#ehwblue2026

[viridescent-lance]

She... had not intended to fall in battle as she had. Her ability to bind the wyvern riders in place has been helpful for the intended objective, but clearly that had made her a target. She hindered the enemy. So they eliminated her, to the detriment of her team.

"Forsyth, how are you?" Thrasir asked quietly as she approached her friend. There was no longer a question of if he was her friend or not. She... had friends. "I am sorry I was not able to help to the end of that battle."

And truly she was. For the first time in a long time... falling in battle had been frustrating, had.... hurt her. She... hadn't considered herself as expendable. She.... wanted to know what had happened after she had fallen.

"How... did everything go? Did we manage to at least capture most of the vagabonds?"

She didn’t know what happened precisely, she had only heard snippets...

Thrasir has established that she is already dead, but that does not mean Forsyth does not fear for her safety. To see her--well, not alive, as established--awake and about is a relief.

"Surprisingly well, given the state of things." It is not lost on him that Thrasir has sought him out before he could do so himself. Though part of that can be contributed to the fact that he just now has learned she regained consciousness, he is gladdened nonetheless. "You've nothing to apologize for. It's frankly a miracle I made it out standing, given how long I was under the influence of their sleep magic."

It's hard to maintain a smile when thinking of how the end of the battle went. It could have been worse--far worse, if not for Lord Leif--but things had collapsed quickly after Thrasir and Darios fell.

"We managed to take some of them alive, but the second wave was overwhelming. It became impossible to avoid lethality and hold the castle." It feels almost as if someone else is speaking, Forsyth merely the shaky-voiced messenger. He is a seasoned soldier, no stranger to taking lives, but he knows this day is one that will not go quietly from his mind. "I...wish I had better news. It is I who should apologize."

[grxstnnefealltoir]

There was... one person Thrasir wanted to find as soon as she woke up. The last person she had seen before she had fallen. She had heard that.... after she had fallen, so to had he, and so Thrasir was.... running to find him. Darios, the one she had jokingly called Maria's proxy. A.... friend whom she had promised that she would live as best she could this simulacrum life she had.

The lich did not understand this urgency she had. She had died so many times in the past. What was one more right? Except this time, this fight... it had been different. It had hurt. A phantom pain of remembrance, but a pain nonetheless. What had mattered to her when she first came to the Monastery was so... different to what she cared about now. Why....? Why?!? Why did....?!?

Darios had been right.

Darios had been right.

"Darios!"

Thus when she saw him, in an inexplicable action, Thrasir threw herself at him and hugged him close, her eyes wide. She was.... alive. Was she shaking? No, impossible. She was dead, she didn't get shaken by things. So why are you shaking? Shut up, Veronica. She was dead. She had died so many times. This was just another death....!

No. She remembered... what it was like to live.

"I'm sorry, I tried my best to keep my promise."

Alive.

The wince in his throat is killed dead the moment he realizes who it is that's hugged him so tight. Her voice had called to him but never had he expected-

"Thrasir - it's... it's alright. You did good and you're here now." Darios hesitates. Ice. It's as if he's been taken hold of by waist deep snow and his instincts, his wounds ache at the reminder of the warmth it is they let loose from his person.

In spite of that, her eyes are wide and warm and filled with an implication he has no mind to process. She is honest and warm in spite of the curse placed upon her. Should she be punished for that which she can't help, that which she almost runs from?

His arms hold around he in an attempt to warm her. He's not sure if he's much warmer than she is in the first place, but it is the least he can do to try.

"It's alright, that was a promise in two parts wasn't it? You're still doing what you can, even now. "

[grxstnnefealltoir]

The first time she sees it, Maria almost passes it by without stopping. There are many sights in Friege, after all, each and every one of them vying for her attention, admiration, and coin. Something about the way it catches the light bids her pause, however, and the little princess skips backwards a few steps to return and admire it.

Among other more decorated weapons sits a dagger by its sheath, both of them engraved with images of the moon. It isn't as imposing as the sword she remembers him carrying, but... Darios would like this, wouldn't he? He'd seemed so gentle when he spoke of his affection for the moon.

"Excuse me! Could I buy this, please?"

--later in the day, when she has returned from her adventures and is still yet to find Darios again, she sets the dagger on his pillow, this time tied with a short decorative ribbon of a night-blue hue, and paired with a handful of wrapped candies. The note beside it reads simply:

I hope you like it, Darios! Love, Maria

There's still so much to help out with. It may not be their place, but who's to say they can't busy themselves alongside others just because of that. To be pointed in a direction and given work, it's cathartic.

Even more so is returning to the inn and letting a bit of rest ease into his shoulders. A cup of tea and a night of writing what he's seen in the streets will do him good.

Weary eyes land on his pillow before he can summarily throw himself into it; he picks up the note from the pillow and can't help but gasp a little. Sneaky!

