star-hearted doll

✧ closed/aff. rp blog for limstella from fe blazing blade by vio ✧ blue lions student at the officers academy

[stellalimned]

✧ june | 2025

Status:

Passed

Skill Points Gained:

Monthly Activity - +1

Skill Point Allocation:

+1 -> Authority -> B 1/2

Threads Completed:

N/A

Class Progress:

N/A

Rank Rewards/Event Prizes:

N/A

Total Skill Points: 20

[princessmacedon]

[ LANTERNS ] - Amongst the rest of the ballgoers, the little red sun stands out, her gown flowing like the fins of a fish, her every step accentuated with bells ringing as cheerily as her own demeanor shines. It is all too easy to slip through the crowd in her direction, gravitating as I am to her presence and the warmth she and those who treat me kindly inspire. "Maria." I give her a bow with my hand placed over my heart, and my expression feels strangely soft as I gaze at her upon straightening. "You look as radiant as your soul tonight; I appreciate your presence here. Are you enjoying yourself?"

I pause, thinking over what to say next. Should I invite her to dance, or do some other activity? Nearby, a table covered in lanterns and stationery catches my eye, with each of the lanterns shaped and dyed to look like a different flower. One of the lanterns in the form of a reddish alstroemeria near-perfectly matches Maria and her gown, and suddenly it seems imperative that we be the ones to set it afloat. I turn towards the table, waving for her to follow me. "This one looks very similar to you and your outfit," I say, gesturing towards the lantern. "Would you like to release it with me? If you wish, we can exchange charms afterwards—that is, if you are participating in the game? I have been assigned the seashell if you still require it."

"Limstella! Hi -- oh! Hee hee...!" A jubilant greeting cut short by the surprise of such proper manner; Maria matches the morph's bow with a graceful curtsy, and when she rises, her hand settles over her heart as well. "I am! I'm having so much fun, and I'm really happy to see you here, too!"

They have a strange way with words, she thinks -- as beautiful as your soul. She should ask them about it one day, somewhere quieter where they may lay all their words in the sun and let them catch the light. Tonight, however, is for dancing and merriment and all the little joys gathered in one's palms like grains of sand. Words gather on her tongue, but Limstella's gaze turns somewhere else and so she holds them there and wanders with them. Metaphorically of course, but she shuffles a step closer as well, turning in the same direction they do -- and when they turn again, why, of course she follows suit.

Alstroemeria. Maria knows it, thinks of it fondly, receives the compliment with a warm giggle reflective of her affections.

"I would love to," she answers readily, already scanning the tables for paper to match. It takes her longer than it did them, the supplies laid out being of much lesser variation, but eventually she spies a subtly red-tinted paper and offers a hand to her friend. Leading the way, she gathers their little ensemble: a cheery alstroemeria lantern and an elegant paper for it to bear across the waves. "Look!" She grins, holding two little slips with her free hand. "Now you're here with me!"

Handing one over, she happily sets pen to paper -- and withdraws it in the next beat, thoughtful. What should she wish for? And for that matter, what would Limstella wish for? It strikes her that for all her fondness, she doesn't really know.

"Hmm..." Maria hums her contemplation, peeking at Limstella from the corners of her eyes. She blinks, slow and curious. And then: "Oh! Hee hee..." Of course! I wish that Limstella will keep seeing lots of pretty flowers and lots of pretty souls. Maybe she'll come to better understand them one day; maybe she'll even get to be there for some of them!

"There!" Triumphantly, she holds up her wish and soon after a pearl, dropping the latter into Limstella's hand. The rest is quick work, and as they meander closer to shore to set the lantern out to water, the little cleric raises her newly won seashell. Silhouetted against the sky, a beckoning hand ushering the pearl into place alongside it--

"--Limstella, isn't it pretty? It looks like a moon and a star!"

[stellalimned]

Maria obliges and offers me a strip of paper to, if I recall correctly, write a wish on it to set free with the lantern. With a blink, I take it and find a pen. But... this exercise does not feel useful. I have never wished for anything other than to see my master's plans through, so what wish could I possibly make? I do not want for anything at the moment save for the continued perfecting of myself, which is something I can achieve on my own, or with the assistance of those whom I now follow. For what could I wish?

My eyes fall on the girl beside me, and—now it makes sense. I do not need to wish for anything for myself, which is good, as the unfamiliarity of such a thing still prickles at me. However, it is simple enough to write what comes to mind on the slip, and my chest feels pleasantly warm as I look over my handiwork. Truly this was the correct choice if it inspires the same sensation as the kindness of those close to me.

"May Maria continue to shine brightly and be happy for a very long time."

I trade her pearl for a golden shell that glimmers like her essence and tuck the wish paper into the lantern accordingly. Together, we set the lantern free, and it sparkles on the water, mirroring the night sky with its fellows whom others have released. At Maria's call, I turn and behold her with her bracelet, the shell dangling beside one of her pearls as a pair. I clasp her own gift onto my bracelet beside a soft red seashell and hold it up to her wrist. "So it does. You have keen taste, Maria. It looks perfect." Then I glance at her. "Though I would offer that yours looks like the sun, and mine the moon." For that is what she is, and I cannot help but revolve around here whenever she is near.

