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@reddaydreaming
A fugitive Fell Dragon, from a time that most of Elyos has now forgotten. Shortly after becoming Lumera's ward, Alear was encouraged by her to join the Officers Academy. Far from the horrors of Gradlon, perhaps he can learn what it means to be a 'good dragon'…
All images on this blog are his official art featured in Heroes (plus his dragonstone from Engage).
Stats - Character - Rules/Info - Interview
handholding jail (daycare) — m!alear & veyle
not only that, but he seems to recognize her. even veyle can catch the small flicker of emotion on his face when he sees her.
"oh, do you two know each other already?" the priest's voice to her side shakes her out of her momentary stupor. she wasn't sure how he was here without the use of a draconic time crystal, but it wouldn't do any good to cast even more doubt on him by questioning him right now.
whatever he's here for it has to be a big misunderstanding! she'll definitely clear him of any delinquency the church thinks he's apart of!
"oh yeah, just a little." veyle smiles and laughs nervously, rubbing the back of her head. "we met once before, that's all. my name's veyle."
she pauses, holding her hand out for alear to shake. her expression turns soft as she looks up at him again. "it's nice to see you again."
…How peculiar, that she's here. That she acknowledges their past encounter, yet greets him in such a friendly manner, as if they were never on opposite sides of a battlefield.
That she also shares a name with his sister. A very large coincidence. Is it a good omen, or something he should be wary of?
Well, they're on neutral territory here. Even if she's not his Veyle, he feels an inclination to be kind towards her (now that he's free to acknowledge and follow such inclinations, instead of smothering them).
He looks at her hand for a moment, unsure if this is a simple greeting, or if she's heading straight into initiating his punishment. Either way, it would be wrong to refuse. Carefully, albeit a little awkwardly, he reaches out to complete the gesture.
"You remember me, then." A statement, rather than a question. Followed by an assurance: "I am trying to be...different than before. I don't want to cause trouble for you."
The other person - he seems to be a member of the clergy, Alear would guess - glances between them in appraisal, then says, "Good. That's more cooperative than some of our other problem cases have been. Are you both ready to begin now?"
Rules of Engagement
Non-Mission Board: Herald | Any Skill +1 | with @radiantpaths
Ike needs a plan. He's not fast, and he can't outright this guy forever. If he can find his ring - then what? He can't guarantee he'll find a Divine Dragon wandering the halls of this place. He wouldn't want to trust himself in just anyone's hands, either.
He runs as if there's anywhere to hide. This dragon wants him, and Ike can't allow it to happen.
He finds a spot to take a breath. Does he need to take a breath, or is this a habit from back when he was alive that he hasn't let go of? He cannot afford to get distracted now.
Fingers ghost over his bicep, and Ike vanishes from sight. He may have a physical presence but, first and foremost, he is an Emblem. He can't go far, but he appears behind Alear. He tries to call for Urvan, but his hand comes out empty. Fine, he can work with what he's got.
He raises his elbow and struck the fell dragon's back - it isn't hard enough. Another false step, and Ike knows he's done for. He needs to learn the limits of his powers, and quickly, before he becomes nothing more than a puppet.
"Come on," Ike says, "don't do anything stupid. You don't really want this." This. Ike. Whatever situation had led to the boy chasing Ike. "You don't want to trap someone else like you've been trapped."
It's a shot in the dark, but if he can find a way to relate to the boy, then maybe he can secure his own freedom. Ike has never been good with words. He watches his freedom fade from his mind's eye.
Alear blunders through the suddenly empty space. If he were allowed an ego, he might feel embarrassed or annoyed at his miscalculation, failing to react swiftly enough. But appearances don't matter, so long as he fulfils his duty eventually.
The strike at his back throws him further off balance, though it's not enough to cause harm. Fortunate. A warning, that he must be more careful. He staggers against a nearby barrel, steadies himself, turns to face his quarry.
As a general rule, Alear has trained himself not to listen, when people protest his actions. When they try to make him hesitate, to beg for mercy, to extend their lives by arguing about injustice. It makes for unpleasant memories. Still, this situation is different, with his ability compromised. Perhaps persuasion is an acceptable tactic, after all, if the Emblem wants to talk.
Trapped? Is he trapped? He can go anywhere he chooses, provided it will serve his father's ambitions somehow. Provided he doesn't care what scars will be left on the destination.
"Why do you resist? Your purpose is to grant power as an Emblem. My purpose is to gather them. A tool which cannot carry out its purpose will only be destroyed."
Can Emblems be destroyed? Maybe not. Alear certainly can be, no matter how invincible he might seem to simple, mortal soldiers. He's considered the most likely methods, before.
"If you continue to avoid me, I will find the ring instead. It will not run."
Saying that, he casts about with his senses…but there's no definite directional pull towards the ring, to act on the threat. Awareness of the Emblem right in front of him eclipses everything else, so this is where he stays. For now.
Emblem of Beginnings (and second chances)
With @radiantlodestar
“Truth be told, I felt as if I was in a sort of lucid dream before all this… The details are somewhat blurry at best albeit I will not bother you with them if you do not wish to be bothered by something of the sort.” Marth replied.
While thinking of a question to ask, he found it somewhat helpful to answer the question he had been asked first. After doing so, he fell silent for a moment, being somewhat lost in thought about what question to ask.
Gods, there were so many options when it came to questions and only so much time in a day. In addition, he didn’t want to seem like a nuisance to Alear… in fact, that was the last thing he wanted. Eventually, he settled on one question he wanted to ask after what seemed like several minutes of mulling it over.
“If you do not mind me asking, how do you see those of us who are Emblems? That question has… been on my mind for a while.”
After asking that question, the Emblem of Beginnings had tilted his head to the side out of curiosity, awaiting the answer to his question no matter what it possibly may be. After all, his curiosity had overtaken him at that moment.
'Bothered' is…not an inaccurate word, for how Alear would feel to discuss his war crimes, he supposes. He deserves to be bothered, though. He wouldn't avoid it. On the other hand, he's not going to charge towards the topic if it's not actually called for.
While he waits for Marth to speak up again, Alear notes a creature slowly waddling over to them. It's that peculiar little animal - Sommie? Lumera had named it a guardian spirit, and tried to introduce it to Alear before, but it only gave an unhappy mumble and walked off. He didn't take this too personally, since he has similar effects on most people he meets.
It's one reason the Somniel was chosen, to stage this conversation. No chance of interruption, from anyone who might resent a Fell Dragon's presence in the holy land. Lumera has instructed her followers in tolerance, but she can't control everything they do behind her back, or ease the rightful resentment in their hearts.
Feeling braver now, Sommie approaches Alear, snuffling around his shoes. He doesn't react, in case a sudden movement startles it. It's doing no harm, so it can carry on.
"You are the spirits of legendary warriors, from other worlds. You hold great power, and when gathered, that power is undefeatable. Under a Divine Dragon's control, you choose who receives it. With a Fell Dragon, you have no choice."
All facts Alear was educated on, years ago. Is that the type of answer Marth wants to hear? Possibly not.
"You are named the Hero-King. I wonder why that is. I know nothing of who you truly are, nor the others." And therefore, he understands that any image he holds is flawed. How he saw Marth before, is open to correction.
Lumera mentioned that within Lythos Castle, they have archives detailing knowledge of every Emblem, not merely their utility in battle but personal histories. Rather than let Alear read Marth's archive, however, she said it would be better to simply talk to him.
✦ 𝐖𝐇𝐘 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 ✧
Non-Mission Board: Herald, any skill +1
Alear's words were and continued to be simple, unadorned by grand diction, diametric to Rafal's own fashion of speaking, but it was far more extravagant meaning which they belied this time. An unforeseen hardihood, in fact; a near sacrilege; a hateful challenge that reserved no respect for an almighty father as all instincts screamed it should. That even Rafal, in his rightful seat of loathing against Sombron, had not uttered across such vindictive terms. Not even when they stood face-to-face in this world, as one bringer of apocalypse to another, a wronged son before his villain's otherworldly counterpart.
