con bravura

stars are not small or gentle. they are writhing and dying and burning. they are not here to be pretty. [Closed Reyson RP Blog ; Knight of Seiros @ TOA]

[cadenzardea]

sforzando

serraic​:

   The gawking class. “Hm?” A joke, Serra. “O— oh! Ha ha ha ha!” The laugh was a bit too loud, almost forced sounding, so strained with awe as she was at the sight of such a pretty man. She flushed, stared at the ground to her right — pull it together, girl! What was wrong with her? 

   Then again, this was a test unlike any other. She was sure Saint Elimine herself would be silent-struck, in the face of someone so beauteous! 

   No… no, Serra could do this. She spoke with Lucius, now, as though he were normal! She could study under this person, too. She just had to focus. 

   Is there a song you know well enough to recite a few lines? Ah, and just like, any melody she had ever had was gone, wiped from her mind as though it were never there to begin with. She pressed her lips in a downwards-curving line, eyebrows furrowed as though trying to reignite her memory… 

   “Ah— a— a tune! Yes, yes. Um… teach me one, if you will! I’ll repeat it back!” Eyes shimmering — the promise of challenge igniting something clear in her. 

Reyson nearly winces at the girl's laughter, and not just because her volume control could use some work. Well, at least she's got some strong lungs on her. Now if only they could do something about all of this fumbling... "Right. How about this one, then? My brother's always been fond of it." Delicate fingers press to his breastbone as Reyson finds the location of the starting pitch in his chest, and he recites the first six bars of a wordless aria—a soft ascending tune that lingers on a note high enough to nearly reach into falsetto. He doesn't manage the same gentle, whisper-like quality that Rafiel came by so naturally, the same way he's never truly managed to carry himself with the level of floating grace his elder brother possessed even after being permanently grounded. Still, the melody Rafiel created manages to lift Reyson's heart as he recites it, drawing a small smile to his lips when the final note ends. He opens his eyes—which is when he's realized that he had closed them—and lifts his hand from his chest to open his palm toward Serra in a gesture to indicate that it was now her turn.

[cadenzardea]

cleversteel​:

freckle cream sauce

sword +1 starter for @cadenzardea

This isn't looking very good...

is what the faint of heart would say! But Colm is a seasoned war veteran and the like, so he'd definitely seen much worse.

Like Darkling Woods! And the Tower of Valni! Those places were WAYYYYYYYYYYY creepier than these dusty old ruins.

Colm quickly sidesteps an encroaching vine, flashing a confident smile that says, 'Too slow!' He knows that the vines are pissed off at him now, but it's not like they can hit him!

On the topic of knowing things, Colm knows his partner, that bird guy ('Reyson' was his name, assuming Colm's memory was as good as his eyes) had grown up around plants! Or really close to them at least. Colm did too! They were perfect for the mission.

"Hey, Reyson!" Colm shouts back, cutting his way through a couple of particularly thick vines. "How are you holding up back there?"

This is not Reyson's forest. Even before the Massacre, Serenes was more than just a forest. It was and is both his home and his ward—it was his shelter and now it is his duty to shelter it in return. It is an ancient friend that he and his sister nursed from the brink of death. He can speak to it in the ancient tongue and it speaks back in rustling leaves and bird song. It had fallen silent once, but he could never imagine it lashing out in anger. "Stand down!" He calls out in the language of Serenes. His pale knuckles turn sheet white in their grip on his iron sword. A deep green vine slithers closer along the ground, coiling like a viper on the hunt. "Answer my call! Why do you claim this place? What do you—" It strikes, wrapping itself around Reyson's ankle and yanking him down. He all but squawks, wings flapping wildly and lifting him from the ground as he tries to pull himself free. The vine acts as a tether, keeping him anchored a couple of feet off of the ground as he twists his body to try to find an angle to cut the tendril away. "I'm fine!" He shouts reflexively, even as he struggles. "I just need to—" he tries to wrench his leg up and swing his sword downward in one motion and is rewarded with a harsh retalitory tug that pulls him closer to the ground.

[cadenzardea]

sforzando

serraic​:

   If you had asked Serra about a decade ago if she’d be here — beautifully groomed, standing in a wide, gorgeous cathedral at a school that she attended, surrounded by lords and ladies and other nobility… well, honestly, who are we kidding? It wouldn’t’ve been so hard for her to believe, even then. She’d always been a dreamer, even when said dreams seemed utterly impossible to reach. 

   Just the other day, Serra had found Lucius here. She’d been so struck by the breath-taking splendor of the cathedral, she’d decided to sign up for a class that took place within it. Why not, anyway? She was a student here — why not indulge, and learn a variety of subjects? Besides, singing would likely be fun! She often hummed to herself, and she enjoyed that just fine… imagine how beautiful her voice would sound were it professionally trained! 

