nothin' special

[harvestrose]

theindigoflirt​:

Mysterious Disappearances (Inigo & Mozu)

Sand slides underneath his boots. Walking with all this extra weight in his arms is not going to be easy. “Glasses, eh?” Inigo suppresses a laugh at the image of some stern king wearing reading glasses. “He certainly sounds extremely dedicated to his work.”

One of the books on top of his stack teeters dangerously to the side. He leans back quickly, holding down the leather bound volume with his chin. Fantastic. As if making his way across the camp wasn’t hard enough already.

Mozu’s constant stream of chatter is a welcome distraction. So that explains the peculiar accent. It couldn’t hurt to learn about both countries, especially from someone as straightforward as her. Being prepared is never a bad thing.

He risked a glance over his shoulder. “They don’t use mistletoe?” See, those are the kinds of things fancy royals would forget to mention. Inigo shakes his head, regretting the action when he feels the book slipping underneath him. “Then how am I supposed to properly celebrate the season?”

His tent, thank Naga, isn’t far. He manages to maneuver his way inside, dumping his stack of books unceremoniously on the ground. They landed with a resounding thump. Inigo has the decency to wince as he holds the tent flap open for Mozu.

“I think I’d only slow us down if I tried to decipher Nohrian. I can take notes if we find anything interesting?” Inigo suggests. Searching endless pages of information has never been his strong suit, but he’s had plenty of practice with his friends. Recording information always came in handy in case they needed a point of reference. “Make yourself at home, my lady.”

As subtly as he can, he sinks to the floor and crosses his long legs, leaving the bed open for her. “Seriously, tell me more about this not mistletoe.”

“Oh, you bet. I swear, that man is gonna work himself inta an early grave. Xannie’s a great man, an’ a great king, but he gets too anxious ‘bout not doin’ stuff an’ how that might affect Nohr- It’s a damn miracle his siblings got him tah come to the academy to take a break that still has some work so he doesn’t go stir crazy ‘r nothin’.” She hums, keeping up her walk as she starts her mini-culture lecture. 

“Oh, they got a similar tradition, an’ I ain’t sure ‘bout Hoshidans, but Nohrians- so commoners usu’ly hang sprigs of angelica or mint or some kinda similar herb over their doors tah welcome in growth in the comin’ year and tah encourage relationships of various kinds tah thrive, a most folks hug ‘re kiss beneath it- it’s sweet!” She lets out a low whistle, starting to settle in. “But the nobles- they hang belladonna over their door frames. Yah know, the poisonous berry plant that’ll kill a kid who eats one ‘re two ‘a the berries? But yeah, they hang it up tah threaten possible enemies as a pissin’ contest pretty much. An invitation ‘a ‘poison me in ma own home, coward, try it,’ an’ they also say it encourages continued life since they’re bringin’ a death plant intah their homes to soak up the death, I s’pose. Plus, folks ‘re supposed tah kiss under the belladonna as a sign ‘a goodwill, an’ also to show that they didn’t have ill intent ‘re wanna kill yah flat up.”

She whistles- a low sound. “Shoot, that was a lot more convoluted than I remembered it bein’. Sorry ‘bout that.” Instead, she stretches a bit before sitting on the floor right over by him, cause she missed sitting on the ground proper and reading like she was in Nyx’s library again, learning to read. She hums, popping open one of the books. “An’ yeah, how ‘bout I jus’ read off weird shit and you write it on down fer us tah look over later an’ see if we can still make heads ‘r tails of it.”

[harvestrose]

🎣 restless feet agitate the blue-green water just below the dock, producing ripples that, unbeknownst to sara, are responsible for her inability to catch anything after what feels like an eternity. it may have started fun, but the activity becomes significantly less so each passing minute and a frown soon surfaces. the makeshift rod she borrowed from the group must be faulty.

When she sees a lady sitting on the dock with a fishing rod, she couldn’t really say she was interested in watching that- Mozu could fish, and was good at it, but when it came down to it she much preferred proper hunting and foraging in the woods. What makes her stop is the way the lady keeps kicking her feet- did she not wanna catch nothing? Mozu makes her way over, bare feet padding across the wood as she tries to figure out what the lady was-

Oh... Her face is all twisted on up like she ate some bread that went off; Mozu quickly determines she’s one of them fancy folks who ended up here just like the rest of them and didn’t quite know how to do stuff like this. Mozu politely clears her throat, just like she learned from Xander when he discussed how nobles tend to start conversations with folks who’re busy. She’s still confused why they don’t just tap each other on the shoulder or nothing, but hey, she can clear her throat just fine so it ain’t that big a deal.

“Heya, uhh...” She genuinely doesn’t recognize this lady (whose little circlet makes evident that she is, in fact, a fancy noble lady) “Miss?” is what she settles on. “‘Re yah tryin’ tah fish there? Cuz’ yer movin’ her feet there in the water, which scares the lil’ guys right away from yer rod.” She settles herself down next to the other woman- well ‘next to’ by noble standards, since she’s still actually a good 2 or 3 feet away. “Fishin’ involves bein’ real, real still and waitin’ a damn long time. A lotta folks bring a book ‘re somethin’ else tah do while they wait fer a bite.”

