He crumples for a moment before the impact of the axe, staggering one, two steps back— But instead of screaming in pain or begging for his life, he begins to laugh, shaking his head and raising both his arms.
"Lucky you!" He congratulates, before snapping his fingers. "Let's go for a streak."
unbeaten activates! terrain changes to bacchanalia!
Lights flash. Fog pours out over the golden casino grounds, and the brassy music picks up in pace— Strobe lights and slot jingles and the outpouring sound of drink and coin threaten to overwhelm the senses. Two ten-sided dice fall from the heavens, landing on a 6 and 9, before two more roll out after, the four floating into the air to spin wildly, tantalisingly. It seems all of them were forced into this game with no recourse...
... Something burns acrid in the back of its throat. It's brow knits, imperceptibly, irritated with the insistent attempts to pull it into inanities. It has no use for games. Pushing past the dice, it swats at one aggressively when it tries to drift into Denning's face—
roll to beat is 9!
denning rolls to hit: 9. barely hit!
roll d10: 1.
It jumps with the impact, spins off its axis, then stops, briefly, to mock the morph with a one. A slow jingle in minor key follows in tandem. Denning is scarce given time to react before an entire shot glass is thrown at its head: Though the glass harmlessly bounces off the golden ward, the sight of the crumpled-up playing card that tumbles out as it shatters fills them with an inexplicable gravity: A single ace of broken hearts.
teatime's over is nullified by light rune.
denning is inflicted with card suite: broken heart.
A world within a world; that is all that can be used to describe the total change of terrain, or perhaps that which qualifies as separate reality. Eyes filled with both caution and wonder roam without settling, unable initially to focus on a single shining attraction between coins and slot machines and alternating spotlights. But of course, their magnanimous game master would provide a helpful avenue. Cutting through this glamorous fog is the knowledge of a dangerous foe, after all, a fact that will always stand tall and true despite the illusion of. . .a game.
Bacchanalia is now active! All players are pulled into The Grandest Party! Maddest Hatter rolls 2d10: 6, 9. Players contest higher value (9)!
Marth 10/10HP hits Dordice with Flame Lance [Roll: 11] -> Marth 10/10HP rolls D10: 10 -> Marth 10/10HP wins!
Marth 10/10HP receives Card Suite: Lucky Diamond!
It is now the Hero-King's turn to play at dice. Fortunately, both his first and lucky time. Fortune at least is what he judges by the prod of his lance and the rewarding card that follows, manifested into his hand with the descriptor of 'Lucky Diamond'. With the alternative being a shattered heart, others did not seem quite so lucky. No matter; the strength he feels welling within him will be used for them all.
"This is not our favored arena, and we would play by his rules, but his advantage cannot be fated to last forever. Keep sharp, my friends!"
Hit and Run activates! Marth 10/10HP hits Maddest Hatter 25/25HP with Flame Lance -> Maddest Hatter 21.5/25HP
Maddest Hatter cannot counterattack! Hobble activates! -4 speed inflicted on Maddest Hatter for one turn
Teahouse Distribution does not activate -> Toxic Poison is inflicted
By this point, he is starting to seize his hold of the once strangely regarded wolf-riding. He and his unconventional mount are in as much keeping with each other as any pair of human allies. Ambition fuels them both, enough for a darting maneuver nearly too fast for eyes to behold, and certainly too fast for the head gambler to react. Hit then run - an impressive display of speed attached, thanks to his furred companion.
He gives a friendly ruffle of its nape, all that can be allowed in the window of opportunity between busy heartbeats. "Hehe, thank you."
Maddest Hatter 19/25HP* uses Winner Takes All!
Critically hits Yuzu 9.5/10HP [Roll: 12, -4HP, Yuzu 5.5/10HP]
[Cornucopia d2: 2; no proc]
Adaptability activates! Yuzu 5.5/10HP gains +1 res until EP2]
Yuzu now has no time to concern herself with the rest of her team, likely because their hatted opponent has dumped a plethora of shiny objects upon them. She did not expect an assault from the skies, resulting in her to be covered in coin and card alike. Pelted with countless trinkets is enough to slightly rattle her, but she does not remain idle for long.
