EDGE OF EDEN

description

[toaedgeofeden]

/ * ARE WE NOT ALL THINGS ?

asphuxia​:

The first thing she notices is the emptiness of the air, the stillness of it; Eir realises that the relentless tap of his hands has dulled. Now the silence that sits between them makes its true weight known— all until her question bids him turn towards her, finally. Pale eyes meet his own, searching for a kinship in the return of that hollow gaze. Death wonders if Elysium can see it reflected upon him. It feels like…

Eventually, he answers— and his tone gives Eir pause. There is a gentle hope within her, wishing he might say more; but a huff follows after the admission, and once more Elysium turns away. A sigh keeps itself tucked behind her teeth and beneath her tongue, trusting only patience to see her through.

“… Some see death as deliverance,” she answers quietly, resting against the cool iron of the bars. How many times has she repeated those words, clinging onto the fragile truths within? It was no small admittance that Eir had once been of this mind, seeking a fleeting peace at the light’s end— and perhaps a part of her yet continued to believe it. Each word that falls from her lips is carefully placed. “… an end to endless suffering. A final destination to all that is. Do you not wish for it?”

Something dark flashes within her eyes, silver and scarce as starlight. Eir looks away, her next words nearly as swallowed as the setting sun upon the ocean’s horizon. “… Forgive me. It is not my place to ask you that. I only thought…” you reminded me of someone.

Again, silence.

It’s indecision that keeps Elysium’s mouth shut, but he’s content for the cold shoulder he’s given the imperial researcher until now to be its facade. An end to endless suffering. Yes, he did want that, and yet-- He stares at the ceiling in silence. Each word whispered still echoes against the steel plating and stretches the space between him and the bars with illusory distance. He doesn’t say anything. His fingers have stopped tapping.

There had to be something more.

“Even as a child, I knew nothing but stone walls,” Elysium says at last after Eir yields before the frigid silence. “The empire promised to put an end to the nobility’s hoarding and free the children held captive by greed, but I have seen nothing but the same people in different masks. Yet... it was only after my capture did I meet individuals who told me that there was something more beyond the walls. Something strong enough to keep them alive, and to drive them to struggle against the odds. You and that other woman in Issyk are just two of the people I have met who have not let themselves be broken.” Pale eyes steal a sidelong glance toward the door of the cell where Eir still sits. “I have long wondered how freedom tastes, if it can be so motivating...”

[asphuxia]

/ * ARE WE NOT ALL THINGS ?

toaedgeofeden:

This new cell is cleaner, at least, albeit colder too, with its sleek imperial steel and the unending glow of self-starting lights. Quieter as well, so much so that as Elysium lies on his back and gazes up at the grey ceiling, he lets his fingers tap along the ground - 1, 2, 3, 4, 4, 3, 2, 1 - just to keep his ears from ringing. Eir comes to the bars of the cage but he doesn’t look at her, nor when she pushes through new clothing, but he does sigh loudly enough for her to hear. 

“I can’t imagine such a thing would matter to someone like you,” he says to the ceiling. 1, 2, 3, 4. Anger and frustration have all been stamped out of his voice. Resignation too. His words are simply what is. The answer to her question.

“There must be records on me somewhere.” 4, 3, 2, 1. “The logs would interest you more than a first-person account. After all, I was less interested in retaining memories than those scribbling in their books.”

The refusal to meet her eyes stings; a small act among many that had once acknowledged the extent of her shortcomings. It should not apply here. It should not. But Eir hears Elysium’s long-suffering sigh and cannot help but frown all the same. That was most certainly purposeful, an expense of his precious energy if only to put his ire on display. At least he made his misery known, in that they could share it. Eir tucks her knees beneath her chin as she sits beside his cage.

Death bites back a small sigh of her own, instead listening to what the Aubellot has to say in return. It seemed as though all hope— whatever that restlessness in him within Issyk was; that snappy and childish demeanour— has been duly tempered by his exhaustion. Only monotone remained; fitting, for his pallor. Still, Eir stays, listening to the rhythm of his fingers against the floor as his words continued on.

“… I am less interested in the impersonal recordings of outside observation than your own remembrance of yours— however little,” she replies after a moment, voice taut with uncertainty. There’s a strange understanding that catches at each word, a hesitance of Eir’s own; shying away from a vulnerability she wonders is right to reveal. Even if she had access to those logs, the question who have remained asked. Should she have turned her head from the struggle; that which she had constantly questioned was that of being mortal? Eir leans forward, and her admission is almost a whisper. “… It does matter to me.”

A thoughtful pause fills the silence, and the researcher waits for what they might next say. She leans back, face away from the bars, countenance impassive. Eir tilts her head, as though studying the man. She knew what it felt like to want for life— for survival. She knew what it felt like to beg for its antecedent.

“Elysium,” she starts, gently. “Do you wish to live?”

@toaedgeofeden !

[toaedgeofeden]

Interest in what he remembers. Elysium would have scoffed had he the energy, but he just stares at the ceiling. Why? Comes to his tongue, but stays there. More data to add to the empire’s logs?

The imperial researcher allows him to freeze her with his silence for only a moment before she cuts through with a question that nearly startles him. He turns his head sharply to one side to scrutinize her through the bars. Does he wish to live? The answer is a long time coming.

“I do not know,” he says, and it’s one of the first things he manages to speak without barbs on each word. Then he huffs, brow furrowing, and turns to look up at the ceiling again.

“But I am more valuable to you if I’m alive. What difference does it make if I wished for death.”

[toaedgeofeden]

RED ROVER, RED ROVER. ✧

exclted​:

The war for Lucina’s allegiance is, for a moment, won. It’s victory is sealed with crimson wax and the name of her commander in the form of an order, and only furthermore by the rebellion’s own plans.

It all seems to fall into place, too, with the arrival of her father upon the rebellion’s doorstep. What forces pulled her heartstrings towards their cause were almost instantly outweighed by the need to protect him, and so her decision is made as they prepare their departure.

