Dancing through life 𓂃♪彡

All is revealed ... ᐟ ᢉ𐭩

[seadasu]

𝖆 𝖈𝖑𝖔𝖘𝖊𝖉 𝖗𝖕 𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖘𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖔𝖋 𝖋𝖎𝖗𝖊 𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖑𝖊𝖒: 𝖊𝖓𝖌𝖆𝖌𝖊

loved by ciɾi, affiliated with toɑ, resident of garreg mach

mun .ᐟ dossieɾ .ᐟ inteɾview .ᐟ stɑts .ᐟ thread tracker .ᐟ

[seadasu]

Unjust ( but defınıtelч fαır )

☆ 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖻𝗈𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝖾𝗉𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗆𝗂𝖼 ☆ bσw 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗍 ☆ 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖺𝗅𝗅/ʄelix

[wolfhednn]

A INTERNAL SPY AT GARREG MACH. . .⠀🗲⠀the idea isn't unthinkable. the monastery has so many people now, and he's had his doubts about how some of them are selected. this psychic, for instance. he was helpful, sure——he'd done him a favor in the past. but why send him on a diplomatic talk like this? he didn't have any influence that felix knew of ; why would anyone listen to him? and he wasn't much better. this wasn't kingdom territory, and he'd never been an orator or a peacekeeper. no one from house fraldarius was. if he thinks they'd expected an attack all along, then he could almost believe it, but then why wouldn't they tell them earlier?

grated sigh escapes his throat, and he pushes himself to his feet again, sick of thinking without any answers. a rudimentary check confirms that he can walk. if they accounted for all the possible what-ifs, there'd be no end to it. they could guess as close or as far as they wanted. in the end, they don't know.

and they won't, if they don't make it back alive.

"i agree. let's head for the trade post. stay on your guard. anything could happen." seadall was right. if every way forward was unknown, then they should choose the one with the most known. it wasn't flashy, but they didn't have the time or luxury to take risks. it was just the two of them, and they were both already wounded. perhaps they'd be playing right into the enemy's hand. he'd just have to hope that skill and vigilance would be enough to get them out.

---

the sun hangs low in the sky, casting long shadows on every structure, by the time they reach the trade post, just an hour or two left of cool autumn daylight. as they've ascended partway up the oghma roads, the air had thinned and grown gradually colder, and soon it would drop uncomfortably with nightfall. his torso and back ache from the trek where the arrowheads had struck, but they're fortunate that their path so far had been clear and without difficulty. if anyone was waiting to intercept them, they were taking their time.

"this is where we were told to stay the night. our horses for the ride back to the monastery will be here in the morning." a couple of mules, their backs loaded with packs, stand tied calmly near the outpost entrance in a sparse lot of dry mountain grass, nosing through a trough of feed and water. beyond them, the rest of the area seemed peaceful enough ; a man stood watch not far away over a few cows closer to the buildings, and he could make out movement further still in the village itself.

"you go find the inn and secure us a room. i'll look around in case there's anything unusual."

[seadasu]

Felix doesn’t take the offered hand as he stands, but their luck turns, at least for a while. Seadall takes it for what it is, grateful that Felix seems content to move in silence. There’s nothing that they can plan for in their current state. It’d be pointless to guess what manner of ambush is or isn’t on their heels until they reach the outpost and wait for their supplies to arrive there. 

While they walk, Seadall uses one of the spare scraps of cloth he keeps to wrap wounds to scrub blood from his side. The cut is shallow but long from where the sharp side of a sword dragged skin as it was drawn back. “I can do that.” Maybe it’s a kindness, he can’t tell. Felix hasn’t so much as looked his way, too busy scanning for threats…it’s still possible he’d noticed his growing discomfort. “I’d rather be out of the cold. Don’t stay gone long,” A tanned hand sweeps towards the sun. “If you’re not with me when the sun’s half-hidden on the horizon, I’ll come looking for you.”

He’d rather not have to search for a wounded man in the dark no matter how small the outpost was. Stubbornly, he’d favored the Solm-specific shawls and silks he was used to wearing, but Fodlan’s winter continues with a breeze somehow colder each day. “Maybe I’ll find some layers if I’m lucky. See you soon Felix.” With a wave, he twists on his toes, off toward the cluster of buildings that look more or less residential. 

The Inn is small, but warm enough that Seadall’s pained expression can lift to smile at the woman who greets him. As any trading post, the room itself boasts a handful of travelers with hands around their own mugs or utensils. All weary in their own right…so he and Felix should fit right in. “Hello. My friend and I will need a room for the night, if you’ve got one.”

Small mercies, she does, though not before scanning him for a long moment. “I have a room…it’s only yours if you tell me how you got injured like that.” 

Caught off guard, he has to follow the line of her sight to understand, feeling the tender skin at his side. “Ah…we were attacked on the road.” Quiet and almost bitterly, he adds. “I didn’t see it coming.”

“Hm. You don’t look like any kind of bandit I’ve ever seen,” He snorts, and she finally cracks a smile. “We’ve been getting more and more people traveling through talking about people roaming the woods, you can’t ever be too careful. Better get that wrapped though, just in case it gets infected.” 

He had worried about that, but he’d been resigned to worry about it tomorrow, hoping their supplies were waiting for them. At least alone in their room, he and Felix could regroup and plan and rest. His shoulders ache from stiffness and stress and his left side is already sore. “Any reason why there’s so much bandit activity? I can’t imagine it's good for this town.”

In the end, it’s the sickness sweeping the country that’s at fault. Seadall mirrors her frustration with it. Though as isolated as they are, none of these people have brushed elbows with it. Some even think it to be a myth…but for those that don’t, ransacking caravans and other suppliers in desperation has become the norm. It’s killing the town, too, but Seadall is able to glean that they aren’t in league with whatever force has taken over the outpost. Good, they were at least safe from the merchants here…unless Felix ran into trouble. 

She leaves him at a table with a warm bowl of stew that he can’t bring himself to try, picking at brightly colored vegetables while he watches for Felix. The sun hasn’t set yet, so he tries not to respond to the pit of anxiety he feels over separating. Between the two of them, Felix is the better warrior regardless. It still leaves him restless, watching the door and every person who moves about the room while he waits. 

[wolfhednn]

𝗦𝗟𝗘𝗘𝗣𝗟𝗘𝗦𝗦 𝗡𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧.

mission. ANNI 2025⠀∶⠀heavy armor.

