"i will not be devoured!"

…… All of this matters not. I know the Demon King has claimed me. It is not important… Not if I can save the world. My own soul is irrelevant. closed lyon blog. black eagles student at the officers academy

[resurrectionpact]

laws of aviation –& lyon

exemplaris​:

“Aye, you and the mage-boy can angle the wings with the ropes at the front handles. If you crash just…. Try to leave enough intact to tweak, y’hear?”

The metal contraption groaned when Ferdinand braced his hands on the handles, crudely wrapped in a layer of worn leather and tied in place with a stream of ribbons to either side, and then groaned again when he swung his legs over the seat as if it had been a horse and sat down. Alright. That was perhaps not the most confidence inspiring thing that could have happened, but birds were fragile creatures that managed to fly, were they not?

“Eyes ahead and unafraid, friend! For every success, a hundred failures paved the way.” Bright eyes were fixed ahead of them, turned toward the gentle, upward curve at the bottom of the slope. “Let us be off!”

And off they went.

Momentum threw them down the slope, wind immediately blowing against the leather and canvas that made up the contraption’s wings. With air surging past his face, blowing his hair in every which direction, exhilaration filled Ferdinand’s veins. It was not unlike the first time he brought a stallion to gallop. No more dangerous than that, surely.

The wings above them groaned just as the metal frame did as the wind continued to gust up into the flaps, and though Ferdinand could feel the strain and pull of it, attempting to lift the machine up as they pedalled furiously down the hill, it just wasn’t quite enough. “We need to go just a bit faster!” He couldn’t tell if the mage behind him could even hear with the wind in their ears. “Faster!”

“Is that even possible?!” 

Is there even enough time to consider that question?

The joints and wheels of their machine scream as they tear down the hill, only getting louder as they pick up speed. That slope on the bottom is only getting closer. No amount of questions and last-minute regrets will change that fact, so what will he do about it?

...Ferdinand is right, they are much too slow right now. Any prince of Grado knows that wyverns taking flight from the ground must reach a certain speed before the air can lift them from the ground. With the wind on their side, Lyon grits his teeth and pedals, past the growing ache in his thighs and growing doubts in his mind. Eyes ahead and unafraid. Eyes ahead, unafraid. 

There is no time for fear, regrets, or prayers once the machine launches off of the slope, catching a powerful wind beneath its cloth wings. 

Terror catches in Lyon’s throat, he cannot even scream much less tell Ferdinand that he could feel the wind pushing against them, tilting them too high. Instead he forces himself to move quickly, his hands working the cotton ropes that the mechanist mentioned earlier to angle the wings correctly. Once again the machine rocks and groans, but at last, for a precious few seconds...

“Did we– Oh...!” For a precious few seconds, Lyon puts his fear aside for wonder, as they manage to glide well above the ground. This isn’t the height of wyverns and pegasi, but it was height, flight, powered by human will and ingenuity.

In a flash of white, the loose knot that had kept the rope attached to its place comes undone. Lyon’s hand shoots out, only to close around empty air, and the rope flutters wildly in the wind with a collapsing left wing. “Oh no, oh no, ohnononono....!”

[resurrectionpact]

a case of mistaken identity

*sneaks up behind @soliegis* BOO! [ Faith +1 ]

Lyon could imagine the three of them in front of this tree. Eirika with innocent eyes and a bright smile earnestly making a wish, Ephraim with his arms crossed like one of the older men insisting that “this is something for girls, not something that a man would do”, and he would be right, but Lyon would privately think of how beautiful the gesture was, dreams adorning a tree in color and beauty during a time when they have precious little of it.

The tree before him blooms with dozens of delicate, petal-pink ribbons tied around its budding branches. On the lowest ones, there isn’t even enough room for a sparrow to perch on, never mind a ribbon, and never mind the three ribbons getting permanent wrinkles with every second they are trapped in Lyon’s anxious, clammy hands.

Beyond the thick layer of pink fabric, Lyon can see bare branches with only a handful of ribbons. Certainly enough room for three. But they sit so high, high enough that one would have to climb just to reach it. Defeat, strong and familiar, weighs heavily on Lyon’s heart.... 

No, no, not anymore. The old Lyon would have accepted defeat and walks away, just like he accepted everything in the past. But the new Lyon fights because there are things worth fighting for, like the right to be strong and the right to tie ribbons to trees.

His hands grip the rough bark of the oak tree, and it’s then when he remembers that, actually, maybe he hasn’t climbed a tree before. Still, memories of Ephraim doing the same thing guide him on this unprecedented journey. One foot fits itself into a groove in the tree’s trunk, while his hands grab at a large branch above him. 

[resurrectionpact]

voyage to tomorrow

ignatzlandscape​:

“Thanks Lyon,” Ignatz smiles before drawing another arrow. He aimed at Leto, and fired his arrow.

