ASTRA'S WIELDER.

this is the only way of life i know. / blue lions faculty at the officers academy.

[astrasword]

This is a closed roleplay blog for Ayra from Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War. Written by Rune (she/her, 25+). Re-established in February 2025. Affiliated with the Officers Academy as Blue Lions faculty. PSD, pinned & activity check.

Be warned: if you break your promise, you'll deeply regret it. Cross me, and I will pursue you to the very depths of the inferno itself, till I take your head. Remember this well! — Girl of the Spirit Forest

I ask that you kindly contact me if you want to continue an ask. This is so I know to expect a response and to keep my thread count manageable. If I refuse your request it's due to the latter, nothing personal. I also ask that you do not use small text. Thank you in advance for your understanding.

Notes on my portrayal.

Ayra is taken from post-canon, having died at Belhalla. Her body wasn't identified, which along with her skill led to rumors that she had survived. Aside from the game itself, I also take inspiration from Heroes, the Oosawa manga and the novelization.

She is currently a sword instructor for the Blue Lions House, known for being a strict and demanding teacher as well as for her unpredictable classes. That being said, learning under her is rewarding and she does care for her students.

New: She left her teaching position to go home to Isaach, where she spent nine months before the monastery's destruction motivated her to return and help rebuild.

She married Lex over the course of the game's events.

[umbralward]

weekend at burgundy's

+sword || infamous -> game doc

[mxlusine]

Zephia's next exhale comes with the beginnings of laughter, and something in her expression sharpens with amusement.

"Would you pout if I found different ways to entertain myself?" she asks, her voice light and idle, pitched far too carelessly despite the blood that'd been spilt and the guilt that now hangs over all their heads. "You weren't very good company once the bottles were empty, so I left soon after you fell asleep. I didn't want you catching a cold, after all, so I made my way to the servant's quarters to see if I could get us a blanket."

She pauses, feigning realization with a tap of her finger against her chin, and conspicuously leaves out whether she actually did end up finding one.

"Mm... though, now that I think about it, I do recall hearing someone else shuffling about in the hallways." Zephia tips her head, almost like she's turning the memory over. "Hurried footsteps, I believe, coming from the other end of the hall..." Her gaze falls on the woman directly across from her—Ayra, was it?—and smiles like she knows something. "...Late as it was."

She leaves it there. No accusation, no elaboration, just a fact, a look, and all the space in the world for others to imagine as they please.

"Oh, but it was likely nothing. After all, no one has said anything about when the poor viscount found himself on the wrong end of a blade, hm?"

Was it a blade that killed him? Was it not? Surely, Zephia seems to imply, Ayra would know.

(Or would she?)

@astrasword or @pastbelow !

[pastbelow]

Quiet footsteps approach the pair, and a gloved hand hovers for a moment above Zephia's shoulder in a pacifying gesture—before he thinks better of it and lets it fall back to his side. "By your own admission, Zephia, it's far too early to throw stones," he intones, only a little disapproving. "Isn't it more likely that those footsteps you heard belonged to a longstanding member of the night staff, who know the manor far better than we do?"

Not that noises in the night are enough proof for anything, and the pair's tales have enough holes in them as it is. Had Griss really been drunk enough to pass out cold? Did Zephia truly leave to find blankets and nothing else? But even more importantly… if one of them had gotten to the Viscount first, what would drive them to stand by each other so staunchly? (Amber eyes narrow by a fraction.) Sadistic bloodthirst? …Genuine trust?

Unfortunately, it's too late for him to wash his hands of this whole matter, isn't it. He turns a gentle smile on everyone in the room. "Let me see if I can learn a little more about all this. The when and how, if not the why."

With a slight bow, he strides out of the parlor. If more violence breaks out in there, he doesn't need to be under suspicion for that, too.

//

The staff are still dealing with the fallout of the murder, and barely anyone spares him even a glance as he drifts through the halls. With nothing more to go off of, he pays a visit to the library beside the servant's quarters. Perhaps this is where Zephia had heard the sound coming from?

There hasn't been a prior opportunity to step into this room during his brief stay. At a glance, it's indulgently opulent... but coated in a layer of dust. Though a single table has been cleaned off, resting on it a stack of tomes and a recently cold mug of tea.