   A voice calls to her, and she turns — for a moment, she thinks she sees Lucius, but, no — the chin is too square, the eyes too serious, and not to mention the huge wings, sprung behind him. But she’s caught, shocked by the beauty of this man, just as she once had been stammering from Lucius’. She feels faint, matter-of-fact, knees weak and amethyst eyes widened.

   “I’m— uh— y— yes! Serra! Wow…” Oops. Had she said the wow out loud? Saint Elimine, praise be your graces… 

   Wait, he’d said something. “Singing?” Right. That’s what she was here to do. Remember? “Yes! Um— no. I— I sing a bit! To myself, here and there. But never, um, professionally, or anything…” 

Reyson manages to catch himself before he openly balks at the girl’s stammering, but only just so. He is a prince, an envoy, a knight, a teacher. He does not sense any covetous spark in her widened eyes, and he needn’t fear anything even if there were.

“Yes. I’m afraid if you were looking for the gawking class, that’s in another building.” His wings flutter in minute little motions, as if to brush her distraction off. “As for singing—there’s no shame in being an amateur. I’m sure we can build your confidence in time.”

He clears his throat, shuffling through the papers in his arms once again. Nervousness makes for poor breath control and pitchy voices, and so far the girl seems to have it in bounds. Not a promising start, but he hadn’t been dishonest with her. Serenes Forest once held plenty of shy, soft creatures that could be coaxed into weaving the prettiest melodies that Tellius would ever witness under the guidance of their fellow heron kin. Perhaps he could employ some of those methods to pull her out of her shell?

“Is there a song you know well enough to recite a few lines? Just about anything is fine. If not, I can teach you a simple tune to get comfortable with.”

[cadenzardea]

Laguz Larping

goldoandragonprince​:

Kurth stared at the training weapons, deciding that a lance might be better if he did not wish to approach too close to anyone, even in a battle that was meant to be a game. He flipped the end of his cape behind him, pondering Reyson’s last question.

“I do not imagine that I would. The clothes that I don currently seem fancy enough for someone who be adventuring to fight a dragon.” He tossed the lance around in his hands a few times, trying to get the feel for it. He did not care much for actual weapons, as he certainly preferred magic. Ideally in a real battle, he would not have to unsheathe a weapon at all. And if he did have to, he would prefer something long range, like a bow or such. Though he was probably overthinking all of this, it was only a simple game after all.

“If you are ready to set forth on our mission, I shall follow close behind, Lord Reyson.” He cleared his throat, trying to get into the game for at least a little bit. It wouldn’t hurt for him to mess around a little.

“I know how eager you are to see battle and defeat this evil dragon.”

"I'm just glad you don't take any offense to the subject of the quest." There's laughter in Reyson's voice as he leads the two of them out to the training grounds. He turns on his heel, his eyes sharp and his grin sharper. "Now it's time to face me, dragon—!" He grips the sword's hilt in both hands, pulling it back in preparation to swing forward and...! "WAAAAIT!" A sharp cry from the entrance interrupts the start to their glorious combat. The student who had explained the intricacies of the game stumbles forward, game pieces tumbling from his arms and scattering across the floor. "You...you didn't roll for initiative!" There's a sense of indignity in his voice at Reyson's blatant disregard for some of the most basic aspects of the combat system. Reyson blinks, frozen in place with his wooden blade mid-swing. His feathers are puffed to an embarrassing degree, and he shakes his wings out to smooth them back down. "...It's a surprise attack." "Right. W-well, you still have to roll to hit." "My hands are a bit full." He takes a step back, lifting the sword in the air a bit to make his point nice and clear. "Could you do it for me?" "Um." There's a gentle clatter of another die rolling across stone, intentionally this time. "Ten. That's a hit." "Thank you." The sword is swung back again, and this time it is allowed to make its full arc and collide against Kurth's side with a gentle slap. (He's not using his full strength, of course, and even if he were...it isn't likely to scratch a dragon laguz's hide easily even in this form.) "Well? Have at you!"

[cadenzardea]

sforzando

quick starter for @serraic

The resonant sound of bells echo off of the polished stone of the cathedral interior, accompanied by the soft clack of footsteps as Reyson approaches his potential student. A sheaf of papers is held in one hand, a mixture of handwritten script and musical notation visible where they bow back across his fingers. The other clutches a wooden flute. "Ah. There you are. Serra, was it?" He dips his head in greeting, wings spreading open behind him. His eyes flick back to the papers. Mezzo-soprano. Contralto. Reyson had the honor of learning the music of the Earth itself, communing with the world in the ancient tongue and melodies of the goddess—but the beorc's way of organizing and notating song is still fairly new to him. He studied earnestly in his time here, and it is finally time to start putting this new knowledge into practice. "How much experience do you have with singing? Have you ever been assigned a voice type?"

