all for the sake of my master.

[lmstella]

If the fates will it, we will be back... mark my words...

[lmstella]

If a link to your reply isn’t below and it’s my turn, let me know, because I’ve lost it 👉👈

https://www.tumblr.com/artificidel/719894603920293889/x

https://www.tumblr.com/fangedjustice/712908695871324160/limstella-lloyd-repeated-quiet-as-he-tested  

https://justicefanged.tumblr.com/post/713376498551324672/this-time-when-his-opponent-goes-through-the    

https://cursedbluebird.tumblr.com/post/714999973890097152/marianne-was-already-short-compared-to-some-of-the 

https://www.tumblr.com/ylisseanstar/724411856882696192/suspend-your-disbe-leif-lmstella-everything

[lmstella]

@liegebound

As the Ethereal Ball is only a little ways away, students and staff are doing their best to prepare via dancing lessons, outfit shopping, and event planning. This year a vendor arrives in town with a wagon full of flowers from all over the world in full bloom. They're quite the romantic though, so luckily for you, they're even offering corsage and boutonniere lessons. gift your crush, significant other, sworn enemy, or whoever it may be a lovely floral arrangement that you hand-picked and handmade! They won't judge if it looks ugly, but.. maybe the person next to you is better at arranging.

Fragrant blossoms of snow, gold, lilac and peony overwhelm a small wooden cart, brought in from the road and nestled in the heart of the monastery. Behind the stand is a man, waving bystanders in to attempt to sell them on the flowers or his lessons of constructing beautiful bouquets, boutonnieres, or corsages. His eyes shine, and he promises only the finest flowers and the most in-depth tutorials.

Naturally, Limstella has no one to give the flowers they’d fashion to. Nor do they have any reason to wear them themself. But curiosity is a powerful force, one that they have been inadvertently fostering, one that led them here to the monastery and here to this stand.

They pick up a blue bloom, and wrap stems of baby’s breath around it.

They hold it out to gaze it and unintentionally appear to be holding it, in offering, towards the red-haired man that’s strode next to them.

[lmstella]

liegebound​: 

       It is strange to receive flowers from the dead. Ebony hair as black as the darkest night, skin as pale as soft snow, lips as red as freshly spilt blood… The person who stands before him now is most certainly a morph, and although they had been certain to perish, certainties become vague as one by one, they rise again.

It is odd, Kent thinks again, as he regards the one holding the bouquet out to him with open suspicion. From his position on the battlefield, he watched as this being of perfection cast ice sculpted to harm.

Now from their hands blooms flowers to heal.

“ …You have no business selling those to me. ”  If Limstella wished to kill him, this was far beneath the capabilities they showed and far too roundabout to be worthwhile. That does not get him to ease up his guard that much, however, even knowing that their kin had shown to be similarly nonhostile.

He does sigh however.  “ What on earth are you doing here? Tell me, shall I get a straightforward answer or must I work for it? ” 

   Outstretched arm falls to the side as they are questioned, eyes following the blooms and not addressing the person before them. They’d gotten a glance, and they hold him, now, in their periphery. They recognize him; one of the knights that’d fought with Eliwood. They twirl the stems of their plant a few times, before finally looking at him in earnest — flat gaze, unaffected by his stare. 

   “... What... gives you the impression that I do not answer questions?” What use would a tool be that did not do as it was told? Then again, they remember Ephidel in a flash, and understand this knight’s apprehension. “I... sensed great quintessence... power... here... And I chose to join the Knights of Seiros’ cause.” 

[lmstella]

The song “What I Was Made For?” by Billie Eilish may singlehandedly save my entire activity....

[lmstella]

@cursedbluebird

With your newfound size come newfound troubles with logistics, in particular: how does one get around when you’re as tall as a thumb? The world itself is as grand as it’s ever been. There are, however, those among you who will no doubt see your fresh perspective as an opportunity. After all, how often is it you get a chance to ride a bird, a rabbit, or a squirrel? [ Grants Riding/Flying +1]

It is a wonder that this has even happened to Limstella. Being a morph, they do not require food intake like humans, and thus, they should have been saved this horrible inconvenience. But while taking provisions to the barracks, they had gotten some soup on their thumb, and rather than staining their jacket, they’d stuck it between their lips.