Even now, Shigure smiles to himself. He can hazard a pretty good guess as to who has been spending their free time here.

All sorts of artifacts line the walls, placards greying with age. His steps pass him by each of them, only passively noticing their nature. A boar's head, a tall vase, a bronze plate, a ceremonial sword… wait just a moment. He stands by this display for a moment longer. His smile falls.

The handle—and the blade itself, for that matter—is entirely clean.

[umbralward]

In the wake of the news, staff flits this and that, sharing information and other gossip, either enthusiastically assisting with the postmortem business, or judging it.  One such rumor that reaches Ophelia's ears is that one of the more dangerous tomes from the library is missing; with those indulging in spreading it claiming that it could be responsible.

Ophelia's blood runs cold to hear it, and quickens her pace, rushing away from the gathering to check her room.

She feels as though she's a singular entity, despite the people she passes in the hallway, rushing as she is, her hair flying behind her in her harried exit.

She fumbles with the key to her door, nearly dropping it from her anxious fingers, but she makes it in without incident.  Ophelia slams the door behind her and throws herself at the floor beside her bed.  Underneath her other clothes, she finds it - the tome she'd smuggled out of the library.

There's one bookcase cordoned off with velvety rope.  While most of the library is full of encyclopedias and reference material, that is where the late count keeps his magic tomes.  Many of them are rather mundane - she's seen Wind and Fire; and the poor man put a Rat Scroll in a glass case, as though it's all that special.  This one spoke to the darkness in her heart in a way she had to investigate for herself.

It bears no name on its cover nor spine, but was labeled ‘Iron Tome’ by a plaque nearby it.  Ophelia is glad it's safe; it means her little theft wasn't directly responsible for the man's death.

[astrasword]

“ Strange, ” Ayra answers the bold-faced accusation quite calmly. “ I heard Griss say if it had been us, yet here you are, hurrying to blame me... To frame me for your crime, perhaps? ” She shrugs. “ You spoke of a blade with such certainty, is all. ”

A sword must have been used indeed, as the man’s throat was slit according to the murmurs among his servants. Who used it is another matter; and swiftly blaming the swordmaster among their number speaks to shortsightedness even if not to guilt.

She doesn’t care to point out every single discrepancy in Zephia’s tale, though... and she doesn’t care for whatever that woman may have to say, either. Ayra crosses the parlor while speaking, not waiting for any response but going straight to the head maid and bowing deeply. It is not that she expects leniency — they deserve to suffer consequences —; but simply that she has brought dishonor to Isaach.

“ I will not ask forgiveness, knowing as I do that your Viscount cannot be returned to life. Yet I gave him my word, and I failed to keep it. For that, you can punish me as you see fit. ”

A hush falls over the staff, and the old woman’s expression shifts from wariness to astonishment when she sees that the swordmaster means it. She does not quite soften, no, but she looks on Ayra with less disapproval than before.

“ Your sense of honor is admirable, but... It would be unjust to punish you for a crime you did not commit. ”

Ayra bows again. “ The decision is yours. ”

With that, she leaves to join Shigure just in time to see his smile fall. Having stopped by the sword, he’s failed to notice that the axe hung on the far wall is just as pristine.

“ Hm. Perhaps the Viscount cared for his weaponry more than other artifacts. ” She jerks her chin to indicate a glass case up ahead. “ His Rat Scroll is well-kept, too. ”

[astrasword]

déjà vu.

Restoration / Pilgrims

[thelightofcreation]

“Chaotic,” He answers first, a response that draws a few reactions from the crowd that followed them, some amused, some weary; his mind was only half occupied by the path through the rubble- no matter how the walls have crumbled, he still followed invisible guidelines of pillars that no longer existed. “But I’m sure you can guess at that. The attack on the monastery was sudden, from what I hear, and the fight to reclaim it taxing on those who managed to regroup.”

His words, of course, place him far from the action- and he does not intend to hide that truth; he had not been part of those fighting to reclaim the monastery. He doubts that they would have appreciated his presence either way- in something so extended, morale was as scarce a resource as any other. 

He is not blind to how quickly he can destroy it. 

Besides, a building was a building, destined to fall eventually, regardless of its history or usage- and he was no longer affiliated with it. 

