fjarlægðin gerir fjöllin blá

"blue lions instructor" affiliated with The Officer's Academy

[nidavellirs-king]

you || fáfnir & bruno

toaboel post r1 knockout - forest behind the med tents

[stormofembla]

— man, why now? i literally just got taken out by a christmas tree [ cw: dead dove / torture / graphic depictions of violence ]

He feels the sharp sting and tug on his arm before he sees the person, but even when he connects that damned crown with a name, he follows anyway. The first reason, to keep his own wound from reopening, even as his poor bandaging unravels; the second, to take the evident madness away from the safety of the tents.

His mouth is dry when they approach the smallest of clearings, tucked within a cluster of trees; but for all he had been prepared for, the pull of his own flesh was not what he had expected. Bruno hisses, recoiling at the gash pulling taut, at the stitch that stretched to split healing skin with a dribble of scarlet. His free arm glows a faint blue as it clings tight onto Fáfnir's pulling wrist, decorating it in a thin layer of frost; but in the pain and discomfort, that is all it can do — decorate.

"And what good has that lack of honor done for you?" His hold on Fáfnir's arm tightens. "Think again before you lose your hand."

[nidavellirs-king]

— getting taken out by the christmas tree is why we're here bruno (cw; very very dead dove, torture, graphic depictions of violence)

"Ah, the same chill that got you here is it? Try me. Try me again and again until you've frozen every limb over. Surely you are capable of that if you make claim of my hand? No. A wiser man would make claim of my life. You are neither wise, nor can you do anything to stop me in the slightest." Fáfnir's finger pulls further and further up until the skin pushes into itself, maybe it'd be best if it healed like this. "A scar suits you."

If the man cannot die - in a way that matters - then the least he can do is honor those who will by being a canvas to paint.

"Time and again you misunderstand, eager princeling. I lack no honor. I lack in nothing." The thread gives as much as it can, with how far it's been pulled upwards it is a miracle it has yet to snap.

"It's you who lacks consistency, who applies all you believe in vague swipes according only to your own likes. I recognize this world for what it is. I know what it is that it needs." It certainly isn't this false notion of justice and honor that so many seem intent on abiding by.

[nidavellirs-king]

🧃"Here darling, take a quick breather before you go cheer for your students!"

Cheer? Admonish is more the word he's hoping to enforce. If he witnesses another student holding their lance improperly he is personally going to rush out into the field and tie a rope around their hands such that they cannot physically hold the damn thing the wrong way.

But those thoughts digress from what is before him. He takes the juice box with curious eyes and huffs. He pokes the straw in and sips. "Likewise, don't forget to take some refreshments for yourself."

The only way any army runs is if the supporters are likewise supported. Scorning the gift that makes his throat feel less strained isn't a particularly smart idea. That said, giving thanks for the expected would be too much and thus he refrains.

[nidavellirs-king]

you || fáfnir & bruno

toaboel post r1 knockout - forest behind the med tents

[nidavellirs-king]

"Always relying on others is it?" Bruno is not hard to find, the other professor, the prince, the Emblian whelp -

(cw; very very dead dove, torture, graphic depictions of violence)

Fafnir's grip is unbreakable, his gait far too fast but it's not as though he particularly cared if Bruno's injuries reopened or not. No, he in fact did as he will personally see to the fact that they reopened.

Once they reach a space behind the med tent and beneath the trees where the voices and clamor and clash of metal upon metal fades into the background of the world. Where Fafnir had been holding Bruno's arm, pulling him along, he slowly slides up the mans sleeve. His glove is thrown to the side and his fingers dance along the stiches that lace the slash on his arm. "What paltry work."

His fingernail slips beneath one of the stiches and slowly starts to tug upwards.

"What good that honor has done you."

[fellsparks]

got 99 problems but lethality ain't one

TOABOEL2026 Round 1, Battle 2

[gondul-fang]

Nino has never seen a white magic spell like the tall green-eyed man uses; it hits her head-on, and feels like it saps the very force of her life. In turn, the spell returns to its master, and seems to make his skin all the more radiant. Though he has no wounds to heal, she'd seen him use it before. What a terrifying power! There's so much that she has left to learn about magic.

The red-eyed Eagle woman's hands guide her out of danger while Nino catches her breath, shortly followed by a taunt from the caped man. The woman pays for the choice of moving Nino out of harm's way, suffering at the end of the Lion's lance.

Nino has seen war already, at her tender age. She has seen friends fall before her, in the name of keeping her at the back, keeping her safe. No one will die on this field, thank goodness, but the memories it stirs threaten to chill her blood. So many people have already sacrificed so much for her; even in a mock battle, she must do all she can, face any pain, and be worthy of that.

