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@berglietz
Caspar von Bergliez || Black Eagles Student @ TOA
"He's the second son of Count Bergliez. He has no inheritance in his future, which is perhaps why he's always so eager to prove himself. He's overly energetic and rushes headfirst into any battle. If he ends up in your care, be sure to keep a close eye on him." - Edelgard von Hresvelg
LINKS: [ about ] || [ stats ] || [ mun ] || [ thread tracker ]
i think we're alone now
cont. from -> 🩵
when caspar is quiet, linhardt knows he's thinking. he's probably thinking several things in the interim before his sounds and words, and all of them are mysteries to unravel for linhardt.
he follows, though, and that's what matters.
“more like… the goddess tower,” they reply, “but considering how popular the rumors and how adamant the church, it'll be far easier to get away with this in one of the empty rooms.”
he pauses at a doorway of a randomly chosen room and peers inside. it's too dark to see clearly, but it seems fine enough and linhardt is feeling a little impatient.
“though, i must ask: would you break into the holy tomb with me? i'd love to have a -”
they pause, smiling, and turn towards their date. “- a partner. for my research.”
linhardt can just make out caspar's silhouette in the dark, and the more they stare at him, the better his features come into focus, but he's never completely visible.
they raise one hand and gently cross a single finger against his jaw. it's the suggestion of a caress, but more curious and tentative. linhardt can't tell if he hesitates for his own sake, or for caspar's. in that, perhaps, he will let caspar decide.
@berglietz
“I’m not sure how much help I’d be for the research part…”
Caspar’s hands reach out for Linhardt in the dark. Their bare shoulder is cool to the touch. The barely-there brush against his face that makes his own shoulders want to shiver. He swallows, grateful for the low light making the heat in his face at least a little bit less obvious.
“I’d be there for the adventure. And for-” His voice treacherously creaks, catching up with how embarrassed he is by his own words before his mind fully does, “-For you.”
It’s strange to feel so awkward. Living in his own body is usually the most natural thing in the world, but moments like this make him feel like he has to relearn how to make all of his muscles move. Endless hours of practice with running, climbing, swinging, shouting...none of them really help him here. It’s like learning how to swing a blade from the start all over again, tripping over himself and all.
Then again, Linhardt had nearly always been there to heal up his scrapes when he'd tripped. So...maybe it’s okay? He fishes for some bravery, slides his hand a bit, and finds it in the thrum of Linhardt's heart beneath his palm.
"It's always fun with you." 'Kissing can be kind of fun, don't you think..?' It's impossible not to think of the expression on Linhardt's face when they'd asked that before. Caspar's tongue catches at the memory. "Did you- do you still think--"
He thankfully lets the unfortunate words slide, retreating into his own room.
And giving Tine space to once again retreat into her own mind.
How long is this going to last?
Almost definitely long enough; she will need more clothes, a place to stay, and, as such, a job, right?
There's an irony: she's supposed to be competent to lead what amounts to a small country.
But the only thing she could define as job experience is killing people.
She must be really drifting off before she realizes Caspar is back with the spare clothes promised.
So do the clothes work for her?
She's unfortunately unsure if the two of them are of similar stature, but they still seem a bit baggy.
But while she's by no means dry, her clothes don't look blatantly soaked, and she feels //somewhat// presentable.
"Ah- I'm sorry for wasting your time, but would it be okay if I just left my armor at your room for safety and borrowed the towel?"
She doesn't want it lost or destroyed, not when it so suddenly became one of the few connections she has to home.
"I am very thankful for all of your assistance, but could we please go and explain my presence?
It's stressful to be here without an explanation..."
Caspar’s boot taps against the stone floor. Idling isn’t his strong suit, so he’s more than ready to move along.
(Oh, but she’s apologizing again. Does he seem impatient?)
“You apologize too much. I like spending my time feeling helpful, so don’t worry about it!”
The towel will be a small loss, but he can make do. It’s not like he hasn’t scrounged for something clean to bring along with him to the training grounds before. There are more important things to focus on—like getting Tine to meet with the monastery staff!
“We’ve actually got other people from Jugdral here, so your situation isn’t totally unheard of. Besides uh, the part where you suddenly dropped into the pond.” He starts toward the door, ready to lead her to the last stop on this pseudo-tour. “The people at the reception hall will know where to send you. C’mon!”