"It is alright! I can still fight," Yuzu reassures Ewan. She couldn't see much when clawing out of the golden mess, but the boy's words of encouragement to the others is all she needed to know that Ewan was occupied for the better of their crew's health. She couldn't ask for any more from an ally. It is about time she proved herself the same to them.
Maddest Hatter 17.5/25HP* crits Yuzu 5.5/10HP with Raise the Stakes [Roll 17; -5HP; Yuzu 0.5/10HP]
Adaptability activates! Yuzu 0.5/10HP gains +1 def until PP3]
Yuzu 10/10HP barely hits Maddest Hatter 17.5/25HP* with Venomous [Roll: 7-2=5; 3.5-2=-1.5HP; Maddest Hatter 16/25HP*]
[Roll: 1] Teahouse Distribution activates! Seal Speed is nullified.
She gives another go at the man laced in green and blue. He pulls out the same weapon, and Yuzu anticipates a centered strike similar to before - only for a coin to flicker toward her leg. She takes a second to glance at its trajectory, a second too many. The next thing she knows, the coin is gone the same time she feels an immense sting from its prior location.
Yuzu cannot hold back a yelp of pain, but she must march onwards for her own offense. The lance in her hands is still too foreign for her to get the hang of, her lunge still too far to land any true damage on the hatted trickster.
"I can...still fight," she repeats, though she is sure to hobble back to the rest of her comrades. She is brave, but not stubborn. She knows when her limits are reached...and that time is nearing sooner than she would prefer.
To serve as the helping hands of one another imbues a welcomed touch of camaraderie to the difficult battle at present. Looking all around, their numbers though still complete would run themselves ragged. The king shoots a concerned look at Ewan who runs to and fro with pending exhaustion, takes note of Céline as another hardworking mender of their pains, and then assesses the compromised remainder. Denning and Yuzu do not appear well and their game master is all too triumphant for it. Is there nothing that can be done to aid them?
A frown crawls across Marth's face, transforming next into a stern expression of resolve. No; there is more that can be done, equal efforts of his that may be put to the task. The sooner their enemy should fall, the sooner their ticket to reprieve shall come. And for the better. "Do not strain yourself, Yuzu. Your defeat here would be irreparable and all would suffer greatly without your strength. Rest if need be, your allies will allow this!"
His gaze flicks a final time to Yuzu who stands on her last legs, and then focuses on the Hatter. His determined lance does not strike true, however.
Marth 10/10HP misses Maddest Hatter 16/25HP* with Flame Lance -> Maddest Hatter 16/25HP*
Maddest Hatter 16/25HP* counterattacks and misses Marth 10/10HP with Raise the Stakes -> Marth 10/10HP
The humanoid monster evades neatly, a flourish of cards in one hand, and then a bow at the waist as if to remark 'is that all?'. Without words or expression with his donned mask, but such whimsical irreverence says all there is to say. The Hero-King returns the miss in kind atop his agile steed, a flash of golden coins exploding where both man and mount once stood, each one deadly despite their innocent appearance, and portent to a worse fate. The growing inches of dread are snuffed by his firm voice.
"Careful, everyone! With patience and caution, there is no question that we will prevail." His lance steadies in preparation to defend. With each offense of their own matched by an offensive maneuver of their enemy, the foreboding of a wave makes itself clear. Another soon to crash at the monster's whim.
As the darkened space dissipates and spills underneath her feet, a new setting paves its way into the hearts of the unsuspecting. Childish giggles are replaced by blinding lights and a tall, whimsical figure. A beaming ray of light flutters between the group, once and twice over, before settling on Firene's princess. It casts forth a strange pair of die, using her sword to smash it as far away from the group as possible. It bangs against the wall with a loud thud.
