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@immovablewill
ー・immovablewill ; a closed and affiliated roleplay blog for Kujou Sara from Genshin Impact as imagined by Milky
There is a saying in Narukami Island that goes like this: wherever lightning first strikes, terrifying thunder is sure to follow. If the Almighty Shogun is the thunder that fills the heavens, Kujou Sara, then, is the lightning strike against which her enemies are powerless to defend themselves.
Work hard―actually, I can’t focus.
⁀➴ sara & neuvillette
She felt rather out of place.
Currently, Sara sat on the edge of plush lobby chair, her spine rod-straight, her wings folded tightly close to herself, as though concerned that leaving them otherwise would only take up any more space than she already have—as though that, in it itself, was a sin. And who could ever blame her for thinking so? The Palais Mermonia carried a quiet, luxurious air about it; gilded stained-glass windows spanned the high walls, painting the marble floors with drifting, aquatic light. Sara sat within one of these pools of shifting blue and gold, feeling like a stark ink brushstroke on a watercolor painting.
Maybe she should have taken a page out of the Shirasagi Himegimi’s book. Word on the streets was that when the young mistress had visited Fontaine, she had donned an outfit befitting the Fontainian elite: all big ribbons and frills, her hair braided into something neat and pretty. The very essence of beauty and grace.
…Then again, the General supposed she would not wear such an appearance well. Kamisato Ayaka’s features were soft. Kind. The perfect model for pastel colours and small light-toned petals. The total opposite of Sara’s own—sharp and angular, with eyes that would sooner scare a babe than bring them comfort and joy. And so, her usual Tenryou Commission regalia would have to suffice: dark and practical, with no room for things such as beauty or elegance.
A resigned breath escaped her. She definitely appeared out of place.
The Melusine behind the reception desk blinked her large, puzzled eyes, having just finished processing Sara’s last-minute request. “A visit, is it? For Monsieur Neuvillette? But… there is no appointment on the ledger, Miss Kujou…”
“Ah… Yes.” Standing from where she sat, she approached the desk, an apologetic look pinching between her brows. “It’s… Well, a rather informal visit of mine. If Monsieur Neuvillette’s schedule is too demanding for such a visit, then I understand. At the very least, might I leave my gift behind?”
The Melusine tilted her head, her expression shifting to that of quiet contemplation, now. By Sara’s guess, she seemed to be weighing the sincerity in this stranger visitor’s words, and the humble bundle in her hands. “He is in a meeting. But… it should conclude soon. If you are not in a rush, you might be able to squeeze in after.”
At that, Sara’s shoulders relaxed, and with a nod, returned to the chair she had occupied earlier.
She does not mind the wait, no. This was a visit months long overdue. Months since she had woken from that nightmare, one had clutching her arm, searching for the wounds that the crimson scythe had dug into her flesh. Not even a single scratch was left there. As though the whole ordeal really, truly was but a dream. But it had been real. At the very least, it was certainly a shared nightmare between both acquaintances and strangers.
And in the last seconds before the darkness had released them, Sara had heard the Monsieur’s offer clearly. That, should they ever wish it, he would be happy to meet them properly.
A door echoed open down the grand hallway.
In an instant, Sara was back on her feet, the precious bundle she had brought all the way from Inazuma held even closer against herself. She waited, silently, until she could hear footsteps from within the office step outside, her posture, already rigid, only growing all the more absolute.
Straightening, she met his eyes.
And all at once, the words she had rehearsed throughout her journey to Fontaine vanished, her lips parting once, twice, in search for the right thing to say, the back of her neck burning with shame—with hope—that perhaps he would remember her. That, maybe, just maybe, he would welcome her visit, unannounced it may be.
“Monsieur Neuvillette.” She finally managed, her head dipping in a quiet bow. “I hope you have been well since.”
@iustitians
fa[T]al error
In response to a chilling distress call made by Ernest Cranebill, the IPC has called for volunteers to go to the now-defunct planet of Empyrea in order to evacuate whichever people remain, as well as to investigate the mysterious manner of its deterioration. Be prepared—lingering Destructive energy may prove dangerous to the body. Best to find protective gear, or at least wear a mask. starter for @immovablewill
Su returns to a world much different than he last remembered it- rather than hours passing, it appeared to be years; the city of trees that had drawn him into their own was no more- as much as a memory as he was. An innocuous campsite, too, not overgrown- unmistakably dead- trees barren of leaves and a forest that is silent of any movement but his own…
His own and one other.
He had not bothered to stay confined within the walls of the research facility; there had been a moment, or perhaps several, in which a pressure had lifted, and he knew without knowing that its walls could no longer hold him. And he had left, drifting out of the white room, disappearing in the chaos that had erupted from those awakening to find themselves abandoned. In honesty, there is nothing tying him here- and Su remains on the planet for no good reason but sentiment.
A statement that had become true concerningly often, that he had slowly begun to tie himself back to the steps of many as a participant rather than an outsider. And here- one such anchor that pulls him out of the sea rather than in- Sara.
As she arrives, a hand reaches upward as if reacting to her presence, pulling a golden leaf into this world and letting it fall, shattering upon its impact on the ground. Where once he granted a moment of hope, he now views despair- movements of apathy miming calm. From his hands had slipped another destroyed world, another empty future.
But she had deemed to spend moments of her time (fleeting, precious) with his last; for that kindness, and that kindness alone, he speaks, finality lacing an otherwise soft tone.
“This place is empty of all life.”
You won’t find anything here.
Her lungs were burning seams of fire.
The air thin, poisoned. Leaching the warmth and life from her with every gasping inhale. She didn’t have a mask, having broken past all the bodies and IPC personnel that tried to stop her at that facility with little to no regard for their warnings. Not that she cared. Right now, at this moment, all that mattered, while she could still move, was that she keep pressing forward, driven by the desperate, foolish hope that if she could just get there… if she would just keep searching, the universe might grant her a different ending. That a small figure in a guide’s uniform might be waiting, brushing dirt off her knees, saying, Took you long enough, miss!
But, ah, the universe offered no such mercy. Try as she might, there was no Leann. No ruined camping grounds, no monsters wandering about. Just—this. An empty, grey expanse, littered with the skeletal remains of trees that had been dead for years. Perhaps even centuries.
She stood there, shoulders heaving, reality crashing over her in a sick, slow wave. The gunshot. The cries. The feeling of her own body coming apart. They were just memories. Leann was just a memory. There was no one to save. No one to evacuate.
Her lungs were burning seams of fire. Every gasp she took only brought her deeper and deeper into despair.
—This place is empty of all life.
His voice came, as though to trample what little fight she had left. A mercy, that. If not for it, she might have made for another sprint, another search, until she’d all but spent all the air and strength she had left.
“… I know,” Came a whisper, barely audible despite the silence that surrounded them, rough from the spoiled air and unused.
She knew. The thought came to her quickly, the moment she saw the planet’s state; all life here was already gone long before they had even set foot on the supposed resort. And yet still, she searched. Stupidly, pathetically. She hoped, prayed, that perhaps she would be allowed this one miracle, this one selfish wish.
A careful breath in. The air was still thin and poisoned, but the frantic, desperate pounding in her ribs had finally stilled. The doctor always carried with him this peculiar quiet. Deep, like still water. A peace that asked for nothing, and in doing so, made space for everything. Perhaps that was why the last time they’d spoken, she had found it much easier to welcome even her own death. In his presence, even endings felt strangely calm.
“Doctor…” Perhaps it was that same quiet that held her now. Every part of her ached to run, to tear through the ruins until her hands bled. A name built behind her teeth, a scream waiting to be born. But her vision had begun to blur at the edges, burning with the hot, insistent press of tears she could no longer outrun—too tired, too weary.
Helplessly, she let the last shred of hope fall from her grasp.
“...I am glad to see you again.”
