splintered

Jeritza von Hrym Faculty aff. the Officers Academy Penned by Ree

[lualamina]

Character Notes

For my own sake, a timeline with years relevant to TOAverse (current year: 1181)

Born as Emile, Mercedes' younger half-brother 21 years ago (1158)

Mercedes and their mother leave House Bartels nearly 14 years ago, age 8 (1167)

House Bartels massacre, the Death Knight is born ~5 years ago, age 17 (unknown year but assumed to be not long before adoption into House Hrym)

Adopted into House Hrym as its heir and takes on the name Jeritza 4 years ago, age 18 (1177)

Jeritza becomes a professor at the academy nearly 3 years ago, age 19 (1178)

With the final point in mind, Jeritza is aware of the time loops in TOAverse and has technically been present for our last 3 canon non-compliant timelines, but has no memory of details beyond that. However, this would allow characters who would recognize him around the monastery the time to actually do so.

Some additional notes and headcanons

Ordinarily I don't mind jumping in and winging threads, but Jeritza's aversion to others paired with his sometimes jarring lack of etiquette means that threads that don't involve combat will need to be planned in advance. Otherwise he'll just leave.

Sensitive themes including but not limited to child abuse, suicidal ideation, and serious mental illness are important facets of Jeritza's character but will be tagged as appropriate.

I don't imagine that dissociative identity disorder is something very well understood in Fódlan, since it's hardly understood in the modern era, so as far as anyone in this world is concerned, Jeritza's behavior is just the product of a difficult life. With that said, I do headcanon that Emile, Jeritza, and the Death Knight are three separate personalities, with Emile being rarely seen, if at all. Jeritza is the dominant one at present and dislikes being mistaken for Emile, as his purpose is to protect Emile's innocence from further loss and degradation. Emile will only front during times of peace and guaranteed safety.

I also headcanon that Jeritza and the Death Knight were once one and the same - a guardian that could handle the Baron's abuse, who formed shortly after Mercedes and their mother left House Bartels. After the massacre though, the personalities split again in order to cut off the Death Knight's horrifying capability to slaughter an entire household. The alter that was left behind was later named Jeritza, but this has muddied his sense of identity and is attributed to why he sometimes recognizes that he's the Death Knight, but will assert at other times that they're separate.

Considering how unsurprised characters who once knew Emile are when they meet Jeritza, it doesn't seem that their dispositions are too different. Time is certainly a factor, and hardly anyone in Fódlan has escaped it unscathed, so there might just be an unspoken understanding in this society that you don't point out when someone seems broken. But I'm using this as a base to characterize who Emile was prior to the massacre. To characters who would have known him then (Mercedes, Constance, probably Edelgard and Hubert), he was quiet though not withdrawn to the extent he is now, extremely gifted with hands-on skills (explaining his Mastermind ability and his proficiency in nearly every type of weapon + magic), maintained an innocent fascination with flowers and wildlife, and was bad with words, instead preferring his actions to speak for him.

As a professor at the academy, Jeritza is kind of a loose cannon. He'll follow the Archbishop's orders as long as those orders coincide with Edelgard's, but he does have a tendency to go off-script on missions without telling anyone. He is notoriously bad at communicating and usually requires some volunteer in his seminars to catch on and explain what he's expecting his students to do. On missions, good luck. He'll only give his orders once.

[lualamina]

sara had witnessed him ride into battle atop his tall horse, though she is far less certain the knight had been watching her in turn. the body count trailing behind him spoke to proficiency, his contribution to thinning the numbers of competitors sizeable, but there is blood on his hands and soul, she thinks, that was not spilled on this day but an earlier date.

as it happens, he races off before sara can ensnare him in a conversation, hoisting his defeated opponent onto the saddle with him. lucina, she does recognize by name, but the man who takes leave in what appears to be the direction of the tents remains something of a mystery.

by sheer luck, she manages to spy him a little later, once again attempting to make a quick getaway. he is unaccompanied this time, so sara seizes the opportunity to stand directly in his path.

"i saw everything." a brief silence follows her claim, hands busied wringing water from long purple tresses. all of a suden she smiles, head coyly tilted to one side. "it was awfully kind of you to turn over your opponent to the healers. i wasn't sure you had it in you from the way you fought. in the future, you might remember that human life is fragile. we can only endure so much."

With gifts of kindness in hand, Jeritza steals away from the gathering that the winding down of battle grows ever larger. He will return to Garreg Mach on his own, as if he hadn't been here at all, and stops only briefly by the supply crates to swipe a waterskin from the top. He lingers a second too long though, and when he turns toward the trees, beneath which his horse grazes quietly, he's startled by a girl with probing eyes and accusations to match. His shoulders grow rigid, his back straight, his adrenaline ready for yet another fight, but he assesses her claim in inscrutable silence.

So she saw him. The devil let himself be known to anyone on the field of battle. He was not shy, and he reveled in bloodsport. But that was not Jeritza. He did not care for the blood on his hands, nor the exercise of a mock battle. Or fraternizing with the students and faculty of the academy more than he had to. Wordlessly, Jeritza steps around Sara, but she stops him again alongside her left, her tone now lecturing.