▸ End
[ ♫ ] ─ * 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐲, 𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐮? (𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐥𝐥)
just three beagles & the paranormal
“i think you're getting ahead of yourself," linhardt tells caspar.
he can hardly blame him, though. even just a small glimpse of that vandalized portrait had been unsettling. the scribbles on the woman's face had been passionate, and their location had been a disturbing disfigurement to a human face.
when anxiety kicks in, linhardt leans on logic. their anxiety has yet to surge half as much as the jitters have set into caspar, but they're already making excuses for the coincidences experienced. a gust of wind puts out fire, and is commonly cooler than still air. it could move the curtains easily. linhardt doesn't know exactly where the draft had come in from, but that hardly matters.
even with the curtains open again, the room is dark without firelight, so linhardt casts a small spell that brings a shimmering orb of light to hover above his head.
“there, now the light won't go out. let's see what's actually in the tome, shall we?”
uneasy as she feels, dorothea shoots a grateful look in linhardt's direction. it's easier to keep her head on straight when she can make use of all her senses, loath as she is to navigate this place without precious sight.
her hand hovers over the book hesitantly. far be it from her to declare herself a seasoned mage, though there's no shaking the wary feeling that creeps into the pit of her stomach—discernment honed from a lifetime of reading intentions, and a familiarity with angry figures like the one she suspects is behind lenora's disfigurement.
...or maybe it's just anxiety? dorothea cannot discount that about herself, nor the fact that she might be influenced by tales of ghosts roaming mittelfrank's halls and productions heralding tragic sightings of apparitions who wander the earth. perhaps she is biased. perhaps she is just overthinking this?
cautiously, her fingers skim the edges of the pages. before she can flip them, however, the book shudders, and as if caught by a heavy gust of wind, the worn pages flip through themselves intensely, causing her to retract her hand in alarm as it finally lands on a blank page.
temporarily blank, that is, until dorothea watches in horror as black ink begins to seep through, forming letters:
TREAD CAREFULLY. I AM IN A MOOD MOST FOUL. / @berglietz
Beneath the tension that sits heavy over all of them, a glimmer of confidence lights up in Caspar’s chest. If things are going to be moving on their own, at least there’s an obvious channel to communicate with whatever is doing it now. They can figure this out. He can stand up to whatever caused all of this.
Bravery comes easiest when he dives right in, so he does. With Linhardt’s light filling the room, Caspar can easily locate a pen and ink. Right beneath the current text, he writes: Why?
A stray droplet of ink drips onto the page while his hand hovers for a breath, considering how to put his next thought to written word. His first one melts into the parchment before he gets the chance.
“Hey, wait-” The ground shudders. Or is it the sky? Caspar’s head spins the way it does when a sound digs into his body without permission like this, and it makes it hard to tell. There’s a clatter of glass—he’d thrown his arm out to steady himself without thinking and knocked the inkwell onto its side. When he looks down, though, the spattered liquid across the table and his skin looks alarmingly….um….red.
Oh, boy. He twists around to place the rest of his body between Linhardt and the mess he’s made of the table.
“Don’t look! I mean—uh—I’m not hurt! So you don’t have to look!”
@warpaway !!
may activity
Skill Points
+1 Monthly
Total: 55
Allocated: Axe S (20) -> Axe S+
Rank Up Rewards: Axefaire , Axe of Zoltan
[ SHAVED ICE ] - Served with a wide assortment of sweet, fruity syrups. Traditionally, it is served in bowls, but some are saying it makes for quite a refreshing sip when drank from a glass.
Compared to the other refreshments arranged for guests to help themselves to, the line for shaved ice is relatively short which makes it an attractive choice to Sara who would rather not wait around longer than she has to. The wide array of tasty flavors and syrups on the table also provide much leeway to experiment and allow for the open-minded to create a truly unique drink.
She starts with a bright, crisp green, then adds a splash of orange and blue to the mix, and finishes by pouring a red avalanche over the icy mountain.
One unhurried spoonful at a time, Sara shovels a portion of the concotion into her mouth until the colors in her cup lighten and muddy together beyond all recognition.
"Hay Cathpuh, wah calluh ith muy tung?"
“Uhh…” Caspar’s considering sound is broken up by little hiccups of barely-contained laughter, “It basically looks like you licked some mud.” Sara’s concoction also basically looks like a pile of mud. She’s still eating it though, so he’s gotta ask.
“What’s it taste like? Can I try?”