Wonderland Reverie
⁀➴ monthly commission ; robin & sara
Robin laughs, a Sweet sound, closer to an opera than any noise a person could make. There is something so Simple yet Utter about what Kujou Sara shares with her—a Pure joy that could only be wrought by something so mundane. She is reminded of the Harmonious mass of plushies sitting by the foot of her bed, or the countless novelties strewn about her apartment. All so Small, all so Fledgling, but bursting with tender feeling all the same.
"Yes, let's begin. And please, continue to lecture me. I'm very interested." Wings flutter from beneath her cap, "Now, we can start by gathering the snow together—"
Bending low to grab their tools, Robin sets chilled hands to work. Knees sink into the ground, and she hums as a small mound of snow begins to form before her. Somehow, the wintry chill did not feel so fierce with Kujou Sara by her side, and she manages to handle the flurry well.
Snow did not exist in Penacony, not in most Dreams, but she has roamed the Universe freely enough to get her taste of it. She recalls—Briefly, a bit Bitterly—a harsh winter in a Destruction-ravaged planet, where she watched children play in the acidic snow. Thankfully they are in much Happier circumstances now, yet Robin could not Deny the less-than-Happy things that weighed down their Wings—the Sorrier states they have doubtless been in.
Still, it is Enough to be here, with her, pushing snow onto snow. It is Enough, to be here, with her, listening to her speak of precious Statues and others such. This is Enough—more than Enough—to give wind to their flight and let them soar Despite it all.
Hands continue their sculpting labor, packing the sleet into something of a cylinder. She can only assume this statue is of a person.
"...Actually, I realize now that this is the first time I've heard you mention any of these things. The Yae Publishing House, the Tenryou Commission..." Robin murmurs, gaze lifting to meet the tengu's. Of course, in the span of time they've known each other, they've rarely had opportunity to mention many things. Wings wiggle in slight curiosity, "I assume these are places from your homeland. What's it like there? Does it snow often?"
Clearing her shame away with a brief cough, Sara knelt beside Robin, the spread of snow crunching under her weight, staining her pants as she began to pack her own handfuls onto the growing base. It was nice of Miss Robin, to allow her to continue, though Sara had already grown far too ashamed to resume her long tangent about the statue.
Her next question, though—about the Yae Publishing House, about the Tenryou Commission—was different. It was a question about her world, about home. That, Sara found, she could answer with far less shame, and more pride instead, her nose stinging from the frost as she took a deep breath in before puffing out a breath.
“Inazuma,” she said finally, the name feeling both weighty and tender on her tongue. “It is a nation of islands. It does not snow in the city where I serve, not like this. The climate is… temperate. But on Mount Yougou, and in certain northern regions, it can.” Her brow furrowed slightly, not in displeasure, but in the effort of conjuring the image of Inazuma in a much warmer light. As one of its people, rather than its weapon. Her home, rather than her cage. “The snow there is often wet, heavy, but they don’t tend to last long enough to gather this much. It makes for quite the pretty sight, when clings to the crimson torii gates around the shrine.”
She paused, adding a careful lump of snow around its base, spreading it outward. “The Tenryou Commission is one of the Tri-Commissions, tasked with security, military affairs, and law enforcement. I serve as its…” A pause, lips pursing briefly before she continued, voice quieter, ”… General. As for the Yae Publishing House…” A faint, almost imperceptible huff of air escaped her—not quite a laugh, but the ghost of one. “It is the domain of Lady Yae, the Guuji of the Grand Narukami Shrine. A place of… prolific and sometimes perplexing cultural output. As a publishing house, they mostly release literature written by locals. The statue is one of their other far more refined ventures.”
Satisfied with their current progress, Sara placed both hands on her lap as she gave their poor imitation of the statue a careful look. It wasn’t perfect, but its form was close enough. From a cylinder to the more triangular shape of the Shogun’s kimono. She… wasn’t exactly making it easy for Miss Robin to decipher what the statue is supposed to look like, was she?
“It’s a beautiful place, Inazuma.” Head turning so she could meet Robin’s gaze with her own, she offered the songstress a small, but genuine smile. “Should you wish to visit, please let me know, Miss Robin, and I would gladly escort you myself.”
And she meant it, utterly. Although her schedule may be busy, should Robin decide to visit, Sara would find a way to make time. She could adjust patrol routes, clear time—find a way to be there, if Robin wanted her to be. If Robin would allow her.
Her wings gave a sudden twitch as she realized how long she’d been holding Robin’s gaze, eyes quickly shifting away in turn. A quick and clumsy motion, feeling the telltale warmth creep up her neck. It was easy enough to hide, at least—and easy enough to blame on the cold.
“I… Ah, my apologies—” she stammered, fumbling with the snow so that she might busy herself with the statue instead. “What of you, Miss Robin? What is your home like?”
⋆✦₊‧ — THE MISUSES OF FIRE.
Sara & Kallen. — Revelation 2025 : Park, Mess Hall.
With Sara's gentle guidance and approval, Kallen's unsteadiness gradually yields to assurance. She leans in closer to the pot as the roux blocks start to melt, dissolving into the broth as Sara helps her stir in that measured, circular pattern. Then, a new method—a folding motion—that Kallen commits to memory, nodding along to her companion's helpful explanations. The scent of the broth, the vegetables, the roux—emanates into the air. It's comforting. It's mouthwatering.
As Sara sets the lid down, Kallen straightens, letting the spoon rest against the pot. The praise, however simple, flusters her. She offers a sheepish smile, “Thank you... Your guidance was indispensable. I'm not much of a cook, usually.” It feels like so long ago—when Sakura had tried to show her how to make onigiri. The memory cuts through time, too vivid, too tender—and a fleeting heartache twinges in her chest: sharp and unforgiving. She suppresses her grimace, and twines her fingers together.
A short stretch of silence later, Kallen reaches for the lid and spoon again. “So... this dish is called curry, then? Do you make it often?” She repeats the folding motion that Sara had shown her before, careful not to scrape the pot too harshly. The aroma of the curry wafts from the pot, more fragrant than before. Kallen's stomach growls loudly, her face tinging red. She only notices how hungry she is, then. Still, embarrassed, she moves to set the lid back down, even as she takes a quick peek, “Do you make that magic ingredient, too? Actually, what is it?”
A soft laugh escaped Sara at the unmistakable sound of Kallen’s stomach. A warm, genuine sound, surprising even herself, at how free and light it felt. “It looks like the curry is already doing its job, calling to us,” she hummed, eyes crinkling at the corners before she turned to wipe her hands on a cloth.
At Kallen’s question about the roux, Sara’s expression turned thoughtfully instructive. She gestured with the block’s wrapper. “This? This is what we call a curry roux. As much as I would like to claim that I made this beforehand, these blocks are often readily available in stores. They are a must-have when you’re out camping like this. If we have more time after this tour, perhaps I can teach you how to make one from scratch.”
Her expression softened then. Distant, if not just a tad bit melancholic. She hadn’t had much opportunity to make curry or set out for camping trips herself. Rather, perhaps it had been exactly because she hadn’t—because she could never find the people to join her and share the meal with—that she’d been so eager to take it with her. So eager to sign up for the tour, under the pretense that it was to continue her hunt for Largeankle.
“The scent tells you more than the clock.” Leaning in to check the pot as well, she nodded approvingly. “When it thickens, and it smells as if everything has combined into this deep aroma, you will know it is almost done.” Now they would only need a few more finishing touches. Salt and pepper to taste if needed, as she’d brought a much milder roux, and then they should begin setting the tables up.
She searched through the drawers for the spices, holding the cheap, plastic shaker out to Kallen. “Here you go, chef. Normally, there is no need for this, but give the curry a taste first, and if you think it needs more flavour, sprinkle some of this in.”