"... Human life is fragile," he echoes in agreement, head bowed. His hair, soaked to a dark brown and heavy, slides past his shoulders. "I long for the day I meet someone who will best me in battle. Until then..."

The fragility of human life would terrify him, and the devil would laugh from within his cage.

"If you need nothing else, I will be leaving."

[lualamina]

🧃🍪"Congrats on your hard work out there."

Jeritza's return to the medical tent had been as much of a mistake as his involvement in the competition itself (he had no recollection of volunteering or signing up, but knew that the demon could smell blood before it was even spilt). The place was a swarm on an anthill, both sides of the battle mingling, talking, laughing, fighting, and taking up space in and around the temporary shelter. Jeritza dared not even deliver his opponent to the hands of a medic directly, opting instead to deposit her gently nearby where others would see her while he slipped unnoticed back into the storm.

Someone stops him though with congratulations. Jeritza grumbles something hardly coherent, eyes resisting an invisible tether woven from etiquette by seeking the horizon for an escape. She hands him something. He looks down with surprise at the box and the still-warm pastry, temporarily distracted from the turmoil of his restlessness.

"... Thank you," he mutters, touched by the gesture and the comfort promised by sweets. A stranger's kindness is not enough to stop the tether from snapping though, and Jeritza wastes no time freeing himself. Out into the rain he goes again to enjoy the gifts alone.

[ulirblood]

Worse Than Death

lualamina​:

Jeritza frowns when she starts to laugh, and the rumble in his throat is caught halfway between a hum and a disapproving growl. As far as he knew, he hadn’t told a joke. He isn’t angry - he doesn’t want to make Edain stop laughing - but then she insists that she wants to be friends and Jeritza’s displeasure turns into an audible sigh.

“Don’t,” he tries to dissuade her. The blood he often found on himself in the dead of night could be anyone’s - the monster didn’t discriminate. Now that he had a glimpse of her, he could even come after her the very next night. This thought makes Jeritza’s back go rigid and he takes a step back, toward the crates he had scaled to get to this side of the alley in the first place. Though Edain had taken his concerns seriously and chased away the woman who had followed him this far, the calm she had granted him sours into fear. Blood did not suit her, and she was lovelier in one piece.

But was she really?

Panic creeps up his throat like bile and he turns away with the finality of a prison door’s slam. His own, he knows, but it’s where he belongs. Where he cannot be touched, others are spared his scythe.

“I am leaving.” He makes the assertion for himself, having been stopped now more than once from departing from the nightmarish festival. His words strain like a dull knife through leather, the only indication of a hell he cannot share. 

“Stay away from me if you value your life.”

her teasing quickly falls to the wayside at the sight of jeritza’s gruff reaction. her expression drops, mouth parted slightly at his insistence that she stay away from him. “but…” she trails off, hand returning to clutch at her chest anxiously.

what had happened to this man that caused him to be so closed off from others? she could not even imagine— and therefor not bring herself to stop him before he could leave. she does not want to force him to stay, but nor does she want to give up on him.

a frown makes itself known on her face, but her determination and stubbornness still do not yield to such a roadblock. it does not matter what he says to her, what he warns her against. she would become his friend eventually, even if it would take her far too much time. even if she had to coax every single word out of his mouth. 

[END]

[exclted]

New prey grows scarce, though the stench of blood hangs in the humid air, as tantalizing as it is repulsive. The mock battle has become a distant memory, replaced now by the adrenaline of war - no, of the hunt. A knight no longer, he prowls the field on his horse, searching for someone who will give him challenge at least. Excitement hums in his veins, but his heart beats with panic: someone must be strong enough to stop him.

Lightless gaze finds a swordmaster traveling with a pegasus knight, both dressed in the blue he has come to equate with targets. As a massive hawk soars overhead, he kicks his steed into a gallop and charges for the easier reach of the two.

Jeritza uses Hit and Run (Killer Lance)! Roll: 18, Critical Hit! Damage: -5HP, Miracle! Lucina 0.5/5HP

His lance spins effortlessly in one hand, and gripped now in a fist, down it plunges into his foe. Then, just as he had twice before, he lets the spear tip's vicious teeth do the rest while momentum carries him past.

The field has grown sparse, its combatants fewer and fewer with each erratic heartbeat of battle. Lucina's every muscle aches, far too many blows landed upon mortal flesh for it to do much else.

But she has endured far worse than this, so her chin remains high and her eyes open, watching the battlefield, waiting-

He takes her by surprise. A lance through the back, jammed between the blades of her shoulders and yanked free a beat later as its wielder gallops past her. Knees buckle, lungs produce a wet cough, and pain sears her every nerve, but she will not be fall without leaving her assailant something to remember her by.

Lucina heals 0.5HP with Prayer Ring! (1/5HP) Lucina attacks with Killing Edge! Roll: 10, hit! -2.5HP (Jeritza 2.5/5HP)

Blade nothing more than a glitter of silver, Lucina strikes. A distant rumble of thunder is the accompaniment to her efforts as her sword catches the rider's leg. It's nothing, she knows, catching one final glimpse of her opponent's blood-soaked lance as she stumbles back.