[harvestrose]

razurite​:

homecoming — ♪

♪ — it seems there is no shortage of small miracles. for all that the war was, shigure wonders if it was really as easy as she makes it sound. if deciding that it was enough, to just care for someone without condition. they themselves are not faultless, though they are not so brave as to say it outloud. ( the truth was that the other children came with conditions, including her own, with kana being the only exception in his exuberance ) their thoughts wander to their own mother. what she had chosen to see and who she had chosen to love. would they have been one of those things? hand tenses on the curve of the bowl.

      ah. right.

      they had nearly forgotten in all of this that the village that mozu hailed from was no more. obliterated by the risen, a battle that they had never asked for nor were well-equipped for. it was long before they had emerged from their own deeprealm, but too soon after the incident for them to ask. mozu had not chosen this family, as she calls it, but it was what remained and had chosen her. at least, it had been xander who had chosen her as the matriarch of the nohrian bloodlines now. hands busy themselves with drying the bowl and setting it aside before using the towel to dry their own hands.

      “canola oil?” they reply as they make their way over, shigure looking to the shelves. what was the difference? still, they withdraw several of the bottles and odds and ends before finding one so labeled before digging out a spoon to measure out the amount. oil is dumped, then flour is reached for. bag undone, they pause only to roll back their sleeves before measuring out the amounts with a careful eye. the edge of a leveling knife helps in this too. “can you sing it to me? i’ve heard it before,” they begin. “i think kana might like it if we could — together, i mean.”

      attention returns to the countertop, instead of their aunt beside them.

      “i think he misses home.” and that was not them.

Shigure is quiet as always, in the calm, peaceful way, rather than the cold way they and their mama are when they’re hiding multitudes in the oceans of their minds, thoughts and emotions stirring just below the surface...

damn, i’m really readin’ a helluva lot more a xannie’s poetry than i thought, she thinks to herself, but hums to shake the thought away, moving about the kitchen with ease. When she looks over, she swears she sees their hand tense on the rim of the bowl, but it’s fast enough that she’s not sure if it was just a trick of the light. So, she disregards it- Shigure and Azura both weren’t big on opening up too much, and Mozu wasn’t about to force them to, so she just sifts the dry ingredients together. When they ask her to sing it, she gives a soft, warm laugh. “Yeah, I can sing it fer yah. I ain’t gotta pretty trained voice like you an’ yer mama, but I’ll try my best.” A brief pause, and she nudges their side with her shoulder- i’m here if you need me, she tries to say with that action. “I think he’d like that, yeah... ‘S always nice tah get a lil’ bit ‘a home even when yer far from it, or can’t quite handle bein’ home no more.” She doesn’t say it’s okay if yer homesick too, i’m happy tah do what I can tah help, but she implies it enough to satisfy herself- they’re grown now, they don’t need her to spoon-feed them support, but it’s always good to get reminders.

She clears her throat, hands moving to mix the dough together, to knead and twist and shape, and begins singing properly-

“ Ὅσον ζῇς φαίνου μηδὲν ὅλως σὺ λυποῦ πρὸς ὀλίγον ἐστὶ τὸ ζῆν τὸ τέλος ὁ χρόνος ἀπαιτεῖ. ”

She doesn’t know what the words mean exactly- they’re an old Nohrian dialect, if the village elder who taught it to her was to be believed (and she was, Mozu had trusted her knowledge on most things, which proved to be wise then.) But she knows it’s a song of bittersweet remembrance, something old and treasured-

for her, for the Nohrians and Hoshidans who lost things in the war... It is needed, she thinks, even if the details of it’s meaning had been lost to time.

“It ain’t real long, but it’s nice, an’ its home fer me, yah know?”

[cynthero]

My muse is manning the kissing booth. Send “kiss!” to get a smooch!

[harvestrose]

🦀 "Mozu, Mozu! I heard there are crabs here. Do you think we could catch one? We could give him a name and bring him home with us! How does Crabraham sound?"

She laughs- a warm sound. For the first few days in this strange world where they didn’t need sleep or food, it was fragile for the first time in a long time, but as the days have past, she’s spent time with her family, the fear and fragility dissolving easily, like seafoam.

She puts a hand on her hip, grinning at her sister-in law. “Sounds good t’me! Crabraham’ll be a welcome addition tah the fam’ly, I’m sure!” She hums, stretching out her arms a bit. “How ‘bout’chu help me find some net or some rope an’ sticks, an’ I’ll see if I can’t whip us up a lil’ crab trap? Or at least a nice lil’ net to snag ‘em with!”

[harvestrose]

pressed purple tulips

As the beast falls, the ice pinning her to the tree seems to melt under a warm light, and yet still she screams for her son, hands reaching out desperately towards the bloody indentation in the ground where his mangled corpse lies. Her throat feels raw and pained and she knows she must be on the brink of making it bleed.

As the husk beasts fall, a warm light rises in your chest and you look around to see the same glow in your allies’ hearts. A disembodied voice comes to you again, a familiar fixture now in this strange reality. 

She attempts to crawl towards him, paying both the voice and her own fading vision no mind, but just as she feels her body giving way beneath her, the world turns white, and the pain and pressure both fade away, as if simply the imaginations of a dream.

“Those who created me wish to see the universe destroyed,” it says, and the white light around you grows so bright that it blinds you. Suddenly you can’t feel the ground beneath your feet.