Alarms blare, and Lucina’s expression hardens. It remains impassive as two steel doors finally part to Ethlyn and Ro’s efforts, and even still as the former is taken hostage once again.

Now or never.

Before anyone else can make a move, Lucina’s wrist closes around her father’s. She shoulders her way past Ro and directly before the guards, squaring her shoulders in the best impression of authority she knows how to give as the rest of the group ducks for cover in one direction or the other.

“This is Chrom Lowell, a guard to Commander Malo, and I am Lucina. We are both here on her orders.” Malo’s letter had sat heavy in her pocket, a grim reminder of what exactly she had to do – who exactly she had to betray – but now it is retrieved and offered to the guard before her. “Please allow the two of us to pass.”

The guard not holding Ethlyn will examine the letter for a moment. Assuming that the rest of the team is hiding, the guard will then look at Lucina and Chrom with a questioning look. “Then why is she with you and why were you trying to break in just now.”

“I have been stationed to pose as a member of the rebellion,” she states, grimacing just so slightly before continuing, “and under that act I have brought you one of their members to be apprehended.”

(nice fucking nat 1 lucina) The guard doesn’t buy Lucina’s story and with a nod toward the other guard, tases Lucina, then shuts and locks both the entrance and the red door they’re currently standing in front of, presumably to get reinforcements to deal with your party’s capture. On the plus side…. the alarms have stopped.

The grip on Chrom’s wrist releases as Lucina is shocked. She staggers backwards, teeth gritted and eyes squeezed shut while she does her damned best not to fall to the floor. Doors slam, and there is the unmistakable sound of locks clicking. Naga. 

At least if she couldn’t convince the empire, than hopefully her current party will also think her story false.

@ylisseanstar​ !!

The doors have hardly shut and resealed before Ro is upon Lucina, grabbing her by the collar and shaking her back from her electrified stupor. Gold eyes are alight with fury and knuckles tremble with their grip, desiring the woman’s neck but, buried deep within cloth, remain non-lethal.

“What was that!?” Ro demands, shaking Lucina again and forcing their eyes to meet. “Were you the mole this whole time?”

She glances toward Chrom, then Sara, and realizes that she is alone now. Ethlyn has been taken again, and she is caged instead with a traitor, an imperial guard, and a dubious vagabond. Hissing through her teeth, her eyes dart back down to Lucina.

“They knew we were coming, didn’t they? YOU sold us out. You--” Threatens dissolve into frustrated groans and Ro throws her head back. “Everyone else... they’re all about to walk into a trap.” She sinks off of Lucina and falls against the wall, eyes still toward the ceiling, knuckles of her fists sharp through her gloves.

Next: @ylisseanstar​

[toaedgeofeden]

"Prince of Aubellot," Eir says, the edge in her voice a dull blade— but a blade nonetheless. It was foolish of her not to expect this; a turn in their tale, a withheld meaning behind each event. If she had been more specific, asked the right questions, perhaps... but she cannot spend the rest of the time they have wondering how things might have changed. The page would keep turning; the pen would not shy from parchment, just as fate— fickle and capricious, though it may be— would be shaped and undenied. The expression upon her face is inscrutable, eyes as blank as a corpse as she glanced down towards Elysium. What is it her heart should offer now?

Contrary to her own beliefs, the Helian knows of Aubellot. Knows enough to be keenly aware of the fact that their kin had been hunted and taken by imperial forces nearly two decades ago, coveted for the properties of their blood and their ability to shapeshift. The blood of Aubellot was invaluable; said to cure any disease. Estranged from business beyond the walls of the research facilities, Eir had known little, and far from the specifics— she had assumed that the bloodline had ended then and there. Even now, peering at him through the bars of his cage, death's princess cannot discern if allowing him to yet live could be considered mercy.

A gloved hand extends, offering him a set of clean clothing through the bars. Eir kneels, sitting by the side of his confinement. There were a multitude of words that sat upon her tongue, each ready to take flight. You are special, she wished to say, just as she had been— but fables like theirs always ended with saints and martyrs, and far more than happy endings.

"Have you lived all of your life in cages?" She whispers to him instead, leaning forward as though sharing a secret. Her features are soft, and it is concern that furrows her brow. When Eir speaks, a low note of understanding can be heard, laced within her voice. "... What have they done to you?"

Her countenance delivered the unspoken question that followed next: What can I do?

This new cell is cleaner, at least, albeit colder too, with its sleek imperial steel and the unending glow of self-starting lights. Quieter as well, so much so that as Elysium lies on his back and gazes up at the grey ceiling, he lets his fingers tap along the ground - 1, 2, 3, 4, 4, 3, 2, 1 - just to keep his ears from ringing. Eir comes to the bars of the cage but he doesn’t look at her, nor when she pushes through new clothing, but he does sigh loudly enough for her to hear. 

“I can’t imagine such a thing would matter to someone like you,” he says to the ceiling. 1, 2, 3, 4. Anger and frustration have all been stamped out of his voice. Resignation too. His words are simply what is. The answer to her question.

“There must be records on me somewhere.” 4, 3, 2, 1. “The logs would interest you more than a first-person account. After all, I was less interested in retaining memories than those scribbling in their books.”

[toaedgeofeden]

“Commander Malo.” Eir bows, a sharp and practised movement. Obedience had always been her greatest strength, and even the mind of the researcher knew better than to raise its chin here. Hesitation crept in, old ways of thought that had been learned and grown within her; those she would only be free of if her bones were to break and release them from the marrow within. Slowly, she raises her head. Sapphire gaze is icy, almost a perfect resemblance of that of her mother’s— if only to keep the pain from flashing across her face. Eir fixes her gaze ahead, expression steely.

“…Was it purposeful that the Empire never found me?” The voice that speaks is both her own and not, but she claims ownership of the feeling that very nearly leaves her throat raw with every word. Eir does not know if she had ever dared to be so bold. Part of her did not want to seek a reaction upon the other’s countenance; she presses on. “Did they search?”

A pause. The wraith races for something else to say; the words she speaks next come out almost naturally.