“…And here we are.”

The formerly stained glass windows are all gone, only shadows of their frames still remaining, if anything. The roof is bowed, sections crumbling into itself, but the cathedral manages to give itself a semblance of the grandeur it once had- crumbling and old, but no less associated with the divine. 

If his lies were easy to read, prior, Sephiran retracts his blessing of an open heart and simply gazes upon it, serene.

[astrasword]

Chaotic. A single brow rises, but if nothing else he remarks on the obviousness of the answer himself. What comes after is just as obvious... Including, she thinks, that he kept his distance from the fight.

Better that than surviving while Edelgard and Veyle fell, she reckons. Still —

“ Right, ” she acknowledges his answer, such as it was, curtly. “ I can guess at all of that, yes. ”

They reach their destination, or what little remains of it, and the pilgrims spread out to go about their worship. Sephiran looks like he could be one of them, gazing at the half-broken cathedral as serenely as only a priest could. He is just as aggravating as he was in Lilium, if not more so yet.

Ayra’s hand itches for her sword. Alas, she must content herself with a hard stare and a sharp question:

“ Are you always so vague, or do you see me as some kind of enemy still? ”

[astrasword]

Status.

Hiatus (April) Passed (May)

Skill points.

Any Skill +1 from Activity Check, unallocated

Skill changes.

N/A

Claims.

Bouquet (pending) Ethereal Ball prize (pending) Dancer class access (pending)

[astrasword]

Due to a family emergency I wasn’t able to write as much as I wanted for the last two days of the event, but all asks I’ve gotten will be answered. I willl also do my best to wrap minis in a timely manner, although it may take me a few days in-between posts and so I don’t mind dropping them if you’d rather. Thanks to all who reached out and made my first Ethereal Ball a lovely one!

[astrasword]

@sublimeflowoftime sent: [ WATER ] Stepping out into the fray had been rather fun, but as the night begins its winding down, so too must Sothis return in assisting others to do as such. Similarly to how her own night had begun, she approaches the stranger with glass in hand and a gentle smile. “I hope all the dancing has not taken too much out of you. Please, take this and a moment to rest before you depart.” The girl extends the hand holding the water, and another with one of her orchids to accompany it. “And this as well. I believe it compliments your dress rather nicely. It would be a crime to leave you both separated, you understand.”

What is it with total strangers approaching her to offer her water at this ball? It’s just the same comment as the first time, too... Except more wordy, and so more grating.

Ayra wonders for a moment if this is some custom she’s unaware of, but with the first woman’s admittance that she is unused to these events, it cannot be that. She didn’t exert herself nearly enough to be drawing attention for it, either. The thought itself is ridiculous: she has devoted her entire life to honing her body as a blade, and a few dances are nothing at all.

Not least because she has been quenching her thirst as needed.

“ I can pour myself water, thank you, ” she replies coldly. A crime to leave them both separated? A brow rises. Perhaps this one is simply odd. “ The orchid, though, I shall accept. It does match my dress. ”

Having taken it, she offers a white lily and her dry wit in return:

“ Here. It matches your outfit just as well as any other. ”

With that she leaves to procure a glass of water after all, hoping to deter any further attempts at serving her. Honestly.

[astrasword]

@seawardoath sent: [ GRANNVALE ] When the music comes to an end, Ronan can't hide the fact that he'd been staring at her through the whole thing. There's no escaping her glance, and nothing to offer her but the truth: "You're so nimble on your feet. Where'd you learn a dance like that?"

Ayra hasn’t had the occasion to attend a ball in several years now, but she recalls her lessons well... And there is a degree of overlap between combat and dance, with or without swords involved in the latter; or at least between her style — swift, precise, graceful in devastation — and dance.

She was the one who first made Astra into an art, after all, a marvel for the eyes.

Not that she would say her dance is even close to a marvel, having witnessed Sylvia perform. It’s good enough, but nothing so impressive as to draw the eye... Or so she would have thought, but there’s someone watching her all through the dance.

(It’s an unpleasant feeling, not merely for the fact of it but for the nagging thought that if she had ever danced this waltz in Grannvale they would have stared too.

Better — infinitely better — that than the fire, but the reminder she went out of her way to learn a dance from a people who saw her as too “barbaric” to care stings... and all the more so for how they spat on her father’s attempt at diplomacy.)

