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closed/affiliated rp blog for freyr from fire emblem heroes ☆ blue lions faculty at the officer's academy

[ljosalfylkir]

skinfcxi​:

BRAWLROOM DANCING.

Whatever Dagr had been expecting, it was not that.

       She knew Freyr wasn’t going to throw a strong punch — like, really, he is a man and all the goat did was sleep, that was sort of a no brainer. She hadn’t expected him to fall flat on his face; she doesn’t even feel his horn scrape against her leg. He didn’t even try to transform! Dagr has half a mind to be offended he doesn’t give their impromptu fight all his effort.

     For a minute, all Dagr can do is stare. Okay, now she looks like an asshole: challenging this fragile goat man to a brawl only for him to collapse at her feet. She hauls Freyr back to his feet and grabs him by the shoulders.

     “Okay, Goat Man, we’re going to try that again. I’m going to teach you how to throw a punch. That sucked serious ass.” 

     She sets her feet evenly apart and squares her shoulders. “Stand like this, okay? And raise your hands … ball ‘em up into fists … tuck your thumb under your other fingers, so you don’t break it … you get all that?”

     Dagr pouts, hands on her hips. “Aren’t you supposed to be the observant one? The quiet, studious type? C’mon, you’re telling me you didn’t learn a single thing from watching Mr. Pretty Punches?”

Truly, this is humiliating.

Blood rushes to the silverette’s cheeks as the laguz pushes himself up on his elbows. As someone who has no experience in hand-to-hand martial arts, it was inevitable that he would end up in this position. Perhaps he should have transformed, if only to save himself from such agonizing mortification, even should it impugn the honor inherent in the spar. He meant to fight as his humanoid self out of respect for Dagr... but perhaps fighting in his strongest form would have been a far better way to do so after all. It seems I am utterly useless in this aspect still... Hanging his head, Freyr bites his lip in an effort to hold back the unwarranted tears—he brought his upon himself, what point is there in desiring comfort?

And yet... the mint-haired princess above him pulls him back up and grips his shoulders. “We’re going to try that again. I’m going to teach you how to throw a punch,” she says, and Freyr cannot help but look up at her as if she has just offered him water in a desert. So the Sun-Twin Princess has mercy to spare even him... he must not forfeit this second chance with which she has seen fit to deign him. The former dream sovereign nods his head and copies her stance, following her instructions as closely as he can; the clarification of thumb under fingers instead of over makes him wonder how he managed to escape with his thumbs unscathed as a child, though of course his strikes then were too pathetic to do any damage to either party. Goodness, how like a white knight I tried to act in defense of my sister... perhaps the bullying really was inevitable.

Dagr’s annoyed questions snap him back to reality, and Freyr blushes once again in embarrassment. “I-I apologize, Princess Dagr. I am afraid I would not quite know what to look for when watching an expert brawler as I myself have no experience. But... I will do my best to learn and understand what you have shown me just now.”

Checking his stance once more, the silverette closes his eyes and breathes in and out before opening them and throwing a punch. By typical brawling standards it is a middling punch, nothing special; yet he cannot miss the contrast between his utter failure before and this merely average strike. “That... I can already feel the difference in my body between my other punch and this one...! How did I do?” If improvement is a possibility, then... there is hope for him yet.

[ljosalfylkir]

prhyst​:

All Questions , No Answers [+1 Faith Open]

Rhys didn’t like hiding behind others, even though his frailty demanded it. However, when they approached the top of the stairs to look down at the crowd, he let Freyr pull him to his side and duck as a few items flew through the air at them. Rocks, a heel of bread, and somehow a gull came flying up at them and Rhys yelped, face scrunched with worry.

Whatever Freyr could do, he hoped it would be enough.

It was.

Rhys raised his head once the onslaught of objects and bird stopped. He surveyed the lulled crowd with wonder, stepping out from behind Freyr.

Right. He had a situation to smooth over.

“Um, everyone…” his voice sounded weak over the hushed crowd. He swallowed hard, glancing at Freyr and then back at everyone else. Rhys tried to steady himself, breathing deeply and getting into his usual preaching tone, asking his voice to carry further than it usually needed to. “We wish to offer all who come to the monastery peace and wise counsel. These events of late are beyond what the church has ever dealt with before. We will do all we can to investigate and get you answers, but for now, we all need to watch out for each other more than ever. Please, let us serve you as best we can, and remain orderly so no one is hurt.”

Little by little, the crowd seemed to stir, talking to each other in softer tones and seeking out a few priests, but thankfully without the shouting and shoving.

Rhys sighed deeply, rubbing his forehead. “Thank you. I, um, I think they’re fine now.”