Tomorrow‚ Again
⁀➴ monthly commission ; kalpas & sara
The whole place curled around him like the embrace of someone he'd forgotten - must have forgotten, for who would embrace him in such a manner, so unabashedly and without restraint? From the rocking of the boat, to the distant and immediate murmur of voices against his ears, he felt the presence of the island from within, the sensations of hearing a voice against his ear and whirling to find none behind him.
And he did whirl, more than once, swiping at the fog that beckoned him further in with a snicker, and a chastising over here, silly.
He smelled nothing, but the spit of roasting fish and dusty, floury mochi treats caught his attention regardless, something that he would have known anywhere, if only from a nostalgia that wasn't his, for a sensation he wanted to look forward to, rather than back. It hurt all the same, as something that he would look back at, a prick to his mind that he wanted to shake off like a dog with a gnat.
The fog pressed against him from all sides, the same as the cotton streamers, the same as the fatty scent of roasting fish, the same as the shoulder that bumped his with enough immediacy that Kalaps blinked, dragged himself from out of that gossamer cocoon to see for the first time and finding himself just as blind as before but not stupid about it, attention drawn to the clink of porcelain against the ground, at once sharp and by all accounts it should have shattered if not for the way the fog caught it, cradled and muffled it before it came to tap at his toe.
The sake leaked out from the bowl, a cloudy white stain darkening the ground before the fog swallowed that, too, and when he blinked he saw that the sake cup was still full and fine in the fingers of the stranger before him.
The chittering and chortling continued, this way silly, and Kalpas stiffened at the sensation of little bodies brushing past his legs, reached a hand out to swipe at the empty mist.
"Watch where you're going." Though his tone was gruff, the words came out distantly, uncertain. "Too many people here not to keep your eyes ahead of you."
The ceramic had been warm. Far warmer than it should have been, having just rolled across the damp ground. Odd that when she next took a sip from it, it felt so cold that even she could not help but wonder if she should ask for a new cup. She is… was… standing still. No, she walked, just a pace or two, so she wasn’t so close that they might bump into each other again. And yet even that felt too quick and endlessly slow. Like rising through deep water, like walking through quicksand, with the weight of the world on her shoulders.
His voice, when he spoke, reached her as if from the other end of a long hallway. Clear, gruff, muffled, layered over with the distant keen of a shamisen and the high, bright laughter of… a child? No, a crowd, laughing over a man’s joked. There had been a child who dropped a toy. A moment ago. Or perhaps an hour ago.
Why was his voice so clear?
“Yes,” she said, and her own voice sounded thin, borrowed. She does not remember speaking, or opening her month, only that she was looking at the sake cup in her hand, then back at the man, and yet she could see the crowd behind her all the same.
A quiet hum. A tilt of her head. His form seemed to waver at the edges. The fog not just around him, but with him. A part of him. Patiently knitting and re-knitting the lines of his shoulders.
“Too many people,” she repeated, the words like ash and cold rice wine on her tongue. She turned her head to look down the lantern-strung street. It was thronged with figures, their faces a pleasant blur of smiling mouths and bright eyes. Their colours were too vivid against the perpetual grey. When she looked directly at one, the details sharpened. When she looked away, they melted back into the noisy haze.
She brought her gaze back to him. An outworlder. That was what they called to those who came from the stars. The term fit. He did not bleed into the scenery like the others. He was an undeniable existence. A solid tear in the festival’s rather dreamy state.
Blinking, Sara finally seemed to recall something.
“…but they said it was abandoned,” she told him, or perhaps herself—a brief moment of clarity as she furrowed her eyebrows. Right. Her mission, how could she forget? “The records should have been correct. There’s supposed to only be ruins, not…”
She must not make much sense to the man. Even she did not sound lucid in her own ears. There were supposed to be ruins and yet there were stalls. Tsurumi Island was said to be deserted, and yet she could hear the people laugh and chat. There was a festival. Today should be the second day. She has been here since yesterday.
“The Feast of the Thunderbird had just begun. A wonderfully timed arrival.” She was parroting the old woman’s words. She knew this. But the knowing was a small, cold stone in the center of a warm, hazy lake. She looked into the cup she held. It was full again, steam rising from within. A pristine, cloud-white surface stared back.
The sake was cold a moment ago. Should have been. Was it? Golden eyes lifted, searching for him with an almost desperate plea for answer.
“You feel it too. Don’t you? The… wrongness. Like a song you’ve heard before, but all the notes are half a step off.”
Cruel Revelations
Commission: Preservation | Kujou Sara & Gepard
Something nefarious was brewing in Belebog, and Gepard did not like it one bit.
With the Solwarm Festival getting closer by the day, the Overworld has been in quite the excitable stir. From his own observations, multiple different families have gathered together to decorate and make the plaza look festive, with many different colored streamers, and booths being sporadically set up. The usually cold air was filled with the aroma of delicious smelling foods, and the atmosphere was warm and charged with laughter that was so infectious that even the Guard Captain himself couldn't help the smile that slips on his face.
While those moments he reveled in for as long as he could, that cheerfulness eventually soured as unfavorable news had recently come to light that made his gut twist with discomfort.
An audit was freshly uncovered that showed the funds that were allocated to the Underworld for the Festival has been stolen. Not only that, but, Mr. Kough, the Boulder Town's Chamber of Commerce's Secretary, has also been reported to be missing as well. The circumstances presented are cause for immediate action from law enforcement, but Gepard couldn't help but think this all was suspicious at some of his men's lack of urgency with the situation, and the coincidental disappearance.
Was Mr. Kough involved in this?
The blonde shook his head, then looked around at the Underworld town. Noticing the lack of decorations and cheer that this event usually exudes. Usual warm smiles have now turned downcast into scowls, and greetings turn into wicked side-eyes. A sad sigh leaves him then an immediate wince as a lady shoulder checks him hard. Walking right on past as if he wasn't even there. The Guard Captain, untenses his shoulder's, while giving Boulder Town another sad look.
Why did this happen and why wasn't it reported promptly? Especially if there was a missing persons involved? Why was he just learning about this situation now that it is too late to do anything?
Many questions flooded his mind, but no answers. Letting out a frustrated breath at the realization that he failed to notice the suffering of others. Again.
He's going to get to the bottom of this.
With his mind made up, he begins to scout the plaza, thinking on where he should begin, but stops in his tracks when his eyes land on a certain individual. A tall woman, with indigo hair that is styled into a bob. The description looks familiar, and it immediately hits him why it so. He's heard many a great story of his men praising her combat prowess and help around the city. He's never met in person, and it seems like now would be a perfect opportunity to make introductions.
Walking over, he places his hand on his chest in greeting. "Hello. My name is Gepard Landau, Captain of the Silvermane Guards. Sorry for my sudden appearance, but I've heard that you were involved in helping my men on several occasions and wanted too formally make my introductions and give my thanks." His expression turns a bit sheepish. "I want to apologize as for the state of things right now, and I hope it has not dampened your experience to much."
@immovablewill
Sara had been standing at the edge of Boulder Town’s gathering plaza, golden eyes carefully sweeping through the area, observing with a small frown tugging from the corner of her lips. She’d just arrived from the Overworld not too long ago. Had witnessed the preparations being made there for the festival first hand. The laughter shared as friends and families untangled strings of light to be put up on posts, how even strangers would offer a helping hand, holding a ladder steady for another, or carrying a heavy crate. A sight warm enough to combat the frost.
The Underworld, however, showed no such warmth.
Here, rather than cheerful conversations and shared laughter, there was only silence. It hung heavily in the scarce stalls and lamplight. A tension so thick, so stifling that it merely drew shoulders taut. Here, thrills and excitement for the festival was never the topic for conversations. Instead, there were only rumours. Something about how funds meant for festive lights and shared meals had vanished. How Shields promised for festival preparations had never been distributed, and were instead slipped into the pockets of one selfish man.
They had sent a plentiful amount of complaints to the authorities, had waited days, from the sound of it, for any action to be done, to hear response from them, only to receive none. And now the people were upset, rightfully so. Now, they wished to take care of it themselves, whispering how “If the Silvermane Guards won’t help us, then we’ll just have to chase for justice ourselves.”