Her emotions too seem to come to a halt, as if taken from her and held in a bubble just out of reach, allowing her to hear the voice in the new silence of her own mind.

“It seems I was right to choose you. Your valiant efforts have expunged the evil from five realities.”

Darkness drapes over you like a curtain, but in the distance shines the Crest of Flames.

She can’t explain what the glowing sigil is in the distance, nor can she find the words to explain the strange half-world she finds herself in, the sensation not unlike what she felt whenever Corrin would lead them down the Bottomless Canyon, how the sensation of falling for an eternity manifested during the transition between worlds.

“For your heroism, I can restore your life. But my power wanes…”

The emblem, too, grows dimmer.

Distantly, she thinks she would be relieved, knowing Siegbert would return to her.

She imagines that she would feel sympathy for this deific voice, just as she did for Anankos despite his fall, the harm he caused in the madness he could not control, paranoid of what would never occur. But for now, emotions remain distant, as a ship loosed from its mooring, and she listens.

“I will turn back the hands of time this once. Though I cannot guarantee your memories will be intact, I should hope what you retain guides you on this new path.”

Warmth floods all sensation until no pain is left. Only gentle lightness. The scent of salt wafts in on a breeze. Faintly, you make out the cries of gulls and the lapping of water.

“It will be some time before your bodies are returned. For now…

                  I will hold you…

                                           here…

                                                       with me…”

She gasps awake, one hand flying to where the shard of ice had laid in her chest, the other digging into the sand as she flings her body up to sitting, the bubble popping, allowing her emotions to swell back into place just as the sea she finds in front of her.

The first sound from her lips is a desperate sob comprised of so many disparate emotions and sentiments as to make it impossible to distinguish what was the source. Despair and anguish, relief and adoration, hope and fear-

She’s sobbing as she staggers to her feet, looking through watery eyes out on the world around her, until she remembers she’s his mama. She’s gotta be strong for him (and she prays his memories don’t include the pain of death) so she wipes her tears from her eyes, wading into the ocean to use the salt water to cleanse her face, to wake herself up.

She breathes out as she stands again, brushing water from her face before setting out to find the ever familiar shock of curled blonde hair in this strange world.

[harvestrose]

dried white roses and the black cousins that take their place

black roses, marigolds, cypress, purple hyacinths, wormwood, dried white roses (TW: death, gore, suicidal ideation. tldr; mozu watches her only son siegbert die)

Despite every instance of healing, every nerve that seemed to freeze under the ice and stop hurting, she still screamed.

.

She had never been pinned like this before, hadn’t been so useless since she first joined Corrin’s army, and despite every attempt, every push against the blade of ice, against the tree behind her-

she was stuck.

.

Her hands shake with adrenaline and blood loss, but she looks up when she hears a scream, hand reaching for the dagger in her belt-

.

Her blood runs cold.

.

.

She screams as his own shaky limbs force a stumble, screams as the sword tumbles to the ground- uselessly- she screams as she sees him fall to his knees, cough wracking his body, blood clearly dripping from his mouth and chest and all of a sudden she’s 17 again, motionless as she cries out for her family-

.

He reaches out a hand, and she thinks she hears him speak be f o    r       e

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

it’s the same sound. 

.

.

her mother’s body made the same sound under the relentless fists of the faceless, all sickening cracks and squelching blood and flesh

.

.

.

                        she doesn’t scream.

not at first. she didn’t scream at first when her mother died either. but her scream rings out seconds later

.

.

            her scream is different now.

when she was 17, it was a scream of panic and fear and pain and sadness.

.

now it is a scream of horror and despair and desperation and unending sorrow and pain and rage and so much more because she is not just seeing her mother die again

.

.

she is a mother seeing her only son die in front of her eyes, the echo of his grandmother, his grandfather, his aunts and uncles and everyone she’d ever known as a girl

                     crushed                                       like discarded tomatoes left to rot in the sun

.

.

.

.

she screams

               and she fears the future of laying her son to rest

                              telling her husband of the worst loss they’d ever experienced

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

she screams, and for the first time in 9 years

                             she wishes she would just die too.

[theofficersacademy]

The beach is completely empty save for the characters who have wound up here thanks to some strange, divine power. No employees, no tourists, nothing. There’s a house large enough to fit everyone, but you find that you need neither sleep nor food while you’re here. When you walk a certain distance along the shoreline, your vision begins to grow hazy and you wind up back where you began.

Still, there are few things to be done in this strange purgatory…

                                                ASK MEMES

send 🎣 to put together a makeshift fishing rod and pass the time catching fish with my muse

send 👀 to accidentally catch my muse changing clothes

send 🏃 to explore the boundaries of this world with my muse

send 🌴 to climb trees with my muse

send 🌊 to watch the ocean and reflect with my muse

send 🏊‍♂️ to go swimming with my muse

send ⛺️ to escape the crowded house and go camping with my muse

send 💯 to ask my muse to teach yours how to swim

send ♨️ to discover hot springs with my muse

send 🎆 to put on a fireworks display with my muse

send 💫 to go stargazing with my muse

send 🌙 to go dancing in the moonlight with my muse

send 🍽 to experiment in the kitchen with my muse

send 🥂 to drink with my muse

send 🦀 to go crab hunting with my muse

send 🏖 to go sunbathing with my muse

send 🌧 to be caught in a sudden storm with my muse

send 🔥 to gather around a bonfire with my muse

send ⚔️ to spar with my muse

send 🏐 to play a game with my muse

send 🦞 to ask my muse to care for your muse’s sunburn

send 🛶 to make/use a boat with my muse

send 🏰 to build a sandcastle with my muse (or just play in the sand)

send 🐠 to go looking for wildlife in the surf with my muse

send 🏹 to go hunting in the forest with my muse

Or make up your own!