"I'm not hiding from anything!" she cries, readying another bout of wind - less potent this time, but still capable of slowing the caped man down. Maybe he's only talking so big because he's having trouble staying upright.

[fellsparks]

Sephiran's magic is annoying.

It chips away at her with every hit, the bright blasts inflicting more and more damage to her body. There's a part of her that's glad it's directed at her and not the little one beside her, enabling them to further pick away at their opponents-- but briefly, Nel's glad that the two of them had never faced off when stuck in Argent and Haven. Things would've been much harder. This time, though, she's had enough of it. "Little one, stand your ground- and prepare yourself. I believe I am done playing 'tag'." Nel leaps straight into the air at that point, twirling her lance until it points straight down. It's not aimed at anyone in particular, no-- and as she sails downwards, the tip slams into the earth hard enough to crack it straight towards the enemy's team. Chunks of dirt and rock fly from the massive impact, and the Fell Dragon needs to only yank her lance back to survey the damage inflicted. A crevice, complete with jagged edges and deeper than a simple point of impact. "The next strike will come for your heads." @nidavellirs-king @thelightofcreation @gondul-fang

[nidavellirs-king]

Honor is as flexible as they who tout it want it to be. If it allows them to be merciless, then it is honor. If it allows them the win, then that is honor.

What a convenient word it is and what a foul existence for those forced to endure such idiocy, such arrogance. The woman begins an attack, the kind scholars of old called foul play, the sort of moves knights are made to see as dishonorable. But it is for the sake of protecting a child, thus it is honorable no matter how despicable an action it is.

He wants to wretch, he wants to claw. How the seidjarn would feel so familiar, so blissful to cleave through.

For their heads? For their heads?! He balks out a laugh. "Then come! Until we all fall, until the nature of it all is abided by as it should be." He wishes to see it, he wishes to know.

"And when it is you fall in your next bout, recall that none of it has ever mattered." Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. He hopes they all burn. Maybe then they will find themselves in a world better than this.

@thelightofcreation @gondul-fang

[fellsparks]

got 99 problems but lethality ain't one

TOABOEL2026 Round 1, Battle 2

[peerlessscowl]

Ah, so she did remember him. In spite of the winds that carved in his direction, the intention clear to take advantage of him while he was distracted with a different opponent, the corners of his lips curved upward, just slightly.

"Hello, Nino. I see you're taking well to the environment," he remarked, bringing an arm up to shield his face from the debris and mud that splattered upward with the gust of wind, and he inclined his head in greeting, and acknowledgement. "I hope you'll forgive me for this, but I'm going to focus my strikes on him - "

A gesture to Harken, and an attempt at shooting another blast of ice in that direction, the intention to freeze the mud about his boots, but this sputtered and frosted gently at the grass once more instead, and although he initially frowned, eyes narrowed, with a sigh, he canted his head at the girl once more.

"At the very least, you're far more skilled at this than I am, aren't you? No chance you'd like to show me how it's done, is there?"

Next! @fellsparks

[fellsparks]

It's only expected for her aggression to be returned in kind, but the familiar stinging sensation of sliced flesh doesn't come close to bringing her to a halt. Crimson eyes bore into the expression of her opponent before she steps closer into his space-- the less room to move, the easier it is to trap a lance wielder in a standoff. Nel can't quite twist her own weapon to swing it down in an arc, and instead, she opts for slamming part of the hilt into the front of his chest. It may not cause any sort of catastrophic damage, but it'd certainly ache and bruise. There's no time to follow up, however, because the opponent's formation is already shifting. It leaves her letting out a hiss under her breath, a few deft steps returning her to the side of her other allies. Harken, she remembers from her time in Argent, seems to be garnering the attention of some fighters. "At least this time, we are not on opposing sides of a battlefield. For that, I am thankful." Nel wedges herself at his side-- slightly ahead of him, at an angle where she may be able to deflect attacks with the reach of her lance. This one isn't nearly as large and imposing as Represailles is, but it'll have to do. The girl at the end seems adept enough at magic, which is a good advantage. "And you, child. Excellent aim. I am pleased to see a skilled mage on our side." @nidavellirs-king @inserviceto @thelightofcreation @gondul-fang @berglietz

[nidavellirs-king]

Fáfnir grits his teeth, but his grin sits no smaller on his face. His lance, the handle at the top, catches the brunt of the blow, deflecting the lance such that it diverts to his shoulder. Either or, truly where does not matter. It's the how's. Bit by bit, he wonders if Bruno might think his choices now honorable or just as bad as the deceit he force the man to endure.

