Holy Executioner

A roleplay blog for Poe from Fire Emblem Cipher

[loveevangelist]

ACTIVITY CHECK - AUGUST 2025

Activity Check — Passed!

Skill Points:

+1 for Activity

Point Allocation:

+1 Faith (C->C+)

Classes Acquired:

None

Classes Mastered:

None

Skills Acquired:

None

Items Acquired:

None

[loveevangelist]

@princessmacedon asked:

The night of grand splendor comes to an end, chaotic in its short existence and yet quiet in its passing. By the next day things are already as they were, barring the exception of some groggily held heads and sleepy eyes. Maria waits just one more day to be polite, and come the second noontime makes her way over to the cathedral, rose-red eyes flicking over wrists in search of one that bears a starfish. Not this one, nor that one... ... ...ah!

"Excuse me!" The little robin clasps her hands together as she approaches one of the priestesses she has yet to make the acquaintance of, a woman with vivid pink hair and inscrutable eyes and-- most importantly-- a starfish hanging from her bracelet. Maria dips into a curtsy, a smile stitched upon her face in threads of anticipation.

"I hope I didn't surprise you," she giggles as she rises, "But I'm looking for a starfish at the cathedral! --oh! And a traveler with lots of stories!" With her fingertips stippling her chin, a glint of mischief glitters in the young girl's eyes. "And if I'm right... hee hee! My name is Maria! It's really nice to meet you!"

She is not used to awaiting others finding her. The art of pursuit was ingrained in every fiber of her being. Where those she sought went, she followed. To warp, rescue, teleport, entrap—her studies in all of these fields centered themselves around her ability to go where she needed, find who she wanted. So it is with an odd sense of anticipation that in the wake of the Ethereal Ball, she makes her home in the cathedral. Lingers in it a little longer, returns to it a little more often.

And in spite of the wait, her reaction when she is found is neutered.

She looks the student over, girlish and mannerly and brimming with energy, and smiles broadly. "You have a keen eye, don't you?" She asks. Her reaction may seem neutered, to most who do not know her, but to those who did it was clear she was pleased.

A hand travels up to her face, slender and gloved finger tap-tapping at her chin with feigned thought. Well, she did not like to make a liar of herself, and least of all in a holy institution, but to tease was a different story entirely. "A traveler at the cathedral with a starfish and stories... I suppose I do fit that description, don't I?" The woman muses aloud, before locking eyes with the girl before her. Somehow, it is easy to imagine that mask on her face.

"A pleasure to meet you, Maria, Please, do feel free to call me Poe," She says, curtsying in turn. "I hope you are still amenable to my offer, when you have the time."

[boundlesschaos]

continued from here:

oflowersandlight: Poe's charm is returned to her unceremoniously, deposited back in her hand. O ye poor little starfish, rejected by your ocean and washed back ashore! Carefully, Poe reattaches it to her bracelet, where unbeknownst to her it will stay the rest of the night. Well, it doesn't much matter to her; her bracelet may not yet be complete, but that task was secondary to her other purposes for being here anyway. So, she does not feel anything about the rejection at all. Thunder echoes, distantly and dully, over the sound of the waves against the boat. Since spying her down here, Poe has had no question what the role of divine intervention may be today. "Are you that worried about it?" She asks, sounding nonplussed. "I don't know if I've ever heard you consider such things." It surprises her. But perhaps it shouldn't. Everyone, by the end of their lives, worries about their place in the world and what those outside of it might think of them. She herself had been assured as much as a little girl. "No matter what, we always find ourselves in the same place, at the same time. This is just an echo of that, isn't it?"

And it in and of itself was an oddity, was it not?

To find one another, despite the distance they trek. To go across worlds both big and small, to traverse through the stars and the planets and still, somehow, when the encounter reaches a mere one in a million's worth a chance-

She still, still, finds herself face to face with her.

Did she have a good read on her? Calculate based on prior interactions, predict where she might be? A greater power made this possible, Niamh expects to hear instead. That this was all constructed, that it was fate that their paths would cross time and time again.

She doesn't want to agree with Poe. She's stubborn, so stubborn in gaining some ground in a situation where the cards are not in her favor. The storm above has trapped her here. And the person before her, until that boat comes to shore, will be Niamh's company. Regardless of where Poe decides to be, she has made herself Known to Niamh, and as such...

She lets out a sigh.

"...you're not going to leave this room." Maybe if Niamh put up some sort of fight, or maybe if she bored Poe enough. Actually, she's not sure if 'death by boredom' applies to Poe here.

There's one other way they could fight, though. One where it did not rely on their sword and tome, where they wouldn't have to contest with the storm above deck. Where she can prove that this was not fate, where logic would trump fantasy.

...it's a card game, of course. Placed upon the small table in the cruise ship, her gaze meets Poe's own.

@loveevangelist

[loveevangelist]

"You know that I won't," Poe reaffirms, because she knows, that Niamh knows. Her claws are of the barbed sort, and when she found her prey, it was not often that it escaped them. Niamh was special in this way, but that only made Poe grip all the tighter when the opportunity was hers.