[cadenzardea]

They Weren’t Kidding, That Galdr Sure Can Rebirth

a starter for @madnessbefallen

Reyson had spent twenty years mastering the modern tongue, but even a trained grasp such as his fails to capture certain expressions. How can he describe the sense within him that identifies fellow laguz? It's not a magnetic pull; it does not urge his body to move closer. Perhaps the sense it is closest to is smell—he knows that some of the beast clan have compared to it as such. Sure, being able to tell when one of his siblings is close is a bit like being able to smell a fresh loaf of bread in the distance, but...that still sounds ridiculous, doesn't it? Perhaps the flaw is in the language itself, constructed by beorc who have never felt such a thing. It's this strange, indescribable sense that leads Reyson down to the darker, less trafficked corridors of Garreg Mach, ignoring the discomfort that always tends to nag at him when the sky above him is replaced with stone and earth. The presence he feels is familiar, but indeterminate. If he had to compare it to another it would be Kurthnaga, but the number of individuals like him are few, especially after losing— "—Rajaion?!" He had only seen him briefly in this form, but a second glimpse is all it takes to match with the presence Reyson had been sensing. A black dragon, uniquely warped and scarred by Izuka's foul experiments to the point of muddying a heron's sixth sense. Somehow, some way, a dead man stands in front of him. Rajaion's heart is clearer than it was that fateful day at Castle Melior, enough to sing out as a true dragon rather than a wyvern, but its melody is still muted; wounded, even. Reyson fumbles for words. His healing galdr did more than he knew? Yet it still did not do enough. "I—You seem...well. Better than I believed you were, at least."

[cadenzardea]

lefties vs sand (gold round - team 12)

carefreemonk:

The world shifts yet again, and Azama does not have enough fucks left to give over it. A not-inconsequential part of him wishes he were still enjoying that nice nap he’d gone for back in the second round.

All the same, he much enjoys what the powers that be have gifted him for this round. Some curious looking gauntlets - claws, more like - and a strange, tailoured suit of sorts…

Why, he feels positively dapper as he rushed up behind Forsyth to follow through with a charge of his own.

Azama attacks Red Beast with Dragon Claws: 2d20: 14, 3. Hit. Hit. -8 HP. Red Beast: 28/88 HP

Before he dances back to safety, however, he beams innocently at Forsyth and quips in passing: “My, went for something drafty this round, hm? We do have a young maiden present, you know.”

How utterly scandalizing.

And now, for his next trick:

“Draw nearer on that bird of yours, girlie. Got a little something for you!”

Azama activates Galeforce. Azama heals Lucina with Restore. Lucina is no longer Poisoned.

The Restore stave shines, shimmers up to the little lord - maybe a freebie this once, maybe not. He’s yet undecided, you see.

The enemies are both still reeling from Lucina's assault, though it looks like they're beginning to recover.

Shadow Trickster is Stunned! Red Beast is Stunned!

Reyson steals a glance over to his teammates, his attention embarrassingly drawn by the mention of both birds and scandal. Forsyth's garb is certainly...esoteric, with the mixture of plate, fur, and bare skin. More glaring, however, is the gigantic claws hanging off of Azama's elbows. They might go along with an outfit like Forsyth's, but against the tailored materials of Azama's suit, it just looks— "Ridiculous. Like you have any room to be commenting on attire. You look like you don’t know whether you were headed to a battlefield or a ball." The Beast begins to stir in Reyson's periphery. He'll have to leave his commentary at that, then. He brandishes the golden tome, intent to not allow the monster the chance to rise again.

Reyson attacks Red Beast with Aureola: 2d20+6: 23. Critical Hit! -1 HP to Reyson. -7 HP to Red Beast. Reyson heals 3.5 HP. Red Beast 21/88 HP 26. Critical Hit! -1 HP to Reyson. -7 HP to Red Beast. Reyson heals 3.5 HP. Red Beast 14/88 HP

@carefreemonk​ you’re not done yet, fool

[cadenzardea]

exclted​:

lefties vs sand (gold round - team 12)

The prophet falls, and pride swells within Lucina’s chest. She watches Forsyth’s back as it readies to attack their last standing enemy when, for the fourth time, the world around them is consumed by light.

Fingers clench around her sword and a frown etches over her features when she recognizes the difference in grip to be that of a lance. Unfortunate. At least she knows this better than magi - huh?

