Of Tall Tales and Tragedies

Of Tall Tales and Tragedies A soul of foul history and unstoppable destiny wanders a foreign land! Can he stay his sword hand, and the mystical burning in his blood? Will the incredible magics infused into his very fate shape the world around him?! WILL THE MIGHTY TREMBLE BEFORE HIM?! (This is a blog for the closed RP group The Officer's Academy. Both icon and sidebar art are taken from Fire Emblem Cipher.)

[timescursedmark]

Dreamfarer

Owain certainly had nightmares, but it wasn’t quite right to call them memories. Dreams are elusive, after all, and Owain’s were no exception, slipping from form to form like a slippery mass of colors, emotions, and tricks of the mind. But that wasn’t to say that the past didn’t play into it, either. Of course it did -- how could it ever not? It was just that his nightmares had far less coherence than any of the other dreams he had, years and years of horrible recollections compressed and twisted into a sinuous, flowing cloud of darkness.

This time, that flowing cloud of darkness was marked by streaks of a brilliant blue -- of ardor and determination, of standing against time and destiny itself. Snippets of her standing bravely played through his head -- of her fighting, shouting. Snippets of her killing, nearly dying, descending into increasing levels of paranoia and maladjusted desperation, snippets so fluid that it was hard to tell where one ended and one began... if they really did end and begin, or if they were a whole, a tapestry that kept her initiative and bravery and self-destruction and tunnel vision as threads from the start, that played together from the death of Chrom to the days at the Academy without pause. 

That morning, Owain would wake up, a pensive expression on his face as he tried in vain to piece together the jumbled impressions that had flooded his mind -- and then a groan leaving his lips as he inevitably failed. He could never remember these dreams beyond feelings of foreboding that were sometimes paralyzing tempests and sometimes just mere uncomfortable feelings, the fleeting shadows of retreating thunderclouds. “I really should check on Lucina sometime soon, though...” He remembered that much.

[timescursedmark]

The Legendary Monikers of Stunning Techniques

[timescursedmark]

hotheadhero‌:

This Owain guy really did talk too much, but that didn’t matter because he loved every bit of what he was hearing! Sure, he looked decidedly too young to be “grizzled”, but his voice was compelling, commanding—it spoke of volumes of experience that Caspar in all his youthful summer-child naivete could only dream of attaining by the time he was Owain’s age (and he didn’t look all that much older than him either). To have him impart even a fraction of that experience unto him, that he might one day become a hero worthy of legend—!

(The silly smile on Owain’s face as he bowed should have been his first clue that all of this was too good to be true. But alas, as times Gullible was Caspar’s middle name; and it did not help that the Ylissean was stoking the fires of his not-so-secret dreams.)

“Wow, Ylisse sounds just like the places I’ve heard and read about in stories!” the young Eagle exclaimed. “I thought they had to be based off of something! Wait, so does that mean someone from Fódlan has been to Ylisse before?” he pondered aloud, voice trailing off in wonder. Promptly, his voice peaked up in excitement once more as he realized: “Then that means—some of the places in those stories could be real! Maybe you’d even know ‘em too! If I showed you one of my books, could you tell me more about some of the places there?” he asked. “Pleeease?”

Owain dissuaded him in an instant, but that if he was in any way discomfited by how readily the boy believed him, he didn’t seem to show it. “All in due time, my friend,” he assured. “But first! I will have you know that my techniques have aided in the slaying of dragons! But this is no minor task, and it takes an army of supporters behind the hero’s back to aid in its smiting. However… we should first start with what any secret technique needs as a prerequisite: a proper partner! Tell me, Caspar von Bergliez… what weapons do you use? Do any of them… have names?”

Part…ner? Oh—his weapon? Caspar glanced down at his shabby little axe with some shame, for however shiny and new it was, as yet undented by even the most slender of hay-leaves, it was still Garreg Mach standard issue, and thus so very boring compared to Owain’s magnificent blade. “I… usually use axes like this one—or gauntlets too! But they’re all just your typical iron and steel weapon—I’ve never even thought of giving them names…” He trailed off at that, abashed: Could that already disqualify him from walking the hero’s path?

No! Say it isn’t so! In a last-ditch effort to restore the Ylissean’s faith in him, he shot his gaze straight up into the other’s eyes. A sudden fire burned in those robin hues—Caspar was beginning to buy this hook, line, and sinker. “Tell me, Sir Owain!” he cried out. “What dread power lurks within a name? What name have you bestowed upon your blade to make it legend?”