“…I understand that I was an asset to the Empire,” she continues after a moment, though her tone grew quiet and resigned. Hope bloomed easily in the hearts of the devoted, and she knew it well. It had become clear, now, how truly adequate she had been made to take the place of this role in the story— this character. Once, Eir too had felt much the same. Perhaps she still did. “… I would like to rectify this, if that has since changed.”

“Ah, Eir,” the commander greets in turn. Back within the imperial base, Malo has once more donned the look of the empire’s generals. The base, however, is unoccupied save for those who returned from Issyk with her, and the helmet serves only to mask any expression that crosses her face when the weapons researcher presents her questions.

“I read your case some time ago. Kidnapped for a ransom. As far as I could tell, the empire knew your location the whole time you were missing from your station.” A thoughtful pause. “Surely another general had a scheme of their own, for which your kidnapping would play a crucial part. Your records indicated no disciplinary measures nor acts of treason, so that is the only reason I can think of for why your rescue was not staged sooner.”

Malo waves away the story with a gloved hand. “But that does not matter anymore. For now, you will be under my command until I can see you returned to your work.”

[toaedgeofeden]

Nine remembered something.

Those words ring through Owain's mind like a bell. They were the first words he heard when he entered this strange land, weren't they? Nine remembered something. It can't be sheer coincidence that they were what introduced him to this war. He knows in his heart, and his icy-black soul, that he had to have remembered more than what he's let on.

Owain looks to Ro, but his gaze seems to pierce her head and stare off into the distance. Her report has been dutifully delivered, but it's not met with even a single word from the commander's mouth. Instead, he turns. It's a long shot, but maybe--just maybe--he'd be able to extract something from Nine. Last time only got a repeat of what was told to Est, and even then, that was very little. If he stands his ground, if he pushes and tries, if he refuses to take no for an answer...

He leaves.

...

Nine is next. To save his reputation--no, to save this war--he'd get something of use from him. It's ride or die, it's now or never. It's either backing up strategy with sound intelligence from this man to march his army to victory, or the entire system crumbles under a shoddy leader.

When he arrives, he looks just as stern as he did in their first encounter. Scowled brow, chilly eyes, lips drawn in a line. But this time, it's real. Not just a facade or a ploy to get the troop to fess up, but a genuine sense of determination. "Nine." He states, not as a greeting like before, but a command for his attention. Owain is the leader around here, and it's time he act like it.

"In the countless eons spent as a warrior, I've always found that the mistress Battle clears my mind like no other." Again Owain is standing as he speaks, but not too loom over and intimidate Nine. He feels the stakes are too high to permit him to sit--he can't give in to weakness and relent, in any form, in any way. "Surely then, as blood will flow from a wound that is cut, your memory has been jogged by our last fight."

"What do you remember, Nine?"

After their return from Issyk, Nine finds himself back in his usual spot - sitting and waiting for anything to happen. The trip to the neutral city had not been well-received by the rest of the rebellion, so his participation in it - his proof of loyalty to their cause - mattered only to those who had been there with him, if at all. The rest still leer at him with suspicion unabated.

And as before, the leader of the organization comes to him again demanding answers, as if his memory would return on command. But this time he has more to offer than just the shrug of his shoulders, and meets Owain’s challenging gaze with his own unwavering.

“My memory is still not whole, but overhearing the crowds in Issyk... I remembered my time in Rhedrise. I was held in the empire’s weapons facility - the one with the red door - as a captive , though for what crime, I know not. Most of the facility is below ground, accessed through a tunnel at the northeast side of the city. Its location is known to few even within the empire, so most in the city are not aware of what goes on beneath their feet.”

Nine closes his eyes to try to visualize his captivity again. “There is a prison at ground level. When I was there... I had noticed cracks in the wall of one of the cells. We might be able to find a weak point and enter the facility that way. Security will be tight though... the information it houses is confidential to all but the highest ranking officials.” He opens his eyes again to scrutinize Owain’s face. “Are you really planning to infiltrate it?”

[toaedgeofeden]

"Ro, can you lend your ear for a moment?" asks heroic Owain, though his voice does not sound like that of a hero, "There's been something troubling me. (Hard to believe, I know.)"

Should she try making eye contact with him, the downtrodden look on his face would create difficulty. With a gaze cast at the rubble they call the floor, shoulders hung low, and lips barely managing to draw a line across his face, his mood is easy to read. "I think I might be starting to lose a lot of my faith around here. You know this army like the back of your hand, and people don't seem to look at you funny when you walk around. Think you can check up on morale for me? Just ask around, see how everyone feels about Rhedrise."

"If my darkest fears are confirmed to be true, I may have to resort to drastic measures."

Some time later, Ro returns with the report Owain had asked from her, however informally. Typically stoic features are instead knitted with sympathetic dismay when she catches him again.

“We’re not going on a lot of information,” she starts carefully, brows lifted. “That’s what everyone is concerned about. They think you’re too deadset on retrieving your staff that you’re about to walk right into a trap... or something. I don’t think we’ll have much support launching this mission to Rhedrise, but... that’s why you’ll only send a small unit, right?”

She pauses for a moment, thinking. “I know many of us still don’t trust Nine, but if he was an imperial soldier, then his memory has to stand for something. It could be a trap... or it could be the key to ensuring that the empire can’t wipe another city off the map. I think that outweighs the risk.”

[toaedgeofeden]

She knows she's Ethlyn. She knows she's here in a story book. A rescue mission devised by the Projectionist. She knows Quan and Altena are safe in Fódlan. She knows Leif is in a book of his own (a happier one, she imagines).

But there are other things now. New knowledge about rebellions and empires. The skill to use this strange weapon she was given. There are times when the character she's been written over feels more like a part of her rather than simply a role she's been cast in.

It is never so obvious as it is when she is near Ro. Seeing her in Issyk after being separated for so long--Ethlyn feels the same way she did when she found Quan, alive, in Fódlan. Her heart races. She can't stop smiling. It's chaos trying to get out of the city and Ethlyn needs time to recover but when she finally does get the chance to actually speak with her, she isn't quite sure how to react or what to even say.

