#viridescent-lance

[aimlessarchery]

[ TXT ] : Stop texting me while I'm at work.

[ TXT ] : I mean, you certainly can send texts, but bypassing them via the "urgent" function should only be for emergencies. Distasteful memes are not emergencies.

[ TXT ] : [IMAGE ATTACHED]

[ TXT ] : urgent

[ TXT ] : also can't find dustpan

[forgottenbelle]

Forsyth should be used to it by now. He'd seen Berkut at the monastery, for Mila's sake. But he cannot contain his surprise when he recognizes the prince's fiancee, her blue hair and noble features unmistakable.

"I--you--" How much should he say? He does not know her intentions, nor those of Alm's treacherous cousin. What he does know, though, is that the king would afford her trust and mercy. (Would afford them both, despite everything.) "M-my apologies. Do you hail from Rigel, perchance?"

Forsyth will keep a careful eye on her, but she worries him far less than Berkut, at least.

Her accent is what most likely gives her away. The slight lisp, the way she is conditioned to breathe deeper before certain syllables, the strain when occasional sounds do not agree with the rhythm of her speech. As for the knight approaching her, he is no stranger to her homeland — that much she can tell.

Why, pray, does he approach Rinea behind a metaphorical shield? It could be her fears taking form, it could be her anxiety spurring her imagination, it could be the shadows cast on his face that trick her already fearful perception.

If he is someone she wronged in her past... he would speak up. Normal people would speak up. So speak up. Speak up. SPEAK—

"I do," she croaks, though she is not fortunate to have been spawned into the world as a rotund amphibian. She's shaking and has to hug herself in pretend shivers from the cold. For her to be so guarded and judgemental over nothing more than a look and a word, this man could find her crazy.

She is not. Not yet. She has to make the effort to venture forth. With some difficulty, Rinea looks at the young knight, and manages to pull herself together. Moderately. Acceptable levels. A burdening disappointment.

The knight has tired, kind eyes in spite of his youth, accentuated by the practiced stiffness of his posture and what might be years of being the only overachiever in miles around him. His handsomeness is unique — neither his jawline nor frown fits the beauty standards Rinea knows of, but it would be foolish to say he is not beautiful.

"I am Rinea. I do believe we have not met, sir...?"

[willowitxh]

"Thrasir!" Forsyth had spurned the cries of the maids who insisted they could care for his friend themselves, preparing some soup for her and (admittedly with help) fetching some of this world's medicine. He sets the bowl down at her bedside, kneeling to meet her closer to eye level. "I've been worried since I heard the news. It's good to see you awake, at least..."

The girl had pushed herself so far she'd simply collapsed at school. Forsyth wonders if he would have joined her had he not forced himself to rest, and feels a level of guilt that he had not noticed how poorly his housemate was doing.

"If there's anything I can do to facilitate your recovery, please let me know." While this may seem like an idyllic little town, Forsyth has learned that nothing is as it seems when it comes to missions like this. He worries greatly how this may affect Thrasir's real body. "I'll make certain the staff here cares for you, but I'll utilize what I can personally, as well."

(He can't help but think about the way she had spoken of the excuse for a caretaker she was assigned here. The anger in his chest bubbles, but he holds it down for her sake.)

Worry... This wasn't something that Thrasir was used to receiving. From anyone, not... not even when she was Veronica. Líf used to be concerned for her. Eriella had been concerned for her too. This feeling was new. When Forsyth entered, Thrasir stared at him, blinking owlishly, not fully comprehending that someone was concerned for her.

"It's alright, Forsyth," she said on a scratchy voice. "Our investigation comes first. I wasn't strong enough."

She sighed and brought her hand to her cheek. She looked more like Veronica than Thrasir than ever right now. A small expression of loneliness crossed her face. She wanted Eriella's gentle concern back...! Líf, where are you, this world is messing with my head. Eriella's voice had been comforting, her mere presence was warm.

"I worried her, Forsyth," she murmured. "I have to rest like she told me too."

So that she could see her again. See Eriella again.

[cursedbluebird]

Tea for Three

Reason and Faith band together to put on this month’s special seminar: the history of tasseomancy! You will be learning the “magic” behind divination and how the old masters used the remains of tea leaves and coffee grounds to predict future events. Just in time for the moon of love, you will all be divining your romantic futures from a delicious cup of white rose tea. [Grants Reason or Faith +1]

@aimlessarchery @viridescent-lance

The magic seminar made Marianne sick with anxiety. She didn't need to be able to read the future to know hers, and anyone who knew her, was going to be filled with misfortune. But... She had skipped a few classes to spend time atoning in the cathedral... And her grades had slipped a little... So she really needed to do this assignment.

