#chryssaetos

[aurelianwolf]

[ SWEET BUN TRIO ] - Three delicious, bite-sized buns from Faerghus. The first bun is filled with sweet cream and topped with icing and a candied cherry. The second is a sweet roll filled with almonds, pecans, and dried cranberries and glazed with honey. The third is a bun sliced in half, filled with almond paste and whipped cream, dusted with powdered sugar on top.

Does he come across as someone with a sweet tooth? The thought is distant, more amused than anything as it flits through his mind at the sight of another plate of sweets. For a moment, he seems to reach for it, pivoting at the last to plucking a yellow rose from his (now significantly reduced) bouquet.

Wordlessly, the Aurelian holds it out, his gaze falling upon the flower petals and somewhere more distant still. Sin had given him food when he'd shown up out of nowhere, following the scent on a whim; he'd cared to wish him a happy birthday just so that Wolf knew that it mattered; and now, despite how Wolf has held him at arm's length and willfully turned his eyes away from a want for familiarity, for friendship, for any kind of connection, Sin offers him a kindness once again.

Family and neighbors, Joachim had said earlier. A crease forms between his brows, an uneasy weight that tethers him back to the present. His eyes cut upward to meet Sin's own, tumultuous and unreadable. You would mourn me already when I am gone, he thinks, the line of his lips firming. I've failed you both. For who had he protected this way? No one; nothing, save for his cowardice.

"Sin," Wolf says abruptly, not realizing it's the first word he's actually spoken since the other's arrival, "Tell me about the plains that you know."

[stealstaff]

[ SLIP-UP ] - As it turns out, a lot of people at the monastery make for great body doubles in the dark. What do you do when you slap a friend on the back only for you to find out when they turn around that it’s not your friend at all?

"WAHHH!" Tina jumps, startled with a hand comes down into her shoulder and then she jumps even more when she realizes just who it had been.

"Sin? Sin!? But, wait a minute, how do I know you're really for real Sin?" Eyes narrow and she pokes him in the sternum as though that is an acceptable and real way of figuring it out. Satisfied enough, she gives him a nod.

"I heard they used to have a masquerade at this ball, you know." She shudders just thinking about it. "Good thing they don't anymore, right?"

[contempenitent]

[ GOSSIP ] (and by gossip i mean stand around on the sidelines awkwardly: talking optional but encouraged if mauv feels like it)

From the sidelines, Mauvier watches a couple of students serenely dancing. All seems well; aside from the onslaught of "talent scouts", the evening has been rather peaceful.

A young lady suddenly storms up to the aforementioned couple, her face distressed, eyes teary. Mauvier nearly swoops to step in, before affirming to himself that there is no danger; there is no problem that he has the authority or tact to solve. Like baby birds, these young people must learn their own hard lessons from time to time.

Mauvier realizes that a familiar face is nearby; Sin, the stoic-faced knight, a natural with a bow. He wonders if they have both witnessed the same scene play out.

With another, Mauvier might feel the pressure of forced conversation. But Sin is cut from the same cloth of speaking only when necessary; there is no need for Mauvier to voice his every thought. For that privilege, he is grateful.

He does, however, extend a rose to Sin, in addition to a firm and friendly nod. Even if he's not interested in exchanging blooms, there are sure to be no hard feelings.

[kutolahs]

[ CHOCOLATE ] - Stefanelli’s has partnered with the monastery to make the most of the supplies left in excess of their workshops earlier in the year by offering packages of sweet chocolates for attendees. The offerings appear generous… that is, until you open your box to find it only half full.

a single, unhurried glance is all that rath of the kutolah needs.

to know that there is a familiarity about the stranger before him: an unusual yet understandable paradox. a familiarity to the way his eyes narrow, to the shifting of his expression, to the way he stands, moves, looks. even without the appurtenances of their culture, the bandana, the furs, rath instinctively knows; knows as all his kind do of others who wade the golden sea-grass of sacae and feel father sky's wind on their skin. mother earth beneath their heel. before him is no dweller of cobble, no tall-collared man clad in steel, but a plainsman.

"you...from what tribe do you hail?"

it has been some manners of months since rath last spoke with a fellow plainsdweller. but, he is certain of this one. so certain that he holds out the box of sweets in his hand; an earlier handout given away freely under the reasoning that the ballroom needed to do away with excess. in reality, sweets of the like serve him none, his tongue is better acclimated to safe and unexciting flavors, but they are applied well here as his offering.

no, his historic kindness for his own people—those who have mocked and disowned him—without request for anything in turn.