"Can you believe that creep only wanted 99 credits for me?" A smirk slides across her lips as she attempts humor. "I'm easily worth at least three times that!" She sighs and reaches her hand toward the other woman's. "But I'm alright, okay? I'm tougher than I look and I've survived much worse. I'm here now. That's what matters."

Ro hadn’t expected to actually find Ethlyn in Issyk. She had searched so many cities, followed so many leads, only for them all to wind up at a dead end. She had stepped into the city’s shadows believing the same, but Owain had faith in her this time, and for that, she was willing to hope the lead would take her somewhere. Maybe it was that hope that had made it so.

Their venture into Issyk didn’t amount to much else, but Ro didn’t care. After nearly fifteen years with the rebellion, she had gotten used to returning with empty hands. They would just keep trying for information, poking at the empire wherever they could. It was a small price to pay for having one of their own back with them.

Ro had not left Ethlyn’s side since their hasty escape from the city, and though suspicion had become a survival tactic, she had not protested Sara’s aid, stranger though she was. Ethlyn had looked to be on death’s door and to lose her permanently-- Ro couldn’t even bring herself to think about it. But she couldn’t relax until Ethlyn opened her eyes again either. When she finally does, every muscle in Ro’s body sighs in relief.

“I can’t believe anyone could put a price on anyone,” she says. It’s hard to joke around like this, after so harrowing an escape, but a smile still sits hidden beneath her mask and she lets herself savor the long-missed warmth of a hand over her own. “It’s been months... I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through.”

[lalamines]

army dreamers

toaedgeofeden​:

It was trust that had influenced Malo’s decision to pair off with Mercedes on their hunt for information, but also complementary skills. Where Malo barked orders that could bring others into line, Mercedes had a softer touch, so when she slips away into the crowd, Malo hangs back by one of the walls of the plaza to wait and listen.

Issyk had been abuzz with more excitement than she had wanted. Gunfire. Whispers of the rebels in the area. A confused chaos in the streets as those who had just come to enjoy the city’s seedy nightlife run and hope that it’s an ally they run into, and not someone who wishes to see them dead or captured. That a commander of the empire walks among them in disguise has not yet made a rumor and for that, Malo supposes, she owes some thanks to the mess.

Mercedes returns after a few minutes - Malo recognizes her footsteps before she speaks and pushes off from the wall she had been leaning against.

No new leads though.

“Keep looking,” she directs, but with Mercedes alone it lacks its usual bite. She starts toward the center of the plaza, expecting her to follow. “While you were gone, I heard another explosion, though where it came from, I could not tell.”

Mercedes follows Ivaniri, the same way a flower blossoms towards the sun. Without hesitation or concern, as though it is simply how things are meant to be. Treading Issyks’s streets together feel so very normal, despite their circumstances. In another life she imagines they could be here for leisure, hand in hand. Their pace is slow, almost lethargic, and Mercedes scans their surroundings, looking for anyone who looks receptive to conversation.

The people around her flit around, darting through crowds. Many keep their heads down, slipping out of one bar and into the next. Sneaking in to brothels with furtive glances around them. Others walk with more purpose; whispers of the rebels, of gunfire spur them forward. Looking desperately for an escape. Once or twice, she attempts to stop someone just for a moment. They rush past her, each with desperation etched on their face.

“Another explosion? Goodness,” worry tugs at her brow, eyes searching for anyone injured. She tries to listen out for any more sounds of unrest over the din of the crowd but it’s difficult for her to pick out anything in particular. All she hears is noise. With a frustrated sigh, she starts walking forward again. “I’m straining to hear much of anything above the crowd. Let’s carry on, it seems like people are running from something.”

“Even if it’s not the rebels themselves, it might have drawn their attention too.”

@toaedgeofeden​

[toaedgeofeden]

“Yes, let us continue in that direction.” The direction of the explosion. It was not uncommon for fights to erupt within the alleys of Issyk. Petty squabbles over a bet gone bad, a dispute over merchandise, tavern brawls between drunks... the city sees it all. Malo scoffs at the thought that both this and the gunshots in the alley that she had left Monica and Chrom to investigate were just part of the norm in this city. Those who called Issyk home fought for neutrality, but to what end? The rampant crime would be swept away in an instant if only they would allow the empire to station troops here.

There are words now whispering throughout the crowd as she and Mercedes fight upstream to to the source. “Bomb.” “Gunfight.” “Rebels.”

“It sounds as though the rebellion has run into trouble.” Malo keeps a quick pace, just short of running so that Mercedes doesn’t fall too far behind. “If there are others who wish to capture them, we may be able to use the crowd to our advantage.”

[lalamines]

army dreamers

Monica and Chrom’s backs fade into the crowd before them as Mercedes finds herself side by side with Ivaniri. It’s hardly the first time and despite all the commotion around them, falling into step is easy and comfortable. Warm, almost safe despite the chaos around them. The general acts as a anchor, keeping her grounded and focused as she catches her breath. When she rises, her feet carry her up the steps much quicker than she believed possible, turning towards the main street, crowded with people from all kinds of places and backgrounds. Running away, in their direction.

Clearly, something was wrong.

Mercedes fingers brush against General Malo’s for just a moment before she separates herself, searching for someone to stop and ask for help. Ivaniri looks every inch the intimdating general, whilst her own plain clothes and gentle face allow her to slip into the crowd and play a different role. The concerned mother, looking for her young child. A doting daughter, worried about where to take her ailing mother. Desperate to find somewhere safe, not for herself but for a loved one who may be caught up in the crossfire. Thankfully the main street is fairly quiet - she can hear a maelstrom of panic in the distance but it hasn’t touched most of the businesses and their patrons in this area.

“Excuse me, sir! Please sir, I’ve been separated from my lover–” Mercedes makes sure her hands tremble as much as her voice as she approaches the young man. Eyes wide,  she clutches her hands close to her chest as though in prayer. “They were waiting for me on the east side of town. Is it true? The rebels are here amongst us?”

