#s:corrin

[delicatevalentine]

when in doubt, go shopping (team verdane)

Getting shipwrecked had not been on Hilda's to do list for the expedition. If she had known, she never would have agreed to come.

Oh, wait.

Fortunately, she'd had the good sense to grab most of her belongings when the alarm was raised. Being materialistic had its perks sometimes. But many of their number, now bundled into a tiny inn room, had their weapons and supplies claimed by the storm. And, so, it was only a matter of time before the word "shopping" was mentioned, and Hilda's ears perked up with delight.

Not long afterwards, she, Laslow and Corrin split off from the group to peruse the bazaar. The other two struck up a conversation with a shady vendor selling potions. Hilda was content to hang back and let the others do the talking for the time being. But if shopping was a class, it was one she would have mastered long ago. She would wait until her time to shine, though, as she examined the rest of his wares, getting the lay of the land as one might on the battlefield.

As the merchant names his price for a ghastly-looking potion, Hilda turned to him with her most disarming smile. “Wow! Your stock is so impressive.” She gestured to the array before laying a friendly hand on his arm. “But we lost so much in the storm…” Her expressions fell to one more dejected as she turned to her allies. “I guess we’re out of luck if we want something of such high quality…”

Roll: d20+4 = 12

The merchant was taken in by Hilda's wily charms and honeyed words. "Now, you must understand that I run a business, so I cannot simply part with my wares for free. However, I will extend to you a fraction of Nahan's generosity. If you purchase this vial, I will give you a discount. One thousand for it, and I will draw you a map to Grannvale for free." He then reached over the table and grabbed a heftier, long-necked bottle of what looked to be tarnished silver, but Hilda knew it couldn't possibly be made of material that precious. He set it down in front of her beside the bright green vial. "And a sample of a special hair oil, just for you."

His words brought a smile back to her face, her expression lighting up. “You mean it? Thank you! That’s such a generous offer.” She batted her eyelashes at him before turning back to the others. “But my friends here hold the coin purse. What do you think?”

And from there, she allowed the others to take over once more. Although she tried not to let it show, the ghost of a proud smile danced across her lips.

See, battle skills weren't everything. Sometimes, it took a more precise skillset to get results. 

[forrenza]

She can't help but pace. Sure, she had already started doing so days before they were to arrive, but that couldn't be helped.

Silver head shoots upward at the sound of footsteps clicking upon stone floors, and Corrin's face breaks into a wide grin at the sight of her child.

"Forrest!" Laughter and warmth flood her tone as the dragon closes the space that separates them with arms flung open. They close around the other's shoulders and squeeze.

"I've missed you!" She does not let go any more than necessary to look at her child's face, still beaming. "How was the trip here?"

They are barely over the threshold before being swept into their mother's warm embrace. Forrest drops their bags gently to floor, laughing as the pair of them twirl slightly across the stone hallway.

This is homecoming.

For where else in the world could a child belong more than by their mother's side? Especially when she is as doting and generous as Corrin. Sweet, warm-hearted Corrin, whose heart they worry may one day burst from all the love and affection that must be held within a fragile, mortal form. Forrest's arms reach around her waist, mirroring her bright giggles with a low chuckle of their own.

"Mother! What have I done to deserve such a warm welcome?" Forrest says, lips quirked upwards in a playful smirk. They know of course, that they need only breathe to fill mother's heart with joy. Her hands still cup their face as she pulls away just enough for her carmine eyes to search powder jade. Forrest hums slightly, eyes crinkling at the corners as they return such a brilliant smile.

"I hadn't realised how lonely I was until I saw you, mother. The journey was comfortable enough though and more importantly I'm here. Exactly where I need to be."

Forrest is reluctant to let go. Could happily stay in mother's safe, strong arms for an eternity. There are things to do though - bags to unpack, reunions to be had. Forrest can already picture Ophelia's bright visage. Father's reaction would likely be more muted, as is Leo's way. Still, Forrest holds on to the hope that perhaps their appearance will earn a quiet, slight smile from their father, too.

They step away from Corrin ever so slightly, letting her hands still rest on their shoulders.

"We can't stay here all day though mother. I'm sure father would be heartbroken if I kept you all to myself," they interlace their fingers with Corrin's own. A radiant smile and a feather light squeeze of her hand. "Maybe you could show me around though? I missed you more than words can say."

[lalamines]

just another story

Literature aficionados might recognize the title Memory of the Hills, and they might know that it sold terribly in the brief time that it was stocked in bookstores due to its stagnant plot whose setting never goes beyond the walls of the “the village.” If they managed to even read the book, then they know that the first few pages open to the description of a nameless yet dutiful Knight who stands guard at the front gates day in and day out. Although dressed head to toe in armor, a cloud-shaped birth mark stains her left cheek. She’s the one who greets you with no little amount of surprise, but invites you to spar to test your mettle. [Grants Lance +1]

“Hello, Corrin! It’s lovely to see you today,” Mercedes greets the knight in question as she carries as stack of leather bound tomes and tales. Library duty was always one of her favourite chores. The cozy smell of old parchment, the peaceful, almost reverent quiet as students and staff alike worked hard or fell into new worlds, new lives just as vivid as their own. “Are you looking for anything in particular? I’m happy to help if you need anything at all.”

She returns to the task at hand, carefully placing each volume in it’s place. Other students do this far quicker than she does but Mercedes takes pride in her careful, methodical work. No stone is left unturned and no book out of it’s proper place. A job well done is well worth the effort.

Heading back to the librarian’s desk, Mercedes almost twists her ankle as she trips over something on the floor. Mercedes bends down, lifting the book up and reading the title aloud.

