Three Goblin Art
noise dept.
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
JVL
No title available
Today's Document
RMH
Kaledo Art
shark vs the universe
One Nice Bug Per Day
oozey mess
titsay
Monterey Bay Aquarium
izzy's playlists!
Product Placement
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
taylor price
No title available
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
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seen from Mexico
seen from Canada
seen from United States
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seen from Germany
seen from Pakistan
seen from United States
seen from Israel
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seen from Malaysia
seen from Japan
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
@inserviceto
May Activity Check
Status: Passed
Total Skill Points: 34 → 35 Monthly Activity SP Earned: 1 Event Activity SP Earned: -- Other SP Earned: -- Thread Completion SP Earned: --
Invested SP: +1 to Faith C → Faith C+ (1/2)
Accessed Classes: --
Mastered Classes: --
[ SPILL ] - Whoops! Maybe you trip over something unseen underfoot, or maybe something fantastic catches your eye and has you looking anywhere but where you're going. Either way, your drink is now half in your glass and half where it ought not be.
Where there were drinks to be had and a crowd to navigate, there was bound to be an accident or two. On most accounts, it was usually not a malicious action -- as it likely seemed here, at least from what Harken could tell.
At the very least, it was best the drink was spilled on him rather than someone of note who had gone out of their way to dress to the nines for the ball.
His first instinct is to reach out to help steady the young man and keep him from falling proper, one hand on his shoulder and the other steadying the now half empty glass in the other's hand.
"Ah, excuse me if I was in your way, my lord--" is the first thing that leaves Harken's mouth, gaze already darting between himself and the other to make sure that none of the spilled drink had gotten on the young man's attire. Once assuring himself that he was the only one to get sloshed on -- thankfully not sticky, yet -- Harken withdrew his hold and took a polite step back.
"Perhaps it might be time for a rest...? It has gotten quite late, after all. Please, allow me to replace your drink while you take a seat, my lord."
Fiora has taken a moment to take a breath from the party. The clamoring of people and voices is a touch overwhelming, and the only remedy is the night air, which she gulps in in soft, desperate swallows, trying to banish thoughts of soft-haired sisters and starving countrymen, when… she sees him. Wide build, held hunched, almost as if he could fade into the crowd… but to her, he stands clear in the night.
“… Harken.” Her heartbeat skips, then races. She knows as way of fact that Legault is here, and immediately her own worries are staunched for empathetic ones. She’s sure he isn’t altogether too thrilled to see her, either, but she pats out a spot next to her, on the planter she’s propped herself up on, to give her aching legs a moment of rest.
She prays he takes the offering, lest he accidentally see lilac in the crowd and go hazy again.
“Here.” She offers him a rose, pulled fresh from her bouquet, and twirled once, twice, ‘round her thumb pad and pointer finger. A peace offering. “How is the ball going for you?”
As was inevitable with these events, eventually one needed to take a break. The sights and sounds could begin to grate against one's nerves, even if they were enjoying it from the start. It was a blessing that there were no shortages of places on school grounds to go to in order to quietly recover.
Harken hadn't been participating in the actual dance aspect of the ball, merely operating on the sides as someone to help keep the night going smoothly. As such, he wasn't nearly as drained as most of the ball goers must certainly be at this late turn of the evening. Still, even with a clear goal in mind, the amount of people within such close proximity wore his nerves down to the point of seeking a little respite outside.
The air outside was cool compared to in the hall, and Harken let himself breathe out for what felt like the first time that night.
It was a good night--
Her voice isn't loud but in the relative quiet outside of the ball proper, it is impossible to pretend he couldn't have heard Fiora.
She looks apprehensive at his appearance here, and Harken can't say he blames such a reaction. They did not have a...smooth introduction to one another. Despite that being settled by now, messy as it was, things hadn't really been addressed between that entire group beyond the hasty actions afterward.
Honestly, he was surprised she called out to him, and it is this alone that has him stiltedly sitting to join her; awkwardly perched on the edge of the planter she was taking her rest on.
She looked...tired, wary, but not malicious.
As if Harken was a good judge of character.
"...Lady Fiora," he greets, blinking a little at the flower offered in her hand. Ah, right, the flowers were meant to be exchanged with other attendees. His touch is careful as he accepts the rose from Fiora, doing his level best to minimize any contact that might make her more uncomfortable with his presence. He twists to tuck the newly acquired bud into the bouquet he'd been given, slipping out one of the tulips from his own to give her in return.
"It has been...fine. I cannot say I have done much, but it has been...it was a pleasure to watch others enjoy the night," he answers, words slow both as he thinks aloud and to make sure he is fully understood. "I do not intend for a repeat of last time, if that is why you are keeping an eye on me, my lady. It would serve little purpose, even to my own wayward pride. Do not allow me to damper your night. I give you my word, if it would mean anything to you."
[ SPILL ] - Whoops! Maybe you trip over something unseen underfoot, or maybe something fantastic catches your eye and has you looking anywhere but where you're going. Either way, your drink is now half in your glass and half where it ought not be.