Céline 10/10HP critically hits Dordice A with Levin Sword! [Roll: 20]
Bringing the Levin Sword closer to her chest with a singular hand, she takes a step forward towards the two cards held by the opponent. He stares at her in wait, lifting a brow as the playing cards toy back and forth between his hands. He shuffles once, twice. Stops, revealing only their backs to Céline. It is evident to her that there is only one right answer— To achieve it must mean a boon. For that, she partakes. A finger hovers before opting to choose the rightmost one, turning it around to reveal an 8. The other, a 10.
"Ah, it seems I lost.. That is most—" A strong strike whirls around Céline, morphing the card in her hand into but a torn-up pile as the hearts on it crack to two. She drops its fragments onto the ground atop her feet, pushing herself away to create distance with a loud and forced gasp.
A stumble back, blonde locks sweeping over her face. "Please excuse me, but I need a moment to recuperate. I apologize for choosing incorrectly." She stumbles back towards where she once stood as the sparks on her sword dim liken to the spotlight removing itself from her. Embarrassed she is, she has high hopes in her allies to continue on while she takes a moment to herself.
One battle relinquished and another to make its greetings, but not only that, a number of firsts to enter the foray alongside him. Gloved fingers coax through the coarse mane of an unexpected companion. His wolf steed never before imagined across his native Archanea seems nevertheless well-versed in its arrangement; obedient and well-mannered both beneath and in tandem with its novice human rider. Female or male? Feral or wild? Not even that is to Marth's knowledge. Only one certainty lies at hand. That this king should ride into battle on a wolf of all creatures composed a story worth recounting.
As for the other first. . .
The beast's ears swivel on a low growl, notifying him in turn. Before them stands a single towering individual and presumed master of the house. Strange in appearance, equal perplexity accompanies the sight of an ally, Céline, forced into a game of dice and cards. He frowns at her distress and the easy propulsion into violence. Clearly, the mysterious figure is no friend. The Hero-King needs no further evidence to join a fight. His new lance readies, flames channeling at the tine. "There is no need to apologize, Céline. To play was not your choice. Our foe is most unsportsmanlike indeed, to harm someone at the mere loss of a game."
Momentum activates! Marth 10/10HP hits Maddest Hatter 24/25HP* with Flame Lance -> Maddest Hatter 19/25HP*
Gofannon Beak activates! Teahouse Distribution does not activate! Toxic Poison is inflicted
Maddest Hatter 19/25HP* counterattacks Marth 10/10HP with Raise the Stakes -> Marth 6/10HP
Hobble activates! -4 speed inflicted on Maddest Hatter until end of turn
The wolf's agility is impressive, he learns, a conduit with which to deliver an effective first attack, hurtling, zipping, and then striking. The Hatter wavers on stiltlike legs, seemingly a hair shy of toppling - then he straightens. Marth's steel is retribution for the unjust punishment dealt to an ally, but even his righteous cause is not enough to ward off a wicked blow in turn.
"T-Take care, everyone!" A wince; gathering his wits from a blow powerful enough to knock the wind from mount and rider alike. "We know little of his abilities, but there is no uncertainty toward his power!"
The weird creatures were on the offensive, clearly tired of getting pushed back, just like how one of them neared Celine earlier, two were coming closer and closer to him! Before… vanishing?
“Huh? Where did they…?” Ewan looked around cautiously, waiting to see where they would pop up again. Little did he know, one had already emerged from behind him. A chill ran down his spine as suddenly he felt cold breath down his neck.
“BOO!” The creature screamed in his ear. “KYAAH?!” Ewan screamed in turn. Distracted, he completely missed how the other one snatched the fairy dust from his waist.
Naughty Child B 6/6HP steals Fairy Dust from Ewan 8/10HP! [Roll: 15]
“Eeheeehee! Finders keepers!” The creature taunted, smacking its butt at Ewan a few times for good measure. This had the opposite of its intended effect, as rather than distracted it only served to infuriate him. “Ooogh, now you’re gonna get it!” He yelled angrily.