[harvestrose]

alfvangr​:

zenith.

Every movement he makes aggravates recently sustained injuries, but it’s nothing new on his part—there’s too much at stake to stop now. For as long as his battered body will allow, he’ll continue to fight.

( if he had a gold coin for every time he’s had that very specific thought, he’d have… three coins. which isn’t a lot, but it’s odd that it’s happened that many times. )

As if sensing his approach, Failnaught lashes out once more, claws arcing down to crush the prince beneath their heavy mass. They smash harmlessly into the earth as Alfonse jumps up and onto the Relic’s hand, toss him skyward in its bid to be rid of the pest that would dare use it as a stepping stool—

                    but it’s played right into his hands.

His heart races—freefalling is every inch exhilarating as it is terrifying. ( a stupid, reckless stunt like this is up sharena’s alley, not his. but she isn’t here, so he has to be reckless in her place. ) Both hands close around the Levin Sword’s hilt, ocean hues alight with a storm’s fury—

Alfonse rolls 14 to attack Failnaught! Remaining: 13.5 HP.

—and stabs it into the bone between Failnaught’s eye sockets, lightning’s violent surge and the shriek of pain that follows leaving his ears ringing. A harsh yank, and jagged blade pulls free in time for the beast to throw him off with its thrashing; claws graze his arms when Alfonse raises them to shield himself mid-fall, the impact jarring him such that hitting solid ground again is far less graceful compared to the last time he’d been flung away.

Failnaught rolls 8 to barely hit with its counter.

It hurts, but he’s suffered worse. He can still swing a sword in this condition—that’s more than enough.

give it hell, @harvestrose​!

The speed with which she snatches up the herbs at her feet is impressive, and she downs a few as quick as she can, slapping a few other leaves over some particularly bloody wounds- they were good to staunch bleeding, so she wasn’t going to bleed out, thank the gods.

[ Mozu uses her personal skill, Forager! She heals herself up a bit! ]

Then she draws back the bowstring, the sensation of pins and needles in her skin already not bothering her as much- whether that’s the herbs or just plain adrenaline has yet to be seen- and shoots.

“DIE ALREADY!” she screams at the dragon, the arrow piercing the other side of it’s bony neck, another cracking noise ringing out across the field.

[ Mozu attacks Failnaught and crits! 11.5/40 HP remaining. ]

She grits her teeth as it turns to her again, because she knows full well the gash in her leg won’t let her run away properly, and rolling isn’t possible with a tree to her right and-

[ Failnaught attacks Mozu and crits! ]

She realizes belatedly as she tries to draw another arrow that her chest won’t move.

(mild gore after the cut!)

She looks down, seeing a surprisingly thin icicle sticking out of her chest, and her right hand confirms she’s against the tree.

She realizes in horror that she’s pinning just as the pain starts catching up to her, and she lets out a watery scream because it hurts, but she can’t move, she’s a sitting duck, and she’s already seeing static at the edges of her vision- blood loss, she remembers.

She tries to move a leg, but her left is pinned to the tree too, and she doesn’t even look to see where the bone has split between the shards of ice. She just shakes as she weakly nocks another arrow, praying it won’t be her last.

                                                            dont die! @prayerwitch

[harvestrose]

perfectionist-prince​:

zenith.

One moment, agony. The next, a gentle voice: you will not fall here. Slowly, feeling is brought back to his right arm; fingers twitch and then tighten into a fist before relaxing once more. It hurts, but he can move it. For now.

“Thank you,” he rasps, a smile forcing itself on his lips. Lady Sara’s aid can propel him a little further, just a little longer. So long as he still breathes, Siegbert can fight—if not for his sake, then for the sake of his allies, his friends. ( Carmine gaze sweeps over a head of pink, and then blue. His friends. )

Worried glances are spared his way when he finally pulls himself back up, steel sword struck into the ground to use as leverage. Since the blade has cooled, it’ll be fine to use again, but the smell of burnt flesh still hangs heavy in his nose. No matter the case, he could always fall back on the wind sword at his side (even if magic was not exactly his strong suit.)

The moment he decides to get up, an icy hellscape rains down from above. In seconds, Lady Mist is struck through again and again with razor-sharp blades of ice; crown prince knows that his fate will end up the same no matter what he does to defy it. The howling winds stop him in his tracks, feet digging into the ground to so much as keep himself upright. Blade falls from his hands, lodging into the ground some feet away. Dammit.

If he doesn’t attack now, who knows when he’ll get another chance.

In a staggered movement, slowed by the wind, Siegbert unsheathes the wind sword he had yet to use in a single battle and raises it skyward. What choice did he have but to fight, even if it was all for naught? It takes all his power to fight fire with fire, wind with wind, but to no avail.