The man seems surprise that he’s been called out to, but surprise melts to sympathy not long after he sees that it’s a distraught young woman. But then the surprise comes back again. “Huh? Rebels? I haven’t heard anything about that. Want me to help you find your guy?” It’s not too discreet that he’s hoping to get a chance at Mercedes himself. Clearly the man is single

Mercedes face twists into an awkward half smile. She tries to be courteous to the man whilst pretending to be unaware of his intentions. A polite ‘thank you’ but she rushes back into the crowd to find Ivaniri as quickly as possible. That had been entirely unhelpful but she supposes if the rebellion really has made it this far, that things could have gone far worse for her.

“Perhaps we’ll have more luck asking in one of the shops or bars further down here? The owners might hear things from their clientele.” Mercedes suggests with a sheepish look on her face. “At least the people in this area seem to be safe and unharmed.”

Small mercies are worth cherishing all the same. 

@toaedgeofeden

[toaedgeofeden]

It was trust that had influenced Malo’s decision to pair off with Mercedes on their hunt for information, but also complementary skills. Where Malo barked orders that could bring others into line, Mercedes had a softer touch, so when she slips away into the crowd, Malo hangs back by one of the walls of the plaza to wait and listen.

Issyk had been abuzz with more excitement than she had wanted. Gunfire. Whispers of the rebels in the area. A confused chaos in the streets as those who had just come to enjoy the city’s seedy nightlife run and hope that it’s an ally they run into, and not someone who wishes to see them dead or captured. That a commander of the empire walks among them in disguise has not yet made a rumor and for that, Malo supposes, she owes some thanks to the mess.

Mercedes returns after a few minutes - Malo recognizes her footsteps before she speaks and pushes off from the wall she had been leaning against.

No new leads though.

“Keep looking,” she directs, but with Mercedes alone it lacks its usual bite. She starts toward the center of the plaza, expecting her to follow. “While you were gone, I heard another explosion, though where it came from, I could not tell.”

[toaedgeofeden]

Recruitment Theme Plays

unsungblade​:

          Disbelief that Owain’s flimsy lie had actually worked doesn’t last long. While they manage to reunite with Ethlyn — Kris is glad to see her well and mostly unharmed — trouble also finds them anew as their escape is cut off and weapons are drawn. Fighting back goes without saying, as if it were ever a choice to begin with; the sound of a sword being drawn one of the most familiar things he’s heard since being sent into this world.

          It is familiar — but it is also a disadvantage in the face of ranged fire. Owain at least is undeterred by this fact, finding time to put on a dramatic speech before rushing down one of the men with blade in hand. The arguable recklessness of it puts a certain ex-knight to mind, and perhaps that plays a part in Kris’s own spring to action even as gunshots ring out on both sides and bullets burrow painfully into flesh. They don’t have time for this when the commotion could very well attract the imperial soldiers they’re trying to avoid.

          Something glass-like hurtles into the center of the skirmish, drawing a few eyes; Kris catches a glimpse of a bottle before it shatters against the ground and gleaming shards fly free from the impact. Like a pin dropping amidst deafening silence, the calm before the storm. And then–

          The ensuing explosion alights all in a blast of fiery gold — mercilessly, uncaring of friend or foe.

[ Kris takes critical damage (-6 HP)! Status: 4/10. ] [ Prayer Ring restores +1 HP. Status: 5/10. ]

          ……

          Sensation returns; a pained grunt slips from his throat when he rights himself too quickly, body wracked with agony in white-hot bursts. A grim assessment of their condition turns up the obvious — it would be easier to count on one hand who hadn’t been caught in the explosion than those who had. And three of the men are still standing and very much still armed, even with one suffering his own injuries from the blast; poised to take advantage of the rebels’ weakened state like vultures to carrion. They’ll die before they get the chance, he decides.

[ Kris deals critical damage to Shady Guy D (-3 HP)! Shady Guy D: 0/3. ] [ Shady Guy D is defeated! ]

          Fingers close around his fallen sword to retrieve it, teeth grit behind a tight grimace as he lunges for the injured man. A knife gleams in the street’s lighting, an attempt at self-defense; Kris seizes the wrist holding it and twists hard, earning a cry before it becomes a wet gurgle with the Altean’s blade buried in his gut. He won’t last long without medical attention.

          Sword and swordsman withdraw; the man falls and is unlikely to rise again. Two left.

Ro almost can’t believe she had been right. Ethlyn was here and if her haggard breath and current state were any indicators, had been imprisoned until not too long ago. Although delight over the reunion brightens her eyes, there is no time to talk yet. Soon their group is surrounded, blocked on either side of the alley by individuals who desire their capture for one reason or another. Ro rubs her wrists in turn. They were going to have to fight their way out.

Explosion scatters any bystanders hoping to get a show, but the fire itself holds no allegiance, burning friend and foe alike. It’s only because of her position at the back of their party that she manages to escape unharmed -- the bodies of her own allies a shield she doesn’t deserve.

But it drops their assailants as well. A path opens up before her to the man hiding at the other end, peering through the sight of a new imperial blaster. Ro grits her teeth, stone crunching under the toe of her boot the split second before she dashes forward through the dying embers. Two more men with knives still stand, but Kris, despite his injuries, fells one with an ease that stands testament to his years on the battlefield, and the second is staggered back mid-lunge by a gunshot (a quick glance over her shoulder finds Nine at her back, smoke wafting from the barrel of his gun).

Nine shoots Shady Guy C, -1HP Shady Guy C’s HP: 2/3

Ro all but jumps onto the sniper, whose surprise is cut by the crack of bone, steel-plated knuckles knocking nose off-center and breaking teeth.

