Aug 31, 2023
you know what they say! don't ever in jugdral.
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you know what they say! don't ever in jugdral.
Get In Loser We're Going Shopping | Team Verdane
A drabble in which we earn a little bit more than we bargained for
The realization that things did not go to plan was of little surprise.
byleth loses -2 HP to a table and -3HP to frederick
Before them, a large hole that seemed bottomless.
Around them, a group of guards keeping them from escaping.
And in the corner- Colla.
Byleth didn’t want to jump to conclusions so quickly and brand Colla as a traitor- particularly since he didn’t seem to be involved in the matter at hand at all, but it was hard not to think about it. Sothis herself seemed keen on believing they were led into a trap by Colla and now were going to be captured and…apparently sacrificed considering the talk between the guards.
‘Prepare their blood.’
It was already an ominous statement, but somehow it filled him with even more dread than usual. A feeling similar to back at the village, where his body felt sluggish and no longer his own and Sothis refused to answer his calls and questions. It was the same now as he turned around only to see Hilda being grabbed by one of the guards.
Powerless. Byleth had been brought to this academy to guide students and care for their safety- and look at where things were going. A man who so far was more used to taking lives than protecting them, of course he’d be a shoddy teacher who can’t keep track of his own group. He had to make up to all of this later- now, focus on getting out of this alive and with everyone by his side.
Frederick was making an attempt to feign being ‘in’ on the guards’ plan and so they had to act quickly. They needed a distraction to disrupt the ongoing order, so…Byleth attacked Frederick- or at least pretended to. In reality he just jumped at the man as if he were going to punch him and thankfully Frederick played along. It was working, they just needed to get the guards to move and…
…and then Ephidel nailed an actual, real punch to Frederick’s stomach, much to Byleth’s shock. So much so that for a short second the professor lost focus and forgot that he was supposed to get pushed by Frederick and propel himself towards the guard holding Hilda so he could try to grab her and then make a run for it.
Indeed, Byleth did get pushed by Frederick. But he was caught off guard, stumbled on his own feet and fell face down.
Good job on getting captured, Sothis’ comment echoed in his mind. Byleth couldn’t even apologize at this rate because again, it was his own lack of focus and attention that led him to this situation. He tried to struggle, but his already broken hand made it quite difficult to try anything that wouldn’t result in even worse injuries. All he could offer was an apologetic glance to Hilda and then hope that his teammates would figure something out.
He did not expect a kick in the groin from Frederick though.
He did it by accident. It’s okay. Don’t blame him.
But damn, it fucking hurt.
After that some other things happened as well as some dialogue but his mind was far too busy trying to manage the unfortunate injury to the point he barely even registered when the world around them went black and once more they were transported to another space.
good night, sleep well
As the spell rips from Colla's palm and implodes on Farina, something new roils within Ephidel. It grows within them, moving their digits to press the saw just a hair's breadth closer to his throat-
Before it all flickers out to the scene now before them. The darkness, the town, the allies they sought. The emptiness inside Ephidel feels deeper now somehow. That they were once again a doll left behind. Their gaze comes to each of their captured companions, before drifting to the Xs drawn upon the ground.
'Where do you belong?' echoes in their hollow.
an arrival in nahan
Saltwater laps at her boots, stripping away a handful of sand and plastering two more to her heel. Hers is the first boat to touch the shore, but even the sea drowns in her ears, its susur swallowed by the irreverent beating of her heart. It rockets, from spine to sternum and back again, so fiercely as to throw her stumbling into the foam. Water grapples at the hem of her dress, flecking it dark and darker still; distantly, she is aware of someone else's hands, forceful as they hook her elbow and gentle in the catching.
"--Michalis," is all she gasps, watching the other boats come in. In all the chaos, she had been holding his hand, but hers is empty now. Whoever dragged her out of the waves releases her when she does not run back in. It won't help anyone if she panics, and she presses her palm, fingers splayed, against her chest. Perhaps Tiki will need her. Perhaps she should check on Frederick. What of Nanna and Sara, who have not yet reached the shore? Miss Ayra and her dearest Larcei? There must be something she can do for someone.