[ Siegbert misses hitting Failnaught. 18.5/40 HP remaining. ]

Although he manages to keep the grip on his blade, Siegbert does little more than avert the winds and ice whipping around his body for a few short seconds. As soon as the air is once more in control of the Relic, it is as though the blades of ice zero in on the crown prince with absolutely no mercy.

[ Siegbert is critically hit by Failnaught’s Fallen Star attack. ]

One after another, icicles rip gashes and tears across his body. Small lesions add and add until red stains his body through and through; certain icicles make new homes within his body, the perfect weapon to rip a victim to shreds without ever leaving a trace.

Through it all, he manages to stay on his feet. It hurts, it hurts, but he can stand, he can take another step, he can—

The storm dies away, gone as quickly as it had started, and the beast laughs. Quite literally adding insult to injury, it spits at the crown prince.

[ Siegbert was barely hit by Failnaught’s magical attack. ]

One final breath of magic sends him to his knees and forward onto his hands where he heaves and coughs and cries until blood sputters and drips from his mouth.

@harvestrose

Everything hurts, her left side feels as though suspended on burning pins and needles, the nerves half-fried and her fingers frozen-burned around her bow, and when she looks up, she sees the beast roar again, the noise hardly audible over the ringing of her ears, but she sees the motion, and she sees the ice coalescing in what must be it’s mouth, and her resolve steels.

She will not fall here, and she will not let her village fall either.

[ Mozu is hit by Failnaught’s Fallen Star attack! ]

Her breath is forced from her lungs as shards and knives of ice stab into her, making her very insides cold as it lodges in her chest, but she wheezes out a thanks to the gods it misses the most important of her organs. In an instant, Her left has not-pain flow back into the flesh, and she shoots a grateful look to the healer- Mist, she remembers- before clenching her left hands around her bow and taking a shot at the creature, following it up with a second shot. The monster that makes her son cry out in pain will not be able to do so without her hurting it right gods-damned back.

[ Mozu critically hits Failnaught once, missing the second Point-Blank Volley shot! 16.5/40 HP remaining! ]

The first lodges deep, this time in it’s bony neck, but the second flies wide- that’s fine, she’ll live, she just needs to nock another arrow and-

[ Mozu is hit critically by Failnaught! ]

She screams as the beast slashes at her with a claw, raking across her newly healed chest, and she too falls to her knees, a strange mirror of her son. A hand digs into the dirt, and she glances around the battlefield, looking. She knows what fields are like, she knows how to find things to ease the pain enough to keep on-

there. She spots a pile of easy to miss herbs growing just a few yards away, and forces her screaming body towards them in a combat roll.

She’ll be feeling better enough to fight on soon.

                                                         baton pass!  @alfvangr​

[harvestrose]

perfectionist-prince​:

zenith.

It’s hard not to see the man who first taught him about elegance, grace, and everything related to ethereal poise when staring up into warm brown eyes clouded with worry. For a moment, the prince recalls the same expression appearing after he had tripped over his own feet and twisted his ankle while learning to waltz. At that time, his father’s retainer sat with him while his foot was elevated on a chair and told him tales about heroes who had traveled through time to fell a wretched dragon before it could destroy the lives of innocents once again, and was absolutely not allowed to get up and walk again lest it worsen the sprain.

Siegbert wishes he could hear those stories now.

Something soft is placed beneath his head; ah, it feels a little better to lay, like this. There’s a voice in his ears, hang on, hang on, but the words don’t quite register as his thoughts move once more to misery lacing his side. ( He can’t move his arm, he realizes. He can’t even lift it. Will he ever be able to again? )

A comforting warmth eases him only slightly, but then it’s gone. Weakly, the prince turns his head to watch the dancer’s retreating form.

“Las—”

( The thought isn’t finished. Not yet. )

It isn’t where he had aimed initially, but Laslow’s the dancer’s attack reaches nonetheless. The beast is losing its grip; a messy attack misses by a landslide and a grin pulls its way to the man’s face. Without its wings, the beast is grounded and scared—perhaps they have a chance yet.

He returns to Siegbert’s side. Weakly, the prince raises his left hand and grips the other’s tightly.

“Uncle,” his voice shakes.

[ Siegbert casts Rally Blessing on Inigo. Inigo deals +1 damage to monsters in his next turn. ]

“Take care of it.” @harvestrose fight in your boy’s stead, ma 

She wishes in this moment that she’d ever bothered to learn healing magic, because she can do nothing but watch as her baby suffers. She desperately tries to pull back her bowstring, but her shot goes wide, and she staggers in front of Siegbert in time to take the blast of magic in his stead, her left side burning with magic and fire and brimstone, and she screams, but she’s glad that she can keep this from hitting her son again, even if it puts her on the brink of death. Her fingers burn in place around the bow in her hand, and tears well in her eyes as the pain edges between unbearable and unnoticeable, nerves too fried to register pain.

She realizes belatedly that she’s fallen to the ground, and she wheezes out a breath, though it sounds more like a sob. She grabs another arrow, nocking it with a shaking right hand, and she doesn’t dare move her left hand. She adjusts so she’s just barely able to shoot.

And she waits, and she prays.

                                                               @alfvangr​

[harvestrose]

perfectionist-prince​:

zenith.

It always felt good to have such strong adversaries on your side. At the rate they were going, this battle would be over in no time at all. Inigo dances on air, and a part of Siegbert wonders, could I do that? With his harsh footfalls and heavy stances, it’s doubtful—but such a grace could become so useful in battle.