Ro attacks Shady Guy E, -2HP Shady Guy E’s HP: 1/3

Next: @ladyleonster​

[toaedgeofeden]

material girls ( and chrom )​​

ylisseanstar​:

Chrom sucks in a breath as Mercedes falters, the nurse clearly unused to so much running. Monica comes to the blonde’s aid, for which he finds himself grateful, and the bluenette clasps Mercedes’ other hand with the hope that it will help take some of the strain off her system. Then the redhead says something about a piggyback, and Chrom widens his eyes as an idea lights up in his mind. “Monica, maybe I could carry her? If you don’t think you can do it yourself, you can hand her to me. Only if you think she’s too much for you, that is!” Most of the time his unfortunate prodigious strength has no use except in battle, what with him accidentally breaking things in the training grounds. This, though, he can do. He might not be able to fight should they come upon a battle, but at least with Mercedes on his back, they should be able to move much faster.

He’s not saying he doubts Monica either; he has yet to see her in battle, and for all he knows that slight frame could conceal tremendous strength. He would know about such instances.

“Malo,” he calls to the commander, “do you think it would be wiser to split up? We could probably move quicker that way, unless you think otherwise.” Two people could scout ahead and assess the danger, if there is any danger, and prepare for the other two to rejoin them and deal with the situation. Then again, if someone deliberately set something off, there could be people lying in wait to ambush them.

Is it the rebellion? he wonders. If they cared about the populace, would they dare set off an explosion that could hurt innocent people?

He’s sided with the empire, he needs to focus on helping them with their mission and helping any injured people here instead of possibly getting sidetracked…

@toaedgeofeden

The flow of the crowd says all: something dangerous lurks within the alleyway up ahead even as the echo of gunshot fades into the din of voices. The rebellion? Other dissidents? Imperial comrades in a standoff with the criminals that are well-known in these parts? It could be anything, and as she cycles these scenes through her mind’s eye, Malo hardly notices the lag of the rest of her party until it’s Mercedes’ voice - ensuring that they must keep moving - that finally stops her march.

Split up, comes Chrom’s suggestion. “I hear the rebellion is here,” comes a voice through the crowd. Her decision is made in only the time it takes for her to exhale sharply through her nose.

“Monica. Chrom,” she barks, pointing sharply toward the direction of the crowd flooding from the alley with a leather-gloved hand. “Investigate the shots. Mercedes.” Her most trusted. “Come with me.”

[toaedgeofeden]

Breakout or Freak (pronounced frake) Out

ladyleonster​:

Eir has been quiet since they’d arrived here but Ethlyn recognizes her.  She had been there in Enbarr.  Ethlyn knows she’s both a kind woman and a capable ally.  When she moves toward the side of the cage with determination in her eyes, Ethlyn watches and readies herself to help if it ends up being needed.

She ignores Elysium who, for all of his complaining, seems content to just sit back and let things happen around him.  Whatever.  Between herself and Eir, they will find a way out of this mess.  They have to.  There is no other option.

Eir uses the strange darkness as cover and, in a flash, there is another commotion. It’s hard to see in the dark but it seems the other woman has tried to grab something from the shopkeeper whose table had become a disarray. Two others join him in wrestling it back from Eir from the outside. Ethlyn considers jumping into the fight but she does not see that doing much good.

Instead, she quietly creeps toward the opposite end of the cage where the locked door is located. It’s a padlock. A slight smile graces her lips as she remembers a time when Dew showed her exactly how to hit a lock like this to disrupt the pins and get it open. Apparently if done correctly, the lock would even continue working. Ethlyn had been pretty sure he was just trying to show off in front of Edain but she did actually find it quite interesting. If only she’d been able to grab onto that weapon! It sounded pretty hefty as it clattered to the ground.

Still there must be something she can do! Especially while the focus is on Eir. She can’t waste this moment of distraction.

Ethlyn knows she’s nowhere near as strong as her brother had been but wielding a sword certainly takes muscle and she keeps up with her daily training. Though her body aches from only hard floors to sleep on and her stomach growls from a lack of food, she refuses to consider herself weak. She takes a deep breath, grabs the bottom of the lock, and yanks it down as hard as she can.

The lock doesn’t break but her attempt to open it doesn’t draw any attention either.

Her attention is drawn, however, as there are shouts nearby about a sighting of rebels. Ethlyn knows it’s a longshot. Whoever the shouts belong to could be completely mistaken. But if there are members of the rebellion nearby, this could be her chance to alert help.

Ethlyn opens her mouth and lets out as high pitched and as loud of a scream as she can muster with a throat dry from a lack of water. She hopes it will draw the attention of anyone passing by and inspire them to take a look. Her next cries of “HELP!” are more audible. Perhaps then her voice might be recognized. Someone might care if they realize who she is.

One of the three men attacking Eir turns his attention to Ethlyn. He’s unarmed but he reaches through the bars of the cage to hit her but the angle is awkward with the bars in the way. Thinking fast, Ethlyn does the first thing she can think of. She leans in and bites down on his hand, sinking her teeth in as hard as she can.

It works and he tries to draw his hand back at the same time as she lets go. She spits out a mouthful of the man’s blood and tries hard not to gag. That was absolutely disgusting. Pink eyes meet his in a glare.

@toaedgeofeden

Elysium sits and listens, eyes hidden below lowered lids, for his companions - if he can even call them such - to prove that they will not be broken. These bars are still new to them, their resolve not yet flattened into resignation. Though dark of night has already come to the city of Issyk, and shadows cast heavy blankets over every nook and cranny, he senses the light dim further. Then the merchants make a clamor. Iron stench of fresh blood. A shriek. Confused footsteps. A cry for rebels.

He comes to life then, reaching through the bars to try the lock again. Only the pointed tip of the nail of his smallest finger could fit the keyhole, but it was enough. He tries it gingerly, feels the mechanism inside give, and twists his hand to release the lock. Perhaps it would not have been so easy had Ethlyn not given it such a pull first, but he wastes no time dwelling on what-ifs. He rams his shoulder against the door and forces it to swing open violently. It clatters loudly against the other side of the cage as he all but tumbles out.

“Run now,” he calls to Ethlyn and Eir. “But I will not allow you to leave me. One of you must carry me.”