At least she had made it this far.

[lualamina]

He almost leaves her for dead (has he killed anyone yet? he isn’t sure, doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want to check), but the desperate beat of weary-heavy feet into mud calls him to slow and turn and look into the resolute eyes of the swordsman who dares him to underestimate her. Bright surprise dispels, for a moment, the shroud of death that has settled over his face and the sting across his calf that he knows he should feel behind the arc of her blade does not yet register.

Finally, someone had landed a blow on him. There was hope that he had found a match, a sword that could slay him in a battle to the death. Darkness shutters out the light again, just as the sun could not pierce the heavy storm clouds above. Lance twirls from right to left hand.

Jeritza hits with Killer Lance! Roll: 15 + 1 = 16, Critical Hit! Damage: -5HP, Lucina 0/5HP

He strikes out at her instead of down this time, but she crumples just like hope. Still without equal, he was doomed to search endlessly from one bloody battlefield to the next until blade pierced his heart, or

he woke up.

As if the disappointed sigh had been the exit of the devil, air rushes audibly back in between Jeritza’s teeth. He stares down at the heap, not quite comprehending it, but knowing all the same who it was and how she had wound up this way. He dismounts, kneels to check her pulse, and closes his eyes when he finds that the injuries had been non-fatal. Working carefully, he slips both arms beneath her, then lifts and drapes her gently over the front of his saddle.

If the battle was not already won, then he would slip silently off of the field after delivering this woman for medical attention. Settling into the saddle behind her, he clicks his teeth and his horse sets off toward the hills at a steady trot.

[lualamina]

princessmacedon​:

“Aagh!” Though she catches her new opponent’s arrival, it’s all too slow; a frantic turn over her right shoulder, a lightning-flash of pain striking her on her left. It hurts. She falls back, all her weight crashing into her out thrown palm. It hurts. Mud sticks to sable cloth in mostly-wet clumps, her heart a-quiver in a syncopated beat. 

Maria initiates with Nosferatu! 1d20 = 5 ; barely hit! Fiendish Blow grants +1mag to Maria ; +/-1HP (Maria 1.5/5 ; Jeritza 4/5)

It is a spell as steady as her hand. With every breath, her shoulders rise more, blood and rainwater seeping between uncalloused fingers. No – no, she mustn’t panic. What would Michalis do here? Minerva? 

“Gh…” She knows, but she isn’t them. When she struggles to her feet it is hasty and ungainly; she only tries to meet his eyes, to see him as he inevitably approaches yet again. 

Warmth coils around his body to fend off the frigid rain’s best efforts to make him numb, and sharpens the hazy lines of the misty, grey battlefield into surreal hyperreality. Faith, symbol of a sister and a mother, had always saved him from the stench of blood, and it turns his head now back toward the girl he had knocked to the ground, seeing her for the first time. How small and fragile, reaching weakly to claim enough of his strength for the dignity to rise back to her feet. Fatigue crawls through his muscles, sagging his shoulders and turning the weapon in his hand into a sack of stone. He should just leave her. Find new prey.

Prey. No. He had already done half the work. He wouldn’t leave it.

The mare sorts impatiently, then rears back with a whinny. Powerful hooves beat the earth again, and the knight atop her does not shy from the innocent eyes that await their end.

Jeritza hits with Killer Lance! Roll: 18, Critical Hit! Damage: -5HP, Maria 0/5

She looks like someone’s sister. His hand hesitates for a split second, changing the trajectory of the spear tip’s plunge and missing what might have otherwise been a fatal weak point. Still, he does not allow himself to look back a second time as he thunders out toward the battlefield again.

[lualamina]

Rolled: 1+3(5Dex-2Spd)=4 | Miss!

Ardor thrummed anew in veins dormant from challenge, once silenced through injury and impairment, mended to stand again by a benevolent cleric's mercy――pity, mercy; it was all the same. It was all the same once he resumed his tyranny in the skies, bound on a skyward voyage toward success atop a vessel of russet bronze.

But it was folly――a damnation of irredeemable past plights. It condemned him to ridicule him anew, to smolder that flame which burned its first flicker in many years spent absent from battle.

It was all familiar――the push against the beast's leather cords, the descension to meet hardy earth with speed insurmountable, the heft of his favored hand swinging forth blade to sunder muscle. But the familiarity of friction against sundering flesh did not arise.

He missed.

"Dammit," Digits flex around a shaft of sturdy wood. "Humor me with a fight worthy of my time!"

Do not kill them.

He chafes at the warning. Do not kill them. That was the half the fun. It was the only thing that made this wretched life worth living. But he knows, too, that he must obey. The orders are not from the princess this time, but they are for the sake of freedom. And he is without his death mask, besides, parading as the professor known as Jeritza.

He would not kill, but he would spill their blood. The rain would wash it away if it was too light, so the wounds would need to be deep. Or many. His black mare whinnies and shakes the rain from her head, expelling hot breath from her nostrils in wispy clouds. She was getting impatient. So was he.