Vision clears finally, and the feathered head of a large bird butts affectionately against her cheek. The draw she feels to it is the same as her earlier pegasus, but she has never seen a creature quite like this.

Not the time to question it.

Lucina takes -1 damage from Toxic Poison. Lucina: 9/10 HP

Her ring is gone, but the poison remains. Magic does not warm her skin where it once had, and the myrmidon’s poison is allowed to permeate her skin.

Ahead of her, a beast roars. Cerulean flickers upwards, finally, watching the forms of their enemies finish taking shape. Gods above. At least it isn’t a dragon.

Kinshi wings spread for Lucina and she settles atop her mount, testing the weight of her lance in her hands. A glance across her allies as she is lifted into the air. Here goes.

Lucina attacks Shadow Trickster with Brave Lance: 2d20+4: 8, 4. Hit. Hit. -10 HP. Shadow Trickster: 78/88 HP Lucina activates Stun. 2d2: 1, 1. Hit.  Shadow Trickster is Stunned until next round. Lucina activates Darting Blow. 2d20+4: 21, 7. Hit. Hit. -10 HP. Shadow Trickster: 68/88 HP

Her pegasus had been fast, but the speed of her kinshi is unmatched. Lucina dives, swinging her lance once–twice–four times. Each blow lands and she watches with something akin to amusement as the subject of her assault strains to return the favor. Pitiful.

“It’s stunned–you should all be safe to attack,” a call back to her friends before attention turns to the beast. It’s only right to treat her enemies fairly.

Lucina activates Galeforce. Lucina attacks Red Beast with Brave Lance: 2d20+4: 8, 7. Hit. Hit. -10 HP. Red Beast: 78/88 HP Lucina activates Stun. 2d2: 2, 1. Hit. Red Beast is Stunned until next round. Lucina activates Darting Blow. 2d20+4: 15, 5. Hit. Hit. -10 HP. Red Beast: 68/88 HP.

Exactly as she had with the trickster, Lucina slashes at the monster. It too strains to retaliate, only to be hit twice more. A flourish of her lance as the kinshi knight retreats. Perhaps she should pick up the weapon more often.

@cadenzardea nyooom

There are new enemies to face, but Reyson can't tear his eyes from Lucina and her new companion. White feathers, golden plumes. It's unlike any bird he's ever seen—large as a laguz, but its presence does not feel like that of a heron or any of the bird tribe. The pit in his stomach settles as the realization washes over him. Not a laguz. He will have questions about what it is, then, later. Healing energy washes over him, dampened ever so slightly by the lingering sting of poison.

Reyson heals +2 HP from Bond and Amaterasu. Reyson: 9.5/10 HP Reyson takes -0.5 damage from Minor Poison. Reyson: 9/10 HP

He takes inventory of his own situation, now. A white gown drapes off his shoulders—elegant, if a bit heavy for his taste. In his hands is another tome, bound in shimmering gold this time. He flips it open, calling forth its power and directing it toward the larger, beastlier target.

Reyson attacks Red Beast with Aureola: 2d20+6: 11. Hit. -1 HP to Reyson. -4 HP to Red Beast. Red Beast: 64/88 HP. Reyson heals 2 HP from Lifetaker. Reyson: 10/10 HP 16. Hit. -1 HP to Reyson. -4 HP to Red Beast. Red Beast: 60/88 HP. Reyson heals 2 HP from Lifetaker. Reyson: 10/10 HP

The magic is made of light, certainly, so strong that he can feel it drawing his own life force as it draws forth a beam bright as the sun to engulf the monster. He grits his teeth through it, feeling some of the beast's energy flow back into him after the blast. "Keep it up! Before it has the chance to strike back!"

@viridescent-lance​ !

[cadenzardea]

False Prophecies //☆team 12 ▪︎ silver☆

viridescent-lance:

The prophet’s power wanes! Perhaps Forsyth is getting ahead of himself, but this fight has not even been the most difficult thus far! With their growing cohesion, he and his comrades can vanquish even the most intimidating of foes.

Forsyth uses Windsweep on The Prophet with Sword of Zoltan: 1d20+5: 12. Hit. -0.5 HP. The Prophet: 7.5/40 HP

Forsyth streaks toward the prophet again, this time catching a slight gap in its armor as he is surrounded with arcane energy, darting back to safety as quickly as he struck. This time, it doesn’t even attempt to strike him, instead opting to claw at the magic tempests swirling in its eyes.

Forsyth activates Galeforce and Refreshes Reyson

“Now!” Forsyth points his sword toward the mounted villain, determination glimmering in his eyes. “Let’s finish him!”

next: @cadenzardea ii

Ah. So the opportunity to end this is now. Reyson gives Forsyth a curt nod, readying yet another blast of magic and aiming it at their foe.