Now they’re no taller than a pin.

The world is the same as ever when you are as tiny as they; it is still alive with movement, and noise, and Limstella is still adept at tracking it all. They watch the line of the trees, blurred from distance, and notice a pair of eyes watching them back.

A hawk.

No, not just a hawk. There’s multiple trees, filled with multiple predators. Being on the forest floor is an innately unsafe place to be, and there is only one thing to do when you must traverse a wide expanse of land quickly.

You must find a mount.

Limstella has chosen a red squirrel, hesitating between the trunk of a tree and the forest floor, gnawing on a nut. They’re making their way towards the creature, to soothe it and attempt to communicate its intentions, when they hear something behind them, and they spin, hand raising, readying to summon magic should danger be approaching.

[leneemusing]

maybe,  she thought she was there already…

[lmstella]

@arcaeda

Swordsmasters of Elyos and Hoshido have long inspired people with their signature finishing move: the ability to cut through an opponent with dazzling speed, so fast that one can’t even perceive the blade leaving its sheath. The Battle of the Eagle and Lion reignites interest in learning these techniques. Determined students have made some progress but haven’t quite mastered the move. Think you can help them? [ Grants Sword +1 ]

In truth, Limstella’s greatest advantage lies in their magical prowess — their sharp reason skill, bolstering the power they wield magic with. But that is not to say that Limstella has never carried a blade. In fact, there is a small curved dagger, always at their side, married to their hip as though a natural companion. It has served them well, and claimed more than a few lives; not due, however, to acclivity to swordplay, but rather, talent in stealth. (Daggers, after all, were incredibly close combat weapons. Once you had been discovered, they were nigh useless.)

Today, Limstella stands with a sword, wielding it in a manner that does not immediately give the impression that they are unskilled with it. (Then again, perhaps unskilled is unkind — they can wield it, and use it, all well enough.) They face a student, blue eyes dazzling and focused in a way Limstella’s never are. She hopes, perhaps, to learn from them, and whether or not either of them are terribly acclimated with the weapon, there is much to learn by doing. Limstella knows that well. Even a clash between two relative novices can prove fruitful — far more than struggling uselessly against too strong opponent, or doing nothing at all.

Wordless, they shoot forward, movement like lightning, sword swinging to the right of the blue-haired student’s, as though to cut at her arm.

[pioneer-over-c]

softly with grace

[lmstella]

@liegebound

As the Ethereal Ball is only a little ways away, students and staff are doing their best to prepare via dancing lessons, outfit shopping, and event planning. This year a vendor arrives in town with a wagon full of flowers from all over the world in full bloom. They're quite the romantic though, so luckily for you, they're even offering corsage and boutonniere lessons. gift your crush, significant other, sworn enemy, or whoever it may be a lovely floral arrangement that you hand-picked and handmade! They won't judge if it looks ugly, but.. maybe the person next to you is better at arranging.

Fragrant blossoms of snow, gold, lilac and peony overwhelm a small wooden cart, brought in from the road and nestled in the heart of the monastery. Behind the stand is a man, waving bystanders in to attempt to sell them on the flowers or his lessons of constructing beautiful bouquets, boutonnieres, or corsages. His eyes shine, and he promises only the finest flowers and the most in-depth tutorials.

Naturally, Limstella has no one to give the flowers they’d fashion to. Nor do they have any reason to wear them themself. But curiosity is a powerful force, one that they have been inadvertently fostering, one that led them here to the monastery and here to this stand.

They pick up a blue bloom, and wrap stems of baby’s breath around it.

They hold it out to gaze it and unintentionally appear to be holding it, in offering, towards the red-haired man that’s strode next to them.

[lmstella]

That familiar hollow, so achingly potent. It too resides in the barracks. Denning has known this for some time, but between errands and time spent shut in his room or the library, poring over the texts of the day, the morph has not yet seen his younger kin.