Regardless, the field is his to command. From where she had graced him with her presence, the pommels of each lance are hooked together and he turns shifting to the side and away from her. Eyes preceded by an arctic chill look to his left then right. The man to his left has taken the brunt of the injuries yet slowed little.

"Your continued participation relies on how fast you decide to be. Have a few hits slowed you down or are you not yet ready to give in?" It's the best substitute for encouragement he has for a man he knows nothing of. He's familiar to an opponent at least, perhaps best then to get her out of the way of her.

And then there is him. The man in the springs. Never had he expected to see him, but he supposes with the skills he maintains, of course he would have interest in such things. Fáfnir thinks and thinks for two perhaps three seconds. Nothing, there isn't much to say to him. So he settles. "Never did I expect to meet you here."

Then to his opponent. his grin grows larger and he stands straight, his lance held out at his side. "You are aware who it is that's always targeted first in a convoy, no?"

@gondul-fang @inserviceto @thelightofcreation

[nidavellirs-king]

a lesson in kindness a lesson in strife || fáfnir & bruno

a tense tea time || 300 wc limit

[stormofembla]

Numb to death? Being granted permission to live — by someone as insignificant as Fáfnir — is a mercy? The insinuation that Embla was a mere distraction, that his people's lives had been wasted for nothing? Bruno's teeth clench at the hold, and in response, his hand lashes out to return the clamp on Fáfnir's wrist.

He thinks of pulling the poisoned hand off of his face.

Instead, he pauses. "Do you think death is permanent? Do you believe that you are the force that determines who lives and dies?" This time, when he laughs, it is through gritted teeth, choked as it catches in the back of his throat. "You know less than you believe. Do you recognize your own insignificance?"

Bruno's hand darts to the side, searching — and although it knocks his own cup over, it finds a handle. A small knife, meant for bread, and still he picks it up; still, he slams it down on the table. "No need to go to the training grounds. I do not desire your mercy. If you have the intent to fight," he spins the handle to face Fáfnir, "you can do it right here. Kill me. And when I return tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after — kill me again, and again, and again."

Whether or not that is truly the case, he is not aware. But time and time again, Bruno has crossed the borders of life and death — so who is truly to say? Regardless: "I know the honorable dead speak," he stares back at those hollowed eyes — so devoid of humanity, "because I continue to stand. If death will never grace me, then honor is all I have to feel alive."

"May that realization," he seethes, "haunt you one day."

[nidavellirs-king]

Not for a single action does his hand move. Not as the man spits his vitriol nor as he offers a tool to see himself undone. No, not numb to it. Tormented by it such that living itself is the punishment and death may be the mercy.

When Fáfnir's hand moves, it is downward, to the other man's throat and though it does not squeeze, his fingers press into delicate skin knowing they could easily break it of he wishes to. "Do you think the lack of permanence makes it any less painful- any less desirable? You speak of my belief and yet here you are, so blessed that your life is one that will not end, you a protector of your people henceforth until the day you have none left to watch over. That day can come oh so much sooner if you wish it. If death is truly such an insignificant thing."

"You do not discipline a dog by killing it. You certainly make it think that's the case." Fáfnir would rather a useful unruly dog over a dead one. In time he will be trained, that much he is dead set on.

Blue eyes stare at the breadknife and he takes it, only to place it back from whence it came.

Has he not done as Reignn would have wished? Has he not been as amicable as man as he could? Bruno grits his teeth and what for? If he had less manners he'd spit at the insult. As if this whelp had anything to complain for.

"You mistake me." As if he does not understand honor. How else would one so soundly break it.

His hand squeezes Bruno's choke points for a moment before his hand retreats and he lets out a breath he didn't know himself to be holding. "I am haunted by nothing. I've told you my aim and whether you find the heart to get over yourself or not, it's not you who will suffer for it unless you believe a slew of "your" students taught in contradictory manner is what you would like to present as proof of this honor that gives your life purpose."

[nidavellirs-king]

a lesson in kindness a lesson in strife || fáfnir & bruno

a tense tea time || 300 wc limit

[stormofembla]

The mask hides little now as a deep scowl breaks out on his expression. While Fáfnir is correct in labeling their students as shared — "When I look at you, I see no professor. I see a husk with... foul intentions. Someone who intends to utilize the students to his own benefit instead of placing their futures first."

"It is honor that creates legacy; it is dishonor that creates tyranny." After all, Bruno had been the cruelest version of himself when he had prioritized deceit — hadn't he? "How a leader handles war will affect how they treat their own people in peace. That must be a foreign concept to you, isn't it?