Reyson attacks The Prophet with Agnea’s Arrow: 2d20+5: 10, 14. Hit. Hit. -9 HP. The Prophet: 0/40 HP. The Prophet is defeated!

The Prophet falls, disintegrating within the burst of bright blue energy. Relief surges through Reyson, mixing with the adrenaline and poison coursing through his veins and leaving him dizzy. He laughs, breathless. "Didn't forsee that, did he?" Taken down by a Zofian knight, an Ylissean princess, a heron prince, and...Azama. It certainly doesn't sound like the usual makeup of a heroic band worthy of prophecy. And yet here they stand, the landscape once again starting to blur and swirl as this magic realm concocts another set of foes to throw at them. Reyson stands firm, chin held high. Whatever comes, he will be ready.

—✧End

[cadenzardea]

False Prophecies //☆team 12 ▪︎ silver☆

viridescent-lance:

“It appears I have not been blessed with healing magic this round, just with this curious skill that aligns with dance. My apologies.” Forsyth’s face creases in worry; the hit had not been substantial, but Reyson’s already-pale face is blanched as he fights through the pain. “I shall do my best to bring this to a close. I trust we have the power, we will not lose!”

The Prophet heals +1 HP from Ochian Shield: 19.5/40 HP

The Prophet uses Ignorance on Forsyth: 1d20-15: -7. Miss

Right as Forsyth is in the middle of his declaration, the prophet decides it’s a good time to cast…something, on him? It almost tickles. Maybe it’s that magic shield that deflected the bow earlier, maybe the prophet just fired off a faulty spell, or maybe Forsyth’s been cursed to die in seven days. Probably not the last one, though.

@cadenzardea yet again!

A healing magic washes over Reyson, dampened by the burn of venom moving up his arm.

Reyson heals +1 HP from Renewal: 9/10 HP Reyson takes -0.5 Damage from Minor Poison: 8.5/10 HP

"Right. Short work of the so-called Prophet it is, then." Another opening, another burst of magic.

Reyson attacks The Prophet with Agnea’s Arrow: 2d20+5: 13, 18. Hit, Hit. -9 HP. The Prophet: 10.5/40 HP

Sweat sticks some stray locks of blond hair to Reyson's forehead. Poison is not that much worse than the usual effects of battle, he tells himself, but it's still quite unpleasant. A wan smile spreads on his pale face. "Let's hope we see some healing magic in the next shuffle then, yes?"

@carefreemonk​ or @exclted​ next !

[cadenzardea]

False Prophecies //☆team 12 ▪︎ silver☆

viridescent-lance:

These enemies are cloaked in defensive magic, and even the more potent offense of their team is having trouble. Forsyth knows he’s not been blessed with particularly penetrating attacks this round, but he has felt something different, something intriguing, and it’s as good an excuse as any for him to rush the prophet. 

Forsyth attacks The Prophet with Sword of Zoltan. 1d20: 18. Hit. -0 HP. The Prophet: 27.5/40 HP

“Your false words mean nothing to one who stands in the memory of Mila!” Okay, maybe the prophet hasn’t actually said anything, per se, but it’s the spirit of it all! Forsyth’s blade meets its body, and while he did expect the resulting deflection, he spies what he was looking for–translucent magic chains sprout from his blade, binding the prophet before dissipating into its form. 

The Prophet is afflicted with Seal Strength and Seal Magic until Round 3.

The figure lets out a decidedly unholy screech, thrashing uselessly at Forsyth with its staff. He artfully dodges, feeling his robes swish about as each blow cleaves air. Now, he is not going to make a habit of this, but it is satisfying, he must admit.

The Prophet counters with Scrying Staff. 1d20-21: -15. Miss

Now that he’s out of range, he sidles up to Reyson. The heron prince’s attacks have been the most effective on the prophet by far, so he’s the obvious recipient of a boost.

Forsyth activates Galeforce and Refreshes Reyson

“Allow me this dance! Erm, may I allow you?” Forsyth really isn’t much of a dancer! But he goes about his ritual again, taking solace in the fact that Reyson almost certainly has seen him dancing at the ball, so really he’s just seeing Forsyth improve! “This ability really is quite intriguing.”

@cadenzardea encore!

Forsyth takes an...interesting approach to dancing. Reyson cannot deny the effectiveness, though, as a vigorous energy he is used to pouring into others floods through his body. "I've never seen anyone use it quite like you do," Reyson assents with a raised eyebow. He prepares another burst of magic and flings it toward the so-called Prophet.