Naughty Child C 6/6HP fails to steal Recover from Ewan 8/10HP! [Roll: 4+2=6]
The other child tried to take his staff in a similar manner, but Ewan reacted quickly. Before the child could snatch it, Ewan reeled back and delivered a swift BOP right on its head with his staff. It failed to deal any significant damage, but it definitely managed to keep the thief away.
“Owie! Owie! You big meanie, I only wanted to play!” It cried out, clutching its head. That caught the attention of the creature currently in combat with Marth, as it quickly threw one of its sharp daggers in Ewan’s direction. Thankfully though, the man warned him ahead of time. He couldn’t completely dodge in time, but..!
Naughty Child A 4.5/6HP hits Ewan 10/10HP with Carving Knife [Roll: 3+2=5; -1HP; Ewan 9/10 HP]
By moving his arm, the knife hit his staff instead with a loud clang. The force of the blow caused his wrist to bend harshly, injuring him just slightly. “Thanks, Mister Marth! Ow..” Though the sprained wrist was painful he managed to avoid poisoning, thankfully.
During that time, Yuzu attempted to steal back his fairy dust for him. Though the attempt failed, Ewan was grateful for the attempt. “Don’t worry about it! I appreciate the attempt though, Miss Yuzu!” With a comforting and bright smile, he gave a thumbs up with a wink.
It appears Celine had noticed his injury, as she healed him despite her own condition. “Oh no, Céline! Be careful, ya don’t look so good!” While normally using his staff would’ve been preferable, if he didn’t use the Thurible to combine with the Princess’, they wouldn’t be shielded from the Miasma. Counting on the sweet mist to heal her further, this time he pricked his finger on purpose, and allowed his blood to seep into the pit.
Ewan 10/10 HP uses Thurible on Céline 6/10 HP [Ewan 8/10 HP, Céline 8/10 HP]
Theirs will be a battle of attrition; this much is revealed more and more clearly as the seconds pass on. Standing comparatively with few injuries, Marth assesses their over all state with a flickering eye to each of his companions. Amongst them, Yuzu, Céline, and Marth suffer from poison; Ewan continuously heckled, with Denning now to join the ranks as a weaponless victim of mischief.
Still does their group stand with no casualties, and while the tides have yet to shift to total despair, nor do they yield any sign of promise or change. His wary attention seizes hold of the several impish thieves now running amok across his field of vision, their stolen bounties waved victoriously over their heads. Less and less does it feel like a battle, or more like a play with each role fulfilled to the amusement of a vast and overseeing audience. Those unseen spectators would surely laugh at the Hero-King's next performance.
Deadeye activates! Marth 10/10HP misses Naughty Child A 4.5/6HP with Killer Bow -> Naughty Child A 4.5/6HP
Naughty Child A 4.5/6HP hits Marth 10/10HP with Carving Knife -> Marth 10/10HPNaughty Child A 4.5/6HP hits Marth 10/10HP with Carving Knife -> Marth 10/10HPMarth 10/10HP takes Minor Poison damage -> Marth 9.5/10HP
Mirroring his previous attack is another delinquent arrow, claiming the ground rather than a target. His missed foe crows and jeers, jumping from one foot to the other as if it could not be any more pleased. Céline's longbow brandished joyously as a pitchfork. His shame at its laughter is not only for himself, but for the hardworking allies he would let down.
"Forgive me, it seems I am not feeling perfectly like myself today. I must improve my performance for all our sakes." The married disadvantage of a foreign bow and a creeping toxin does wonders to swerve the aim, but he cannot be reliant on excuses, and he does not intend to be. The king shakes his head to clear it, and of his folly also. Next time, he resolves, he will not miss.
A step back, surveying the slowly-decaying integrity of their surrounds.
"Ssae," Another carved-up name, "Ee..." and the ready blade of the morph's axe drops a fraction, only briefly.