"But that is besides my point. There is no need for you to teach this lesson on defense — I'm afraid I have more experience than you might, thanks to Niðavellir under your leadership." A laugh, dry. "While I would offer you a seat in the lesson, I believe I may be out of open spots; and I would like to prioritize... my students first."

[nidavellirs-king]

Fáfnir stares before laughter spills from his lips and an amused smirk serves as its fountain. "Perhaps the Order would have you pull some magnitude of scheme like that, but these students are mere pet projects to see what strength is innate and what strength is made. I have no use for children as pawns, unlike you and yours it seems." Oh how Bruno reveals the sweetest of delicacies. That mind of his is ever the giving tree of joy.

"Once again, do these honorable dead speak? Tyranny has such a melodic voice when idealistic fools make up the sacrifices for it. Are you not determined to make sure you lose no one or has the order numbed you to what death feels like for those who aren't your summoner's monstrosities?"

He is glad he decided on this. There is little else he would choose to spend his time doing. "You seem to misunderstand what happened. Embla itself was never my target. You are mistaken if you believe you fended off my forces so much as you were exactly where I needed you to do what I decided to do."

Nothing on the table clatters when he leans over it. Not a cookie or a sugar cube out of place as his hand roughly holds the bottom of Bruno's chin. "I will kill you. Make no mistake that you breathing in front of me now is a mercy you are allowed and have been continually allowed." He cares not for their surroundings nor who may hear. Perhaps it'd spur something interesting from Askr's whelp or entice the summoner into action.

Truthfully, Fáfnir isn't sure he much cares if either happens.

"If you're so incompetent you can't adapt a plan to accommodate more attendance to your lessons, then perhaps I'll need to take you to the training grounds myself and show you how it is you should be behaving."

[nidavellirs-king]

if you don't kill them, i will || fáfnir & sai

epidemic || faith +1

[liightborne]

"Surely you jest," the priest replies halfheartedly. His attention is aimed elsewhere. "'Tis not loneliness that we fear, but the fruits of our goddess's labor going unappreciated."

Sai's breath cuts as soon as damp air begins to crawl up his cheeks. It wriggles like the roots of a plant, all tendrils and vague brushes covering uncomfortable lengths of surface, and his immediate instinct is to retreat into the cloth of his Naga-branded amice. Though not built for filtration, it is thick enough to prevent most of the spores from coming close to his airways. This is positively nefarious amounts of hazard, he grits internally. This cannot be safe for a matter of hours, much less consistently.

He quickly undoes the cords holding his capelet together before nearly shoulder-checking the other man with his offering. "Breathe through this. Do not inhale the spores if you can help it." They could be poisonous or hallucinogenic, and neither would be particularly helpful in this investigation. "But to answer your question,

"Blessed Naga is appalled at this mockery." His voice has dropped once again to a whisper. "She warns me of men nigh taken by Shadow---that is to say, danger approaches. Remain on your guard."

[nidavellirs-king]

"A goddess who can create naught so you must steal faithfuls from other lands to feed her?" Fáfnir laughs. He's seen more than enough.

(cw; graphics depictions of violence/choking)

The docile expression of their guides gives way for nothing. Fáfnir brushes aside the offered protection, it would be a sin likely for he to accept the offering of his partner priest. A man like him needing such protection at all? He scoffs though he does listen fully to the man's beliefs.

Before danger can catch either of them, Fáfnir moves first. The priests are too caught within their own teaching and whatever lull this being has put them in. Even if they were not, neither would be faster than Fáfnir. The man closest to him is caught by his neck, Fáfnir's arm hooked around it and squeezing tightly.

"Everlasting life? You people have an odd definition of a blessing. To be blessed is to live as you are given life. If you desecrate the natural order-" His eyes aren't crazed, they're rather casual considering the overgrown nails that dig into his arms and the thrashing that attempts to make him stumble into overgrown mushroom clusters "What fool wants eternal life when they can't even ensure they live the normal amount?"

Choking and gasping fill the air. Maybe these two were blessed with some sort of immunity that is broken upon a lack of focus, perhaps that force of theirs is powerful though hardly the level of a god.

"I'd like to meet this god," he says as the man in his arm goes limp. "The world has no need for a disturbance in its order."

[nidavellirs-king]

a lesson in kindness a lesson in strife || fáfnir & bruno

a tense tea time || 300 wc limit

[nidavellirs-king]

While his guest deigns to sit, Fáfnir makes himself comfortable within his seat. "My, what a bare bones report," he coos. "Next you'll tell me this morning you ate breakfast and perhaps even drank liquid."

He scoffs as he notes a few things down with his quill and takes a sip of his tea. "I can know not whether it is or isn't when you speak it like that, or are you humbling yourself for my sake?" There's no nicer to play than he currently is.