Yes... Younger kin. Lord Nergal's magnum opus. Perfection themself.

That star hangs bright overhead, impossible to avoid forever, especially if it is simply cirumvented like running water would flow around a stone. It is, after all, mere circumstance, scheduling that kept them apart after both arriving here, in this place, on this land.

(Though, some knights acquainted with both of them had alluded to their similarities, some conspiring to try and get them to meet. How meddlesome.)

Golden eyes regard identical gold. Denning holds no contempt, rancor or awe towards them, only a knowledge that Limstella is his better. Morphs have little need of social conventions, but it is habit from his few months here that makes him bow his head in greeting.

"limstella," he begins, speaking their name with the gesture for star. "i thought the isle silent forever."

If Limstella had not known always that there were not infallible, this last year would have proven it tenfold. They survived when they were told to die; they hadn’t stopped the Lycian lordling; they allowed their Master to die; they hadn’t even killed Lloyd Reed. The coldness of reality, so soon after the warmth of Lord Nergal’s copious praise, had frozen them solid for a number of aimless, wretched months.

The innate knowledge of their fallibility is why they had come to the conclusion that the emptiness they sense now in the barracks is, of course, only an imagination. The first few times they had followed it and found nothing, and it was then that they realized: this simply must be an apparition of the mind. A sentiment, still burned against them. It was not truth.

So, in all honesty, Limstella is ignoring the feeling tonight, that mounts and grows and yawns over them — that is, they do until there is a shadow casting shade on them, and they look over to see...

“Denning.”

They stare, ceaseless, lips parted in recognition, eyes fixed unblinkingly. They feel something growing, shifting uncomfortably in their chest, but they cannot place it, are entirely unable to. Hands raise haltingly to respond in his language.

“You yet live? How? I thought you dead by Eliwood’s hands.”

[ostianshadow]

HNTTYW

Among the new students are massive wolves unlike any that Fodlan has seen before: not monsters cursed by crest stones, but mounts that are frequently used by Elyos’ elite cavalry units. The Officers Academy has gone out of its way to import a small pack of these creatures, hoping to one day offer certification for aspiring Wolf Knights. However, these seasoned veterans prefer sunny afternoon naps and would rather ignore whatever nonsense that’s coming out of your mouth. You’ll have to earn their respect first. [Grants Riding +1]

*challenge mode! maximum of 200 words per post!*

He could see the appeal. Wolves had that aura of ‘cool’ going for them. They were creatures of the night that howled at the moon, and that alone would have been reason for Matthew to feel some vague affinity for the beasts.

He could picture his scouting missions going a lot quicker atop one of these guys too, instead of him hoofing it on foot. Horses got bogged down in the woods - he doubted if the wolves would have such problems.

In the late afternoon sun, they look so… lazy laidback. Honestly, he’d not mind a nap curled up next to one of them. Even as he approaches, they barely so much as lift their heads, the odd ear flicking but nothing more.

And that gives him an idea.

Three. Two. One-

Nimble as ever, Matthew vaults atop the nearest wolf. He is sat in the saddle. Part one: success.

“Ha! Hahaha! Yes!”

He punches the air. And then notices that the wolf has not only not deigned to throw him from its back… rather, it’s not deigned to give two figs about his presence at all.

Part two, actually getting the thing to move:

Woefully in progress.

[lmstella]

Mainly, it is curiosity that has driven Limstella today to the courtyard. In truth, there is no real wish to replace Arin — he is a fine steed who has served Limstella well — but a fascination at a mount unlike any other they’ve actually seen has gripped them. (Then again, Limstella did, indeed, deal with wolves — bipedal, but canine all the same. What had they been called... the White Wolf, and the Mad Dog? And Limstella had been victorious, had they not? Not victorious enough, for the brothers Reed still lived, but so, then, did Limstella.)

They become bearing gifts for the creatures — a pack is against their back with supplies taken from the kitchens. It is then, however, that Limstella sees they have been beaten to the pack.

But they needn’t worry. The fool has rushed in, headlong, and is attempting to move the beast by power of mental will alone.