[blazingknight]

Ice Cold Reality is Better Than a Warm Fantasy

Lance +1 || Eliwood + Limstella

[blazingknight]

When "Regarding Knights and Chivalry" came into style, Eliwood didn't even need to see the copies littering the monastery to know something very wrong had come to the school. The student's plummeting grades alone could have told him that. Many times he had to correct the teachings from it regarding the treatment, or rather mistreatment of horses alone.

Yet, despite his efforts to quell it, the blaze had only spread from a bonfire into a wildfire. Even now, he watched a student from afar practice lance form that he knew from experience in a battle would cause injury. He had made the same mistakes as a boy, trying to impress his peers. All this book promoted was showboating, and he couldn't stand by and let a student learn form that would only lead to slaughter on the battlefield.

He approaches, and ice forms in his veins, a roaring in his ears, and he stops. He knows them. They had supported Nergal, they had assisted in the murder of his father! Part of him, the vengeful part that still grieves, wishes to leave the morph to their own devices. Let them get injured. Let them get killed.

Yet there's another part of him, a stronger part of him, that knows the cycles of vengeance can't be broken by giving into them. The better world he dreams of can't be created if he takes no steps to create it.

Besides, he reasons, he was only acting out of love for his own father. Perhaps the morph was acting out of love for Nergal. They at least had seemed particularly and exceedingly loyal to him. Even when he didn't want to admit it, his enemies were people too, and deserved at least a little grace. He would give them a chance.

Entering the training ground, he gently corrected the form, keeping his face impartial, but not unkind. "Your form as it was causes unnecessary strain on your wrist and could lead to injury. Like this, it lessens the strain. You're less likely to get hurt. Let me guess, you got the idea for this form from that book that's been going around? It's all bluster. Let me show you how it's really done."

@stellalimned

[stellalimned]

The lance is a weapon many of my fellow Blue Lions appear to be proficient in, an understandable choice considering Faerghus' emphasis on knighthood and knightly implements. Thus far, however, I have not made an effort to study the wielding of this weapon, having until now focused on my magic, though I have begun to rectify the issue of lacking familiarity with a physical form of defense. So when my classmates begin to use "Regarding Knights and Chivalry" as a supplemental resource to their education, I find myself obliged to investigate it. Though I cannot ascribe to possessing the virtues of a knight... perhaps it will assist me in better understanding their modus operandi?

As I read, the tenets espoused in the book seem illogical and inefficient. Yet, I cannot deny that the loyalty a knight must feel and display for their master strikes a chord in me. Disregarding my lack of chivalry... could I not be considered Lord Nergal's knight, in a sense? It appears I am surprisingly familiar with the very base ideas of being a knight... this... might be more feasible than I calculated.

I take to the training with the same diligence I approach my other studies. The physicality seems awkward and fits my body ill, but I suspect it a consequence of my form being built for magic instead of a lance. This continues for some time, and then one day my form is being unexpectedly corrected. By—

I freeze at the sight and essence of the familiar redheaded lord. Memory overlaps reality to replace the training grounds with the battlefield, the minutes before my death. Has he sought me out to take revenge? Finish, make permanent, what had been undone? I cannot help but stare at him, the man who opposed my master, who suffered at his hands, who—is... correcting me? Adjusting my form? Like nothing has happened after all?

"It's all bluster. Let me show you how it's really done."

The image before me does not compute. This lord (his name begins with "El" like his father's, that much I recall) should be trying to kill me, or at least be furious with me, yet here he is treating me like a student, just as the other professors with whom I have become acquainted have. I cannot fathom his motivations for doing so; he seemed far too honest for such things as deception and manipulation, so is he truly acting as he feels? Offering to show me the correct way... and he would be familiar with knighthood, would he not?

(Up close, his quintessence is strong, bright, mesmerizing. It feels utterly wonderful.)

Gripping my training lance with both hands, I bow towards him, a strange tightness in my chest. "I am at your mercy, professor. Please bestow your wisdom upon me as you see fit."

[stellalimned]

✧ you, a star; and i, gazing at you

toa ethereal ball '25 | cont'd.

[warpaway]

limstella leads them to the floor and offers them the choice of leading or following.  naturally, linhardt had assumed to lead.  that's what they'd been taught as a child, after all, as the adults around them constantly assumed their maleness made it clear which role they should perform.  the choice dangled before their face feels like a realization - they can choose this too, and they do.

“well, since you're offering, why don't you lead?”

his logical mind offers reasons.  if limstella has only observed, they'll be a poor dancer themself, and so it would be unfair for some one trained in leading to lead someone stumbling through following.  this puts the two on equal grounds.  but really, he just wants to take the feminine role.

it's exciting, then, when limstella's arms brace their hip, and they lay their hand on the other's shoulder.  it does feel vastly different, somehow, and it's nice.

it's nice, too, because now linhardt doesn't have to watch the floor to make sure he doesn't lead them into another pair or some other annoying little detail.

limstella asks the first question of their interview, and linhardt feels a secondary thrill of being the object of investigation.  never before has he considered how it might feel to be on the receiving end of the interview, but at least in this instance, he finds he enjoys the attention.