“... You’re welcome.”

The silverette trembles a bit as he releases the spell, adrenaline fading from his veins as the sense of calm pervades the crowd. Rhys stepped up admirably to the occasion, and now the populace are conversing in a more orderly manner with each other and with some of the church’s members. Relief floods through Freyr, and he all but melts against the courtyard wall, breathing a weary sigh. That could have... gone far worse... I am thankful we were successful in placating the people, though... I worry this will prove to be but a temporary solution... a mere bandage upon a wound that requires sutures instead.

Still, the fact remains that he finally tapped into that ancient gift for the first time since his ejection from Álfheimr and his sister’s death. It is impossible for the significance of such a momentous action to escape him entirely, especially when he has agonized countless days over whether he is still worthy of his predecessor’s blessing. That the power of dreams responds to him even now must mean that... he is still a son of Álfheimr. One could argue that it is because the power is still in the process of wearing off, but... with how long it has been since his departure, and the fact that this magic continues to burn bright and strong, he does not think this is the case.

“Are you all right, Rhys? Were it anyone else I believe they would have fled, for which I would not have faulted them... but you took control of the situation quite well once I had pacified their violent feelings.” The former dream sovereign looks his fellow teacher over with an expert eye and a small smile. “You are very brave in a way I did not expect. For this, you should be proud of yourself.”

This incident has also given him much to think on. Is it truly possible that Álfheimr’s gates are not barred to him after all? Difficult he may find that to believe, perhaps it is not so out of the ordinary that a former sovereign of the dream world may still access that lovely land. I wonder if... it is right for me to return... and recommence the purveyance of sweet dreams...? Then... I must draw upon that strength... and face my fate as bravely as Rhys faced the crowd.

I must believe... that I can still return.

[ljosalfylkir]

Status:

Passed!

Skill Points Gained:

Monthly Activity - +1

Thread - On the Chopping Block - +1 (Axe)

Skill Point Allocation:

+1 -> Faith -> A

+1 -> Axe -> E+

Total Skill Points: 13

[ljosalfylkir]

lilactippedlillies​:

~{ sad clown noises | lyon

Lyon was not totally sure how he ended up getting involved in this endeavor. Yes, making children happy seemed like a good, amicable goal, but he was not sure he was the one for the task. He was rather worried of boring or scaring said children and making them run away crying. However, the attendant at the academy had persisted in asking him to help for days. They had thought Lyon would be suitable for the job, which was laughable heresy to Lyon’s ears. After so much coercion, though, it was difficult to keep refusing. 

He had decided to become a better person, after all. And what had he done to count for it? All his actions at the academy so far pointed to self isolating and boiling in self loathing. So much for his lofty ambitions… Lyon sighed. Action was harder than his words. After reunion with Ephraim, he wasn’t quite sure where life would take him. 

Hopefully, he could endure the task for a measurable amount of time and then leave. It was not to say that Lyon hated children or did not want to cause joy - he was simply sure that upon glancing his face the children would run screaming. Surely, surely, this task would befit anyone else in a stronger fashion. A circus of all places! A hub of joy and music! Lyon knew that he tended to surround himself with silence, solitude, and text. It was scarce to encounter companions. This was such a obvious difference; he could feel the anxiety creep under his skin. As he was ushered into the carnival tent, someone, gods know who, handed him a pair of jester clothes. Lyon grimaced. He supposed this would have to do. It was only a tent and barely a glimpse of privacy….but this was not much other choice. 

Lyon fumbled to get the clothes on, somewhat correctly, and wondered how ridiculous he’d appear if he had a mirror. Even though he was teetering on the brink of mental collapse, the fires of shame were aroused by wearing this silly jester costume. It was then that it occurred to Lyon that he might undertake this task with someone else. He left the carnival tent and found a silver haired man nearby. Was this the man he was supposed to help? 

“Please do not apologize,” Lyon started. There was no reason for anyone to apologize to him. “Yes, I am Lyon and I am here to help the carnival, if I am to be of any use. Please show me the ropes, as they say.” Hopefully the man could lead, because Lyon was entirely lost. 

Although he rarely sees the younger man around the monastery, Freyr recognizes the gentle-hearted prince of Grado at once. The particularities of his wording sadden the former dream sovereign’s heart; had the boy been this troubled as a child, he would have gladly offered the dream nectar to him. As it is, the urge to take Lyon back to Ljósálfheimr and transform him into a ljósálfar thrums throughout his entire body, and it is only by reminding himself of the distress the twin scions of Renais would endure upon the prince’s departure that he is able to shove the instinct back down. Still... does he not deserve sweet dreams himself? With Freyja’s death and my own desertion, is it even possible to provide for such a need?