Her focus turns outward, and her heartbeat calms; Michalis never comes.
When the last of them arrives they number nine, a sorry bunch no more formidable than a clowder of drenched cats, soaked to the bone and some of them bereft of fang and claw. She herself has lost not only her great grandfather's heir, but his shield as well, and something in that fact makes her feel so small.
Too small for dreams and all such things she clings to (tries to cling to), but just right for their only-almost-even split of five and four. The innkeeper and his pity make a gift of two rooms for one night, the larger half sent to the one with the sturdier door. Her body tucked against the wall, fingers wrapped loosely around her ankles, Maria makes herself smaller in a big room, just like she always used to. Someone is murmuring somewhere, but she is too tired to... to...
In the early morning, Michalis is still not there, and Maria thinks he surely must have met a distant shore. He is too saddled by guilt to leave her abandoned overlong, and moreover he is far too stubborn to die: therefore, he must be elsewhere, dour but alive.
Sleep never reclaims her, having long since ceased to be a place of repose. Instead, she marks the time in the measure of the sun's halo refracted in raindrops crawling down the window pane; they are long gone come the calling of their fractured convocation, but the speaking-- the purpose she finds in it-- is better than the silence.
Perhaps it is just the taste of the wind in Verdane, but the scent of spring comes and goes, a flower on the breeze. Frederick (a 'sir' would suit his name warmly, like a winter coat) calls for what information they have at hand, and simply put: they have none. Maria does not hesitate to politely raise her hand, bidding for attention as though she were still inside the classroom.
She remembers the houses, half-built, and the crumbling walls. Gathering information has never been her forte, but she loves people as much as she cannot leave them be. She gives, but she does not trade; there is no promise of information, and though she hopes, she does not expect. But--
“I want to help them, if they need it. If they have wounded, I could help heal them! I would like to, if I can. May I? Please?”
They let her go with a promise shared not to leave alone, and she hurries down the stairs.
The innkeeper is like a metronome at rest, leaning neither toward hostility nor friendliness, but rather standing pin straight in the middle. Nevertheless, it was his kindness that allowed them safety and a good night's rest, and the warmth it kindles in her heart flowers on her face a smile. (If she allows herself a moment of wishful thinking, then she would like to think he wavers once.) And she gives to herself a well-worn mission, that she might savor all the kindnesses she's shown -- what good in the world she sees, she would dearly love to sow.
She presses him, almost to a point of worry, for where she might make herself useful. Not once does the innkeeper insinuate there to be a wounded soldier, a scraped knee, or even so much as a sniffly nose in the town. For all her curiosity, she learns of one person beyond the chores localized to the inn: a woman named Parsa, bereft of sheep and possessed of problems.
But the others are all gone or sleeping, and even sweet, beloved Tiki has run off with the others to play. Never one to break her promises if she can help it, the little cleric upholds them twofold, setting herself to the tasks of floor scrubbing and window washing in the safety of the inn. She's not the best at it, but she's certainly better than she would have been a few years ago by hops and skips, and it helps that she has enthusiasm aplenty to match.
It's when she pauses to wipe the back of her hand across her brow (working hard, yes, but mostly delighting in striking a pose like unto the characters in her books) that Maria spies what seems to be a merchant enjoying her lunch. The plethora of bags holds promise and catches Maria's attention, reeling her in until she stands next to the woman's table. The merchant, for her part, carries her words like she carries her coins: each one counted, their weight and worth carefully measured. Another one or few are added to the pile when the balance comes up short, and always clipped ere they threaten to overflow. Even so, Maria finds no fault in her answers (she is asking the wrong questions, like as not).