Limstella raises an eyebrow — but coaxes their expression neutral again as they approach.

“What is your plan now?” they ask, voice flat of feeling and empty of tone.

[justicefanged]

At first, the morph seems content to just stand there like a slab of wood and stare him down. It isn't until Linus mocks their master that any movement occurs-- an unnatural speed that he just manages to catch, axe coming up in time to stall their attack. Though there is no emotion in their eyes, even now, there is a completely different energy to them now.

With the strain of metal between them, Linus has no qualms about that blow being meant to deal him a swift death. If he didn't have such good reaction time, he would have eaten that head on and choked on his own blood.

Linus smirked as they backed off, anticipation rolling through him.

He whistles, sharp and short, to get the attention of his gaping class; making a quick, almost flippant move gesture with a hand. "Guess you kids're luckin' out today! Gonna see a real demonstration right here, right now!"

As soon as the students have backed up enough to be deemed safe to him, Linus charges. He might not be the smartest around, but he'd fought alongside and against enough page-turners in his life to know that magic had a start up to some degree. You needed words or gestures or both to get things going, you couldn't just do it. Which was part of why Linus didn't entirely trust it; if you couldn't react fast enough, you couldn't even start to defend yourself or your allies.

So, before whatever spell the creep was about to try and use manifested, Linus was up in their space. They're faster about it all than the humans he's used to, and so by the time he's reached them, the glow of magic searing into the air as the spell activated--

The blast of freezing wind was definitely felt, but Linus was able to divert most of it to his left with a solid sweep of his axe; the crack of metal against something more organic lost in the howl of magic as the butt of his axe batted Limstella's arm away. He goes to follow up now that they're completely open, but it seems the magic that did connect had played enough of a part to spare them a full-force blow.

Linus swore loudly and colorfully when he whiffed his attack, his left arm -- which was primarily guiding his attack -- a bit clumsy in handling from the sudden cold that had struck it.

"Fuckin' magic! No wonder you people cling to it, it's just as underhanded as you are!" he raged, teeth bared and face red from frustrated anger.

[lmstella]

It does not. Calm the racing of their mind, that is. If anything, the energy it takes to summon blizzard makes them feel nearly faint. There is something wrong with them, they’ve decided, surely. Have they run out of time? Is Fimbulvetr here to end their life, belatedly? Why did it give them this much time, if so? Why did they have to come to Garreg Mach, instead of dying with their master, as they so desperately wished?

They’re able to avoid the sweep of his axe, still, even struggling against a battle that felt far more insurmountable than the one on the field before them. Gracefully, they danced backwards, near gliding through the air, fluidity incarnate. They summon magic again, silent in the face of his taunting, and—

They miss.

Perhaps it’s his fast thinking. Perhaps it’s their lack of focus. But either way, horribly, the cool blast sears only the ground. Even worse, this time when Linus raises his axe, it grazes their left arm. Just barely — only a speckle of blood before they, again, have created distance. In their chest their heart is racing, a ferocious rushing shrieking in their ears.

No.

No.

They can’t die like this.

They can’t die to him.

Line of their face taut in their resignation, they draw the points of their triangle again. Blizzard is summoned, and this time, it looks as though on track to hit...

[lmstella]

ylisseanstar:

The knight murmurs a greeting as they shake his hand. Limstella. A nice name, bringing to mind brilliant stars and galaxies, and Chrom finds himself curious about this person with their mysterious and quiet air. “Excellent! Thank you,” he replies, pitching his voice lower in volume to match the other’s. “I’m so glad... I know this is such short notice, but I appreciate the help all the same.”

He goes to answer “yes” and remembers, Oh wait, I have a mount now! “Actually, no, I don’t need one. I’ve got a pegasus, haha!” Nova is brand new, freshly trained for a rider and battle, and had been assigned to him upon his entrance to the flight program. The stallion’s calm demeanor is a boon to Chrom, who has always had... inconsistent results when it comes to riding mounts. To be perfectly fair, he’s fine with just riding for travel, which is what they’ll be doing for this trip, but riding in battle... well. Just another reason why he came here to Garreg Mach, he supposes. And he’d never ridden a pegasus before, except for that one little save at the Longfort skirmish—in fact, he’d believed pegasi didn’t like him until he’d come here and stood in his first flight class and been crowded by his and his neighbors’ assigned mounts. Who knows, maybe Sumia’s just hates him for some reason.