"Harken!?" His water spills, but only on himself as he trips in surprise at the sudden appearance of the knight. Yet it is only relief that fills him at the sight of the man.
The last time he'd participated in something like this, there had been masks involved -- clearly, that was not the case this time.
He wasn't intending to dance, attending more as chaperone than anything else in order to help make sure the night carried on smoothly. As his services were firmly with the knights, he hadn't really had any need to procure anything fancier than the day to day clothing he'd sparsely acquired. However, this was an event, so he had gotten something more fitting but still within reason of his standing here; cleaning up meticulously and ensuring that he didn't stand out poorly despite keeping to the sidelines.
He had mostly gone ignored, which suited him well enough as he watched people come and go.
"Harken!?"
The far too familiar voice suddenly calling his name has Harken jolting, a nervous twinge hooking in his gut and a sick flush running down the back of his neck as his eyes find someone he was not prepared to see.
"L-- Lord Eliwood?" he eventually manages to choke out, closing the short distance to the young man and...immediately faltering on what to do next. Last Harken had known, Eliwood was in Pherae -- but...that was some time ago now. Buried shallowly beneath the nerves was a frail happiness to see his lord's son again properly after so much time.
"Ah, forgive me, do you need assistance? I seem to have already caused you a problem, my lord...," Harken fusses over the spilled drink -- luckily nothing that would stain, but still attempting to dab at the wet spots left behind on the young lord's outfit with a hastily found cloth. "I...Is there...I did not expect to see you here, my lord Eliwood, is all well in Pherae?"
A foolish question, when the simplest way to know would have been to stay in Pherae at his lord's side when he finally did return from his failures...
Swallowing roughly, unable to look Eliwood in the eye, Harken bends stiffly in a deep bow. "Whatever your reasons, my lord, should you have use for one such as myself in your service, I will...I will endeavor to do for you what I was unable to give your lord father: my life, in any way you see fit to use, what little worth it may have."
All Men Are Not Created Equal
Epidemic +1 Bow
Watching sir Harken rush into the fray was both awe inspiring and a little nerve wracking simultaneously. To be a knight was to have courage and risk your wellbeing for the sake of others, that much he knew. Being on the receiving end of that protection however, knowing he was doing it to give them a safe chance to attack.. definitely made Ashe appreciate that courage even more.
With the beast’s focus being on Harken, Ashe took the opening the knight created to draw another arrow, looking for an opening to shut down both of its wings. But with it moving so erratically, finding a clean shot was difficult.
To make matters worse it seemed to have become wise to Harken’s attempt to distract it, its unnerving eyes locking on to the boy that had injured its wing. Despite being grounded it could still rush forward with surprising speed, and like it tried to do with the knight before, the beast plunged its beak towards where Ashe was standing.
Just barely, the archer was able to roll out of the way, narrowly avoiding a grievous injury. But the sheer impact of the beast hitting the ground caused a tremor. As a result Ashe lost his balance, falling to the ground painfully.
In the time it took for him to regain his bearings, the beast had already lifted up its head again and prepared for a second strike now that the boy was downed.
The ground shakes with the force of the beast's rage, and several of the men stagger and attempt to put some more distance between themselves and the bird. Some are unable to keep their footing or escape the immediate threat of the creature, doing what they can to shield themselves from debris.
Amongst those stuck far too close to the rampaging beast was Ashe, and as the creature reared back once more, Harken knew he only had so much time to act.
"Covering fire, now!" he shouted to the handful of archers that had been able to make it clear, sword slotting back into its sheath as he pushes himself forward into a run. They didn't need to hit anything vital on the beast, they just needed to buy their comrades some time. Most had been able to recover, get to their feet and make a mad dash away from the bird -- the boy could not so easily, caught in its raging focus.
It was a desperate maneuver fueled by pure reaction, no thought to the next steps to come afterward.
Harken makes a dive just as the shrieking beast lunges, getting arms around Ashe enough to pull him into the rough tumble they take away from the attack. It isn't enough to fully get them out of range of the giant beak, and with his shield pinned beneath them, Harken can't even try to put up a defense--
Dark blood splatters from above them, the horrendous cry of pain from the beast unbearably loud from their close proximity. The creature's attack miraculously misses them -- though the jagged edges of its beak slam into the ground far too close for comfort -- the cause of its last minute slip becoming clear in the arrow now embedded into one of its eyes.
There's no chance to breathe in any relief, the wounded creature beginning to blindly claw at the ground with its wicked talons.
"Up, up -- get clear of it, now!" Harken urges, scrambling to his feet and hauling Ashe with him.
Here in the Court of Miracles, Where it's a Miracle if You Get Out Alive
He immediately recognized the name then- whatever suspicion he had left for the knight quickly brushed away by the gentlest wave relief. The man didn’t quite seem the type to act as a sleeper agent let alone someone able to put on a façade so convincing, but Lambert knew to not allow himself to be fooled by a book’s cover and introduction. “A lady with long violet hair, correct? I am not the most familiar with her, but we work together.” Lambert saw her as a mysterious and elusive individual, but admired her magical prowess nonetheless.