Finding the culprit is no hard task, at least, and he’s brave enough not to flee from her harsh gaze. The question even earns him a laugh, quiet and humorless though it is.

“ Those are two different questions. The dance I learned at court in Isaach, but the nimbleness? ” She holds out a flower, her hand remaining outstretched afterwards for one of his; a lily is not so great a thing as to leave him in her debt, but exchanges should be equal. “ That’s from the field of battle as much as from my blood. ”

[astrasword]

because i’m still in love with you.

Ethereal Ball / First Half

[astrasword]

For all that Ayra might look like she didn’t particularly want to be here, if it were the case she would not have come at all — just like the year before. This year, though...

This year, she couldn’t help smiling when she saw him coming her way. Crusaders knew what he’d been up since he’d parted from her. He might have been on duty at the Goddess’ Tower every bit as easily as he might have made a fool of himself. He might have done both at once, even.

Whatever her husband had been doing, it mattered far less than the here and now.

“ Took you long enough, ” she teased. “ I was beginning to wonder if you’d dare to break a promise made to me. I would have hunted you down for that, you know. ”

Although she made her threat in an utterly serious tone, the offering of a lily was likely to lessen its effect. Ah, well. This, too, was part of their song and dance. Speaking of which, the melody that had just begun...

She unsheathed her sword in the blink of an eye, or rather his, because of course it was the Brave Sword he’d given her years ago... And for the memory’s sake she held it out to him along with her flower, smiling winsomely. (That he would not be able to gift her a rose was no great matter, for she knew he would reciprocate as soon as the dance ended.)

“ I think you know by now that your wife is no lady, ” she said, her voice hushed, “ but if it’s for you, Lex, I can play the part just this once. ”

@helswathed

[astrasword]

@milafaithful sent: [ sample ] "Excuse me, professor… um…?" A single night is not nearly enough time to learn everyone's names, but Silque hopes a gesture of goodwill is enough to smooth things over. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I don't think these candies are made with mint at all. Perhaps there's been a switch-up somewhere?" Indeed, the treat in her mouth dissolves on the tongue like flour, with a bitter aftertaste vaguely reminiscent of Duma Moss. "They are still quite delicious, though!" Silque says sincerely, holding a tulip and the box of candies out in offering.

“ Ayra, ” she supplies promptly, giving the speaker an once-over and recognizing her as the newest student to join the Lions. “ I was thinking the same... Silque, yes? ”

The girl is straightforward enough, as well as considerate given that she went out of her way to warn Ayra... Although she also strikes the swordmaster as naïve.

“ A switch-up. Optimistic, aren’t you? This is a prank, is what it is. ”

Naïve, and odd. To think, she went out of her way to give a warning only to hold out the very thing she warned against. A brow lifts, but after a moment Ayra shrugs and takes her tulip at least.

“ Thank you. ” While speaking, she slips a lily into the girl’s hand. “ Keep the candies, though. I would tell you to share with your classmates, but — ” her lips curl upwards in the barest of smirks, “ they might not appreciate that very much. ”

[astrasword]

@scarletfireblossom sent: [ WATER ] A glass is held out towards the woman with dark hair. In her other hand she is offering a lily from her bouquet. Hinoka hums. "It's been a good night of dancing, don't you think?" she asked. This one had the vibe of a warrior as well...

A stranger coming up to her with a flower would have been one thing, seeing as they are expected to go around handing those out. The glass of water, though, and the comment on a good night of dancing...

Well, this could be exactly what it appears — a kind but unnecessary gesture, some meaningless talk to fill the silence — or it could be an insult, a subtle way to tell her she’s sweaty and gross. Even the lily could be either a token of goodwill or a part of the insult given its strong, masking scent.

Saint Od give her patience. She’s truly not made for glamorous events and their trite pleasantries... So much so that she levels this woman with an intense look, one brow lifted, in the precious seconds she wastes on these considerations.

“ Indeed, ” is the curt reply, pointedly not accompanied by an apology. Her gaze is no less intense, either. Ayra supposes it is to the stranger’s credit that she hasn’t left, although it would’ve been preferable if she had. “ My thanks. ”

Said thanks are given only for the bloom, which is taken and replaced with one from her own bundle in the blink of an eye. The water, she waves off afterwards.