1d20 = 2, Ignatz misses Leto (7/20 HP)

The arrow flies past Leto as Ignatz braces for the counterattack. Ignatz could feel the life drained out of him as he took the brunt of her attack.

Right after, Gricenchos fired an attack at him, but it  miraculously missed and Ignatz fired a countershot at him.

@alfvangr​ @ceaselessblade​

Henry, and Seliph too... Lyon forces his eyes away from the sight. He is no stranger to death, but his heart aches no less when allies meets their end. It brings attention to his own breath, his own life, reclaimed and unearned. Lyon takes a deep breath. If not for himself, then for the ones who no longer can.

Fury, a furious need to fight once more on the battlefield, it wells up in his heart once more. But the earlier blast that knocked them all down seems to have reopened the wounds Lyon had just healed. That’s.... no, instead he holds his breath for as long as is safe and exhales once more, hurrying to Ignatz’s side once more. Lyon struggles with his offensive spells all this time–Alfonse, the only other one capable of healing, should just focus on attacking. Focus on his strengths. Even if the thought burns Lyon to the very core.

HEALS IGNATZ, 14 = +4HP, Ignatz left with 5/8HP

Healing is a worthy field in its own right–Lyon is at least glad that he could finally find use in this small team. But these hands, the ones that allow Faith magic to flow so easily, they were made for fighting too. And if they’t not, even if Ephraim says they’re not, Lyon is determined to mold them into a more fitting form that reflects his heart’s wishes.

[resurrectionpact]

voyage to tomorrow

ceaselessblade​: 

The battle intensifies: Blasts of light swerve through their lines, dazzling and leaving afterimages in their sight. Gricenchos cuts a bloody row through their ranks. The dragon takes a nasty blow to its jaw, and then to its snout, and finally can’t take it anymore– Light spews from its maw like a flood, searing and scorching all in its wake. Ike covers his face and grits his teeth, the blow forcing him back with everyone else. A quick glance through bleary eyes tells him everyone seems more or less wounded, but not out. He blinks frantically to clear the spots from his eyes. The dragon swoops past, bowls him over, and the Sword of Zoltan nearly clatters from his grip as it catches on scales, bouncing right off. Gritting his teeth, he pinches the hilt back into his palm, feeling his fingers creak from the strain, and then rolls it all the way back. [Ike: 6/12 HP] The dragon surges onwards, unscathed. Ike closes his right eye, and scans for awareness with his left. Gricenchos is still on the field; he wishes to keep an eye on the faded blur that still remains.

@resurrectionpact @alfvangr @ignatzlandscape​

That looked bad. Ignatz... he’s not looking good now. Lyon’s hands, his stained hands, they ache for the cold chill of his Blizzard spell, something more accurate so that he can assist with taking down Leto. Prove his power, prove himself to be useful... but his heart sees Ignatz on the brink of death. Is he so selfish, that he would throw out someone else’s life for the slim chance to play hero?

Who does Lyon think he is, someone to save the day? With one last withering glance at their draconic adversary, he falls back to his role as the healer. His own wounds are beginning to ache, but Ignatz is in far worse shape. What are your injuries in comparison? Who cares? Forget about yourself. Just do your job. It’s the kick Lyon needs to focus on the task at hand: bringing his healing light to Ignatz’s body and bringing it back together.

HEALS IGNATZ, 12 = +4HP, Ignatz left with 5/9HP

The wounds are severe, too severe to bring him back to top shape, but death no longer looms over him so closely. “Be careful,” Lyon urges quietly.

There isn’t much time to be careful before Leto comes for them all. Her powerful spell first comes as a flash, then a powerful shockwave that knocks Lyon off of his feet.

WARNING FLARE. ATTACKS LYON, 7 = Hit, 1 + 1 (Guardian) = 2 / 2 (Demonic Supremacy) = 1 damage, Lyon left with 5/10HP

“Ngh...” Lyon’s skin prickles from the lingering static of her magic. His soul pulses with power and fear, thrumming like the heartbeat of a rabbit pursued. That was enough to kill someone.

Lyon’s eyes widen, and he looks around wildly. Did it–?

[resurrectionpact]

voyage to tomorrow

alfvangr​:

          Feeble as the protection of his rallying cast is, it still spares Lyon the worst of the tiger’s claws when they strike. Blades, spells, arrows—all are concentrated on Gricenchos once it becomes clear he will not allow any harm to befall Leto; in return he delivers a ferocity that leave many reeling from its impact. Alfonse is no exception.

