where gladiolus bloom.

——— ♦ ——— affill. felix | blue lions student

[wolfhednn]

#WOLFHEDNN .　　——　　+ /　felix hugo fraldarius , blue lions student

this is a temporary pinned post until i get his permanent doss up. since felix is a returning muse from a long time ago, there's a couple things that are important to his characterization that i'm carrying over, but that aren't canon.

NOTES.

ON TIMELINE.　felix was enrolled at the academy in irl years 2019-2020, and he retains memory of arcadia and lock&key. narratively, he was recalled afterwards to help rodrigue with increasingly unstable fraldarius territory, which will explain his absence since. he will have knowledge of any events that've happened across mission boards, etc. that affected faerghus lands, such as the paranoia going on across fodlan pre-AO, etc. like the other toa muses, he'll also be aware of inconsistencies, but won't know why ( the fact the past year was pasithee's bubble illusion, etc. ) tl;dr: he'll have experienced toa lore since 2020 peripherally from fraldarius lands, but not directly involved. 　

for felix, it has only been about a year since he left. i'm more or less doing this to justify why he isn't 21-22 if i'm writing him as being around all this time. i'm making this make sense because between the time loops, illusion bubbles, and other time/space-bending that happens in toa lore, there being these other blips or glitches in passage of time doesn't feel impossible. 　

because of his experience with the timeloop after lock&key, felix isn't completely unfamiliar with the idea that timey-wimey stuff seems to just happens sometimes. while he'll definitely be surprised and unsettled to hear that apparently 3+ years have passed for other people, it's not unprecedented. 　

ON THE THORON INCIDENT.　❪　the history : 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / portrayal　❫ the tl;dr here is just that i'm keeping the events from felix's accident that happened during his previous enrollment even though the muses that helped me shape the narrative at that time are no longer here. the relevant posts from when it was taking place are linked above if you're interested. the last link — ' portrayal ' — is the most important one as it details how the disability impacts him. it'll come up if appropriate in posts, and your muses are free to know this about him.

[ostianshadow]

you wanna take a swing oar what?

[anniversary mission board | lance+ ]

[ostianshadow]

This hasn't exactly gone according to plan,

but Matthew doesn't really have the time to think about that right this second, given he's found his ("his") boat capsized and himself bodily removed from it.

He gasps upon surfacing, his immediate priority to gather his bearings even as he blinks blearily past water in his lashes. Something bumps into him and he slaps at it in a panic. The oar…! Instinct and reflexes see it within his grasp, fingers closing tight around it. He kicks toward the shore, wastes little time in clambering up.

"What do you mean," cough, sputter, ew pond water, "somethin' in the water??"

Still catching his breath, Matthew casts a look at the water in question, and he notes how very quickly it has stilled. Eyes narrow.

"You sure…?"

So it wasn't just a big, dumb rock to blame…?

(No, the logic doesn't quite flow proper, but give him a minute, a'ight?)

[wolfhednn]

HE ISN'T SURE, BUT HE'S NOT WILLING TO TAKE ANY CHANCES.⠀🗲⠀now that he can see him, the man that latches onto the end of the oar and starts to pull himself up looks younger than he expects for someone who isn't a student, but then most of the faculty have been surprisingly close to them in age lately. "let's just hurry up and get you out of there."

there's purchase ; with the help of the slender treeling, he starts backing his way back up the enbankment, bringing the other into the shallows of the lake's perimeter, trying to encourage him to get his footing on the shelf. retrieving the boat, he thinks with a glance toward its shape in the darkness, would be another ordeal altogether as it appeared to be drifting further away the closer he brought its former occupant, but that could come later.

"ridiculous," he mutters once it feels like they might be in the clear, arms flexing as his own footing reaches more level ground and he releases the sapling to secure both hands on the oar, "how did you plan to get b——"

splash ; felix shouts reflexively as a large shape lunges out of the water out of nowhere. he can only make out what seems like its tail, thrashing noisily against the water's surface as a sudden added power pulling at the oar and nearly ripping it from his hands suggests that it's gotten a hold on the other man.

[corvusi]

ᯓ can we go back to talking cannons

continued from here just saying. this is a lot of emotional vulnerability for this fine afternoon

[corvusi]

Did he need anything else? He only blinks as he stares at Felix with crinkled eyes and a hollowed smile. Is he being pushed away, or is he being given permission to stay? ( why do you, henry, care? ) His mouth opens, and although he thinks of saying something to fill the moment — thank you; please don't cut me down yet; ??? — all that emerges is the soft sound of an inhale.

Anyway! Um, yeah — helping! That's absolutely what Henry was here for! He nods, eager, and presses his lips together as he scrambles next to one of the crates in silent answer. A smaller one of sorts, because ultimately, Henry's arms are more like... limp spaghetti than they are heaps of muscle, but he's down to help not get in Mister Cannon's way!

Squatting down toward the boat deck and keeping space between himself and Mister Cannon, he wiggles his fingertips under the sides of the crate. Henry musters allll the strength he has with a deep breath and a quiet oomph — only for the crate to remain stationary. For such a tiny little guy, Henry purses his lips, it certainly doesn't feel very tiny.