Countenance reflected surprise, a fleeting window of it characterized by wide-eyed gaze and soft, disarmed features. Neotenous and distinctly Nil-like; all other thoughts and internal workings, unquestionably Rafal-like. In many respects, he'd imagined this Alear to be as lifeless as the Corrupted, scraped clean of ambition if it ever existed to begin with, a living being scarcely above a machine, and, truly. . .alien.
Without particular color, as if another's influence was all that might show through when viewed beneath light. Merely lukewarm despite his visual proximity to the hottest and reddest of fires. A mirror but not the reflection; bereft the impregnable sense of self that tied each child of Gradlon to each other as their common ground, and—equally—did apart when it should evolve inevitably into egoism.
. . .Was that imagination Rafal's second mistake?
"But I am no longer a child of Sombron. I reject him."
"No," he answered the head knight with composure regained, without any departure of eyes from Alear. Focus unbreakable, expression unreadable; answer, firm and resolute. Perhaps, this demeanor suggested, there was room for first impressions to be challenged. Even if aversion should remain. ". . .No, it's not."
He returned to his seat, likewise and with obedience. A rare obedience, no doubt momentarily inspired - and imperfectly categorized. There was no such thing as subservience with the proud Rafal, merely his gracious allowance of time and energy. Nonetheless, the result was effective; so were they returned to the heart of the original matter, and, naturally, to its blame.
A change at which he did not even bat an eye: "Its destruction was a casualty come after. I thought this Alear to be the culprit behind the dream, an unknown Fell Dragon bent on harm, and so attacked him. As you can guess, my assumptions were wrong. I possessed no idea of the orb you divulged to us. The failure of due diligence is mine."
Calmer of mind and prostrated before an official presence, equal professionalism surfaced in the suddenly more professorial dragon who would now show his aptitude plain. A dormant quality, that professionalism, one might describe the same of his open acknowledgement of fault. A first amid these particular circumstances, but hardly surprising on recall. After all: prone to wrongs, in extremes of both mountains and molehills, still was there no-one more conscious of them than the Fell Heir.
". . .I see. If anything, I commend your honesty, even if I can't do the same for everything else. We'll chalk it up to a reckless misunderstanding. Your names will be going on record, but they won't be used against you—this time, at least."
A pointed look at Rafal; a studious pause for record-keeping. As her quill stilled upon the warmed page, the knight pivoted to the second obvious question: "And the fire? Who or what caused that?" she inquired of the two dragons, gazing between them in search of answers only to be seized by exactly one.
"—I did; I am the cause." This interjection rang out with confidence, such absolute possession that the average onlooker would find it difficult to subject to doubt. Not that Rafal left any room for them to do so. "As I said," he continued smoothly, "I thought Alear to be the responsible evil at hand. As such, I dispensed of every method I knew to defeat him, including the use of fire. It was a wanton decision that succeeded only in destroying a sacred place of learning."
With that, he shuttered his eyes on a display of contrition. Simultaneously, a domineering note of finality that acknowledged no other source of guilt - nor any other dragon's opinion in the room for that matter.
"You have my apologies."
Such confidence, absolute possession, and mystery. What would be Rafal's aim in stealing Alear's portion of the blame? Selflessness? Kindness? Sacrifice? Hardly, he would scoff. Only in one's wildest dreams, he might say. 'Prone to wrongs, in extremes of both mountains and molehills, still was there no-one more conscious of them'. This was merely an act to that testament, a great equalizer to service his own values. A hand to clear Rafal's ledger. Nothing more, nothing less.
For the first time today, Alear finds himself surprised in a way that's positive, rather than wildly negative. A more graceful confession of the situation than he'd expected to hear, from one who was previously attempting to claw his heart out with bare hands. But that makes sense too, in its own fashion. People can wear varied masks. This must be the one which explains why Rafal has an accepted place here.
He should confess to the fire, in turn. He started it deliberately, in the ruthless mindset of a Fell Child who would do anything for survival. Part of him still isn't sorry for that. Maybe if he'd held back, then Rafal would have killed him. If the smoke hadn't drawn attention at the end, then Rafal would definitely have killed him, capitalising on his error.
Should he still think of it as an error? He'd feel safer, if Rafal were dead. But in that case, wouldn't he be accused of murder?
It's odd to acknowledge that's something which could happen here. Of course, Alear is a murderer. A thousand times over, he is. It's given other names though, when the highest authority demands it rather than condemns it. Conquest, victory, vengeance, progress. As if that should lift the weight of the dead from his conscience.
Compared to that, arson is a very small crime.
He opens his mouth to speak - not swiftly enough, however. Rafal gets the first words in, and amazingly takes the blame for himself, rather than casting it in the proper place, at Alear's feet.
He can't fathom why. Aren't they enemies? Shouldn't Rafal be pleased to see Alear in trouble? It doesn't seem like a peace offering, but if there's another motivation, then identifying it is beyond him. A simple wish to reset the balance, no matter who it involves? False claims that Alear was guilty, followed by false claims that he's innocent.
He's tempted to state the truth, regardless. What seems benevolent on the surface might not necessarily be so, laying a trap or planning for blackmail, machinations he'd struggle to decipher or defend against. Besides, Alear doesn't want to be a coward who hides behind others. He wants his life here to be more honourable than the one he escaped from.
…Though where self-preservation is concerned, he recognises that an established professor will likely be judged less harshly, than a newly-arrived student. Ultimately, he doesn't contest it, because he doesn't understand this place or these people well enough, to make a confident choice.
"Even if you believed him to be responsible, there are other channels of discipline, besides taking it into your own hands. Try to remember that."
This calm correction seems to indicate that Rafal's apology is accepted.
"And you," she continues, aimed at Alear, "This is an unfortunate start to your time here. Let me make it clear that this type of conduct is considered unacceptable within Garreg Mach, for everyone."
"I understand that. I am sorry this happened."
Even here, he's defective. There must be punishment due; more than an exchange of words, to break disobedient spirits down into palatable shapes. A sense of skewering dread, as he contemplates what might be next. He'd been trying to avoid thinking of this part.
The worst case would be expulsion. Being sent back to Lumera in disgrace, having to explain why the Officers Academy rejected him. Showing that she was wrong to believe in him, after all.
"I don't have a full report of the damage yet, but you'll find yourselves very unpopular, if some of the Black Eagles end up taking lessons outside in the middle of winter, while their classroom is reconstructed." From her tone, it's hard to tell if this would actually happen. "I'll expect you to take part in the repairs somehow, so you appreciate the work involved." A brief pause. "Not necessarily together, though. As for the rest, you'll find out soon enough."
Her tone doesn't sound as ominous as it ought to. For the second time, Alear is left confused. He casts a glance at Rafal, but that doesn't clarify much either.
Aren't they going to hurt him, for doing something wrong?
"Professor Rafal, you are dismissed. Alear, there's something else we need to discuss, in private."
Silence settles in the office, once they're alone. A perceptible lessening of tension, though Alear doesn't feel entirely safe yet.
After a drawn-out minute, the knight explains, "There's nothing further to discuss, really. I'm just making sure you leave at staggered times, because I don't want you near each other for the rest of the day." She sighs. "It's a shame you're in the same house, but there's nothing we can do about that, for now. Just try not to antagonise your teachers."
After that, she stops speaking and concentrates on writing her report, quill scratching across the paper. He can't think of anything else to say, drained and disoriented, busy unpacking the last hour's worth of intense, perspective-altering conversations. Eventually, she waves a hand and declares that he's free to go.