[ SEQUESTER ]
"you know... with the lights out, we could get up to a different kind of trouble," linhardt suggests. they're leaning sideways into caspar, lowering their voice like they're telling him a clandestine secret.
his next thought is to clarify what he means, but words fail him. it had been relatively easy to ask another friend to kiss for fun, but caspar...
what if caspar says no? what if he says yes?
they're thankful the dim lights are probably hiding how red their face is.
"c'mon," they say instead, pulling caspar along to one of the quieter corners.
Caspar does not make a sound, even if Linhardt’s tone of voice makes it feel like his chest is gonna burst. He does suck in a breath sharp enough to make a noise, but that doesn’t count—not compared to what he could’ve done.
It’s a struggle to search Linhardt’s face in the dark. He’ll follow them into any dark corner in the world, but he hadn’t thought they’d be asking for these reasons. (Is it for those reasons? What if he’s misunderstanding? That would be a disaster!)
He blinks a few times. It doesn’t do anything to help him see better, but it gives him a second to breathe.
“Like...sneaking into the holy tomb? Or, um…?”
[ CORN ] - A new strain of corn has been bred in Bergliez with a curious trait—it pops when exposed to heat, becoming light and fluffy! Help yourself to a bag; it's a little bland on its own, but you get the feeling you could find something to spice it up.
"Greetings Caspar!" Panette gives him a cheerful smile after managing to finally flag him down in the dimmed monastery.
"The corn your lands have provided truly is incredible! I have seasoned it in quite a delicious way with my spices, would you care to try?" She asks, opening up a bag of corn pops and illuminating the both of them with a faint, red glow.
“Whoa, did you bring in your own?”
He’s gotta try a bite, obviously!
“Oh, wow, that’s-” Even words that short fail him for a couple seconds, dissolving into a full on coughing fit. His eyes are watery by the time he recovers. “...Intense!”
The wet sheen in his eyes only makes his expression all the brighter. His mouth feels like it’s on fire. It’s awesome.
“What did you use? Is it stuff from your homeland?”
[ CORN ] - A new strain of corn has been bred in Bergliez with a curious trait—it pops when exposed to heat, becoming light and fluffy! Help yourself to a bag; it’s a little bland on its own, but you get the feeling you could find something to spice it up.
just her luck, right? she got the bad bergliez batch. the one with more kernels than actually popped corn, because of course there's one in the bunch, and she just had to get it. she's got clouds around her head, chin dipped while she stares down into this sad little bag. “maybe it's a dud, just like me.”
“What? No way, I’m sure there’s still-” Ah. With his hand inside the bag, Caspar does in fact notice the way the bottom is practically like reaching into a pile of pebbles. His mouth presses into a little line while he reconsiders.
“I mean...once you finish the popped ones, you can save the others to pop later.” Probably? He’s never tried that before. Either way, he’s committed to the idea now. He takes one unpuffed kernel out for himself and rolls it around in his palm. “So it’s just got other upsides that not everybody sees right away. That’s how it’s like you!”
[ SWEET BUN TRIO ] That's a familiar face, even though it isn't a familiar face! Maria may not be a Black Eagles student, but she has enough friends among them that she recognizes the boy and his shock of blue hair. And, well, what better way to change that than by simply walking up to him?
"Hi! It's nice to meet you!" She holds up a tray of three buns as she approaches, grinning in lieu of a wave. "My name is Maria! I've got sweet buns to trade for your name, if you want one?" Then, leaning in slightly, her voice dipping into something more conspiratorial, she adds: "But if you want to know a secret, you can actually have all of them, if you want... for free! Hee hee!"
“Oh, that’s easy. My name’s Caspar!” With the trade deal nice and sealed, he wastes no time in taking his prize. It’s awkward eating around the cherry on top, but he’s gotten good at fitting it all in his mouth anyway. The icing and cream just taste so much better when they’re mixed in with that fruit flavor. Totally worth it.
He’s still working a dollop of cream off of his tongue when he adds, “Wait, that’s way too generous though. I would’ve given my name for free!”
Fingers reach for his bouquet, leaving a little dusting of sugar on the stem of a lily. “Here, at least take one of my flowers for the trading game! That’ll make it feel a little more even.”
after receiving their bouquets, linhardt tugs gently on caspar's hand - their usual signal to stop for a moment. they pull the two over to the side, out of the way of other partygoers, and pull a bloom from their bouquet before tucking the lot under their arm to continue their plan.
"you probably want to see how many flowers you can get right?" he says, breaking most of the stem off the tulip.