So, it went without saying that neither boredom, nor violence, nor any combination nor lack of the two would drive her from here.

"Well, I was going to suggest blood sport," The woman jokes—or maybe not—giggling bubbly and leaning forward over the table between them. She only half looks at the cards presented; she does not need to know what game it is in specific for it to have her interest. "But I suppose it would be a mess for the crew to clean you off the walls, and I would hate to inconvenience them further given the already unfortunate circumstances."

The thunder has long since quieted, but Poe has hardly noticed. The ship does not rock so violently anymore, but they will likely be out on the water for a little longer. A gloved hand reaches out, quietly and naturally picking the deck up to shuffle it.

(it goes without saying, after all, that it would not do to allow Niamh the chance to cheat)

"So, for the time being, this will have to do."

——End🌹

[loveevangelist]

And Is The Devil In The Room With Us?

[loveevangelist]

Continued from here

“You serve a princess!” Poe reacts with measured surprise—even talking the way she does here, Panette hadn’t necessarily struck her as the royal retainer type. More than that, it wasn’t every day that one met a member of the upper echelon or those who integrated themselves in their lives, even as a noble herself; admittedly, those days had come a little more often for Poe than they did for most, given her unique circumstances,

but the situation does still call for measured surprise.

And excitement. The people who worked with those who ruled were… rewarding to talk to, she often found. They had unique perspectives on the world around them that were informed both by the ruling class and the common people, since they were often the bridge between. Her lips curl into a smile, as she sets down her glass.

She probably could not convince the other to stay long enough for them to do more than skim the surface of what she’d like to know, but that was enough for her. There was always more time later. Poe was no stranger to returning to conversations long since considered over. “I haven’t heard of a ‘Solm’ myself, you know, even traveling as far as I have.” She mentions with interest. “Would you do me the pleasure of telling me what it’s like?”

@classybrawler

[loveevangelist]

Don't Sin. She Can't See Us If We Don't Sin.

Among the most recent shipment of new staves for the monastery were a few suspicious items of unknown origin that no one here recalls ordering. Worse still, the last three or four attempts to figure out how to use them have all resulted in random bursts of violence... (Faith+1)

[justices-blade]

Chaos, fire, smoke and ozone. It's been a while since Edward had to contend with fireball explosions, and while the noise makes him wince, that doesn't mean he's gotten rusty. Practically clotheslining another student to haul them to safety, Edward scrambles both of them out of the way of falling rubble before sliding back behind the cover of an upturned table.

That doesn't mean he actually knows what in hell is going on. An initial attempt to placate Poe on her sudden rampage went right into the gutter off the bat, and he didn't even have time to figure out what exactly that staff did before the student that used it in the first place scampered off, only that it must have done something—

He was just totally unable to reason with her, and she was just attacking everything in sight. Like... What, like a Feral One? Can beorc even...?

Ugh! While he would love to just wrestle her to the ground while avoiding getting fried to get to the bottom of this, the fact she can just warp right back out is throwing a wrench into pretty much anything that isn't damage control. Alas, Edward's a stubborn soul, and he is not resorting to blades. That's his friend! He knows when he needs to fight a friend and weird staff aftereffect will not cut it. If it's anything like Silence or Sleep, it'll hopefully wear off in a few minutes.

Just, hrm, how many minutes...?

(And if this really is like those feral laguz, then she'll be—!)

[roll d20: 12. success!]

His thoughts are interrupted by ozone, a bright crackle heralding the flash of lightning, and Edward barely manages to roll out of the way of the hardwood table practically exploding into splinters under a thunder spell— Dang, that was close—!

But you can take the hit! Distract her, distract her! C'mon, damage control!

"Hey, Poe!" Edward yells, hand only briefly palming Caladbolg's pommel, a reflex passed over in favor of a broad wave.

"Where are you going? I'm soooo grillable!" And he hits the ground running for the next piece of cover— Preferably stone, thanks——

[loveevangelist]

In the midst of her holy purge comes a sound.

Poe squints through blurred vision that throbs with headache through each and every heartbeat, searching. That voice on the wind tickles at the back of her brain, and instinct searches for it as she searches for all that is sun-bright, landing briefly on that boy that she does indeed recognize. One third of three.

Oh, he did need to be dealt with, didn't he? He, and each and every one of them who had been there. Amidst darkness, nebulae, inside—no, looking in on caskets, paging through books, wading, speaking with and of it. Yes; they had been allowed to escape death on account of that which stood in direct defiance of what was good and holy. Poor, forsaken things. That was why she had lingered around them all this time, was it not? There were no other reason to keep such a close eye on him, nor—

Lazily her eyes follow that familiar form darting like a rat in broad daylight. "So eager!" She laughs, airy as though she could become an ominous breeze to clear the trickles of smoke drawn by her own hand. "I would have gotten to you eventually anyway, you know."

(Never mind that she too had defied death on that day.)

"But if you insist..."

There is only one suitable weapon for them. From their hearts had been born darkness—a sign, it had been from the start a sign—and so there would be light. With a snap, the bright shine of Seraphim seeks its target.