The most prudent choice would be to head directly back to his own room, and stay there. Still, he can't resist a detour, to see what state the classroom is in. Much of the crowd has dispersed, though there's a few chatting observers still hanging around, already inventing wild rumours about what happened there (as if the truth isn't dramatic enough). The fire is long dead, the doors left open to reveal a cavernous, blackened ruin of a room, with smoke-stained stones and desks reduced to brittle charcoal. How much work will that take, to repair?
Maybe it's true, that Fell Dragons can't leave anything besides destruction in their wake. Alear doesn't want it to be. But he'll have to do a lot better than this, to convince anyone.
End
——— ( modern au ) how do they feel about enabling location sharing on their phone with their partner? family? close friends?
dash game! reblog and include your muse's answer in the tags!
✦ 𝐖𝐇𝐘 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 ✧
Non-Mission Board: Herald, any skill +1
One report to provide all answers, and one voice to read those answers all: Rafal stilled with the sober reality of this deed and the act of reflection. The believed mastermind. . .a victim? Rafal himself proven false in his suppositions, trusting his plight to be his own only for it to be shared? What colossal shock: one that might have been relieved by the initial acceptance of his slowly surfacing memories.
Backtrack. Reverse. Eyes slid aimlessly to left with recollection - to nowhere. A short trek to the past and a place not here. If he should recall, there had been a tiny figment of irregularity realized at Alear's early words. 'Here to learn, not to fight. His own face and person'. At the time of those claims, there had been disdain, but, also - doubt. Inkling awareness over the existence of an unanswered mystery before it surrendered to conflict, buried and forgotten. But. . .
Why buried and forgotten?
—Because Alear was a threat.
This Alear was a threat, but who decided that?
The worthy circumstances that demanded it.
Circumstances; the dark and whispering persuasion of a dream, then? Alear's existence of natural and immediate malevolence? . . .Mere perception of it as such?
A fierce grimace the pale dragon wore without remotely knowing of it. Even when hindered or blinded or tardy, logic would eventually prevail in Rafal; beneath his own scrutiny, his errors stood out as starkly as maggots swimming in rotted flesh. To think that he had committed the greatest of evils on this day - not the foreign Fell Dragon across from him. Consigning blame to the wrong individual, pursuing his mistake to utter extremes, even he could recognize when he was wrong.
He blinked, snapped back to the present with one voice to blame. His mastermind was false; Rafal had erred; these realizations now sat firmly in his grasp. But, the unsettling person he disfavored for all other, more honest qualities? was yet right here. Gauging him with those infernal eyes, that icy demeanor.
"What pride or hatred is there to speak of? An enemy to peace: there is no more separation of Fell Dragons from that fact than breath from lungs. No simpler understanding." A foolish line of questioning with no perceived value. What shame need there exist for dragons that simply were the way they were? What relish, for another matter? Trifles! Rafal rose from his chair. A fraught moment of flying sparks; two forces who may never see eye to eye yet could agree upon one point.
'This is no brother of mine'.
"—Now, now," began the knight nervously, sensing an obstacle to peaceful interrogation.
Ignored: "And what of you? I would return that statement a thousandfold."
A new battle was afoot, was it not? Waged not with use of iron or flame, but charged words and accusations backed each by unshakable belief. The once and former heir of Sombron pursed his lips in a grim-faced moue; symptom that a touchy subject was upon him, yet it was from that same subject that he would never hide. He lifted his head high, ensured that Alear witnessed every inch of its sneer. Understood who it was that stood at the top of the totem, and who at its bottom.
"That odious presence. That telling look." Judgment from head to toe. ". . .Those eyes." Mysterious and particular dislike there. "You appear even more weaned on Gradlon's values than I, even powerful as Father would like. Who is to say you were not once his most favored heir? His prized general—his mindless tool?"
Voiced with disgust, because when a two-headed cat should walk among its one-headed peers, it would be avoided and reviled. In just the same way, Rafal was instinctively and almost helplessly appalled.
To scorn what was unfamiliar applied to all creatures, even those fell. Of all features, it was Alear's emotionless eyes that disturbed him most. Of all qualities: his unrelatable, lusterless nature. The dragons of an alternate Gradlon had been each a child of god in their own right; even the weakest—even young Nil—had endeavored to be worthy, to seize power for his sister's sake, and by that desire possessed a semblance of ambition. Passion. Fervor. But, there was nothing of the same vivacity in the blank slate before him; a doll wishing to be lifelike, would befit Alear's description.
And in Rafal was his natural inverse: a Child overflowing on his own will.
When Rafal stands, Alear mirrors it, smoothly as if they were connected by a thread (though certainly not a red and fated one, unless blood-dyed and doomed would fit the bill). Not escalating from there, only matching move for move, denying any slight advantage if the knight's call for order fails. As before, Alear doesn't intend to strike first. For whatever it's worth, wanting to look back and claim that he wasn't the instigator.
Maybe it is a base law of nature, that Fell Dragons can never rise above their foul reputation. The world will always be better off without them. They should always die, in the end. But if Alear was wholly convinced of that, then he wouldn't have become a student here. Instead of fleeing to Lythos, he could have confronted Sombron and battled to mutual annihilation, and simply rid the world of their kind (leaving Veyle safe to be raised as a Mage Dragon by her mother). He could have brought Gradlon Temple crashing down on their heads, and made the ruins their tomb.
It was Alear himself, who asserted that Fell Dragons have no hearts. That doesn't mean he can't want one. He's not so beaten down, to accept that his destiny was written in stone from the moment of birth.
"Can you only understand simple things?" He'd say more on the subject, if he were articulate enough. That it's dishonest, to claim an innate compulsion for violence. That it's defeatist, to hold not even the faintest shred of hope, that things could be different. That it's dangerous, for someone with those views to be in charge of shaping students' future perspectives.
Even the fabled scorpion had a choice, to keep its promise and withhold its sting. Nature didn't force it to drown, with the hapless frog. That was just an excuse.
It's…unpleasant, that Rafal can so accurately name what Alear used to be (though it's interesting that this is paired with such obvious revulsion, rather than envy). But all Rafal has seen him do is fight, and all his training was a product of Gradlon. It makes sense.
The only error, is that Alear would never be called an heir. A word tied to inheritance, which implies a high chance of survival after the senior figure is gone. His father never cared for building a dynasty or legacy. His father wanted mindless tools, yes, and easily disposable ones.
A persistent brand, which can't easily be scoured away. Not until he does something remarkable enough, to eclipse those past evils.
"I was. I no longer am. That's why I'm going to kill him myself."
Rafal has already scorned those sentiments, hasn't he? Alear tried to explain, and it fell upon deaf ears. No matter; he'll say it again for his own satisfaction. It feels good to hear the words out loud, rather than confined to his own head. In front of an audience who might have some inkling of the significance.
Rafal's confidence and conviction blaze from him, and in comparison, Alear's must appear muted and lukewarm. An inferno which dazzles and devours, compared to a furnace, energy and purpose locked tight within. At the core of both, equal determination which has refused all attempts to extinguish it. But how could one know that, when the furnace's door is sealed?
"I'm sorry, is this a family dispute?"
The knight's question, bearing baffled witness to their quarrel, is a grounding influence. Seeking to remind them of where they are, and why.
Firmly, she continues, "Both of you, sit back down. I won't ask again."
No matter what drama of gods and demons is at play, she has a job to do, and intends to do it. Alear hesitates, throwing a last guarded look at Rafal, then does as he's told.
"The classroom. Was it destroyed in the course of your shared delusion, or did that happen later?"