Next: @asphuxia​

[lalamines]

material girls ( and chrom )​

ylisseanstar​:

Malo chastises both him and Monica, serving as a reminder that yes, they’re here on imperial business, they’re not just here to shop. The bluenette winces at the admonition, but as Mercedes reasons with the general, he agrees with her line of thinking. Oftentimes the best way to gather information is simply to talk to people like you’re any other ordinary person out and about, going through your day. Chatting with shopkeeps and gossipy types is, according to his more subtle-minded compatriots, one of the best sources one can utilize to one’s advantage.

Those thoughts leave his mind (at least the conscious side) as soon as Monica points out the hot cakes. All he can think is sweeeeeets, and his mouth waters at the heavenly aroma wafting from the street stall. When the redhead turns back in soundless inquiry, Chrom squeals and sidles up right next to her, grinning. “How many do you think we can get?” he murmurs to her, calculating how many credits he has. For how new he is to the empire, ninety-two credits seems like a pretty respectable amount of savings… although now that he thinks about it, will the shops here even take their credits? Issyk is neutral after all, so it’s likely, but there might also be a higher price on things because of that.

“Excuse me,” he asks the owner, “how much for four of these?” One for each of them, and if anyone in their party doesn’t want one after all, well. He’s absolutely happy to split the leftovers between the others. Gods know they could all use a bit of good hand-cooked food, even if it’s just while they’re here, and it makes him think of the little stalls back home, hawking their own wares.

… Not the time to get homesick. The teen glances around the crowd and smiles. “It seems pretty lively tonight. Is that typical for this time of day here, or is there something special going on, like a festival or holiday or something?” he asks the stall owner.

“This is the average crowd,” the man waves a spatula out toward the people milling around the tables in the street. “This is where folks from all over come to unwind at the end of the day. Laws are lax here. All they want is some good food and drink to forget their troubles for a while.”

“Oh! I see. You must get all kinds of people at your stall then,” Chrom says with a smile. “I bet this city is home to a wide variety of interesting people, right? If these cakes are as delicious as they smell, you’ve probably got plenty of regulars in that case.” Trying to be subtle with just an ordinary chat is a bit more difficult than he expected, and he has no idea how effective his attempts are.

“Sure do. Now, if there’s nothing else you want, you’re holding up the line, kiddo.”

Oops. Looks like he couldn’t get to the part where the man starts talking about the people he’s seen. “Ah! So sorry! I’ll take four of those cakes then, sir. Thank you very much!” Here’s hoping one of the ladies is better at getting info than he is.

Worth it, though, if these “elephant ears” are as divine as they seem.

@toaedgeofeden next!

“Are you having one too?” Mercedes asks the general, opening her purse and pulling out a few coins. She didn’t bring much out with her - never does, as most of her money is sent home to her mother. There’s enough though, to cover the hotcakes at cakes at least. With a gentle smile she accepts one from Chrom and insistently pushed the coins into his hand.  Mercedes cuts him off before he can tell her to keep her coins - he’s just the kind of gentlemanly type to do that. “I absolutely won’t take no for an answer, okay? I want to pay.” 

After all, there’s precious little she actually needs to buy. Essentials are covered in her line of work and there’s rarely much cause to leave the base except on missions like this or when the tides of war reach her shores, forcing her into battle. It’s nice, to do something so mundane with people she could almost consider friends here.

Softly, she nibbles on the syrup covered treat before recoiling. 

“Ah, they’re really hot! Perhaps I’ll let mine cool a little,” Mercedes says, holding the skewer aloft as she falls into step with the others. It gives her a moment to take in the scenery here, such a unique blend of familiar and oddly mechanical. There are several backstreets and alleyways that she could almost mistake for Fhirdiad’s streets, had they been uprooted and planted in another world. She keeps her eyes open, looking for anyone who held themselves differently or whose body language seemed uncomfortable. There’s not much to see it seems, in this area. A few young men looking nervous but a glance to the side showed a first date, a budding new romance to be the likely cause. Nothing worth bothering Ivaniri over. That is until a sudden, loud noise, echoes through the streets around them. Mercedes startles for a moment, before turning on her heel in the direction the sound came from. An explosion, perhaps? “We need to move quickly to ensure no civilians were harmed.”

Mercedes doesn’t stop and wait for permission, her instincts as a medic and healer taking over as she dashes towards the source of the commotion. She weaves her way through crowds eastward with a single-minded desire. To keep these people safe.

@toaedgeofeden​

[toaedgeofeden]

As frustrating as it is to be forced to wait, Malo understands the logic to it. Mercedes comforts her, as she often does, and it eases the impatient itch that urges her to snap at Monica and Chrom for dallying the way they are. Those words, however, remain firmly locked under her tongue even as she begrudgingly follows along to one of the stalls.

At least with them, she can focus on gathering information without drawing too much suspicion. A group of tourists, that is all they are.

Explosions and the unmistakable echo of gunfire are not what she had been after here in Issyk, but it could be a lead nonetheless. Mercedes calls for urgency.

“Chrom. Monica,” Malo calls over her shoulder, and then takes off after the medic. The crowd is in disarray now, that much she can tell, even without her vision. She navigates it swiftly.

“The gunfire sounds like it came from the street above.”

Next: @vonochs​

[toaedgeofeden]

Breakout or Freak (pronounced frake) Out

ladyleonster​:

“I’ve felt worse,” Ethlyn quips back and fingertips brush against her scarred abdomen.

Horses scream.  Wyverns scream.  A child screams.

She’s suffered through far worse but it still unsettles her how easily she had been overpowered by this unknown device.  She wishes she had been able to get a better look at both it and the device she’d managed to set off into the crowd.  Whatever that magic had been that surged through her body seized her muscles in such a way that she no longer had control.  Even if she had been able to think to look in that moment, Ethlyn is certain she wouldn’t have been able to.

Ethlyn leans against the bars of the cage, breathing heavily.  If they could get their hands on that thing…

“What type of magic was that, anyway?”

“You think that was magic?” Elysium scoffs. “It’s merely the empire’s crude replication. There is nothing special about it, save for the casing it comes in.”

He crosses his arms across his middle and leans his head back against the bars as if to sleep, but instead watches the dwindling crowd down the length of his nose, beneath low lids. Slowly, nearly imperceptibly, dirtied fingernails begin to lengthen.