Leathery wingbeats reach his ears and his eyes snap skyward to the wyvern they belong to with the instincts of a practiced hunter. The rain had disguised the rider's approach, but the knight catches him just as his mount's wings fold in and they begin their plunge. Spurs startle his horse into a canter. Axe crashes with muddy earth a hair's breadth behind and knight twists in his saddle to strike out with the point of his lance. The jagged edges tear straight through armor, pull blood and skin as its dragged back out, and then it darts in a second time.

Jertiza 5/5HP counterattacks with Killer Lance! Roll: 19, Critical Hit! Damage: -4HP, Michalis 1/5HP

Jeritza 5/5HP uses Hit and Run with Killer Lance! Roll: 10 + 2 = 12, Hit! Damage: -2HP, Michalis 0/5HP Michalis is defeated!

"Disappointing," he murmurs.

He knows he can't linger, lest his baser instincts take over. When he drags his lance from its target a second time, he kicks his steed into a gallop toward the greater expanse of Gronder Field in search of new blood.

[lualamina]

higan [Jeritza & Pelleas]

pirrhyc​:

      Pelleas balks at the description of other people’s fates. Cursed or killed? And this man was sure? He almost goes to ask, but the intimidating way with which the swordsman speak makes him hesitant. He fears a dumb question may become his last somehow.

Though he’s still convinced the man won’t kill him, especially if he was offering to escort him to the beginning, there’s something about his demeanor that makes him think twice about what words he lets out of his mouth.

“ It’s very nice of you to offer that, but if people really are being cursed or killed, can I come with you? I assume you must be here to deal with that then, at least. ”

Though this might be a pretty brazen thing of him to ask too, now that he thought of it.

“ I came here on the rumors of the flowers growing here, but I don’t think it’s right of me to ignore this now that you’ve told me. If people truly are coming here, getting cursed without meaning to… I’d like to be involved in helping stop that.

“ I’m sorry. I know it’s selfish of me to want to get involved, but I can at least help you with clearing a path onwards to where you need to go. I’m not sure how successful just cutting your way through will work with how these flowers are enchanted anyway. ”

“Fine,” Jeritza agrees. He had done his part to dissuade the student from following and falling victim to the same crimson flowers that had grown inside and spilled from the mouths of the villager that had led the tavernkeep to share her horror with him. His duty as a professor of Garreg Mach was likewise discarded, so the two would continue deeper into the mysterious labyrinth as allies on equal footing, protecting one another where protection was warranted, but otherwise saving one’s own life if faced with such a choice.

He assumes the lead, more so following his own instincts than guiding the student behind him. The pathway narrows and widens irregularly, the shrubbery itself growing thicker in some patches than in others. Pelleas had mentioned an enchantment of some kind, and Jeritza is inclined to agree that it is not simply soil and light that has produced such variation. As if reacting to reacting to his thoughts, one spindly tree laden with conical bundles of what looked like wisteria began to drop its flowers one by one, fold in on itself, and then slither away in the form of a dozen vines. Jeritza comes to a stop at this new pathway, comparing it briefly to the branching paths that had been his initial point of investigation. He decides to follow the labyrinth’s cue, at least for now, and chooses the new opening.

Their journey does not last long. After a few brief moments of silence, Jeritza sucks air in through his teeth and stops abruptly. The pathway dead ends with a trellis overrun with vines and bright red flowers, all coiling around the corpse of a man in a rustic tunic and work pants. His head hangs so one cannot see his face, but Jeritza is certain that the flowers originate from his mouth. Dark patches stain the earth all around him.

Jeritza draws the knife from its sheath again and cautiously approaches. With the blade’s end, he carefully lifts the man’s chin. It gives easily, relieved some time ago by death’s rigor, and recoils despite himself when the eyes that follow are open and glassy, the mouth open in a scream muffled by a bloodstained bouquet. His head rolls back down to his chest and Jeritza stares silently for a moment.

“Mage,” he says after some thought and turns to face Pelleas again. “Does this look like dark magic?”

[lualamina]

a petal of love, for you | event

gentlenekomata​:

As she listened to his question, a puzzled expression appeared on her face as she actually pondered about the argument he brought up: someone like her, huh? It wasn’t an easy commitment and the fact that Jeritza was the one that was chosen for that encounter was actually a bit strange too. He seemed the complete opposite of Sakura: aloof, stern and very mysterious –  why did the two of them match up? What did they have in common? Those questions rumbled in Sakura’s mind as she kept the stare in Jeritza’s eyes, of a glacial blue, which were actually quite beautiful, in the end – she has never had the chance of giving a closer look at them and in that occasion, she realized how deep and melancholic his soul might be.

“Here’s your cups!”

She almost startled as the young maiden announced her coming with their orders, carefully putting both cups in front of each client with a radiant smile. “Enjoy it!” and she soon disappeared among the several tables scattered around for the occasion. Sakura couldn’t even make it to thank her, she was too swift and she, on the other hand, was still lost in the question the blonde man has asked few moments before.