The blond laughed, warm and light. “Quite the combination of jobs, is it not? I am able to defend this place and its citizens, as well as offer teaching to those who are unable to attend the Academy above ground. There are many within the Abyss who wish for it, you know. Me and Sonya- we both possess the same duty: to guard this place, as well as to offer some instruction akin to teachers. My prowess in magic is abysmal, so I am quite thankful for Sonya’s presence.” His tone was in good mood, a slight shake of his head to try to reassure Harken once more that there was no trouble.
“If you know someone from the Abyss, then you need not to worry. As long as we can attribute a face and name to all who know of this place and its citizens, it is fine.” Curiosity couldn’t help but bubble regardless, particularly at how this Harken even got to meet Sonya in the first place. “I have no idea if she wants space or not, but I give you my permission to come there as much as you like. As long as you do cover up your tracks, of course.” He offered a playful wink.
Still, as Harken went on about punishment with such intensity, worry was quick to blanket the professor’s features. An armored hand slipped through blond locks, pushing back whatever stray hairs stuck out- though the gesture was less for adjusting his appearance and more as a means to give himself a small pause. To think.
He thought back to all those years ago, of blurry faces and mildly muffled voices chastising him for saying things out of pure impulse. That a proper leader should always stop and think- and for the longest time Lambert knew he had been only considering said advice for the means of the battlefield and other administrative tasks. But in regards to dealing with another person? In a non-official manner? He had always been a bit rough around the edges in that regard. Stop and think before you scare the poor guy off- or put some weird idea in his head.
The conclusion of his reflection came through a soft sigh. “And pray tell, what horrid things have you done to be so fervently deserving of punishment?” His voice was soft, much more careful than before- almost fatherly. “Because throughout my life, I have met a number of people. Both good and bad, and by now I am confident that I know what someone with a truly rotten core looks and acts like. It was part of my job, you know. To be able to spot those and quickly deal with them before they are able to cause any trouble.” Arms crossed before an armored chest, his weight shifting from one leg to the other.
“You look like a good, but startled man to me. I see not a drop of evil within you. So what is it?”
@inserviceto
"So she is here..."
Why she had been the only one to join him at the end in the mirror, he might understand a little better now. If this place was so secret, if the people that lived here could not -- for whatever reason -- extend those lives to the monastery above, did that not reflect the way she had failed or refused to meld into either side?
"Yes...Yes, her gifts with magic were most impressive. Had she not been there with me...events would have transpired quite differently," Harken agreed, stopping himself short of looking back toward the pathway down into the depths they'd just come from.
That being said, if she was down there right now, it was safe to say she wasn't looking to speak at the moment. If she desired it, she had but to find him. He would not intrude on whatever time she needed.
He tries to return some of the warmth Lambert was putting out, but his expression falls short of anything but wavering.
"I've no intentions of disrupting the lives of any in the...abyss? Is that what they really call it?" Apt a name as it was, it...didn't feel like the best one to live with. "But, should I return here in the future, I will ensure that I am careful about my coming and going, my lord."
“You look like a good, but startled man to me. I see not a drop of evil within you. So what is it?”
How was it that so many could meet his misery with such kindness, time and again? That could always change. All he had to do was open his chest and let it all spill out his mouth, and surely he would be met with cruelty again at some point. And yet.
And yet...
"The sword and shield are the tools of a knight," Harken began, knowing that a man like Lambert would know, would understand, "And, similarly, knights can be the tools of their lords. Tools are neither good nor evil, until they are in the hands of someone who is one or the other."
The blade was righteous in the hand of a king. Cruel in the grasp of a raider.
Was it not covered in blood regardless?
"What should be used to keep the peace of the people you serve can just as easily be turned against them. Who do they turn to, then, when those swords and shields brutalize them for coin that their lord knows they do not have? When those swords and shields turn inward on each other like a pack of starving dogs? When those swords draw blood more for entertainment than any sort of nobility. When those shields fail--"
He cuts off abruptly, gaze faraway and expression slack. A breath, two. Three. Brown eyes blink back into the here and now.
"A true knight would not have allowed himself to be pointed at innocents as nothing else but a tool. A true knight would not be alive where his lord no longer was." Harken shakes his head, hands curled tight into fists by his sides. Fighting to maintain the lie of being what he claimed every time he donned his armor. "I have served three masters in my time as a knight, my lord, and none of them live where I endure. Is that not the highest sin for someone such as us, thrice committed?"
always the past controls your mind
⤷ mission task: anniversary 2025 ( bow +1 )
Harken's right. That one student that had been assigned to Argent first but then moved to Haven mid-mission had, at the earliest opportunity, been gunned down by Leif's mentor in that world. Even before then, he had been suspecting said student... Would Leif, as Haven's Golden Boy, been subjected to that very same fate? Or would they have hesitated, thinking of all the hopes they had placed in him? In that moment, would he have been able to take it, exposing himself as the puzzle piece that didn't truly fit as much as they had thought?