“right now it's crestology.  i know you aren't from fódlan, but you must know plenty about what that means by now.  i spend a lot of time poring over the oldest texts i can find.  right now, i'm hunting so-called lost crests to determine what happened to them and piece together a clear history of inheritance.”

speaking of their interests is always easy.  their eyes glimmer with excitement, and making eye contact in this moment is hardly the problem it usually presents.

“but that's just for now, of course,” they continue.  “it's a matter of time before i discover enough to feel satisfied and another interest will take me.  it happened with ciphers and astrology and architecture alike in the past.”

[stellalimned]

“So then, when you are interested in something, you must explore it fully? Plumb it to its deepest depths?” I ask. “And only after you have learned all that you wish to know about that topic do you move onto something else?” It is certainly an approach I can appreciate. Forewarned is forearmed, after all, and knowledge is power, especially to mages like us. The subjects that Linhardt has gravitated to before all sound useful as well, with practical applications in a variety of fields, though that makes me wonder if he became interested in those subjects because of their applications or for other reasons.

“You are correct, we do not have Crests back in Elibe, nor anything quite like them. Some lineages possess legendary weapons and tools that bear certain conditions for wielding, or so I understand it, but nothing like the Crest system.” I pause, thinking over what I should ask next. “Was there something in particular about Crests that caught your interest and encouraged you to pursue such a topic?” They had called themself the heir of Hevring, which I recall from my studies to be a prominent noble family in Adrestia, and as those with Crests are revered by this continent and typically elevated to high status, it follows that Linhardt is more likely to have a Crest than most.

Curious… does this contribute in any way to the quality of his essence? What exactly are the requirements for inheriting a Crest? Not all those who come from parents with Crests themselves bear a Crest, and before I came here I had no idea of such influences on essence. I have already given some attention to Crestology due to its relevance in magic, but perhaps I should have been giving it more if it intertwines with the study of essence. Further, it is important to Linhardt, and his eyes light up with passion and emotion in a captivating way as he expounds on his interest, his soul sparking through in the most beautiful manner.

[stellalimned]

✧ wanted plots | june/july

Ethereal Ball comes to an end, but life goes on and brings with it a curious set of circumstances at the high-class community of Pearl Shoals. Seems worth investigating, doesn't it? As a Blue Lion, Limstella requires the assistance of an unaffiliated member to take on the mission half of this commission board. Here are some specific prompts they're interested in.

✧ Limstella (here):

Limstella is an excellent servant. In fact, they're probably one of the best people for the job! ... Only, they need to remember that they are also supposed to be spying on their temporary masters and gathering information on them. Maybe your muse can help them stay on track? Mission! (claimed: n/a) +1 Any

To be honest, Limstella really doesn't care about whether the locals are stealing from each other and other people. It's really not their problem. Your muse, however, is about to make it their problem by trying to bust in all righteous to stop the constant theft. That's the last thing they need blowing their cover, and they definitely won't let your muse act so recklessly. Mission! (claimed: n/a) + 1 Faith

Limstella is highly experienced in protecting their master's interests—wait, what do you mean, they have to use a sword to do it this time? Actually... picking up a physical weapon isn't such a bad idea, not to mention this is a great way to get some hands-on practice. Task! (claimed: n/a) +1 Sword

What. What is this fad. Why does it exist. Why do humans follow such weird things. Limstella frankly has no idea what's going on, but a knight isn't much different from a servant, right? Maybe they should check this out (spoiler: your muse will have to break it to them that this book is, in fact, not a good representation at all of what it means to be a knight). Task! (claimed: Eliwood) +1 Lance

The clingy lover has returned! Plot twist: it's the cleric Limstella met and impressed back in Gautier during the Epiphany campaign. She's feeling a little neglected after months of no visitation from our favorite morph student, so she's taken it upon herself to seek out her "one true prince" so they can spend some time with her instead! "Bring your loyal friend too," she says, "a prince is always in need of good counsel!" Will your muse play along or attempt to disabuse her of her lofty notions? Task! (claimed: Ishtar)

In another, futuristic world, Limstella is an android or cyborg performing the bidding of Valor Inc. CEO Nergal, perhaps downloading memories, biodata, etc. to enact his great plan. Is your muse a member of the Lycian Trust opposing Nergal, a bounty hunter aiming for the price on Limstella's head, or someone targeted by Limstella for electronic harvesting? How will they meet and react to our automaton doll? (If you have a specific sci-fi setting in mind for this, please bring it up with Vio, she wants to hear your thoughts!) AU! (claimed: Soren)

Depending on how these go, they may be able to repeat prompts (and Vio will do her best to help them reply as quickly as she can). Thank you for your aid, my guy can’t wait to get started!

[stellalimned]

✧ may | 2025

Status:

Passed

Skill Points Gained:

Monthly Activity - +1

Skill Point Allocation:

+1 -> Reason -> B+

Threads Completed:

N/A

Class Progress:

N/A

Rank Rewards/Event Prizes:

Seashell Bracelet - Claimed

Total Skill Points: 19

[stellalimned]

✧ you, a star; and i, gazing at you

toa ethereal ball '25 | cont'd.