“I think that there must be a reason if we are here” she eventually spoke, looking away as she concentrated on the cup in front of her. “Maybe we’re more similar than we think!” she giggled, placing her hands around the cup to warmer them up a little, while blowing away the steam coming up from the liquid. “And to be super honest, I’ve always been very curious about you… Your reserved attitude certainly comes from something very profound” she paused for a moment, fearing the possibility of have been too noisy and blunt for a moment.

“I just like your inexplicable expression… and I want to decode it” she hazarded a tiny smile, wondering if something was moved inside his cryptic heart.

The tea could not have been brought sooner and relieved Jeritza of the discomforting stare his partner had fixed him. It seemed that she had hoped to find the answer to his question somewhere in his face, and he had watched her wordlessly for sign of either epiphany or recognition because, though Sakura did not appear to be from Fódlan, he could never be certain that whispers of House Bartels had not traveled to the far reaches of the continent and beyond. How amusing it must have been for the organizers of the event to sweep across the hall and find them occupied with a staring contest.

Jeritza nodded wordlessly to the young woman who had brought their cups, both grateful and relieved to have something else to occupy his hands and his attention. A tea pot wrapped in a knitted warmer sat at the center of a plain white serving tray, surrounded by ceramic bowls of sugar and honey, the rim of each painted with a tiny ring of flowers that matched the rest of the set. Jeritza scooped two cubes from the sugar bowl into his own cup and watched them disappear in a swirl of amber.

“I do not like talking about myself,” he answered and glanced up. If she found his expression unreadable, then the mask he wore to cover features that might be more readily recognized by witnesses was serving its purpose. While her smile was disarming and her curiosity innocent, Jeritza could not let her past that wall. That couldn’t possibly be why they had been paired up anyway. Searching for someplace else to look, his eyes found the drawing of the flower on the tablecloth again.

“But flowers...” He paused, thinking back to the springtime garden that was by now probably overgrown with weeds and vines. “There was a tree my sister and I were fond of... with flowers that looked like that.”

[lualamina]

Worse Than Death

ulirblood​:

“why?” she blinks once in surprise. she’s not sure what she expected his reaction to be, maybe a ‘no, go away’, but she definitely didn’t expect this. and then when it finally processes in her mind she giggles, covering the smile on her face with a gentle fist. such a child-like question from a grown man.

“because i want to be friends with you, silly.” she states plainly for him to understand, lilt of a tease in her voice. “you make friends by conversation, not fighting. at least, most people do.” perhaps he isn’t most people. “so with that in mind, will you let me stop you for a chat once in a while? i won’t bother you all the time, promise.”

Jeritza frowns when she starts to laugh, and the rumble in his throat is caught halfway between a hum and a disapproving growl. As far as he knew, he hadn’t told a joke. He isn’t angry - he doesn’t want to make Edain stop laughing - but then she insists that she wants to be friends and Jeritza’s displeasure turns into an audible sigh.

“Don’t,” he tries to dissuade her. The blood he often found on himself in the dead of night could be anyone’s - the monster didn’t discriminate. Now that he had a glimpse of her, he could even come after her the very next night. This thought makes Jeritza’s back go rigid and he takes a step back, toward the crates he had scaled to get to this side of the alley in the first place. Though Edain had taken his concerns seriously and chased away the woman who had followed him this far, the calm she had granted him sours into fear. Blood did not suit her, and she was lovelier in one piece.

But was she really?

Panic creeps up his throat like bile and he turns away with the finality of a prison door’s slam. His own, he knows, but it’s where he belongs. Where he cannot be touched, others are spared his scythe.

“I am leaving.” He makes the assertion for himself, having been stopped now more than once from departing from the nightmarish festival. His words strain like a dull knife through leather, the only indication of a hell he cannot share. 

“Stay away from me if you value your life.”

[lualamina]

princepsumbra​:

Whispers of a captured teacher had filtered through the Academy’s remaining forces. The general consensus was to keep it under wraps, so as not to frighten students and the remaining faculty alike. Leo just so happened to be passing by the knight’s hall at the right time—not that he’d long since discovered the shift changes brings all the best news. Most of the time, it was idle gossip, full of intrapersonal drama or complains he had no interest in. He still kept up the habit on the off chance it would eventually yield fruit. 

From there, it was a simple matter to gain approval to go after the missing teacher. Leo is well acquainted with the things that go bump in the night; he has no fear slipping out of the Academy gates, cloth wrapped around Faustus’ hooves to muffle the clop clop clop of hooves against cobblestones. 

Hunting grounds are an odd place for someone of their standing to be captured. It’s not his place to ask questions—he will find out the truth eventually. Leo rides without incident, leaving his mount tethered to a tree some feet away from the boundary line. He spots no evidence of an opportunistic band of thieves looking to make a name for themselves. Rather, it’s oddly quiet. Suspiciously so; he treads carefully on his path to the abandoned shack. 

Moonlight filters in behind him. It’s more than enough light for him to see by. The man—Jeritza, if he remembers correctly—appears unharmed. Leo approaches, unsheathing the dagger at his side. “The academy sent me,” he says softly, crouching behind Jeritza. “Don’t move. I don’t want to cut you.” The blade slices cleanly through the ropes binding the other man’s hands, frayed edges landing in a heap on the floor. 

