#class mastery

[atypicalsenerio]

—knives are free, butler mastery

“ And, um, I know it’s just my opinion, but for whatever it’s worth, I think you’d look nice in a suit. ”

Did he?

Appearances were a tool. Soren liked his touches of fashion. He liked the slight control he had over how others viewed him, needing to at least appear presentable even if his words could overthrow the notion of him being approachable within syllables.

He still didn't know what to make of his new outfit.

Soren sharply adjusted the butler jacket in his mirror, a dagger still in one of his gloved hands. It wasn't the same as the bridalwear shop where Pelleas had taken down his likeness for an advertisement. Soren barely recognized the Soren in the boutique window, looking at home in a groom's attire.

He certainly recognized the Soren in the mirror whose expression looked like he could inflict a cut without even needing to throw the dagger. What was the point of it? To give the overlap between thieves and mages a veneer of respectability? His robes had offered more than enough space for sharp objects.

He draped a towel over his arm. Another weapon, perhaps.

No. It was the portrait of efficiency, he realized.

Nohrians had developed a way to repel some of magical attacks back at their enemies. Though it served the user, it could also be part of a bodyguard's skill set. Soren had recently perfected it, appreciative of any new magic skills he could acquire. He mimicked the motion needed to reflect magic, feeling a shield conjure in front of him. Finally, his magic could fulfill nearly every role: attacking, healing, self healing, rallying, and defending.

Magic had always felt like a part of him. His native tongue, his source of life, the only other presence he was allowed to fully know. Every new technique added just a touch more intimate of an understanding.

Soren left his room, heading for the training grounds to practice even more, now looking the part. A few people stared. He snapped the towel at one student and they ran off. Dramatic, perhaps, but amusing. He confirmed for himself that he could readily bring up the Countermagic spell when pressed, a fellow mage he was sparring with none too pleased about it either. Soren's combat repertoire had grown to be actively hostile to other mages and he had to admit he was proud of it.

Now he was ready for anything. Once alone, he tossed the knife in the air smoothly, catching it with a dramatic motion.

Neither demonic beasts or wrinkled shirts stood a chance against him.

[flowerofgoneril]

baby’s first drabble: fortress knight

Hilda was reluctant to say the least to put on the heavy armor.  It was heavy, and sweaty, and required even more specialized training than simply swinging around an axe.  On top of that, it did absolutely nothing for her figure and that would surely cause a loss of moral.  There seemed to be little point other than just one more thing to annoy her about studying and school.  It wasn't like she was ever going to really be on the front lines of a real battle or anything.  Once school was over and her duty to the traditions of her house, or whatever it was Holst said to try and motivate her more, it was back to her comfy, safe, spoiled life as the crest bearing daughter of House Goneril.

Everything changed after that strange dream everyone seemed to have.  No, dream wasn't quite the right word for it.  It felt too real.  It was too real.  The wyverns of Almyra that attacked her family's forces had always terrified Hilda, but whatever that beast was that they fought against with that strange Fargus army made them almost seem cuddly.  She was the one to remove its head--Dimitri's head--and end its vicious attack against her friends.  

Hilda returned to Garreg Mach with new cuts and bruises but nothing stayed permanent.  She sustained no scars.  Her armor sported new dings and needed repairing (she really needed to find someone who could take care of that for her) but her beautiful, well cared for, porcelain skin remained, well, perfect if she did say so herself.  In a choice between putting in a little bit of extra physical effort and suffering through the occasional sweat and discomfort that came with it or putting her beauty at a higher risk, the choice seemed fairly obvious.  She even agreed to study and train and work hard to be promoted to Fortress Knight.  At least she wouldn't be expected to go running about the battlefield now.  It was just so much work moving in all that metal.  She could be somewhat content waiting for enemies to come to her.  Yes, Hilda supposed this was something she could do.  

At least the armor she had custom designed for her stature came in a lovely shade of pink.  Even if she had to hide herself away in a case of metal, she could at least do it fashionably.