That’s what this was. A battle.

That’s what his life had always been. A battle.

( And what it always would be. )

“Right behind you!” he calls to Inigo, who was practically grapevining backward. Although not as impressive as his previous hit, his blade still makes contact, cutting into the beast’s body easily.

[ Siegbert hits Failnaught for 2 points of damage using a steel sword. 26/40 HP remaining. ]

Though the hit only seems to agitate the beast further. First enraged that its wing had been sliced away like butter, and now that a second hit was stricken by the same opponent, it was time to let all hell break loose. Siegbert is given but a moment to react before another barrage of flames is flying towards him.

[ Siegbert is critically hit by Failnaught’s magical attack. ]

Fire and agony engulfs his torso, eating away at armor and cloth in mere seconds. While the left side of his body is relatively unharmed, the prince’s right arm and most of his right side is swallowed up by the flames. Though the sword in his hand heats up ‘til red-hot, his fingers are unable to release it from their rigid vice. The shape of the hilt is scarred into his palm.

Mouth agape at the sight of charred, raw skin, it isn’t until the attack dissipates that the crown prince can let out a scream. 

The dragon snarls, body thrashing about as magical energy that makes her skin crawl seems to pour off of it in waves- a wing falls to the ground, motionless as the beast screeches in pain, claws digging into the ground and kicking up dirt as it desperately attempts to fight back against the barrage of blows from her trusted allies. 

Then crackling black-red-gold flames come barreling from the beast’s skeletal mouth, and she watches in terror as her son screams, draconic magic curling around his right and turning his sword an unnatural red, the smell of charred flesh curling under her nose.

To say she is furious is an understatement, her very blood boiling in in her veins as she screams- though her cry is not one of pain, like Siegbert’s, but a battle cry, the sound of bitter anger and fury and revenge as she pulls the bowstring far back- much further than needed for such a close shot, certainly, her face pulled into an expression of disgust and rage that seem out of place.

“HOW DARE YOU?!” For a moment, she looks the image of a Nohrian royal in battle, her posture immaculate, head held high, face reflecting the power and fury of a Queen, not a peasant farmer girl. Her eyes burn with inner fire.

“NO MERCY!”

[Mozu hits Failnaught for 2 points of damage using a Killer Bow! 24/40 HP remaining.]

The beast’s claws dig into the ground as the arrow digs into a bone in its neck, the sound of bone cracking around the arrow ringing out around the battlefield. It screams once again, the sound of bones grating against one another echoing as more magic wells in its throat, and she manages to turn in time so the magic only hits her left- the side she holds her bow with. She cries out as it hits, the scent of charred flesh stronger now, but she can still pull back her bowstring like this, thank the gods.

[Mozu is hit by Failnaught’s magical attack.]

She grits her teeth, nocking yet another arrow in place. 

                                                     baton pass! @alfvangr​

[harvestrose]

perfectionist-prince​:

zenith. 

How can you believe in the so-called Emblem of Trust when you cannot even trust yourself?

Royal hands are forever stained with the blood of allies. The blade at his side sings, delighted to have been put to good use; all blood is equal in the eye of the steel that takes it. Yet, hope wavers, no longer confident in the hands that wield the weapon. For the first time in many years, the crown prince wishes for nothing more than to lay down his blade and repent for his crimes.

But such a fate could never be his. All too quickly, an ally turns into a monster. His friends act quicker than he can, immediately turning on the offensive. A soldier’s instinct takes over once again, and though he is loath to act once more against someone he once trusted (or something?), Siegbert unsheathes his blade.

Carmine eyes watch the dancer fly through the air with a practiced poise. Internally, he smiles, knowing that a few years more will help the young man embrace those skills even further. Inigo’s blade slices into the beast’s shoulder and Siegbert rushes in only seconds after to finish the job.

[ Siegbert hits Failnaught for 3 points of damage using a steel sword. 33/40 HP remaining. ]

Steel seems to laugh as it slices through the air and strikes into the skeletal body of what was once Claude’s mighty relic. Blade cleaves through bone, lobbing its left wing clean from its back; it howls in agony, no doubt leaving the ears of many ringing.

The prince jumps back, avoiding the frenzied swipes of claws directed his way, but another attack he failed to think of reaches him instead. The dragon’s head turns in his direction, maw gaping, and a stream of burning breath is sent flying through the air.

[ Siegbert is barely hit by Failnaught’s magical attack. ]

At the very last second, Siegbert drops flat to the ground. The spell grazes over his back, burning through his armor and singing his skin, but he avoids the worst of it. Head raising, he quickly pulls himself back to his feet.

Allies rush in, surrounding the beasts. Seeing the hardy looks in their eyes and the fierce determination in the manner in which they grip their weapons, the prince’s heart eases. These are the ones that will fight by his side, and he, by theirs. These are the ones that he would give his life for, and he, in return, trusts equally as much.

@harvestrose

You know, for a 27 year old peasant lady, Mozu has see a helluva lot. She’s seen her folks die, she’s seen a lady turn into a dragon, she’s seen a kid turn into a dragon, she’s seen folks sing and weave magic into their voice, she married a goddamn prince somehow, she’s seen a king turn to mush, she’s seen and killed a fucking god, but hot damn was she not expecting to see another dragon anytime soon- or ever, really, barring Corrin and Kana. She pulls out her Killer Bow with a soldier’s instinct, nocking an arrow fast and pulling it taut, one eye closing to help aim-

And then the dragon-bone-thing tries to attack her son and she sees red.