“ I am in no need of attending, ” she adds, not unkindly despite her bluntness, “ least of all by a fellow ball-goer. If that’s all you came over for, you’ll excuse me. ”

[astrasword]

eagles and empires.

Ethereal Ball / First Half

[astrasword]

In hindsight it should not have come as a surprise that a country whose House is named after eagles has a dance honoring the bird, but in Ayra’s defense she did not expect her once-fallen kingdom to have anything in common with an empire.

For all the moons she has spent on foreign soil (has it already been two years in all?), she has thought but little of the Adrestian Empire. She is aware of its history in broad strokes, but the politics of Fódlan are not her concern. She’s sworn to the Academy, and no more. At least, that is what she has told herself so far.

Yet having seen the dance from Adrestia, her thoughts turn to how Isaach’s dance and even their tradition of falconry itself were largely forgotten under the yoke of another empire; then to the enemy she imagined in Lilium; and then to —

“ Edelgard, ” she falls into step with the imperial princess easily, her expression as cool and unreadable as ever. “ I should like to experience this dance from Adrestia, if you would humor a professor. ”

Though she may have little patience for veiled words, she was still taught when to employ them — and how. She offers the student a white lily, adding casually:

“ In my homeland, too, we have a dance to honor the eagle. If you like, I could request it after this and guide you in turn. ”

@hresvelged

[astrasword]

ETHEREAL BALL 2026.

Despite being a princess, Ayra has never felt like she belonged at a ballroom. She is just not the sort of woman who cares for dresses and flowers, or even the sort who enjoys the social games often played by nobles. In fact, all the subterfuge tests her patience more than anything.

And yet, here she is. Whether it’s nostalgia for her father’s court or simply the want to enjoy an evening with her husband, a ball does not seem so bad... Although she still rolls her eyes when handed a bouquet of white lilies. At least their color makes for a nice contrast against her Isaachian formal dress, she supposes, and —

“ Ah, so it’s not just women having flowers foisted on them, ” she tells Lex with quiet relief. “ Must be a local custom. We are to exchange them with others, then? ”

With a sparkle in her eye she tightens her grip on Lex’s arm and adds, “ Mind whom you hand roses to. I’d rather not draw my swords in a ballroom. ”

Roses: Lex

Lilies: Hinoka

Hyacinths: Ronan

Tulips: Silque

Orchids: Edelgard, Sothis

I require context for asks, even if just a few lines, due to Ayra’s shining personality. All prompts are welcome!

[berglietz]

the wolf among us

mission board: restoration | non-mission task, Riding +1

[berglietz]

Caspar’s own hackles raise at the demand. Ayra and the wolf get to keep their weapons, but he’s meant to be unarmed? He doesn’t understand the words of the creature, but he sees the intelligence in its eyes. If it’s smart enough to try to make a deal, is it smart enough to try to pull a trick? How can he promise not to touch his weapon if that’s the case?

When his father was his age, he’d taken down a bear with nothing but his own hands. His hand balls into a fist, still inches from his axe handle.

“Fine.”

The word is meant to be brusque and confident, but there’s a petulant creak to his voice he can’t quite control. A fresh bubble of frustration simmers deep in his chest. His fists drop to his sides, still curled tight. “Not like I need the axe anyway…” It’s grumbled lowly, thoughtlessly, in a register close to the wolf’s own voice. In a louder voice, he adds: “Does he understand me, too? I wanna know why he thinks he needs to freeze people out of their homes!”

[astrasword]

As a matter of fact, Ayra does not get to keep her weapon. She gets only to have it on her, but the fact she crosses her arms should tell Caspar enough. It should, but of course it doesn’t: He’s too young not to take offense, and too young not to voice that offense. Or... No, that isn’t quite right.

Shannan knew to bite his tongue when he was half this boy’s age, save for those few occasions when he was pushed too far (in other words, when he thought he’d lose or had lost his aunt; she does not dwell). The matter hinges less on youth than it does on privilege. Caspar is closer to her own age when Isaach fell than to her nephew’s; and the gods know how many times she bit her tongue, how many times her pride was spat on and tarnished and swallowed down with increasingly more bitterness.