“Well, my apprentice, I must express my doubt that this land has seen Ylisse’s fair shores... there are eons of history in the continent of my birth, but I had never heard of Fodlan until shortly before I embarked upon a journey that spanned oceans to arrive here.” It actually had been something of an ordeal, but it really wasn’t like he wasn’t used to incredibly long journeys. “Fodlan’s books likely could not broach the times of sweet majesty and the ages of seemingly impenetrable darkness of Ylisse... but perhaps if you ask questions, I can help you to reach these summits in your mind.”

Upon Caspar’s admission that he had not named his weapon, Owain merely nodded in mock sadness. “Do not worry, my apprentice -- you are far from alone in this. Many of the unfortunate souls that I have met during my wanderings are tragically uneducated upon the spirits of their weapons. But I can help you to change your path! You can treat your weapon’s soul with all of the august majesty that it deserves! It is never too late to grant a weapon a name, for it comes from true appreciation and care for the work hanging at your side.”

Owain twirled slightly to show Caspar some of the swords on his back -- a sword of iron, a red-colored and wicked-sharp sword, a blue-tinted sword humming very quietly with magic, a sword of bright white with its own hum, and a sword that really honestly looked like cheap shit. Owain pulled the simple iron sword from his back and showed it to Caspar, holding it gently in both hands. “This blade, for example, is Spine of the World! It may seem to the untrained eye like a mere simple iron work, but this sword is in all reality a monument to the perseverance of human-kind and the eternal reliability of the world upon which we stand. Whereas a sword of silver might blunt and bend, this sword will face the most terrifying things that all realms have to offer, and it will strike once, twice -- and again, and again, unbowing! It is in recognition of this reliability that this sword has been so named.”

[timescursedmark]

Breaking the Ice

(starter for @cynthero)

Owain had been nervous waiting for his talk with Inigo in the greenhouse a few days ago, but that was absolutely nothing compared to how completely miserable he felt right now. He knew why, of course... opening up to Inigo was one thing, since they’d already been leaning on each other for some time, now, but opening up to Cynthia... Owain let out a short, frustrated breath. He’d really let her down, hadn’t he? The one time he’d tried to reach out, it hadn’t gone anywhere, and he hadn’t done much of anything with her since. He wasn’t really sure if he’d manage anything of note here, and there was a pit in his stomach that felt like it was yawning wider and darker by the minute.

Also, it was REALLY COLD OUT HERE, standing on a frozen pond in the middle of the winter, so that didn’t help either.

The frozen pond in question, of course, was the excuse that Owain had used to bring Cynthia over to talk with him, via a mysterious (but signed) note much like the one he’d used for Inigo and the greenhouses. It was a teamwork-based mission, and nobody in their right mind would be standing out in this cold environment, ESPECIALLY on the lake, unless they had the task that Owain and Cynthia were now performing, right? (Actually, standing here, Owain was now not all that sure that anyone doing this was in their right mind, either). They could talk undisturbed! Well, uh, maybe shout across the pond at each other undisturbed, given the way that the monks had told Owain that this was supposed to go... he kind of hadn’t thought this out that far.

He didn’t have time to reflect much further, though, as he saw Cynthia coming right over there. He froze for a moment, opened his mouth, then looked away for just a moment and decided to wait for her to get closer, before: “What ho, Cynthia! I, uh... I see you have answered this summons to an important mission of the Justice Cabal!” Damn it, this all sounded wrong to Owain as it came out of his mouth, but nothing better came to mind no matter how hard he tried to think of something. “I, uh...” he floundered for a moment, “The ice on this pond is a formidable opponent, and just one pair of hands will never overcome its evil!”

[timescursedmark]

Leaving Stasis

(starter for @theindigoflirt)

Although he wasn’t doing anything but standing alone in an isolated greenhouse that most students weren’t typically allowed to enter, Owain found himself shifting nervously... his heel tapped against the ground, he adjusted his jacket, he checked over swords that he really wasn’t going to be using unless something truly mindbending even by Owain’s standards happened. It was a good thing that nobody else was in here, with the gardeners awfully busy these days; Owain didn’t like to seem vulnerable.