* MY MONSTROUS CURSE SUMMONED THE FELL DRAGON DUKE OF THE NORTH WHO MADE ME HIS FELL CONSORT?!
herald '26 ✦ (via cinderedscans) do NOT reupload to other sites. please support the original work! ♡ hapi & alear
the tome in question was said to boast a gaggle of miraculous spells that could raise or ruin a man. naturally, that also meant it was forbidden. the shady lady herself might have jumped at a chance to flip through its pages. running the gamut from curatives to curses, it called for a conquest that few mages could resist.
hapi's interests sat with the latter. it was her curse, namely, that had gone without any leads or countermeasures for as long as she could remember. not even the dubious texts scrounged out from the library of abyss had done a thing for her plight.
no, that trail had gone cold, so the hope for a cure was a dream she had abandoned long ago. better to anticipate worse and be pleasantly surprised than expect anything from a world like theirs. still—with time to kill, and a warm body who had been willing to take the plunge for a card alongside her, scoping out the goods was worth enough of a shot.
"yeah, we're here for the membership. couples special, right?" hapi breezes to the doorman, casually looping an arm through alear's to sell the story. the award for best liar went to a different wolf, but the only thing meaner than hapi's tongue was her poker face. after all, a shop with a bouncer must mean business. she can't afford anything less.
"an item?" he tosses a glance between them. "you two?"
and it lands a bit warier on hapi. figures. he isn't the book she's here for, but read him all the same she does. like anyone else who knows the rumors, he's wondering who in their right mind would risk it all with her. hapi shrugs. "what can i say? a guy who keeps me happy isn't one i need to sigh around. monsters don't scare him, either. tell him, 'leary." / @reddaydreaming
Two relevant facts about Alear, at the onset.
First, he has virtually no knowledge of human courtship rituals. He's aware that the environment he was raised in - where the Fell Monarch gathered consorts, and disposed of those who were no longer useful - was abnormal. He suspects that even other dragons don't go about it, in such a callous manner. But it's irrevelant. He doesn't dream of marriage, children, or tender companionship, and even if he did, nobody in their right mind would grant it. That's fine. He has more important things to focus on.
Second, he wasn't planning on a visit to the secret shop, either. He only happened to pass by, and lingered at the spectacle of a loudly arguing man, being turned away. It almost seemed like a fight was going to break out, but no, all parties managed to restrain themselves. Barely.
So…perhaps he is a little curious, about what could be hidden behind those doors that excites such emotion. And perhaps he's about to find out.
He can't think of a good reason, for only couples to be allowed in. It's unfair, for someone to be denied an item which might change their life for the better, just because they fail to meet that requirement. That means the right thing for Alear to do is help, isn't it? A brief pretense, which causes no harm.
Associating with a Fell Dragon like this is an awful thing to do, but it seems there's at least one person in Fodlan who considers it worthwhile, to further her cause. So, here they are.
He manages not to freeze up when she links their arms. It's tolerable, when he knows to expect it in advance, from someone who counts as an ally for the moment.
And just in time, he realises that 'leary' is him.
"Dragons don't normally choose humans as their consorts. Yet I have decided Hapi shall be mine. Does that satisfy you?"
They've agreed to go with a manageable lie. There's no chance Alear could successfully play the role of a doting, lovestruck human suitor. Better to present himself for what he is, with just one key addition.
The doorman's scrutiny switches to him. "Dragon, huh? I guess you don't look exactly normal, either."
"I could prove it, but only in ways you would find unpleasant."
He can't transform, or summon Emblems here. He could raise Corrupted, if that were not an abomination. …Or they could sit around and wait for the next decade, until it became clear that he wasn't visibly ageing. No good options.
"Fine, whatever, that's not the important part. Mind answering a few questions, though? We've had others try to sneak in, who were clearly faking it. So, how did you two meet?"
handholding jail (daycare) — m!alear & veyle
herald 2026
"thank you again for helping with the reforming initiatives for some of the more... rowdy students." veyle looks up to the head priest as he speaks, skipping lightheartedly alongside him.
"not at all, father!" she smiles, holding her hands behind her back in a relaxed manner. "honestly, i'm really happy that even someone like me can help others like this. everyone deserves a second chance, but the fact that it's me giving it to them …"
her voice trails off. she really never imagined something like this for herself.
"ah, here we are." his voice interrupts her thoughts as they step in front of an empty classroom. veyle blinks, staring at the head of red hair present in the classroom with a surprised expression on her face.
the divine one... from the past?
@reddaydreaming
Alear understands perfectly well, why he's in this position. Within his first days as a student, he managed to commit two acts of serious - albeit unintentional - vandalism. The lesser of those seems to have been successfully covered up, for now, but there was no chance of concealment with the greater one. Setting fire to a classroom, fighting a professor almost to the death… It's not that he'd wanted that to happen. He just hadn't seen another way out of the situation.
Perhaps his narrowed perspective is a flaw, in itself. Regardless, he accepts that punishment is due. The exact sentence is bizarre to him, but he can't deny that being forced into proximity with a stranger, physically holding hands, will be deeply uncomfortable. A type of psychological warfare?
He only knows two things, about the unfortunate soul destined to enact this with him. Firstly, she's a pillar of the monastery's community, expected to provide a model of good behaviour for him. Secondly, she's apparently a dragon, since he overheard a comment that 'we might as well pick a dragon to keep an eye on another dragon, right?'.
So he waits, in the classroom he was directed to, until this mystery figure appears.
Alear is not given to displays of emotion - unable to shake off the idea that such will brand him as defective, despite the awareness that here, people lacking those displays are less favoured. Yet maybe a flicker of surprise manages to cross his own face too, at the sight of her.
"You?"
He recognises this girl. She was amongst those who fought him, in that battle with the white-clad stranger who shared his face, his voice, his Emblem. The girl who resembled an older version of his last little sister, Veyle. How many ghosts from that battle are going to haunt him, in the halls of Garreg Mach?
He composes himself, remembering that he's meant to be on his best behaviour. "My name is Alear. Are you the one who will be joined with me?"
✦ 𝐖𝐇𝐘 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 ✧
Non-Mission Board: Herald, any skill +1
Though he would sooner swallow than admit his discomfort, a part of Rafal could not help its malaise every time Alear spoke. Unclouded by aggression, given new angle of observation, he watched the proximate Child from the corner of his eye. Their battle had constructed the impression of an unsettling, unfeeling combatant - someone who failed to emit a single cry even when subject to pain or disadvantage. Who betrayed nothing of himself in the high-tension moments that best warranted it, for if not during a losing struggle for one's life then when? This, Rafal quickly realized, was not. . .normal.
In short time, he would understand what exactly it was that unnerved him about this supposed student of an Alear. He roused at certain weight, sensed an adverse stare lingering heavily on his person. It rubbed him wrong to be the target of those impassive eyes and their unadulterated focus, to be faced with an existence he could not read yet was felt reversely able to read him in turn. Unlike his analogues, the crimson Alear moved as a living being but behaved as a machine; a doll; a picture of wrongness even to one such as Rafal who possessed so little right about him. The more he should wallow in the other's presence, the more that impression solidified.
( and, well, disliking him in the first place certainly also helped. )
What? challenged his scowling look, edgy on a state of caution - raised hackles on easy imagination. Relinquished in even shorter time to realization and outrage.
"Why, you. . .! Cheeky brat!" Rafal stood on the leg of his assumed biological precedence eagerly. He understood that he was older than the reigning Divine Dragon by a spattering of centuries, and this Alear was judged to be younger than them. Terse, gauche, and almost childlike in his way of expression; somehow, an even stronger reason to feel insult than if he'd been socially gifted or spoke with equivalence to his ancient age. "—I could stand your presence better when you didn't speak."
What may have qualified as fond teasing with a different individual—even a different life—conveyed with only the utmost sincerity here. Rafal's mind was under contention, unknown to human and dragon both; he was more than happy to shed light upon it.
"Is it not obvious? There is not a lick of divinity about you. From head to toe, by every drop of blood in your veins, you are a Fell Dragon. It was only natural that I assumed you practiced the worst of intentions." Raising his voice with fulsome use of its resonance, Rafal leaned back in his chair and seemed only to relax with the hook of his arm over its back. In reality he did anything but.