[warpaway]

limstella calls them the ‘finest’. they call them ‘high-quality’ and ‘the very best’ as well.

linhardt’s heart is pounding. it’s taken them a while to understand, but they believe now that they are beginning to. the attention limstella is showering them with is dizzying; addictive even. oh, linhardt thinks, they could have asked me here. they could dance with me. and once again, we could kiss.

“no, it isn’t like that,” he replies, diving for their hand as though it’s a lifeline they need in the dark waters outside. he threads their fingers together, warm and secure - it’s a tight grip. he’s got experience in hand-holding at least.

“i’m objectively strange. you can ask anyone who knows me. of course you wouldn’t be a person for rumors, but there’s plenty to do with the weird heir to hevring.”

even saying this, they’re smiling, punctuating their last sentence with an eyeroll. “i am, however, not only flattered, but pleased that you’ve decided to position me as any sort of important subject. if anyone can relate to the feeling of chasing your interest to learn everything possible, it’s certainly me.

“would… you like to interview me over a dance?” he suggests, equal parts hopeful and nervous.

[stellalimned]

Despite my words, Linhardt persists, insisting that they are "objectively strange" and "the weird heir to hevring." They do not, however, provide me with a compelling reason as to why this matters, why I should care how others perceive them. Is this a human thing, to wonder how one is viewed by others and whether those views are positive or negative? It seems useless and a waste of time... but it appears to have a modicum of importance to Linhardt, or at least, they believe I find it important as well. Then, if verbal rebuttals do not work, perhaps actions will? I do not appreciate the thought of failing to help them understand what makes them stand out to me, but it is likely best to drop the topic for now. They offer a point of connection in turn, a sense of knowing what it is like to pursue one's interests fully and completely. It is a fascinating thing to learn about them, and it makes me wonder just what it is they usually chase after.

"Interview? While dancing.... That is a novel idea. I am not opposed to it; it is certainly a different way to gather information. Very well, then. I believe the appropriate salutation is 'May I have this dance?'" The etiquette I studied would have me offer my hand to him, but as our hands are already entwined through each other, I elect to skip that part. With a careful raise of our conjoined hands, I lead him out to the dance floor and release one of my hands to place it on his waist. "Would you prefer I lead or follow? I have observed how to do both, but as I suspect you may be more versed in dancing than I, I feel it wise to leave the decision up to you."

I am not one who ordinarily pays attention to music, but I find the piece the musicians begin playing rather pleasant and appropriate. From there, it is easy to dance with the notes, my body moving to the rhythm naturally and near effortlessly, leaving my mind free to conduct this interview. "You mentioned chasing your interest to learn everything possible... what interest or interests do you typically pursue?" Since they are important to Linhardt, they must merit further investigation. Are they not, after all, related to the composition of this intriguing soul before me?

[thelightofcreation]

203 bottles of poison on the wall

[thelightofcreation]

Something seems to shift in the student’s demeanor, and Sephiran feels a sense of pity- in what way have they lived, that such a simple request would leave them bewildered? (It is not as though he can truly judge, living only through the Goddess’ will, and only able to die through it as well). 

Perhaps gentleness with suit them better, he decides. Softening his expression slightly, relaxing his shoulders so as to no longer take the appearance as a scolding superior- more of a concerned adult viewing a hurt child. 

“Your own will is a delicate thing,” He begins, finding it difficult to find where to begin. “But to begin with, it is something you must craft on your own. I pray you are able to- it is a lonely thing, to live only in the service of another.”

A pause, then a shake of his head. “But yes, let us continue. If we can analyze the spell, we should be able to come up with a counterspell- and if we are lucky, a preemptive measure.”

“Testing will only begin if,” he makes sure to emphasize the word, knowing that it was somewhat counterintuitive to bring it up, “we come up with a suitable countermeasure that you can employ when we test it.”

Turning back to the notes, he flips through them absently, handing half off to the student before he continues reading. “First, let’s see if these reports have anything interesting, no?”

[stellalimned]

Craft my own... will?

I cannot help but wonder... does this have anything to do with wanting things for oneself? For if one wants things for oneself, then one will pursue those things, will they not? This merits further deliberation... but that is not why I am here. In fact, the man pivots the conversation back to the investigation of the spell and gives me some of the accounts on its effects. The action eases a pressure on my chest I had not noticed before; indeed, it feels like taking a breath of air after diving into such a topic.

(Still, his words linger in my mind. "It is a lonely thing, to live only in the service of another." I was never alone in my service to Lord Nergal... but... "alone" does not mean "lonely," does it?

What does it truly mean to be lonely?)

In any case, I accept the reports and begin to read through them, keeping an eye out for synchronous details or commonalities. The first one offers a curious eyewitness account wherein the one affected by the spell described it as watching himself be controlled as if he were in a carriage and his body the horses with the spell the driver. Another likens the experience to dreaming and that having the spell end felt like waking up from a long sleep. A third describes it as viewing everything through a thick fog where nothing around her can be clearly witnessed. More and more, as I dig through the reports, one thread becomes clear to me, connecting all the cases together in spite of the disparate ways in which the effects of the spell present themselves.