In any case, he won’t have to borrow a horse from the academy; he can just use his own, which will be a nice exercise away from class and help them bond. “Nova’s in the student stables. I can go saddle him up right now—will that give you enough time to pack? You’ll probably want to make sure you have everything you need, just in case. Then we can go over the route and figure out the best way to Arianrhod.”

Everything they need...?

No understanding passes through Limstella’s mind. What could they possibly need for such a trip? ( Morphs were better than human soldiers, after all, because they required so little upkeep. It was a boon that had meant Nergal’s army could nearly be endless, so long as his quintessence did not run low. )

Still, they oblige, inclining their head and leading their own steed away to saddle him up. Afterwards, they take provisions from the barracks and tie the bags to their horse.

They are just about finishing when Chrom reappears, pegasus in tow, with bright energy that appears to Limstella nearly boundless.

They look over the other’s shoulder at the map he’s unfurled, silent as they assess.

“There should be no issues following the road. But if you wish to pass through the forests instead, my steed and I can oblige.”

[lmstella]

ylisseanstar:

The knight murmurs a greeting as they shake his hand. Limstella. A nice name, bringing to mind brilliant stars and galaxies, and Chrom finds himself curious about this person with their mysterious and quiet air. “Excellent! Thank you,” he replies, pitching his voice lower in volume to match the other’s. “I’m so glad... I know this is such short notice, but I appreciate the help all the same.”

He goes to answer “yes” and remembers, Oh wait, I have a mount now! “Actually, no, I don’t need one. I’ve got a pegasus, haha!” Nova is brand new, freshly trained for a rider and battle, and had been assigned to him upon his entrance to the flight program. The stallion’s calm demeanor is a boon to Chrom, who has always had... inconsistent results when it comes to riding mounts. To be perfectly fair, he’s fine with just riding for travel, which is what they’ll be doing for this trip, but riding in battle... well. Just another reason why he came here to Garreg Mach, he supposes. And he’d never ridden a pegasus before, except for that one little save at the Longfort skirmish—in fact, he’d believed pegasi didn’t like him until he’d come here and stood in his first flight class and been crowded by his and his neighbors’ assigned mounts. Who knows, maybe Sumia’s just hates him for some reason.

In any case, he won’t have to borrow a horse from the academy; he can just use his own, which will be a nice exercise away from class and help them bond. “Nova’s in the student stables. I can go saddle him up right now—will that give you enough time to pack? You’ll probably want to make sure you have everything you need, just in case. Then we can go over the route and figure out the best way to Arianrhod.”

Everything they need...?

No understanding passes through Limstella’s mind. What could they possibly need for such a trip? ( Morphs were better than human soldiers, after all, because they required so little upkeep. It was a boon that had meant Nergal’s army could nearly be endless, so long as his quintessence did not run low. )

Still, they oblige, inclining their head and leading their own steed away to saddle him up. Afterwards, they take provisions from the barracks and tie the bags to their horse.

They are just about finishing when Chrom reappears, pegasus in tow, with bright energy that appears to Limstella nearly boundless.

They look over the other’s shoulder at the map he’s unfurled, silent as they assess.

“There should be no issues following the road. But if you wish to pass through the forests instead, my steed and I can oblige.”

[fangedjustice]

This was insane. Maybe he was having a mental break. This couldn't possibly be what was really happening in reality.

But the sounds and the smells seemed real enough; the hay-sweet scent of the horses, the sound of people in the market trying to draw attention to their stalls. He really wasn't sure which scenario he'd prefer to be correct right now. Both were equally distressing in their own, terrible ways.

"Don't call me that," Lloyd speaks up more firmly this time, clipped and almost snappish. He didn't enjoy titles very much to begin with, but something like master made his skin crawl -- not even because it was coming out of this...individual. "If we are to work together, names will suffice..."