— How can she hope to convey any of that to a youth who has had the privilege of not losing everything, though?

“Why does he think?” rumbles the wolf. “I could eat him for that, you know.”

Ayra makes no protest. She could not, not with how well she understands the beast.

“ Caspar, ” she intones, her quietness a warning, “ either watch your tongue or let me do the talking. As for your question... ”

She exchanges a look with the beast, then turns to face her student. If it lunges, she’ll be fast enough; but it won’t.

“ No one welcomes a beast. It was either freezing people out of their homes, or being attacked. Killed, maybe. Now, why do you think he’s been breaking into houses in the first? Destroying the furniture? ” She pauses to let the questions sink in, holding Caspar’s gaze. “ He is hungry enough to try and eat wood, boy. ”

[renaisguy]

Trilemma Trickery

Axe +1

[lazulienne]

    The voice that booms overhead rattles Lapis enough to put her immediately on the defensive: a call from an intruder her brain tells her. Her hand moves to her blade immediately, not unlike Forde and Ayra with her, but as ruby eyes glance this way and that, no foe comes. No, the statues are their only company within this room, and the doors, though they might be openings, do not swarm with enemies even as they invite souls to pass through them.

Lapis attempts to recompose herself, feeling a bit embarrassed for getting so up in arms over what feels much lighter for the moment. It is only by the shared instinct of her two allies and the utterly serious demeanor of the raven-haired one that she doesn't feel completely mortified over the ordeal.

“Hmm,” Lapis hums, relaxing ever so slightly as she takes in, really takes in the statue, for the first time now. The doors behind it, for sure, all different in their approach. For it, Forde and Ayra follow that same line of logic, separate in their answers.

And in that way, Lapis doesn't break from the examples set before them, completing their trinity.

“Whoa! Wait, why not the lance door?” she tries to stop the Isaachian. Whilst Forde's answer was a suggestion, Ayra's is a confident statement as if everything was already decided. “Couldn't the statue be telling us what we're trying to beat up? If so, then lances break swords!”

NEXT: @renaisguy or @astrasword !!

[renaisguy]

“Oh, good point.” Forde nods. Lances beat swords, and swords beat axes, everyone knew that. “It probably isn’t the sword door then, if the statue is meant to be a clue.” And it probably was, if whoever locked them in here was kind enough to provide a clue in the first place. 

Just in case though, he does a quick sweep of the room. The door’s a normal door, the windows are just glass, he doesn’t feel like checking every single floor tile but none of them have an obvious ‘go through this one, silly’ written on them. 

“So we just have to decide whether this guy’s a friend or foe, then?” Forde had thought the statue an enemy when he arrived, but if they were in this room and their enemies in the next- he shakes his head. “It really could go either way…” And he gets the feeling that no matter how hard he thought about it, he wouldn’t do better than that. 

In the end, he’ll be happy following his teammate’s wishes. “I’d rather we didn’t split up.” He says. “But if either of you are happy to go alone, I’ll back up the other. We can always fall back and regroup, after all.”

@astrasword @lazulienne, any thoughts?

[astrasword]

Truth be told, Ayra scarcely notices the other woman was caught by surprise at all, too focused on the threat itself to mind her companions overmuch... At least until the knight challenges her directly. She whips her head round, one brow rising in disbelief: not for Lapis’ point itself being a poor one, no, but for the fact that she thinks this worth debating at all when they’ve no evidence one way or the other.

Not to mention, Forde is really too concerned over their splitting up. Can he not see the strategical benefit of it? Ah, but then... He has never seen her in battle. Pity, that; and for a moment she is tempted to simply walk to her chosen door and their protests be damned. Yet they are working together, and so she summons the patience for such needless talk... Even if it’s with a scoff.

“ It could, ” she tells Lapis first, without bite, “ but seeing as we’ve no way to tell and standing around doesn’t help, I made my decision. ”

To Forde, she says only, “ I will go alone. ”

@lazulienne, @renaisguy, good luck.

[renaisguy]

Trilemma Trickery

Axe +1

[renaisguy]

The door slams shut behind them, lock clicking. Forde turns to look at it, hand ready to draw his blade. This mansion allegedly housed a serial killer, after all. Even if the letter had ‘many differences’ from the one found at Lady Phlegethon’s manor, and was ‘almost certainly a fake’, they still needed to be on guard. 