Sure, he was waiting for Inigo to show up, and sure Inigo was about the only person Owain had been comfortable being fully honest around for a little while now, and sure he had left Inigo a note inviting him to help out with the further greenhouses for the express purpose of revealing a vulnerability... but it was still five kinds of unnerving. It was too late to turn back, though -- he could only imagine Inigo finally getting the right greenhouse, only to not find Owain there, and that thought got a wince out of him. “Well... I guess I’ll just have to make it happen, huh?” He sighed, shrugged, rubbed his hands together, and waited.

When Inigo did show up, though, he was greeted with all of the typical bombast. “Hello, my friend! I see that you’ve arrived to help me on my very secret, very vital mission for the good of the whole monastery.” Owain leaned in towards Inigo, his hand at the side of the mouth as he spoke in a conspiratorial tone. “There is something rotten in the state of Garreg Mach, you see. Or, anyhow, there will be if we fail this quest, which has been bequeathed upon us by the reclusive, mysterious order of the Hands of Spring.” He gestured out at the plants in the greenhouse. “The stomachs of the young and bright minds of this august body depend upon us, Inigo. And, uh...” he squinted at some of the more sinister-looking flora in the greenhouse. “Probably occult rituals or apothecary expertise or something, really, while we’re at it.”

[timescursedmark]

"Heads up!" Just as in Midsommar, that one outcry was all the warning Owain would get if he hoped to dodge the snowball Caspar sent flying in his direction.

“Wh--”

Roll: 17!

Owain instinctively jerked his hand to the right, and when he turned to look at what was going on he found that he had apparently caught a snowball right out of the air -- and surprisingly, most of it was even still there, if collapsed. He took a moment to stare at it uncomprehendingly (yikes, he didn’t like projectiles coming at him out of nowhere), before he looked up and saw Caspar. “Ahem...” Owain straightened himself up, and then he began talking.

“Haha, my foolish apprentice... you believed that you could possibly catch me, cursed hero of the ages, master of battle, he with the unbelievable aura of dark power unawares with this snowball?” Owain shot Caspar the archetypal “cocky hero grin”, and continued on, slowly packing the snowball back together as Caspar was ideally distracted. “You have much to learn in the ways of the world, my friend... once you, too, become a master of forbidden and legendary technique, well, only then can you--” Suddenly, Owain hurled the snowball back at Caspar.

[timescursedmark]

Dreamfarer

I--

uh--

I-- I don’t think this one works anonymously

[timescursedmark]

'DREAMFARER' (LA LA LA LALALA LA LA LA LALALA)

“LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA, LA LA LA LA LA LAAAA!” 

After flashes of consciousness going through worlds dark, light, and somewhere in between, snippets and bits of narratives weaving his way through his sleeping mind, Owain found himself standing in a strange field, which blurred at the edges and faded away into a grey, vague nothingness which Owain couldn’t quite seem to perceive. But what he could perceive was the high-pitched grating sound coming from across the horizon.

“LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LAAAAAAAAAA!”

“Wh-- what the--” He looked around and around, turning his head this way and that before finally turning around entirely. Nothing -- he had no idea what was causing this noise, but by Naga was it annoying. Some of his friends had called him annoying, but even at his worst, he was sure that he paled before this. “Who-- who is making that infernal noise? Come out from-- from beyond the horizon!”

“LAAAAAAAAAA--”

“Aaaaaaaa--”

“AAAAAAAAAA--”

“Aaaaaaaa--”

Owain bolted upright, sitting in his bed and sweating a little. For several seconds, he just stared at the wall.

[timescursedmark]

dreamfarer

Lucid dreams were not a very common experience for Owain -- sure they were the exact sort of thing that he liked, and sure he did spend his time on quite a few bizarre things, but he’d never quite gotten around to learning how to lucid dream. There were two reasons for this in particular: firstly, Owain often found himself going to bed quite late. Sometimes he was on watch, sometimes he was goofing off, but he just wasn’t very punctual about it (and it was a habit useful in the bad old days depending on the circumstances). Secondly... well, there wasn’t much of a way around it, most of his dreams were nightmares. Of course they were.

So when he found himself in Garreg Mach’s training room, and then accidentally put his entire arm through a training dummy with barely any feeling of resistance, he paused in abject confusion for a few moments. “Wait, am I...” he blinked, and looked around the training room, “...huh. I guess I am. Weird. I’m dreaming and... yeah, it’s not going away?” He looked around once more... there was Caspar, that guy he’d shown some of his techniques to. He looked expectant. Maybe that’s what this dream was about? He was supposed to do more techniques? And reality would be a bit less limiting, wouldn’t it... he couldn’t help but break into a grin. “I guess maybe this’ll be a nice dream for once!”