Even so, such is not the focus for today. Freyr glances about the portion of the dressing tent he is within before sighing and pulling his arms out of the sleeves of his robe. It is an unusual thing, dressing under the cover of his garb, but the voluminous folds of fabric with which he typically adorned himself provide an excellent personal screen. Perhaps it was foresight that I chose these today instead of my academic uniform...

Before long, he casts aside his robes, having decked himself in the jester-like costume, and folds them up before setting them upon the table. Gathering his hair up, he braids the silver-and-green tresses, then takes the matching hat and observes himself in the provided mirror. The dark green and bright yellow are more complimentary than I expected... still, I cannot help but think that this style of outfit suits me ill. Shaking his head, the goat laguz turns to look at his new charge before taking him by the hand and leading him over to the table, where a variety of makeup products lie. “If I have not yet introduced myself to you, allow me to do so: I am Freyr, a Faith professor at the academy. I confess I am unexperienced in performing for a carnival, but I will do my best to aid and guide you in this endeavor,” he offers with a small, kind smile. “I can sense that you feel discomfited with the situation, so allow me to ease your worries. Many of the other performers are wearing makeup as well, but the appearance is a bit gaudy for my tastes. Since you have yet to put any on, shall we do our makeup together? I believe it is possible to create a tasteful and flattering design while ensuring we appear as though we belong with the rest of the cast.”

One other question plagues his mind: just what does the ringmaster expect him to do? With this tight-fitting outfit, transformation is highly inadvisable and therefore not an option. However... the álfar of Álfheimr are skilled in dance, and he is no exception... perhaps such a thing is what is expected for him for his act? It would not surprise me were that the case, though álfar dances are better performed in... looser... clothing? No, that is not quite correct... I suppose I have nothing to worry about in that case.

... That hat will not fit on his head with his horns unless he makes some creative adjustments to it.

[ljosalfylkir]

prhyst​:

All Questions , No Answers [+1 Faith Open]

“It’s nice to meet you.” Rhys was still shaken with nerves, but not so much to forget his manners to a fellow colleague. Freyr was interesting, and his presence was slowly working on calming Rhys himself down already.

He took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. Making people drowsy wouldn’t solve the root of the problem, but it was better than anyone getting trampled. The crowd was still shouting and demanding more than listening. Perhaps a little bit of magic could make them be reasonable.

Or, it could make them worse.

“I think you, um, you’re confident and people will probably listen to you,” he admitted. “But your abilities might make them suspicious. They all need to calm down though, so it’s worth a shot so no one gets hurt.”

Rhys stood at Freyr’s side and nodded to the raucous gathering just outside the doorway.

“Let’s go. We have to try.”

Confident? He supposes that is true in this very moment; long has he felt timid, even when dispensing knowledge in his lectures... but he was a king once, and with good reason. “There is great strength within your heart,” his predecessor had told him upon his coronation, “you simply need to dig deep enough to draw upon it.”

Freyr nods and squares his shoulders. “Very well, then. Let us do our best.”

The moment he steps over the threshold of the gate, the crowd’s agitation swells. A nearby man points at the silverette and cries, “Demon! They have a demon in their midst! The church is hosting a demon!” At that, the furor in the air explodes; Freyr draws Rhys close to himself as the mob pelts them with various items and implements, raising his arm to shield the two of them.

This is not how I had hoped this would continue... though I should have prepared myself for the possibility considering laguz are nonexistent throughout the rest of Fódlan. Then... I am left without a choice. If the people become even more stirred up, this will devolve into a riot.

It takes him several deep breaths before he can steel his nerve and muster the courage to touch the space within where his dream power once resided... and slowly, creeping out, that old long-lived flame flickers back to life. He chokes in shock but reaches with his magic towards the crowd. At once, the frenzied air stills and quiets, and although no one appears to have fallen asleep, the crowd exudes a greater sense of calm. Freyr breathes a sigh of relief. It seems to be working... for now, at any rate.

[ljosalfylkir]

songstriked​:

~{ on the chopping block | dorothea

For someone with minimal experience in this field, she finds herself satisfied as she joins Freyr and the other student in their wood chopping activities. She casts her gaze between the two periodically- From what she discerns, they both seem to have a decent grasp on the task. As she finishes the wood in front of her own person, Dorothea places down her axe and turns back towards the student: “Would you look at that! You’re already a master.” A pause. “I’m sure you’ll get to use your magic again before you know it. Maybe not here, but.. Well, there’s plenty of other times for it.”