There’s no one there. Not even behind the door’s clouded glass, there’s no sign of who or what shut them in here. Forde takes a couple of steps backwards, looking around for- 

“Woah!” 

Forde draws his blade, quickly swinging it to parry… a stone blade, held by a stone statue of a soldier on a horse. He’s not reassured by the memory of fighting monsters that temporarily turn their enemies to stone. 

He returns to the front door, trying the doorknob cause you never know, but as expected, they’re locked in here. He searches for any latch or bolt that could let them out, but once again, no dice. 

Behind the statue are three doors, leading deeper into the mansion. A weapon is carved into each - sword, lance, and axe respectively. As Forde goes to investigate further, a disembodied voice booms overhead. 

“Defeat your foes, or die trying.” 

“That’s reassuring.” Forde sighs, gripping his blade tight. Looks like they’ll be fighting after all. He looks to the statue once more, to the doors, and to the sword in his hand. “So… should we go through the sword door, then?”

@lazulienne @astrasword

[astrasword]

While Ayra is not a poor investigator and this is far from her first time infiltrating a community or the other upon the Church’s request, the fact remains that subterfuge isn’t her preferred method. Of course, it is not always possible to solve conflicts with her blade... but she would much rather be deployed in situations where that is what’s needed, even still.

Alas, no such fortune to be had this time around either; and it goes without saying that she is beholden by her oath. Even if it means little to the Fódlanese themselves it means the world to her, and she will never break it. Therefore, she is undertaking yet another mission she’d prefer not to.

All of which is to say that, realizing they’ve walked right into a trap, the swordmaster feels a strange relief. The door is shut and will not open, which means they’ll have to fight their way through. Now this is what she knows best, what her blood flows for.

“ ‘Tis our foes that will die trying, ” Ayra speaks with utter confidence, Brave Sword in hand. But no foes charge at them, not from any of the three doors. What a waste of time. “ That seems too obvious. I will go through the axe door. ”

She doesn’t elaborate: no need, seeing as they all wield swords.

@lazulienne, what say you?

[astrasword]

Status.

Passed

Skill points.

Any Skill +1 from Activity Check, allocated to Riding Any Skill +1 from Knowledge Gem, unallocated

Skill changes.

Riding D+ -> C

Claims.

Sword of the Sineater Armorslayer

[astrasword]

a matter of principle.

Epidemic / Riding +1

[astrasword]

To say that Ayra is aghast to hear of unsanctioned horse races would be an understatement. Crime begets crime, and so there is no doubt in her mind that aside from the gambling involved being illegal those poor animals are being mistreated for profit away from the monastery’s sight.

The thought is enough to make her blood boil. Exploiting horses, of all animals, is utterly despicable. They are the mounts and companions of Isaachian swordmasters, and there is no worse humiliation than to give up one’s horse. To do so is no less than a death sentence for any warrior, no matter how skillful. (That she herself gave her horse up to flee without drawing attention is besides the point.) She cannot conceive of treating them with anything but honor.

Or she could not have conceived of it, if she had not seen with her own eyes how Isaachian horses were used and treated by those Grannvalean dogs. They were stolen, is what they were, then held under duress. And of course (of course!) she would return to Fódlan after learning her own aged horse was being forced to carry armor to be reminded of Grannvale’s cruelty as soon as she’s off the boat. It’s a slap to the face... and it makes dread pool at her feet like black tar. She hopes it isn’t so bad, but she knows it’s damned likely to be.

As such she would have much preferred to charge in with swords unsheathed... but, unfortunately, she knows her way around politics and public perception and all those nuisances. If Garreg Mach wants this ended quietly, she will see it ended quietly. (Which is not to say that she has no swords on her person. Never that. They are sheathed, though... For now.)

If nothing else, there is someone she knows she can trust at these makeshift racing grounds. Some other members of faculty, even some knights, might be here for cheap entertainment or gold. Not Mauvier, though.

“ It is good to see you again, Mauvier, ” she says, sincere if formal, and takes up her place beside him: a race is to begin shortly. In an undertone, she inquires, “ Have you learned anything useful? ”

@contempenitent