(the thought hits him, then, that an affirmative answer to his suggestion will see caspar away from his side for most of the night. he doesn't much like the idea of that, being caspar's date, but he can't bring himself to say it out loud.)
"this is an easy first, at least."
linhardt then tucks the bloom into the seam of caspar's jacket - a makeshift boutonniere, and a symbol that caspar and linhardt are matching. after all, they'd dressed appropriately without even speaking about it, so the flower seems like a nice touch.
"i don't know much about tulips, except for how a leicester county absolutely tanked their value from overproduction in a height of interest in the flowers," they begin, speaking like an offering, a way to spend time together. they hesitate, though, their face heating up as they continue. "i'm not sure if you really want to hear about all that tonight, though..."
“Hold on, let’s make it a fair trade.”
Retrieving his matching flower is easy, pinched between his fingers and plucked from the bunch. As he lifts it up to gift it, he realizes the complication is in the placement.
There’s no jacket seam for Caspar to tuck the stem into. The lace of Lin’s dress looks too delicate to shove anything through it, and he wouldn’t want to ruin it. As it is, the design sits so prettily over his skin. Lin’s collarbones draw a horizontal shape to connect the whole thing, making it easy to loop around and just keep looking for a while.
...Oh. He’s just kind of been looking for a while.
“You’ve got your Crest on your heart.” He says, dumbly, because it’s the best excuse he has. (He really did just notice it, at least.) “Uh, anyway…”
Lifted just a bit higher, the flower stem tucks nicely between similarly green strands of hair.
“What about the other flowers? All I know about lilies is that they’re bad for cats.”
And that they look nice on Linhardt. His tongue feels too big and stupid to make those words happen out loud right now, though.
“Oh! Uh, alright?” With his right hand occupied, Caspar accepts his bouquet of lilies in his left. Little thoughtless motions of his wrist leave the petals swishing through the air as he glances back to his date.
His date. That’s what they’re doing. He’s pretty sure!
The newness and the uncertainty both add a fumbling edge to his usual energy. He'll find his footing though! For sure!
(Caspar is accompanying Linhardt @warpaway to the party! He’s dressed in teals that complement their general look, shown below! You can also see the more lovingly rendered and cutieful drawing moth did of them as a pair over on Lin’s blog <3) Flower Tracker:
Rose: Orchid: Lily: Hyacinth: Tulip:
the worst uno reverse card
linhardt's smile splits into a rare grin when caspar reacts the way they'd expected him to, though its edge softens as he continues.
“yeah,” they reply, because it's true. and caspar isn't wrong - those are valid worries to have. healing can take a toll on either side of the equation when overdone, and caspar is right that white magic can be used to damage as well. none of his thoughts are inaccurate nor uncalled for. that's caspar, for you.
“you always overthink the important things,” he comments, “but they're important questions. if you try to heal something that doesn't need it, you can do more harm than good. that isn't how the damaging spells work, just so you know.”
linhardt bumps back into caspar, though the impact of his arm to caspar's shoulder is much lighter. it's more a reminder that he's there, and that this isn't such a serious situation to be overthinking in.
“you definitely could just keep healing it until it worked right. it's sort of… as though you were cutting down a tree. if you're strong enough, and you have the right axe, and enough practice, you could do it in one swing, perhaps. i'd have to swing many more times, and i could stop long before i do any major damage.”
Linhardt trying to cut down a tree? Now that would be a sight to see. Imagining the face his friend would make just being handed a woodcutter’s axe has Caspar matching Linhardt’s grin.
“So I’m the one with noodle arms now? Arcane noodle arms?”
His hand goes to the cuff of his sleeve, tugging it back past his elbow. Getting his real, flesh, non-noodle arms ready to do some work is the easy part. Lin is right—if a tree doesn’t go down in one swing, you just have to keep going until you get it done!
“Alright, if you’re sure I won’t hurt you then I can take a few more whacks at it. Get ready to get healed! Eventually!”
comfort in the routine
Caspar lets out a sigh, his shoulders dropping with a little bit of relief when Ophelia makes her exit without any extra commentary on his little moment with his best friend. Not that it was a ‘moment’, but he’d realized it might’ve looked like one, and that’s-
Well, it’s not something he wants to have banging around in his brain while he’s trying to focus on what he can learn from the rest of this mock battle.
“Nah, I’m good. Save your energy for when the next round of fighters roll into the med tents.”
He nudges Linhardt’s side with his elbow, both as a delayed response to being called ‘popular’ and a call to draw attention to the field.