[petalmemes]

SEND ‘DREAMFARER’ FOR MY MUSES’ REACTION TO YOURS WANDERING AROUND IN THEIR DREAM. 

For Multimuses: Please Specify Muse(s) 

[timescursedmark]

THE KING OF TIGERS

(starter for @maesterofmagic)

Owain had learned to appreciate things that were innocent and adorable -- after all, when you come from an apocalyptic hellscape and massive wars after that, when you run into something that is just kind of nice, it really is, well... nice! One thing that fell into this category was the cats and dogs (there were really a lot of them) that could be found milling around the monastery in pretty much any given place outdoors.

One day, Owain was feeling particularly bored... he’d basked in somehow having managed to nail 4th place in that dance contest (really, his practically parodic over-the-top display got fourth and Inigo’s heartfelt performance got sixth?) but after a while he got about as much mileage as he figured he could have hoped to get out of that and without having really bothered to get involved with the ball beyond that, he had kind of run out of stuff to do. Looking at one of the kittens, though, which seemed unusually interested in him, an idea came to his head for something to do.

--------------------------

When one particular foreign mage looked up from the bench where she was playing with one of the monastery’s cats, she would be greeted with an unusual sight: a rather yellow boy, with blonde hair and a rather extremely bright yellow jacket was standing there, with his arms crossed, and with a cute little tabby kitten perched on one of his shoulders. “I,” he declared once she looked up, “AM THE KING OF TIGERS!”

[timescursedmark]

Arts and Dafts

(starter for @abrushwithvictory)

Though it was something that was sometimes buried under his other traits, Owain considered himself to be just a bit of an artist. It was something that came off of two great loves of his: theatrics, and weapon maintenance. For the former, of course, it was a terribly useful boost to his typical displays; color and shape were wonderfully useful tools to catch the eye and keep it. For the latter, well... if he could put weapons and armor back together, by Naga, then he could put things that were much less sturdy and precise together, couldn’t he? All it took was a little creativity, and he had that in droves.

Right now, he was hard at work assembling a costume. Standing in a section of the monastery dedicated to its artistic pursuits (often frequented by monks more than students), Owain was piecing together mock plate armor. He had already put together a great quantity of papier-mâché for that purpose, and he had shaped it into each individual plate, which had been a process that had taken days, as well as adding some semi-menacing spikes to the whole ensemble. Now, he was painting these plates of armor, and that was a painstaking process as well, if perhaps a little bit easier on account of mostly just being uniformly gold-colored. He wouldn’t even be done after this, as he had to find some oil to waterproof the stuff with, and then he had to figure out what to wear with it, but for the show he was making this costume for, he wasn’t going to settle for anything less than the best.

He was so consumed in the creation of this increasingly golden, spiky, rather dramatic piece that he actually stopped noticing the world around him for a while, just focused on brush strokes and tweaks and careful application of a knife to round out edges he found himself unsatisfied with. He didn’t notice the monks around the place, and he certainly didn’t notice another student enter the workshop.

[timescursedmark]

۞ for nah

Just doing one of these for now since I’m kind of out of replies to makes for my activity on Owain (sweat), but it’s the relationship pros/cons ask.

Pros:

-Let’s see... well, I guess one thing that Owain would probably be perfectly capable of doing is indulging her curious streak heavily, at least once he figures it out. There’s probably very few people among the Awakening Kids (tm) who would be better at him than finding or creating some odd curio and spinning a very compelling backstory for it.

-Owain is somebody who tries his best at all moments to provide kindness to his loved ones, even if he has this tendency to be extremely clumsy about it. Nah is somebody who despite her outwards demeanor does seem to be extremely receptive to kindness and affection, and so this facet of Owain’s personality I imagine would appeal to Nah quite a bit eventually.

Cons:

-I’m... not going to lie... I can’t really think of much that Nah would be able to offer Owain. She’s outwardly mature and quiet and bookish, which presents a direct opposite to the fairly childish and most certainly flamboyant and active way that Owain presents himself externally, and I think that means that their interests really wouldn’t align terribly well.