[wolfhednn]

ANOTHER CONSCIOUSNESS SHARING HIS MIND.⠀🗲⠀losing himself to something else inside him. who he is gradually fading away, overtaken by an alien entity that inhabited his body. a shudder of deep dread crawls up his spine, sits nauseous in his gut like oil at the idea. he can hardly imagine anything more unsettling.

so, for several beats, he doesn't imagine it at all, turning away instead from the psychic's suggestions that he " step into those shoes "——what if he couldn't step out again? "no. if it means losing myself to whatever it is. . . forget it." perhaps it's reckless to say, but he'd almost rather take death instead.

which reminds him of what the other had said before that. the thief who'd run away with the stolen mask. . . smelled like death. had he said smelled, or was it just ' felt ' like death? and what did that even mean?

his head is pounding, and he doesn't know if it's because of the problem or his condition. stifling a groan, he focuses on trying to find the house like suggested. the house. . . he'd only seen it from the inside, and not even then, locked in darkness behind a wardrobe door. how did he know it was a wardrobe? he probes deeper into that. it sat at the end of a long corridor, tucked away in a corner underground. a basement floor of the house, seldom visited. a feeling of apprehension prickles through, but also something else more human. rather than questioning how he knows this time, he pursues further ;

eyes open. "there's music."

it's impossible to explain, but it feels significant, and more tumbles out of him hurriedly as if it'll slip away any second, heel of palm firmly pressing against his temple: "it's hard to hear, coming from outside the house." no. "on top of the house." why? "there's. . . a music box." on top of the house? it doesn't make any sense. scowl deepens, but he keeps going. "the song that's playing. . . it's important. to whoever lives in this house. to the. . . "

it's leaving, filtering away like grains of sand through a sieve, the biggest pieces gone first, leaving smaller and finer specks behind that barely mean anything by themselves——and then those are gone too, and all that's left behind is clear water before he can catch anything useful. "no, damn it. i had it. it was. . . "

. . . no use. his expression falls as his hand does, but he only allows the helplessness to show briefly before turning back to seadall with determination. "aren't you're some kind of fortune teller? can't you do some. . . " vague hand motion. he'd mentioned meditation earlier, "ritual to bring it out? whatever's inside me, that is." there'd been folk tales of strange doctors putting their patients in some kind of trance, stories of people able to remember everything from where they lost an item to a supposed past life in these altered states. it sounds like a load of bunk, but he's getting desperate. perhaps less to solve this mystery than to excise this other self as quickly as possible.

[seadasu]

Seadall has seen enough of the town that surrounds Garreg Mach to know that there are no houses that have music boxes attached to them. He’d remember it, for starters, but the certainty with which Felix says it seems… real. The idea that he’s able to explain so much is as gratifying as it is terrifying.

From where he watches, a shadow seems to cross his pale face, an impossible stretch of barely-there grey wrapping around him like a cloak. Seadall’s gasp is a silent one, a tremor in his fingers that tells him to reach out and shake the thing away, but it recedes as quickly as it comes, with Felix’s hand falling to his side to dispel it. 

…what was it that the mask had done to him? 

As before, he has no answers. Felix’s revelations raise more questions than answers - they’re still directionless. “I am a fortune teller,” but there are certain things I can and cannot do. He doesn’t say it, bringing one of his hands up to cover his eyes for a moment. Seadall reads a person’s fortune from his cards, and the spirits even then are not always kind enough to paint an entire picture. He’s gotten better over the years, surely, but it’s the mistake of many to think that divination is the same across all practices and skills. “I’m willing to try it, though I think we’ll need to retrieve the mask itself. As a…a focus. You said you left it in your room? Even if you’ve never put it on, the salesman confirmed it to be a catalyst…” 

Lifting the hand from his eyes, he glances over at Felix. 

Even if the mask yields nothing, the trouble will be worth it. They’ve made strides if nothing else. Hours ago, Felix knew nothing other than a general alarm for how sleep evaded him. Now they had more of a story. A house with music and the possibility that he’s been tethered to another being in some way. Once again, he settles for guiding Felix with a hand at his elbow, speaking in soft tones as they go, “We’ll be quick, we’re getting closer to - anything, so we are at least on a path.” He wouldn’t say the right path until he was sure, but they’d yet to hit a dead end. 

For once, he’s thankful that he’s chosen the Blue Lions as his preferred house, knowing where most of those students’ dorms are located, he doesn’t need to waste time asking. “Do you remember the song? Even a bit of the melody might help, music is a powerful tool for memory. Once we get the mask…you might put it on to see if it helps you see, and we can ask the spirits if necessary.”

[lazulienne]

beneath a veneer of glamor

         ⤷     mission task:   epidemic  ( axe +1 )

[lazulienne]

     At Seadall's touch, Lapis turns to face him again, only to be caught off-guard by that soft smile of his; she doesn't even realize how her body relaxes under his ministration, but she certainly feels it all the same.

“Yeeeeah, that's what I thought too.” Lapis sighs, but she puts on a smile too, though hers is a bit more wry. Her conversation with Yunaka on the topic floats back into her mind: of what her future might be and what it might look like.

“Maybe my loyalty to being at Prince Alcryst's side is at odds with me doing things like this then. If I want to be right with him and always following him, but he's never in places like this, then those two things are just gonna never work.”

Even if he's willing, it's not his calling. Not the way it is so definitely Lapis's— a fact she reaffirms for herself as her blade cleaves the wheat again and feels the way her body sings in the act.

Even as another sigh slips out of her.

[seadasu]

For a time, they work. Seadall hums as he picks through, comforted by the steady presence. Her words, those two things are never gonna work, echo between them. It’s almost oppressive in that it takes no divine interpretation to grasp the direction her thoughts have taken. 

He’s snared by it, turning it over for himself.

Lapis hasn’t directly asked his opinion. Watching her work, he isn’t altogether sure that she’s capable of it, movements fluid as if guided by memory over conscious thought. Would he hesitate the same way if it was Alcryst at his side? “Hmmhm.” Giving up the charade of working, Seadall lists to the left, finding a bed of shining stalks to cushion his head while he weighs his options against the breeze and waits for the air around them to lift. 

When it doesn’t, he adds his own sigh to the chorus. “Those two things seem to be working just fine for the two of you now,” Whatever others think of his trade, he tries to do as little guessing as he can. “Who is to say it must change? The way I see it, the differences only serve to make a pair stronger, whether in friendship, love, loyalty.” The same things also serve to tear foundations from their roots. Every pair is different. Seadall knows it from the way the spirits whisper through his cards, and from the many who have come to him seeking clarity for similar matters. “So…what makes you think that the tasks you enjoy put you at odds with your Prince? I’m curious.”

[seadasu]

𓍯𓂃𓏧⏾ Sᴇᴀʀᴄʜɪɴɢ ғᴏʀ Sɪʟᴘʜɪᴜᴍ

☆ 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖻𝗈𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝖾𝗉𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗆𝗂𝖼 ☆ 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗍 ☆ 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖺𝗅𝗅/𝗃𝗈𝖺𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗆

[licehn]

    Joachim flinches at the touch of another person upon being inspected, even as he tries to yield his body and be still and obedient afterwards. It pulls a quiet, “S-sorry...” from him, a weak nod given to try and make it clear to Seadall that he's still allowed to check despite the involuntary reaction.

The wolf boy doesn't allow himself to speak again, hushed by guilt, until Seadall asks him a direct series of questions as a result, worried that any part of him might betray the gratitude he feels for his savior in this moment.

“I... I d-don't know how long it's been,” Joachim answers, the worry creasing his brow further. The hoarseness of his voice alone speaks to disuse or dryness. “If I could've seen the sun, I could've guessed. But... it's, um, less than three days, right?”

That's about as long as a human can hold out from what he remembers, at least without water.

“As for walking, I... I can try. It shouldn't be too bad since I could get up...” Which, to him, suggests he's right it can't have been truly that long. But he doesn't dare to move, not until Seadall finishes checking and signals permission in some way.

But once it's given, Joachim resolves to make sure to walk, if only to not trouble his mysterious benefactor any further. But despite the fretting Joachim does internally, Seadall cuts through it, mystifying him.

You don't need to apologize to me. You are owed an apology, he says!

(Was that really true...?)