"... Denning." He offers, because he is the only one of their number who has not yet offered a name. The four other names continue to be paged through in cycles, in circles, burning into memory. Yes. Marth, Yuzu, Céline, Ewan. All allies.
Their allies are sharp-witted enough to likewise parse the function of the thuribles strewn about the bunker. That is satisfactory. What is not is these small figures scattering like disturbed songbirds, impossibly small yet disconnected from step-to-step— The first wisely chooses to assault the woman it had disarmed, the other two dance around the mortal child to bereave him of his belongings as well.
It is the effective choice to reclaim what is their allies' and theirs.
denning attacks naughty child a with killer axe!
roll: 4. miss! 0 damage. naughty child a 4.5/6HP.
naughty child counters with carving knife!
roll: 17 + 2. hit! 1 damage. denning 9/10HP.
roll d2: 2
Misjudging the size and speed of what looks like a child but is not, a third savage swing goes wide, only grazing the shape of a delighted giggle. A knife lunges in from Denning's periphery, instead, and the morph does not bother to dodge its rusty blade, instead using the movement to bring its weapon back to at least bludgeon— But that attempt is handily ignored as the creature cartwheels out of the way to gloat of its spoils to the very one it had stolen them from.
roll d3: 1. carving knife bounces!
naughty child a attacks céline with carving knife!
roll: 20 - 2. crit! 2 - 1 damage. céline 1/10HP.
roll d2: 1. céline is inflicted with minor poison!
Four names fished from the tangles of a moving battle would be committed to the Hero-King's memory. His allies are strong, each undoubtedly in their own right and imbued with unique color; the honorable Yuzu, cheerful and supportive Ewan, noble Céline, and aloof yet dependable Denning. Whether strangers then or known to one another now, they have only come so far into this precarious situation by working together. Naturally, Marth too must do his best.
The insidious child-creature is locked in his sights, slippery as evinced by its evasion of Denning's axe, but eventually it will be caught - it must be caught. His heart steels in affirmation of resolve, its beats slow, and concentration funnels through the trajectory of his unswerving gaze. Bow levels and aims,
then shoots—
Deadeye activates! Marth 10/10HP misses Naughty Child A 4.5/6HP with Killer Bow -> Naughty Child A 4.5/6HP
Naughty Child A 4.5/6HP hits Marth 10/10HP with Carving Knife -> Marth 10/10HP
Naughty Child A 4.5/6HP hits Marth 10/10HP with Carving Knife -> Marth 10/10HP
Marth 10/10HP is inflicted with Minor Poison!
. . .But alas, it is a despairing miss, arrowhead sticking upright in the dirt beside the gremlin's deceptively fast heels. In triumph this time, the sinister laugh sounds once more and silvery gleams through the air denote its quick throws. One, two - harmless both save for a nick through his padded sleeve. The painful sensation is negligible but it is accompanied by concerning knowledge of the poison that Yuzu had warned of earlier. Worse yet, the flight of the knife curves and does not end its path of terror on Marth. Others must first come to harm.
Carving Knife D3 bonus hit [Roll: 1; proc] Naughty Child A 4.5/6HP hits Ewan 10/10HP with Carving Knife -> Ewan 9/10 HP
Worried gaze darts toward the direction of Ewan, warning emitted in the same window. "Watch out! The knife—"
For that brief moment, golden eyes take in the familiar flurry of combat, of mortals joining hands and struggling against the odds—Even when one has his quintessence sapped, even as the bow is stolen from the girl's hands, even when blood seeps into the air, haze clearing haze in acts of seeming carelessness. Still the call for unity rings clear and the child is full of cheer, and while it is not the order, the being they once knew, it is close enough that they know their place.
Just as well. Already too far from those glistening, ornate censers, they know not how their ichor will interact with its function in this place. But they are vital for success. They must be kept lit. And thus, blood must continue to flow in their allies. With this, an affirmative nod is given to the two archers of their number, and slotting into the opposite role once more, they bring their axe to bear with a savage cleave,
denning attacks hetero-sapien a with killer axe!
roll: 6+2. hit! 3 damage! hetero-sapien a 0/8HP.
hetero-sapien a is defeated!