Her eyebrows drew together, a faint line of concern etching her forehead. She understood their rage all too well. Having helped the people both from the Underworld and Overworld enough, fighting fragmentum monsters with them, clearing up the mines when she have the time, even Sara was disappointed to learn of the betrayal. But to suddenly speak of vigilantism… It was a reckless idea. Dangerous. It would only give those in power an excuse to clamp down harder, to see the Underworld not as wronged citizens, but as a problem to be managed. Of this, Sara was certain. It was how her father often dealt with civil unrest.
Turning to an unfamiliar voice, she paused for a moment, if only to give herself time to recollect herself, before offering the other a curt nod. She recognized him. It was impossible not to, when his face was plastered all over the newspaper, and his men often sang praises about him.
“Captain Landau. Your reputation precedes you as well. The thanks are unnecessary; helping was the right thing to do.” Her gaze shifted from him, sweeping briefly over the dour, unadorned buildings of Boulder Town before returning to his face. “As for the state of things… you shouldn’t be apologizing to me, but to your people instead. The Solwarm Festival is fast approaching, yet things seem very grim.”
She breathed out a sigh through her nose, eyes returning to the sullen folks walking past. “You can feel the difference here, can’t you? The Overworld buzzes with anticipation. Here, they buzz with anger. They speak of stolen festival funds and missing supplies. And now, a missing secretary.” A slight tilt of her head, towards those same people. “It seems they believe the authorities have turned a blind eye. That silence may as well be complicity.”
The furrow of her brows softens then. She could see the sheepishness in the way Gepard stands and speaks, could tell his genuine care to his people from how ashamed he looked. Alas, of what good can that care do, when you are held back by your duties?
“So, Captain.” She had stood in those very shoes before. She had lived the dilemma of choosing between duty and heart, how guilt can never be erased once you’ve made the wrong choice. Then, from one leader to another, she shall give him what little push he needed, if he would allow her. “You’ve come at the perfect time. Are you here to merely observe the discontent, or are you here to act on it? From where I’m standing, process has failed these people. What comes next?”
✧ ˖ — them assess travels
She's not been in Kazdel a long while, but the world hasn't stopped looking like it.
Endless, empty earth. Sun-scorched, starved, withering. It is no place for anything to live, and yet life finds away. It skitters over the toes of her boots, cries out into the night sky, as though determined to remind the world of exactly that. Elysia stoops to giggle at the little gnawbeast that seems to have only just realized that there was something inside of the shoe it had begun scratching at.
"One last sweep before we settle?" A handful of heads turn to her, the rest aren't listening or don't care to prove it. She counts three nods, and hums cheerfully. "Perfect! Quick and easy, then."
Perimeters are set, divided, and engaged. They're an odd group, too big to be convenient and too small to be important, enough to have trouble feeding and yet not quite to justify how much. Elysia watches her shadow for as long as their fire still casts it, until the tips of her horns and ears are swallowed by the rest of her. Until it disappears into the rest of the darkness. She doesn't mind wandering the border by herself, so much so that she has a tendency to wander far past it. Her companions have long since stopped asking why.
Tonight it's the stars, or it starts there. It's how many there are, how there is nothing here to obscure the sky. It's just how endless the nothingness can feel, and just how full it is of the smallest lights.
And then, in a particularly interesting turn of events, it's a body.
A few of them.
Languid footsteps turn hurried, danger a thought entirely secondary to concern. It is apparent immediately that something had happened here-- a vehicle battered and on its side, splintered remains of crates and shreds of what must ave been a tarp sprawled through sand like carnage. When Elysia slows, it is beside the furthest of the bodies. Dark hair, half of her body buried beneath what must have been some considerable chunk of the truck bed's contents before they were thrown to the wind. Unlucky position she must have been in to get caught in such a way, or perhaps the mark of someone who had tried to stand before the inevitable. Judging by what remains of, presumably, her further away companions, Elysia would guess this the more likely alternative.
She looks as quickly as she can think to from the halo half buried in the sand, busies herself instead with digging her fingers underneath upturned supply crates. Her brows pinch and her knees wobble when she lifts, if only so much that the thing thuds back down upon itself at only a slightly different angle, sending up a cloud of sand and, blissfully, without the sound of bone shattering beneath it a second time.
Something shifts, groans even. Her knees sink into the sand, hands all aflutter where they reach for a pulse point.
"What a place to wake up, huh?" The way she exhales is like a laugh. "Can you hear me? How long have you been out here?"
@immovablewill Arknights!
It should have been a fairly straightforward and short mission. An escort for some representatives of Rim Billiton back to their country, a few exchanges of formalities, and then a drive back to Laterano, new supplies and equipment in tow.
Sara had made sure to review the itinerary twice. She’d assigned a scout ahead of them to relay warnings of any dangers lurking in the dunes. The route was known to be dangerous, after all. Always full of bandits lingering in the dark, prone to sudden, violent sandstorms. Heightened guard was not just prudent, but essential, and yet, even with all of the precautions made, they were still caught by surprise.
The scout’s last check-in, twenty minutes prior, had been clear. They had confirmed that there were no sight of any unknown vehicles, no large sandbeasts to be wary about, not even tiny gloompincers.
The attack, when it came, was not from the bandits or beasts they expected, or the sky they so carefully observed. Rather, it came from the sands itself.
A sudden, loud blast lifted the lead transport a full meter into the air before it disintegrated in a blinding flash. In an instant, the once quiet envoy shifted into absolute chaos. Metals shearing, glasses breaking, screams filling the desert air… Sara’s own vehicle was thrown by the next explosion, spinning so violently that it was nothing short of a miracle that she was left with only a deep cut on her brow and glass shards in her arm.
Then, silence. Hanging upside down in her harness, Sara opened her eyes, the dull ache in the back of her head only worsening the longer she remained awake, her vision blurry. Still, she clumsily fumbled for the release, letting herself painfully fall, before crawling out from the wreckage.
Her chest whistled with every breath she desperately took—her own voice, ragged, broken, echoed in the sands—calling for her team. For anyone. Only the wind answered, only the sound of flames bursting from their trucks. After a few more staggering paces, and the last of her strength finally fled. The cold sand greeted her the moment she fell. There was the sound of footsteps, of voices she couldn’t quite recognize, of another explosion.
And then, once more, silence.
…A sound that wasn’t the wind. A pressure on her neck that wasn’t the desert heat. Words that weren't the memory of explosions ringing in her skull.
Sara’s eyes swiftly flew open with a sharp gasp tearing through her dry throat. Which instantly resulted into a coughing fit, her ribs aching with every hack and breath. The world was still a blur of gold and shadows, but soon enough, face, thankfully, resolved above her—pale, concerned, framed by horns that curved like a crescent moon against a sky drowning in stars.
Sarkaz.
“Who…” Body only growing rigid, she swallowed, tasting copper and dust as she tried again. “Who are you?” Her voice was louder now. Raspier. Angrier. She knew they were travelling close to those damned devils’ home, but she hadn’t thought they would be so shameless as to attack unsuspecting vehicles. No—that was exactly something demons like they would do.
“Is…” She pressed a hand on the stranger’s shoulder, an attempt to push her away while the other searched for her firearm. Shit, had she left it in the wreckage? “Stay… Stay back! Tell me, is this your work?!”
my compass was WHAT!?
⁀➴ it was swallowed by the sea... ; il capitano & sara
Aboard the Strahl , Sara had settled into a new rhythm. In a mere few days, she’d grown used to the salt-scrubbed deck. To the groan of timbers, and the ceaseless sigh of the sea, to the way she’d have to make sure that she always had a hand on the railings, lest she wanted to find herself face-first against the wooden floor. Her initial plans—the supposed treasure hunt in Nod-Krai—was now but a discarded entry in her journal, and in its place was the ship captain’s fervent dream, sketched in spray and star-charts. Something about a Leviathan never seen before. A whale said to blot out the sun beneath the waves.