“Uh. I'll move...!” he croaks, taking his first wobbly step at last. But he forces another, steadying himself by sheer will, breaching the boundary between his prison and the outside, taking a deep inhale of the outside air as he leans his hands on his knees for support. Once he's exhaled it all out, he looks back to Seadall, uncertain. “...Will the Monastery really protect me? These people helped them enough to send us out here. I'm sure they're close.”

But Joachim's gaze is one that can't find the strength to keep meeting Seadall's, instead falling down to the ground between them. One of his hands wraps around his other's wrist.

“...And there's more stories of a wolf like me ruining people. Maybe I didn't cause anything now, but... if they really were trying to protect their families, I can't really call them wicked.”

[seadasu]

Be it for the better or worse, Seadall has an understanding for the story Joachim’s words strain to tell. It’s a thin thread that’s easily broken, the idea that a terrible wrong is justified by the intentions behind it. 

With one hand planted on his hip in a valiant effort to stay planted until the younger man finishes processing their situation, he holds a breath and waits. Waits and runs through counts, especially when Joachim nearly doubles over, and the dancer’s body sways forward to the same tempo, fingers holding all the tension he’d need to catch him.

He doesn’t fall though, so he takes eight more counts.

Breathes, even when the long breath out carries too much frustration to be completely soundless. 

“You can and you should,” He hums, taking a step forward. It could be a type of shock…but truly, they couldn’t linger. Whatever notions the church had for helping this little town, they’d have to send someone else. Someone from Fodlan, preferably. “I’d like to hear some of the more pleasant stories you know. I’ll tell you that Solm - my home - has just as many cautionary tales of beasts and other demons and any place. That said-” Gently, he guides them both forward with a hand placed on his shoulderblade. It’s easier to talk side by side, Seadall’s expression pleasant but still unsmiling. “I’ve traveled to perform many places, and have seen far more harm done to others at the hands of regular people than wolves or other animals. It makes no difference, I think, that anyone is capable of the worst. They choose these things.”

The walk back into town is a straight path, but Seadall treads through grass, behind houses. Those quarantined in their homes means that the town is quieter but not deserted. “I don’t have enough supplies for two to travel the entire way,” A grimace, soon to be smoothed over. “But I still think we can take the horse I rode in on and ride to the next town. It’ll be the safer option for both of us and…the Monastery will be safe. They dispatched us to help but I doubt they’ll look kindly on anyone who threatens one of their students. Outside of that…do you have family there? Friends?”

[wolfhednn]

———　( 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!

[extenebris]

perfect teatime

Exploring the monastery

Mighty weapons

The opera…

Perfect Teatime? | still accepting

"You'll have to recommend the best places to see. I've only just arrived, and this monastery is rather large." Nevertheless, Salem has seen enough. He knows that there are volumes missing from the library, and not simply books that students have borrowed. These have not been marked down in the ledgers as being in anyone's possession, and while he wouldn't put it past a few thieves to pilfer things from the shelves once in a while, the librarian has insisted that the ledgers are all in order this season.

And then there's the whisper of black markets in the town square. Rumors of refuges for those on the run and in need of asylum. The Church of Loptyr had not been without its many secrets, of course, but it was hardly as old as Garreg Mach boasts to be. It all piqued his interest, but not to the extent that it would drive him to cause trouble. Or land himself in trouble.

Besides, he's not certain that Seadall even has anything interesting to divulge.

"I'm no stranger to religious establishments, but I've never seen one so accommodating. Have you been converted to the church's teachings, by chance?"

@seadasu

[seadasu]

Unfamiliar faces are more usual than not at Garreg Mach. He often thinks of it as a beacon for lost souls for all that it supplies purpose to anyone wandering through, whether it’s as a student, instructor, or something else entirely. 

Dark lashes fall briefly into his vision as he considers this man over a cup of his favorite tea. The honeyed fruit blend was something unique to Fodlan, the sweetness of fruits that Seadall couldn’t begin to place turning tart on his tongue. “Hmm. No, I can’t say that the Church of Seiros is any more familiar to me than it was a year ago.”

What is unusual is the realization that Seadall has never been asked this question before. In all his time at Garreg Mach, none had questioned whether or not he believed in the system that governed it… “Not many have tried. Or perhaps it’s assumed for all who remain within the Monastery’s walls.” It seems more likely that this is the case. Seadall had always declined to dance for the ceremonies surrounding the Goddess and the Saints that come along with her, but he’d still roamed the Cathedral for inspiration, finding the air there more conductive to his training. 

It’s an odd thing to think about. So much so that Seadall raises his hands for emphasis in how he shrugs, knowing that he’d done nothing to draw eyes that would have made it less accommodating. “What sort of things are you interested in,” he wonders, unsure of his true profession. He doesn’t seem like a student, and none of the cards at his disposal call to him in answer. Perhaps later, when he can do a reading with him in mind. “The Cathedral itself has quite the history, though you’ll find that most doors are shut and tightly guarded. The fishing pond is a bit of a wonder…always with different fish, even when there’s no one to stock it full.” These are things everyone knows, of course. Shifting in his seat, Seadall reaches again for his half-emptied cup. 

“I will say that Garreg Mach has many hidden pathways - a network of abandoned tunnels that the knights patrol, making sure the foundation is sturdy.” He and Alcryst hadn’t gotten far, he frowns remembering it. The air had been too ominous, oppressive. Seadall frowns as he remembers it. “I would watch for certain shops that appear for short spans. Or, come and see me at my fortune-telling shop. The spirits might be more willing to reveal a path that appeals to you.”

[lazulienne]

beneath a veneer of glamor

         ⤷     mission task:   epidemic  ( axe +1 )

[lazulienne]

    “Oh, no! Though I won't deny the scenery IS beautiful,” Lapis answers, taking a moment to look out at the view they're afforded. Whilst Seadall directs her to watch the sunset, and yes, that too is beautiful, it is only half of the awe-inspiring picture. The seemingly endless fields of golden wheat rival the warm hues the sun brings, as if melting together. A place where the earth matches the sunset sky— to think a place like that really exists.

“I came here because my prince did first,” she explains, pulling away from the deep yearning a full field blooms within her. “It's my job as his retainer to come and follow him, protecting him, y'know? But as I stay here, I can't just ignore where the people need a helping hand. If this was Brodia, I'd be right in there too, even if Prince Alcryst didn't ask me to be.”

Indeed, that has long been true for her. Even in her earliest days of knighthood, she'd slipped away from her duties to subdue wild beasts. Her prince wasn't here in these fields now, but she is.

As she kneels to harvest more wheat, the action that once came so naturally to her now makes her pause, her hand and blade hovering in the air as she remains perfectly still beside Seadall.

“...Though I guess it'd look a li'l weird for a royal prince like Alcryst to be farming, huh?”

[seadasu]

It’s admirable. For all that Brodia embodies a standard that many in Elyos might find daunting, Seadall admires those he knows for their tenacity. The fire within them that moves them to do more is flavored differently - it’s Lapis’ will to cleave the entire field herself and succeed where Seadall’s collection is meager by comparison. 

Two varieties of helpfulness, perhaps. 

Catching her hesitance, he hums a thought, stepping around her so that he can pluck at the stalks with his bare hands. “Hmmm, it would be a little strange.” He keeps his eyes firmly planted on the task at hand, pretending to find the thin, fraying pieces fascinating as he waits for her to return from wherever her mind has drifted. 