The burdens of expectation weigh heavy even now in another world.
Eventually Harken says something to surprise Leif though. Umber eyes grow wide moments before he asks, “There were others?!” It comes out louder than anything he's said thus far, spoken faster than he can even think. A nightingale from farther off sings his song, and those notes reminds Leif where he is— a setting not just for the two of them.
But even as he comes back into himself, his shock is still vivid across his face, training forgotten as he continues on. “I'm sure... everyone in that battlefield died that didn't come from the Church. If there was anyone who escaped with us... I don't know if I've seen them.”
He supposes perhaps the Church might have hidden them, though for reasons he wouldn't be able to comprehend and perhaps might never as just a mere agent entrusted to help carry out the mission.
“If they exist... they must've been in that mirror longer than us and lost more of themselves than we did.”
"There were others," Harken confirms, "Though I cannot say if we ever really saw them. When everything we interacted with could have been a construction of Kleio, there was no...no real telling of exactly what we were seeing. But...we heard them. When everything was brought to an end."
Some had seemed to relish in their new freedom of the mirror, but not all had been joyous in their cries. The young lord did not need to know of this, however.
"...I am sorry," he voices, with a bit more conviction than he had been speaking in up until now. "From our world or not, born of union or thought, they were still someone unique unto themselves. I did not...allow myself to engage with them as the people they were, and it is by my hand that they are no more -- nor was I there to witness the entire scale of the choice made, the battle you fought side by side with them in."
He doesn't know the extent of how well Leif came to know those in Haven, but regardless, watching them die all at the same time was hardly the sort of thing one just...walked away from.
That Harken knew all too well.
He does frown slightly at that possibility. "Would there be a reason for the church to hide them?"
April Activity Check
Status: Hiatus
Total Skill Points: 34 → 34 Monthly Activity SP Earned: -- Event Activity SP Earned: -- Other SP Earned: -- Thread Completion SP Earned: --
Invested SP: --
Accessed Classes: --
Mastered Classes: --
I've gone through and updated my thread tracker, so if I'm missing anything that we have, please let me know! I'm fairly caught up, so I might be looking into picking up some new threads with folks soon!
When They Say "Do You Need A Dog?" I Don't Think This Is What They Mean
Pearlescent +1 Riding
...Wait, really? It's with wide eyes that Sanaki turns to look at the knight, not quite solemn enough to match him. She hadn't even began to reach for her spellbook... but it takes only a glance to be certain that he is sincere, certainly more than she had been.
The truth is, Sanaki concocts all sorts of ideas all the time. Outlandish plans shaded in varying degrees of jest and irony, driven by frustration, mischief, or boredom. Perhaps she had become so accustomed to Sigrun's sighs of surely you don't mean that, Sanaki, or Tanith's bullet-point reasons why it would be an unnecessary risk, Empress, that for Harken to simply concur and pledge support, it's---
It's nice. (Dangerous, still, that kind of trust. A responsibility she's still not sure she's worthy of.)
She nods back, pleased as pie. "If it spares us the trouble of fighting even one more, it will have been worth it." All animals innately fear fire, after all. "My flames can't hurt me," she continues, focusing on the charge building up between her palms. "As long as you stay close, they won't catch you, either."
The fireball blasts a smoldering gap into the hedge, then the one behind that, then the one behind that. Sanaki wastes no time---grabs the swordsman by the wrist, for whatever good that will do---and starts running.
"Shout if you see anything!" she commands, fighting to be heard above the startled howl of the dogs and their own hurried footsteps. Another burst of magic, another flaming gash in the maze.
Harken is more than a little uneasy that she seems surprised that he would agree to her plan, but he had already agreed, he couldn't go back on his word now. His best option now was to do everything he could to ensure that this succeeded to the Empress' expectations. It may spare them from engaging with the dogs in combat again, but it may not save them from the local militia -- which, considering the people that resided here, were likely not something to sneeze at.
However, be it these cursed dogs or trained soldiers, Harken would carry out his duty here to the death.
He pauses, briefly, to stare at her brazen confidence.
Her magic could not hurt her? As if it had a mind of its own, and bowed utterly to her as its master? Or that she was so in control, or possessing of some mantel of protection that he was hitherto completely unaware of in regards to magic and spell-casters. Hardly an expert, but he had done quite a lot of watching and digging back...back in Bern.
Harken nods his understanding. "Then I shall stay close enough to not hinder your movements."
Because when the fire catches and everything begins to burn, their getting anything of use out of this endeavor will all come down to how quickly they can locate the evidence they need. The fire Sanaki unleashes is much the same as the one that had incinerated the skull of the dog that had dared to close jaws around her, and it blazes through thick foliage as if there was nothing in its way but clear and open air.
Proximity showcases the extreme heat as they dash off in its wake, the yips and howls of the dogs somewhere in the ash and smoke nearby. And if the howls of those dogs turn to something else in his ears, something far too human; the smell of burning things like rot and decay in his nose as they run through fire--
Until they reach what would have been a nondescript dead end in the maze, cut through by the fire to reveal more maze beyond it. It should have been nothing. It was not positioned anywhere of import -- not the direct center of the labyrinth, nor anywhere near an area that could be designated as the "end". It was off-center, closer to the street rather than nearer to the private land of the estate.