[ Gricenchos attacks Alfonse. 2 damage taken. ] [ Alfonse counters and deals 0.5 damage back. ]

          Claws rake across the arm thrown up to absorb the blow; pain blossoms where they tear into fabric and skin, dyeing the former’s torn edges from white to red. Otherworldly prince bites down hard on his lip to stifle the cry that surely would have left him if not, before drawing Fólkvangr to retaliate and scoring a nick into the dragon’s hide. And again—he surges forth while the opportunity is yet present, gemstones embedded in his regalia’s hilt shimmering in tune with its wielder’s will to strengthen the arc of his second swing. Cutting a deeper gash near to the first before claws lash out once more and send him tumbling across the void.

[ Alfonse attacks Gricenchos. 1 damage dealt. ] [ Gricenchos counters with a critical hit, dealing 2 damage back. ]

          A wheeze and a series of coughs when he manages to rise once more—the wind had been knocked rather thoroughly from his lungs upon hitting the ground. Bloodied arm throbs at his side, but Alfonse’s gaze is fixed solely on Gricenchos, who appears to be weakening—at the very least it should prove a greater challenge for it to protect its kin and fight back simultaneously. “Now’s our chance!” he calls, lifting his blade skyward to point the tip in Leto’s direction. “We should be able to attack the other one as well!”

@resurrectionpact || @ignatzlandscape​ 

Fólkvangr’s steel gleams brilliantly in spite of the darkness. Does that come naturally for some people–to be utterly imperfect, bleeding and sweaty from battle and still manage an inspiring speech for their peers? Ephraim is like that, Eirika too... maybe it’s just a skill that’s limited to certain special people. Not someone like Lyon, proving himself inept at every turn... 

Gricenchos reels from the damage and, for the first time in this battle, Lyon sees it panting, clearly weakened from the blow. Leto flies through the sky like a kite, unwounded thanks to its protector. But with it weakened... she may try to heal her ally.

In spite of Lyon’s earlier attempt, another Banshee spell forms in the palm of his hands. His mind strains–this spell works better against grounded enemies, or at least when he has a base to anchor the spell in. But Leto flits through the air with surprising agility for her size. Try as Lyon might to ensnare her in his spell, she dodges every attempt with grace. And, for even attempting such a foolhardy trick again, Leto has a fitting punishment for him.

Her mouth opens, shining brilliantly before Lyon’s world turns white. The sheer force of her attack nearly knocks him off-balance. Nearly. He braced himself for Faith magic, what with how she heals and attacks with light, but something about this is... different. Not true faith magic, but a corrupted, unholy approximation of it. Lyon withstands the attack with relative ease... certainly better than being clawed by a tiger.

Still, an apology already tumbles out of his lips, “I’m sorry for missing again.” Maybe he’s better off in the back lines healing everyone, though his soul protests the thought violently.

[resurrectionpact]

voyage to tomorrow

ceaselessblade​:

By the time the Tiger lopes back into range, it looks significantly worse for the wear; but it’s still spry. Very spry enough to retaliate for the dragon, if need be. So the healer; unfortunately, remains out of range. It’s good to be so, perhaps; he gets the feeling that the group isn’t so eager to attack the dragon. At least– until it blanches the group in blazing, searing breath. Well then– if there is to be any negotiation, it must be done at another time. Unfortunately, his own positioning this round doesn’t allow him any more probing strikes at the tiger; only a single opportunity as Gricenchos sails past him. He takes it, drawing a burning line across the dragon-beast’s flank– [Ike: 3.5 damage] And gets swatted for his trouble, the claws hitting him full in the chest. He stumbles back, just barely out of reach of the other swipe, and wisely retreats, hovering the sword of Zoltan heavy over the welling gash in his torso. [Takes 3 damage back: 9/12 hp]

@resurrectionpact @alfvangr​ @ignatzlandscape

Gricenchos reels from the damage and, for the first time in this battle, Lyon sees it panting, clearly weakened from the blow. Leto flies through the sky like a kite, unwounded thanks to its protector. She may try to heal her ally. So then...

In spite of Lyon’s earlier luck, another Banshee spell forms in the palm of his hands. His mind strains–this spell works better against grounded enemies, or at least when he has a base to anchor the spell in. But Leto flits through the air with surprising agility for her size. Try as Lyon might to ensnare her in his spell, she dodges every attempt with grace. And, for even attempting such a foolhardy trick again, Leto has a fitting punishment for him.

Her mouth opens, shining brilliantly before Lyon’s world turns white. The sheer force of her attack nearly knocks him off-balance. Nearly. He braced himself for Faith magic, what with how she heals and attacks with light, but something about this is... different. Not true faith magic, but a corrupted, unholy approximation of it. Lyon withstands the attack with relative ease... certainly better than being clawed by a tiger. But this is no time to give up. So long as he’s still alive, there is always something he can do.

[resurrectionpact]

voyage to tomorrow

the Boys @ignatzlandscape @alfvangr​ @ceaselessblade​

There’s nothing to like about this. A massive beast, monster, demon hovering over Garreg Mach... and a young boy with a constant smile, claiming Sainthood, godhood...