Being a retainer in service of royalty is a perspective he can’t fathom even if he had traveled with a number of noble figureheads in the past. As he is, Seadall remembers how different their lives seem to be - Alcryst in particular. It was endearing, enlightening, and Seadall had once wanted to protect the pieces of the Brodian prince that hadn’t grown up starving or fearful. 

It’s been a long time since then, he knows, and now it’s him who can’t fathom how the majority of them have grown. Still, he throws Lapis a soft smile, amused that her hands are still frozen in action. Carefully, he reaches out, pressing two fingers into the crease of her elbow to help them relax. “I’m sure that he would take up farming…if it were necessary. But, no, I can’t think of any crisis that would force a prince into a field like this one.” A pause, he ventures out. “There are likely those who’d be willing to do it for him, in any case.”

[seadasu]

𓍯𓂃𓏧⏾ Sᴇᴀʀᴄʜɪɴɢ ғᴏʀ Sɪʟᴘʜɪᴜᴍ

☆ 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖻𝗈𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝖾𝗉𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗆𝗂𝖼 ☆ 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗍 ☆ 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖺𝗅𝗅/𝗃𝗈𝖺𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗆

[licehn]

    An instructor from Garreg Mach...! Joachim had entirely forgotten the possibility of rescue from those he came with, but once he hears those words, his spirit soars anew. A gentle relief washes over him fully now, made even warmer with something as simple as 'You missed your check-in,' as the addition. To be noticed, to be worried for—

It is a balm to the spirit to know there are more compassionate people out there.

“I-I'm alright!” he answers, still hoarse, wondering if he doesn't sound entirely convincing. “They didn't do anything. Uh, apart from locking me in here. But I'm all in one piece, I promise.”

He, too, tries to be gentle despite being on the other side. The other person outside seems levelheaded, but if he truly came out of worry, Joachim worries of adding any more stresses. It seems to have been a worry for nothing, though, as Seadall's voice remains placid, calm like the gentlest stream as he grants better knowledge of the current state of things from the outside.

When the door begins to splinter, Joachim moves away from it, trying to give Seadall as much clearance as he possibly can. Bit by bit, the door's restraints are broken, and at last Joachim can see what he has longed for: the light.

“Oh, thank you...!” he rasps, eyes wide as he stumbles forward into the light of day. “I'm sorry I don't have anything to help catch your breath...” He quickly looks guilty over the matter however, seeing the signs of exertion on Seadall's face, skin slick with sweat and a chest that heaves for the effort he had spent to free Joachim.

A look behind Joachim and the singular room he'd been sealed away in proves completely barren: no food, no water, much less luxuries for comfort. It is little more than a large coffin kept up above in its current state.

Yet despite everything, moments after being granted his freedom, Joachim asks Seadall:

“Um... you won't be in trouble for helping me, will you?”

[seadasu]

Several wrongs strike out at once, as if there are invisible weapons striking his soul and whatever patience is leashed there. Seadall has spent a lifetime mastering patience and how to present himself even when he feels uglier emotions squeezing in his chest. 

Anger is the easiest to deal with, the muted red of his gaze flying across Joachim’s form, looking for injuries. They are lucky. It’s a small mercy that they are nearing what he thinks must be Fodlan’s coolest season, that the heat of the day is tolerable enough that the boy didn’t overheat in isolation. Whether anyone intended to keep him alive is shaky, but Seadall lets himself imagine that level-headed citizens wouldn’t have tolerated a body to rot in their backyard. 

Taking a breath, straightens his limbs and slides forward, holding his hand outward. “Let me look over you, please. It’ll take just a moment.” Carefully, his hand rests on his shoulder, twisting around him, checking the pulse at his wrists. His skin runs warm, but Seadall refrains from calling to it, unsure if it’s a common thing for different races. “How long has it been since you’ve had food or water? Do you feel that you can walk?”

All easy questions to answer, and the dancer is using them to his own benefit as well. It keeps them focused while he thinks, inevitably stepping back to give him his own space again. Brushing his hair over his shoulder, he lets his posture relax, at ease as he crosses his arms over his chest. “You don’t need to apologize to me. You are owed an apology, Joachim.” Seadall can’t give it, and he knows that they aren’t likely to receive one either.

Another blessing, perhaps, that Seadall is not a knight or a noble. He harbors no urge to seek justice for crimes committed against the weak. These things happen...and he only thanks the divines that Joachim's fate was not as cruel as it could have been. “As for trouble, don’t worry. I’ll deal with it if it comes. Besides-” He huffs a short laugh, “It’s these people who should worry about the trouble the Monastery will bring down on them for their actions. There is a price to pay for wickedness, though truly I do not pity the cards these people have dealt themselves. That said, we shouldn’t stay. Can you travel?”

[seadasu]

Unjust ( but defınıtelч fαır )

☆ 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖻𝗈𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝖾𝗉𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗆𝗂𝖼 ☆ bσw 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗍 ☆ 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖺𝗅𝗅/ʄelix

[wolfhednn]

STOMACH INJURIES STAYED PAINFUL LONG AND HEALED SLOW.⠀🗲⠀he curses under his breath, teeth grit around a strip of ripped fabric from his tunic, as seadall quickly wrenches the arrowhead free, fresh outpouring of blood from torn flesh stemming in the next second under a palliative hand. they'd come here anticipating a diplomatic mission, perhaps anticipating that the most grievous injuries sustained would be to their egos. now he walked away with wounds that'd take weeks, if not longer, to fully heal, setting back his training. for what? it felt so pointless. they'd accomplished nothing for it.

the psychic was right. they couldnt push themselves too far. there was a chance the vigilantes were looking for them, and if they collapsed or walked right into a trap, their chances of surviving the day looked slim. "still, we need to plan our next move." how far away was garreg mach? it'd taken them over a day's travel on foot and partly by carriage to reach the outpost. their planned return had been to follow the same route back through the trade post, spend the night there if necessary, and horses from the church would be there waiting for them for the second leg of the trip by morning.

by morning. . . at best, they wouldn't receive any help from the church until then. not to mention, was it even safe to retrace their steps now?

seadall echoes the sentiments of his thoughts so closely that felix glances at him from the corner of his eyes as though gauging whether he'd used some magic to read his mind. "hmh. misinformed. . . perhaps. we should be cautious. our way back might be compromised. as for the captives. . . we should leave them for now." distaste pulls his expression into a frown. "we weren't prepared for a rescue mission. if we run in recklessly, we'll just be adding to the dead. if we want to save them, one of us should hurry back to the monastery and call for reinforcements ; the other should stay here and muster enough forces from a local town to launch an initial attack."

the way he says it leaves some fire to be desired and calls into question his own desire to pursue such a plan. it wasn't that the unexpected retribution from the apothecaries had intimidated him, but the more he spoke for a plan of action, the less certain he felt it was worth it. if the guards at the door already assumed they were here on behalf of the church, then their escape had likely sounded the death knell for anyone they might imagine they would save. even if they stormed the fort now, it might just be for corpses.

on the other hand, they couldn't leave the outpost occupied forever. one way or another, the church would have to wrest control of it back from the rebels. as firsthand witnesses, their jobs wouldn't be done here.

[seadasu]

The decision laid at their feat is wreathed in a fog of uncertainty, made darker still by the bleak options at their fingertips. He thinks that Felix has a way of reaching the heart of what’s to come without getting lost in the possibilities along the way. Whether it’s own nature or simply his noble training, Seadall can’t tell by looking at him. His own expression falls to mirror Felix’s frown, true despair lowering his lashes to consider. 