“I bet Forrest’ll send in at least one more. That battle should be easy to spot out there—I don’t think I’ve seen anyone else wearing pink.”
“well, you were rather pink a second ago,” linhardt teases, mostly because they’d like to see him flush again.
they’d rather like him flush against them again, too, but that’s not the sort of thing they think that caspar would like to entertain. sitting at the side of the field and watching a bunch of senseless violence is more caspar’s scene, though, and the fake nature of the whole affair means that linhardt won’t have a hard time stomaching it himself.
that means that caspar’s decided they’ll be cheering for forrest - the name he gives towards the pink-clad sorcerrer that linhardt watched tear into the deer fighting alongside miss ophelia interruptor.
“i found a decent spot to myself this way,” linhardt says. his hand moves from caspar’s shoulder to his hand, ghosting his arm along the way as linhardt finds caspar’s fingers to pull him along. “it gives a good view of where all the eagles started, at least. i suspect they might be pushing into blue territory come round two, but we can see for ourselves.”
→ end.
what i meant was something like a metaphor - that's a comparison between two things that aren't alike, but kind of are - see, the earth and stars are both celestial bodies
TOABall2025 || teenager problems wk 2
There's less embarrassment when he buries himself in his friend's arms this time. If he's giving Linhardt something too, then it doesn't feel as shameful to be held by him.
He shudders along with the rumbling of the floor beneath and the sky above. His breath shudders too, exhaled slowly against Linhardt's collar. His heart races, but he's safe.
"…Guess you're stuck with me, then."
Caspar hides a shaky smile in the lack of space between them. His fingers curl into the fabric at Linhardt's back, letting himself pull tight into the embrace. He still wants to conquer his fears, but he'd miss this part if that happens.
As he sits, and tries to steady his breathing, and thinks, it starts to feel easier to imagine braving the storm and reuniting with their classmates. Maybe there's something to be said for letting Linhardt see his weaknesses, knowing they're safe and secure with his oldest friend.
“our unlikely friendship perserveres despite all odds, yet again,” linhardt agrees. it’s a joke, delivered in a light tone, as though the two aren’t wrapped around each other and holding the other in an attempt to find safety in a storm.
they’d lunged forward so quickly in an attempt to prevent the crash from unsettling caspar too much. they remember, as children, tears and shaking, feeling as though there was nothing they could do at all for their best friend. caspar’s come a long way, even if he doesn’t seem to realize it himself.
this time, he merely shudders in linhardt’s arms, and even then he can hear the smile in caspar’s voice as he speaks.
linhardt had been counting seconds when they’d remembered to. the last flash had so much time between it and the rumble, that they suspect the storm may be starting to abate.
“it might be clearing up out there,” he informs caspar. “though with the way the clouds looked, it could be going all night.”
he pulls away just enough that he can see caspar’s face, and run one hand through caspar’s bristley hair. it’s a lovely texture. if he though caspar would allow it, he might keep touching him there. “but personally, i’d rather not take the last chance we have to join the others. let’s just wait out the storm here, like we used to. much more fun than listening to people complain about how the ball’s ruined or something.
“ah!” linhardt remembers something then, and their smile pulls a little wider. “i read something recently, about why worms like to crawl onto the roads when it rains…”
and they fully intend to spend the rest of their time telling caspar anything he’ll listen to, in order to drown out the rain.
→ end.
She probably shouldn't say anything.
She so readily divulged her own losses so easily, as if to play for pity.
And yet her heart breaks as she feels she just might understand the rift her accidental savior and his brother are divided by.
For all the love and talk of sisterhood, she and Ishtar weren't equals.
Could never be equals.
It was downright bizarre that she even found time when people held the expectations upon her shoulders of such righteous power and grace.
She was to be venerated as a goddess.
The Ishtar she knew was just a foolish girl with a powerful tome.
It is a damn shame Caspar didn't get to see that side of his brother.
"I understand. Still, I hope you could become friends one day."
She says mindlessly, as if it couldn't be so easily a grave insult, as if those statements weren't just a veil draped over the vast ocean of the boy's past.
One, a sane person wouldn't allow their depths to be seen by someone they just met.
"My apologies."
She sinks into herself as if that would help.
The hypocrite spouting naive dreams of familial love as if she didn't stain herself with the blood of half of them one way or the other.
It is all the more reason to feel relief when Caspar shies away from her.
He's clearly so kind already, trying to find a place in his life for her as if she's supposed to stay for longer and then taking down whoever was responsible for bringing her here.