Now his own lessons are brought into question and he looks up, an action that means far more than Bruno would likely ever understand. "Is there a reason a knight is called before a gaggle of squires? You must hear yourself."

"Most of my lessons have fallen into overlap, the technicalities of lancework and how to care for the different materials as well as use what is given on the battle field. It's not an easy task to translate the intricacies of Niðavellier's tactics without the use of seiðjarn, however for the sake of... them I suppose, I have deigned to enlighten the students on the strength of appearing to be lone while the full force lay in wait."

"Are you going to waste my tea or are you going to assist me in seeing what bases we have left to cover?"

[stormofembla]

At the prodding, the provoking, Bruno sets his jaw. "I hear myself quite clear." He folds his arms together, bitten nails digging deep into the fabric of his cloak. "And I have no need to lower myself for someone of your poor caliber."

But he sits, regardless. The gazebo is far too open for them to stand off against each other in such visibility; with the sheer number of students and faculty that walk through these gardens, how many questions would be raised by the tension between them, evident through Bruno's lack of compliance? The tea, however, will remain wasted.

The mention of such... tactics, too, flashes scarlet in Bruno's eyes — and yet again, he cannot help himself. "Intricacies, you say? Of ambushing? While you may teach how to commit atrocities in war," he spits, voice low, "I am more fond of drawing from both Emblian and Askran teachings. Honorable ones."

"My students have honed their technical capabilities well." He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. "They will not rely on deceit and cruelty to win. So assist me, too: was honor a base you decided to cover, or do I have to account for that in my future lessons?"

[nidavellirs-king]

There he is once more. "Not humbling, quite the opposite in fact," the man recites to none other than himself, but as he does he truly seems so amused. It's as if a novel he's been particularly interested in has twisted his expectations with a single page turn.

"Tell me then, do the honorable dead have voices to speak with? If I do not teach them, they will be among those who have no breath to speak with." Though Fáfnir says as much, he acquiesces in the way only he can. His cup is picked up and his tea sipped at. There's a contemplation behind his eyes that gives way to something less than hostile for once.

"Quite possessive aren't we? I believe they're our students, professor." The tea cup is set down and he closes his eyes, formulating how best to speak what he wants to say next.

"If you wish to have them fight honorably, then be my guest." A knowing smirk crawls onto his lips as his eyes peer open and stare through Bruno. "I will teach them how to defend against this deceit," he spits the word - "that you despise so much since such tactics are evidently beyond you. Is that not a fair offer for our pupils?"

[nidavellirs-king]

if you don't kill them, i will || fáfnir & sai

epidemic || faith +1

[nidavellirs-king]

Perhaps a priest was not the man for a job of this sort. He has the poker face if an angel and the tone of a man struggling not to break an unspoken oath. Fáfnir can't say he's not amused by the display, though the king looks on with an expression that gives nothing away.

"and it is through community, our bond with her that we all will prosper ever into that eternal life. when the time comes and all have joined their hands in prayer to her, we too will be allowed to go. joyous is it not sir? her holiness is not so selfish that she would force you to abandon your false idols, she welcomes even wayward children with open arms."

When the priest, the only one with sense, turns and mouths to him, Fáfnir's lip turns to the side. "Bounties? Is that this eternal life you speak of? What precisely does that entail? What is eternal life if the earth we walk is nothing but a wasteland?"

[liightborne]

False idols. Sai's head tilts further forward, harboring a leaden sigh. It is no surprise to hear a sales pitch include a dressing-down; why settle for the inferior when you can switch to something better at no cost? He knows in his heart who Blessed Naga is, so claims of her validity do not anger him. The pity he ought to feel in its place, however, is substituted with calculated indifference. Nothing this priest says is important save for how it adds heavier chains to his handcuffs.

The priest speaks to occupy Sai's quiet. "Eternal life is exactly that, good sir." His hand flickers back and forth, knowingly, as he makes a turn across from a rotting tree stump. The thing is resplendent with fungus. "This beautiful world is always changing by our goddess's hand. What good would it be, then, if there did not exist any people to witness it? To celebrate Her love and charity, both with each other and with Her? A live lived forever is our answer to Her question!"

And now the priest kneels, ducking beneath a curtain of vegetation laden with thin mushrooms. They peer upwards in packs like the bristles of a beast. "It will all make sense once we arrive at our destination, my lambs. Come, come---we are almost there."

[nidavellirs-king]

"I didn't know goddesses could be lonely," Fáfnir states matter-of-factly. If whatever being they're even speaking of exists, he wonders what kind of existence it is to need such foolery as its pitch.