"There is one common denominator I have found from all of these, and it appears to be that the spell enforces a level of distancing between the affected and their actions. It effectively relegates their consciousness to becoming an observer of their own actions as opposed to them carrying out said actions." I glance at the man. "Does this help in defining what the spell targets as you mentioned earlier?"

[stellalimned]

✧ i'm sword of an expert myself

mar. restoration commission | ft. limstella, karel | +1 sword

[otgolokh]

...Well, at least he hasn't wasted more of his time with this than he already has. He cannot hope to verify the pasts of blades from countries he has never seen nor heard of, but the moment he hears the name Mani Katti spoken — Perhaps taken in vain, in one way of looking — Karel knows instinctively that this man has nothing at all to offer him.

"...I have lost interest." He turns on his heel, without so much as hearing another word from the charlatan. "Limstella, with me."

...Karel does not quite know how to feel about Limstella. Not yet. He tries not to linger on the past, he thinks — For letting the past rule over him while he was in Elibe is what led him here to begin with — But there is something about them, their nature, that makes him uneasy... Whether it be out of the same self-recognition he had felt before, or something else entirely.

Still, he supposes distrust is no reason to willfully let misfortune fall upon them. He's done that much good.

"That man was a liar." He says, matter-of-factly. "There is only one Mani Katti in this world, and I am absolutely certain it is not in his possession."

...Some luck they're having.

[stellalimned]

The swordmaster spins away and orders me to his side. With another glance at the flummoxed merchant, I follow the dark-haired man, where he reveals the reasoning for his sudden disinterest. As I had suspected, he can accurately identify the sword, and he declares that what the merchant has is not, in fact, that sword. Something uncoils in my stomach at his pronouncement, though I do not know why. Perhaps it would be distracting to fight alongside a blade that looked like the one that helped kill me before, if it continues to conjure images of that moment. But...

"You are certain that that sword is a fake or imitation, then? What of the others?" I ask him. "I will confess that I am not familiar with other nations and continents' histories enough to determine whether they are genuine. Do you think the rest of them are also forgeries intended to decieve potential customers?"

If that truly is the case, then these swords are unlikely to bear the power or strength of the originals—unlikely, but not impossible. The monastery desperately needs armaments... even if these are fakes, they are still swords. Should they not function in battle as well as any other weapon should? I myself have no experience with weapon counterfeits and have never wielded, for example, a counterfeit tome, which I am uncertain even exists, but would it not still work despite it not holding the qualities of the original?

I am a counterfeit human. Do I not still function as well as a genuine one?

... I should have expected that I might identify with a sword, especially during this supply errand. Was I not Lord Nergal's weapon all of my life? Could his wielding of me not be likened to using a forgery? And yet I still accomplished his goals and performed above the average expectations of a human being. Should I truly be considered useless for the fact that I am a facsimile and not the original?

Why am I... this line of reasoning...

"Do you... believe they are any less effective than the swords our fellows use?" I pause. "I cannot help but feel as though this is comparable to the effectiveness of a human versus the effectiveness of a morph. My kin and I are manufactured, but do you think we are any less capable than those whom we mimic? That notwithstanding... realistically, we need all the equipment we can get. The academy is in a difficult situation after our enemies' campaign, and we must have something to bring back to the others." Another thought occurs to me then. "He has also not yet named his prices. If the swords are of decent quality and affordability, this might be to our advantage."

[stellalimned]

✧ you, a star; and i, gazing at you

toa ethereal ball '25 | cont'd.

[stellalimned]

Their hand remains in mine for a moment, and the warmth of it lingers when they eventually let go. I allow them the reprieve to detach one of their charms, as I do so with mine; one of the seashells is shaped in a thin spiral, mirroring the styling of their hair, and I pluck it off, accepting their turtle and replacing it with the shell. The little charm, I attach to my own bracelet in a prominent place.

(His hand should be in mine.

... Why?

I do not understand, only that it felt correct to hold it, and that it should return to mine once he has finished attaching the shell to his bracelet.)

Their next words are... strange. Dismissive of themself. So wildly incorrect in a way that makes my brow furrow and has me reaching to hold both of their hands. Why do they diminish themself like that? Are they not aware of how fascinating they are, how much they deserve regard? "Do all the finest of humanity not appear a little odd to the rest of them? What makes you believe you are not worthy of my appreciation?" I close my eyes, gathering the words I wish to say next into an appropriate order, then open them and stare straight into Linhardt's gaze, their soul-colored eyes. "Of everyone whose acquaintance I have made here, there are a few who share two distinct traits. First, that they each possess uniquely remarkable quintessence the likes of which I could admire forever. And second... that they all, in some form or another, have treated me with kindness and respect, have not been disturbed by my nature or else have overcome such misgivings, have behaved towards me as if I am a person just like them. I am forming a hypothesis that a high quality of quintessence may be one predictor of a high-quality soul, which is doubly encouraging in my preference for spending time with these types of people. I have found that I have learned much from all of you simply by associating with you. Given all of this, why should I not remain with you and learn from you? It is true that I am studying humanity, so why should I not study the very best of it such as yourself?"