With a smile, she leaves the student to finish their work and turns back towards Freyr. “Oh? I can’t say I have any other plans after this. If you have the time to spare, I’d like to start that lesson. They say I’m a quick study, you know!” She laughs at her own words, picking up the wood that lays near her feet and holding it with both hands. “I’d say we’ve gathered just about enough wood here, hm?” Letting her words linger in the air, Dorothea moves to toss the wood in her pile as she runs her fingers through her hair once they are freed.

Turning back towards the pair, she adds, “That was more fun than I thought! Maybe I really should reconsider my strength with an axe.” It was more of a jest to herself than anything, but she knows she must uphold her strength for her own sake. Whether it be with a sword, magic, or otherwise- The world of a former opera star was hidden to many.

Freyr smiles and chuckles at Dorothea’s quip. “Although you may have meant that in jest, I believe it would not be amiss to pursue it further if you possess talent in that domain. In my case, I must look into more ways with which to protect myself and others in addition to the magic I use; magic can only get one so far, and at some point one must rely on the safety a weapon can provide.” He pauses and gives a thoughtful glance to the axes that now lie at the feet of the finished wood pile. “I had not thought that an axe would suit my fighting style, but... perhaps I should be more open to attempting different methods.”

He nods a farewell to the mage, who gives him a wave less sullen than his earlier apparent mood and slinks off, then turns back to the songstress. “Very well then, let us find ourselves an area where our lesson will not be a bother or interference to others. I look forward to passing on the knowledge of my homeland to you.”

With Dorothea’s sweet voice and passionate artistry, he can’t help but imagine what an impressive álfar she would have made. That will never happen now... but there is no doubt in my mind that she would have been the arbiter of musical dreams. Perhaps it is well enough that she can share her beloved theatre to those in the waking world, rather than being confined to the frailer impermanence of the sleeping one.

{ fin }

[ljosalfylkir]

~{ sad clown noises | lyon

The circus rolls into town! The nearby town square turns into a wonderland of festivity and fun, with fairy floss in every stall and every kid excited for tonight’s performance. Only one little problem with that last part–a bunch of performers are nowhere to be found, and without them the show can’t go on! Whether it’s as a trapeze artist or a jester getting pie thrown at their face, they need every extra-talented athlete they can get their hands on. Will you put on a clown nose and make the children happy?

There are many things that foster and nurture sweet dreams within children, Freyr knows well, and one such thing is the circus. A carnival of whimsy and delight is certain to please all the young ones in town, and the former dream sovereign finds himself with the urge to attend—not to obtain material for sweet dreams, no (he still has yet to determine whether he can even reenter Álfheimr, which is in itself a whole other matter). Is it not recommended that in order to begin healing from loss, one must move on and immerse oneself in everyday life? Perhaps the noise and glitter of the carnival will aid in preventing him from spending the majority of his time tonight in contemplation.

(He had resolved to be better, after all.)

Thus, such was his plan... until the coordinators in charge of the circus asked him and several other members of the academy to participate as last-minute substitutes for some of the performers. Freyr cannot fathom why they would ask him in particular, unless of course it is because he is a laguz (and an unusual one at that), of which Fódlan seems to be devoid, not including those at Garreg Mach. A man turning into a giant goat would be a curious trick, would it not?

... It appears the coordinators have different ideas in mind, as one presents him with a bright and sparkly jester outfit before shoving him in the direction of the changing tent. The force of the blow sends the silverette stumbling into the tent, and he has to take a moment to right himself, which is also when he sees he is not alone in the sectioned-off area. "Oh. My apologies... do you mind if I change in here as well? I do not wish to be a bother," he says to the lilac-haired young man. "Are you also a volunteer understudy for the performance, Lyon?"

starter for @lilactippedlillies

[ljosalfylkir]

Status:

Passed!

Skill Points Gained:

Monthly Activity - +1

Skill Point Allocation:

+1 -> Faith

Total Skill Points: 11

[ljosalfylkir]

No words are shared when they sit down across from Freyr. Instead, there is an audible, moist crunch when they bite into their apple with eyes still on the king. The last time they saw the guy, they had blue hair and a penchant for speaking like an SAT vocab test. It was a dream, but the guy still died.

It's a relief the non-seasonal version of him is alive, but they've seen enough of Hel's bullshit to question dead people that aren't revived by their summoning.

Muffled, they cover their mouth partially when they ask, "I gotta tell you, I'm used to your bikini body, man. You're kinda photogenic."

"So, like—" They swallow. "What're you doing here? Better yet, how are you alive? Why did I think I was Alfonse? And your sister is dead, right? No offense. She tried to kill me." And him, kind of.