"Fell Dragons of exceptional purity betray themselves. Prone to evil, many walk the earth as parents to devastating destruction. A canker even among themselves. A threat to all living things, besides."
Ironic statement, meet of crimson eyes both identical and antithetical. Intense upon apathetic, Rafal sustained their eye contact then ended it on an inscrutable glance aimed away. A thousand-year legacy of suffering and hatred with Alear as its vessel.
"It would be wise to beware this one as such."
After long and resolved tangent came equally long, charged silence. The arbitrating knight looked between them, Rafal and Alear, then fixed her look with barely disguised perplexity onto Rafal who did not appear willing to divulge anything more. What had possibly transpired between a professor of years' long standing and a student so newly arrived to justify their level of tension? An entire classroom as collateral damage?
—Mysteries seemingly abound. She cleared her throat - loudly at that. ". . .Right; that reminds me. Your accounts of an involuntary illusion possess similarities to an incident that our knights were investigating just prior to yours—multiple incidents, really. Whether helpful or not, this might be of interest to you both."
This time a new file, posited and angled across the desk so that both dragons may view it with equal opportunity. Rafal made a face but leaned forward first, proactive and bold - by that simple act, himself and no other.
"As of late, we have been receiving reports of an unusual phenomenon," he initially read for his own, raising a brow, before properly reading aloud: "According to witnesses and victims alike, there exist orbs capable of thrusting oneself and one's company into fantastical dreams. Some claim these dreams involve their reincarnations, others push they have more to do with alternate timelines. Desolate futures. Bygone pasts. Regardless the case, the common ground is that all have proven temporary—
. . .and eventually return their victims to present reality."
An air of finality accompanied by freighted consideration, a piece to the puzzle he had not considered for the sheer fact that it did not exist. . .until now. Above all, 'unsettling' no longer was a quality that could be ascribed to Alear alone.
Alear has the feeling that being viewed as a 'brat' in Rafal's eyes, means he's doing something right. He's not looking for approval. All his conditioning to obey those in higher positions than himself, has evaporated in this instance. Besides, aren't teachers meant to set a good example for their students to follow?
He doesn't make an effort to look at the file, since Rafal presents the unusual - and surely unintended - courtesy of reading it for the room. And seems to cover all the relevant details.
Well, there it is. A final explanation, and confirmation that no matter what crimes Alear has committed in the past, in this particular matter he's blameless. He doubts Rafal will treat it gracefully, but if nothing else, it's clarification of a mystery. If it's happened to other people, enough for authorities to be keeping track, they have to hope it won't be repeated (he dares not think how much worse it would be, if this were repeated).
"So, that's what happened."
He doesn't see the point in commenting further. 'I told you so' still wouldn't be worth saying. So long as those investigating knights don't ask for a detailed account of what happened in their vision, it's fine.
He's under no illusion that this makes everything right between them. It might have been the instigating factor, setting light to metaphorical and literal fires, but the bad blood runs deeper now. Things have been done, which can't be forgotten overnight.
"As for the rest, it's true. Fell Dragons are known to be the enemies of a peaceful world. Are you proud of that, or do you hate it?"
Do you think that's all we're capable of? Are you going to use it as an excuse, to be the worst version of yourself?
From Rafal's manner, Alear can't tell. Half of him really doesn't care what Rafal says or thinks or feels, dismissing the other as a lost cause. Yet the other half can't help being curious. Not a trait he was free to indulge in, for most of his life. Knowing people, understanding people, was inevitably a source of pain (though he never sank to Zephia's level of callousness, refusing to learn the names of Alear's siblings because she was so certain of their impending deaths).
"You named yourself another child of Sombron, earlier. Then, why are you here? You don't seem like one who would need to hide from him."
A slight narrowing of eyes, to indicate this is not complimentary, as he passes the verdict: "You seem like one he would be pleased with."
Alear has already stated his allegiance, even if it was tossed aside. No more than his child. He recalls those damning words, and it stirs something sour and sharp-edged within his chest. More than anything else Rafal accused him of, that was wrong. It has to be.
Dully, something else tugs at his mind. Rafal - at the height of his mania, when Alear was in no fit state to question or dwell upon it - had mentioned 'others'. What others? How had someone outside Elyos been able to identify Alear, not only as a Fell Dragon, but the offspring of one specific Fell Dragon?
It's reasonable to believe that elsewhere, others of their kind exist (though there were a few odd cultists who claimed that Sombron was born from undersea volcanoes, and rose to the surface along with Gradlon's land mass). Outside of his own blighted bloodline, unrelated and perhaps untained by the same poisonous upbringing. If that isn't the case, and Sombron's reach stretches further than Alear had imagined, that's…a disturbing thought.
At no point, does he make a connection which others might. The word 'brother' never enters his head. He already made the choice, for who he does and doesn't want to call family, and this couldn't be further from it.
Days Since A Fell Dragon Last Destroyed Anything: 0
Non-Mission Board: Herald | Heavy Armour +1 | with @dcggersedge
He sounds so sincere when he says that, it makes her chest do a weird, twinge-y feeling. She turns her head away to focus on the spot where the painting was, hopefully before he had the chance to see whatever might have played out on her expression.
"Hmm…they probably have more in storage, but I'm not in the in-crowd enough to have access to that sorta thing." Though the idea that they've got some room just filled to the brims with all sorts of things they didn't want the average joe getting their hands on did make her curious about it, she can't lie. Good little note to keep in her back pocket, just in case they ever need it one day.
But the point for now is that if they wanted to ask about that, they'd have to let somebody know that there was something wrong in the room in the first place, and she's not too keen on sounding the alarm bells just yet.
Paintings, paintings…does she know any painters? Yunaka frowns to herself as she runs through the list of everybody she knows here at the school. "There's an Eagle student who's a good painter…she might not have something big enough to fill the hole ready to go right away, but maybe she would have some more helpful information if you asked her." Though…sending someone she doesn't know to go talk to Bernie without any warning might also give the poor Eagle a heart attack too.
Ah, well. Yunaka shrugs. "We can save it for another time, though, if nobody finds the scene we've set before we have more time. They should be giving the go ahead to end things for the day soon, and wanting to stick around longer will probably just look more suspicious than anything."
Which means…off he goes, to run into who knows what out there…She glances at Alear from the corner of her eyes. After a moment of quiet, she gives him another smile. "Do you need a guide to the Eagles dorm rooms or…wherever you're heading off to after this?"
He nods, satisfied with her anaylsis of the situation. There are merits to a simple approach, over a complicated plan.
Unsurprisingly, he doesn't know the student she mentions, as he hasn't had many opportunities to socialise yet. Besides which, he only has the broadest idea of how people do that. Since leaving Lythos Castle, this is probably the longest conversation he's had with anyone. He decides that overall, it's been a success. They solved a dilemma together, and have become mutually well-inclined towards each other, haven't they?
"I should be able to find my way." And if not, then he'll learn more about the monastery's layout, as he goes. It's all good practice.
"Is it okay for me to leave, without notifying-"
Before he can finish that sentence, the door handle turns. On near-perfect cue, the person who'd originally assigned him this duty steps in.
They absorb the scene: Alear and Yunaka. An abandoned set of cleaning supplies, in the middle of a spotless floor. A splash of paint on Alear's shoe, from an unknown source. Windows gleaming but pushed open wide, airing out the remnants of a strange odour. An empty picture hook on one wall.
Alear braces himself, with a carefully blank face (not difficult to achieve, in his case). Remembering the agreed-upon lie: I never saw a painting. And the second lie behind that, if things go unexpectedly wrong and can't be salvaged: It was all my idea. Yunaka arrived too late to stop me.
Time seems to drag, before they receive the final verdict.