The blue of the bow is beautiful enough he might have to refashion it into his sash and the candies that surround will certainly leave him wanting little in the way of sweets(he'll need to share some along the way.)

All that to decorate the star of the offering. He pulls the dagger from its sheath and freezes. Throughout the hilt and along the blade's spine, intricate engraving of the moon and its phases and the stars that sit behind it are carefully placed. It's almost too precious to use, but he knows Maria knows him better than that, even if she knows not the extent of the whys.

When he finds her he'll ruffle her hair and offer her a candy. If there is a training dummy he need show her how easily the blade sits in his palm and the calm that embraces him compared to the taming if a wild beast that was apparent in his use of Risyl.

[thracianblood]

"Mister Gutierre? There you are!" Maria trots up to him, hands full of various things -- food skewers, mostly, though she's pinched a drawstring between her fingers to which a small bag is attached. She hadn't spotted him by the time the other healers had told her their work was done, and though she trusts in them, it's still nice to see him with her own eyes.

"Have you visited the festival yet?" Even as she asks she offers him a handful of skewers. It doesn't hurt to have some extra protein, especially after the sort of battles they've had. They may have been in different areas, but she has little doubt it was just as, if not more strenuous.

"Oh!" Lifting her hand, she shows him the little pouch. "And there's this, too! The vendor gave it to me for the festival -- do you want it?"

He had no urge or desire to engage with the festival. It had all felt fake and seedy, and his experiences with Friege didn't exactly color it in a pleasant light. When Maria approaches with food in hand, Gutierre prepares himself to refuse once she offers, but—

Grauuu...

... He hadn't had much to eat since he woke up. His stomach betrays him in this moment.

"I haven't. Being around that many people gives me a headache, if I were to be honest." It would've been easier to avoid conversation if he took some more rest. It was either that or go off to train someplace, and the latter would normally be more enticing than the former. He takes a skewer, pulling off all the meat at once by his teeth.

Hopefully, it would've been just that — a greeting in passing, and then he can continue minding his own business. Though, it seems there's one more thing she offers him. "What is that? Give it to me."

Upon taking it, he pries a finger to peek into this mysterious pouch. It appears to be some sort of glittery powder, much like the sort he was covered in during those arena battles... Hold on... Does she...?!

"... I'll take it off your hands, if you don't have use for it." She doesn't need to know that this is better off discarded for good. He'll simply say that he lost it somewhere.

[svintking]

"I'm glad to see you up and about. When that knight -- er, Forsyth -- carried you back from the castle, I thought you were done for sure," Ronan says as if he's any better off after the last battle. It's a miracle - or maybe just the quick action of their comrades - that either of them can stand around and enjoy the city's festival now.

"He seemed pretty focused on you." But Ronan has no reason to believe that Alm is anything but an ordinary person, because that's how Alm had introduced himself to him back on the boat. He glances up at the wall before them, then breaks away from Alm's side to get a better look at the colorful posters plastered all over the stone. Each yellowed piece of parchment contains hand-painted advertisements for the Day of the Twelve, accompanied by some dramatic depictions of the crusaders and their gods. Ronan smiles at one that resembles a dragon knight with long, flowing hair, brandishing a magnificent lance before another one on horseback.

Some fantastical tale about the crusaders, surely.

"Hey, Alm!" Ronan calls over his shoulder. "Do you have any interest in plays? It looks like there's going to be one at this festival. If you're not from Jugdral, you should go see it. This one--" he points at the poster he'd been looking at. "Looks like it might be a story from my homeland."

But he isn't really interested in seeing it himself, despite his suggestion. He much prefers his mother's tales.

"Not exactly my best performance, I'll admit," he answers sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "But it just means I have a lot to make up for. You were pretty incredible, though."

And even saying that feels like he's downplaying Ronan's achievements. He was poisoned far worse and for far longer than everyone else, and yet the arrows he'd fired had been terrifyingly effective. Sure, the rebellion might have ended differently had King Seliph been there, but Alm thinks there's a good chance that it would've been the same had toxins not shaken Ronan's grip.

"Heh; maybe when we're back in Fódlan, you could teach me a thing or two about using a bow. The most I've ever done was hunting rabbits and other small animals back at Ram Village, but it's definitely been a while—and you're as good a teacher as any."

He'll always favor the sword—nothing else would feel as natural to him, he's sure—but it wouldn't hurt, he thinks, to expand his horizons a little. After all, isn't that one of the reasons he came to the Academy in the first place?

But while learning inevitably includes lessons in history and culture, he's doesn't look at all eager to spend the rest of his time sitting down for hours on end—even if recovery demands that of them both. "Oh—wait, that's, uh... Travant, right? And Quan? I'm pretty sure I caught part of it earlier with Gutierre. You've probably seen him around; he's the tall guy with the long hair and a lance. I think he's a pretty diehard Travant historian, because he seemed pretty unhappy with how inaccurate everything was... so it's probably better for me to pass."