Sara, who had boarded merely for passage to Nod-Krai, overheard the captain’s fervent tale one evening along with his true goal. And perhaps it was because her heart was never in the treasure hunt to begin with that she was so easily swayed; either way, before long, with eyes slightly wide with a hint of excitement, she had signed herself on as a volunteer.
Now, docked at Nasha Town’s port, the ship hummed with even more energy.
Adventurers, reckless thrill-seekers, and the simply curious all gathered on the deck. The supposed bold souls who’d come to answer the messily written recruitment posters Sara herself had helped put all over the town. It wasn’t an impressive amount of people, not really, but they now had more numbers nonetheless, and with them, some who promised strength and skills they would surely need.
Perhaps they would be lucky enough to meet this whale after all. Or better yet, they may truly capture it, keep the sea safe for those who wish to venture further.
Blinking, golden gaze settled on one figure in particular. A bastion of dark leather and thick, wintry fur that seemed to swallow the warm coastal light. They seemed utterly out place. What with the full-faced mask, so dark and inscrutable amid the sunlight, that it was impossible to tell what the sort of face the person might be wearing underneath. Sara looked down at her own borrowed attire. A simple and light, linen tunic, paired with equally plain trousers, already speckled with salt. The captain had offered it to her on her second day, claiming it was best to wear light while on sea.
Each roll of the waves felt much steadier beneath her feet now that she has had a few days to get used to it, her steps less clumsy as she crossed the deck, unlike some of the newer recruits who would hilariously sway about. She stopped five paces before the towering figure, having to tilt her head up just a fraction. A rare occurrence, that. Usually, she would be of the same height, if not taller, than most.
“A welcome aboard,” she greeted, one hand offering the bottle of ale she hadn’t bothered to take a sip from ever since one of the sailors had forced it into her hold. “They claim it helps steady the land-legs. Why don’t you have some, if you’d like?”
Her gold eyes, sharp and assessing, performed a quick, polite inventory—from the heavy boots to the imposing mantle of fur. She blinked, once, twice, willing her eyebrows not to furrow so. Sara does not mean to scrutinate but really, who would wear such a heavy, formal attire aboard a whaling ship…?
“Um… I hope I do not sound rude, but perhaps… you might want to change out of your clothes, sir,” she began, careful, lest she unknowingly offends the stranger. “That is, if you plan on staying above the waves. If we take on water or a wave sweeps the deck, all that leather and fur will surely weigh you down.” She gestured loosely at her own simple garb. “The forecastle should have plenty of spare clothes like mine. Colder, certainly, but lighter and much easier to move in.” A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips, privately proud that she’d already memorized most of the ship’s parts. “Would you like me to show you the way?”
@advenanivalis
#GHSnowswept2025 tracker:
Snow Plains: Dan Heng, Dahlia Museum: Su Fight Club: Kallen, Elysia Robot Settlement: Kokomi, Robin Administrative District: Alhaitham, Kevin
#GHSnowswept2025 ー Part 2
@virtuouslife asked:
[GUARD] the fire, fickle and indignant, fills the silence of the cold, stifling night. for some inexplicable reason, kallen can't bear to look at it — the fire whose warmth seems less comforting and more mocking. its light makes shadows dance at her heels, flickering on the snow-dusted cobblestone. she has to remind herself of this city's resilience — she knows it's there, even if she's only been here a short while. the children's indefatigable joy, almost infectious. the soldiers' bravery and resolve. then, who is she to be swayed by despair? with a jolt, she opens her eyes — and realizes that she had closed them. in front of her, the flame seems alive. her companion, still nearby, must've tended to it while she had been shamefully drifting off … “lord kujou, i … hope i wasn't asleep for long.” kallen says quietly, mortified. perhaps she wasn't, but even the fact that she had fallen asleep at all — is an embarrassment. surely, lord kujou is just as exhausted. sheepish, kallen exhales into her hands, getting up on her feet to approach the fuel left aside for maintaining the fire. “ … i can take over the rest of the shift. you should — ?!” kallen turns sharply, her tender voice vanishing abruptly as she stares into the distance, at a specific spot — now empty. it reminds her, painfully, of how it was that night on empyrea, within the forest, when she and lord kujou descended from the watchtower ... only to find, only to kill — when kallen speaks again, she tries to even out her voice, despite the tenseness coiling through her body. “something's there. did you see it, too?”
Feeding a brittle twig into the flames, a low hum of agreement came as Sara’s first response, the sound of her voice barely rising above the cackle of the fire before her. She understood Kallen’s shame all too well, and had it been her in the other’s place, Sara was certain even she would have turned red from the feeling of failure. But like her, she knew that Kallen would have let her drift off, too.
“Not for too long, no.” It wasn’t much of a lie, her answer. Maybe it had only been a few minutes, or maybe closer to an hour. Either way, the stars were still high up in the night sky, and they still had plenty of time left for their watch. “The body demands what it demands, Lady Kallen. There is no need to apologize.”
As for the offer… Sara breathed out a laugh, meeting the other’s rather guilty look with a slight shake of head. “It’s alright, I am not too—” she began, before swiftly cutting herself short, her head turning where Kallen’s would.
In an instant, Sara was on her feet as well, the languidness from earlier gone as she furrowed her brows and focused at that area. Her posture shifted, shoulders squaring, chin tilting as her eyes, sharp and gold, locked onto the void Kallen stared into.
And what an eerily familiar feeling this all was indeed. Staring into the unknown, uncertain if they were alone or not.
“…I saw it,” Sara confirmed, her voice now a low, quiet murmur. The quiet of the night only seemed to deepen around them, the fire’s warmth suddenly insufficient against the new chill. Summoning her bow , she kept her attention at the dark, an arrow ready.
“A shadow. Quick. Humanoid in size, if I’m not mistaken.” Should her next breath sound shaken, she hoped Lady Kallen would not notice. “Something is watching us.”
#GHSnowswept2025 ー Fight Club
@choivenant asked:
[BET] “Would it be unfair to these fighters if a vision wielder entered the ring?” Dahlia muses aloud, half to himself, half to the woman who wore hers so obviously on her belt. It is obvious he has no intention of testing it out- through their machinery and wits, the fighters are no easy target, and besides- He’s racked up quite a nice pile of… something or other, the local currency, he figures. It’s not hard- having sweet talked himself into getting a starting bid, the rest had been some observation and a lot of luck, the one who had handed him the original coin long since reimbursed. Then, shamelessly, “Say, if you enter the ring and win, I’ll get you a drink! Not a bad deal, hm?”
A fresh tickle of meltwater found its way through the seams of Sara’s boots, and with her frown only pursing tighter, she finally gave the stranger beside her a glance.
All this constant, grating roaring of the crowd, the stench of cheap ale and what may as well be fuel and oil, the sight of people blatantly cheating; a fighter’s gauntlet powered up with what seemed to be electricity, frying his opponent with each contact, his trainer starting up a new betting ring, greedily scamming others of their money…
This entire city, with its endless frost and louder machinations, had put her on edge since arrival, and the quiet boiling in her blood demanded an outlet.
Was this shameful? Perhaps. But stepping into a fighting ring was a lesser shame than losing her composure entirely.
She breathed out a scoff, fingers already tracing the fastenings of her thick jacket. With a quick flick of her thumb, she popped them undone one by one. The heavy wool, damp with cold, fell away, revealing the rather pricey roll-neck she had purchased for her visit beneath. From a shady man at that, now that she thought about it… Oh. Had she bought her clothes at a price higher than normal…? Her vision, now completely freed and uncovered, glowed as though it were thrilled to be put into use at last.
Meeting the stranger’s gaze, she offered the shorter male a small, barely there smile.
This really, truly, is quite unlike her.