Marianne looked around at the garden. Most of the tables were filled with other students working on the same assignment. She wondered how it felt to be excited about the future.

Marianne fiddled nervously at her notes, thumbing though the instructions and the list of symbols as she waited. She hoped that her misfortune wouldn't rub off on Professor Python and Forsyth...

[luneirika]

raiden turn the game console off right now! | team 9 iron round

Feathered wings beat rhythmically beneath her, keeping her both afloat and her nerves from fraying. The arena hasn’t changed at all but where one foe once stood now are four. Her head still aches from the cold and the deep slumber she had been pulled beneath. One she feared would never end. Her right hand clasps around the weapon she holds, not her reliable, trusted sword but a lance. Just like Ephraim and Tana. 

She can do this, she’s sure of it. The lance seems to respond to fond thought of her brother and best friend as warmth surges through her hand and into her body.

Blessed Lance restores 1 HP to Eirika Eirika has 6/10 HP remaining

With a steadying breath, she urges her pegasus to fly forward, carrying her over to Odin. Equipped with healing magic, she wonders if this too, is something she can make use of.

Eirika casts Recover on Owain Roll d20: 5! 3HP recovered Owain has 6/10 HP remaining

Eirika frowns, despondent and irritated by her meager display of skill. She’s never used white magic before but it feels as though the spell is trying to taunt her. Regardless, some of the colour returns to Odin’s face, a sign that his wounds are healing at least. “I’m sorry, that seems to be the limit of my ability right now,” Eirika confesses, struggling to look the man in the eyes. “Please, be cautious. We cannot do this without you.”

@making-dough, @viridescent-lance & @teneguine

[making-dough]

Eat your heart out, Eusine! - Team 9 Bronze Round

Arena (Winter) Bronze round starter for @teneguine , @luneirika , @viridescent-lance , @lionsword

♠  - As dreams went, this wasn’t a particularly bad one. A lot more battle arena-ish and a lot less pools of gold for her liking but it would do. At the very least, it could do with a little more adoring crowds. Wait, hold on. More importantly, she’d recognised this setup. Yep, looked like it was time for one of those weird dream arena thing again. complete with a...Huh, looks like she actually got a proper spear this time. You never could know what you were getting out of one of these events. In the mean time, she may as well check out who else had gotten dragged in this time.

Forsyth, she recognised well enough, flashing him a quick wave for greetings, but the other three she was a little less certain on. Was it just her imagination or did one of them look oddly like Lord Eliwood? Huh, must be a random cousin or something. Oh, you know those lordly-types. Too much intermarriage, cousins everywhere, the works. 

Anyway...”Let’s see what we’re dealing with and whoa!”, Farina remarked, mid-stretch, eyes wide at their apparent adversary. A sleek, shimmering blue cat-like creature with a long flowing mane and long streamers trailing behind. “Oh, damn, you’re a pretty one.”, she hummed in a low impressed whistle. Now, that was a sight to see. Maybe she could even have a go at catching it an-

As if it had sensed her thoughts, the beast tensed as if preparing to leap...Which was going to be a problem if the aim of these arenas went as they normally did. May as well get on top of that pronto, Farina had decided, sprinting forwards and ducking low and into a slide, her lance flashing a trail right across the beast’s foreleg, catching it right as it was about to leap away.

Farina attacks the Aurora Beast with Shatter Slash. - 19! Hit Dealt 1.5 Damage to the Aurora Beast! -1 Defence and Resistance to the Aurora Beast for one turn!

The Aurora Beast counters with Howling Winds ]. - 7! Barely Hit. Farina takes 1.5 Damage. 

Farina HP: 10.5/12

Aurora Beast HP: 8.5/10

She’d wound up leaving quite a gash behind on the beast - it certainly wasn’t going to go anywhere fast anytime soon. Though, uh, not without catching a shoulder-ful of the cold winds it had let loose in response. “Damn, this thing's chilly.”, the mercenary remarked, patting herself down of the snow and sleet and other cold bits she’d just taken a shoulder-ful of. Looks like this thing wasn’t going to go down without a fight. Just how she’d liked it. 

[carefreemonk]

🎄+ 💋 

This is entrapment. There's no way Forsyth has walked under a sprig of mistletoe coincidentally at the same time as Azama. Alas, he has no proof to substantiate this claim, and thus, the law of festivities hold true. He must endure a kiss.

[ mistletoe meme ]

Forsyth was a Knight among Knights, truly.

And a Knight among Knights wouldn't be so discourteous as to spurn a beloved foreign tradition, would he?