Ah, yes, Askr’s summoner. It is, admittedly, a surprise to see them here at Garreg Mach Monastery; for what reason would the Order of Heroes allow their main tactician to come to this far-off continent? (He has... also seen Alfonse and Sharena here as well, though he hasn’t dared approach them yet. They believe him to be dead, at the very least, and they are most likely the ones who succeeded in killing Freyja themselves. It would be quite the awkward and difficult interaction between the three of them, no doubt. However, that does not answer the question of why they are all at the Officer’s Academy... perhaps all three of them left Askr in a moment of peacetime and can afford to pursue studies here.)

The first words out of Kiran’s mouth, however, are frankly perplexing. “My... what?” Is this a term from the World of Steel? And even should he deign to don swimwear attire, the chance that his body would look good, attractive even, is rather low in his opinion. “I... thank you, I suppose?” Not to mention showing so much skin is... well, perhaps his robes speak for themselves.

The summoner brings up an excellent point, however. Freyr furrows his brow as he considers their questions. “I am... uncertain as to the reasons for my survival, but I do have a working theory as to how that came to be. But first, your other questions. It is possible you subconsciously desired to experience the benefits that come with being Prince Alfonse and thus your dreams responded appropriately to your wishes. In Álfheimr, the sky is, as you might say, the limit; dreams are constricted only by one’s own imagination.” He offers them a small, pained smile. “I do not take offense to you killing my sister. I sensed her death, so I believe she truly is dead... I cannot see it as anything other than a failure on my behalf however. Had I intervened much, much sooner, it is entirely likely she might have lived to the present. She needed to be stopped, her unhealthy ambitions would have brought ruin to Askr and the other countries of Zenith.

“As for my survival... when Freyja forced Brísingamen onto me, she gained access to my power over dreams. I believed that my death would remove that access and render her incapable of using that power... but is it possible that my death somehow transferred my authority to her?” he muses. “Death in dreams ordinarily triggers a waking state for the dreamer, as their life in that dream has effectively ended. Could it be...?”

[ljosalfylkir]

skinfcxi​:

BRAWLROOM DANCING.

If she were of a saner mind, Dagr would take Freyr’s stuttering for nervousness and evident fear and would have backed down.

      However, now, she’s itching to throw hands. She thinks of little else but the thrill of the fight she was so rudely denied by the Dream-King.

“Yeah, you will be sorry!” Dagr yells. “Sorry when you catch these hands! C’mon, you’re the stuff of legends, what’re you doing being scared of some mortal like me? Stand up and fight, Goat Man!”

     The crowd around them goes quiet as Dagr raises her voice, and Valence finally makes his way over to the two of them.

     “Well, well … do we have two volunteers willing to demonstrate what they’ve learned?” Valence steps to the side and gestures for the two of them to step into the center of the ring. The crowd buzzes excitedly, quickly recovering from their brief lapse into silence.

     “Oh, yeah we do.” Dagr grabs Freyr by the arm and drags him into the clearing. If he thinks he’s all that, let’s see him try and take her on in front of this crowd.

     “Allllrighty, Goaty, let’s see what you’ve learned! I hope you were watching closely, ‘cause I’m about to kick your ass! C’mon, I’ll even let you get the first hit!”

“Stand up and fight!”

The silver-haired man trembles as a memory of his childhood overlaps with the present. Back then, the other children had been so cruel to his dear sister, and he could do little but watch as they taunted her and poked fun at her. He would attempt to step in and resolve the conflict with gentle words and admonitions, but his remonstrations always fell on deaf ears.

(”What are you doing coming home like that? Your clothes are all torn and scuffed up. What did I tell you about fighting with the other kids?”

“B-But Faðir, they were saying mean things about Reyja! I said ‘stop’ but they didn’t listen! I was trying to make them stop—”

“Tch, worthless. I keep telling you, why bother when you can’t stop them anyway? You shouldn’t have interfered. Now I have to clean your clothes again, do you know how hard it is to get bloodstains out of linen?”

“... M-Móðir, my owwies, can you—“

“We’re out of medical supplies, you can tough it out. Gods, I have to go mend your clothes. If we can’t fix them up, they won’t be good for much more than rags.”

“...”

It always hurt more anyway because he could feel the other kids’ pain.)

Freyr breathes a shuddery breath; that ancient scenario is long gone, though its mark remains on his heart. He is here, grown, a powerful mage, a god—or, he was a god. It is difficult to say whether that is still true now, when he has yet to take a single returning step into Ljósálfheimr.