-Inwardly, the situation reverses. Nah is pretty childish internally, whereas Owain... well, I mean, once you get past his Owain exterior he really isn’t ALWAYS all that mature, but he is a lot of the time, where you’ll see these moments of melancholy reflection and consideration of how far he’s come (like the Inigo Harvest Scramble conversation, for example)... maybe that means that he would be able to help Nah with some of her insecurities (MAYBE, I have another thing to say), but a lot of Owain’s less mature moments without his act on come from him having some burning insecurities himself, and reacting real poorly to pressure. I don’t really know that Nah could help with that.

-He’s, uh... he’s really bad at viewing her as anything but a child, which makes the concept of a relationship between them kind of weird, and also frankly probably pretty consistently demeaning for Nah. Their supports aren’t really one of the better supports of Owain’s, but pretty much the whole way he treats her like a kid, even in their S support, where he basically just does the same thing ironically. This is why I have that “MAYBE” in all caps up there -- that sure doesn’t seem great for her insecurities to me.

Verdict:

I’ll admit that I don’t really know Nah anywhere as well as I know many of the other Awakening kids, since I never really used Nowi at all, but it doesn’t seem to me that Owain and Nah really have a lot going for them beyond the default level of understanding in the Ylissean Kids... they contrast both externally in internally but in ways that don’t really work out together. Plus their supports kind of suck because Owain’s view on her is... pretty static, all told, and just about in the way that she least wants. Does he ever take her seriously...?

[timescursedmark]

A Sounding Horn, a Small Healer, and a Sword Hand

[timescursedmark]

healingmist‌:

She releases a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding as the bandit falls to the ground. Mist only stares at him for another second or two—to make sure he wouldn’t get up and attempt another attack—only turning her attention back to the swordsman once it appeared that the raider was down for the count.

He starts bellowing again, theatrical and fearless as he tried to warn the others away… and, honestly, if Mist had been one of those raiders, she probably would have taken the chance to run. Even with how weird he was being, it was painfully apparent that Owain knew his way around a fight. 

Her eyes briefly flicker down to the fallen bodies around him, and she holds back a shudder. Silly as he might be, he certainly had no qualms in killing a man.

In the corner of her eye, she spots a sudden movement. Mist tenses up and tightens her grip on her sword, ready to retaliate if she needed. Thankfully, the bandit she injured before was just taking that chance to run away. She felt bad for those wounds, but when she thought of what he and his friends intended to do with the village…

…it was a bit easier to feel more justified in her acts of defense.

Owain’s voice cuts through her thoughts, and she starts, turning to him with wide, confused eyes. “H-huh? Uh—right! I’m ready. Absolutely. It’s… time to shine.” She takes a deep breath, bracing herself for the incoming wave of raiders. She could do this. She could do this. 

She would do this.

With a cry, Mist slashes her sword through air, sending a razor sharp blast of wind towards a few of the bandits. It cuts through and pushes some of them back, but doesn’t do much in halting the group’s advance.

Even if his attempt to use his act to scare the bandits off hadn’t quite worked, it did at least seem to have had another positive effect: it brought Mist out of her reverie, which was looking... honestly, pretty necessary now because those bandits were still coming in, and boy there were quite a few of them in that second wave, weren’t there? This could get really tricky, and he frowned for just a moment, before the bandits got close enough to see it.

He was ultimately surprised, though, by her pulling out a Wind Sword and sending blasts of magic in the bandits’ directions -- and actually doing some damage, too! Perhaps, he supposed, he shouldn’t have been that surprised, as there were rather petite but deadly women in the armies back home, too. ...She was dealing maybe not quite enough to drive them off, though. Perhaps, Owain theorized, she was new to using that type of weapon, as they were after all students here, even if Owain didn’t normally acknowledge that too heavily beyond what he had to. No matter, though! Surely, if he had managed to deal with the first wave of the bandits on his own, he could deal with a somewhat larger one while being actively assisted, and these guys WERE just bandits, after all.

“Absolutely! Shine like the brilliant stars in the night sky, my heroic companion, for through the power of cooperation and teamwork and two heroic destinies mixed into one, we shall devastate these foul brigands!” This Owain spoke while walking in front of her (slowly, since sprinting into a crossfire wasn’t a brilliant idea), holding his sword aloft, and then slowly lowering it into a guard position in the moments while the bandits still drew near. “With the mighty and unfailing sword, Spine of the World, an ancient weapon which has seen hundreds of battles and never once shipped, I will cleave through these fools, while your equally legendary weapon shall hold them off my flanks! We’re unstoppable!” Of course, it was still just a normal iron sword, but Owain thought that there was really something to be said about those! Durable and light, just the thing for dealing with a rather worrying amount of opponents with an equally worrying number of weapons.