"Aren't you finished yet? Make sure to put everything back, once you're done."
And that's all. No praise for the parts done well, no outward suspicions for the sole glaring mistake. A casual wave of dismissal, and they turn on their heel and exit the room.
How anticlimatic. If nothing else though, it's proven Yunaka right. All they needed to do was throw the painting out of a window, and the problem disappeared. Out of sight, out of mind, apparently.
split in half, but it'll have to do
w/ @reddaydreaming
It's really you who came to me, isn't it? And in every lifetime, in every world, Nel would find her way to his side. The one time she wasn't... Her throat constricts as she swallows, unable to even finish the thought. Centuries' worth of regret would never be enough to shoulder the guilt that came with surviving when Alear didn't. Every passing heartbeat that brought bittersweet joy with it eventually twisted into a strange mix caught between fear and regret-- Nil's name is all it takes for every muscle in her body to tense, even after Alear's efforts had brought some manner of comfort to her. Her hands rest against his shoulders and slide down to hold on to his arms; letting go of that warmth, letting go of that familiar presence would be too much. Not when everything else she'd known had come crashing down around her, and when all of her efforts had only brought suffering to the boy that had always mattered the most to her. "... Walk with me? There is much to speak of and much to explain. I am unsure if I will do a sufficient enough job, but I am not opposed to trying." One of her gloved hands fits flawlessly into his palm as she dutifully falls into place at his side-- how it should've always been, and how it always will be from this moment onward. For all of the time they have now, for all of the time they'd been robbed of before. Finding her voice is the hardest part about all of this, lower lip worried between her teeth before she sucks in a sharp breath after a brief silence. "Nil is gone. He... he has been for a very, very long time." Nel had known all along that the 'Nil' she knew had not been the true Nil, but now that she truly thinks about it: when did she actually realize it? Had his smile faded a bit in its light? Did his body tense out of instinct when she hugged him, versus Nil who had never done anything but lean into his sister's comfort? So many years had passed, to the point where foggy memories couldn't answer any of her questions. The memories that mattered were bright in her mind, and would stay that way. "The boy that you knew was not Nil. He may have worn his name and his face, but it was not.... him." Dark brows furrow, her fingers squeezing tightly around her companion's. "Nil fell when we were still mere whelps under Sombron's thumb. From what I understand and what I was told... he passed my dragonstone off to the boy that we came to know and treasure. I suppose it was a convenient coincidence that he resembles Nil so much." "... I asked what his name was before I ended up here. It was too late, and I did not hear his answer. A sister who cannot speak her own brother's name." There are some that would believe her to be a fool for continuing to keep such a lion within her den, ignoring the fangs that had been bared at her throat. They do not know him in the same manner that she does, and they do not know the conflict she witnessed in his eyes... even as they stood on opposite sides of the battlefield. "You and I... we both know that there is no end to Sombron's influence. It is my death that will bring him peace-- and so I willingly accept it. Our world has long since been doomed since....." Since that final battle. Since Alear's blood painted the ground in a sickening crimson. Since she'd shed so many tears, she wasn't sure if she'd ever be able to again. Until her throat became raw, until her head felt like it would split open. "... Either way, I believe he is in capable hands now. I believe he has a chance to live his own life, and not in the shadow of another. Whether that shadow is me, or the true Nil."
@reddaydreaming
He nods, and falls into step with her. Soft brush of flowers against their legs, as they walk with no destination in mind, just for the sake of being in motion. Holding her hand, and trying not to think of another, sunny and vibrant meadow, where he'd also wanted to hold her hand, in their lost future.
Absorbing her words with attentive concern. Then surprise, written openly across his face, a widening of deep blue eyes. One of Nel's brothers lost, a different one taking his place - not something that would be remotely possible in Lythos, where each rare child was a blessing, but far more believable in Gradlon. Such a flood of sadly neglected children had been born there, treated as disposable, pitted against each other, soon forgotten if they fell. As an outsider, Alear knows the barest details of it all, and those are horrific enough.
Ultimately, however…while that history matters, it doesn't change the core truth of that bond between Nel and her brother. Both brothers. It doesn't change the dedication in her heart; that's clear for anyone to see, even somebody who might know her less well than Alear does.
She'd tried to hard to protect Nil, always. Does it feel like failure, to learn that he's already lost? Another source of grief, undoubtedly. But she did succeed, with the one who came to Lythos. She brought him to safety, watched over him tirelessly, and it's a trait Alear has always admired in her. Listening to these revelations, that admiration doesn't falter in the slightest.
"Whatever his name, you were still his precious sister. In a way, the strangest part is that he thought he needed to hide the truth, for so long. Was he actually worried, that any of us wouldn't accept him?"
Surely not. Love doesn't just disappear like that.
A boy acting the part of a dead sibling, hiding his identity to win a sister's care. Regardless of the story's finer specifics, it must have been harrowing. How could they respond to that, with anything but sadness and sympathy?
Honestly, seeing them had often made Alear regret his status as an only child. It's been a millennia since the last member of his family died, even if he's done his best to build a new family since then.
Doomed since… She doesn't need to finish that sentence. Since Alear made the wrong choice, confronted Sombron in the wrong way, misjudged too many things. Oddly, the violence of death itself has only left a vague impression on him, barely noteworthy. Too much else surrounding it, that's more important.
His turn to squeeze her hand a little tighter, for a moment.
"I can't believe you cast a shadow over him, rather than bringing light into his life. However it happened, he must wish you were still by his side."
Then again, it doesn't help to dwell on how devastated her brother will be feeling, does it? It must be similar to how Alear felt, after his mother's death. The severing of an essential link, a sacrifice made by one, so the other can continue. Is that how it happened?
He doesn't understand why Nel says death was necessary, in her case. She can choose to elaborate, or not. Alear isn't here to interrogate, trusting that the information she shares is what really matters. Besides, it's too late to change anything now.
He comes to a halt, aiming to catch her gaze again.
"I know that you did all you could. For him, and everyone else. I never meant to leave you, with so much to deal with."
If she believes Nil - or whatever he'd want to call himself - will be okay, then of course Alear is satisfied. Most of the Four Winds are still alive to support him, aren't they? Alear would have sensed them cross over otherwise, he's sure. Zelestia is still there, the loyal soul who has been part of his makeshift family for centuries. And that other Divine Dragon won't abandon them; he's sure of that too.
Not all is lost, not everything is gone. A few resilient glimmers of hope, against the shroud of despair.
✦ 𝐖𝐇𝐘 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 ✧
Non-Mission Board: Herald, any skill +1
One newcomer, two, three, four, then soon an influx beyond counting. Parallel battle waged between man and fire as two dragons looked on with a figment of helplessness - all but forgotten and overridden. Uncertain future to replace Rafal's once certain victory.
Through each and every new development thrust his way, the Fell Heir's displeasure would only grow and grow. At first a small, budding frown weighing slightly at the corners of his mouth; then, a frightening grimace that succeeded in warding away even the most stone-hearted of Garreg Mach medics. Suffice to say, even with bewilderment being the most obvious emotion there was to feel, still did there exist room for others in Rafal's mind. Disbelief, suspicion, and above all. . .offense.
First cause of offense: an uninvited third party, barging in for the sake of culling outgrown flames. Second cause: the theft of Rafal's prey. He had Alear in a right corner - come so close to the seizure of his life, only for it to be whisked off to corners unknown. Destination at best the dungeon and at worst the infirmary; knowing the soft denizens of this monastery, the latter was the more reasonable assumption between the two. An unwise one in view of all greater knowledge that Rafal brandished over their encounter and their sordid Fell Dragon kind.
Third: an end had been in sight. And, now?
An uncertain beginning not asked for.
* ENTER SCENE: Rafal. Several minutes preceding.
"What is the meaning of this?"