@warpaway

[warpaway]

"Linhardt. I see you are attending as well." I give them an elegant bow, that unnamed warmth rising up at the sight of them appearing appropriately stunning. "You look as dazzling as your essence, it is good to find you here."

It is possible they have good taste in clothing and found something that matched them well; in contrast, I was obliged to have someone assist me with styling for tonight, and I cannot tell if it shows. Still, it feels like two puzzle pieces sliding together, they in a gown and I in a suit. Do we fit, I wonder?

In any case, I offer them my pearl-braceleted hand, having made note of the various tables nearby. "Would you like some refreshments? I suspect this event will be rather long, and it would be wise to keep your energy replenished throughout. Or would you prefer to simply chat instead? Whatever you wish, I am amenable to it, so long as you have an enjoyable time as a result." The happier someone is, I have found, the brighter their quintessence shines in my vision. It is only acceptable, therefore, that Linhardt has a wonderful experience tonight.

linhardt is pretty tonight, as they've readily told almost anyone who would listen.  that is easy to say out loud, and when any one's agreed, they have felt nothing more than a funny sense of pride (foreign to them, usually) blooming in their chest.  the word ‘dazzling’, however, causes a warmth to spread across their face and roll down their body pleasantly.

before he realizes it, linhardt is beaming.  limstella offers their hand, and he takes it before he even realizes what they mean to do with it.  a dance would be fun, or just... the touch.

they offer refreshments with a sort of regard for linhardt's well-being that they weren't expecting from the other student.  it feels nice, though.  it doesn't feel as nice as the word ‘dazzling’ did, but nice the same.  their free hand squeezes at their skirts, for lack of something to do.

“i wouldn't have expected you to come to a party like this,” he admits, though there's no judgment in his voice.  “normally, i'd prefer to pass, but this time…”

they resolve their sentence with a small shrug.  “i've been having a nice time so far.  i certainly don't mind the attention.  you look rather dashing yourself.”

a compliment for a compliment.

“are you asking me to dance?  we can just chat, or…  are you playing the little charm game?  you can have one of my turtles.  they're quite cute.”

[stellalimned]

I nod at their accurate assessment. "Ordinarily I would consider such things a waste of time. However, I have... made connections at the monastery and have been informed this is an excellent way to learn more about humanity. Given that this has allowed me to see you in such exquisite condition, I have concluded that attending was a wise decision."

He says I look dashing. A word associated with heroes, knights, and royals from my understanding. To be compared to one, to be told that I look not only good but on par with those noble figures, even accounting for my beauty.... I am used to being told I am beautiful. Being told I also qualify as handsome...

It is quite warm in here all of a sudden, despite the late time of year and the cool sea breeze. Perhaps wearing a fur-lined cape was not a smart idea after all? Why is my face warm? Am I malfunctioning in some way?

(Still, it is not... unpleasant...)

Their question fortunately redirects my attention, and I hold out my hand with the bracelet. "Yes, though I have not yet acquired any charms. I have the seashell one to offer, if you so wish." Admittedly, I am far less an expert on what can be called "cute" as opposed to what is "beautiful," but perhaps their assessment is correct. "They do seem aesthetically pleasing in a small and friendly sort of way. I would appreciate one."

[stellalimned]

✧ engagements | limstella

The Ethereal Ball has arrived, and a certain morph has decided to experience the festivities as part of their research on humanity. As someone with a seashell on their bracelet, Limstella is curious to see what interactions they will garner... although that masquerade ball sounds fascinating....

Plans

Investigate this thing called "dancer class" and how to acquire it

Study interactions and partake in socializing

Enjoy themself...? Or something?

Engagements

Seashell:

Starfish:

Anchor: Matthias

Turtle: Linhardt

Pearl: Maria

Outfit

Check out their ballwear under the cut!

[stellalimned]

✧ i'm sword of an expert myself

mar. restoration commission | ft. limstella, karel | +1 sword

[otgolokh]

In truth, this is a profoundly odd experience for man and morph alike.

Putting aside his own feelings towards... Limstella. While it is true he has the expertise required for a task like this, procuring swords and making sure they're of an acceptable quality, he doesn't necessarily have the experience for it — A key distinction that the Church of Seiros doesn't seem to have much of an eye for.

Nevertheless, they're here. And they have to work.

At the morph's behest, the merchant unveils a dizzying selection of blades, some of which look almost familiar to Karel's eyes; have Sacaen blades truly made it this far? The prospect sends a needling sort of feeling into him, getting to hold a piece of the home he abandoned in his hands.

"...A few of these blades appear to be of Sacaen make. Tell me of those."