But he really didn't want to work with them. Didn't want to be near them. Didn't want to feel their flat eyes watching him, or hear his name in monotone from their lips.

As irksome as it was, the stilted conversation was helping the hammering of his heart to calm down.

"Mere months," he hesitantly admitted, unsure how much information he should allow them access to. "I can show you the basics, but if you desire further instruction, I suggest requesting someone better suited and with far less history between you than we have." Lloyd sucked in a long, slow breath; holding it a moment before letting it out carefully.

This was...fine. He could do what was being asked of him, and then once the task was complete, he could get away from them.

"What exactly have you been taught so far-- Ah...you have a name, yes? Your...previous master gave you that much, I hope?" he asked wearily, pushing himself dutifully away from the cold support of the wall behind him

[lmstella]

Lloyd was a fire, hungry for kindling — he crackled and sparked at the gentlest of brushes, the shallowest of considerations. They tilted their head as he cast aside, aggressive, their reverence. Fine, then. He hadn’t earned it like Master Nergal had, by creating them, and perhaps he didn’t fully deserve it, either way. He could be Lloyd Reed, simply. But whether or not Limstella said it changed nothing. They were still beholden to his whims, at least for the day.

It was interesting, too, to hear him remark that Limstella should probably seek someone with far less history between them. Did it matter who they were to one another, in the end? Brendan Reed was dead. Lord Nergal was dead. They were each directionless, purposeless, without their directors. At least Lloyd had a chance — he was human, a being made for freedom. But Limstella...

The thought, crushing and sobering as it was, did not translate to their features. Nothing ever had. (It was a feature Lord Nergal loved in them, so it was one they fostered.)

“Limstella,” they responded, watching him haggardly stumble towards them. They held the reigns of the horse that wasn’t theirs to him. “I know combat.” This, of course, didn’t need to be said — Lloyd was painfully aware. “But this is my first day in an official capacity at the monastery, so I am lacking all other information.”

[failnaughted]

Perhaps, with Ephidel alive and well at the monastery, Eliwood should not have been as surprised to see another of the morphs he saw fall return to the world of the living and now stand before him. And yet, here is Limstella.

The mysterious being whom the young marquess mostly remembers for the ominous gold shine in their eyes that sent a shiver down his spine, and the terrifying magic power they wielded against him and his friends in battle, without a hint of hesitation, even though he could see it recoil against its user in a way that could not possibly have been painless - though that prompts the question: to what extent are the morphs truly able to recognize pain?

(The idea that they would not gives him the creeps.)

The question they ask is one that he knows is not avoidable and neither is the answer to it. “I did,” he speaks plainly, his voice calm to the point of rivaling the usual emotionlessness displayed by Nergal’s constructs.

It is not as though he can really feel bad for it. Whatever apology he would offer to Limstella would be insincere.

“He wished to destroy our world, and if we had not killed him, he would have killed us.” One speaks plainly to a morph, a lesson taken from his interactions with Ephidel back in that strange dreamscape. “So we had to put an end to him.”

Though it is a challenge, he withstands Limstella’s eyes. His own gaze is sharp and attentive, ready to shift at any moment if need be - but his hand does not move towards the hilt of the sword by his side, not yet.

“... Are you here for revenge?”

[lmstella]

As Ninian did before him, Eliwood believes Limstella is here on account of him — that he, perhaps, followed the Pheraean to the monastery’s doorstep, only to corner him now. Perhaps all humans are so self-centered. If so, Sonia did a fair job of imitating one.

“I did not intend to be,” they say, instead. They wish to say something different. They wish to say yes, and summon their magic, and watch Eliwood die the death he should’ve died long ago. But if Limstella couldn’t kill him then, what makes them think they could kill him now?

Maybe... it would be a mercy, to lose at their end. Perhaps they’d be with their master again, if only Eliwood struck them down...

Then again — he killed them once, and they remained alive, did they not?

They roll his next words within their mind with languidness. He wished to destroy our world... That was why he fought? To protect his world?