Indeed, things lost at sea sometimes washed up on the shore, the information parted with, somewhat unhappily, a word of advice. Quite clearly far more intriguing is that Maria offers to purchase something from that picked-clean shore, though the price to be shown is that she must show. One hundred and fifty-nine gold; unimpressive as it is, that is all she has.
And all she has will buy her a bridle, if she will forfeit it -- an odd thing with bells hanging at its woven joints, clearly as cared for as it is worn. But what a troubling thought it is, to forfeit her every coin! She cannot think of a beloved voice that would not chide her for it, and so far away from home she is uneasy to relinquish even this small security.
But Iote's Shield is heavy in its absence, and hers is a bleeding heart; she cannot say no, not when someone else's heart might bleed for their memories, too.
Gold dances between the merchant's knuckles, but with little more to give, Maria has little more to get. Word of the situation in Grannvale and elsewhere is vague. That they are doing well is a joy, of course, but she cannot forget the shadow that stretched behind Sara that night on the ship, just as she cannot forget the children stolen away from their homes. Sacrifices, all, just like she had been once -- only they did not even have the dreadful fortune to sleep. Whatever haunted those who called Jugdral their home had left many sorrows in its wake; would it be a kindness, then, to resurrect such nightmares for the sake of her curiosity? To light the match and dangle it near the wick of panic?
She cannot rightly say that it is.
"Thank you very much, Miss! Safe travels, wherever you go!"
Later, the professor will remember her shield and bring it back to her, crusted in sea salt and accented with kelp though it might be, and she will hug it to her chest and tell him that it is her brother's shield. Oh, there is a bloodline behind it, a nation she loves and a crown in its steel, but from the first time Michalis defied Papa and snuck it into her bedroom whispering histories to his two sisters cuddled by his lap, it has always been his. It kept him safe when he fell; it kept him safe when he fled; it kept him safe when he returned to her, and it will keep him safe when he leaves again.
Later still, when they have all reconvened, she will raise the bridle before them in hopes of returning it home. Its owner will recognize it-- probably-- mostly-- and Maria will not think too hard after so many years why her memory frays only in sudden, uneasy splotches. The surer and the more well traveled will plant fingers against a hand drawn map, charting a tentative course to Verdane, and they will make ready for a departure in Nahan.
the world is our oyster (team verdane)
Chatter and overlapping voices flooded the inn room once everybody had returned from their exploits. Everybody shared the information they'd gathered and the supplies they'd obtained -- Hilda's nose wrinkled slightly as one produced a bucket of bait -- and began discussing what to do next. The options seemed to boil down to remaining at the inn or moving onto the capital.
Hilda observed the debate on their next steps as one might a tennis match: with vague interest, but with no intention of stepping onto the court.
"Whatever you guys think we need to do to achieve what we set out to do, I'm in." She settled back onto the bed that she had firmly situated herself on and watched the show, perfectly content to remain a follower of some of the more natural leaders in the group.
After much deliberation -- Hilda may have nodded off a couple of times -- the group made a collective decision to move on. There were some hesitant looks to see if anybody would choose to subvert the group and carve their own path, but everybody seemed to be in agreement (or, at least, harbour less strong opinions than their desire not to be left alone).
With a commitment to set off at dawn, the group split themselves roughly between the two inn rooms to rest. Sleeping in a shared room was not her preference and she thought that she might struggle to sleep. But, after the events of the past few days, her body succumbed quickly to the call of unconsciousness...
... Only to be rudely yanked out of it by the peal of alarms.
women fear me fishermen love me - a bro story | team verdane, byleth & frederick drabble
With no equipment, almost no money and in a land he had no knowledge about, this truly was a pickle. But sitting around and wallowing in worries wouldn’t improve their situation, so Byleth decided to act quickly. During their short reunion, the professor decided to check out the shore and the docks while accompanied by Frederick, a Knight of Seiros.
Now, the choice was strategic, very much so.
chopchopchopchop
It was over before they even realized it began.