Jeritza does as he’s told and waits, still as a statue, as the other professor works his knife through his bindings. It takes a few seconds of raspy sawing before the coarse rope finally releases and he rises swiftly to his feet. A cursory check of his wrists reveals no wear in the thick material of his gloves, and aside from a few stray threads left behind, there are no signs that he had even been bound.

“You have my gratitude.” He tosses the monotonous thank-you back toward his rescuer. “It has scarcely been six hours.” A number he gathered from the near-endless observation of the moon’s rise and fall. “This news reached the monastery quickly.”

For better or worse, he isn’t sure. The whole situation is abound with more questions than answers, and as he searches in the shadows that had been previously little more than dense voids of black from his vantage from the floor, he finds yet another one: where had his weapons been taken? A sword, a dagger, some flint, and his horse. A board creaks and bends underfoot and steals his attention away from the recovery of his belongings, new idea coalescing within seconds. He crouches down, takes the loose plank with both hands and tears it free with little protest from its rusted nails. The space left behind reveals that the floorboards are little more than the pretense of civilization over the hard-packed earth, and newly exposed shadows scuttle swiftly back into hiding before the eye can discern their forms in the darkness. Jeritza spares them only a glance and carries the board to the shed’s only door, shutting it and barring it from the inside, then dusts the loose dirt and flecks of rotten wood from his palms and returns to Leo to devise a plan.

“I do not know what has led to my capture,” he begins with lowered voice, wary of a patrol outside that has yet to make itself known since his imprisonment. Shadowed eyes scrutinize Leo’s face for a moment, bright despite the dusk, filled with an aliveness that seems at odds with the rumors of vacancy and void that surround his name within the monastery’s walls. “What was the story that brought you here?”

[lualamina]

dracaena somnolenta

ofdusk​:

Pale brows raise. Success. Or something like it, anyway. She has found a gap in well-wrought armor, and such a development only spurs her forward still.

Her gaze follows his, darting back when he speaks again. A smile tugs at the corners of her lips as what he’s suggesting pieces together. “Oh, I didn’t know that.” Not that she needed to send them back home to ensure such pretty things came to rest in her sweet baby sister’s hands, but that’s hardly a matter for now. “Thank you, I’ll keep it in mind.”

A pause, a moment’s silence before Corrin speaks again. “Lavender is good, though I always preferred my own teas a bit sweeter.” She hums softly, thoughtful. “Do you still favor it? I know tastes change with age, or so they say, but I always found mine to stay much the same.”

It feels perhaps intrusive to stare at him, so she stops; looks anywhere but, across rows of herbs and flowers as she speaks. “When it comes to things with memories like those, I don’t imagine I’ll ever outgrow them.”

Lavender tea. A bowl of sugarcubes. A jar of honey from a local beekeeper. Rose petals, dried. Sometimes orange peel. Sometimes lemon. Apple mint on occasion. The little tea table in the parlor - the one Jeritza, Mercedes, and their mother kept all to themselves - was always overflowing with ingredients in the afternoons. The sun would come in through the southward window and gently fill the room with the scent of citrus and herbs.

Jeritza had not considered that the tea was not sweet, his own cups always doctored with sugar and honey, and made all the sweeter by the well-preserved memories of that little room - the last bastion against the covetous eyes and greedy fingers of that house. He steps past Corrin to check on the bed of lavender in the row on the other side of the roses, the sound of his heels - far lighter and careful than one would expect of a man his size - the only response to her voiced thoughts for a moment.

“I have not found any like my sister’s,” he says, brushing the pads of his fingers along the stalks of tiny purple flowers. Whether it was in the way she had dried them, or grown them, or perhaps even flavored the blends she made, he was unsure, but lavender tea had never quite tasted like he remembered since she left him.

“I prefer sweets... sweeter tea... And the memories that come with them,” he agrees in a somewhat roundabout way.  “Those flavors provide me glimpses of happiness that would otherwise be lost.”

[lualamina]

Worse Than Death

ulirblood​:

he doesn’t seem the type to talk much, but then she can’t blame him after everything that had happened. it had certainly been a dizzying past hour. “oh, must you really…?” she asks in a quieter voice then before, both hands clutches daintily to her chest.

she shouldn’t keep him longer than he has to be here, not with how clearly unbearable this is for him. she lets out a sigh, hands falling to her side. "well, i do hope you feel a little better sooner rather than later… and i’m alright, really.” she reassures him. “again, just a little surprised over such a thing happening to me. i just have one thing i would like to ask you before you leave. if i see you again, may i approach you for conversation at the very least?”

Jeritza isn’t one to question or insist or search for truth under the surface, so he accepts Edain’s assurance that she is indeed fine without further comment. Surprised though she might have been by taking a tumble over a stack of crates, he can think of half a dozen reasons why and what she could do to not have that happen again, but sees little need to speak those warnings aloud. He’s certain she’s sensible enough to see them for herself, and so he turns to leave the alleyway. She stops him with another question though, and he glances back over his shoulder, the start of a ‘what’ already at the ready.