She’s always been a pretty good shot- some of the older folks in her village praised her for her hunting skills, and she decides right then and there that this here dragon? This dragon is prey, and she ain’t gonna let prey get the other goddamn hand.

[Mozu rolls to hit with a Killer Bow, 17! She does 2 damage! Failnaught is [31/40] HP!]

“You reap what’cha sow!” The shot flies and hits true, cracking one of the bones in it’s leg as the arrow digs deep, but this thing ain’t going down from just a few arrows.

But one more won’t hurt nothing-

[Mozu uses Point-Blank Shot with a Killer Bow, 4! Miss!]

Unfortunately, the dragon ducks just in time, and her shot flies too high- she curses to herself under her breath, reading it’s movements just like she would a bear she was hunting, and noted how it geared up to shoot a magic bolt at her, and she dodged just before it could start, so the magic missed her entirely. She rolls off to her right, ending up a little ways behind her son- the person she couldn’t not trust even if she tried real goddamn hard. She nocks another arrow, preparing. 

“Let’s get this over-sized chicken deboned, y’all! Keep on at it!”

                                                         @alfvangr​

[harvestrose]

ladamedepique​:

fever pitch

Without the element of surprise, Not-Percy was a snivelling thing, no pride or bite in the face of mounting odds. The armour he now wore that was no longer really his took the brunt of her blow, but even with the gold fabric swathed around him, she could see the dent and could imagine the damage that lay underneath. Camilla’s breath rattled in her breath, almost a snarl as she levelled the axe to his face, ready to cut him down—

But then the wild sound cut through the stunned silence, and when Camila turned her head, there was the sight of flailing limbs and desperation like watching an injured animal fighting for escape. “Shigure—” She didn’t have to do anything.

No sooner than the name had left her lips, the for of someone she had then suddenly understood Not-To-Be-Claude moved to lunge… And crumpled, shot down like a mad, feral beast in the dust. And at the origin of the trajectory, a woman coaxed the grotsque, skeletal bow to lower.

Adrenaline still sang in her blood; Not-Percy moved to run, and Camilla raised the axe to end his–hers, theirs, who was this anymore–existence, when the command shot through the calm just as the arrow had, and both were frozen by the force behind it.  “Stay where you are.”

Neither moved. Shigure’s voice, calm in the face of the horrors committed… What now? Her chest heaved, shoulders shaking even as her hand remained stilled, axe trained on Not-Percy’s throat. What now?

As she looks him in his eyes, she knows she was right to stop him- this is a cold look, a look of hatred and disgust that does not reflect what little she knows of Claude. She moves to draw her knife-

-only to screech in pain as some blue-haired lancer forces her back, pushing the tip of his weapon into her side and turning it in the wound, the pain overwhelming, forcing her to fall prone as the weapon is removed. Her hands fly to cover the wound, and she lets out s string of deeply inventive curses in a mixture of Nohrian and Hoshidan, desperately trying to swing herself upright to ensure the impostor could not harm the Duke. Her attempts just barely manage to work, and she hears as the impostor screeches, sees the flash of blue and white as Shigure descends like a holy angel come to help, and she gives a weak smile. One hand reaches back, grabbing her lance, and she uses it as a prop as she works herself up to standing, spitting out a glob of blood in the process.

She shakes as she looks around, visibly seething, though she calms a little at the sight of the dead impostor. She sees Camilla, axe pressed against the throat of her assailant, and for a moment wonders if it was the illusion that caused him to attack or something else entirely.

She breathes out. She pits out another mouthful of blood, free hand still clenching her bleeding side.

“Not- fuck- not tah draw ‘way from the situation, but- argh- can I get some healin’ ‘fore I bleed out? Cuz I’m getting real-” a pause as her vision briefly fades and returns. “-real light-headed over here...”                                                            END

[harvestrose]

boundlesshart​:

As the chosen move forward, Laelaps rests a heart over his chest. This is it. This is happening. Soon, the chosen shall be betrayed and destroyed by the one that they swore to defend, and the stag will fall into such a powerful despair that it will swallow everything around it. The resulting chaos will surpass anything that that little Emperor can do with the scraps she’s fed by the Liberator.

Laelaps rubs his hand over his face, hiding a smile. Atreus’ insistent drumming grows louder and louder as he carefully guides the chosen past the burning tents and corpses. The Alliance leader and that Hero of Daphnel woman are just ahead, slaughtering their own soldiers with practiced ease. The thought of such stupidity gives him the strength needed to push through the thick fog of smoke and the ashes that fill this one’s lungs.

Atreus’ tapping become more intelligible. Thyestes said that the chosen will see those two as well as myself as enemies, and the soldiers they fight allies. We haven’t killed as many generals as we had hoped–Laelaps’ heart drops to his stomach–but we shall use them to our advantage regardless. Confuse them, and allow their doubt in the chosen to fill the stag’s ears. Continue with the plan. And be sure to put on a show.