[Turn: 2 of 5]

[peerlessscowl]

oh god it talks

[peerlessscowl]

His brow arced of its own volition at the sound of her voice, higher, lighter - no less dangerous, but defanged, wasn't it? The warning trill of a freshly hatched raptor - and he allowed himself a few steps closer.

He struggled, briefly, to keep one corner of his lips from lifting, just as she had struggled to lift herself onto the counter in a show of nonchalance - there was a part of him, the part that valued actions over words and emphasis, that itched to pluck her up by her tiny hips and place her onto the counter, all the more convenient for her to be seen by someone that might want to see her.

Eyes narrowed thoughtfully, glancing over her form as she assessed him in kind.

Turning their prior interactions over in his mind, Raven canted his head, pausing before he decided on, "Gentler? Apologies if I've come off particularly…aggressive. Suppose it's all the better our separation - I would hate to, ah…frighten you in your…delicate state."

It occurred to him not that there was some widespread magicks about, nor even that this might have been a side-effect of some mission, that she might have been seeking help to reverse the enchantment's effects in this very inn - were there even any magicians here? Any competent ones? - only that it seemed most likely that the girl had stuck her nose somewhere, and reaped now the rewards of such a curiosity.

"If that's the case," he continued, tapping a knuckle thoughtfully on the counter - not a demonstration, not to rub her nose in how easy it was for him to reach the counter in the first place - Raven gave her the slightest nod, the polite veneer of an inclined head in greeting, in goodbye, "I'll take my leave. Fare well."

[loveevangelist]

Oh, how casually she would cut him off, if she were just a wee bit taller. Two steps would be all it would take to circle around to the front of the man and force him to look her way, meet her gaze or avert one's eyes in admission of guilt. Enabling and preventing escape were something of specialties of hers, after all, even without the use of a spell.

It takes her five steps instead.

Small and hurried things, in spite of all attempt to make them appear otherwise, drawing an arcing quarter circle around him as though just-shy-of-four-feet of girl is enough to block him from the door. "You would leave so soon?" Poe inquires aloud, wondering if he will at least have the decency to look her way when she speaks to him. If not, if he will have the dexterity to avoid her underfoot, come to think of it. "You must be awfully in a hurry—oh! I'm not keeping you from some sort of prior commitment, am I?"

She would bet that she is not, but, well, she's never been much of a betting girl. No matter the question, there is someone who knows the answer. Far easier to simply ask.

"I did so enjoy speaking to you all that time ago." It is already off-putting when one's smile seems so unerring—all the more so when it comes from a child, something almost doll-like in those big, bright eyes and round, rosy cheeks. Unconsciously, the fingers of a free hand fiddle with the hem of its white silk sleeve. "One must take advantage of such good fortune."

[loveevangelist]

ACTIVITY CHECK - DECEMBER 2024

Activity Check — Passed!

Skill Points:

+1 for Activity

Point Allocation:

+1 Reason (B+->B+)

Classes Acquired:

None

Classes Mastered:

Dragon Rider

Skills Acquired:

Tantivy

Items Acquired:

None

[starrook]

straw man's fallacy

return to brodia

[starrook]

As far as the royal family goes, Brodian hospitality includes a friendly spar or three to get the blood flowing—so Mother says, at least. Alcryst decidedly does not want to be on the business end of Poe's spells, so he offers to demonstrate his bowmanship to her in the training grounds... except...

("Sorry... you've seen me shoot arrows a hundred times... it might be boring seeing me do the same thing over and over again...")

So instead of a bow, Alcryst carries a lance. A sword would bring too many comparisons to Diamant, especially the sort of longswords and greatblades that he prefers. Lances offer distance and, importantly, distinction.

"The dummies don't... unnerve you, do they?" Alcryst calls back to Poe. In Brodia, training dummies take on a more human shape—the better to desensitize warriors to killing their fellow man. He heard the Firenese find it distasteful... "If they do, um, I could find some substitutions somewhere..."

@loveevangelist

[loveevangelist]

“Unnerve me?”

The question is unanticipated enough, and vague enough, that Poe has to take a moment to think about what it is that Alcryst means with his question. What was there to be unnerved by? It was rather usual, wasn’t it, to have an effigy of some sort to practice against when a proper sparring opponent was not available. Straw was not an unusual material, either, and it was not as though the face painted on it was especially—

…ah, right. That was unusual to most people, wasn’t it?

Poe waves a hand after the beat it takes for her to make the connection, as though to dismiss the thought entirely. “Oh, my, not in the slightest,” she reassures with ease. For plenty of students, this might be an act to save face, but in the case of Poe it is a genuine answer. “There will always be a face on the other side of your weapon, after all—straw or no. If that bothers you, you’ll be in quite the pickle when you make it to a battlefield.”

In that sense, she had only made it to Brodia a short while ago—there were no shortage of things to be surprised by, curious about, enamored with, or perplexed about, and for how long it has been since she has traveled somewhere she has no preconceptions of but word-of-mouth, her own feelings on the matter are similarly complex. But in this room, full of faced-yet-faceless enemies, she is completely and entirely at home.