And as they begin to pass through the blazing corridor of greenery, his boot catches on something -- and then there is no longer ground beneath his feet.
A trapdoor. A passageway. Hidden beneath the green of the maze in an unsuspecting area, and they were now falling into the dark of it, fire blazing above and beasts howling like demons at the final gate.
Harken has reflexes enough to make sure he hits the ground instead of Sanaki.
March Activity Check
Status: Passed
Total Skill Points: 32 → 34 Monthly Activity SP Earned: 1 Event Activity SP Earned: -- Other SP Earned: +1 Gauntlet from x Thread Completion SP Earned: --
Invested SP: +1 to Gauntlet E → Gauntlet E+ (1/1) +1 to Heavy Armor B → Heavy Armor B (2/2)
Accessed Classes: --
Mastered Classes: --
the true test of a man's grit is if he's gonna go to the hospital or stand there & aura farm as he internally hemorrhages
In the gentle snowfall of the mountains, it’s easy for danger to feel distant. The threat to the monastery is nearly a year passed, and direct threats to Legault himself are even further behind, oceans away. Shadowing his fellow fugitive is a way to keep himself sharp and keep the other safe, yes, but there’s something like peace in the winding paths and the steady wing beats above.
It’s a fragile thing—shattered in an instant with a single swing of an axe.
His hand is already curled around the hilt of his own weapon when he springs past his attacker. The blade of his dagger glides against the man’s cuirass while he ducks beneath his arms—a glancing blow at best, but the icy enchantment on the blade means that he doesn’t need to penetrate the plate every time he strikes.
With a scant few seconds to breathe, his mind races to catch up. He watches his attacker’s shoulders tug at the handle of his axe with considerable strength—it’s not safe to turn his back and flee, not when that blade could be freed at any moment. The man’s a Pheraen, based on the name of his lord. Angry, obviously, at a man Legault himself hated nearly as much. He exhales a clouded breath.
“That man took many lives,” Legault says coolly, unwillingly call him master in life nor in death. “And his own is long over. Killing me won’t cause him any more pain, you know.”
If the sizable gash taken out of the tree is any indication, then reasoning his way out of this doesn’t seem likely. His eyes dart upward once more, just for a moment, but he has no time to search the skies. The moment that the Pherean moves, he needs to be ready to act.
@wingboundwarrior
It is a rare day where Fiora does not take up her corner of the sky entirely alone — in fact, even has a friend at her shoulder, a flash of green to accompany her in the cold, gently snowing quietness of the blanketed world. Huxley and she are accustomed to the weather, and she is sure, too, so is Heath — Bern is known well for its freezes, though its not as year-round as it is with Ilia — but she isn’t sure about their foot unit, a man with sandy colored hair combed carefully, and haunted eyes cut in sharp concentration.
It’s better this way, perhaps. To know little about who you work with. Perhaps your heart does not bleed as much when battle begins — you do not worry, overmuch, what will become of whoever is on the end of whatever weapon when you can barely recall the sound of their name over the rushing of your own blood in your ears.
… Or perhaps that is just a lie she tells herself, because when Harken (see? she remembers) slinks out of sight for a moment and then shouts noises that sound similar to Black Fang, she tastes blood in her throat.
The blood of her Wing, dipped and bleeding and begging for her help, for her lance, for her to—
Huxley slices through the air like his wings are swords themselves, and her own weapon is leveled, ready to attack the enemy. Her mind whirls as the wind flies through aquamarine hair, racing as her heart does. She’d thought the Black Fang had been eradicated along with Nergal’s life force, that they were safe from them, now, but Fódlan was a strange and mysterious place. All sorts of people from all sorts of places appeared, and perhaps, just perhaps, Harken had really found someone from the Black Fang, here, in the flesh, still drawing breath, still working through dishonorable, nefarious deeds, still besmirching the name of the 5th Wing, still dragging the bodies of her Wingmates through mud—
Fiora 12/12HP hits Legault 10/10HP with Armorslayer [Roll: 11+2 = 13; -1.5 HP, Legault 8.5/10HP]
It isn’t until her sword meets shoulder blade and she hears a quip with a rasp like smoke that the white around the edges of her vision relents enough for her to realize what happened.
“… Legault?”
Legault 8.5/10HP counterattacks and misses Fiora 12/12HP with Snow Stiletto [Roll: 7-6=1; -0HP, Fiora 12/12HP]
He swings at her, with no power in his weapon — something like a kitten playing without its claws extended. It’s easy to dodge, because he made it that way. He did not wish to hurt her.
Oh. It’s this Black Fang. The one that she, too, had once hated with a fiery rage, but has long since turned to a trusted companion. Legault, who she hadn’t been aware was tailing them, but could have guessed, because Heath was at her shoulder.