“If the Monastery was misinformed, then it could mean that they meant to capture or kill whatever aid arrived at their doorstep,” It’s not impossible… “It could easily be a declaration of war, or any other message those against the church wish to send. I doubt they believed that the diplomats would be skilled in battle.”  

Truly, their enemies had seemed too surprised by the force of their counterattacks. They hadn’t feared death even a little. 

Shifting where he sits, Seadall leans closer to Felix with fingers outstretched to test where his wounds had once been. They’re whole, flesh knitted together nicely enough that the only indication that they’d been there at all was the blood calling attention to the tears in his clothing. “It’s only the two of us - and by that I mean that separating is a risk I would rather avoid. The path we’ve tread so far has been full of misfortune, betrayal. At the very least, we should protect one another.” Of course, he wants to keep an eye on Felix. He’s strong, but that doesn’t mean much when they’re so caught out. “Besides…there’s a possibility that the forces that occupy this outpost have infiltrated the towns as well.”

If Seadall had been wanting to spread his influence, it’s what he would have done. 

“We can’t stay in the forest, and we don’t know if our route home has been compromised. Although,” His brows draw downward, jaw tensed as displeasure radiates in all corners of his posture. “If they’re aware enough to cut off our planned travel back, it could mean that the group is already at home at Garreg Mach. It would mean that, perhaps, you and I were chosen for an ambush.” 

Not that Seadall believes that he was a factor in it. If someone from Fodlan was pulling strings, then it was an attack on House Fraldarius itself. He remembers how Felix introduced himself at the gates, how the attack came swiftly after. If anything, sending a known fortune teller over a knight or mage just made them easier to kill. 

Gathering himself into a standing position, he holds out a hand. “I think we should head back the way we’ve come. If our route is compromised, then we know. We can take shelter elsewhere to recover and plan our next move.”

[wolfhednn]

𝗦𝗟𝗘𝗘𝗣𝗟𝗘𝗦𝗦 𝗡𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧.

mission. ANNI 2025⠀∶⠀heavy armor.

[wolfhednn]

ALL OF IT FEELS LIKE A DREAM.⠀🗲⠀irritable and half-conscious, he drags himself through the market streets like a puppet with half its strings cut, more than fine to let the psychic talk to those around them. days later, more properly rested, he'd have the bearing of mind to find the man again and thank him for it——after all, this wasn't his problem, and he'd dragged him into a mess most sensible people would avoid.

but for now, he hardly notices the glances he earns ; somehow, after talking with that strange mask seller, he feels even worse than before. every step is weighed down as though stones had been tied to his legs. and there's an even stranger sensation he can't describe: as though he's double of himself and there's someone else living in his body beside him, walking when he does, rubbing at his eyes when he does. his movements feel like his own, and at the same time like he's watching someone else do them too from inside his own skin. it's disorienting at best and disturbing if he tries to examine it too closely, as though his own instincts are telling him that he doesn't want to know.

when finally they pause, he's glad for it, leaning his back——their(?) backs——against the side of a storefront to rest, the movement of the market crowds a murmuring dissent to the offensive light of day shining directly in his eyes, keeping him awake. the psychic is getting fed up too, and it's a sudden anxiety that he might decide he's had enough and leave him to his own devices that forces felix to try and focus, and think.

"a draw. . . ?" what kind of draw was he talking about? to the other mask? the mask that had been stolen. . .

nothing comes. only the sounds of the street and the desperate desire to sleep. he groans, rubs one hand hard against his temple. there had to be something. he decides to begin with everything he already felt. "i don't know where the thief went, or what mask he stole. there's. . . a man. trapped in a closet. thick, wooden doors. there's something wrong with him, and he can't get out." he realizes he hasn't given any context: "i saw it, when that mask seller was talking, like a——dream, or some kind of vision. i was the man ; we were inside a house, and there were two voices outside: a boy and another man. i felt like. . . that man was me. or should be me. ugh, i can't explain."

is that the other body he felt living inside——alongside?——him? who can say. "does that mean anything? perhaps it's the story the mask is trying to tell ; i don't know." but why would he be the one seeing it? he hadn't stolen the mask.

another question, bleary: "when the thief ran, did you see what he looked like?" all he'd done was get knocked to the ground ; he hadn't caught anything worthwhile except the expression on their face: bloodshot, so desperate it almost made him look inhuman, haunted.

[seadasu]

More had come from less, though Seadall can’t quite be comforted by the notion. Even this is an unfair assessment. Frustrations aside, Felix is giving something, painting an odd picture with a softness in his voice that makes him seem as if he’s rousing from a restless sleep. 

It’s enough to make Seadall’s head spin, trying and failing to put pieces together but cataloguing each new detail with the same care he does for the shape of the stars he dances for each night. It’s significant. It has to be. 

Crossing his arms over his chest, the dancer looks off to the side as he remembers. “The thief…” Eyes now closed, he replays the earlier interaction. “When they passed by I was nearly overwhelmed by the sense of death itself.” In other circumstances, Seadall would try to make more sense of it…but did they truly have time on their side? “I wanted to get away from the chill, a crushing weight on every limb…but the person themself seemed to be no more than a child. Or a young adult, lacking height.”

He swallows, chasing away the memory of such a chill. “They had white bandages around their wrists, I’m certain. Perhaps they too are someone caught in the grip of…something.” Could it be the same as what Felix was going through? It was too hard to tell without the stranger standing in front of them. 

Too many moving parts, too many holes in their understanding. Seadall sighs, once again letting a hand rest at Felix’s elbow. If he suddenly dropped, at least he’d be able to catch him. “I don’t enjoy the idea that another conscious shares your mind. Does it feel as though Felix is fading away in place of another? You feel like yourself, don’t you?” As important as the answer to that question is, Seadall sucks in a breath to steady himself and asks, “And if there is someone sharing your mind or otherwise, perhaps… delving further into it might lead us in the right direction.”

Or the wrong one… Seadall doesn’t like it, though for all the oddness, Felix does not feel like an evil to be avoided. For now. “Can you…try to find the house? Think pointedly of the man you’re imagining. Step into those shoes rather than let them walk with you. I am not one to look into still waters or crystal balls…but even a card reading or meditation might help your focus.”

[seadasu]

𓍯𓂃𓏧⏾ how to cuɾɾγ fɑvoɾ

☆ mission board pearlescent ☆ + 1 any skill ☆ seadall/griss

[twistedisciple]

"Sure, I can cook," Griss answers distractedly, sounding more like he's just saying yes out of instinct. He grabs the bottle Seadall hands to him without even looking at it either, and keeps his other hand with the flame free to rise over their heads and assess the corners of the room. Cobwebs stretch across most of them, and there's a musty, damp stench to the place suggesting there might be more than one bottle open down here. If the guards had been taking their fill of the wine, then chances are few people who mattered ever actually came down here to check up on it.

"No use lugging all these around before we find the way in first." Griss waves the one bottle he's taken from Seadall, refusing the rest, and wanders toward one of the three archways that aren't in the direction that they'd come down. Carved into the wall directly across from the way they'd entered are two of them - one nearest the left wall, the other nearest the right wall, with a long stretch of well-stocked shelves between them. Griss wanders toward the left to peer at what they've got back here.