The featureless mask he wears conceals the way his brows knit and cast their shadows of confusion over his eyes, and ‘what’ shifts rapidly to “Why?” This time given a voice. Who would ever seek him out simply for conversation?

“I’m better at fighting than talking.”

[lualamina]

a petal of love, for you | event

gentlenekomata​:

Few moments has passed since she has drawn the cute cherry flower on the table cloth and without her noticing, an unknown yet familiar figure appeared right behind the chair at her table, a towering man stood still, eyes fixated on her, as if he was assuring she was the one he was looking for. Before anything happened, he spoke few words, with a tone that slightly made Sakura alert, but not in a negative way –she just wasn’t sure how to properly deal with that situation. But one thing was for sure: she didn’t lose her smile.

“Shall I offer you some tea, mister Jeritza?” she gestured with her hand the chair in front of him, hoping he would sit with her and share the time being. “It’s a bit awkward, I know it, but with this little opportunity, I just hoped to find someone like me, with the same interests and passions..” she paused for a moment, actually pondering about the person she had in front of her: she didn’t know much about the knight, yet she has always been quite curious about his background and his role in the academy. He definitely was a mysterious person, but Sakura wasn’t intimidated by the aura he emitted, on the contrary, she has always been quite fascinated by the mystery hovering around his figure. Plus, they apparently had the same interests, which in Sakura’s mind sounded quite outstanding, but still.. she wanted to believe that something good was hiding inside that enigmatic man.

While she still was lost in her thoughts, a vivacious maid approached their table with an enthusiastic attitude, bowing to both partner and then addressing directly to Sakura.

“Would you like something to drink miss?”

Caught off guard, she exchanged a quick glance with her newly acquired partner, then shifted back to the cute maid. “I’d like some tea!” she took a moment to reply, thinking about a flavour he might like as well, even though she couldn’t possibly know it, if not by chance. “Maybe something with fruity flavour.. How about a honeyed-fruit blend?” and she turned toward Jeritza, quizzically looking at him as to wonder if he would like the same scent or if he preferred something different.

I wonder what he actually might like, she thought to herself, waiting for him to reply and imagining how this quite curious encounter would develop.

Tea? Jeritza followed Sakura’s gesture toward the chair and considered it for a moment. He didn’t recall any mention of a tea party, but truthfully he hadn’t been particularly thorough with his examination of the form he had been told to fill out either. An order was an order, and participation in the monastery’s many social and - in Jeritza’s opinion - frivolous events was just part of his penance. It ultimately didn’t matter what he felt, or how uncomfortable he was without a sword in hand, but at least tea was one of the more tolerable affairs. The expectation for words could be filled by preparation and drink, and once the pot was empty, it was reasonable to leave. Expectations, rules, and a time limit. That was that.

After a beat of silence, Jeritza pulled out the chair to sit, though without quite settling. Back straight, vigilant eyes flickering toward exits and mapping routes of escape, framed him in the mold of a soldier on patrol, not the noble that he was enjoying a pastime nobles were expected to enjoy. His partner, on the other hand, seemed right at home. Her smile was soft, her eyes gentle, her voice full of compassion and empathy. Awkward was perhaps an understatement, but as she spoke, Jeritza found his shoulders relaxing just a little.

One of the servants in the room approached their table and Jeritza was more than content to let Sakura take the lead. He was not, however, expecting her to glance toward him with a question about his preference.

“Ah...” The servant was now looking at him expectantly too. “That blend sounds fine.” And with their order taken, she smiled politely and left to prepare a tray. Jeritza looked back at Sakura.

“What did you mean... ‘to find someone like you?’ Do you believe in that woman’s matchmaking?” That woman being, of course, Micaiah. The others who had their hands in the organization of the event had hardly crossed into his sphere of awareness.

[lualamina]

a petal of love, for you | event

gentlenekomata​:

devoted hearts starter ♡´･ᴗ･`♡

She has been nervous since the day before and she would certainly would be nervous as well even during the meeting: it was her first time participating in such gracious and beautiful event and since she received all the instructions from Prince Pelleas, she kind of felt a bit anxious if she wasn’t able to do what she had to do, for making her mysterious partner recognize her as its ‘devoted heart’ person. Since time was running pretty fast and lunch was approaching in a blink of an eye, she decided to quickly put on her favourite dress: a very cute short sleeveless kimono with some pink decors, a big bow on the back as a final touch to this apparel, which was quite simple, yet delicate. Lastly, before exiting her room, she picked up with her a small purse full of colourful markers, in order to perfectly follow the instructions given by the charming prince of Daein.

Few minutes and she reached the place where their meetings have been organized, the delightful garden near the church, the one with several tables made of metal in white and at the centre of the zone, a small white gazebo with some trolleys of food and beverages, especially placed there for ‘The Petal Party of the Day of Devoted Hearts’, the thrilling event that Sakura and many others would be attending with a special someone matched with their preferences.