A crushing grip on his arm quite literally drags him back into the present as Dagr manhandles him into the clearing. He glances back at Valence, who gives him an encouraging nod and a smirk. Ah, right, Dagr wishes to fight me because I intervened and drew her ire... are we truly going to spar?! I am unprepared, I have no training, I am certainly going to end this in the infirmary! And Dagr will even “allow” him the first hit. No, I cannot... it cannot end this way! I am smaller than her; even untrained as I am, surely that will afford me an advantage. And if all else fails... no, transforming would likely be considered a cheat. Actually, he can envision the princess enjoying the challenge of fighting a full-grown goat laguz more than fighting him as he is right now.

Still, there is no backing out from this; the Jötunn will not let him, what with the battle fervor that now runs bright in her veins. Freyr closes his eyes and breathes for just a moment, centering himself... then his eyes flash open and he charges toward the tall woman.

... Only to trip and fall partway across the clearing, smacking her leg with one of his horns as he crashes to the ground.

[ljosalfylkir]

songstriked​:

~{ on the chopping block | dorothea

Dorothea knows everyone has their strong suits- She can hold a sword and display offensive magic, but there’s only so much she can recall in the present moment. She didn’t particularly enroll in Garreg Mach to become a top tier mage, but she hardly wants to be the weak point of the Black Eagles: “Wonderful! Thank you. I’ll look forward to the lesson.”

In unison, she beings her own efforts at chopping wood. It’s nothing perfect, but she knows that doesn’t matter. Nobody is studying the dimensions of the firewood or if they are all in equal size. No, what matters is keeping them in-tact and retaining their usefulness. She moves her arms up and down, hitting the wood with a force stronger than others might expect of her. Truly, she knows how to keep up. It’s a vital skill she’s obtained through the years, rather.

A tiny laugh escapes her lips as green eyes shift over towards Freyr’s axe, putting down her own and gathering a few pieces of wood in her arms: “That might not be where the axe is supposed to go, but it’s not like all hope is lost. The wood is still there, right?” She pauses, taking a few steps away to put her wood in a pile off to the side before returning. “Sometimes, when I’m doing stuff like this.. I think about the end results. I remember just how necessary it is, and.. I keep going.”

She picks up her axe again, fingers tightening on the item as she continues: “I didn’t quite see all of what you were doing, but if I could suggest something.. I’d say to hold onto the axe a little bit tighter. You know, think of it like a valuable. From there, it’s all about keeping your eyes on the target. Don’t let it out of your sight for even a second- You never know what might happen.”

“Ah. I see.” Her advice makes a modicum of sense, he supposes. Keeping a careful and close eye on the firewood will inevitably alleviate the task of chopping it since it will always be in the line of sight. He is... uncertain about tightening his grip on the axe, but does so accordingly and takes another swing at the wood. This time the wood splits cleanly, if into uneven pieces, and he gives a small smile. “Thank you, Dorothea, I appreciate your aid. I believe it will be easier to complete this task thanks to your advice.”

Of course, as he fetches more wood and proceeds to chop it up, he spares a glance towards the mage whom they originally were meant to help. Apparently, an example combined with simple and straightforward instructions is all that is necessary for the young man to forge an understanding of the task at hand; although he appears rather sullen about the use of a physical tool, he seems to have grasped the appropriate use of the axe. Already a small pile of chopped wood lays near his station, and Freyr can’t help the fond look he gives the youth, full of pride for the student’s adaptability, even if it is grudging in this case.

The silverette gathers up the wood he has so far chopped and walks over to the pile with the rest of the prepared firewood to deposit it. As he returns, he pauses next to Dorothea and queries, “Perhaps when we have finished here we might commence with that lesson? Unless, of course, you have more pressing engagements afterwards.” Now that he thinks about it, chopping wood has made use of muscles he has not yet had the chance to use. If I am to get stronger, I must continue to practice... but I have no desire to strain anything in haste. I may require a break after this... I suppose I shall see how I am doing once I have finished here.

[ljosalfylkir]

Status:

Passed!

Skill Points Gained:

Monthly Activity - +1

Skill Point Allocation:

+1 -> Faith -> B+

Total Skill Points: 10

[ljosalfylkir]

ignatzvictor​:

Dream, Dream, Dream!

Ignatz had always had issues with dreams. Dreams were wonderful things of beauty but also a source of worry. His dream was to become an artist but he needed to become a knight.

It was odd, however, that he was seeking out advice about it. Normally he would bottle it up inside and not think about it, but the new professor seemed to be some sort of dream god, at least Ignatz thought he was. 

After class he walked over to Freyr’s room, lightly knocking on the door. “Hello… Professor Freyr? I have some questions for you,”

@ljosalfylkir

How curious... Ignatz is not usually one to come see him, which must mean this is something important about which he wishes to speak. Freyr strides from his window to the door and opens it, beckoning the teen in and offering him one of the chairs in front of his desk. “I am happy to answer any question you ask of me, though I cannot say whether I have accurate answers for everything.”