“Answer me this, Lycian lordling. ... Why do you believe your world to be a better one than the one Lord Nergal was creating?”

[destinian]

Eyes widen and Ninian freezes as though caught in the blizzard magic favored by Nergal's creations. Another one is here. Another one managed to escape fate and find her again. If Lord Eliwood was here, she might have clung to him for support. If it was Nils, she might have stepped protectively between them. But she is alone and she freezes.

They speak and their voice sends chills down her spine. Their questions even more so. The morph brings up the moment Ninian tries so very hard to forget. She knows Lord Eliwood would never ever hurt her, not willingly, not on purpose, but she still tenses each time she sees him with a sword in his hand. Her body remembers.

Ninian doesn't know how to answer. She doesn't want to offer Limstella anything they could use against her or Lord Eliwood or any of their friends. She has lied before but omitting the truth is easier than spinning a new tale.

"Yes......" she answers slowly and timidly, allowing them to believe their own conclusion is true. "It was."

Eyes rise cautiously and meet theirs. "Why are you...here?" Her voice is shaky at first but begins to build a small amount of confidence. "I have...nothing you want...not anymore."

[lmstella]

The way Ninian stands makes her look, quite regardless of her height, tiny and miniscule. Her hands clasped together — her back bent — her eyes wide and searching. It has been over a year, but she is still the child she was at the Dragon’s Gate. She has not changed.

The idea to fool Master Nergal could not have been her own. It must have been Eliwood’s, solely. There is no way a girl that can barely meet their gaze could have resisted their master so fully.

“I am not here for you.” Their tone is flat, near disinterested, as they speak. “But it is good you live... in case there is need of you again.”

[justicefanged]

Any chance he got to teach outside and in more of a practical, hands on approach, Linus took it. He couldn't stand to sit or stand around in a classroom for very long, and actually showing what he wanted the students to do was easier than talking about it. Besides, if they didn't want to get a little dirt on their clothes, then they shouldn't have come to him in the first place.

They were running through simple warm ups at this point, working up to some more challenging battle scenarios, when someone not among his rabble of brats spoke his name.

"Huh, the fuck you talkin' 'bout--"

He stops short in his annoyed demand, pulling out of his occupied battle stance to turn and face this newcomer, only to shift back into a ready to fight position as soon as his brain catches up to his body. For all that he'd never gotten a very good look at them, Linus wasn't about to forget the person that had stood over his brother's wounded body without an ounce of emotion on their face.

"You...," he grit out, breath flaring hot out of his nose as he tightened his grip on the weapon he held. "Funny, thought the same of you sickly lot. Heard Ol' Hook Nose got what he deserved from those Lycian pups. Hope you were there to watch it happen, you filth." He squares his shoulders, spinning the axe in his hands idly but with wordless threat.

"Mighty kind of ya to come all the way here to finally meet your end at my hands. Would'a done it on that day, but I had other priorities to take care of."

[lmstella]

Linus Reed seemed content, at first, to simply spit Limstella’s way. Harsh words, directed with a ferocity and fire they had never known. It was fine. Limstella was not so quickly angered. If Linus wished to tire himself out on insults, he would be met with no resistance from them.

Got what he deserved from those Lycian pups. Hope you were there to watch it happen, you filth.

They don’t hear the rest of the words. They barely even see him spinning his axe with skill and intent. Their body moves quicker than even they register — suddenly, the dagger that’d been at their side is angled towards Linus’ throat, caught only belatedly by the point of his axe.

There’s a beating; no, a rushing in their ears that they have never heard before. They stand before him — white-knuckled, breathing uneven, eyes still wide and directionless, even in the mounting emotion overtaking them.

What... was... happening... to them? Why did they rush headlong into conflict with him? What... was this feeling?

It burns. The tips of their fingers, the back of their throat. The edges of their vision is hazy with the weight of it.

Are they... ill?

They retreat, momentarily. The distance is only, in truth, to summon blizzard; hand drawing the points of a triangle before the magic appears. They shoot directly at their adversary, hoping the stillness of their craft calms the racing in their mind.