He gives a small grin. "Besides, I'm not really a play guy to begin with. I'd much rather learn about your home the good ol' fashioned way—through people and food."

[luminousrider]

There’s been a lot to do since they landed in Jugdral, and since even their group has been split into smaller teams she’s struggled to find enough time to greet her.

The girl with long brown hair and a wyvern at her side. How could Maria be anything but curious? If only she’d brought Cookie, too, then maybe their wyverns could have been friends! At least now in the wake of battle, they’ve been granted a day of rest. She’ll find the pair and say hi to them both — she must!

Oddly enough she finds the wyvern first, though it isn’t that odd, not really. A friend though they may be, she imagines the people would panic if an unaccompanied wyvern roamed the streets. Instead the wyrm rests, and Maria rests near them, chin propped on her arms and arms set on her knees, smiling all the while.

“Oh!” Hearing a step behind her, Maria looks over — there! Her expression lights up, a smile dawning on her face. “Hello! My name is Maria — it’s really nice to meet you both!” Hopping to her feet, she trots the rest of the way over to meet her. “Hee hee… is this your friend?”

A hint of a smile graces Altena's lips and she shakes her head. Not in surprise, no. Quite the opposite. It's rather amusing that her war mount tends to make a new friend wherever she goes.

At least it's easy for one of them.

"Altena, of Thracia. And that is Peaches. I, ah, named her when I was a rather stubborn little girl." It had become embarrassing once her age hit double digits, especially when the three royal Thracian wyverns were together. Amalia, Aphelion, and Peaches. But the name had stuck and her dislike of it now does not diminish the love she has for her.

Friend, Maria calls Peaches. Altena likes that quite a bit. Not wyvern or mount or even partner. Friend. And that's what she is, isn't she? The two of them grew up alongside each other. Altena might even consider beloved Peaches as something of a sister.

"She likes everyone but you...you're familiar with them, aren't you? Do you fly yourself?"

Something about Maria's face reminds her of another wyvern rider she's become rather close to but perhaps that's just her missing Minerva's company.

[luminousrider]

The battle they’d gone through prior was nothing short of a struggle. He watched Altena get struck down in the blink of an eye, all because they were at the whims of a blacksmith that sure loved to take his time. It’s a little surreal. Just less than a full day ago, they were subject to a rebellion. Yet the people of Friege seemed to have already moved on as if no such destruction happened…

They were dismissed by the healers, free from being cot-ridden not long after the incident. Travant isn’t in the most suitable state to be speaking to anyone – the top of his head had been wrapped in bandages, the injury still throbbing dully every now and then – but with how off guard they’d been he feels it necessary to check on Altena’s current state once he notices her. She appears to be in a somewhat better state than he is, at least.

“Feh. I can’t believe those rebels were able to overtake us so easily… How utterly humiliating.” Travant grumbles, frowning while people-watching some festival goers. “I’m going to train for some peace of mind. My spearwork has clearly dulled as of late.”

Utterly humiliating. Altena hangs her head in defeat. Yes, that's exactly what her performance had been. She had been so proud to have the chance to show him how far she had come in his absence. That she was strong and capable and worthy of his acknowledgement of her position of Commander.

"I was foolish and weak," she admits softly, hands clenched into fists at her sides. "It was unbecoming of my position as a Thracian Dracoknight."

Her father, too, has clearly been wounded in the battle but he lasted longer than she did. Perhaps it is a remnant of the little girl who once believed him to be infallible and invincible but she is easily able to imagine him taking on an entire force himself before having to retreat.

"I will work harder and I won't allow this to happen again. I want y--" She catches herself. What does a stranger named Gutierre care about her Thracian pride? "I want to know my father would be proud."

There is a pause and the deep, determined scowl on her face softens. "Will you allow me to train with you?"

[svintking]

The gentle touch of his staff upon Alm's head is the greeting he gives. "Alm..." Concern is think in his tone but if the young man were to turn around, his eyes are no less kind than they would be otherwise. He's taken a beating, his armor shows that well enough.

"What happened?"

"Huh...? Oh." He's slow to acknowledge the soft tap of the staff—or, more accurately, he's slow to even notice it, far too preoccupied by the current of his own thoughts. "I don't look that bad, do I?"

Most of his wounds have been properly mended and dressed; now, they were in time's hands to fester or heal. But when Alm glances down at himself, he can see why Darios was so concerned. His armor is pocked with dents, and there's a big streak of black where lightning had struck him at close range.

Yikes. He'd definitely have to get this fixed before they set off again.

"It looks like I might have to hit you up for those lessons much sooner than I thought. That offer is still on the table, right?"