Fomortiis roils inside of Lyon, as though indignant of the sudden competition.

[ Indignant? Hardly. They are naught but infants playing with dolls. What are they to me, who has existed since the dawn of man? ]

Dolls... Lyon recalls how that boy had dangled their friends before them. Toying with them, reduced to mere playthings. The thought of it. The memory of it. To be sound in mind but a slave to your own traitorous body, stolen and held hostage by another–

As Lyon enters the pillar of light, he presses one hand firmly against his mouth, the other on his stomach. Bile rises in his throat... it takes plenty of effort to swallow it back down.

-

“Father...”

This stage the boy set for them... it’s disorienting. With ground and sky all the same inky black, Lyon can’t help but wonder, is there an end to this ground? A cliff that will send you hurtling into the darkness? The idea of stepping off to his death, even with Alfonse’s rally–

The tiger prowls towards him. Surrounded by shadow and desperate for power, Lyon calls upon the Banshee spell to keep Gricenchos still. Dark wisps brush and grasp at the beasts’ paws, but to now avail. Its massive paws crush the shadows underfoot, as Gricenchos begins his assault.

Lyon stumbles back quick enough to avoid the first attack, but the second one almost sends him flying. Knocked back and laying flat on the ground, he hisses in pain before struggling to get up. I can’t die here, I can’t!

[resurrectionpact]

In another time... where women didn’t die because they became mothers, Lyon’s mother would have kissed him on the forehead, and asked him softly before bed,

What kind of king do you want to be?

The question agonized many Lyons–all too indecisive and consumed by self-hatred to decide on one. He wants to be a just king like his father, who judged fairly and calmly, never allowing anyone to get away with evil. He wants to be a strong king like Fado of Renais, peerless in combat and with unquestioned strength and authority. There were so many things a king must be, and so often, Lyon found himself overwhelmed by what his family, his peers, his subjects demanded of him.

His wishes are always the same. He never wants to be a king that only adds to his people’s troubles.

This young Lyon doesn’t suffer such doubts. Instead, he smiles happily at his mother, confident as he says,

“I want to be the kind of king that makes everyone happy!”

[resurrectionpact]

THE LIBATION BEARERS

thelordoftheair​:

He’s had it. The enemy who attacked him a moment ago fades into the chaos of the battlefield, but that is fine for now; the bastard will not escape his talons. For the time being, he must focus on the here and now.

He watches one of the enemies attack Ike, wounding him, but also leaving himself open to attack; wasting such an opportunity would be unbecoming of the Hawk King.

Tibarn attacks: 1d20+2=11. Hit. Tear activates to double damage. Tibarn hits Shadow Savant for 2 damage.

The strike he scores his solid, tearing clean through the opponent’s arm and sending him flying back and falling to the ground. It almost feels good to be doing this again.

Tibarn is attacked by Shadow Fighter. Tibarn HP: 7/12

What doesn’t feel good is the sudden pain in his right wing and the sudden, horrible, accursed instinct - the realization that someone shot him with an arrow. With a frown, he turns quickly to examine the injury.

… It’s not too bad, actually. While the couple stronger flaps he does are a little painful, they do dislodge the arrow, which falls towards the earth. There is some blood, but his wing appears to still function just fine.

Well then. He might be teasing fate by thinking this, but weakling.

Shaking off the pain, he swoops to find his next target.

> @resurrectionpact​

Are these shadows inexhaustible? No power in Magvel could make phantoms this durable. Their forms, though their weapons and power were real enough, were nothing more than mist, easily dispelled in a single blow. The Shadow Mercenary that rushes their group with a raised sword stumbles when Lyon’s Blizzard strikes it, but that’s just the problem. Instead of disappearing, it only stumbles.

Ice crystals form on the back of Lyon’s hand, as he scans the battlefield for his next target. They can’t let up for a second. But even so, Lyon cannot stop himself from thinking... if they even have the power to overcome foes such as these. Unlike beings of flesh, phantoms never tired. If they were driven to the point of exhaustion... Lyon shudders at the thought.

Still, however drained he is from casting all these spells. Lyon can’t afford to slack off. Not when the others are depending on him.

[resurrectionpact]

THE LIBATION BEARERS

verseandrhyme​:

Though her spell landed and life seemed to return to Henry’s countenance, he is just as quickly returned to his previous state. Mitama grits his teeth. Even at a distance, she can tell he isn’t doing well. He can’t be doing well. 

Her staff lights up once more with a physic spell, but Lyon’s cry catches her attention. Ike is just as bad off…worse even by the looks of it. Her spell falters as her grip tightens.

Lyon is already rushing towards Ike. They can heal and heal all they want, but so long as the numbers of enemies against them remains, they can only heal so much…if they want to survive they need to do something.