“But it does one thing, and does it well,” he adds, voice lower now. “It breaks you and buys them time.”

Next: @ladyleonster​ @asphuxia​

[toaedgeofeden]

Veiled in Black

unsungblade​:

          Even after being seamlessly written into the story and quickly learning to grasp their roles within it, there’s something to be said for how out of place one can still feel. The buildings, the weapons — much of it is unlike anything ever seen before. An unlikely fantasy and yet simultaneously the reality they must stumble through to find its ending.

          Kris’s position is at least a familiar one if nothing else, serving as the shadow to their leader’s sun as Owain ( Oberon? ) outlines their course of action for navigating Issyk; eyes and ears on alert for signs of danger even before they’ve begun exploring proper. There’s no denying the sense of tension stemming from multiple sources, between the crowds of people about and the Imperial presence lurking somewhere amongst them. Stay close, and don’t get separated. Keep a low profile. The warnings are clear as can be, and thus Owain begins leading them into the city…

          It was never going to stay quiet for long, one way or another. Steel-blue eyes turn sharp when shrieks resound from somewhere unseen, and like Est, Kris pulls away from the others to search for the source. The shops to the east have little to offer in their quiet and closed state, but the loose crowd on the street seems to tell a different story for those on the west side. Rather than the sorts of shops one would walk into, theirs are instead a series of small windows selling street food, with a handful of tables set up for people to gather at while they eat, and business largely carries on as usual there in spite of the sudden noise.

          All in all, it unfortunately isn’t what they’re looking for. “ Nothing over here, either. Sound can travel rather far depending on the environment — we’ll end up searching every alley if we’re unlucky enough. ”

NEXT: @toaedgeofeden​ & @poweroverflowing 

Ro had been prepared to take on the investigation of Issyk on her own, as she was with most things. If no one could trust Nine because of his affiliation with the empire, no matter how he’s claimed to have given up his loyalty, she couldn’t blame them. But she wanted to give him a fair chance. The destruction caused by the “javelins of light,” as he had called them, was far too devastating for them to confront head on, and should the empire find their base... everything they had been working for would be gone in a flash of light. To attack the weapon at its source was their only option, and Nine their only lead. But they couldn’t exactly plunge straight into the heart of the empire on his word alone. They needed more information.

And if Ethlyn was still alive and not in the hands of the empire, then there was a chance she could be in Issyk - either on the run or... No, Ro refused to believe that.

Owain volunteering to accompany her was both an honor and a surprise, and that he would assemble a small crew to investigate - even more so. She cannot offer him enough of her gratitude, but thank-yous remain firmly under her tongue, and she follows behind him in silence.

That is, until screams erupt from somewhere in the city. Kris and Est run ahead to try to pinpoint a source, or at least a direction, but Ro stays behind with Owain. She glances up at him.

“What do you think that was?”

Next: @poweroverflowing​

[ladyleonster]

Breakout or Freak (pronounced frake) Out

@forrisen @toaedgeofeden

Night has fallen and the market place truly comes alive.

Elysium warns that they should consider escaping before someone decides to buy and Ethlyn is of a mind to agree with him. A crowd has begun to gather to peruse the wares for sale and the hawking of their captor is a grim reminder that the three of them are included in that. Eyes peer in at them, judging, and she suddenly feels rather self conscious.

She moves to the back of the cage and pink eyes scan their surroundings. There’s a booth next to them selling all sorts of things. Animals, trinkets, food, weapons. Even with her petite structure, Ethlyn thinks she could reach at least something. She isn’t quite sure what the object is, but she can tell it’s metal. If she could grab it, they could use it to break the lock.

“Robin,” she whispers, “stand in front of me. I think I have an idea.”

Ethlyn reaches her hand between the bars of the cage and stretches as far as she can. She manages to get through all the way up to her elbow and, cheek pressed against the bars, she feels around until she touches the barrel of that metal object with the very tippy tip of her middle finger. Biting her lip, she keeps stretching, hoping to bring it closer but it falls to the ground.

But it rolls off the table where it’s been displayed for the masked and gleaming-eyed customers passing through the alley, and when it hits the ground, fires off a bright shot of explosive magic toward the other side of the alleyway (think: roman candle). Shrieks erupt from the crowd, which quickly becomes as chaotic as an ant bed with its top kicked off.

Then, Ethlyn can’t tell who or where came from, she’s poked through the bars by something that causes her body to seize up for a moment (she’s been tazed), and the seller, who has been giving his best vulpine smile to his customers now scowls furiously at her, a threat “next time I’ll cut your fingers off,” or something to that effect, hissed through his teeth.

Ethlyn’s own scream blends in with the shrieks in the crowd. The seller used some sort of spell on her. Some sort of thunder magic she guesses though she hasn’t felt a spell effect her quite like this before. She slides her arm back through the bars and glares. It takes quite a bit of willpower to resist firing back a snarky remark of her own. Instead she slinks back to the other two prisoners’ sides.

This plan may have failed, but Ethlyn is not about to give up. She’s a proud descendant of Crusader Baldr not some damsel in need of saving.

[toaedgeofeden]

Elysium has been around this block a few times. Passed from cage to cage, market to market, exchanged between greedy hands. Dreams of escape have long-since been flattened to mere words. “Need to,” “must,” “find a way out,” but no longer does he have the strength for action. So when Ethlyn begins to shift at the back of their enclosure, desperate to take the matter into her own hands, he watches from his corner with interest.

An explosion goes off, and Ethlyn drops into spasms. Elysium glances toward the cage’s door, slipping his hand through the bars just to see if he can reach unnoticed. The old lock rattles beneath the brush of his fingertips, but he quickly withdraws his arm again. The alleyway is in such chaos that no one even spares him a glance.

Ethlyn crawls back to her place near him and he regards her with a haughty kind of skepticism. The indignation in her eyes gives him hope, though. A dangerous emotion.

“Hurts, does it not?” He speaks in a normal volume, in case their captor may be listening. “I told you there’s no escaping.”