“So in that regard, I think it’s a good idea.”

[crookedorel]

counteroffer: i pay you to keep her

[crookedorel]

Dread fills the air as every night, your party grows smaller and smaller. Some people leave your inns in the morning and simply don’t return even by the late hours of the night. When asking the locals about the potential of kidnappers plaguing this area, they all insist that nothing of the sort had been a problem until your group arrived, and it’s clear that it’s only those of your party that are disappearing. Murmurs start to circulate, from both the locals and even those who came with you, of your vanished comrades being ‘victims who are easy to erase’ given all the victims’ lack of any background connected to this continent. How long shall it be before your own friend disappears too, and will tonight be the last time you ever see them again? Or shall it be you who goes missing next without ever saying your goodbyes? (starter for @loveevangelist)

It was as token an endeavor as it could possibly have been.

Berkut could not admit to having been well pleased that this pink strumpet was once again tagging along, that she and whatever band of knights from the monastery had happened upon the same area where he found himself calling on the good graces of the gentry. It had almost been amusing when she had ended up a disappearance in the night, there one day and taken flight the next to greet an even brighter sun.

Less amusing when the knights not only had failed to rally to action to do anything about it, and even less still when the meandering townsfolk and those selfsame gentry he had come for had begun to ponder aloud to Berkut where 'his lovely, rosy companion was', and what action he was going to take to retrieve her.

"I suppose it was inevitable, wasn't it? Pretty thing, but didn't look too bright. Not many of you foreigners are, if you'll pardon me - oh, not that I'm saying you share this affliction, Lord Berkut, just that…well, I'm sure you know."

There had been so much that stoked the flame in his chest, but the worst of it was the condescending pat on the arm and the pained smile as they turned away.

"Pretty thing," he mocked harshly as he trudged along the forest path where the trail had taken him. It had been so easy to track, they simply had not bothered.

Ah, there - a cabin, somewhat rundown but not entirely in disrepair, and clearly the most feasible location to stash a body, if a body it was indeed and still full of life.

"I would be so lucky," he muttered to himself, rapping sharply on the door before letting himself in and, indeed, seeing that pretty pink thing huddled and delirious in the corner, bound but only lightly. His stride barely stuttered as he made his way over to stand above her, propping hands akimbo on his hips to look down upon her with a heavy disappointment.

"Well? You may grovel your thanks at any moment now."

Click-

Spinning, he had not noticed that the door had so gently closed behind him until the lock had latched itself into place.

[loveevangelist]

Poe is not unused to disappearing to people, but it is usually of her own will.

Oh, what a pain it is to be bound. And in such a place as this, no less! Not even the decency to allow her a room with a lamp, let alone a window by which she could tell the time. She supposed either would be more trouble than they were worth—the latter was always a liability in the case of anything intended to be hidden or held captive, and the former would require tending to in the form of oil. What use was there in offering such effort for the comfort of someone intended to disappear? Little, to those who cared not for what was right.

Such darkness makes her itch.

Being left alone with little to do does leave one with time to wonder on their circumstances, and wonder Poe has long since done. A couple unanswered quandaries are the only thing left for her mind to chew on. The first: she does not know how long she has been here. It has been long enough since she woke that she knows she has missed a meal by now, and it has been long enough since she was taken that her stomach implies it is likely many more than that. Pretty pink mage isn’t sure whether she is still in possession of the strength to cast, but the bindings limiting her range of movement make that a moot point regardless.

The second: she does not know how she got here. She doesn’t remember any grand conflict or battle, nor does she remember any figures of interest who she is inclined to believe could have rendered her unconscious. That said, even in spite of the weariness that gnaws at her wakefulness, she has since managed to derive a couple of truths. The ropework around her wrists and ankles is minimal, but executed masterfully; tight enough that she is confident she would not have the range of movement to slip out of the ropes even if she broke or dislocated the bones in her hand, not so tight as to cut off her circulation. They have done this before, then, she has no choice but to surmise, and they are more interested in me alive than dead. Why, she is not sure,

until someone throws open the door to the cabin she is locked in.

She almost laughs. But her throat is too dry, and she is too tired. Instead, Poe looks at him, squinting to recognize the dark figure that has crept into her cage.

“Thanks, was it?” The girl asks, and oh, how she cringes at how she sounds—it has been just as long since she was allowed to drink or since she had anyone to talk to, by the rasp in her voice. “Such things are usually earned before they are given.”

[laruarva-deactivated20251206]

dayshift at denny's

↬ poe & arval ( customer service )

[laruarva-deactivated20251206]

The second spittle speckles their cheek, Arval decides they will not be dealing with this. Instead, Poe will be dealing with this.

Platitudes of empty reassurances are forced from their teeth as they disengage with the nightmare of man, promising to return in just a moment with coos of how it will all be sorted without a fuss once they retrieve a coworker. It sounds condescending to their own ears, by the twitch of a not so lovely patriot's eye it translated that way to him as well.

Fingers flutter up the length of evangelist's arm, from elbow to shoulder, to twist her in the direction of the little issue.