Her gaze flickers back to Henry again. Ignatz looks poor off as well.

Mitama steals herself and turns back to the fray. She prays to the dawn that she does not regret her choice.

Mitama rolls a 15. Hit! 3 damage. Target is poisoned.

Purple miasma surges through the air, seeping into the sage who cries out in pain. There’s a satisfaction she cannot deny in that, even with the worry that plagues her mind.

A sharp sting to her back, Mitama gasps and stumbles forward, whirling around. The shadowy thief is gone before she can ready another spell, disappearing into the crowds. Just a scratch, she assures herself…nothing she cannot handle. 

She lets out a breath. She will be fine. They will be fine. “You have him?” She calls to Lyon, glancing over at them over her shoulder.

“Healing light...” Lyon’s face twists in frustration as the healing spell flows from his hands to Ike’s body. He’s not new to healing. The staff had been his first introduction to magic, the only path Father MacGregor could think of for a sickly boy like him. Other magics are more exciting and intriguing, but gentle healing staves and the magic they hold will always be comforting to wield and cast.

Almost always. With the battle raging around them all, Lyon can hardly concentrate. The spell is healing, but the magic isn’t strong enough. Lyon’s healing has been far more potent than this, to the point where even a grievous wound like this would have been mere child’s play. Back in Serafew, when he had Grado’s Sacred Stone... 

No. With his own power, Lyon continues the spell.

Mitama calls for him. “Yes.” Frustration sharpens Lyon’s tone–the wounds mend under his spell, but not quickly enough. There’s too much red and bleeding left by the time the spell runs out. And given that they’re still under fire... “I’m sorry... that’s about all I can do right now. It won’t do us any good to be sitting ducks.”

[resurrectionpact]

THE LIBATION BEARERS

thelordoftheair​:

It truly does feel like the good old days of the Laguz Alliance. The screams of beorc - though in this case he still isn’t entirely sure if that truly is who they’re dealing with - the sound of colliding weapons and the smell of blood, Ike showing the mastery of his race’s way of combat in a manner that is just as enthralling as it is reckless; and the ubiquitous chaos, covering it all as though casting a veil all over the scene and painting the world in various tones of gray and red.

There’s the bastard - the Mage who blasted him earlier. Tibarn frowns; he has always disliked the arts of magic - strange, unfamiliar, dangerous and inaccessible to the laguz. He notices that the man prepares another spell just as the Hawk swoops at an enemy fighter.

If he had his teeth in his current form, he would grit them, but alas he can’t do even that. High risk… but high reward.

Kill.

No, don’t be reckless.

Kill.

No. Don’t risk death.

Kill.

No. The Herons wanted you to return safe, remember?

He winces; it’s so close, he can almost taste it, but he shouldn’t.

He can’t.

A single beat of his large wings sends him upwards, avoiding the magic strike that would have likely left him unable to fly, at the cost of giving up on the archer’s throat.

Maybe later.

> @resurrectionpact​

This time, the Banshee spell comes more easily to Lyon. It’s a new spell to him, one from Fódlan, but the familiar prickle and pull of Dark Magic on his mind is a comfort to him. A pool of darkness encircles the Shadow Fighter. Shadow energy erupts from the pool, surrounding and ensnaring it in place. Good, it works correctly. They won’t have to deal with this one for now. And, once Lyon is through with it, they won’t have to deal with this one at all.

But just as Banshee forms once again in Lyon’s hands, his traitorous body begins to protest with a burning chest. Lyon stumbles, struggling for breath. Ephraim’s last words taunt him once again:

[ “You were never made for combat. It’s not in you.” ]

I can’t just stand by and wait for you to help me, Ephraim. I have something worth fighting for, too. Once again Lyon prepares his Banshee, aiming for a finishing blow–

Ike all but disappears as three shadowy forms rush after him. “Ike?!” I did tell him to get as close as he could. Lyon takes a deep breath and brings his spell to a halt. Running has never been something he’s good at, especially when his body is fighting against him, but in this instance it’s all he can do. “Ike!” Lyon calls over the cacophony of steel and magic. “I-I’m coming!”

[resurrectionpact]

the libation bearers

verseandrhyme​:​

Lyon again…Ewan’s warning echoes in her head, and while she is loathe to distrust her friend’s council, she cannot help but grin and laugh at Lyon declaration. “Thank the dawn for its blessing…and here I was worried I would be tending to two groups.” No enemies dart their way, and Mitama takes the chance to move closer to the other group that had formed, all blades and no healers. “I shall rest while you tend to them, then!”

Whatever clashes occur within her own group are missed by her eyes as she focuses on forms in the distance. There is no time to rush all the way over there, but she can get close enough that her ranged spell can reach.