“… Harken!” She pulls the reigns on Huxley, and he, too, turns, long feathery wings blocking Legault’s willowy body from harm. “Stay your hand! This man has long abandoned the Black Fang.”
↳ @loyaldeserter
Heath is, initially, quite happy about this assignment. An aerial patrol of a snowy mountain road is a welcome, familiar thing, and on top of that one of his accompanying comrades is Fiora. There's little to be worried about, and it may very well have been a pleasant outing, allowing Hyperion to stretch his wings and Heath to do what he does best.
May, of course, being the operative word. Nothing can ever be that simple, it seems.
The third knight in their group, Harken, is a serious-looking fellow, his accent and armor both so Lycian it is hard to dismiss it as a coincidence. He makes little conversation, which Heath does not mind, but there's just something about him he can't shake. Perhaps he should have kept a closer eye on him, as he suddenly lunges forward, his axe burying itself in a nearby tree as he yells something about the Black Fang and the death of Lord Elbert.
"Hold, Harken! Fiora!" Heath knows immediately the identity of the man Harken seeks revenge on, before he catches sight of that striking flash of lavender. Damnation, Legault. It's Heath's own fault for not catching on earlier. "He's no threat!"
Fiora attacks before she can recognize her target, but her blow thankfully glances off his shoulder. She turns to confront Harken, to explain the circumstance, and while Heath truly hopes the man will see reason, that look of fury in his eyes does not bode well.
"Legault!" Heath alights near his friend, joining Fiora in their defensive positioning. He'll be damned if he lets him die here, after everything they've been through. "You should've...! Ugh. Nevermind."
There will be time to scold him later. For now, it seems they may be facing down an enraged knight, unless he and Fiora do really well really fast at placating him. Neither has a silver tongue, and the man who does is the target of this murderous rage. It doesn't look great!
"Harken, stand down. Fiora is right. I fought alongside Legault during the war, and I have come to know his character is a true one." Heath tries regardless, though his hand remains at his lance. A threat from Elibe, bent on wiping out survivors of the Black Fang...though it does not take the form he feared most, it's finally arrived. "Would you spill the blood of a repentant man, and a man under protection of the Church we serve now at that?"
@inserviceto he sure would huh
Even with the sloppiness of his opening attack, the assassin moves with a fluidity and speed that Harken knows will be difficult to pin down in a head on fight. The man's dagger -- which has an ethereal sort of glimmer to it, a sparkle like snow in the sun -- glances against his armor with a tinkling of disturbed icicles; it doesn't cut through, doesn't leave a mark, but a chill bites into his flesh all the same.
Of course, the Fang would make sure to have a weapon that could inflict harm no matter the odds.
"And we are well rid of him," Harken spat, tight and harsh, the crack of wood interrupting his words as he pulls his axe free, "But it was those of your company that allowed him such a foothold, gave him the opportunities that stole so many lives--"
There is a powerful rush of wind as his two companions take note of the skirmish and swoop down from on high.
The pegasus knight strikes a blow, but abruptly comes up short once she sees the man in full. The wyvern rider does even less, seeming to immediately take to the defense of this scoundrel -- much to the knight's bafflement and outrage.
"Abandoned the Fang...," he echoes, rolls the words in his mouth and the notion in his head like something foreign and undesired. "That is not how they operate. Death is the only way out for their kind, yet he stands here now; breathing, walking, living a life stolen from others! Have you not lost comrades to his connections? You are a knight of Ilia, are you not? Or was the boasting I heard around tables and firelight of white Ilian feathers bloodied across the shores of the Isle naught but fabrication?"
Why did she stand at his defense? Why did she trust him?
The dragon rider he was less surprised by, though it was no less a betrayal.
"The ties of homeland stay strong, I see. I thought you a knight, a man of some level of honor, but cold blood runs thick in Bern's mountains. You think a man can run away from his sins? That he can simply put them down when they become too heavy?"
He's ranting, not loud but edges jagged and everything in him primed to snap. Pacing -- not out of anxiety but violent intent searching out any weakness it could take. If they fought, if they ran. He would pursue, he would finally do what he had set out to do in those mountains, even if it was but a fraction of the blood owed.
"Repentant? Repenting would be accepting the righteous punishments awaiting him for his deeds, not hiding in shadows to prolong his own existence. He would confess his sins to the church, and he would take hold the guiding hand of Elimine as his retribution was given to him!"
If he had to force his way through them to get to that man, Harken would do so without hesitation. There is the creak of leather from his gloves as his grip on the haft of his axe adjusts, tightens.
"Step aside."
@katabatiic
WHAT ENTERS THE ROOM BEFORE YOU DO?
The Expectations
You arrive already reading the room. Who needs reassurance. Who expects competence. Who is quietly hoping you’ll fill a gap they won’t name. You adapt instinctively, almost reflexively - sliding into what’s required before anyone asks. People feel understood by you. Seen. Held. Sometimes too quickly. They mistake your attunement for availability, your flexibility for obligation. The work here is remembering that you are allowed to enter without performing. That your presence does not have to be useful to be valid.