Past the fungus and through the leaves, the scenery gradually recedes and shapes itself into something unsightly. The air becomes thicker and spores begin to sting at his eyes. How the priests breathe in such an environment is beyond Fáfnir to know but unfortunately their job to find out.

He slows his pace a bit to keep next to Sai and eyes of arctic blue settle on the man. "What say your goddess about what she sees, priest?"

[nidavellirs-king]

a lesson in kindness a lesson in strife || fáfnir & bruno

a tense tea time || 300 wc limit

[nidavellirs-king]

Fáfnir is not one to care most times. The fall of a soldier is on their lack of preparedness. To step foot on the battlefield at all is to be ready and any who think it a playground will surely lose their life in the "play" fight they think combat is.

It would be one thing if they were not his students but indeed they are and he has a duty to see them perform to such standards. "Professor Bruno," he calls in a tone free of malice and disdain. Quite the sound indeed.

He leaves no room for his request to be refused for why would Bruno refuse him) and guides the other man to the gazebo's, one already prepared for them both. Afternoon tea and a snack to go with it as well as two clipboards, a roster of their students and rundown of their strengths courtesy of the man himself. "I see no reason to quarrel over this when we both wish for the same thing nor is there a need to mince words." In a way is this not the diplomacy that's so coveted?

"What is it you've been teaching?"

@stormofembla

[stormofembla]

He should have walked the other way, because this must be a trap. Through the delicacies and formalities of tea, Fáfnir seeks something beyond mere updates on their students — at least, Bruno believes so. He is not naïve enough to believe otherwise.

"Magic," Bruno begins, voice terse. He stands stiff, unwilling to sit down and indulge in what poison had been set. "Then, handling war horses. Finally, lancework."

A pause. Then, unable to hold his tongue, he adds, anger staining his words, "Is that to your liking, Professor Fáfnir? What is it that you teach, if you do teach anything of value? Is there a reason you approach me instead of discussing this in a collective faculty meeting — as would be logical?"

[nidavellirs-king]

While his guest deigns to sit, Fáfnir makes himself comfortable within his seat. "My, what a bare bones report," he coos. "Next you'll tell me this morning you ate breakfast and perhaps even drank liquid."

He scoffs as he notes a few things down with his quill and takes a sip of his tea. "I can know not whether it is or isn't when you speak it like that, or are you humbling yourself for my sake?" There's no nicer to play than he currently is.

Now his own lessons are brought into question and he looks up, an action that means far more than Bruno would likely ever understand. "Is there a reason a knight is called before a gaggle of squires? You must hear yourself."

"Most of my lessons have fallen into overlap, the technicalities of lancework and how to care for the different materials as well as use what is given on the battle field. It's not an easy task to translate the intricacies of Niðavellier's tactics without the use of seiðjarn, however for the sake of... them I suppose, I have deigned to enlighten the students on the strength of appearing to be lone while the full force lay in wait."

"Are you going to waste my tea or are you going to assist me in seeing what bases we have left to cover?"

[nidavellirs-king]

a lesson in kindness a lesson in strife || fáfnir & bruno

a tense tea time || 300 wc limit

[nidavellirs-king]

Fáfnir is not one to care most times. The fall of a soldier is on their lack of preparedness. To step foot on the battlefield at all is to be ready and any who think it a playground will surely lose their life in the "play" fight they think combat is.

It would be one thing if they were not his students but indeed they are and he has a duty to see them perform to such standards. "Professor Bruno," he calls in a tone free of malice and disdain. Quite the sound indeed.

He leaves no room for his request to be refused for why would Bruno refuse him) and guides the other man to the gazebo's, one already prepared for them both. Afternoon tea and a snack to go with it as well as two clipboards, a roster of their students and rundown of their strengths courtesy of the man himself. "I see no reason to quarrel over this when we both wish for the same thing nor is there a need to mince words." In a way is this not the diplomacy that's so coveted?

"What is it you've been teaching?"

@stormofembla

[nidavellirs-king]

if you don't kill them, i will || fáfnir & sai

epidemic || faith +1

[nidavellirs-king]

"ah come to follow her holiness?" the priest smiles gently, hands clasped in front of himself and his eyes closed but a sliver. "it is our mission to humbly guide those who wish to meet her in everlasting life."

There is regret behind those words Fáfnir finds. A priest who guides but cannot partake in? What faith makes such blatant fools of their followers? All of them to some degree but the deliverers of the teachings not being beheld to them paints a dimmer picture of this "church" than he would like. He would never allow his people to fall into such complacency.

"please sirs, this way. the journey is long hence most endure it during the easy hours but i've the strength to guide you during the harsh ones." Stark white robes cut an unmistakable path through the Faerghan forest. If one was lost, they wouldn't be faulted for following what seemed to be such a warm and sure guide.