"More of the same junk," he mumbles, and keeps going. Once you'd seen one wine barrel, you'd seen them all. Through the archway on the left is a set of stone steps - mercifully wider than the entrance - leading even farther down. Down didn't seem to be the right answer, so he turned around and went to the other side. Another set of stone steps, also descending farther into the darkness. They were running out of options.

"And what do we have behind door number three?" Griss' half-singsong voice rasps more like sandpaper, but at this point he acts like he's forgotten that he's not alone down here. Every step he takes is leisured, unhurried and unashamed, as is the way he swings the wine bottle by its neck. By some miracle it hasn't shattered against one of the stone walls.

"Huh, that's weird." He stops at the third archway - this one between rows of barrels on the right side - and lifts his hand and its sputtering flame over his head. A glance over his shoulder calls Seadall over to see it for himself. The room beyond is huge, but utterly empty. At least as far as the light can reach. The floor is earthen and damp - no one had bothered paving over this section of the cellar for some reason.

"A big ol' room full of nothing! 'k, well, that leaves us with down, or uh... down." He turns on Seadall suddenly with a grin. "Your choice, Mr. Play-It-By-The-Book."

[seadasu]

As is beginning to feel like a fated conclusion, Seadall can see that he and Griss are once more thinking in completely different directions. When he takes one bottle, Seadall gasps, juggling the now unbalanced weight of breakable objects while his companion delves further into the wine cellar when Seadall had merely wanted to make an escape. 

Back to where they’d come. No, it wasn’t a solution, but the air here was oppressive. Not warm, but stale and unmoving and Seadall much preferred open air to underground any day. “Griss…” His voice is a sigh swallowed by the dozens of shelved stocked on either side, feet moving forward as if they’re chained by the ankles. 

And they are, aren’t they? This task has fallen to the two of them…and Seadall has never left someone behind willingly. He won’t begin now, even if that companion was once an enemy.

Especially when their route deviates from expectation in such a way that makes the hair on his neck stand on end. His dark eyes are sharp, lips twisted into a frown that runs in opposition to the smile Griss has adopted. “I’m afraid we’ve long since leapt from the pages of the book we were meant to read from.” Cautious, he finally kneels to set down the wine bottles he’d carried along. “That means we go down, doesn’t it? Divines…I’d have liked this to be more…” He trails off, not knowing exactly how to name what he’d wanted in the first place.

“We’ll go down, then.” Rising, Seadall waves a hand, pointing to the soft places in the dirt where the most footfalls seem to be leading. “It looks like more come in this way than leave. It feels…well, there’s hardly ever anything good that comes from these kind of hideaways. Be on your guard.” 

Turning his back to Griss still feels wrong, but he does so regardless, taking the lead as far as Griss’ light will lead him. Really, what could they be hiding down here? “Ah.” He breathes, startled when the wide room narrows once more, urging Griss to move forward without saying the words aloud. At the end of what he’d expect the room to be, there’s… 

“It looks almost like this was dug out by hand.” The steps down into the darkness are uneven, precarious in a way that makes Seadall brace each hand on the dirt walls at his side, nose curling at the odd stench of it. “I wonder why…” 

They’re going too far down - a tremor of fear building in his core. He only notices a small alcove because his left hand suddenly meets air - and the hallway continues, but Seadall detours, holding still so that Griss’ magic can light the room. Even with such low visibility, he can see a few scattered books and what looks like half a dozen pages that crunch under his feet. 

[martyrdance]

I shine only with the light you gave me

Pandreo & Seadall - Mission Board: Herald - [Axe +1]

[martyrdance]

It's no secret that Pandreo loves a good festival. The Herald of Spring, in particular, is a wonderful excuse to throw a bash. There are so many ways to pay homage to nature's renewal, especially since Solm only has three seasons: hot, monsoon, and super hot.

He wants to think about decorations. He wants to think about music, and floor space, and hors d'ouvres, and color schemes. But he's here, in the knight's hall, sharpening axes.

It had been his own suggestion, and he's been second-guessing it ever since. Pandreo isn't a knight. He has no business thinking about maintaining defenses. But he is a Sentinel, even here, so he knows the importance of being prepared — and the devastation that can follow when you're not.

No one else has followed his lead, which has dealt a severe blow to Pandreo's morale. Foolish, says their absence, to consider the Church vulnerable in such a peaceful villa. Yet, Pandreo's thin wrists maintain their arc over the whetstone. He starts humming to himself, just to cover the horrible sound of grinding metal, when a small movement in his peripheral stops him.

"Seadall!" Pandreo stops at once, turning his body toward his old friend without removing his hands from the axe. "Whatcha doin' out so late? In a place like this?"

@seadasu

[seadasu]

Seadall has always preferred to dance in full view of a starry sky, and he has to admit that Garreg Mach offers many breathtaking vantage points. It fits his usual schedule to keep later hours, picking up his work only after the bell tolls for others to end their day. 

During this time the hallways are softer, almost poetic without the clamor of knights and students going about their days. 

It’s different now though, the radiant light of the rising moon standing between them, and Pandreo seems as though he’s just begun. “Oh, hello Pandreo!” He doesn’t bother hiding his surprise, one hand catching on the wide archway of the knight’s hall. “Hmm, it's still early for me. What’s surprising is you.” As he says it, he strides over the threshold, brushing long hair away to fold into a sitting position at his side. 

He means what he says. Pandreo at the academy is still so new, so shocking despite the many denizens of Elyos calling it a temporary home. “I mean it as a compliment, of course. It’s good to have you. Although,” His gaze slides over the axe, taking in the edge just beginning to form with many more axes waiting next to them. “I’m here to help, though I may be lacking in skill. I’d heard that there are some who have misgivings about the festival - though the spirits have been silent on the matter.”

[wolfhednn]

𝗦𝗟𝗘𝗘𝗣𝗟𝗘𝗦𝗦 𝗡𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧.

mission. ANNI 2025⠀∶⠀heavy armor.

[wolfhednn]

WHO'S TELLING THE STORY HERE?⠀🗲⠀felix can't explain what's happening. the strange salesman's voice has an odd quality to it ; it's soothing, like sitting by a roaring fireplace listening to old tales he's heard dozens of times, convincing and matter of fact. it's uncommon, yes, and he's an uncommon man. there's no reason to question what's being said, only to listen with half an ear, watching the snowfall beyond the windows of the sitting room.

a hand touches his shoulder, and the spell is broken——a pebble dropping through still water, sending out ripples of life. "nh?" he hadn't been falling asleep, yet he jolts awake nonetheless, disoriented. the salesman's smile is there still, fixed on him innocently, yet unnervingly. frustration bubbles up again, and he blinks hard, willing eyes to stay open and foggy thoughts lined up in a row.

"just, tell me what i have to do already," he grouses, losing patience with the riddles and phrases. what did that even mean, ' the mask wants the stories to be heard '? "what stories."

the two voices beyond the closet door. the father and the son.

was that what he meant?

"but first, you have to recover the item that was stolen from me!" out of nowhere, the salesman recovers his zeal again as if picking up from where he'd left off earlier ; felix startles, but if nothing else, at least it makes him alert. "yes, that mask can't be left in just anyone's hands. . . it'd be very bad. very, very bad." the way the words are spoken strike an ominous chord, more than just a madman's ravings. he must really be exhausted.