Reyson attacks The Prophet with Agnea’s Arrow. 2d20+5: 21, 18. Hit. Hit. -9 HP. The Prophet: 18.5/40 HP

It's a sturdy thing, that much is obvious. He glares ahead, wondering just how many more blasts it will take to fell such an enemy. The remaining myrmidon approaches swiftly, wordlessly, catching Reyson off-guard and catching his arm with a poisoned blade.

Myrmidon A heals +1 HP from Prayer Ring: 16/20 HP Myrmidon A attacks Reyson with Venin Edge: 1d20-5: 14: Hit. -2 HP. Reyson: 8/10 HP Reyson is afflicted with Minor Poison (-0.5 HP per turn).

He staggers back, uninjured arm raised high and glowing bright azure with magic. 

Reyson counters Myrmidon A with Agnea’s Arrow: 1d20+1: 13. Hit. -4 HP. Myrmidon A: 16/20 HP

At melee range the spell is near-blinding, sending the myrmidon reeling away. "And stay back!" Reyson glances down at his sleeve, stained wet with blood and venom. "Perhaps we should try to end this quickly, unless any of you are hiding antitoxins somewhere."

throwing it back to @viridescent-lance​ again !

[cadenzardea]

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

[Botanical Headcanons]

[also asked by @ulircursed ]

There is more than one reason that Reyson took so long to return to Serenes. If asked at the time, he would have cited the shaky foundation of Begnion's goodwill, balanced on the shoulders of such a small girl. Building trust would take more than one apology, even if that apology came from the Apostle herself. And he wouldn't have been lying, it's just… Even with the forest green and vibrant once again, there is silence where there should not be. The low drone of insects and frogs does little to drown out the stark absence of the gentle song that once characterized Serenes. Though the flora and fauna of the forest have returned, they still grow atop a gravesite. The weight of the lost souls presses heavy on Reyson's chest, even years later. He stands before a grove where children used to play; rests a hand on a moss-covered tree where Leanne once leapt from the branches to test her newly-fledged wings. She had tumbled down into Reyson's arms on purpose, giggling gleefully into his chest as he squawked in indignation. The soft tones of Lillia's song carried through the air, followed by the squeaks and chirps of the fledglings trying to follow her instruction. He opens his mouth, his nearly voice catching in his throat. His tongue adjusts back to the shapes of the ancient language. He takes a breath and tries again. "I…I was once willing to die for your sakes. All of you. I was going to take down as many of those wretched butchers as I could down with me." His hand curls tightly against the bark, catching bits of moss and dry wood beneath his fingertips. "I'm…going to live for you all, now. For Leanne, and Rafiel, and Father. It's not enough, but it's—it's all I can do." The guilt still chokes him sometimes, acrid smoke filling his lungs. He slips his eyes shut. Takes another breath, full of scents of earth and greenery and life. "Forgive me."

[cadenzardea]

False Prophecies //☆team 12 ▪︎ silver☆

exclted​:

She is no stranger to dancers, but Forsyth’s approach towards the matter is most certainly an interesting one. Eyes follow his movements, intrigued, and his dance does its intended purpose. 

Lucina heals Azama with Physic: 18. +4 HP - Azama @ 10/10 HP

Lucina raises a hand with another quick heal for their monk. He looks in far better shape now, but they’re done for if they lose him and their targets are prone to attacking any moment now. Magic fades from her fingertips and her hand replaces itself upon her blade.

Lucina attacks Myrmidon B with Brave Sword: Attack 1: 17! Hit! -2.5 HP (Total 1.5/20) Attack 2: 11! Hit! -2.5 HP (Total 0/20) Myrmidon B is defeated!

Metal comes down hard against flesh, and the image before her stutters. Good. Another slash follows before that magic bow can be drawn in retaliation and this time the illusion fades to nothing as her blade cleaves through it. Lucina rights herself, turning her attention back to the other enemies just in time to watch as the prophet’s hands begin to raise. 

The Prophet uses Ignorance on Lucina. 1d20: 1-6 = -5! Miss! 

Magic reaches for her but she is faster, skidding across the arena’s floor as the spell erupts in the place where she had just been standing. A breath of relief, only to be quickly forgotten as she realizes exactly what she has just thrown herself in front of.

Myrmidon A uses Venin Axe on Lucina. 1d20: 17-6+2 = 13! Hit! -0HP Lucina is Poisoned!

The myrmidon’s axe is upon her before she can dodge, tearing open the fabric at her side. Blade meets flesh, but Lucina feels no pain or wound to speak of. Odd.

