Faerghus Mythology Week will be the week of March 12, 2023!!
The goal is to create myths/legends/old wives tales that circulate throughout Faerghus or a region of Faerghus. This can be told in any form - poems, art, novelization, a character telling the story to someone else, or any other ideas you can think of! It can be with established historical figures or your own characters.
Written rules and prompts below the cut!
RULES:
Keep this SFW!!! This event is run by a minor.
No dead dove-esque works
The prompts do not have to be done in order
The prompts can be messed around with; they are suggestions and ways to get you going. If you have ideas beyond them, go ahead and use them!
Word Prompts:
Day 1: Food
Day 2: War
Day 3: Love
Day 4: Tragedy
Day 5: Fire/ice
Day 6: Festivals
Day 7: Chivalry/Free Day
Detailed Prompts:
Day 1: Traditional Faerghan foods and how they bring people together
Day 2: The War of the Eagle and Lion
Day 3: Wedding traditions. For the bride(s)? Groom(s)? Wedding party? Guests?
Day 4: Faerghan funeral/burial rituals
Day 5: How are snow and fire treated within the culture? What creatures are associated with them? Are they celebrated? Feared?
Day 6: What roles do magic play within Faerghan festivals? What are the recurring festivals? What do festivals look like in differing parts of the country?
Day 7: How do chivalry and loyalty permeate the culture? What legends are there that reinforce the ideas of it? How is it different between the upper and lower classes?
ok so like. yk how dedue's speech patterns are always very formal with a very advanced vocabulary despite being duscarian?
it's incredibly likely he wasn't taught colloquial forms of the fodlan language, and that his speech patterns in duscurian are much more casual and informal. and i just like to imagine that.
dedue being absolutely terrified by rodrigue at first but then rodrigue starts talking to him in a soft but not patronizing tone in somewhat broken duscurian and doesn’t rush earning dedue’s trust and eventually dedue grows very fond of him (especially after realizing that dimitri is very close to him)
i genuinely love dedue but nintendo wrote him so poorly it sucks
like why does he feel so incredibly indebted to dimitri 10 years after the tragedy. why is that the majority of his personality. why does he insist that people don’t interact with him because of the way it’ll impact their social lives. why does he turn into a demonic beast in crimson flower. i just… there’s so much wrong and it’s really disappointing to me.
don’t get me wrong, i love him with my whole heart, but a lot of the canon stuff with him makes me wonder.
Dimitri’s breath was heavy in his ears as he sprinted, Dedue fast on his heels. His heart was pounding, lungs burning, muscles aching, but he couldn’t afford to stop running now. Not yet. Not now.
He heard yelling from behind him, cursing under his breath and increasing his speed. He was running on adrenaline and desperation, choking on the air that was rapidly entering and exiting his lungs. He drew on his crest to give him the extra burst of speed he needed, glancing back to make sure Dedue was keeping pace with him. He could hear Cornelia’s guards right behind them; they couldn’t afford to slow down now.
He sprinted through the streets of Fhirdiad, darting down the alleyways and side-streets he used to go through with Felix and Glenn. He shoved the memories of happier times aside; this wasn’t the time for that. Happy memories were enough of a distraction on good days: this was decidedly not a good day.
“Where are we going?” Dimitri heard Dedue pant, but he simply shook his head. He didn’t waste his breath, just motioning for Dedue to follow him.
There was no plan. He just had to hope the two of them could outrun the guards.
He’d defied the odds before. What was one more time?
He sprinted down a staircase as he heard the guards getting closer, hearing their yelling more clearly than before. He blindly launched himself into an alleyway, jumping over barrels and burlap sacks. He looked back briefly, making sure once again that Dedue was following. He was beside Dimitri, just as he always had been.
He’d have time to be thankful for his steady presence later. For now, he had to focus on getting them both out of this mess alive.
If it came down to it, the two of them could probably take a few guards down on their own. Dimitri really, really hoped it didn’t come to that.
He launched himself around corners, jumped over obstacles and pushed people out of the way, unable to waste his breath on apologies. He was glad he had been caught unaware, if only because he was dressed in casual wear and likely would not be recognized, with his hair tousled and face red as they must be. He hadn’t been seen closely by the public eye in years; if anyone recognized him, it would be through sheer luck.
Behind him, he heard a cough, and he turned around with wide eyes. Dedue was stumbling along, starting to wheeze slightly from what Dimitri could tell. He slowed down despite the fear and adrenaline coursing through his veins, eyes widening.
“Keep going, Your Highness,” Dedue said between gasping breaths.
“I’m not leaving you behind to face them alone,” Dimitri said. After a moment of deliberation, he grabbed Dedues’ wrist and started running again, dragging the man along with him and drawing on his crest to maintain their speed. He’d pay for it later, he knew, but he needed it now.
Dimitri ducked down another alleyway before freezing. There was a wall at the end: he had gone down a dead end. There was nowhere for him to go; the buildings beside him were too large and flat for him to scale, especially with the now consistent wheezing from Dedue.
“Your Highness, you have to run,” Dedue said, but Dimitri shook his head. I will not leave you behind.
The sound of armor from behind them got louder and louder as Dimitri looked for a way out, heart pumping in his ears all the while. He heard yelling of some kind, but tuned it out. There had to be a way out. It couldn’t end here. It couldn’t end now. Not like this. Not when they’d gotten so far. Not when he’d finally, finally determined who was behind it all.
He heard his father scoff. He couldn’t pay attention to it. If he died here, all would be for naught.
Dimitri turned around helplessly, only to be faced almost directly with one of Cornelias private guards. He raised his hands, but as he saw two knights do the same, he knew there was no use in fighting.
The last thing he remembered was an inky-purple mass coming at him.
-----
Everything hurt.
That was the first conclusion Dimitri drew as he slowly rose to consciousness. He squeezed his eyes shut further, trying to convince his headache to abate to something manageable.
He was laying on something cold and hard, and his side was bruised. He frowned; what had happened?
The memories hit him in a rush. His eyes shot open as he sat up, suddenly alert as he looked around.
He was surrounded by metal on all sides. There were bars around him on all sides; he wasn’t in a cell.
Beyond the bars was dark enough that he couldn’t see. He stood, banging his head on the ceiling in the process.
Not ceiling, he realized quickly. The top of this enclosure was metal, the same material as the bars and floor.
Had he been put in a cage?
He approached the bars, trying to pull them apart. They didn’t budge, even when his crest activated quickly and suddenly.
What had Cornelia done?
“Dedue?” He tried to yell it, but it came out more like a croak than anything else. He frowned; that rarely happened. How long had he been out?
Someone started laughing, and Dimitri stepped back from the bars in surprise. Slowly, Cornelia walked into view, that same sickening smile on her face. Dimitri growled, low in his throat and angry. “Aww, poor little princeling, always turning to that Duscur scum to get him out. No need to think about him anymore; you won’t be seeing him again.”
“What. Did. You. Do?” Dimitri gritted out through clenched teeth.
“Nothing you need to worry about, little one,” Cornelia said. The term of endearment his stepmother used so often felt like poison coming from Cornelia, infecting every fiber of his being with a sickening sense of wrong. It must have showed on his face, as Cornelia laughed. “What, was your stepmother so bad you can’t stand the nicknames she gave you?”