A civilized scene of office, desk, and chairs - several chairs, disturbingly, if one should be observant about it, two presently occupied and a third yet to be filled. These alongside a dragon who belonged anywhere but. While another tended to the wounds of his enemy, here sat Rafal in complete and utter aversion to the idea - he ought to be where such an impostor Alear was, finishing the deed he'd started, and yet instead he'd been summoned to answer to an interrogator. One who gazed at him vaguely bemused.
"That is what I should be asking you." The woman wore a mixed expression of pity and disappointment. Before her, a thin white brow twitched. If only she knew the former omnicidal villain and world-eating serpent it was directed toward.
"You are aware that a classroom has burnt down of dubious causes under your watch? Worse, there are witnesses toward your altercation with a student? This is an unfortunate look, Professor Rafal, both for you and the academy that has hired you."
"It is only a classroom," Rafal glowered, "my actions concerned the well being of not only myself but the very academy you speak of. If you should care to know," and you should, implied his pointed look, "the man you refer to is a maestro of twisted illusions. A Fell Dragon like myself. His subterfuge trapped me in an unsavory dream, and in that dream, I was forced to imagine myself as his—"
Wait. . .what? Before these words could finish, a black hole of an anomaly caused them to disappear from his tongue. Student. Unusual, this wording; strange enough to foment suspicion, and impossible to ignore. Revived was one flickering little flame of dubiety yet to be fully quashed. So were recast the seeds of doubt.
He narrowed his eyes: "What do you. . .?"
* ENTER SCENE: Alear. The Present.
Rafal clamped his mouth shut at Alear's arrival. Two chairs and a third unfilled. When their final fell occupant should at last arrive, he would find a considerably 'unhappy' Rafal with arms crossed across his chest, an outward picture of forbidding stoicism. Inwardly. . .well, not even he could explain what his own turbulent mindscape looked like. He, too, had caught every whispered word between the knights; he alone troubled to think about what they meant.
"So. Instead of two faculty members getting into a brawl which burns down half a classroom, I have a faculty member and a student. Hardly much better, is it? Who wants to explain to me, how this happened?"
"Hold on. Return to your earlier statement! What is meant by faculty member and student?" It was Rafal who cut in first if only to ignore the first line of questioning; Rafal whose frown persisted and appeared to deepen further than it already did. Impressive. This facial movement aggravated the cut on his cheek that he'd refused to have tended to earlier - something of 'superior dragon capabilities' and another of stubborn resistance. Something more of that here: "The Alear you observe is capable of immoral trickery and illusion—visions so lifelike that one would struggle to differentiate fake from real. You cannot mean to imply that such a malefactor is enrolled here?"
Pot call kettle black, one might say. And, for the first time since that kettle walked into the room, the pot looked at him properly - beheld him in full measure, the confluence of his lessened damages, his stolid appearance, and cautiously distanced form, then scoffed with rejection. Oh, how another world's Alear princely face would fall like a kicked puppy at so frigid a response. So unwelcoming a snow-white beauty!
"You cannot mean to say that HE is a student at The Officer's Academy?"
"—That is exactly what I mean."
Fielding Rafal's malcontent with admirable composure, the interrogator turned to rife through a stack of folders - those only recently aforementioned as the production of one certain file would go to prove. Landing upon Alear's record, she flipped through to her wanted page with a lick of her thumb. "First name, Alear. Last name, unknown. Male. Fell Dragon. Elyosian. Height of five foot nine or thereabouts. Weight also unknown. Age, over a thousand. Talented in swordplay. A refugee from a long defunct country known as Gradlon. House, Black Eagles."
With this, she looked up at Rafal's enemy, dared to smile at him as if all his warnings were for naught. "Would this student profile be accurate, Mr. Alear? Oh, and please—" gesture to that accursed third chair, ". . .do take a seat."
Rafal's jaw barely refrained from dropping to the floor.
Another type of person might take pointed enjoyment, in having their disbelieved claims proven true, beyond a shadow of doubt (never mind that Rafal continues to doubt, loudly). They might say 'I told you so' with a triumphant grin, and want to wave the student profile in Rafal's face. Alear remains silent, and simply observes.
Granted, he doesn't feel nothing about it. There's a faint sense of vindication, though he wouldn't quite call it relief yet. His identity isn't the only issue.
"Mostly, yes."
It's interesting to hear himself called a refugee, and Gradlon long defunct. Well, hopefully in the future that will be true, and he certainly won't ask for it to be considered in stronger terms. Call it defunct, and obsolete, and worthless. That's all it deserves.
He's ordered to sit, and so he does (straight-backed, absent relaxation). It's not what he's accustomed to. It would feel more natural if he were standing to attention, expected to hold perfect posture regardless of his weariness, or kneeling on a floor of cold, polished stone. Sitting in a chair, as if he were about to be served a late lunch, is bizarre when the person he's nearest to is the one he was recently brawling with. As if it's impossible to think that violence might break out again, in the confines of this office.
Well, he would prefer it not to.
More importantly, he did catch a revelation of his own, before that. Words which would imply that Rafal is…employed here. In a senior position to Alear.
He's less concerned with the fact he almost killed one of the monastery's staff, instead focused on the notion that someone has deliberately paid Rafal to be here. Does this place just let anyone through the doors, and hang on prayers that they don't cause catastrophe too often? That seems a poor way of running an academy. He considers how to phrase that, without annoying the knight.
"If Rafal is meant to be here, then I am also surprised."
He can't think what use such a person would serve. A security guard? No, that would be terrifying for ordinary students.
There hadn't been much of a chance to contemplate Rafal's origins, but Alear's first guess was that he'd arrived on a mission of conquest and slaughter - and Alear just happened to be there at precisely the right moment, to intercept before it began. Confronted with such a vicious attitude, what else could cross his mind?
"I'm afraid to say that Rafal is one of your house's professors."
Alear gives a long stare towards the knight, trying to wrap his head around that sentence. He follows this with an equally long stare in Rafal's direction, seeking some glimmer of erudite bearing that might have previously been overlooked, anything that signals 'this is an academic professional rather than an ill-tempered tyrant'. He fails to find it.
"I doubt he has anything to teach me."
Or any will to teach it, surely. The notion they might have to spend further time together, in the same classroom, peacefully, is…hard to picture.
Under other conditions, Alear would have been glad for a professor of his own kind. Envisioning a mentor of similar temperament to Queen Lumera, who might be more inclined to judge him fairly, and show how a better life could be built outside Gradlon. How disappointing, to instead make another enemy.
Perhaps sensing the brink of a quarrel, the knight asks, "What was this about trickery and illusion? Were you casting magic?"
"Before the fight, there was a strange illusion. Both of us were trapped, not just him. He decided I must have caused it. I still don't know why he thinks I would do that."
Alear has no interest in playing pranks. He has no amorous intentions towards anybody, ever. He understands perfectly, the futility of trying to present himself as a Divine Dragon. He can't think of any real benefits to be gained from it.
Days Since A Fell Dragon Last Destroyed Anything: 0
Non-Mission Board: Herald | Heavy Armour +1 | with @dcggersedge
The painting cracks and crashes against the ground below. Yunaka holds her breath, but nobody comes running at the sound. Not yet, anyway. Eventually somebody's going to find it, but that's a problem for when eventually comes, and hopefully when it does they'll be long gone and not part of this mess at all anymore.
Yunaka pulls herself back in the room and shuts the window, but leaves the latch unlocked. More believable that someone lost in the revelry of the ball would forget to shut it back up, just in case.
When she glances back at Alear, he's already looking at her. Would…if things were normal, would he be disappointed in her for doing this instead of telling the truth? The look that he gives her now is basically unreadable, like he's got a mask stuck on over the gentle expression she keeps expecting.
Her own masks slides on just as easy. "Mistakes are allowed, that's how you learn." If she hadn't needed to be perfect, how could she ever ask him the same?