Her eyes quickly scan their numbers. Henry takes a nasty blow, and Hana stumbles as well, but the two are made of sturdier stuff, it seems, for they remain on their feet, swinging. Ignatz, the fortunate archer, is out of range of attack, which just leaves…Lady Rhea, for once not flanked by her green haired assistanced.

She takes a blow that even at this range Mitama can tell is nasty. Mitama grimaces, though not in sympathy. “I would think a holy woman would have the sense to keep herself alive…”

Mitama rolls a 4. Bad Heal! Rhea recovers 1HP +1HP from Joyous Lantern

Her magic seems to echo her thoughts. A pitiful wave of healing magic descends on Rhea from a distance. Mitama huffs to herself. Well. Unimpressive, but if she must falter, at least it is on someone who can fend for themselves. Presumably.

With that good deed done, Mitama turns her attention to her own group again, scanning over their forms quickly. “None of you have died without me, have you?” She calls.

Not yet. The battlefield is difficult to navigate–weapons, arrows, and spells fly all about him, and it’s a miracle that Lyon manages to avoid any of it. They’re merciless, even for phantoms. Even the ones he was able to make with Fomortiis’ power were pitiful compared to these ones. Their speed, their strength... it’s almost terrifying.

An idea forms in Lyon’s head. Perhaps if they were trapped... could a shadow be trapped within shadows? Lyon cloaks his stained hand in dark magic, aiming at the Thief. Only one way to find out!

Shadowy hands erupt from the ground to capture the Thief, but they just barely graze its leg. “Damn!” Another Banshee spell forms in Lyon’s hands–he’s determined to do this...

[resurrectionpact]

the libation bearers

ceaselessblade:

Three hundred pounds go crashing into the shadowy figure, led by the shiny edge of a three-flanged pauldron.

Roll: 19, 1.5 + 3 = [4.5 DAMAGE]

The shadow folds, and the opposing mercenary drags the weight over down into his path, turning it into a trample that places him where he needs to be: the front lines. A heavy boot stamps the aggressor’s raised arm back into the dirt.

Startled by the sudden arrival, another shadow; a twin sword and blaze flaring in its other hand, whirls around and swipes with its still-glowing sword. It draws a sear across the braced arm, and Ike narrows his eyes as he feels a simmering heat travel down the shoulder, the buffeting hit having given the shade enough time to jump back and out of reach.

SHADOW SAVANT hits for [0.5 DAMAGE.]

He glances at the oncoming army, and then at the bone-sword in his hands. Perhaps he should have brought something larger? Ike shrugs. “I can’t hit them if I don’t get closer.”

@resurrectionpact  @thelordoftheair  @onlygodremembers @verseandrhyme

More fighting. Lyon hardly has enough time to adjust to the light and the new surroundings before they are all thrust into battle against... monsters? More phantoms? No, he’s never seen anything like this before: humanity’s shadows peeled from the floors and walls, ready to tear them all apart. 

What a terrifying sight! Lyon has never been in this kind of battle before–a true battle, the kind that comes with wars and large armies. He’s never fought in one before... but his allies take to it like fish to water, as though this is all too familiar. Their bravery pushes Lyon to follow after them, tome in hand.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” Lyon calls to Mitama and Ike. With enemies pushing in, though, he has no choice but to forgo healing magic for Blizzard. This time, though, he does so with more care than he usually does. Lyon usually casts magic without a second thought, as naturally as someone would walk or breathe, but after his poor performance underground he forces himself through each step. Hear the call of the spirits. Let their magic come to you. Have a target in mind, and finally allow magic to flow.

The Blizzard spell finally connects with that shadowy Mage, but even so Lyon grits his teeth.

Roll: 10, Hit! 1 damage dealt.

Just barely. Lyon forces himself to take a deep breath as he steps back behind his more capable allies. He’d just get in their way as a fighter... but he’s disgusted by the thought as soon as he thinks it. “Then get as close as you can, Ike,” Lyon answers. “I’ll heal your wounds if it comes to that. If we hold back, we’re all as good as dead. And I’m in no mood to die here.”

@thelordoftheair​ @onlygodremembers​

[resurrectionpact]

journey to the center of the church

baldursson​:

       Stepping into the room, young king first thinks the darkness is playing some sort of trick on him. For as he gazes about the space, sapphire searching for traces of the party that had entered before he and the two mages, there seems to be nothing but endless darkness.

      He turns a slow circle, before nodding in assent with Knoll. “Yes, they will be fine.”

      They must.

      Something wispy, something white catches Seliph’s eye — his gaze is drawn from the empty room to a pale hand, floating midair, pointing dead ahead to a confessional up ahead.

      “…let us follow the road signs, loosely speaking.” he nods at the suspended appendage, striding forward, gesturing for his companions to follow. 