“Two drinks,” she countered, her voice cutting through the noise with practiced clarity. “And I will give you a new champion.”
Without waiting for his reply, she raised her hand the very moment the referee’s voice called out for the next fool willing to challenge.
Had This one Day not been
˚ʚ [ #GHSnowswept | robin & kujou sara ] ɞ˚
"The campsite… it's completely…"
Gone.
Tents were toppled over like dominoes, blackened and charred firewood left streaks of ash across the pure white, and their rations were torn open and left laying uselessly against the ground. Robin could scarcely believe such violence could happen so quickly, even if she knew that the Universe was capable of such cold cruelty. Quietly, she knelt down. The snow embraced her legs, though she did not feel the chill. Her hands reached for the closest thing they could find—a warped metal mug that smelled vaguely of chocolate. She stared at the dull, bent surface. She sighed.
She was not sad for the mug, no. She knew that she had the means to buy a thousand more mugs like that—in fact, she had more than enough credit to rebuild this campsite ten times over. But Robin mourned what the mug Meant to her, what the campsite Meant to her. Here was her opportunity to settle down in a quiet roost—a Nest built for Two and only Two—and here it was, snatched from her with talons.
Robin turned her gaze upward, seeking comfort in the only person who could provide it right now. She kept her gaze fixed into those hues of gold, a radiant sun in the relentless winter.
"I'm so sorry, Miss Sara. I don't know who or what could have done this…" Green eyes flitted over the ruins. Her pupils trembled with a childlike upset, the sort of shaky anger that one held when they were yet to mistrust the world, "...but it looks like we have no choice but to deal with this now."
She rose to her feet. Robin pressed the mug close to her chest.
"Where do we even begin, though?" Where does anyone begin when so much has been thrown to the wayside? "Should… should we clean up?"
@immovablewill
The feeling of dread came quickly, forming into a bitter, pesky lump in her throat. It felt all too familiar. A camp left in a violent disarray, the quiet apprehension that settled in her stomach as she looked around them, silently scanning the white, empty plains in search of any hidden culprit or beasts. Her past failures seemed to breathe down her neck. A memory of a camp hidden deep in the forest, the horrors that followed it…
A suggestion, one that may come as cold and harsh, had already begun taking shape on Sara’s tongue as she tried to bottle up the churning anxiety within her. Robin should return to the city. It was the only logical, protective, and safe option that made sense. The city would be much safer for her, where she would be surrounded by sturdy walls and bright lights, and Sara, in turn, should remain here to investigate and ensure that danger doesn’t follow her to the city.
But to suddenly push Robin away now, to suddenly force her into a cage, preaching that it would be for her sake, for her safety, felt just as wrong. In the end, underneath that look of hurt, Sara let the words die unspoken, worry and uncertainty tightly bottled up and hidden away as she took a step closer.
Words of consolation had always been Sara’s greatest weakness. They often felt foreign on her tongue, their shape awkward and insincere, even when they were true and from the heart. Thus, she showed hers in the only way she knew, kneeling in the snow before Robin. An embrace would have been much better, perhaps. A soothing hand tracing circles on the songstress’s back, chin tucking her into her arms. But that felt far too intimate. A privilege she hadn’t yet earned.
So she remained as she was, on one knee, glancing up at her first in search of a quiet permission.
“We start with what we can do.” Her answer came at last with a hum, gloved hand, ever so gentle, ever so careful, as she brushed at the dirt and frost that clung to Robin’s clothes away. “We’ll clean, we’ll rebuild, and should there still be light, then we shall search for who might have done this. If not today, then tomorrow. Together.”
─── ⋆⋅☆ HARK! COMETH VENGEANCE UNTO THE DAMNED!
the healing, barren land shall know the furious guardianship of the prinzessin. . . and the almighty narukami ogosho's general, of course. | with Kujou Sara ~ |
it's quite difficult for the prinzessin to maintain appearances for so long. perhaps better preparations should have been made prior to this kind of mission. the honor of the immernachtreich's royal blood could be brought into question should there be any more mishaps in this venture into the unknown. she could blame it on the environment. she would still blame her for it - the princess may have laid silent but her mind ran ever rampant amid the battle - the running - then more battles between them and creatures that should have been otherwise easy to fell. has she been . . . giving ill fitted judgement towards the capabilities of these creatures? perhaps. perhaps not. what mattered was defense and reclamation.
“ for beasts harboring the cerebrum size of an infant mouse's tail, the fragmentum-born do strike a sizable, fearsome cry for blood. ” Fischl isn't scared. Oz is scared. that's why she has to send him ahead. it's exposure therapy for her familiar.
what she saw had her slowing, dragging the warrior at her side to slow as well. it was much worse than when they left, but how? it hadn't been too long since they left. Fischl felt her familiar's trepidation over the situation, but she commanded him to continue gazing and monitoring the situation from where the claws of these creatures could not graze him. “ do stay cautious, mein fräulein. ” she could vaguely hear him speak aloud in the skies - to himself, yes, but she heard him anyway.
“ ready thy bow, mein kriegerin. a foul stench lingers where respite once rooted. the masses of these sinners have gathered like a flock of plebian to the nearest coin. ” she says, knocking an arrow. Oz's eyesight help her see an enemy that she would not normally be able to. it has, admittedly, been much too long since attempting such a trick. all cards must be pulled for her . . . mortal vessel, and mortal companion to see themselves useful in this.
── . 1:15 -> 0:30 [ Sara and Fischl fight Frostspawn. 3 Resources Earned.
silence lingers once the ashes evaporate. it looks much worse than it should. they were gone only a moment - how could this happen?
“ halt. ” she commands to the warrior, brow furrowing and visible eye closing while she tried to concentrate on the snowy expanse that her familiar flew over, “ two dozen assemblies of beasts. i dare not endanger a mortal vessel nor thy mortal self! Mein familiar's eyes see true to the masses. they are but stagnant beacons of destruction at the moment. allow us to heal to full health and have Oz finish scouting. ”
a beat passes, her eyes open - somewhat dramatic, still, but a hint of her true worry for the situation passing. after all, what princess - no, what individual would not be worried for what is going on? “ i despise to say this so, but it is an order. the night cometh to close regardless. we shan't fight them exhausted. ”
the prinzessin der verurteilung is a leader to her people. that means she will not lead them to their deaths. it would be death, she thinks, to charge mindlessly into this fray.
“ rest assured, the octonyx approaching shall fare better. a setback is no means true failure, mein kriegerin. ” it feels odd to be the one saying this. usually, it'd be Oz, not Fischl, who acts as the voice of reason in treacherous times. alas she must step up to fill the roll since she - they need Oz to be their watchful eye. “ i concur that calamity cannot aid itself. but calamity cannot be vanquished if those destined to bring its end fall. believe me, mein kriegerin, we are destined. der prinzessin looks upon the weave of fate and it deems these excursions to be fruitful. ”
she isn't lying. Fischl doesn't lie. not to others, at least.
── . (30m) Sara and Fischl rest. Sara and Fischl gain 1 HP. [ 16/30 ] [0h 00m left]
Night 2 Over ; Board A
NIGHT 3 BEGINS! Sara and Fischl walk from Base Camp to Block 2
Every morning that came only seemed to grow shorter and shorter, and though they should feel reinvigorated after a long rest, Sara could only see how exhaustion had begun to seep into not only her own, but her companions’ bones as well. It felt familiar. The troubled sleep that did little to mend all the aches in their bodies and the gnawing worry in her gut, the sighs that filled the air every now and then as they waited for the sun to set… The unspoken dread.
They were all wounded in some capacity, all hurting and unsure of how they were meant to face the great number of monsters amassing just beyond the snowdrifts, but they set forth, anyway. Ever selfless, ever hopeful that soon, all of these monsters would be felled.
As before, their enemies were waiting for their arrival.