"A right delight of a man, that one. He sent poor Liliana scurrying out back with tears in her eyes." Arval flickers their gaze from Poe to customer, withdrawing to hover beside her on restless feet. "Oddly enough, he was not overly too keen on my either. Something about my tone. I could not possibly imagine what he means by that."

Work is an interesting experience, Arval concludes. They quite like money and they quite like their issues being irritating at best rather than a fret for their life as something or another tries to sever their head from their neck. With skin as thick as theirs, the less than savoury comments spat at them as if they were not even worthy of being the dirt beneath a well worn boot are shrugged off and at times appreciated for the creativity.

Though, that didn't mean they found themself overly keen on watching a girl who had been nothing but sweet shuffle out back because of a sharp tongue.

"I think he requires some of your...guidance. As well as sorting his issues of course, but this is really no way to treat anyone. Perhaps you can get that through that dense skull of his." A hum lines their voice, not bothering to conceal their blatant desire to see him knocked down a peg or two. "Come with me, will you?"

@loveevangelist

[loveevangelist]

Being a servant of the divine does often put one in less-than-tolerable spaces, Poe has known for longer than she could count.

No one more suited than she, after all—her father had always told her that the gods gave their hardest battles to their strongest warriors, and she knew no warriors stronger than herself. Establishments like these were home to all kinds—the willful, the accepting, the irritable, the patient, ne'er-do-wells, and her. In any place with such a variety of personalities, there stood to be room to bring the law to the lawless. In any place with such a broadness of expectations, there stood to be room for her evaluation.

Justice found it only a little more difficult to do that from the kitchen in the back, clad in an apron and armed with a spatula.

(she has made more of less)

The atmosphere of a place priding itself on swiftness of service is frantic by nature—all the more when things begin to go awry. Poe has already begun to note to herself those who do and do not crumple under the pressure. She has yet to be approached by any of the former; the latter, however...

"Your tone? Well, I can't imagine why that would set anyone off." More likely, she thinks to herself, it was what they said, not how they said it—but she is feeling merciful, and refrains from saying as much for the time being. Or it is simply irrelevant at the moment. Liliana was a shrinking violet of a girl, but earnest in her efforts, and Poe has no hard time imagining any number of men or women who might take advantage of that. Nor does she make any effort to resist her summons, or to conceal her sharp and evaluating gaze over the hot plate towards who here might be guilty.

"And what exactly did he take issue with in the first place?" She asks—because any judge will hear both sides of the story before passing her judgement.

[knighteclipsed]

every word i say (is kindling)

“Brodian officials are hard at work devising ways to turn their kingdom’s swords into plowshares. …” | Return to Brodia

[knighteclipsed]

Brodian officials are hard at work devising ways to turn their kingdom’s swords into plowshares. Weapons are melted and remolded into farm tools, and many technologies developed for war quickly find civilian applications. Many fire orbs have been pulled out of storage and installed throughout the castle town to act as heaters during the winter. They only need a fraction of their power to efficiently warm the streets and the people. Now, if only people could stop messing around and trying to climb them…

They are the first thing to catch Valter’s eye upon setting foot in the capital—that is, the orbs laid at regular intervals throughout the city streets. At first, there was an air of understanding that they were meant to be left alone; now, with the group dispersed and the night fresh upon them, he could quietly take it upon himself to look at one up close and personal—just to see how these devices worked.

Which is why he’s climbed one, timed such that he doesn’t expect anyone to stop him. The proximity is required in order to be able to touch the orb, suspended in the air, and that contact allows him to reach into its magic, search for its roots—

It’s a first for him, admittedly, given that dark magic was more to his expertise than anima, and tools of such a tradition were rare and, for obvious reasons, not readily given to one such as himself. (Unfortunate, nonetheless.) Still, it is not so unfamiliar that nothing can be done with it—as he reaches further into its fluctuations, trying to make sense of the original spell, he understands how it is so similar that Fódlan refers to it as one ‘reason’. (Whoever made this civil, however, clearly didn’t like him, because the spell is so secure, he is unable to tamper with it in any regard—he, a nigh master of the dark arts, was unable!)

A long sigh then escapes him as he allows his weight to hang from the pole, then dropping down altogether. Under his breath, dissatisfied as he dusts off his gloves—“ Of course they would make it more difficult than that. ”

Looking up at the orb again, eyes searching for any runes of the sort he might’ve missed—musing aloud:

“ This ‘King Diamant’ fellow is already to my disliking. ” (Another huff.) “ I so would’ve liked to see someone torched with these… ”

this one, officer! (@loveevangelist )

[loveevangelist]

"Would you want to see someone torched if that someone was you?"

When the man descends from his perch atop the fixture in the center of town, that he is awaited by a girl standing at its base is announced by a question. His feet now on the ground, she walks from one side of him to the other, steps drawing a half-circle behind him. Far enough that that there is little chance that either brushes the other—close enough that there cannot be doubt as to whom she is addressing.

Well. She does giggle, and so it cannot be all that serious.