      As Seliph sets foot within the structure, it sinks into the ground, an earthy smell filling his lungs. A world of slate gray fills his retinas and his head spins as his eyes struggle to adjust to this lack of color. Snow-white blossoms are crushed underfoot as Seliph stumbles forward, mouth hanging agape. Erected all around him are flagpoles, bearing banners from nations he does not recognize. Distantly, he smells the acrid scent of smoke, of fire.

      Is this where their companions had gone?

      All living beings are inclined towards destruction. 

      A spectre appears, formed from mist, blocking their path and draws his blade. Seliph stops dead in his tracks, too shocked to prise his own weapon free. The words pierce him like a white-hot knife, right through his heart.

      My being, my existence, is dedicated to maintaining order in a sea of chaos. Do you dare to stop me?

      Light webs into two humanoid figures beside the figure — those of a cleric and armored squire. Seliph snaps back to attention, swinging his sword free of its sheath with a sharp shing!

      “I do.”

      Ensuring that one’s opponent could not maintain their defenses is the crux of any good offensive strategy — Seliph knows this to be true, and so strikes the cleric first.

roll 1d20 + 2 !! result — 17. critical hit. stain of tyranny — +0.5. 

cumulative might – 2. cleric hp — 6 / 8.

      It cuts through the ghostly figure of the cleric, striking true, and Seliph feels that intoxicating strength rush through him once again.

      “Tread carefully!”

@resurrectionpact​

A battlefield. Even under Fomortiis’ influence, Lyon has never stepped foot on one, and he follows Seliph’s lead with both apprehension and morbid curiosity. A fight occurred here, didn’t it? As he crushes the flowers under his feet, Lyon can’t stop himself from wondering if this is how Magvel looked for the better part of the year. The fields around them torn and ragged, danger and destruction lurking no matter where you ran...

Is this where Mitama and the others ended up? Or are they undergoing their own trials? A phantom challenges them, a test of strength and heart. Lyon’s strength comes in the readiness of his Banshee spell, how easily he can call it to life and prepare to attack the healer standing in their way. His heart, though...

It wavers. Her frightened expression, the Phantom’s warnings and the voices that plagued him... Banshee’s darkness is extinguished with the close of a fist. Ice crystals form in its place in Lyon’s open hand and quickly fired. Any transition between spells is less than ideal, but from one school to another? Sloppiness is all but inevitable–the spell goes long.

Lyon’s skin crawls in shame. He isn’t frozen in place yet, but he can’t stop the apology from tumbling out: “Urgh– I’m sorry!”

[resurrectionpact]

journey to the center of the church

starter for @deavaritiagrado and @baldursson

These voices. Lyon presses a hand to his head, but he can’t bring himself to ignore their words. They’re right, aren’t they? This past month has been a strain on his heart. First there was that dream, that awful dream that brought all his sins to light and marked them on his flesh. And now these voices, once again, voices, reminding him of his weakness and the evil that lurks within.

Terror keeps Lyon’s legs from moving with the rest of the group. But eventually, he forces himself forward. His vision adjusts well to the darkness, but he doesn’t like these tricks of the light in the corner of his eyes, ghosts appearing behind to haunt him...

The main room is brighter, though, and the view of what looks like a natural sky helps calm Lyon’s nerves. Ike’s group goes to explore the wall, Rhea’s group moves forward. Mitama’s group disappears into one of the strange structures in the center of the room. Curious, he follows after them, pushing the curtain aside as they did...

...only to find nothing. Nothing at all, but an empty room.

“But– but they were just...”

A cold sweat runs down Lyon’s neck. Were they taken? At this point perhaps they shouldn’t be surprised, given how thick the magic is in here. He looks back at his own two allies, “Are they gone?” he asks, voice beginning to rise in panic.

[resurrectionpact]

crusader’s mantle

verseandrhyme​:

To Mitama’s great delight, the Golem seems far more clumsy than it does lethal. Though some hits are exchanged here and there, very few appear to do grave damage to any of those she finds herself fighting alongside. Great Hotoke seems to find it fit to allow fortune to smile upon their efforts.

Mitama hopes that it will last. The golem’s plating appears to shift and change as it prepares its further assault, focusing on Lady Rhea. The Archbishop appears to care little for the attack, even taking a moment to preach to them.

What dedication…Her father would be aghast.

With no one in immediate need of her attention, she deigns it best to push forward and focus on the offensive than allow the golem the chance to hurt further by its continued existence. She cannot (nor would not) deny the excitement that bubbles at the thought. The spell she had learned in the forest remained unused, a vicious thing she saw unfit to unleash on any of her classmates in practice spars.

The golem was not a foe of flesh, but it would do for a test.