A Shade, taller and more formidable than the last, turned its head towards the duo the moment Sara’s boots scrunched against the rough terrain, its frost halberd already poised to strike. Hearing its icy body shift towards them, Sara quickly summoned her bow.
“Contact!” Sara barked, her bow already singing as she loosed a charged arrow. It pierced true, and swiftly after came Fischl’s own, the Shade’s form shattering from the gathered electro before it could even think to swing its weapon.
7:30 → 7:15 Sara and Fischl fight Shade. Shade defeated! Group HP: 16/30
And yet there was no time to celebrate. A shaky sigh escaped Sara as another quickly took its place, almost all immediately, and she could all but surrender to the exchange of blows that was sure to come.
“This is going to be endless.” She glanced at Fischl, worried that the coming endless battle might wear the young girl out. “Retreat will always be an option for us. For now, let’s concentrate on thinning down their numbers—” from what felt like nowhere, a freezing gust from a halberd’s swing stole Sara’s breath and left a stinging cut on her arm. With a hiss, she turned her attention back to the younger archer and her crow companion. “Are you alright!? My apologies, I should have kept a closer eye out.”
By some mercy, the Shade, critically wounded, seemed to pause as well, waiting for them to strike first, perhaps. Sara’s muscles screamed in protest meanwhile, vision swimming for a fraction of a second from the strain.
She could vaguely hear another groups battle from nearby. The sound of Fragmentum monsters wailing, of blades and firepower echoing in the air… Shaking away the brief spell of unsteadiness, Sara nocked a new arrow at her brow, waiting for Fischl to follow suit. “Together this time, and we’ll be rid of this one, I’m sure.”
Twin arrows, both charged with electro, struck true, and the second Shade convulsed before exploding into dissipating motes of frosty energy. The sudden silence was deafening, almost, as Sara stood panting, her hands trembling slightly from the effort.
They had won, but it had cost them precious time and energy.
7:00 → 5:30 Sara and Fischl fight Shade. Shade defeated! Group HP: 15/30
“To think we’ve barely made a dent in their numbers,” Sara huffed, her voice hoarse but firm as she looked toward the horizon where more monsters surely lurked. “Are you well? If you think you still have the energy, then we need to keep going before they slip past our defences and push into the Base Camp.” There was a hint of guilt in her voice. Someone so young truly shouldn’t have had to fight like this… But the Guards were in no position to turn away a helping hand, and certainly not one with skills like Fischl’s. Sara does not blame them for their decision, and she could not blame herself for continuously accepting the prinzessin’s assistance. “Let’s go."
Night 3: 5 hour, 30 minutes left ; Board A.
─── ⋆⋅☆ HARK! COMETH VENGEANCE UNTO THE DAMNED!
the healing, barren land shall know the furious guardianship of the prinzessin. . . and the almighty narukami ogosho's general, of course. | with Kujou Sara ~ |
The retreat felt humiliating. A bitter pill Sara had forced down without complaint. Every step away from the fray had felt like a failure, a crack in the unwavering image of the Kujou clan. Her father would have mocked her for this. Scoffed at her, telling her that she would have been better off dead than a coward. She could almost hear his voice amidst her heavy breaths, echoing at the back of her mind, forever a ghost there. But she needed to acknowledge the truth in Oz’s words. A pointless last stand was no victory, especially when they may yet fight for another day.
NIGHT 2 BEGINS! Sara and Fischl walk from Block 1 to Block 2
Now, with the pale moon rising once more, welcoming the next evening and the campfire she’d built crackling between them, the feeling of that shame, that failure had dulled at last. Flames licked at the carefully arranged dried kindling; woods, clothes too worn to be used as wound dressing… Bright orange and gold casting dancing shadows across her own and her companion’s face, pushing back the encroaching chill of the endless snow. Their wounds, cleaned and bound, had begun the slow process of knitting closed.
Sara and Fischl scavenge. Group roll: [9] FAIL Group roll: [9] SUCCESS 11 Resources earned. Encounter Roll: 2, no encounter
They had found an ample amount of supplies nearby in the earlier hours. A small, but much-needed reason to celebrate amidst the feeling of defeat that had dampened the mood between them. As the quiet of the evening settled next, silence broken only by the pop of the fire and the distant, fading sounds of another pair of volunteers setting forth in another quest to fell the fragmentum monsters, Sara finally broke the silence. Her voice was lower, less clipped than it had been in the heat of battle, tempered by the fire’s warmth.
“We have not lost yet.” Sara began, her gaze fixed on the flames. “Although we may be stuck here for the moment, left to act as a final line of defense, we will set out again once we’ve recuperated our energy well enough.” She flexed the shoulder that had taken the brunt of the Bear’s harsh lunge, a dull ache the only remnant. “It seems we both have a tendency to prioritize the battle over our own vessels. We’ll have pay more mind to ourselves next time we enter battle. Your poor companion was worried for you.”
She looked up then, her golden eyes catching the firelight. Despite her words—despite how she would have been scolding her soldiers instead, had this been a conversation between herself and her men, Sara’s voice remained even. Warm on the edges. “That final strike you made on the first Shade was impeccably timed, Lady Fischl. A clean shot, despite the chaos.” It was a straightforward compliment, devoid of the flowery language Fischl preferred, but it was utterly sincere. An archer acknowledging another’s skill. With very little else to do, Sara thought it would be best to praise the young girl for her talent and courage.
“Have you fought against other monsters or beasts before? Hilichurls maybe? You were quick to act when I called for your assistance, and most of your shots were true despite the dangerous Fragmentum monsters that threatened us.”
Sara and Fischl rests for an hour. +2 HP.
Night 2: 5 hours, 45 minutes left ; Board A.
as sara praises the princess instead of scolding over those blatant mistakes - Fischl's face lights up. there was no way to take in the compliments wrong - not with how fast it cut to the chase with that kind of tone. Oz seems to be put well with sara's praise towards his prinzessin, nodding along quietly.
“ s-such tributes to mein glory are wholly received, mein kriegerin! ” the royal blooded says quickly, excitement obvious in her rushed words ( though the prinzessin herself isn't so sure why she is so flustered - she recieves praise often from other servants. . . ) “ an astute observation as well! Oz and i often partake in a duty to hunt for enlightenment and banish creatures from the locale of the city of freedom. ”
“ mein fräulein and i work as investigators for the adventurer's guild mondstadt branch quite often. ”
it's unclear if either of them had internalized the rationale that sara brought up about being careful - but the two of them are good listeners. one of them must have heard it and decided to remember it.
“ thou deserve of duly praise posthaste! the prinzessin der verurteilung had taken to know thy holds a keen eye - like a bird of prey that descends to claim a meal - an impression of great experience is held within thy mortal form to which i must owe a great deal to. ”
“ you are also worthy of much praise, miss sara. you seem to have a lot of experience under your wing, and her majesty finds it relieving to be your partner. ”
a nod from Fischl. seems all is well - Oz prays that these two may leave behind any notions of 'failure' from the night before. how does he end up with two archers who seem to care a little too much for what others think?
── . (1h 30m) Sara and Fischl rest. Sara and Fischl gain 3 HP. [ 25/30 ] [4h 15m left]
time passes quickly - or is it slowly? the monarch's retinue cannot quite tell when most looks the same - and they are surrounded by naught but snow and wind.
“ ahem - one truly beckons that we have unbent the coil of death enough. let us snuff the infernos of respite to ignite then the blaze of continuous triumph. ” there's no realm where the prinzessin waits too long once she declares action - Fischl stands, beckoning her familiar to his perch on her. “ under royal decree, i shall hold thee to thy own advices so long thee hold i to her own. we proceed upon territory to be reclaimed from the clutches of unholy claw and nail and leave it as victors for the common plebian of this frost-laden city to reclaim. ”
“ you sound so sure, mein fräulein. . . ” the raven sighs, but looks towards where they were once at before the - incident with the bear. “ we should head back to where we were. i propose progress may be resumed from there. ”
── . (15m) Sara and Fischl walk from Block 1 to Block 3 [4h 00m left]
Night 2: 4 hours, 0 minutes left ; Board A.