Lucina counters with Brave Sword. 2d20: 14+2/3+2 = 16/5 Hit! Hit! -5HP. (15/20 HP)

Her own blade meets the enemy now, completely unconcerned with whatever strange sensation is beginning to prickle at the skin touched by the opposing weapon. Both of her strikes land. The myrmidon moves to return the favor. 

Myrmidon A procs Darting Blow. 1d20: 17-6 = 11 Hit! -0 HP Lucina is Poisoned! (2 stacks) Lucina is afflicted with Seal Strength. 

It is now that she recognizes the glint of liquid on the metal that strikes her, caught just before it tears a second gash in her sleeve. Lucina grits her teeth as she pulls back. “Mind the axe. It’s coated in poison.”

@cadenzardea​ i think

Reyson watches the flurry of battle from the back line, perhaps even further back then he is used to. It feels almost cowardly, even if the range of his current spell means it is the practical choice. "Lucina, let me—" He pauses and furrows his brow. Right. The whims of this world have decided he does not have any healing capacity for now. He shakes his head. The support will have to come from taking out the threats, then. He raises his hands, directing a duo of magic blasts to engulf The Prophet themself this time.  "—Let me take care of it!"

Reyson attacks The Prophet with Agnea’s Arrow. 2d20+5: 7,19. Hit. Hit. -9 HP. The Prophet: 31/40 HP

@carefreemonk​ continues the fight next!

[cadenzardea]

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

[Botanical Headcanons]

Socially? He's moved beyond an outright distrust of all beorc, thanks to meeting Ike and seeing him fight for the sake of the laguz alongside the other Greil Mercenaries. He also does not automatically trust other birds/laguz, especially thanks to Naesala. Even now, though, he's slow to trust those outside his inner circle. He's seen a very, very ugly side of humanity, and those memories/that knowledge inevitably still cast a shadow over his judgment when dealing with others.

With physical safety? My guy is still pretty reckless. Maybe not "planning to intentionally go out in a blaze of glory" reckless anymore, but still willing to risk a few bruises or broken bones pretty easily. He wants to work to train and stretch his capabilities in order to become stronger, which means pushing himself to his limit. (Side note, him waking up before any of the other herons after they had all collapsed from the rising levels of chaos during the end of Part 3 in Radiant Dawn has me convinced that Reyson has worked up a slightly stronger resistance to the negative effects of chaos on him, even if only a little. (He did pass right back out pretty quickly, lmao))

[cadenzardea]

carefreemonk:

False Prophecies //☆team 12 ▪︎ silver☆

Oh, this is simply godsawful.

The Prophet, this strange world whispers to him. Azama is not sure how he knows their opponent's title, but he knows, somehow--

and it pisses him off.

That's his title, damn it! He worked hard to get it! Just because he happened to earn it in a small mountainside town in the middle of nowhere full of hicks, suckers one and all, doesn't mean it doesn't count!

He's started a religion, for fuck's sake. What has this 'Prophet' done? Huh??

Actually, screw that. Capitalization privileges revoked. The prophet. Hah!

Anyway, might be worth noting that Azama himself is still in sorry shape. With a roll of his eyes, he waves his familiar staff, newly returned to him. Oh, he knows this energy well, yes...

Azama uses Fortify! 1d20: 8. +2 HP (+2 whm heal+, +another 2 white tomefaire which are irrelevant rn) - Forsyth: 10/10, Lucina: 10/10, Reyson: 10/10.

Live to Serve: Azama heals self by 1.5HP. 4 -> 5.5/10.

He's using it more for himself than for them right now, but they don't need to know that. With a huff, he waves them along.

"Go on then. Do your stabby thing or whatever. This figment deserves to be erased from existence - trust me."

After all, there can only be one.

Reyson looks down at his new robes, soft, white, accented with gentle greens and golds. He looks to the tome in his hands.

"I don't think I'll be doing much stabbing. But—"

He flips the tome open, mouthing the ancient words within and tracing a hand through the air. A vibrant blue glow appears above one of the myrmidons accompanying this Prophet, forming the shape of an arrow before crashing down on top of them. With a flick of the wrist, a second arrow follows suit.

Reyson attacks Myrmidon B with Agnea’s Arrow at Range+

Attack 1: 20+7 = 27: Critical Hit! (-7 HP, Total 13/20 HP)

Attack 2: 10+7 = 17: Hit (-4 HP, Total 9/20 HP)

He flexes his hand, watching the magic light dissipate from his fingertips. Yes, this will do nicely.

@exclted next !

[cadenzardea]

Speak To Me (Steel Round - Team 12)

carefreemonk:

‘ The enemy seems to be adept at ranged and melee combat ‘

Yeah. Thanks, Tips.