Mitama rolls a 7. Barely hit! +2 damage from Valaura. Enemy is already poisoned. Total damage: 2.5

The spell strikes with a flash of light, seeping into the Golem’s surface. The purple hue brings back memories of the poison experienced in the forest, the sickening nausea and striking pain that had left the shrine maiden gasping. A shiver runs down her spine, but she forcibly presses on. No time to falter now.

She half wishes Hana had not poisoned the foe that she might have seen poison sink into it.

Golem rolls a 15. Hit! Control removes 0.5 damage. Total damage: 0.5

The golem’s attention turns to Mitama momentarily, lance glowing…wait…was it brighter than before? The falter in her attention is paid for as the golem’s lance goes scrapping past.

It grazes her, stumbling back as best she can. At the same time it does, the mark on her ankle stings all the sharper. Mitama hisses, wincing as she regains her footing.

She is cut by the lance but it is…faint. Hardly what one would expect from so great a foe. She frowns at the wound, puzzled. Something is off…but there is little time to question that now.

“Try and strike this time, would you?” She calls out to the mage nearby her. Was this that Lyon Ewan had warned her about? She found it hard to believe such a display worth concern.

@resurrectionpact​

Try and strike this time...

Lyon grits his teeth but doesn’t answer. This girl, “Mitama” he’s gathered... she doesn’t need to repeat what he has already decided for himself. He steps forward, Blizzard in hand once again. 

Breathe. Lyon does, in through his nose and out through his mouth. Blizzard forms in his hands once again. This isn’t as complex as it seems. There is something standing in your way, blocking your path forward. The only logical step... is to remove it from your sight.

Lyon’s stained hand is his spellcasting hand, but for some reason magic flows more readily than it ever has before, allowing for a more powerful attack...

Roll: 12, Hit! 1 + 0.5 damage dealt

This extra power... is it truly his own? Fear overtakes Lyon–he ends the spell just as the golem’s lance strikes him once again, knocking him to the floor. This intense battle–Lyon coughs and coughs as he struggles to catch his breath, but it doesn’t stop him from trying to rise to his feet again.

[resurrectionpact]

ignatzlandscape​:​

The contrast between the two murals couldn’t be any more apparent to Ignatz. While the others were showing the gracefulness of the Goddess, this one seemed to be more threatening. 

The artist wanted to capture a different emotion. Fear. The fear and rejection of whatever these shadows represented. It was clearly the same artist who painted the other murals, but there was a sense of importance they wanted to convey.

But what was it depicting? It was clearly important enough to be included aside the creation of the world, but it’s relevancy was lost on Ignatz.

Studying the mural, Ignatz started to think aloud. "The only story in the Book of Serios I can think of that resembles this mural is the rise of Nemesis… but he didn’t hide in darkness, he was corrupted by the power given to him by the Goddess.” He turned to Faolan, hoping maybe she had some explanation of what this mural was showing. “How strange… do you know of any similar stories Faolan?”

“Hmm… ” Faolán considers the question. “Nemesis was a very singular man, to be selected as the wielder of the Sword of the Creator. He was the first to succumb to the evil in his heart, but he had not been the last…” There is an uneasiness in her voice as she says that. “The power of Crests and the Heroes Relics have long revealed the true extent of a man’s sinfulness. Held by few yet desired by all… perhaps the darkness is a metaphor for that side of humanity?”

“Hmm…” Ignatz hummed, a focused look on his face. “Metaphorically it would make sense. The divide between the peace the Goddess provides and the sinful wants of humans.”

Ignatz thought some more, before ultimately deciding to give up. There was something he was missing, but he couldn’t tell what. 

Lyon is silent as Ignatz and Faolán discuss the mural, but not out of disinterest. The last murals went over his head, but this one with its connection to human darkness and sin... he frowns as he carefully considers his thoughts, his words...

“I’m very new to the story of this ‘Darkness,” Lyon admits. “But... I hope it would not be presumptuous of me to offer my own interpretation...

“Man’s sins have been present since the dawn of humanity.” Unconsciously, Lyon brings a hand to his heart, where Fomortiis dwells. “Even if you aren’t aware of it, there is a darkness lurking in all of us. Our more frightening selves that we hide away from the gazes of others and struggle to acknowledge as parts of us... until the dam breaks, and that shadow makes itself known and present.”

A pause. “Perhaps... this is the moment where the dam breaks. Humanity’s sins, ignored and suppressed, coming to claim the world for its own...”

“I.... I suppose.” Faolán turns her head to the mural, frowning. “But this struggle, it’s as though the side of light is faltering against this assault... is something so bleak truly worthy of being within the Goddess’ realm? Would it not be an insult to the Goddess’ power, to see her followers defeats so easily?

The earlier rumblings of golems the distance grow louder–Faolán makes a small squeaking sound when even the walls tremble from the shock. “The others–” Alarmed, Lyon turns to the rest of his allies, one hand already reaching for a tome. “We must go help them!”