“Yes.” They have rested well enough, and a glance around them showed how empty their temporary camp was. Perhaps a brief visit to the next area so they may be of assistance would do them well. Rising from where she sat, Sara kicked a few snow into the small campfire, ensuring first that none of the embers remain before preparing to leave.
The trek back to the next plains was made in a careful silence, footsteps the only sound in the silence between quiet. A rarity, this silence, as more often than not, Oz and Fischl would be quick to fill the quiet with their ceaseless exchange. Still, the moment the familiar, snow-blanketed field came into view, so too did their quarry.
Frostspawns, and they come in great numbers still, humming with such malevolence that Sara could only wonder where they have all come from, who could have made them, or summoned them, its core glowing like a shard of cursed ice.
There was no need for discussion now. They have met enough enemies to know what each other needed with a mere nod, bow in their hands in an instant, arrows already nocked. Then, once they were both ready, they set out for battle.
Arrows flowing with electro and crow feathers sliced through the air, a relieved breath escaping her as its sharp tips chipped away at the creature’s icy form. In return, shards of freezing ice rushed towards them, blasts of cold air lashing out, forcing them to weave and dodge. The Frostspawn’s attacks bite through their clothes, stealing their breath bit by bit.
3:45 → 3:00 Sara and Fischl fights Frostspawn. 3 Resources earned.
Sara gritted her teeth through the fresh, stinging pains. Perhaps the brief rest hadn’t been enough for her to truly regain her strength and focus, after all. But she and Fischl fell into a rhythm, soon enough. Another arrow here, another surge of electro, with the timely assistance of Oz from above.
Just as the second Frostspawn shattered into dissipating mist, a new sound cut through the wind. A distant, chilling chorus of wails and screeches, far louder and more numerous than anything they had yet heard.
2:45 → 1:45 Sara and Fischl fights Frostspawn. 3 Resources earned.
Her heart sank then. That… She looked at Fischl in search for a quiet confirmation. That perhaps she could hear it, too. Perhaps, she, too, could tell how it came from the direction they had just been. Closer to the Base Camp.
“That noise… It sounds like a tide of monsters. We should retreat—” A curse under her breath, teeth grinding in quiet frustration. Maybe they shouldn’t have left their temporary camp after all. “Let’s hurry! We don’t have much time!”
Sara and Fischl travels from Block 3 to Block 2
Night 2: 1 hour, 30 minutes left ; Board A.
#GHSnowswept2025 ー Snow Plains
@generalsangonomiya asked:
[FIRE] The cold winds bite at every scrap of exposed skin, forcing Kokomi to huddle deeper into her coat with every second. Even through the thick clothes she's acquired for her trip to Belobog, the below-freezing temperatures still chill her to the bone. For the first time, she finds herself wishing she'd been granted a Pyro vision instead of Hydro; perhaps then she could warm herself up, keep this desperately flickering campfire going. On one level, she knows it's not truly cold enough out here to be deadly. Not anymore, and certainly not next to the fire. But her body, used to the warm humidity of a subtropical island chain, vehemently disagrees. Stretching stiff, aching joints, she shuffles a little closer to the fire, and looks across the flickering flames at her companion. "So...what kind of stories are you supposed to tell around a campfire? I fear that any ordinary spooky story would have little effect on me, to be honest..."
Embers swirl higher and higher upward in the crisp air, spreading into tiny constellations made and unmade in the space of a breath. With a sniffle, the tip of her nose a tad bit red from the cold, Sara carefully nudged a piece of kindling deeper into the fire, ensure that the hungry flames would have enough to consume. Again, and she was certain this very thought would pass her every day during her stay here in Belobog, the Tenryou general, though not wholly unaccustomed of the frost, still found the needle-prick sharpness in the air uncomfortable with each air she drew into her lungs.
So she fed just a few more dry wood into the flame, hoping it would be enough to keep herself and her companion warm.
She looked up as Kokomi spoke, firelight dancing across the priestess’ features in a way that perfectly highlighted the weary discomfort painted across her flushed cheeks. Sara offered an apologetic smile first, guilty that she could not offer her more warmth. Perhaps she should leave briefly to fetch them a hot drink—there should be stands with hot cocoa and tea somewhere. But, ah, the thought of leaving Kokomi behind, even if only for a moment, would only make her feel just as guilty…
A breath through her nose. What a silly dilemma to be left with.
“Stories…” Humming, she idly poked at the flame with a stick.
Sara considered the few tales she knew. Of ghosts found in the middle of battlefields and vengeful yokais, or even the mischievous ghosts in the forests. None of them felt adequate enough to share to the shrine maiden indeed.
“Why don’t we talk about something other than spooky stories, then?” Came her suggestion after a few more moments of pondering, her voice losing its usual stern edge and softening to match the crackle of the fire. “Any topic or story would go well as long as it’s with good company.”
A pause, her shoulders loosening as she offered Kokomi a soft smile. Rare and unguarded, reserved only, perhaps, for this quiet moment shared between them. “Let’s see... Won’t you share a story from your childhood, Lady Sangonomiya? Something from Watatsumi Island. I imagine its warmth would feel doubly precious right now.”
#GHSnowswept2025 ー Snow Plains
@silentintuition asked:
[STEW] Alhaitham looked grimly at the pot of everything that sat in front of him and shot a quick look at the woman beside him. Somehow, this campsite had managed to hit on the one food that he refused to let enter his system—soup. Or, to be more specific, soup-like foods, which stew most definitely fell under. On the bright side, he only needed to add something to it if he wanted to eat it. No use feeling disgusted over a dish you won't even need to eat. He brushed off his pants, using the friction to warm his hands up. Looking at the woman, he only said, "Well then, I'll be leaving. Please don't attempt to find me." before simply turning his back on the boiling pot of stew, and leaving.
It would seem that the rather distant, aloof attitude the scholar had displayed back in the forest camp still remained. Sara watched, blinking once, as Alhaitham quickly retreated as soon as he had said his piece. Without so much as a hi, he’d appeared right beside her, and without so much as a goodbye, he was off, figure easily blending into the ever-shifting festival crowds. She could only breathe out a sigh, half a laugh, half out of exasperation, before her gaze drifted from the space where he once stood to the pot.
The stew bubbled away. A thick, gloopy thing with a colour that certainly did not seem too inviting to those who had never once seen it before. Bits and pieces of unidentifiable ingredients broke the surface briefly, some of such vibrant colours it was difficult to believe they were edible, only to be pulled under again by the viscous, rolling boil. And yet despite its lack of visual appeal, there was this savoury steam that wafted from it. Undeniably rich, awfully complex.
Sara supposed she understood why there would be those curious enough to partake in such an odd tradition. Locals did not appear to be concerned about the stew. There was certainly no news of food poisoning yet, as far as the general could tell, and if this had been here for months, then, well… Though it may not appear so appealing, perhaps it truly was something edible. Something palatable, at the very least.
A small frown settled on her lips, not of disgust, but of deep consideration.
She had hoped to partake in everything Belobog had to offer during the festival, that she might learn more of its traditions and culture, but… But this stew… This odd, bubbling thing with items she could not even begin to decipher what, was a madness she had no wish to join. And Alhaitham’s swift exit only further cemented that decision.
A solemn nod in agreement, though he was long gone and couldn’t see it. “Right. I believe it would be best if we pretend we hadn’t come across this."
What a shame, though. The thought surfaced unbidden as her eyes, against her better judgment, swept the crowd. He was long gone, of course. They weren’t friends. They were barely acquaintances, in fact, but after their shared ordeal in the woods, a simple greeting, a nod to the shared experience, wouldn’t have gone amiss… Still, and at this, she let out a soft breath; it was good to see that he was faring well.