At any rate, they’ve one enemy down with Miss Lucina to thank for it, and he gives an appreciative whistle for the display. Of course, that means they still have the big guy left to contend with. What a pain…

He decides to follow through with his earlier course of going for the ankles. Not that this thing really has ankles but you know. Close enough.

Azama attacks Gamalos with Brave Axe: Attack 1: 20: Critical Hit! (-9 HP, Total 33.5/48 HP) Attack 2: 12: Hit (-4.5 HP, Total 29/48 HP)

Something about the chop of this axe feels nice. Not quite the same as the heft the killer axe had, and yet… It feels light and yet incredibly well balanced. Props to whatever magical smith this strange storybook world employs.

Gamalos counters Azama with Surge: 10 (3-2 = -1 HP, Total 9/10 HP) +1 Damage from Trample (-1 HP, Total 8/10 HP, Azama cannot cast magic until end of round)

And again, he neatly dances out of the way, hit by scattered sand and rocks but otherwise blessedly unsquished. And he’d much like to keep it that way. It’s hard to keep his footing with that thing ambling about. As one massive leg swings by, he gets a glimpse of their progress so far.

“We’ve carved an opening!”

@viridescent-lance

An opening...! Adrenaline courses through Reyson's veins, propelling him forward. He readies for an attack, fists raised, the energy in the air around the beast making his hair start to stand on end.

Gamalos attacks Reyson with Surge: 20: Critical Hit! (-6 HP, Total 4/10)

He does not dodge this time. The shock hits him hard and fast, locking up all his muscles and sending him tumbling from the sky. One of the creature's metallic limbs clangs against his body on his way down hard enough to bruise.

+1 Damage from Trample (-1 HP, Total 3/10, Reyson cannot use any abilities, combat arts, magic, or rallies until the end of the round)

He falls to the dirt, singed feathers scattered around him. Every breath stings and sends shooting pain through his chest. His rib, maybe. Or several. He spits into the dirt, cursing under his breath. His gauntlets glow with a faint light that grows brighter and brighter, illuminating his body in healing magic.

Reyson uses Healing Focus: Regains Full HP (Total 3→10/10 HP)

The pain slowly fades, and he pushes himself back up on shaking limbs. He grumbles under his breath, wings flapping as he steadies himself. "Not going down that easily..."

@exclted​ next, possibly?

[cadenzardea]

Speak To Me (Steel Round - Team 12)

exclted​:

Lucina has fought a number of enemies, seen a number of things. Grima fell to her blade, after all.

This, however, is a whole new thing.

Strategy takes priority here, she reminds herself, and the smaller of the two should be easier to handle. Getting that out of the way is the goal, and her allies have already seemed to take to the same plan.

A breath. She has never dealt in magic, that was always Morgan’s expertise. Her own hand had sought the weight of a blade, never taking interest in anything that she could not feel in her grasp.

There are no blades here, however, and so she raises the tome in her hands and does her best to recount that which she has seen a hundred times.

Lucina attacks Gamalos Minion with Hades: 20! Critical Hit! -9 HP (Total 0/16) - Gamalos Minion is defeated!

Magic rushes to meet her call, sparking at her fingertips without a second’s hesitation. The sheer force of it nearly overwhelms, but whatever the Projectionist has done to make Lucina capable of this proves impressive. Lucina’s spell lands true, and for a moment she can only stare with wide eyes as the being before her turns to nothing.

Huh.

@cadenzardea​

The sheer power of Lucina's magic whips through the air, leaving naught but dust where the phantom enemy once stood when the surge of magic dissipates. It's almost disconcerting, seeing such powerful dark energy loosed by an ally, but Reyson cannot deny that it gets results. "Excellent work!" He offers her a hand (or, more accurately, hovers it over her. The gauntlets are too unwieldy to allow for direct contact) and takes a small moment to heal her remaining wounds.

Reyson heals Lucina with Physic: 19: 6+2 = +8 HP (Total 10/10 HP)

And with that, there's only one enemy left. He turns to face the great beast, gauntlets at the ready, and takes to the sky.

Reyson attacks Gamalos with Aura Knuckles: Attack 1: 11: Hit (-2 HP, Total 46/48 HP) Attack 2: 18: Critical Hit! (-3.5 HP, 42.5/48 HP)

Metal clangs loudly against metal as he crashes his fists against the thing's neck, hoping that the joints may be weaker than the rest. He leaves behind a few dents before the air sparks around him. Taking the hint, he darts back away before a surge of electricity sparks right where his body was a second prior.

Gamalos counters Reyson with Surge: 5-8 = -3: Miss

He takes a moment to catch his breath. This one isn't going to go down easily.

@carefreemonk​ next up