[jehannanmage]

At Journey’s Beginning

Dance had been but an exercise in control, initially. Ewan had grown up watching Tethys dance her heart out for them - for him - and he'd never thought himself near as well put together bodily. Like, sure, he thought himself fairly coordinated, especially when it came to aiming a fireball or working with whatever delicate machinations he'd come up with now and again, but as far as dancing went...

That had always been the province of his beloved sister.

If he could master his breathing and the ability to maneuver himself at will, mind and body both... Would not Fodlan's magic be more easily accessible to him? Might not the block he's been facing this whole while finally tumble down? Such had been his hope.

It was not so simple, in the end, and yet...

He could not say it had gone without its merits. He felt steadier on his feet. Come the Ethereal Ball, his practice had not gone unnoticed - he'd come to the table with a bit of an unconventional style, but even so...

        ... Even so,

he did not consider himself a dancer.

Not when he looked on Tethys, or Miss Azura, or even Inigo on the night of the White Heron Cup - they were real dancers. Passion fused with time spent blistering soles of feet, experience, intuition...

Ewan sighed, sliding one foot to the left and dipping his torso, one hand coming to his face, fingers splayed. Breathe. B r e  a  t  h   e   .  .   .

He was better with his magic now, reconciled at last. Somewhere along the lines, it had finally, mercifully Clicked. He wasn't even sure when, or how, really (though he suspected his newfound affinity for dark magics had had something to do with it).

His other foot slid forth, a lick of flames trailing, a sigil briefly alighting. The real trouble with calling himself a dancer, he suspected, lay perhaps in the fact that, well,

he preferred singing.

Going to Miss Azura's lessons had become something he looked forward to a great deal. And, if he could say so himself -- he really wasn't half bad at it. He sang to himself in the baths whenever he chanced to be alone, or out in the woods, or while doing chores around the monastery. He hummed to himself often when he worked on new designs or coursework. Feet tiptapped subconsciously at times, trying to work out a rhythm, a pulse...

He sometimes sang about silly things. Mundane things. Sometimes he sang about great epics, reminiscent of the war fought back home, or of life in Jehanna, or of great mercenary bands. . .

(His voice was probably better than his lyrics, but shhh...)

Yeah. Dancing, he enjoyed well enough, but singing...

Singing, he could see himself keepin' on with for a long time.

[ashenprofessor]

Professor's Punch Out

War Monk Mastery

The enemy lines spread out before your vision, a common view by this point in you relatively short lifespan. Short in comparison to the ancient goddess residing in your head, you think with an internal smirk of mirth. 

In the past, your weapon of choice for the current situation would have been your trusty sword. The blade akin to the one first handed to you aged 5 by a father who knew that no matter how he tried his best to protect you, you’d need to wield to survive. If he couldn’t protect you, then he would instead teach you to protect yourself. Since those early days your skill had grown until the opportunity to look beyond the way of the sword had offered itself. 

A quick, instinctive choice made during an arena, opening up a whole new way of brawling. You wondered breathy if this sudden preference for gauntlets and claws were linked with the divine dragon whose soul was somehow linked with yours. Metal claws instead of . . . whatever dragon claws were made from, still deadly with the correct techniques. It had felt good on an almost beast-like level to rip into your foe up close and personal.

There was something cathartic about thrashing out some anger physically into the enemy. Anger that they were hurting your allies, anger that they had decided to start the fight in the first place. 

Reaching the decision to train in the use of gauntlets, you’d done your time in the arena. Made quite the name for yourself as a brawler, preferring to dart in and out quickly, getting the hit before tucking  in for defence. Speed and dexterity was your counter to the typical heavy bruiser types you’d faced in the ring. Within in the academy, time had been spent in the combat rooms, studying the best places to aim for to do damage versus incapacitating your foe. The fine art of how to adapt this melee style of fighting to the battlefield.

Let it be known. The Ashen Demon has claws now and they’re not afraid to wield them. 

Back on the current battlefield, you come back to your senses. Allies surround you in a defensive formation awaiting your command to advance. You bang your fists together in defiance as you let out a rallying cry. You’re ready to lead the charge into the fray. Time to bang some heads together and finish this once and for all. 