Colours: Soft beige, pale blue, overcast light
Scene: Adjusting yourself mid-conversation, then pausing, wondering when you last checked in with what you wanted.
“It wasn't too hard of a strike was it?” Fafnir’s tone carries little levity with it. In the moment he knows how hard he hit, it wasn't too hard - not by his standards anyways, but this was what others would call checking in. He can't very well just grab the man’s arm and start inspecting it himself.
“I’m doubtful we would've been victorious had you still stood.” The healers must go first and foremost. A man with eyes like his must know that - did indeed know that. “Tell me, were you intending to make yourself a sacrificial lamb whilst doing what you could before you went?”
Harken starts a little at the unexpected presence and question, standing up more or less at attention to the man that had knocked him out of the combat exercise. Not on his own, of course, as there had been a team effort all around, but the knight had little doubts that the man could put up a fierce fight on his own without the constraints of the mock battle.
"A sound strike it was, my lord, but you knew what you were doing. A bit of a shock and some soreness to last me the day, but nothing I will not recover from."
Which was true.
Though he'd been too stunned in the moment to really think too closely on it, Harken had had the time to reflect while being seen to by the healers and given a moment to rest. Fafnir could have easily done him serious damage, incapacitated as he was by Raven's ice magic...but he hadn't. A strong blow, yes -- meticulous as well, given just the right amount of power behind it and aimed true. It had been more than enough to take him down, but without the need for any serious attention after the fact.
"Perhaps. Your group was hardly an easy target, though, my lord," Harken remarked, doing his best to not sound like he was deflecting the compliment given.
Sacrificial...
Mouth twisting into a grimace, Harken lowers his gaze from the other man's prying eyes. "...Would that we had crossed paths even mere months ago, I might admit to as such. But this time...I was merely attempting to be a support, so that the students might have a moment to truly show what they had learned so far in their journeys. If I had been able to endure your attacks for longer, I would have -- though I will not deny that I would not have hesitated to defend my allies heedless of the injury incurred to myself."
He had not been able to provide the type of support he'd intended to, however.
"You were prepared, however. As you said yourself, healers are often the first targeted on the field of battle in order to hamstring your foes. It was wise to target me down so harshly as you did, my lord."
🧃"I appreciate it when staff members know when to stop fighting during this mock battle. It sets a good example for the students."
Harken accepts the drink with a quick duck of his head, murmuring his gratitude with a quiet but respectful, "Thank you, my lady." He takes a sip, lets the flavor of fruit sit on his tongue for a moment before swallowing.
"...They are still children, many of them, they've no need to execute such dire actions on a field where accidents should be the only concern," he agrees. He can't say if he truly set any sort of example, but he hopes that no one takes the mock fight too far and comes away with exceptionally harsh lessons learned.
got 99 problems but lethality ain't one
TOABOEL2026 Round 1, Battle 2
Fafnir's arms raise, his cape fluttering behind him and nearly being taken by the young mages' wind. So she would like to take him on as well? A smirk is tossed her way as his eyes narrow. "Later. Do allow me to return your strikes in kind."
In an ever moving board, pieces must sacrifice and be sacrificed. He knowns not the name of the ginger haired man who's victory he hoped for, only that the maneuver of before results in the healer being left open such that Fafnir can't stop himself from licking his lips. "At another time," he begins as he dips low, target as frigid as the color of his eyes within his sights. "I'd like to see what more you can do. Healing ill suits you."
The tip of his lance rides against the grass of the field and slashes upward against the man who he finds himself much too intrigued by. Had he his seidjarn, it would finish him so soundly, but all he can do is turn and kick at the man's chest, hoping the result is him going and staying down.
"Yes! This is a battlefield is it not?! Yell till your hearts content! You are a warrior are you not?!" His eyes return to the mage and he hopes she knows, the moment she stepped onto this field, she would be hit just as hard as the rest. The fire of battle truly burns now, the stakes well ingrained on both ends now.
@inserviceto @thelightofcreation
It seemed as if his time had run out, as the creep of ice along the grass finally lunges forward with proper fangs of winter. Already weakened, it doesn't take long for the ice magic to wear him down further and further, and even with strained effort, Harken feels the panic of being unable to move grip him by the throat.
He cannot move, and he cannot bring his voice to speak out either. His world is suddenly dulled down to something muffled and unbreakable.
Until the world outside his icy prison is just as abruptly shattered, Fafnir's expertly aimed blow sending Harken skidding through the dirt and grass along his back. Quick as the entire combination of attacks was, it leaves him slightly confused to be staring up at the sky now. Attempting to get up results in several injuries making themselves known, and the knight is forced to settle in his defeat.
"Ah...I am sorry I couldn't have provided more support," he apologizes blearily to his two comrades, before his gaze drifts to their foes -- now equally down a man. "Your teamwork is exceptional, my lords..."