[stellalimned]

"Ho-ho, these ones here?" the merchant asks, waving at a section of the racks that holds a variety of slender curved swords not unlike what I have seen both the swordmaster and the verdette lord from Elibe, as well as several classmates, wield. "You know your blades, my friend, I have swords from Sacae and Isaach and Chon'sin and Hoshido—a fair few treasures, too! See here—" And he lifts one of the swords off of a rack, handling it with both gloved hands to show us. "Now this here is a Hagakure Blade, forged in Hoshido by a master craftsman. I'm told one of its brethren was wielded by a shogun loyal to the king! Oh, and this one," he replaces the sword with a red and white one, "this one is a Sol from Chon'sin, sold to me by a general who no longer had any need for it. It has something of a checkered past but is as reliable as they come! Ah, this one underneath it is a Balmung from Isaach, a lovely and functional family heirloom—"

He continues like this with a few more swords, each of which appear to have been owned by some notable figure or another. Perhaps a human would find this impressive, but I have never noticed a consistently higher quality of quintessence among those considered to helm society. In my experience, it is the person and not the position that defines excellent essence. Why would it matter whether a royal or a peasant used a specific sword? I suppose I would see it as more of an achievement if the wielder of the sword lived beyond whatever conflict required them to fight, thanks to the sword.

"—and—ah yes, you said Sacae, didn't you? Ho-ho, feast your eyes on this darling piece! A Mani Katti forged by a holy warrior clan and blessed by the light of the moon!"

The sword he now holds in his hands... an image arises of such a blade flashing on the battlefield, held by the verdant lord of the three armies. I take a step back at the sight, only to find the merchant and the dark swordmaster instead. That... is that truly the selfsame blade? Averting my eyes, I glance at the man beside me—as a native of her nation, surely he will be able to tell.

[stellalimned]

✧ april | 2025

Status:

Passed

Skill Points Gained:

Monthly Activity - +1

Skill Point Allocation:

+1 -> Authority -> B

Threads Completed:

N/A

Class Progress:

N/A

Rank Rewards/Event Prizes:

Speed Ring - Claimed

Total Skill Points: 18

[stellalimned]

🎲 /WAITTTT i didnt see you were taking these... feel free to delete if yr too bogged down but. kiss 4 mr. sword demon?🥹

✧ 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦 (𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨): 40 - 𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴

He and I... despite the strangeness of this, we are in very similar situations. How can a man lose his humanity? How can a morph become human? This question plagues me endlessly, beyond the length of time I would expect. It does not surprise me that I could become fixated on such a thing, for I had assumed that unless Lord Nergal did so, morphs could not be changed, could not be altered in any way, shape, or form. And yet, what truly separates a morph from becoming human, or does such a delineation not exist after all despite our different methods of coming into being?

(Kishuna comes to mind; powerless but so very human in the face of the manner of his creation. Were I to obtain humanity, would I need to exchange my power in return? Is it possible to do it the way of the humans, who in most cases do not sacrifice their humanity to grow stronger?)

Perhaps because I cannot stop thinking about this subject and picking it apart in my mind, I find myself growing more attentive to the man who broached it with me. I do not see him terribly often, save for when I descend to the town outside the monastery's walls, but those few times only feed my curiosity. On and on I ponder, which leads us to our current situation in this tavern. As I sit beside him at the bar, I wonder about so much. Can one such as I truly become human? Can a human who has lost their humanity regain it? Is a morph who has obtained humanity capable of helping said human in regaining it? Can a morph who has not yet attained humanity assist in this human's efforts to win it back?

Can I make a man human again?

I do not know what possesses me in that moment, to lean over and kiss him as I have seen many humans do. His quintessence looks dark with the scars of untold trials, but beneath that... there. Still a spark. This man has not yet lost his soul. There is hope for him to recover his humanity. Too, his body feels warm against my skin and under my lips... he is no corpse, not yet, he is still alive and bears his own essence within his body.

"I am not one to offer platitudes or sweeten ill conditions in place of the truth," I murmur as I draw back, "so hear me when I say that you have more of a chance to retake your humanity that you might believe. It will be difficult, as you will be fighting against whatever caused you to lose it. However, you have shown yourself to be a survivor... and I calculate your chances of success are in your favor, provided that you allow yourself to be treated like a human."

[warpaway]

shadows over garreg mach

[warpaway]

linhardt can identify this person as a fellow student, but they certainly don’t expect them to say they aren’t even a fellow human. first, linhardt’s eyebrows raise in gentle surprise, then they furrow, confused, at how such a thing was possible. an imitation, they say. and how?

his mind latches onto the question. he knows there are dragons in this world, and he believes he knows generally who and where they are. he’s read inane stories of a people underground, as well, but he’s never believed in those accounts. even if he had, not a single cryptozoological report had ever suggested the ‘molemen’ were constructed. this focus drives him to wonder. what’s a good question to ask if he wants to know more? he’s never been faced with - !

no, no, the more pressing matter is the dreams. they have correctly identified that linhardt doesn’t know much more about the affair than themself.

“scientifically speaking, you could very well influence another’s dream simply by existing, you know,” he replies, if only to be contrarian. “you must not know much of how they work if you don’t realize that. why wouldn’t you…?”

that isn’t a question they pose to the other. they answer it themself just as quickly. “do you not usually dream? then this would be especially strange for you. i’ve been dreaming all day and that message wouldn’t go away. every nap i trap is plagued with that voice. could it be some nature of spell?”