"so please!" another abrupt shift: the salesman is now bent at ninety-degrees, palms pressed together before them, practically on his knees. "i'm begging you. you must get it back for me!"

nobody else seems to be paying attention to the odd scene, market-goers swerving around them returned to their own business after the interruption.

"please!"

"all right, stop prattling." he just wants this man to stop. "we'll find your missing mask. once we return it, you'll take this. . . whatever spell this is, off me. got it?"

the man is stick-straight again, smile pristinely returned. "oh yes, yes, of course. i don't think i'll have to do much. by then, you'll already know the mask's story." then as if nothing had transpired, he gives them a wave like a child, flapping a hand open and closed a few times, then turns and disappears into the surrounding throng, enormous pack of masks on his back and all.

[seadasu]

What choice do they have…

Seadall’s limbs are tense to take flight each time the man with the masks makes another move. Belatedly, he notices that his actions are graceless, disjointed. Each time he decides to move, it reads as if it comes from nothing, with nothing to be read other than the words tumbling from his mouth. 

Felix, on the other hand…

He wears his tiredness in every slow blink, in every breath, the pinch of his brows in response to the strange man made soft by bone-deep weariness. Seadall is overcome by the urge to step between them, to shield him from the smile that seems…unreal. Too wide, for a moment, he can only see the grotesque, grinning sun from that mirror world and his expression crumbles with fear. 

It couldn’t be a coincidence. Seadall doesn’t like to believe in chance without other forces at work. 

Recovering only when the man is truly gone, his exhale is shaky, limbs stiff where he turns his shoulders to fully face his companion. “It seems our course has been decided for us. Come on.” Too gently, he rests a palm on Felix’s shoulder, biting down to keep from pulling away when the action raises the hair on his arm. “Something has you in its grip,” He can’t help but say it, “But I’m not able to sense if it’s malicious or…something else.” The marketplace is full, but the few that Seadall stops to ask about a fleeing criminal look at him as if he’s the odd one instead. They draw back, clutching their valuables as they glance from him to Felix.

“This is-” He keeps himself from saying pointless, wheeling around to stare at Felix. “Felix? Can you try to feel for something…ominous? A draw? If the masks are connected, perhaps you can be their conduit. The man seemed to believe you would come by what you need naturally, but I…” Seadall doesn’t see anything other than the shift from day to night, long shadows making each stretch of road look too daunting to undertake.

[seadasu]

Unjust ( but defınıtelч fαır )

☆ 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖻𝗈𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝖾𝗉𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗆𝗂𝖼 ☆ bσw 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗍 ☆ 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖺𝗅𝗅/ʄelix

[wolfhednn]

HE PAYS FOR THE DEAD WITH ANOTHER ARROW.⠀🗲⠀this one pierces through leather and cloth, embedding in his torso ; adrenaline dulls the pain when he faces the swordsman back on his feet, now rushing him ; hands prepare in half-fists, ready to defend himself armless, bracing for the first swing——only for the man to suddenly jolt off balance, then pitch forward. a splintered haft protrudes from patchwork armor. the psychic——?

his arm grabbed, the arrow at his back hastily pulled. no, don't——but it comes free in another explosion of pain whose answering yell is only muffled through teeth biting down on his own arm, narrowly anticipating. what was he doing?? but then it dulls, soothed by a familiar, itching coolness.

healing magic.

there wasn't time to be grateful or to revel in it. instead of thanks, he finds himself on the ground, jarring the blood still flowing free from his other injury. a horn sounds somewhere in the distance, over the high walls of the fort. they couldn't stay here ; he could take a few untrained footmen, but while protecting someone? not to mention there was no telling how many more would come pouring out of the gate in seconds. seadall was grimly right: death wouldn't take them today, but they couldn't afford to be idiots if they wanted to make that happen.

his hand finds the other's forearm this time, firm grip brooking no resistance. "we have to go. now." forget negotiations ; the priority was escaping with their lives. another arrow whizzes ; he doesn't see where it lands, if it strikes. damn him for not thinking to bring his shield! shoving seadall behind him as they scramble to their feet, he pushes at him toward the treeline——"go, go!"——only following close behind when he feels him run. darkness blankets them from the wood cover, ferns whipping at his shins and branches in his hair.

neither of them had anticipated immediate, killing violence. maybe they should have. but this was a minor dispute about treating plague patients, not a war. why make more dead?

he doesn't understand, but it's clear the most direct path into the outpost was no longer an option, if they even wanted to continue trying at all. at this point, maybe they should cut their losses and head back, count the trip for nothing, and let the church send some knights out to clean up the mess.

maybe it's only one minute, maybe it's three or five that pass before he slows, the deep ache from the arrowhead still digging into his abdomen finally eclipsing adrenaline and forcing strides to halt, a hand to go to the site of the wound as he staggers, then collapses to his seat on a patch of rocky moss. "ugh..." a groan through rasped breath, and he pulls away a red-stained palm. who knows how much worse all the running had made it. breaths draw in long and sound, training kicking in to slow his heart rate down. then eyes lift to the way they'd come, scanning the foliage for symptom of pursuers. . . so far, the trees are quiet. though that didn't always mean anything.

". . . help me with this," he utters to the psychic, looking over to finally see if the other had sustained any injuries himself. "ugh, who'd have thought. what a waste."

[seadasu]

Escape is not a glamorous route, and yet Seadall has been here before. 

The terrain is different. Lush greenery catches and tears the light material of his pants in places, leaving what must be an odd trail of purple threads that’ll be grown over in mere days. None of that matters in the long run, when he can hear and feel the tremor the earth makes when outpost’s bridge falls forward in a deafening crash. 

Felix is right - escape is necessary. They don’t know what they’re facing. They’re wounded. The sharp sting in his side never dulls, turning into a painful spasm that flares with every quick breath he takes. Maybe if they had an army…or more weapons. When they stop, Seadall’s rust-hazed eyes immediately fly to take in the arrow still wedged in Felix’s torso and he’s tempted to curse himself for daring to travel without a real weapon. 

Breathing hard, Seadall has one hand pressed to his hip to stifle the cramping ache but his limbs still obey the hoarse command. “Of course.” To the rest of Felix’s statement, he only hums for now, folding his legs underneath him to appreciate how the sharp head of the arrow has completely vanished beyond leather and pale skin. 

It’s not Seadall’s first or even his fortieth time seeing an ally with similar wounds. Not that he counts them… something he showcases by stifling the urge to ask, are you alright? In which Felix was breathing and conscious. It would do for now. “No matter how I heal it, the joint will be stiff I’m sure.” Injuries in this area were just as bad as knees, some said. Seadall takes it slow, offering a sigh to the silence when he undoes the clasp that keeps the leather attached to Felix’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t want you losing more blood either, let’s see…” It’s easy to peel the cloth away, inches of skin so pale that the slow rivers of blood drying on it makes his heart twist with anxiety. 

Seadall isn’t a healer. Not really. He’d never be attributed to a priest or receive formal training even working in a Monastery. What he knows is different, and so he utters a quiet apology as his index and middle finger run along the bone just above the injury, testing for a break. Earlier, there had been no time…even if time still felt like it was running against them. 

Satisfaction is slight, doing nothing from the thin line his mouth holds, eyes narrowed when they flicker from the wound to his eyes. “Pain is temporary,” He says, in the way one does when it’s something often said - pulling the arrow from flesh with one firm flick of the wrist. Healing comes after, the other hand settling just above the heart. Seadall had always believed that touching someone when channeling healing magic was more effective, even if others had long since proved it to be untrue. A matter of skill…and Seadall didn’t quite trust his skill otherwise. “Tell me if you need more, I can give it.” 