@thelightofcreation
got 99 problems but lethality ain't one
TOABOEL2026 Round 1, Battle 2
Fáfnir grits his teeth, but his grin sits no smaller on his face. His lance, the handle at the top, catches the brunt of the blow, deflecting the lance such that it diverts to his shoulder. Either or, truly where does not matter. It's the how's. Bit by bit, he wonders if Bruno might think his choices now honorable or just as bad as the deceit he force the man to endure.
Regardless, the field is his to command. From where she had graced him with her presence, the pommels of each lance are hooked together and he turns shifting to the side and away from her. Eyes preceded by an arctic chill look to his left then right. The man to his left has taken the brunt of the injuries yet slowed little.
"Your continued participation relies on how fast you decide to be. Have a few hits slowed you down or are you not yet ready to give in?" It's the best substitute for encouragement he has for a man he knows nothing of. He's familiar to an opponent at least, perhaps best then to get her out of the way of her.
And then there is him. The man in the springs. Never had he expected to see him, but he supposes with the skills he maintains, of course he would have interest in such things. Fáfnir thinks and thinks for two perhaps three seconds. Nothing, there isn't much to say to him. So he settles. "Never did I expect to meet you here."
Then to his opponent. his grin grows larger and he stands straight, his lance held out at his side. "You are aware who it is that's always targeted first in a convoy, no?"
@gondul-fang @inserviceto @thelightofcreation
"It's good to see you well," Sephiran responds evenly, following his lead, moving slightly to give him more space. Many familiar faces here, indeed. It was bound to happen, through the mere length of time he had spent in this nation. No matter- this one was no more than a passing acquaintance, and now, a temporary ally.
Taunting the opposing side's healer felt unnecessary, though all the same, Sephiran doesn't waver from his original target.
"Be careful, everyone- don't overexert yourself. It wouldn't do to have permanent injuries from a mock battle, after all." A gaze cast, meaningfully, toward the medical tents. Normally, he would be working there. "But I digress."
"Ah, and I apologize, Harken. But I cannot have you patching up their wounds just yet…" Another short cast of light magic, and he is as good as new.
@inserviceto @gondul-fang
Another flutter of chilly air fails to catch on into the proper magical assault it is clearly meant to be, and with both of his allies out of proper danger for the moment, Harken seizes the chance the failed spell affords him. After all, it is only a matter of time before Raven gets the magic under control and lands a hit; with the energy siphoning magic at Sephiran's hands chipping him down, a well-timed spell from Raven or their third man's spear would take him down for sure.
Harken pivots, both attention and body, away from Sephiran in order to fling his axe in Raven's direction. It was a solid hit, but as his limbs begin to shake, he knows it came at the cost of leaving himself open to another bite of Nosferatu.
Both Sephiran and the lancer make a mention of his position as a healer in this fight, and he must confess, he has never been on this side of the struggle.
"...I believe I am being made well aware of it, my lord," Harken coughs, throat dry, as he wearily keeps an eye on their shifting line of enemies. Both sides have taken some damage, so things hadn't tipped in anyone's favor just yet...but they may be reaching that point soon of the tides spilling in favor of one side over the other.
@gondul-fang
got 99 problems but lethality ain't one
TOABOEL2026 Round 1, Battle 2
Whether it's a spar or a true battle, Nel's never been one to go easy on her opponents. Restraint just enough to avoid killing them or harming them seriously, of course, but... representing her house means that she has to bring her best. She only recognizes Sephiran on the opposite side of the field, and a twirl of her lance has her preparing herself for a forward charge-- weight on her front foot, lance extended in order to parry if necessary. The nearest is a man with black hair and a blonde streak. It only makes sense to strike him down first, little care for introductions or chatter in the midst of this all. A leap into the air has her shifting the lance in order to send the point sailing directly down onto Fafnir's position, the ground cracking underneath the force of her blow-- it's not enough to kill, of course; this is still a mock battle. It is enough, however, to slice through a portion of his clothing and leave a trail of dripping red in its wake. "Sephiran, I assume you are aware I will not show you mercy," Nel calls to him as she yanks her weapon from being lodged into the grass, a quick motion tossing some of the dirt from its tip. "Nor will I for any others. Come. Let us press the attack- show the might of an Eagle!"
@inserviceto @peerlessscowl @gondul-fang @thelightofcreation @nidavellirs-king
The field is brought to life with the blast of a horn and the growing sounds of combat, and though Harken is not very familiar with the nearest Eagles to him, he is surprisingly calm here at the start. As a knight, he has no real stakes in one house over the other, so he was intent on providing support more so than tilting harshly into the offensive.
Should it not be for the students and staff of the Black Eagles to shine brightest?
With healing magic ready at a moment's notice for his allies, it is not yet needed, and so the axe is where his hand falls to for now.
His gaze flits across their opponents briefly, enough to recognize Sephiran and Raven -- to see what might have been hesitation in their movements as they perceive the youngest on the crimson team's side. He knows those two are formidable, though the third man he cannot gage the danger of. So his axe finds the target of one he has some prior knowledge of, taking care to avoid striking too deeply at Sephiran's shoulder.
@peerlessscowl @gondul-fang @thelightofcreation @nidavellirs-king