"...take some," rath continues, "i've no need for it."

[encantresse]

The sound of something clinking, clattering in the figure's hands is the first indication of something coming. It waits at the end of the hall, tracing the sound of footsteps.

"...I need to ask you something."

There's a faint strain to the figure's voice, almost like it's hesitating to present the question — Almost.

"Something could have happened to me, earlier. I put little stock into any of this, but... I'm in no hurry to get myself killed to know for certain. There is someone I must live for."

A year ago, a promise had been made. A year later, that promise is all that's left. Pride is worth many things, but it can't keep one safe from danger.

The figure's hand opens to reveal three tokens. It's a meager amount, but being conservative with these things is probably the best course of action. In the figure's mind, there is only the faint hope that she'll be forgiving about all this.

After all, come tomorrow, he might not be here to apologize to her.

"...If someone with a mask were to strike to kill me, and I, acting in self-defense, struck or even killed them in return... What would happen?"

𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: 𝐬𝐢𝐧 #AMBlade2025

"hm...?"

it comes as no surprise that she's been sought out for answers yet again. in a painful twist, it's nearly reminiscent of the life she's led outside these walls — it was the mystical songstress who often was sought out, and hardly the girl behind the title. and here, now, the very same — the masked fortuneteller sought out in place of dorothea.

this strange place demands jobs of them nevertheless, and so she performs her duties as any other. where she might've offered the man a sympathetic smile, he is met only with the stoic exterior of the mask. in place of that usual reassurance, she lends her ears to his trouble isntead, allowing him to unload this weight off his chest.

no sooner does he pose his question does dorothea's spine suddenly stiffen.

a question she's already heard once before, realizing now in abject horror that she must relive it again.

VISION RECEIVED: thick, inky veils of darkness are drawn over her eyes, blinding her....

"you'll be thrown into the darkness," she breathes out, long before the vision has even ended. whether he hears her or not, the fortuneteller is unsure, for she is busy flailing inside the void.

the sun and stars extinguished .. .. .. .. . darkness clawing at her skin and pulling her deeper in. suffocation . t presses against her . ... darkness forcing its way down her eye sockets and throat, suffocation . wrapping around her entrails and drowning her further. deeper, deeper, into

when she resurfaces with a shuddering gasp, pulling air back into her lungs as if drowned.

"you can't."

[frigidsurge]

🎨 /this'll be sent from sin's blog bc thats where im logged in atm but you can choose any of my guys at your leisure <3

"Terribly sorry for how simple the depiction is but your ourfit caught my attention so I wished to render it"

[malignantknight]

🎲 beautiful risings ma'am

A kiss on the chest

meme

Camilla stands over his prone body with a grin. She had just knocked him off of his horse during their training exercise. "Ouch." She gives a teasing hiss of pain. "That looks like it hurt."

Of course it had to hurt. He wouldn't be lying on his back for so long if it didn't.

"Do you need a kiss to make it better?" She offers a hand to help him up. Camilla pulls him to his feet and leans down, placing a kiss on his robes just over his heart. "Hope that helps your pride. I think you should take a break for the day."

Camilla shoulders her training axe and turns, leaving the Sacaen to collect himself with a satisfied smile.

[fellsparks]

🎲 hi. 🚬

13. A kiss on the chest To mark, to claim, to possess. All second nature to a Fell Dragon, pride and destruction come easily to her-- even if it's something as simple as this, fingers clutching his chin and tilting his head back to look up at her. Reverence has never been of much consequence to Nel, even as the Elusians prostrated themselves before her kind without prompting, their worship directed at her Father and the very blood that pulsed through her veins. The same blood that thunders now as she leans in, scrutinizing gaze sweeping over his features. It would be so easy to duck her head and sink her canines into the side of his neck, leaving bruises and bites to remind them all of what is rightfully hers. But that's not who she is. She isn't defined by her heritage or her past, and her eyes soften in the moment that she recalls it. She doesn't have to be cold, to be calloused, to maim and tear in the wake of her affections. Instead, she chooses to be kind-- to be gentle in a world that's anything but that. The fleeting kisses she presses along his pulse point are feather light, but no less meaningful for what they symbolize. It travels down, another at his collarbone, and finally, one that lingers at the center of his chest. She glances up at his face to study what she finds there, amused by the slight embarrassment she finds. "Humans are so finicky," Nel muses, fingers toying with the neckline of his shirt, repressing the urge to simply tear it away. "This is all it takes to make you flustered? I am quite surprised." "No matter. I find it to be quite adorable. Consider yourself lucky."