And though the misshapen not-mortal lurches to the side to avoid, the morph follows and sends its head flying, same as the first. It impacts with a sickly slop against the wall behind it, before the body collapses. Still, the giggling, the scraping, the shaking, the distant thudding of an arrhythmic heart does not cease.
'caution', it signals, first three fingers extended towards the collapsed doorway. 'more incoming'.
BE READY: @arcstral @craneswings @firelles @optimismxmagicism
A curious mechanism proves their ward against the onset of miasma. Their vision as hapless settlers tormented by blizzard and clinging to tentative warmth, they are able to circumvent the injurious fog by packing closely around the censers. . .for now. Marth shoots an affirmative nod to his ally and waits out the storm, that patience and resilience alike rewarded with a siphoning magic. He hisses at the attack on his sapping strength, but looks up to the malefactor soon defeated. The individual with the axe would prove invaluable yet again.
He communicates a grateful look at that golden-eyed stranger. Though not primarily directed toward the effect of his rescue, still their efforts have contributed to it, and he would be a most derelict teammate to disregard that. "You have my thanks. I am known as Marth." But the moment does not last, or rather, it is peace that never does. Azure eyes catch the reflection of their gesture, a clear meaning rippling across two pools and reaching the single mind - enemy reinforcements.
Marth 10/10HP hits Naughty Child A 6/6HP with Killer Bow [Roll: 12 - 4 = 8; -1.5HP. Naughty Child A 4.5/6HP]
Naughty Child 4.5/6HP counterattacks with Carving Knife [Roll: 2 + 2 = 4; -0HP. Marth 10/10HP]
Carving Knife D3 bonus hit [Roll: 2; no proc]
The king braces in understanding. More to come.
His arrow readies anew and fires for the creature that has already eloped with a companion's longbow. Guilty thieves are easy to sight but this one particularly, albeit not for guilt; its disturbing cackle sounds singsong even whilst being struck in the shoulder. Gnarled fingers do not unloose from the prize they have seized, as if only death would suffer it to part with its greed. It retaliates instead with the wild lash of a knife as Marth steps back just in time. Childlike, adultlike, human, inhuman; their enemy is a concoction of all four.
Shaking his head, he snuffs the uneasy prickle in his chest. Pushes it down so that it might not evolve to a shiver. "That cackling one over there—we must retrieve the bow it holds. It appears to be a belonging of our ally."
There is an echo in front of her— A sound heard before her ears once, all the more leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. Crashing, crumpling. A flower once unseen turn into nothing but a black, dissipating dust. She does not like the sensation of violence surrounding her nor the sound of a fall. Even so, she is not oblivious to it.
Céline inches herself closer to the noise, a breath of air hitting her lungs. There are certain kinds of individuals that can so swiftly take out a foe, let alone doing so alone. Hesitation ceases to exist as she moves herself forward, arching the bow out to protect her peers. Her familiarity with this weaponry is nothing compared to her dear friend, but she understands it all the same. "Might you be okay? All I could hear was.." The bow strings as she speaks, keeping her back turned to all but the foe approaching on their right.
Céline 10/10HP hits Hetero-Sapien A 8/8HP with Longbow [Roll: 10 + 4 = 14; -2.5HP. Hetero-Sapien A 5.5/8HP]
Hetero-Sapien A cannot counterattack!
"— Please.. Proceed carefully." A clean strike it may be, she retracts the bow and clutches it towards her chest. Ill-advised it might be, the princess turns her back towards the foe and searches for the others. There is one within her peripheral that draws her attention first— The kind and stoic person that is Marth. They have not spoken here, but she regards his emblem in high lights. It is too distant for her to make out his figure any closer save for a silhouette. "Emb.. — Um, might you assist me?"