“Memory of the Hills,” she hums and furrows her brow in concentration. It didn’t ring any bells in her mind. Perhaps it was brand new. “Do you know anything about this, Corrin? Maybe if I open it up and read a few pages we’ll find out what genre it is at least.”

Her hands do not tremble as she peels back the cover. For all intents and purposes, this was just another story book found in the library; perhaps a little unpopular and unheard of but nothing about it’s binding suggests anything of interest. There is no thrum of power, no bright light or warmth as she holds the dusty book in her palms. Nothing out of the ordinary or worthy of note. Which makes what happens next all the more surprising.

Birdsong floods her ears as she turns the cover over. Warm, rosy light engulfs her whole and the ground falls out from under her feet. She expects to be slammed against the ground but instead Mercedes finds herself hovering in mid-air, surrounded by a pure, ancient light and a chorus of song.

For a brief moment, she feels whole and ease.

The illusion of safety is shattered though when the ground decides to make it’s return. Mercedes tumbles down, out of the aurora and head over heels to the damp grass below. Her knees jolt on impact causing her to lose balance. Sat on the floor, inhaling the scent of moss and petrichor, she tries to wrap her head around what just happened.

“Corrin!” Mercedes is back on her feet in almost an instant, rushing over to the woman as fast as her sore legs will carry her. The knight lays sprawled on the ground and panic catches in her throat. Her eyes open though and judging by her expression Corrin is just as confused as she is. “Here, stay still. Don’t move until I’ve finished healing you, okay?”

Mercedes voice may be soft and delicate but her tone leaves no room for argument. She sighs in relief, finding nothing serious to heal. Nothing more than a few bruises at least. The luminescence she calls to her palms dulls as she pulls away, certain that her companion is mostly unscathed.

“Ah, where could we be? Perhaps we should ask that woman over there?”

@ofdusk

[hezulion]

between pages left unread

Literature aficionados might recognize the title Memory of the Hills, and they might know that it sold terribly in the brief time that it was stocked in bookstores due to its stagnant plot whose setting never goes beyond the walls of the “the village.” If they managed to even read the book, then they know that the first few pages open to the description of a nameless yet dutiful Knight who stands guard at the front gates day in and day out. Although dressed head to toe in armor, a cloud-shaped birth mark stains her left cheek. She’s the one who greets you with no little amount of surprise, but invites you to spar to test your mettle. [Grants Lance +1]

He had believed the rumours to be false.

Students falling into storybooks left behind by the projectionist? Preposterous. Utter nonsense. The library was still as busy as ever; proving he isn’t alone in his scepticism of such fairytales. He’s browsing the shelves idly, flicking through titles of chivalrous knights and their daring epics for a bit of a light reading when a younger student accidentally sends as tack of books crashing to the floor.

The clumsy redhead scrambles to pick them up, as do a few other student and staff about. It’s the least Ares can do to reach down and pick up one or two. Yet when his fingertips graze the cover of ‘Memory of the Hills’, the world falls out from under him. Spiralling further and further into a blur of light and sound, echoes of voices that were never heard, hearts that never beat. Further and further down, not into an abyss of darkness but further and further into a radiant, purging light.

It stops with a loud thump as Ares crashes ceremoniously to the ground unceremoniously, landing in a heap of tangled limbs. He isn’t alone, either. Extracting his own arms and legs, his face darkens, skipping pink and diving head first into crimson.

“Forgive me!” Ares cannot bear to look the woman, one of the Knights of Seiros, in the eyes. In fact he searches for anything else in the surroundings to distract him. What he finds is perhaps as unexpected as the situation he has landed in.

A lady knight stands near them with a look of mild surprise. Her armour gleams in the sunlight and her hand tightens around the lance she holds. Ares reaches for Mystletainn’s hilt, thinking she’s about to attack them.

“Hail, travellers. It’s rare that we get such esteemed visitors,” her voice is deep and resonant, commanding even. Getting to his feet Ares notices a large mark on her face, shaded red and shaped like the clouds above. “Care to test your mettle in a sparring contest?”

@ofdusk

[amitieos]

“ can’t sleep, huh? it’s okay. it’s probably all that adrenaline and shock; i can’t sleep, either. wanna keep each other company? “

"Are you sure it's no bother?" Elincia whispers into the darkness. Night is heavy and oppressive, bearing down on the pair of them. Corrin's hair shines in the moonlight though, a halo illuminated in her hair. It reminds Elincia of stained glass church windows, or the portraits in House Delbray's library. Familiar and oh so comforting.

In spite of her own protests, she takes a seat next to the lady knight. The grass beneath her is slightly damp from the dew starting to form. Elincia exhales. It’s been a long day.

“So much bloodshed...” she murmurs, staring at her hands in despair. It is not as though she is green to warfare but it never seems to get any easier. Will it ever feel okay, to take away another’s last breath? If it ever does, she thinks she’ll have to put Amiti down for good. “If only there was another way.”

Her eyes bore into Corrin’s face, desperately searching for answer. For guidance, a new path to show itself. What a terrible burden to place on another.

“Thank you, for letting me sit with you. For keeping me company.” Elincia heaves a frustrated sigh as the world seems to close in around her. Crushing her chest, her heart - in blind desperation she begs for what will never come. There will be no redemption, no salvation. Not when she is her own judge, jury and executioner, unwilling to wash the blood from her hands. It’s a stark reminder that nothing can be achieved without sacrifice. “I... I think I’ll be okay, soon. So don’t worry about me.”

Elincia will patch the shattered pieces of herself together one by one, even if she can never be innocent and whole once more.