And then she will be back in that naga-forsaken desert on her way to an empty tomb.
To return to the frozen office of her uncle's, her mind horrified at how it feels like just a new cage.
Maybe she wished to be here instead?
“No, you’re fine! I just, um—gimme a sec.”
His face pulls into a half-grimace as he ducks into his room, despite how ‘fine’ it is. Here he is trying to rescue somebody, and she’s trying to comfort him over his family problems. It’s his fault for opening his mouth too much about it, really.
Anyway-! This girl is so kind that she tries to offer comforting thoughts even to strangers, and she’s currently wet and cold and lost! And Caspar has dry clothes in his room! And also a towel? Maybe? If there’s a clean one. The white one draped over his headboard might be. He bunches the fabric up in his hand and brings it up to his face for a quick sniff check—it’s more embarrassing to hand a nice girl a sweaty towel than get caught checking to make sure it’s not sweaty. For sure.
With the towel deemed safe, he tucks it under his arm and rifles through his trunk for a spare set of clothes. Would she accept trousers? (Will they fit, even if she does?) He doesn’t have any alternatives to offer, so he decides to grab a pair regardless. When he pokes his head back out of his bedroom door, he bears the full stack—shirt, pants, towel—and nudges them toward Tine’s arms.
“I think I should apologize, ‘cuz I realised this is all I’ve got…” His shoulders shrug upward in a sheepish little gesture, unable to do much more with his hands full. “The towel can help though, even if the clothes don’t work for you. And we'll find things for you! This monastery is one of the safest places to be in Fodlan, and people in need get help here all the time. So don't even worry about it!”
I thought of a spell stronger than 24.
Caspar and Ashe, Any+ (training from a distance)
“I honestly cannot believe you two!” The teacher scolded the two boys, heeled foot repeatedly clicking against the stone floor in irritation. “Not only are your test scores consistently bad, which might I remind you also reflects poorly on your respective houses by lowering the average grade, but when I sign you up for remedial classes you miss them! And for what? A cat that got into the pantry??”
With every sentence Ashe felt like sinking into the floor further and further, the poor boy looking to be on the verge of tears. Reason had always been his worst subject, so he really was hoping to attend the extra classes and improve his scores! But then the whole debacle about a thief came up, and on their way there was this blur holding a ham….
“I.. I’m really sorry, Professor!” The boy squeezed his eyes shut and bowed down. “I promise I won’t-“
“Enough! I’m in no mood for excuses.” The teacher cut him off sharply. In response Ashe’s posture deflated even further. “I was going to guide you through the process, but since you’ve both shown that’s not something you care for we’ll just move on to the practical exercises.”
The teacher motioned for the two boys to follow, leading them to… the training grounds? Ashe kept his head down until now, but not even that could hide the slight confusion his furrowed brow revealed.
The field had been mostly emptied out, save for a line dividing the middle. Both sides of the field had rows of dummies lined up. “Mr Bergliez, left field. Mr Durand, right field.” She commanded the two. Before that the teacher had also grabbed two tomes, one red and one green and handed it to them. “Use the arithmetic formulas in these tomes to destroy the dummies on the opposite side of your field. I want to see burn marks and cuts of wind. Neither of you will be leaving until every single one has been destroyed. And don’t even think about using a torch or a sword to fake it either- I will know. Lastly, neither of you can cross the line in between. Understood?”
Ashe looked at Caspar, before looking at the wind tome that was now in his hands. He was on cooking duty today, one of his favorites! If he wasn’t allowed to leave until this assignment was finished, then they’d have to figure this out in just a couple of hours….
@berglietz
Caspar’s posture largely matched Ashe’s on the march out to the field, though he glared down at the stone beneath their feet the whole way. He may not be allowed to voice any excuses, but that doesn’t mean he can’t think about how much more important it would be to catch a thief than learn a bunch of math. What do you even need math for at a military academy? It’s not like you use it for—
“Fire magic uses math?!”
He flips the tome open to a random page somewhere in the middle and scans the pages. There’s a diagram of a sigil on one side, and labels for the parts that have symbols and numbers to explain…something. Energy? Power? With a loud groan, he snaps the book shut. Then, for extra measure, he claps the cover of the tome against his forehead.
“…Hey, Ashe?” He slides the book downward until his eyes can peer over the top at his friend. “You ever cast an elemental spell before? ‘Cuz I’ve only done some pretty basic healing stuff, and I don’t remember formulas for that…”