As always, this simulation does much to emulate the appearance of true warfare. Circumstances and lessons all too real: few are they, presumably, and yet per reality few must suffice. Accordingly, Marth keeps sharp on his feet, even in his questionable peppermint-schemed apparel. The outfit itself is much too layered and thickly furred for his tastes, better suited to colder festivities no doubt - but no matter. He locks sights with greater priorities. As one among their count admirably dispatches a foe in the single strike of an axe, he is instilled with the comforting knowledge that spring coexists with winter. Despite the odds, their outcome is far from decided.
His attention soon draws sidelong to a tentative female voice, and to the gentle face of its source. A first-met ally with verdant eyes and long golden hair; they meet here without prior introductions, so far as he knows, although there is some flickering recognition across her countenance that would suggest otherwise. Emb. . .? The king nevertheless smiles, prepares the string of his bow in turn.
"Of course, milady. Eagerly. And with steady hand—" He is far displaced from the caliber of the best Archanean bowmen but still he is acquainted with their craft. Enough so that with a release of said steady hand, silver string shivers in the wake of one coolly fired arrow hitting the target. Clear and true.
Marth 10/10HP critically hits Hetero-Sapien A 5.5/8HP with Killer Bow -> Hetero-Sapien A 2.5/8HP
The bow lowers on a silent sigh of relief, tightly wrapped fingers loosening. Never complacent, not a Hero-King won of one war or two, fifty or a hundred. He casts his gaze around in observation of their remaining allies and ushers them closer, firm yet friendly. "We do not know what our foes are capable of. But they do not know us either. Let us keep united whilst looking out for one another."
returning to the monastery, veyle does not allow herself to sit in the infirmary for very long at all. she of course allows the initial checkup to be conducted to quell the fears and anxieties of the infirmary staff but beyond that she cannot just sit around and do nothing. as a fell dragon she boasts stronger stamina and endurance than a normal human might. she must put that to good use, especially so after her continued failure in the last mission. she told them she would take it easy for a little while… but in veyle fashion, she does anything but that. as soon as she’s out of there, she heads straight towards the training grounds. she needed to get stronger, and as soon as possible. she didn’t have time to rest.
unfortunately for her, she encounters marth on the way there. one of the few people that could put a knife in her plan.
“e-emblem marth!” she starts in surprise, shoulders tensing as she clutches her hands to her chest. that he is here, but also that he would call out to her like she is just another friend of his— he is kind, and she is not worthy. her past with the emblems and her failure to be useful to the monastery dictate her thoughts. the fell dragon looks downward, avoiding his gaze.
it is easy to disobey the instructions of the infirmary staff. it is not so easy to disobey the instructions of the emblem of beginning. “sorry, i just think the infirmary is already full enough as is. it would be a waste for me to stay there for more than a few hours.” she admits, voice quieter and not necessarily unsure but… certainly not confident. it is not easy to lie to him, either, so she tells him the truth. “i was… going to do some training.” she glances up at him with her head still tilted slightly downward, waiting for his reaction.
Earth bound rested the dragon's gaze as if there were something of interest to be sighted there, a place meant otherwise for marching ants and tossed refuse, and not for kindly princesses like herself. A discerning eye such as Marth's would sense that other things were amiss, guilt and shock the issues made most quickly apparent. His friendly look does not falter, assuring that there will be no stern reprimand for her discovery here, and nor will she be met with refusal elsewhere.
"Nonsense, Veyle. It is precisely for the task of healing patients like yourself that the infirmary stands in existence." Even so, how noble and considerate she is - the desire to spare a much needed commodity of needless expenditure one he knows well, passing treatment to those with more urgent injuries. However, these desires are not perfectly the case, as she would be soon to reveal. "Training?" he echoes the girl with thinly veiled surprise, riding high on two arched brows.
Was this the reason for her inability to make eye contact? His stunned silence stands tall and strong, then lobs to pieces on a laugh.