"I can't imagine they take very kindly to anyone climbing all over them like a monkey, let alone those of us visiting from abroad," She comments. The girl reaches up, fingertips tracing the surface of the fire orb. If she didn't wear gloves, she might be able to feel the warmth it exudes a little better. "Most would find it disrespectful, don't you think?"

It might seem that her reason for being here is to admonish him; but things are often not as they seem. Poe has come here for her own reasons. She has begun to gather the beginnings of an understanding of Elyos, a hint of the essence of Brodia, and a little more of the people within it. But knowing what she knows, these particular installments stand out. How strange, she thinks, to see such an important weapon repurposed when, as far as she can tell, the need for such things is far from over.

"...well, I do wonder if they are still functional for their intended purpose in this state, though. It does strike me as odd if not."

[loveevangelist]

As the festivities sweep across Garreg Mach, one member of the Black Eagles House finds herself partaking in a time-honored tradition—one that celebrates the warmth of camaraderie and the strengthening of bonds. A time to forget about the barriers of status that divide, and to embrace all that brings people together.

“poe!” dorothea calls out in a sing-song voice, drawing closer with a light skip in her step. “i’m sure you're as busy as ever. if there’s anything i can do to brighten up your day, you’ll let me know, won’t you? it’s only the most wonderful time of year, after all.” she extends a gift bag with a subtle flourish, its deep crimson coloring reminiscent of their banner. “today, i come not as your fellow student, but as a festive envoy~! this is for you."

inside, she will find a small box of marzipan candies—delicately molded into whimsical shapes. nestled beside them is a snow globe ornament; a fragile, dainty thing containing miniature snow-dusted trees. “may you have a lovely holiday~!”

Poe does find herself a fan of holidays like these.

As equally necessary as inflicting punishment unto bad children was issuing reward to the good ones. That similar traditional holidays existed in many of the worlds she had been to assured that the evaluation of others as worthy or not was something close to a universal constant, a divine rule. Assuaged any doubt that anyone—though of course not her—might have that such a science could be anything but quantitative.

And, seeing that others practiced it in similar ways indicated always that good still existed even absent of her presence.

Even on the colder of winter days, the girl takes the effort to sit outside. The sound of her name still brings her head up from her writing the moment she hears it—while it is not unheard of that she is approached, it also isn't usual. Even less so that her address is accompanied by a gift. "Dorothea, aren't you the sweetest thing," Poe's opinion of her, obviously, is entirely unbiased, and not affected the slightest by the box that she now has in her hands. After all this time, she's simply a good judge of character. "For all that you call me busy, I can't help but notice you often have your own hands full too."

First at the harvest festival, and now here. Such cordiality and kindness does speak well of her. And a hard worker, at that.

"You'll do me a favor, won't you?" At her beck and call a rift about the size of a tea saucer opens in the table she sits in front of, and she reaches into it with a single gloved hand. Without breaking eye contact, Poe retrieves a small, wrapped stack of cookies, and presents them to her classmate. Good in return for good. "It may not be much, but it's only fair that all good little boys and girls be rewarded for their goodwill. May you have the holiday you deserve, heehee."

[direceart]

[a full 24 hours late] Merry Christmas

[lilchxrmer]

you wouldn't tattle

blue sea moon; + lance

[lilchxrmer]

— HORTENSIA SHIFTS UNEASILY under Poe’s gaze. The girl’s smile feels almost brittle, now, and the talk of punishment has Hortensia’s spine curving unpleasantly.

But- the weight of the situation, coupled with Poe’s unnerving ability to see straight through her (or, perhaps, her inability to lie convincingly on matters less serious than politics) tips the balances.

“Okay! Alright. These… well. They’re not just random papers. They’re… answers.” She hesitates, then lets the papers fall from her chest. “For the lance test next week.”

The confession hangs in the air, and she hesitates, her cheeks flushing. But before Poe can reply, she barrels on, her voice rising in a mix of defiance and desperation.

“But before you start judging me, it’s not for me, ok?! I could ace this in my sleep! But- but the guy said there are students here who are struggling. Not everyone is as smart as me!” And this looks like a fact that could tear her up inside. “They could fail, and they’ll lose their place here, and they don’t have anyone looking out for them!”

Her grip tightens on the papers, her gaze dropping for a moment before snapping back up to meet Poe’s. “So. Uhm. There. You have it.”

[loveevangelist]

"…Oh, my!"

The corners of her eyes crinkle, and it is hard to tell whether or not it is with or in spite of the nigh-unmovable expression. Subtle are the clues that something has shifted behind those rosy eyes of hers—the way she leans forward just a couple degrees more, looming; the tightening of her rouged lips ever-so-slightly; the single step closer that she takes, closing an already-insignificant distance.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" She asks, low, a hint of vinegar escaping through honey.

"By looking at you, I would have never expected acts of petty theft, let alone for such an ulterior motive," The taller girl's pigtails bounce with the motion of her head as she shakes it with resignation, nearly brought to a sigh. No matter where she went, evil truly did run deep. The short explanation Hortensia gives in and of itself is enough to imply something with far greater implications than a single girl and a stack of papers for herself, had that been what it were. "As a teacher's assistant, I don't think I can ignore my duty to act upon such things, you know."