“Over there!” Laelaps cries. In the guise of a miracle, a wind clears the smoke ahead, giving the chosen a clear view of their intended prey. Their yellow-clad allies, rushing forward to the Imperial generals like lambs to the slaughter, the chosen will not hesitate to thoughtlessly destroy in the name of honor.

Put on a show. Laelaps slides the bow safely back into the quiver. It served him well, but the wicked dagger he pulls out will be more appropriate. In that dream, it was a dagger in the hands of a traitor that ended the stag’s life. With a grin, Laelaps rushes forward, eyes locked onto the Alliance leader, dagger raised and prepared to sink into flesh.

Mozu was going to find whatever gods-forsaken magician was pulling whatever illusionary nonsense was going on here and fucking kill them. Zola had caused them so much grief back in the war, made them kill innocents, tried to kill them all before they could even get close to Anankos- she wasn’t about to let that shit happen in Fodlan too if she could fucking help it.

She heard what sounded like lil’Claude’s voice cry out “over there!” and spun in his direction only to see him holding not a bow like she’d always seen him with, but a dagger, rushing on into combat- archers didn’t fucking do that if they were smart, and Claude sure as night in Nohr wasn’t dumb.

She’d seen some nasty creature too vile to be a man fake his appearance before, and with the illusory mists and smoke swirling around the battlefield, she trusted no one but her own family, so she pulls out her bow in an instant, notching an arrow, and breathing ice magic into it, just like these Fodlan folks showed her to do. And as her breath runs out, she releases the arrow, whispering “You reap what’cha fuckin’ sow.”

Mozu rolls to hit- natural 20! She does 7 damage with Encloser, freezing her target in place!

-knocking the kid right in the shoulder. That’d hurt, but it sure as hell wouldn’t kill him. She bolts over, grabbing the hand with the knife so he couldn’t move it, eyes narrowed heavily as she practically snarls in his face.

“What in the gods’ names are you doin’? Since when does an archer who loves tactics rush intah the middle of a crowd in a battle, huh? An’ with an assassin’s knife?” Her voice is cold- a far cry from what she sounds like everywhere else. “When someone’s got something goin’ on with ‘llusion magic?” Her grip tightens. “I want some fuckin’ answers, kiddo, an’ yer not gonna like what happens if yah lie to a seasoned hunter like me.”

[perfectionist-prince]

"Sieggy?! Baby, where are yah?! Are you a'ight?!" She rushes through the mist, gripping her bow tight as she ducks under various blows, mumbling apologies for the two folks she swipes the feet out from, knocking them on their asses. "Honeysuckle-"

Fingers flex on the hilt of his blade, Siegbert quickly sidesteps to avoid the attack of another soldier. With their momentum thrown off, he brings his sword down upon them without a hint of mercy. Good, another one d—

Someone calls his name. Concentration broken, he glances up, only to scowl.

“Quit worrying about that! You can ask about my wellbeing after this battle is over, so turn around and fight!”

[harvestrose]

“Somethin’ is wrong, Sieggy-!” she grunts as she pulls out her lance, using it to block the attack of some soldier of questionable origin. “Listen! I hear ‘Empire’ folks talkin’ ‘bout Alliance places and-” she uses the blunt of her weapon to knock someone away, gritting her teeth at the way it makes her bones shake. “Remember Zola?! All that illusion bullshit he pulled?! Look at this mist an’ tell me-” another clang as she blocks another hit, “-tell me what’cha think! Tell me you ain’t seein’ them uniforms lookin’ a bit too yellah ‘re orange when the mist gets pushed away fer a hot second!” She uses the long handle of her lance to swipe the feet out from under someone. “Remember that dream?! We- shit, we gotta find the older Claude ‘fore somethin’ happens- we’re s’posed tah protect him! Cuz I don’t know what all is goin’ on, but I know fer a damn fact some illusionist ‘s tryin’ tah set us up, jus’ like Zola did!” 

She doesn’t call the (dead) magician a rat bastard out loud solely for Siegbert’s sake.

[harvestrose]

zola

She didn’t think much at first, just following base instinct as warnings cried out, the trained faceless or Vallites or bandits- she always remembered accosting them back during the war, and she wanted to keep her folks safe, shot a man through the head even though she hated having to kill living folks a lot more than having to kill animals, it was necessary sometimes, but it hurt-

Two of them ran up to her, hitting her with their swords, and for a moment as the breeze moved the fog with their movements, she caught sight of yellow- or maybe it was orange, heard the cry of a woman mentioning her family in some Alliance city over where she heard Camilla’s battle cries, and her heart dropped like a ball of ice in her chest.

She knew illusions- the ‘Faceless’ on the stairs to the wind tribe, how the dust settled and they looked like people again, when ‘Izana’ greeted them outside his mansion in Izumo before dropping some nasty ice spell to try and kill them all off-

Mists and fog always seemed to follow Zola from what she’d seen back then, and he always vanished into thick mist and fog.

Mist or fog or something curled around them, and before her were two men in red. The same color as that goddamn weasel’s dumb clown hat and garb was. She un-notched her arrow, and dropped her bow.

“Y’all better knock it off! I don’t know what all is goin’ on ‘round here, but this sure as hell ain’t natural! I’m Mozume, that country bumpkin what’s been helpin’ out in the kitchen! An’ ‘fore y’all say nothin’, who in the gods’ names else ‘round these parts has an accent like mine?!”