"Hah! Oh, forgive me. Such guilt ridden behavior and I'd expected a deeper meaning of sorts. I did not expect a single fancied training session to be the reason for escape." Another chuckle, accompanying the light shake of his head. All amusement aside, he would understand the reasoning of voices and experts not presently in attendance. Anyone would connect foolishness with the potential mistake of committing to activity so soon after incurring injury.
But he would not call her foolish. Though she has given him answer, still it raises further question and curiosity, and so investigation is in order. He leans down slightly to eye level, hands resting across knees with a friendly smile. "So you wish to do some training. Is there a reason that it cannot wait until after you have soundly rested?"
as she always had for him, caeda waits. that is what he needs in his life, she thinks, someone that is always willing to wait for him no matter what. she presses her hands to her chests and clenches them tight into fists, nerves being tugged at like a bow on a violin string. she does not like to see him in anguish, no matter how big or small the problem it is that he faces.
her expression visibly falls and oh does her heart crumble when she hears what has been bothering him. all the puzzle pieces lay out in her mind, connecting one by one with every few words that come from his mouth until it forms the bigger picture. it is no wonder that he had seemed so off whenever they talked about children— whether it be the puppies clinging onto their mother or the child holding her parents hands. his crown weighs heavy on his head in every matter which deemed it appropriate. children— the heirs of the future— being one such matter.
she would curse herself for not seeing this earlier, but that is not what he needs. “the prospect of children terrifies me too, you know.” she speaks with a honey-like tone as she steps closer, taking both of his hands in her own. the first comfort she offers— that he is not alone in his worries. “i mean— gosh, i’m not ready to be a mother at all!” a subtle blush takes to her cheeks , expression sheepish as she looks up to him. she hadn’t exactly forgotten what he said about how she would make a fantastic mother. “what excites me, beloved, is that— when i am ready, it will be with you.” her smile turns warm, unfathomably kind in its tug against her strawberry balmed lips. “it’s true that we do have a duty to continue our bloodline in order for archanea to keep succeeding as a country, and it’s true that they will have a heavy torch to carry just like yours.”
“but marth. you are not alone. and just like you, on the day that they make it into this world, our child will not be alone either.” she thumbs the palm of his hand, bringing the other up to his cheek to warmly caress it.
His Caeda; his treasured, his irreplaceable, and oh so adored. He is taken into her hands and that tender link is enough to steady him, even so much as the mind rocks on its unique stretch of turbulence. Or perhaps not so unique. It is unfailingly like his Talys queen to be understanding, to know precisely what form of word and comfort to use whenever distress finds him - but to know his fears of parenthood were also shared? Found across that common ground is a solace like no other.
Softness stakes claim within his eyes, in the space between them ringing with honest admission. They are heroes made by war, witness to every manner of crushing view and vicious enemy, and yet here is something they might fear equally to sword and axe and lance, to the maw of the Shadow Dragon, bottomless and cavernous of its dark. That which they fear to hope for and cherish the endless possibilities of nevertheless; creation of something - someone - new.
His thumbs smooth over the slender bones of her hand, then the rougher callouses, relishes in the woman who is master over it all, and him all. "Thank you, Caeda. Knowing that our thoughts ring together, it feels like a weight was taken off my shoulders. I feel the same—I do not think myself prepared to step into parenthood. And Archanea, too, is not yet prepared. Not to receive our precious gift when its hold on peace is still ever shaky."
And what a precious gift they would be. With her and their other, that blessed girl or boy - or both if graced with twins! - it would be a splendid life lived; that possibility would be nothing short of a dream. He steps closer, his arms shifting to embrace her, fuller and larger, where she had held him in the smaller clutches of her hands.
"However. One day a time will come, when all is ready. When the world itself feels. . .just right." Just right; namely, an era of true accord where evils no longer plague to the effect of tragic casualties, where bandits and pirates might stay their hands as compared to before, where justice is the universal standard, and the newly unified Archanea has grown thick skin to those pecking for its harvests. When that time comes— "When that time comes, when I should cross into a new role with you and a wonderful child at my side? I would be made well and truly happy."