Quietly, the petite priestess walked through the many tables, until she found a position that was quite adapt for her and gently sat on the chair, already rummaging in her bag to find a cute colour to begin her drawing: she wasn’t quite sure at the beginning, but after a bit of thinking, she ended up drawing one of her favourite subjects – cherry flowers. In no time, she immersed herself completely in the making of the drawing and within few minutes, she finished the little piece of art, with a pleased expression on her face.

I really hope they’ll find me and this cute drawing, she thought to herself, now looking around with a small smile on her lips.

Sometimes Jeritza wished he had chosen the gallows over a position at the Officers Academy. The expectations placed on him as the unwilling head of House Hrym and the responsibilities of a professor forced him into situations he would have otherwise avoided by any means. This bright and colorful social event was one such torture, and as his eyes roamed over the heads of the many in attendance, he couldn’t help but long for the dungeons. At least there, it was quiet, and he could be alone.

Someone drawing on the tablecloth, that was who he had been instructed to find. He lingered near the doorway for a while longer, curling and flexing his fingers, trying to quell the jittery sensation that buzzed beneath his skin, to smother the demon that could emerge at any moment and turn pinks and whites to messy smears of crimson. The sooner he got moving though, the sooner he could check off this box on his list of responsibilities and leave. His legs were reluctant to take him anywhere near the center of the throng of guests, where the chatter and laughter was loudest, so instead he started a wide arc around the party’s perimeter, faintly aware of the feeling of being a beast stalking its prey.

His eyes swept back and forth as he walked, searching for splashes of color on the white cloth. Someone had spilled a drink here. Another had dropped a soft pink petal, but somewhere off to the side he finally caught sight of a flower inked into the cloth. The unmistakable five-petaled cherry blossom was one Jeritza recognized. There was a quiet corner of the garden of House Bartels that harbored a single tree - imported - which came to life every spring for but one week.

Realizing that the sight of the drawing had stunned him just shy of the table itself, and that its artist was looking at him, he hesitantly drew closer. There was another chair across the table from the girl, but he did not take it, choosing instead to tower over it. Silence draped them both for a moment.

So he found who he was supposed to find.

“... Now what?”

[lualamina]

@gentlenekomata sent: ❰ MEDIC ❱❱ sender bandages receiver’s wounds

The battle had ended much too quickly. They all did, in truth, but this one had brought the knight close to that which he so desired. The crimson that flowed from a gash across his ribs was still warm and wet, and the pauldron on his shoulder bore a fresh dent from an axehead that had nearly claimed his life. A stray arrow - an allies’ or one of the bandits, the knight could not say - had grazed his cheek as well, just below the temple. Yet none had succeeded in bringing him down. The excitement of the fight drained from his blood as he gazed out at the littering of bodies from atop his horse, and left him cold and dissatisfied.

Death had been so close, yet even the one who had managed to strike him with his axe had crumpled far too easily before his blade. How long would he be made to chase futility? Hard eyes sweep the battlefield for search of movement, but he sees only knights and students from the monastery picking their way back to camp. Still, he does not put away his weapon.

A small voice draws his attention away and down toward the timid priestess who has come to fetch him. His gaze remains cold.

“You waste your time,” the knight warns. “I’m not through yet.”

[lualamina]

dracaena somnolenta

ofdusk​:

For an uncomfortably long moment, they simply stare at one another. Corrin gets the distinct impression that he’s assessing her; searching for a familiarity among her features that, evidently, he does not find.

At the very least, this stranger seems to decide against naming her a threat.

She blinks at his profile as it turns away, unabashed in her own curiosity. If he wants to be rid of her, then he is doing something terrible of a job to lessen her interest. To every person there is a story to know, and stories always had been among her favorite pastimes. 

“Remind you of..?” The prod is gentle, made as she finally looks away. “They remind me of home – I used to get in trouble for picking the ones that did manage to survive at home. I snuck them from the courtyard to give to my siblings when they came to visit.” 

Crimson eyes flicker back to him, waiting to gauge a reaction. If there is anything that Corrin knows how to do, it is fill a conversation’s air on her own. Historically, it has worked out in her favor. Most of the time, anyway.

A few idle steps further through the rows of flowers. “My younger sister always favored the more colorful ones, so I tried my best to save them especially for her.”

Flowers that remind one of home, commonality Jeritza had not expected to find. There were few who understood him, few he allowed to understand him, and even fewer who knew of his history. He lived on an island of his own making, far out in some unreachable corner of the sea where he was certain no one could find him, but now a boat has run ashore and he regards it with timid curiosity. She moves closer. He remains where he is.

“My sister... also loved flowers,” he says at length, staring at the roses as if looking anywhere else in this moment of rare vulnerability would turn him to stone. “Lavender. I would beg her to make tea from it when we were children.”

His eyes flicker over the bushes toward the boxed-off space for culinary herbs. Several bunches of lavender dot the center, full with vibrant buds in the dead of winter, but their abundance serves only to remind him of an irreparable distance that physical proximity with his sister has only wedged wider.

“Monastery residents are allowed to save cuttings,” he says in an awkward, disjointed effort to transition the conversation away from himself. The invitation to take flowers to send back to her siblings, though the intended message, remains unspoken in the emptiness at the end.