"Oho ho! Fancy meeting you here."

Azama leans forward, tilting his head just so, offering his cheek.

"Right here, friend, at your convenience ;3c" *taps taps*

[teneguine]

i’m fuckin’ invincible! - team 9 gold round

The cave crumbles, its rocky exterior giving way to the open air. Dust clouds whip up as the arena does away with its drab and dreary setting, but they do not last long, for a deluge of rainfall immediately snuffs them out. They are high in the clouds now, our heroes, situated atop a concrete plateau just barely beneath petering droplets. As Owain looks down, he can see roads and buildings, but not any kind of road or building from his world. No, this technology is foreign, almost alien. Were it not for his adventures in Eden, he wouldn’t have a name for his setting. A city is what he knows it as, despite it contrasting with the preestablished definition of the word. They are atop a skyscraper: another word he has come to know through that book. As his eyes scan the horizon he notices several more sprouting from the ground he can barely make out, though none are as tall as the one he fights on.

His head then snaps to his enemy, and his gear is exchanged for a new set. A pegasus’ wings lift him into the air, and all that heavy stuff from last round has disappeared to make room for a pair of gauntlets in his hands. He scoffs at his foe, for he knows it will be taken down in spite of its gargantuan size. It is a metal titan of near-unimaginable design, standing on two legs and sporting a pair of protrusions he can only guess are meant to be arms. But they connect into no sort of hand, and are positioned up and out of the way of the creature’s body--almost like a bird’s wingspan. Its giant metal face opens and lets loose a mechanical roar, shattering the glass on floors below, and causing a smaller triad of drones to cling to their stadium. It then goes silent, and a translucent veil envelops its body. It disappears, though perhaps blending in would be a better way of stating things. Its body is now the same color as they grey sky and falling rain--a target impossible to hit, again in spite of its gargantuan size. 

“Hmph,” Dark smirks, pulling his weapons on tighter, “you dare make an enemy of me? You will meet your end, fiend, for I have been reborn as the Fist of the South Star! Watch as I unleash my fury!” 

Owain uses Brave Knuckles! Roll 4d20+6 = 11, 9, 17, 17; hit, hit, hit, hit! -3 HP, -3 HP, -3 HP, -3 HP; Radio Scout: Scrap A 8/20 HP

Self-Repair activates! Roll 1d7 = 7, Alloy Arsenal: Revengeance consumes Radio Scout: Scrap A to heal +1 HP and gain a permanent +1 luck

“My first four forms collide against your tin-can flesh! URAAHH!”

“Fall to the might of my Blade of Light!”

“Garden of Gaiden will leave you reeling!” 

“Taste my Mystery of the Emblem!”

“Genealogy of Infinite Pain! It hurts so bad, your grandchildren will be wincing for years after your death!” 

Of note is the fact that robots do not have children. They do, however, get eaten. And this one, after taking a beating of four deadly punches from the Scion of Legend, does just that. The kill switch in its body detects that it has taken sufficient damage, and lights a siren to signal it is no longer of use. Instantly Owain’s foe is consumed by the bigger one. He recoils in disgust, flying back a few feet with his mount, but is ultimately undeterred. When another bot climbs up to replace the first, he is quick to strike it down just as he did its predecessor, spouting another quartet of special moves.

Summon Scouts activates! Radio Scout A is replaced!

Owain uses Brave Knuckles! Roll 4d20+6 = 7, 24, 15, 17; hit, hit, hit, hit! -3 HP, -3 HP, -3 HP, -3 HP; Radio Scout: Scrap A 8/20 HP

Self-Repair activates! Roll 1d7 = 3, Alloy Arsenal: Revengeance consumes Radio Scout: Scrap A to heal +1 HP and gain a permanent +0.5 base damage

“Had enough yet? You will after a Thracia Thrashing!”

“Binding Beatdown!” 

“Blazing Beat-Up!”

“This move I know well, so cower in fear! Sacred Stones Strike!”

Any unfortunate enough to watch would have the misfortune of bearing witness to a near-identical fight. Each ramming of his fist puts another dent or break in the small scout’s hull, and after he shouts his last move, it gets repurposed like the first. 

Again the roof of this building is shaken by the roaring of the machine. This time it feels stronger against Owain’s flesh, knocking him and his mount onto the ground. He holds on, just barely, but his effort is futile. Another scout comes to replace his second kill, creating a dip in his ego and a falter in his resolve. Is there even a point to fighting these things?

Dark backs off, deciding he’s had enough with mechanical gluttony for now. His plan is to wait for the big one’s cloak to wear off, and give it a taste of his next eight sacred forms.

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