I wonder why he chooses to come to me of all the faculty... I am a relatively new hire, and this boy is not often in the classes I teach. Perhaps he desires to pursue some magical training on the side? This speculation does not fit with what little he knows of the verdette; before, in the sweet dreams he proffered to the young man, Ignatz almost always became an accomplished artist. How magic connects to that is a mystery to the silver-haired laguz. From what I have heard, he is a talented shot... most perplexing, indeed.

“Hmm... I must confess, Ignatz, that I am puzzled as to why you would choose me in whom to confide. As far as I am aware, we do not yet know each other—though I do not say that in an attempt to dissuade. It is just... surely there are other teachers with whom you are more familiar... unless you wish to ask questions about which I specifically may have answers due to my experience?” After all, who else among the faculty can claim mastery of Ljósálfheimr’s unique brand of magic? (This is not necessarily a boast of his abilities; one tends to become an expert at whatever one continuously practices after a millennium or few.)

[ljosalfylkir]

songstriked​:

~{ on the chopping block | dorothea

Dorothea finds herself agreeing with Freyr’s words– There are situations in which a person can’t ponder over how they defend themselves or be given any options. If her life depends on it, she’ll swing a sword or an axe at those nasty people in self defense. The opera taught her that much, as did simply living a life amidst the busy streets in Enbarr. She’d rather avoid violence in general, but she isn’t foolish enough to think it can always be evaded.

“Oh, I couldn’t agree more. I’ve learned how important it is to be resourceful. I don’t love axes or anything like that, but.. Well, I think you’ve put it into words nicely! Their versatility is useful enough.” A pause. “I would be curious to see your magic at work, though. Once all is said and done over here, would you mind if I watched?”

The songstress watches as Freyr and the student both swing their respective axes, placing a hand to her chin as she observes. She can hardly give an expert opinion on the matter, but what she can provide is tips here and there she’s picked up from simply seeing. She speaks to the both of them, holding her own axe in a position readying it to chop wood: “That’s not so hard now, is it? If we all take on a little at a time, I’m sure we’ll be finished before we know it.” Of course, that also entails ensuring the student keeps their work focused solely on the axe and doesn’t try any more magic spells.

Oh. The songstress wishes to see his magic once they have finished? Freyr can’t help but feel warm and flattered inside at Dorothea’s interest in his favorite discipline. His Faith-categorized powers have been primarily used for healing and revitalizing others... and for disseminating sweet dreams. The thought of reentering the realm of slumbrous fantasy sends a chill down his spine, but if the young woman truly desires to witness what he is capable of, who is he to deny the wish of someone wanting to learn? “I am honored that you would wish to do so outside of an ordinary lesson. I am not prone to vain displays of talent... but since you have requested this, I am happy to grant it to you.” And truly, is it not the mark of a stellar teacher if he can capture and hold his students’ interest in his beloved subject?

Having obtained what seems like a good sense of the axe in his hands, Freyr moves to attempt to chop one of the pieces of wood at his designated area in half. The silverette takes a deep breath, then swings the axe down at the log.

Thunk!

Of course, he must have miscalculated the angle at which he should swing, because the axe lodges itself, rather pathetically, in a cock-eyed position in the wood. Freyr grimaces and sighs at the sight. “What did I do wrong?” he murmurs to himself.

[ljosalfylkir]

songstriked​:

~{ on the chopping block | dorothea

Although she knows her house leader is much more adept to axes than herself, there’s something about holding it that Dorothea finds powerful. Granted, she’d rather not be holding any sort of weapon at all, but she’s not refrained enough to think it can always be avoided.

Green eyes turn towards Freyr, taking note of his form and nodding with a smile: “You’ve got it! You’ll be qualified to teach axes before you know it.” She giggles at her own words, more of a jest than anything else. Now that Freyr was up to speed, she makes sure the other student is paying attention. She can hear a little grumble or two, but she expects that– After all, it was only moments ago the mage was showing off their magic skills. As someone with magic knowledge herself, she understands.

She speaks to the student calmly and steadily: “I know this isn’t as fancy as that magic you just masterfully displayed, but.. Hm. Think of it this way. We need this wood. It’s an essential, you know? If it gets ruined without us even using it, well.. That’s just a waste.” At least, that’s her opinion. She doesn’t like seeing necessities tossed aside as if they’re nothing.