[liightborne]

"Everlasting life?" Sai cannot hold his tongue. "Certainly you mean in the life after the corporeal?" Because if it is not such, and they are implying a promise of eternal life, then...!

But such a question may come across as probing. The last thing the pair needs is a cover blown from too much questioning, so Sai quickly moves to cover himself. "I did not know there was a goddess that could perform such miracles for the living. That there exists such a holy figure, it..." Wince wince wince wince. "...it intrigues me!"

Blessed Naga, forgive him. He means not what he speaks.

"You have the right of it," the gleeful priest supplies. "She is such a merciful and kind goddess to provide such bounties to her followers. All I---we---seek to do is spread those boons to whomever cries out for them!"

Sai shivers. If this is their pride point, then just how are they fulfilling this promise?

He turns to his company with his head tilted forwards, eyes pointed like darts from below the cover of skeptical eyelashes. Heed not his words, he mouths, for they are hot air. A man who hawks eternal life like a product, leading with that and not the words of his goddess? Only the truly desperate would believe such a farce, and may Blessed Naga curse them for their swindling!

[nidavellirs-king]

Perhaps a priest was not the man for a job of this sort. He has the poker face if an angel and the tone of a man struggling not to break an unspoken oath. Fáfnir can't say he's not amused by the display, though the king looks on with an expression that gives nothing away.

"and it is through community, our bond with her that we all will prosper ever into that eternal life. when the time comes and all have joined their hands in prayer to her, we too will be allowed to go. joyous is it not sir? her holiness is not so selfish that she would force you to abandon your false idols, she welcomes even wayward children with open arms."

When the priest, the only one with sense, turns and mouths to him, Fáfnir's lip turns to the side. "Bounties? Is that this eternal life you speak of? What precisely does that entail? What is eternal life if the earth we walk is nothing but a wasteland?"

[nidavellirs-king]

if you don't kill them, i will || fáfnir & sai

epidemic || faith +1

[nidavellirs-king]

The people know better. That they would endanger themselves and those who care about them makes the blood in Fáfnir's veins boil. To put it nicely, this is a lesson in the corralling of sheep to their proper home. The dog that shepherds must know when to nip, when to keep its sheep well within line.

Thus the man turns to the priest at his side investigating the incident with him. "The people say there are sightings of strange priests at the towns edge. Woefully peaceful considering the circumstances and all the reason you have not been sent on your lonesome. Speak to them in confidence." If there was so much as a flash of hostility, Fáfnir wouldn't allow it. He takes a deep breath as he walks them towards the sighting spot.

"You yourself are no priest of this goddess are you? What then do you make of such people at the sight of these disappearances?"

@liightborne

[liightborne]

Wind flies through the whetstone teeth of the forest's trees. As it slides against Sai's cheek, teasing his hair and hissing upon his skin, his brow tightens; there is only one church he knows that leads its followers under the foul cover of night, and it is one that he has sworn to fight against with all of the might in his body.

Though this church does not appear to be one of Shadow, it all echoes the same to him. If a man cannot tell me what it is this church does, he thinks, eyes sharply angled into the dense mouth of foliage, then it is no church that I may rightfully abide.

He sees flashes of holy robes among the dark earth and fallen leaves. They are browned at the kneeline---as though they fall to the ground often enough for the marks---but are otherwise eerily bleach-white. Much too bright.

The man accompanying him urges Sai to speak to them (because he perhaps assumes priests to be a breed of some sort, like animals with a common ancestor) and, despite the danger he senses, Sai is inclined to agree. "I am no follower of this forest goddess," he states flatly. His voice is unaccustomed to the way that it is used, so it comes out as a grate against stone. "I eschew the priest who delivers his teachings in secrecy, for there aught not be any secrets between the devoted and their devotion. I can only imagine that something is happening that they do not want others to know about."

All the more reason to put a stop to this madness, whatever form it takes.

Gentle feet stamp with purpose as Sai walks to the closest priest. He cracks his face back into kindness, offering faux warmth where he cannot naturally generate any. "Good evening," he hums, hands disarmingly clasped. "I am a priest of a neighboring faith, come to inquire about the teachings you provide. Might I go somewhere to learn more about the goddess you follow?"

[nidavellirs-king]

"ah come to follow her holiness?" the priest smiles gently, hands clasped in front of himself and his eyes closed but a sliver. "it is our mission to humbly guide those who wish to meet her in everlasting life."

There is regret behind those words Fáfnir finds. A priest who guides but cannot partake in? What faith makes such blatant fools of their followers? All of them to some degree but the deliverers of the teachings not being beheld to them paints a dimmer picture of this "church" than he would like. He would never allow his people to fall into such complacency.