[stellalimned]

Though the student asks questions about my ability or lack thereof to dream, they answer these themself, and I nod. "That is correct; as I said earlier, I am unable to dream, so this is a highly unusual and unprecedented experience. Although I have only had the dream once, the message relayed in it refused to leave my mind all day. It was quite distracting and disruptive."

His suggestion is sound; though I know nothing of dream magic, it seems plausible that someone could cast a spell allowing for a message to be sent via dreams. This does beg the question of whether or not such a spell truly would affect an artificial human... then again, my day speaks rather loudly for itself. The next question is thus: how is it that I could not sense such a spell upon my frame? If these effects were generated by a spell, what was the exact duration of the spell, and could it affect a person in the waking world as well? Given that this student has been experiencing this dream every time he takes a nap, it is likely that the spell lasts at least one day. The fact that I remained bizarrely fixated on the dream's message implies the spell retains some manner of control while the target is awake. This could mean that these effects—the naptime dreams and the intrusive message—served as distractions to conceal the spell's true nature so that they might prevent us from finding the spell and removing it. "You have a very good point. I would ask whether you have sensed anything of the sort laid upon your person, but given that the dream and its message seem to have consumed our attention throughout the day, I suspect we both might have been too occupied to detect such a thing." I pause. "Have you, in fact, been able to detect such a thing?"

Now is as good a time as any to attempt a scan for this kind of interference. I extend my senses throughout my body, searching for any sign of unfamiliar power. Everything appears to be functioning at normal levels from what I can tell—

No. There is something. The quintessence in my body is gravitating ever so slightly towards the bluffs. This effect is so subtle that I did not sense it until now, and even then it remains difficult to grasp unless I use all of my capacity to focus on it. Now I understand why I could not detect it earlier.

"Your idea has some merit; my essence is being pulled, almost imperceptibly, towards the bluffs. Do you feel such a thing in your own form?"

[warpaway]

the consekisses of my actions

cont. from -> 💋

[warpaway]

did limstella read his mind?

just as he'd thought of this in a scientific mindset, so do they bring their own, alongside their own questions that can only be answered by similar means.

something stirs in linhardt's chest.  what is… that?

“well,” they begin slowly, trying to gather their words together.  “i kissed you because…”

how can they explain something they aren't even certain of themself?  they had been staring at limstella and thinking about their beauty, wanting the concept for themself without actually wanting black hair or gold eyes.

faced with those golden eyes locked on their own, though, grants them a strange feeling boiling in the pit of their stomach.

this situation is not the same as all those kisses they'd stolen during yuletide.  not in the slightest.  well, maybe one…

they continue rather quickly, smashing their words together in a way to get it over with.  “i kissed you because i think you're pretty.  that's a normal reason for kissing some one, all things considered, but i don't often get overwhelmed like that into action.  i don't mind it.  kissing.  if you'd really like more trials to compare it to.”

[stellalimned]

He kissed me because he thinks I am... pretty?

That I possess perfect beauty has never been anything other than a fact to me. Lord Nergal himself declared it, so it must be so. I do not use my appearance to achieve success like Sonia, nor do I find it worthy of attention outside of regular maintenance. It is not a surprise that humans consider my looks appealing, if they do not otherwise view my beauty as unsettling, but...

... never have I had one react to it in such a way. I am good-looking, yes, but... am I now also considered attractive? Enough to inspire one such as Linhardt to act on their desire in this manner? Do humans usually go ahead and kiss the people they think are pretty? According to the verdette, this is a rather typical excuse for kissing someone, even if it is not necessarily acted upon all the time. Linhardt thinks I am pretty? They want to kiss me because they think I am pretty?

Is thinking someone's quintessence pretty a reason to kiss them? Am I, then, not also acting upon the same reasoning as him?

I do not know what I feel about that.

Linhardt is amenable to my suggestion, however, so I nod and round the desk, taking a seat on the bench next to them. "I surmise that more kissing will prove an invaluable experience to the both of us. Your participation in this endeavor is appreciated." A tension settles in the air from my viewpoint, a held breath at how to begin "kissing trials." It is strange, that I had an idea of what to do when I kissed them, and now that vague, scant understanding seems to have vanished from my mind. I do not know how to start. It is perhaps only the reassurance that we do not yet know what constitutes an incorrect kiss that bolsters me into action. With a careful hand cupping their jaw so as to steady their face, I lean forward and...

... kiss.

His lips are still soft, his essence pulsing and warm and alive. This sensation, so unique and strange and pleasant, encourages me to continue, lengthening the kiss beyond the durations of the previous two. It is easy to get lost in it, to sink into the depths of these impressions, to forget things necessary for continued functioning; eventually, I am required to cut off the kiss for want of air to breathe. In between breaths, the thought crosses my mind that even though I am a construct, I was designed to be an elevated imitation of humans, who do have needs such as air, food, and sleep.

(Is that why my functioning improves after eating? What a notion. How had I not suspected that before?)

"How... how was that?" I ask once I finish regulating my breathing back to normal levels. "What are your impressions of this kiss?"