In any case, she’s glad to see they’ve all mastered holding the axe. She finds herself rather enjoying the teaching role– Perhaps a trait to consider for the future! Just maybe. “Now.. Shall we practice swinging it? I suppose we should all take an attempt at it and go from there, yeah? That way, we can see what needs to be changed.”

Freyr nods at Dorothea’s explanation of the benefits of using an axe over magic to chop wood. “Indeed. If you cannot use what you have harvested, then what is the point of harvesting it in the first place? For all that magic is suited to a variety of uses, I’m afraid I do not think acquiring firewood is one of them.” He pauses for a moment to glance at the sulking student. “I myself am primarily proficient in magic... in fact, before my arrival here, it was the only martial-related discipline with which I was familiar. Unfortunately, this... proved to be an oversight of mine, and I came to be in a situation in which it would have been advantageous to have another means of defense.” The silverette glances down at the axe in his hands, then back up at the young mage. “While I mislike the method one must use in order to wield an axe in battle, I cannot deny the usefulness and versatility of such a skill. Perhaps your life may one day depend on this knowledge.”

Now that his grip on the axe has been corrected, Freyr decides to follow Dorothea’s next instruction; he gives the axe a few careful swings at different angles to obtain a better feel for the implement. Hmm... a lumberjack axe is smaller and lighter than an axe fit for battle, which makes it perfect to use in practice. Of course, if I wished to train with an axe, I would likely need to work my way up to a heavier axe... I am uncertain as to whether a lighter axe is feasible in combat. Perhaps I should ask Dorothea about that at some point.

[ljosalfylkir]

Status:

Passed!

Skill Points Gained:

Monthly Activity - +1

Skill Point Allocation:

+1 -> Faith

Total Skill Points: 9

[ljosalfylkir]

prhyst​:

All Questions , No Answers [+1 Faith Open]

“Huh? O-oh, thank you.” Rhys couldn’t recall ever seeing the person in front of him, though he seemed to carried himself with a self assurance Rhys could only dream of. His first thought was that he was possibly a laguz Rhys had never seen before, but it didn’t feel like a good time for personal questions. He calmed down with the hand on his shoulder, slumping slightly forward with a sigh.

“No, there’s a group of us spread out talking to the crowd, but it’s not going very well,” he admitted. Rhys swept some of his orange hair off his forehead, unintentionally adding to the frazzled look he had. He glanced back around the corner, where the noise still thrummed with shouts and too many threads of conversation to pick out.

He wished he could simply tell them all the truth, but even what he knew wasn’t much. What they’d all been through those months ago was just as frightening and confusing to Rhys as it was to the crowd demanding answers, though he tried to not show it.

A failure, that’s what he was. He should really dig deeper into this land’s magic and beliefs, but most of his spare time outside the classroom and grading papers was spent in the infirmary tending to patients or being a patient, the greenhouse for his medicinal herbs, sometimes the cathedral area to help out choirs with practice, and then of course he had to get some light walks and exercise in-

“I, er, think I bit off more than I can chew.” Not only that day, he realized.

Rhys looked up at the man in front of him and he shakily tried to smile. “I believe you!” He did, sincerely. “You’d do better than myself, I assure you. I’m Rhys, just a healer and teacher here.

“We weren’t told any particular message from the church to give these people. I think there’s still so much no one knows, we didn’t want any false rumors spread. All we wanted to do was keep the peace. As you can imagine, the priests are better for that than armed knights which would just scare people even more… but no one voice we have can get a word in. If you could, I’d be grateful.”

Ah. So the young man was not alone, but the crowd had proved difficult to handle for those speaking to it. Interesting and perhaps completely predictable, especially considering the status of the Church of Seiros within this continent and its response when faced with such a serious matter. The people look up to the Church and rely on it for answers to all sorts of issues on faith and... many other things. He can’t help but wonder if the Church has taken on far too many roles in its current incarnation, ones with which no religious establishment should ever be burdened.

The young man, Rhys, explains that the volunteers are merely attempting to keep the peace in the crowd, and Freyr nods in understanding. “I, too, am a teacher here... I was hired not long ago, so I’m afraid I have no knowledge of whatever it is that has the people so concerned. If we could work together with the others, I am certain we can calm the people in the crowd and assuage their fears more effectively.”

Of course, had he his old powers (he likely does, but touching them is... painful), he could have sent them all to sleep with sweet dreams and aid them in awakening in a calmer frame of mind.

... Actually, could that work? There are so many people here, and he is but one Ljósálfr, king or no, but... it is an idea, and one that he would do well to set aside as a last resort. “If... something untoward occurs, as is wont in these situations, I may... be able to subdue any troublemakers with my powers over sleep and dreams. In this way we might help them settle more easily and put them in a more agreeable state of mind.”