"please sirs, this way. the journey is long hence most endure it during the easy hours but i've the strength to guide you during the harsh ones." Stark white robes cut an unmistakable path through the Faerghan forest. If one was lost, they wouldn't be faulted for following what seemed to be such a warm and sure guide.

[nidavellirs-king]

if you don't kill them, i will || fáfnir & sai

epidemic || faith +1

[nidavellirs-king]

The people know better. That they would endanger themselves and those who care about them makes the blood in Fáfnir's veins boil. To put it nicely, this is a lesson in the corralling of sheep to their proper home. The dog that shepherds must know when to nip, when to keep its sheep well within line.

Thus the man turns to the priest at his side investigating the incident with him. "The people say there are sightings of strange priests at the towns edge. Woefully peaceful considering the circumstances and all the reason you have not been sent on your lonesome. Speak to them in confidence." If there was so much as a flash of hostility, Fáfnir wouldn't allow it. He takes a deep breath as he walks them towards the sighting spot.

"You yourself are no priest of this goddess are you? What then do you make of such people at the sight of these disappearances?"

@liightborne

[verdelixir]

sorry i'm three and i never took econ 101

⤷ aphotic: foreign wares

[verdelixir]

Another consequence of the surge in widespread homesickness is the financial success of merchants dealing in foreign wares...

"Did you make these yourself, mister?"

Midori's eyes sparkle as she looks at the set of delicately made glassware, from transparent beakers to amber jars used for storage.

"Sure did!" The merchant's eyes also sparkle at the potential prize before him, a genial smile on his face as he leans in closer, "Finest glass-blowing technology in all of Jugdral, this is. Took me years to master the craft."

Carefully, Midori picks up one of the flasks, admiring the make. She doesn't know where Jugdral is, but if they could make glass like this, their artisans must all be very talented!

Seeing her clear interest, the merchant's smile widens, leaning in for the finale.

"Since you've got such a keen appreciation of the craft, this amazing set can be all yours for just 6000 gold, miss."

Whoa. Midori's eyes widen. That's the price of about three whole Steel Yumi from the Armory!

"Lemme see..." She digs around in her pouch, gold clinking against one another as she counts them. Maybe she could have enough, if she didn't spend any gold on anything else for the next while... and it's such a good quality... Midori looks back up.

"Yeah! I'll get one of— oops—" Someone bumps her from behind, and she hastily sidesteps to avoid shattering the glass instruments, before looking around indignantly at the much taller man behind her.

"Hey!" Shouldn't adults know better than to be reckless around fragile objects?

@nidavellirs-king

[nidavellirs-king]

It should be no surprise to him that a place like this wouldn’t have all he need to maintain his seiðjarn. That means he must be more intentional with the use of it. He despises having to call on those people for anything. They’re the ones who push it to it’s limits the most for some ungodly reason.

Still, the oils at least keep the parts as lubricated as they need be and the metals can be reworked, as tedious a task as it honestly is.

The recent price hike is going to drive him mad however, that and the merchants taking full advantage of it. The sooner he leaves the place, the less likely his thoughts will trend to showing them just how “durable” all these wares that theyre charging three times the price for are. 

A number sticks out as he walks past. 6000 gold. What could possibly cost so much here?

He turns to the scene and looks at the wares of the man who had the gall to utter such a number and- To a child?? 

Fáfnir steps up as the young girl rumages through her coin purse, unaware that he’d stepped a bit too close and nearly bumped her into the table.

“Ah - my apologies.” His tone is faux and light, his lips curled into a smirk. “But if these wares wobble as they do from such a light bump, surely they cannot be worth so much, right mister?” When his head turns to the man, his eyes narrow and he dares the man to do anything other than agree with him. 

[nidavellirs-king]

the difference between unyielding and invulnerable || fáfnir & sephiran

anniversary prompts '25 // reason +1

[thelightofcreation]

At first, Sephiran does not acknowledge the other who joins him, watching the steam rise up into spiraling trails, dancing against the night sky. It is unfortunate that his solitude had been interrupted, but there is not much to be done about it.

Only when he is addressed- the other man choosing to break the silence once marked by the sound of moving water, does Sephiran look at him.

“Fairies? I haven’t seen any, here.”

[nidavellirs-king]

“I’ve heard it said that the fauna here is tended to by fairies.” Ignoble little creatures that they are. “I was hoping I might see one but, alas, none have showed themselves.”

Fafnir already knows himself to be ineligible for their blessing, but he wonders if they might show up for the man across from him. “How did you wind up here then? A simple interest in the spring that was along the way?”