[timescursedmark]

What is WRONG With You?! I Want to Strangle You, I Swear to Naga!

[timescursedmark]

theindigoflirt‌:

It’s a miracle the entire monastery hasn’t descended upon them in concern. Inigo expects a nurse to kick Owain out, at least, which wouldn’t be the worse thing in the world right now. It’d be a blessing, truth be told.

Hands clamp down on his shoulders again and he’s about to say something when Owain begins shaking him. “Gahh—enough, Owain!” Seems that his best friend’s earlier calm has run dry. The constant yelling is making his ears ring. No trace of tears remain in Inigo’s eyes. “Enough!” Either due to his protests or some other reason, Owain releases him. Inigo flops ungracefully back into his pillows. He raises his hands to rub at his temples, wincing as fresh waves of pain wrack through his head. Owain finally sits down with a sigh.

Oh, wonderful. Yet another lecture about something he has no knowledge of. Inigo tries to push down on his rising anger. He knows better than anyone how inscrutable Lucina can be. So you learn to hear everything she doesn’t say! he wants to yell. Ironic, truly, that he can read her better than anyone and remain so clueless as to the inner workings of her heart. And wallowing alone here means he won’t have to face any of the upcoming awkwardness he’s certain he’ll face.

“How many times do you want me to admit I messed up? I feel awful, Owain, for so many reasons. I broke my vow, embarrassed her, and got a well deserved punch to the face. Now I have to sit here and listen to you scream at me all my mistakes.” His voice is surprisingly controlled. Inigo sighs. It’s not Owain he’s angry at; it’s this whole mess of a situation. “She’ll just see everything I do as another meaningless gesture. Told you, Owain, she deserves better.”

With all of his fire and fury about Inigo’s relentless self-deprecation having only accomplished the exact same thing as all of his other responses (that is to say, causing Inigo to descend further into self-loathing), Owain deflated further -- he didn’t sit down defeatedly (because he had in fact already done that mere seconds ago), but he did slump a bit in the chair and sink his face into his palm, ignoring the glares he was actually getting from some of the church staffers in the infirmary. He just shrugged at Inigo helplessly for a moment, shook his head, and then spoke a lot more quietly. “Come on, man, I’m... I’m really not trying to get you to just admit all of your mistakes again and again. I’m trying to help you here.”

Owain gesticulated a little as he struggled to word his next thoughts, but it was more subdued than before, and one of the infirmary staff even looked away from him as he became worth a little less attention. “It’s... I mean, come on, dude, you’re not going to be like this forever, right? And you’re definitely not going to be never talking to her again, right?” Preemptively, he put up a hand, and muttered: “(Don’t answer that, you are going to talk to her again.)” He shifted his hands again, palms faced upwards in something of a gesture of bewildered frustration, “Just... wait a while until she cools off, and then apologize to her. That’s good advice, right? I just want what’s best for both of you, is all, and what’s best for you is really not... you know... this.” Bereft of words once more, he kind of just gestured vaguely at Inigo and his infirmary-bound, self-pitying state. 

“And don’t say that she deserves better again, or I might punch you!” He looked back at the nurses. “(Not really, please don’t kick me out.)” The rather frustrated boy looked at his fellow Ylissean, his friend, his companion through battles present and past slash future slash alternate realm, and he gestured desperately again. “Who the hell else do you think she would get with, anyway? Is it going to be somebody that she HASN’T spent so many years and experiences with? No. And even if the others do show up, like... Gerome? That guy is not at all as cool as he thinks. Brady? Well, I mean, I like the guy, but I sure don’t see them. Laurent? I, uh-- no, probably not. Yarne? Come on.” Owain leant forward and very gently jabbed Inigo in the chest. “So if she deserves better, you’ll just have to do better. Case closed!”

[royalspark-twistedflames-deacti]

Send me a "۞" to see the pros and cons of our muses being in a relationship together

[timescursedmark]

The Fish of Destiny and Fortune and Probably More Things Like That

(Starter for @exalteye​)

In recent days, an interesting rumor had made its ears over to Owain (meaning in this case that Owain had more or less blatantly eavesdropped on two other students as they spoke in the dining hall): apparently there was something very, very interesting going on with the fishing pond on the monastery’s grounds. Rumor had it that there was a Golden Fish in the pond, a mysterious and resplendent creature that would confer good fortune to those who caught it and ate it... and while it was true that most of Owain’s act was indeed an act, he did see no reason why there couldn’t be some magic luck fish! And, boy, he was feeling like he could use some magic fish luck about now.