[icedflora]

Congratulations, you have achieved D rank in Faith and have acquired the Heal spell! You may add your new spell to your stats page.

Additionally, you have achieved C rank in Bow and have acquired the weapon closest to your heart, the Fujin Yumi! You may add your new weapon to your stats page.

Furthermore, after long and arduous study, you undertake the certification exams for the Monk and Archer classes…

…And thanks to the skill acquired through D rank in Faith and C rank in Bow, pass!

You have acquired the Monk and Archer classes. You may add your new classes to your stats page.

Finally, you have met the requirements for Noble mastery and have gained the mastery ability HP+! You may add your new ability to your stats page.

(Further post to be made...)

[atypicalsenerio]

—lifetaker, dark bishop mastery drabble

Soren hadn’t exhausted his full magical potential after all, though he was once again one step closer.

The combat projections they’d faced in the five round arena gauntlet had provided Soren with a feel for dark magic, one he wouldn’t normally have taken the plunge for. It was a successful experiment, all considered. They all had access to things they didn’t have in reality, but even then, he’d picked up new abilities with surprising ease. It felt natural.

Given his performance, he wouldn’t give a lot of it a glowing review.

However, every ability had its uses. He wandered in the grasses outside the monastery where stray demonic beasts were rumored to roam, ready for an experiment in the real world. He was armed with his shield, tomes, and a sword for good measure, and he’d been studying a certain ability he was confident he could use, though he hadn’t yet. He paced, looking for any sign of life around him, musing to himself on the difference between his usual wind anima and dark magic.

Excalibur never missed, and for years his attitude had been if it’s not broke, don’t fix it. Dark spells had a high risk and high reward factor, every one of them either a gamble or gimmick, a trade off in one way or another. A coin toss as to whose life was going to be lost were unappealing odds.

Soren liked reliability. It didn’t generally come from people. Few could keep every promise, put weight behind a guarantee. If he wanted to rely on something it had better be himself and whatever he armed himself with.

He knew the time was coming when that wouldn’t be enough. He cleared those thoughts from his head at the sign of movement ahead of him.

Soren readied his tome. It was a demonic beast, and a smaller than average one at that. Perfect.

Winds gathered around him as he read aloud his incantation, and that was all the warning the crest beast got before slicing gales pierced its flesh.

It wasn’t dead, as expected.

It was mad, as was also expected.

Soren already started reading a repeat spell, concentrating despite the quaking earth under his feet as the beast charged at him. They were terrifying up close with unnatural proportions, but he didn’t shrink away. More winds cut into the beast and it staggered, though kept running with a roar and a limp.

“These things are tough…” Soren drew his sword, not confident that he could talk faster than it could trample him. He rushed in, shield and sword raised. The hexlock shield was more meant for spell blocking, but it would have to do.

The demonic beast snarled and jumped on him, closing the distance. Soren could block its gnashing fangs with his shield, but the impact sent him to the ground and knocked the wind out of him. “Agh!”

Blow for a blow, it gave him a chance to bury the sword between the beast’s ribs.

Almost, almost.

He rolled away and scrambled back up on his feet. The beast hissed and lashed out with every limb it had. Soren dodged all but the tail. Sharp spines scratched deep into his leg and he grit his teeth.

“Die.”

Soren plunged the sword into the beast again, both hands driving it down into its side. Finally, it was gone. He breathed hoarsely, trembling with effort. He concentrated, sigils swirling in his mind’s eye.

As the beast stilled, his leg suddenly felt less painful.

Soren looked down, eyes wide. Dark energy flowed from the killing wound and up the blade of his sword until it reached his hands. Generally, he’d shy away from any magic that color of violet, but he let it be absorbed and work its healing.

It was somewhat sickening and foreign to feel a life force pass into him. But it wasn’t like the beast would use it.

That was the way of the world.

He straightened, wound to his leg healed with nothing to show from it but torn clothes and dried blood. He felt refreshed, like he’d just had a good night’s sleep or had a nourishing meal.

His affinity was more than beginner’s luck, then. It paid off. He turned his back on the corpse and left it to finish rotting.

Ability mastered.