Yunaka laughs and slaps a hand onto his shoulder. "You'll do fine. We've got all kinds of Eagles, I'm sure you'll fit right in."
And…and at least she can keep an eye on him this way. That's good. Even if she doesn't know what's going on or how to fix it, she can at least make sure that he's safe and not getting hurt. "And hey, listen, don't worry about the painting too much, alright? So much stuff happens here on the regular, I don't doubt that people will forget about it in no time. I mean, the place was totally trashed a while ago, so they should be happy they have paintings at all, to be honest."
Mistakes are allowed - if not universally, then within the company of certain sympathetic people. Alear will remember that (even if it shouldn't be needed, because he really doesn't want to do anything like this again).
He freezes at the impact of her hand, light as it is. Though his expression doesn't change much, there's a sudden tension to it, pupils automatically dilating like a cat about to pounce (or strike back against a surprise attack). Forcibly reminding himself that Yunaka is being friendly. This is a gesture of cameraderie. He should be glad that she chooses to behave this way with him.
He mentally shakes off the discomfort.
"…Thank you. If there are more like you, then maybe I will."
Eventually. With enough hard work and adjustment.
It doesn't really alleviate his worries, to be told the monastery was previously 'trashed'. In that case, hasn't he added to a larger problem? Yet she appears to be in good spirits, even as she informs him. Alear hasn't noted any particular evidence of disaster, so maybe her definition is broader than his? All right, then.
…Still, he glances again at the conspicously empty spot on the wall. It bothers him. And it occurs to him that 'the painting was already gone' is a bigger lie to swallow than 'the painting was of something else'.
"Would nobody keep spare paintings, then? In a store room?"
He recalls that such storage existed, in Gradlon Temple. Plunder and tribute claimed by the Fell Monarch, valuable ornaments and works of art piled up in careless excess. Hoarded with no appreciation for beauty, only for how such treasures could be converted into fuel for the war machine. Maybe there are similar places here - or maybe not. But if so, he imagines that a professor might have easier access than a student.
It's a passing thought, feeling he ought to contribute somehow, rather than just doing as he's told. He won't mind if she dismisses it. She knows better than him, what's likely to work.
oil // water
first meetings w/ @reddaydreaming
She IS the last Divine Dragon in Lythos. That statement alone has her blinking in a hint of confusion, because he speaks as if her mother still lives and breathes within the confines of the castle-- considering her experience with the alternate reflection of Elyos alongside Nel and Rafal... well, maybe in some distant universe, her mother is alive. Safe. Able to enjoy her life in the way she always should've, without waiting for her for a thousand years only to see that happiness taken away so quickly. At least this Alear is up front and honest, though. There doesn't seem to be any hint of a lie in his words, but she knows well enough her friends would lecture her on being a bit too trusting in situations like these. But in favor of Queen Lumera's decisions of the past, she'll follow in her footsteps by doing the right thing. What she thinks is the right thing, anyways.
"I see... you and I know the same Queen Lumera, then. At least, I think we do." Ugh, why is all of this always so confusing? It both is and isn't the Queen Lumera she knows. Right? "If that's the case, though-" Alear does turn on her heel there, brows furrowed and eyes narrow as she glances over at him. It's not necessarily a stance of wanting to fight, but it is one that seems more defensive and a hint prickly-- her arms are crossed over her chest in the most stern stance that she can manage even in the face of another dragon that would be another of her Father's brood. "Are you intending to harm her? Or..." It's not fair to jump to conclusions, because if the same had been done to her in those snowy fields, she would've died at the end of a blade from one of her siblings. She never would've made it this far, and she never would've had a chance to smile without it being a defect that warranted her disposal. "... Do you want to help the Divine Dragon? I owe her everything. I won't see her memory tarnished."
It's then that her head tilts slightly, uncertainty evident in the way dual-toned eyes flicker to the side. "Something about you says I don't need to tell you that, though. Something tells me that maybe you feel the same way I do. I, um-- I... don't think it would be fair for me to start off on a bad foot simply because of the fact that you're a Fell Dragon. It's not what she would have wanted, and I don't think it's what I'd want either."
@reddaydreaming
He has had very few occasions in his life, where anyone might accuse him of being too trusting. Yet he doesn't assume deception is at play here, either.
But if Lumera also knows this other Alear, why wouldn't she mention it to him? Why keep such a notable coincidence to herself? …Or is that why she wanted to send him here, for them to meet? Then why not explain beforehand, rather than leaving it as a surprise? Too many questions.
His main consolation, is that the one facing him seems equally at a loss. Better to be in the dark together, than for her to have an advantage over him.
Ah. The suspicious look, the suggestion that he has bad intentions. That's familiar ground, though in this rare case, it's far enough from the truth to harden his stare, summon a protest to his lips-
-Yet before he can voice it, she continues, and amazingly hits the right mark, through her own intuition. He hadn't expected that.
Has something about him changed, already? Enough that another person might perceive it, without him needing to argue his case and struggle to be believed? A hopeful thought to continue with.
"Queen Lumera's enemies are mine. If you agree, then we shouldn't be enemies either."
Despite how the sense of jealousy lingers, a shadow on what could otherwise be a promising exchange. If there's somebody else who owes Lumera everything, does that mean…he isn't special, after all? He'd wanted to be special, the way she is to him. Her only child, something precious that couldn't be thrown away or replaced.
He thinks again of that battle in Gradlon. Just afterwards was when he first encountered the Divine Dragon Monarch, and he'd never really understood why she was there, alone in the heart of enemy territory. Had she been looking for another Alear, and found him by mistake? Is that why she showed him unexpected kindness, in the beginning?
…It would be to his best advantage to kill a rival, hide the deed, and secure his place as the only one his adoptive mother cares for.
But he won't. One thing is impossible to doubt: Lumera wouldn't wish them to be at odds. A point of clarity amid their shared confusion. He accepts that.
Although a smile remains a long way off, he makes a conscious effort to relax his posture slightly. To appear curious rather than challenging, when he says, "She has never spoken of you. Did you also come here, at her suggestion?"
The silent, accompanying questions: Is she also waiting to welcome you home, alongside me? Once I've become more similar to you, maybe?
Activity Check: June
Status: Passed!
Skill Points Earned:
+1 monthly activity
Total: 4 → 5
Allocation:
Sword D → D+
Thread Tracker: Here
Sommie Claus is Coming to Town
Mission Board: Herald | Any Skill +1 | with @fiercerival
There's an oddly festive air, around a figure who would usually be described as anything but that. Cast adrift from an otherworldly orb, which resembles a merrily sparkling snow globe, this incarnation of Alear looks around Garreg Mach with a bright, blue and red gaze - though there's also a hint of concern in his expression. He has a special responsibility to uphold, after all, and things aren't going to plan so far. He'd hate to let everyone down.
The first thing to do, is enlist help from somebody who looks more familiar with this place than him (in other words, anybody whatsoever). He's already drawing a few curious glances, possibly because instead of the smart, dark uniform which seems to be common here, he's wearing a warm and fluffy snow-white outfit, matching cap, and a cape adorned with vibrant baubles. Also because the handbell he's carrying around keeps jangling, if he doesn't hold it still properly.
He never understood why he needed a bell, when the point of being a winter envoy is to silently deliver gifts in the middle of the night, while people are asleep. His stewards insisted on it though, when they helped dress him up for the occasion. He's a little sorry to have listened to them, but can't exactly throw it away, now he has it.
That young woman over there, with the red hair - might she be a good person to ask? Alear turns a friendly, hopeful smile in her direction.
"Hello there! If you're not busy right now, would you mind helping me? I have an important delivery to make, but I've lost track of…a few things, along the way."
It's embarrassing to admit, but he's not too stubborn to ask for aid, when he needs it. Anyway, he prefers doing things with company.