[lazulienne]

LA FORCE

         ⤷   return to brodia mini-event:  yuletide tournament  ( combat doc )

[lazulienne]

      So Poe remembered her too. That saved Lapis from feeling embarrassed at perhaps being the only one to have found their exchange in the tea party significant— a conversation, though however brief, had stuck with her in the time since they had it.

“ Sure am! ”  It's a previous win she wears with pride, but pride alone is not enough to win battles. Poe's manner of warping isn't something Lapis is used to, nothing like how wild animals are able to be tracked nor does it resemble how Rewarp staves work. It catches her entirely off-guard, and the bursts of Seraphim hit her fully when her opponent warps again just before Lapis's blade can try and reach her.

Poe 10/10HP counters with Seraphim (Hoplon Guard nullifies the crit) [Roll: 20; -0HP, Lapis 7/10HP] Dazzle activates! Lapis 7/10HP misses Poe 10/10HP with Georgios [Roll: 4 - 8 = -4; -0HP, Poe 10/10HP] Poe 10/10HP follows up with Seraphim [Roll: 14; -0HP, Lapis 7/10HP] Poison Strike activates! [-1 HP; Lapis 6/10 HP]

Lapis skids against the ground, trying to plant her feet squarely to stop the momentum and catch her bearings. The light magic's initial beatings feel easy enough to shrug off but there's something beneath it that lingers, eating away at her.

What kind of magic was this exactly...? It wasn't anything like she'd encountered when training with Citrinne!

“ Fancy trick you've got there! ”  She refuses to show herself flagging even as it wears her down, burns her as if she were nothing more than just another Corrupted to such holy light.  “ If you can do that, you sure could've dodged all the things those flowers threw at us. ”

[loveevangelist]

It's all Poe can do to dodge Lapis' blade a second time. She has seen no shortage of warrior women, given the nature of her existence, but it still surprises her to see such a petite frame handle the heft of such a heavy blade with such seemed ease. With the motion, the mage releases two more spells in quick succession—the sound of steel cleaving through air makes it all the clearer the power with which it is being swung, and Poe knows that if this becomes a war of attrition, she has not a chance of winning. Stamina had never been her forte in one-on-one combat.

Poe 10/10HP misses and barely hits Lapis 6/10HP with Seraphim [Roll: 1, 5; -0 HP, Lapis 6/10 HP]

"If they'd allowed me a weapon, maybe, heehee." Frankly, being forced on the defensive from the start had made it unlikely that she would have won—not without some form of divine intent or intervention on her side, and it took a fair bit of willing denial not to use hindsight to conclude that it had been quite the opposite. "But, well, if they'd allowed us weaponry, I have no doubt the flowers would've been the least of our worries."

In fact, given what she has learned not mere moments ago, she can't help but wonder what had happened in that greenhouse after she had left. She knew it hadn't been a quick fight.

"I think you flatter me, though. Given your resilience, I'd be surprised that you didn't win yourself, were it not for the fact that I know who did! I almost wish I'd been around to watch."

[lazulienne]

LA FORCE

         ⤷   return to brodia mini-event:  yuletide tournament  ( combat doc )

[lazulienne]

      In a tournament of strength, Brodia comes alive. People from all over the kingdom come to spectate and take part, some finding it as their opportunity to either carve out a new life for themselves or to see the country's best. Who would be the next diamond in the rough?

But as one pink-haired woman makes her way through her battles, wielding magic to such expertise as to enthrall those in the audience, the hosts reveal her next battle to be a very special one.

“ The challenger Poe may have mowed down all her rivals so far, but can she stay strong against what might be her toughest foe yet? Yes, that's right, her next battle will be against a previous tournament winner, retainer to the crown prince... ”

The portcullis blocking the arena entryway opposite of Poe lifts, and from it emerges...

“ Lapis!! ”

The swordswoman comes out to fanfare, but her focus is entirely on the mage she's been pit against. How many moons ago was it that they shared a stage like this? The expression on her face is clouded by uncertainty.

“ Alright. Just like all the times before, the match only begins when the coin hits the floor. Got it? ”  the referee calls out to the two of them. 

Lapis nods.  “ Poe... ”

There's not much time for conversation before the match, however, as much as unspoken sentiments lie on the Brodian's tongue. The gold coin soon enters the air, making its revolutions, and the moment it strikes the ground, Lapis pulls her blade out of its sheathe.

Poe 10/10HP counters with Seraphim [Roll: 5; -0HP, Lapis 10/10HP] Lapis 10/10HP misses Poe 10/10HP with Georgios [Roll: 2 - 2 = 0; -0HP, Poe 10/10HP]

The meek demeanor she has evaporates for the sake of battle, not wishing to show weakness in the thick of a fight, as she opens with a wide arc of her sword. Her weapon's swing's large coverage allows her to block the majority of the first assault of light magic cast her way...

Poe 8/10HP follows up with Seraphim [Roll: 10; -0HP, Lapis 10/10HP] Poison Strike activates! [-1HP; Lapis 9/10HP]

...but not all of it. Lapis flinches, feeling what her opponent is capable of for the first time.