So Owain ended up at the side of the fishing pond... pondering. He didn’t actually know how to fish, he had to admit -- he’d never really had the opportunity to practice with a fishing rod, and he wasn’t going to risk rusting any of his swords. So he decided... he was going to have to do this the direct way. He’d managed to catch a fish with his bare hands before, even, back in the hungry days of the future! Sure, it had taken around an hour and been a horribly messy process, but it was proof of concept. Owain gingerly laid down his precious yellow coat on a rock near the pond, and put down each of his weapons carefully and lovingly by the rock, before swan-diving into the pond.

...

The sight that Lucina would be greeted with upon reaching the pond, for whatever reason she was coming to or passing by it, was Owain popping in and out of the water, soaked, with a massive fish in and out of his arms. He was wrestling the fish, furiously, with the fish slipping and sliding and the boy trying to rant between bobbing into the water. “Fish... I will get my hands on you- glrgh- I will access your fate-- blblrbr-- your fate altering powers--”

[timescursedmark]

The Legendary Monikers of Stunning Techniques

[timescursedmark]

hotheadhero‌:

This Owain Dark guy has got to be the most dramatic and out-there character Caspar has ever met (and he’d already met Cynthia, which was saying something), but with battle technique and gravitas like that, it has to be justified! The young Eagle’s eyes shone with awe and delight as the blonde preened and posed. “Secret techniques, you say?” he exclaimed. “Well, lemme at ‘em!”

… Wait. That sounded incredibly underwhelming next to everything Owain had just spewed. The boy paused a moment, sheepishly. “Uh, that is to say…” (Great; just how did this guy come up with such cool-sounding lines on the fly like that?)

A moment’s inspiration struck, and Caspar grinned, pounding a fist into his opposite hand determinedly. “Mighty traveler, I have honed my skills in the fires of trial, smote all evildoers that they may tremble at my name. Vast are my skills, but I fear they are commonplace, honed in but one field of battle.  You who have traversed the mists and mountains of distant lands—my axe hungers! Teach me your ways!”

… Whew. That was actually kind of fun! Not that he knew if he could keep it up all the time (and surely even Owain took a break from it every so often, right?). Hopefully his theatrics were enough to convince Owain to let him study under him for a while—but the boy hadn’t even introduced himself when the other had already done so in such spectacular fashion! But Caspar didn’t feel up to being dramatic again so soon; and so he settled for sticking a hand out in range of Owain’s, palm up. “The name’s Caspar, by the way!” he chirped brightly. “Caspar von Bergliez, from the Empire territory of the same name! It’s a ways southeast of here; lots of fields,” he added, by way of clarification. “Where are you from? And which technique can you show me first? Oh—can you smite dragons? That’d be so cool!”

Owain grinned. “Excellent! Truly the world must tremble at the meeting of two such mysterious and powerful heroes. A traveler from a distant land comes to meet the young and rising hero of another kingdom... surely I am as the wise mentor, grizzled veteran, he whose eyes have seen all manner of tragedy and battle, struggle and heroism... he whose has seen many villains, many monsters, and many of the fights against them!” Owain leaned over and looped an arm around Caspar’s shoulders, gesturing out widely. “You, my companion, shall be he whose destiny I reveal to you, as you become mentored into the protagonist of your own epic tale!”

He pulled back, then, and then bowed theatrically, silly smile still on his face. “As I have already stated, and with bombast -- my name is Owain. I hail from the faraway land of Ylisse, where princesses and princes and pure hearts and the battles of grand beings come to collide with travelers of the winds of time itself, and where the risen dead mix with the darkest of secret cults to create an epic that wound through the very realms!” Owain didn’t expect Caspar to believe more than like 25% of that, and probably wouldn’t have said it otherwise. 

Owain favored Caspar with a fairly lopsided grin at his last lines, as he found some ironic humor in them. “I will have you know that my techniques have aided in the slaying of dragons! But this is no minor task, my young friend, and it takes an army of supporters behind any hero’s back to aid in the smiting of the dragon. However... I believe that we first should start with what any secret technique needs as a prerequisite... to be performed with a proper partner! Tell me, Caspar von Bergliez... what weapons do you use? Do any of them... have names?