Sitting back, Seadall maneuvers until his legs are outstretched, wincing as his side flares again. There’s blood. He knows before he looks by the way the wind chills the damp places where it’s stained his pants. It was always the trouble of forgoing armor - leaving his skin to be too easily split open by even the smallest swipe of a blade. 

It doesn’t feel too deep, but Seadall’s heart still stutters when he thinks of a potential scar. “We need to rest,” Even if he wanted to walk all the way back to the safety of Garreg Mach…could Felix? He’s not sure. More importantly… “The woman said that they had others imprisoned somewhere inside. Church members? Knights? If that’s the case…” He shakes his head, eyes clearing to peer at Felix in open worry. “They might be dead waiting for a rescue…and we don’t even know what spurred this situation. Obviously Garreg Mach had been misinformed, intentionally or otherwise.”

[wingboundwarrior]

Do You Believe in Love?

↳ Fiora & Seadall Epidemic Gauntlet+1

[wingboundwarrior]

Glamorous... Is it, truly? Ever since she started mulling on such things, she'd always thought feeling was a weakness. Even if it was one she would, at times, indulge in -- like that for her beloved sisters -- she always innately understood that she would be stronger if she could get rid of the sentimentality that dragged her down. But Seadall seems to insinuate her feelings are a boon... and that they even border on love.

Could they be? Love? Could that be what she's feeling, what she's harboring, what's in her mouth and fingers and soul when she thinks of Soren?

"Of course it's what I wish for." It tastes bitter, those words -- they're a little like ash, a little rough, the way they cling to her throat. "I want what is best for him. And I can recognize that that is not me."

She wonders what the person that is best for him is like. How they would speak to him. Regard him. Care for him.

"... Why would it be a joke?" Fiora's aquamarine lashes flutter in confusion. "For you to give chocolates to someone... I don't believe I understand."

[seadasu]

Self-defeating? Denial?

Seadall tucks the assumptions away. Fiora is a stranger, not someone soliciting his advice in love and life. Not that he has much experience to stand on in the former, kept afloat by the hopes and aspirations of those who wandered into his shop from time to time.

Still, he blinks as if he doesn't see conflict written in the stars in her eyes and returns to his own chocolate-making. "Well, you see," He's caught in a laugh, weighing which would be worse to say. That while Seadall has friends and fans across this land and his own, all the while having no one special. Or that simply anyone who knows him would probably lean in to feel his forehead and ask are you alright? Of all the things he'd be gifting, something so awful for daily fuel would surely be seen as a mockery.

"...It's unlike me. Love isn't in the cards for me...yet." Maybe never, but Seadall is young (he tells people this, sometimes, gently) and he has plenty of time to think about it. "So...it would probably be a wasted gift. Or cruel, if it does not have heart behind it."

[seadasu]

𓍯𓂃𓏧⏾ how to cuɾɾγ fɑvoɾ

☆ mission board pearlescent ☆ + 1 any skill ☆ seadall/griss

[twistedisciple]

By now, Griss has taken to swinging the key around his finger whenever he starts itching for something to do with his hands. Not enough blood on them for his taste, but if there's any sense in his head, it at least restrains him from gouging his own skin - or Seadall's - just because he doesn't find this whole mission very interesting at all. He stands at the top of the stairs peering down into the dark with the nonchalance of someone who's seen his fair share of spooky, underground passageways; they're practically a taste of home for a fell disciple. And it's not like he expected a backdoor to this place to open right up into the backyard of some noble's private villa. Stepping right down into the dark without a second thought sounds like the most naturally thing in the world to him.

Trepidation trembles in Seadall's voice just loud enough for Griss to notice and his foot stops right over the first step. He's like a wolf scenting blood, and turns a sneer on his companion that suggests all manner of mischief. That he might push Seadall in first and lock the door behind him, or that he'll trail just a step or two behind so that it's Seadall who springs whatever traps must be set in this place. Or, if there are no traps, then he'll play the part of a persistent spider tickling the back of his collar, disappearing into thin air whenever Seadall slaps his hand over his neck just to come back again when the coast is clear.

But a flame appears over the palm of his hand and the look changes suddenly, like it might have just been a trick of the light.

"Yeah? What-- you scared of the dark or something?" Rolling his eyes, Griss lets his foot drop down to the first warped step, then the next, and down he descends into the claustrophobic darkness that awaits them. Even for Griss, who isn't very big, his shoulders with their ill-fitting pauldrons graze the stone walls on either side of the narrow corridor, and he finds himself stooping a little beneath the low, earthy ceiling.

"My guess is that this leads to the wine cellars. Or the sewers." His voice bounces off the walls and comes back to his ears sounding strange - too close and too alone over the sound of their shuffling armor. There are no sconces mounted on the walls though, no candles along the floor, and no other sign of life even as they reach the bottom of the stairs and peer into a straight line of darkness. The cold winter sun from the open door at their backs has already been swallowed up by most of it, so it's only by the light of Griss' fire that they can see even two feet ahead of them.

They make steady progress until the corridor finally opens up to a larger, square room filled with barrels of a uniform size. Griss scoffs and parts from Seadall to make his way over to a stack of them.

"See? What'd I tell you." He goes from one to the next, rapping his knuckles on their faces to try to tell how much each one contains.

"Where there's wine barrels, there's gotta be bottles of the stuff, too. Hunt down a few and that'll be our in. We're supposed to be working in some guy's kitchen, yeah?"

[seadasu]

Is he afraid of the dark?

How inconvenient. Seadall can’t quite remember ever fearing the dark or - more aptly, what’s inside the dark. To fear the unknown only opens the door for misfortune. Someone like him wouldn’t…shouldn’t, and as he watches the stretch of Griss’ expression right before the man is a mere silhouette on the narrow stairway, the conclusion is obvious. 

Darkness doesn’t give him pause. Griss gives him pause. In this, there are no enemies turned allies, for such a thing would imply that they’d stopped standing on opposite sides of existence. Here and now, his steps on the stairs are light and soundless, muscles tensed for flight if action is necessary. 

“Not the dark.” Seadall murmurs, eyes fixed on the other’s back, on the ill-aura that either radiates from the man himself or Seadall’s imagination. 

…he has learned to trust his instincts. 

Yet, Griss continues to be more than useful. He’s even been taking the task seriously… Seadall nods when he successfully locates their prize. “Yes, bottles will be good enough. Even if they aren’t…every event needs something to drink.” In the small room, Griss’ fire only barely cuts through murky grey, Seadall’s outstretched hand toppling empty pieces before finally grasping the nearest upright bottle.

It’s open and half empty, Seadall’s nose wrinkling with the smell that he only belatedly recognizes. “I think the guards from earlier had been drinking this,” Why wouldn’t they? They had a key, after all. “Let’s take five each.” 

The bottles wouldn’t be heavy, but they’d have their hands full enough for none (hopefully) to question them. “If they question us, we should tell them we’re just here to serve. Unless you have knowledge about preparing food?” Did Griss need to eat? Did any of them? Seadall huffs, glass clicking together as he passes the bottles. “I doubt anything I would can cook would be grand enough for such an event. I’d defer to you in this.”