@loveevangelist !

[loveevangelist]

It has been a long, long time since she Poe has visited somewhere that she did not have prior expectations of.

As she has heard it, this arena is the essence of Brodia itself, and in that way Brodia is made familiar to her, because she is no stranger to worlds built on the sanctity of justified violence. The fights until this one had been fair. The fights until this one had been hard. She'd retied her hair and toweled blood off of her skin between each fight, healers with staves of delightfully foreign makes had ensured she didn't carry wounds between battles, because they had had to. The warriors here were no laughing matter.

And neither will be the next one.

Poe 10/10 HP hits and misses Lapis 9/10 HP at range with Seraphim [Roll: 13, 2; -0HP, Lapis 9/10 HP] Poison Strike activates! [-1 HP; Lapis 8/10 HP]

The coin has hardly kissed the ground by the time both fighters are in motion. Nimbly stepping back so nearly too late that she can practically smell the steel of her opponent's blade, she fires off two more quick pop pops of blinding holy light in short succession with utter faith that at least one may land. It does. Even if this were a faceless target with a name she could forget, Poe would not think twice about finding some relevant topic to preach on, but at so close a range as they are now, and having heard the announcer, she knows for certain this is not someone so forgettable.

A warphole opens beneath her feet, and she lands a short distance away. Just out of the range of the mighty swing of Lapis' blade, but cockily, not so far.

"Well, so it really is you!" Poe comments, amusement clear.

Poe 10/10 HP hits and hits Lapis 8/10 HP at range with Seraphim [Roll: 18, 14; -0HP, Lapis 8/10 HP] Poison Strike activates! [-1 HP; Lapis 7/10 HP]

Poe is not one to give anything less than her all. Knowing now who it is that she faces, though, she is all the more emboldened to strike quickly. She may not recall much of how she had fought at the tea party—embarrassingly, the girl had been preoccupied with other things—but it wouldn't do here to give her an easy fight. Another dual series of attacks, each brightly bursting and sizzling like a firework.

"I hadn't expected to see you here, Lapis." And royal retainer, at that. Interested indeed, Poe tucks that information away for later. "Prior winner, did they say? I'm not sure I would have expected that!"

[verseandrhyme]

painting of a smiling maiden

Anniversary 2024 - Reason +1

[verseandrhyme]

Would it be extreme?

It is not often that Mitama finds herself in situations where her words fail her. Her dear friends, with a few exceptions here and there, are simple and straightforward people. No matter the other options before them, most commonly the path of goodness and honesty is chosen, with little regard for the effort it will take to get there, and Mitama will go sighing and grumbling after them.

How strange it feels, to be filling those shoes in their absence.

Mitama's reply is delayed so that she may turn to study Poe silently. She does not sense any joke behind her words. If there is one, she keeps it close to her heart. Unsure of what to do, she clasps her hands together, linking her fingers neatly.

"Concerned is perhaps not the quite word...I cannot imagine our clients would be happy to hear that we resorted to such a method, which would cause an ire that would no doubt find its way back to our benefactors at the monastery."

The annoyance of the church and the academy does not frighten her as much as the idea of her father finding out, honestly.

"There is also the fact that we are inside the house." Something that feels so obvious that Mitama nearly laughs as she brings it up, nodding towards the two of them. "I am not exactly keen to see if I might survive a meteor strike. I am quite confident, in fact, that the answer would be no."

Even so, she will concede some truth to what Poe says. Curses that have lasted as long as this one has often have roots that stretch far out beyond their starting point. Like a troublesome weed in a beautiful garden, uprooting it as a whole would take tremendous effort that they do not have the time to linger here for.

Burning the garden as a whole still feels like somewhat of a tragedy.

"If we were to take this approach," Mitama begins slowly. Her eyes return to the painting once more as she wonders if those immortalized eyes can see, or those frozen ears can hear. "...how would you suggest we go about it?"

[loveevangelist]

"You don't think they will understand?" Poe cocks her head. She knew others did not see the world the way that she did, but always the extent to which that was true came as a surprise anyway. One quickly forgets how cold it is outside when they return to the warmth of their own home, and she spent often enough alone with herself (or others as odd as her) that these sorts of logistics were sometimes unintentional afterthoughts. "It's inevitable, sometimes, that peace only comes as a result of destroying that which threatens it. If we hem and haw, it is not as though things will simply get better while we do."

A reminder that while she was here on the church's orders by all technicalities, she was not here for the church.

Maybe the other was. She had called herself a shrine maiden; Poe wonders, if it came down to it, whether Mitama would choose between her divine and which others may represent them. Whose approval matters to her most? Were it between the church, the client, and the only other living, breathing thing human being in the room with her, who would she choose?

From whence Poe saw that painting, all whose souls resided in this home were deemed tainted, and this, a test to see if they could escape without ensnarement as well.

"That said, if you really are worried about our odds of survival—" She snaps, incantation quick and below her breath enough that it could be a whisper on the non-existent wind. A fire flickers at the tip of her finger. "—I never said that I don't have other means."

And judgement reaches out with it to seal the damned's fate.