Buuuuut he's not here to make Mister Cannon regret anything, either! Another deep breath, another lift, and... still, nothing. Maybe the crate moves a slight inch, or maybe it hasn't moved at all; but Henry feels sweat bead under silver bangs at the effort he's put in, so he flops himself back down onto the deck, sitting down with the crate between his legs. A blink, and he tilts his head back up at Mister Cannon.

"Give me one more shot — and I promise you really won't regret it!" Yeah, Henry's pretty good at proving his own worth! He grins; he gives a thumbs up; and then, he stands back onto already-exhausted feet.

If his own physical strength doesn't work, then... he wiggles his fingers at the crate, creating a circle of runes in glowing shadow. Tiny friends emerge from thin air, their wings buzzing as they surround the crate in the faint tinge of dark magic — and up the crate goes, over the boat's starboard. Giggling, he claps his hands together and turns his attention back at Mister Cannon. "Woah. You don't even have to do anything anymore — I can take care of alllllll the rest! So sit back," he wanders over, resting his hand on Cannonman's shoulder, "relax, and Henry's got ya all taken care of, nya ha!"

[wolfhednn]

WHY DID HE EVEN BOTHER.⠀🗲⠀watching the madman try to lift a crate of supplies, only to barely budge it and end up likely just hurting himself, was pathetic, if not a little embarrassing. "ugh, move as——" he moves to help put an end to further humiliation, but stops when henry insists he give him one more chance. to do what? he'd already known he'd never done any strength traning a day in his life. but, expression skeptical, felix steps back regardless, hand on a hip as henry pulls himself back onto his feet. he'll admit he's curious, if only just ; how exactly was it going to go any different this time?

instead of bending over to test it one more time like he expects, however, the silver-haired boy's fingers wiggle in an odd gesture. too late does felix realize what he's doing. hand reaches out: "wait——"

but a swarming shadow envelops the crate before he can intervene, and next thing he knows, it's lifting into the air, then sailing abruptly over the rail and into the roiling sea. he only gapes with disbelief for a split second——"what are you doing?!"——before rounding on henry in frustration, "are you a raging idiot? you were supposed to move it onto land, not——"

a loud whiz cuts him off, and he looks to see the crate appearing again over the starboard rail, the bottom slats dripping with water but the rest otherwise dry, now sailing off toward the dock. it hovers precariously, then comes to a landing where stacks of other similar crates are arranged, sitting neatly on top. the swarming shadow lifts from the box then and makes its way back to its master in an undulating cloud.

" . . . "

palm presses to temple ; a grated sigh rumbles from his throat. "you have to be joking."

he looks around. a few nearby sailors are looking their way, gesturing and talking to others close by. a shrug and sidestep dislodges henry's overly-friendly hand from his shoulder, and he moves toward the next of the crates. "never mind. i'll handle it myself. stay there and move the boxes where it's easier for me to pick them up." even if he couldn't lift them, he could at least push them closer to the edge of the ramp, couldn't he? without bothering with strange magic.

clouds of insects, walking dead. . . "what else can you summon with that magic of yours, anyway?" with a grunt, he hefts the next load into his arms and begins the careful walk down to the carriage loading area on the docks.

[wolfhednn]

𝗦𝗟𝗘𝗘𝗣𝗟𝗘𝗦𝗦 𝗡𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧.

mission. ANNI 2025⠀∶⠀heavy armor.

[seadasu]

The all-night mask. 

Unease floods his veins, lips pressing together to keep from interrupting the two who have continued a conversation that he can only understand as an outsider. The Salesman makes it seem as if it’s an ordinary thing. It’s Stay up to listen to stories and not Felix as he is - dead on his feet already and approaching a miserable, untimely death from lack of rest. 

A cruel way to die for most.

“He isn’t even wearing the mask.” Seadall finally argues, adding indignation to Felix’s demand. “How is it able to affect him like this?” It sounds suspiciously like dark magic, but he doesn’t say so, won’t risk bringing that awful expression to the forefront when he’s finally being cooperative. 

“Get rid of it?” The man doesn’t so much as look in Seadall’s direction, the contented stretch of his lips aimed at Felix with unnerving intensity. “No, no, no… That mask chose you. It’s uncommon…but you are an uncommon man, aren’t you.” 

Seadall blinks, unsure of the certainty at the forefront of the assessment. As if the masks at the tales they told were as similar as the spirits and cards he liked to consult. He shifts closer to Felix, hovering at his side. “Then,” He pauses to breathe in slowly, searching for balance. “Something about this all-night mask has resonated with him on a spiritual level?” There’s no answer. As if Seadall hasn’t spoken again. “At its core…should we find out what Felix’s soul is staying awake for? Or is it…the spirits of the mask that need to be appeased?”

There’s no answer. As if he hasn’t spoken. Again. 

Frustrated, he turns toward Felix, ignoring the chill that passes through him as he lays a hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps if we know what story the mask tells, we can figure out how to release the hold it has on you.”

So focused on Felix, he nearly jumps out of his skin when a peel of mid-ranged chuckles spills from the mask-man’s lips. “Yes, yes, the mask wants the stories to be heard - you are listening. Even now!” Seadall nods weakly, watching Felix for confirmation or denial.

[wolfhednn]

WHO'S TELLING THE STORY HERE?⠀🗲⠀felix can't explain what's happening. the strange salesman's voice has an odd quality to it ; it's soothing, like sitting by a roaring fireplace listening to old tales he's heard dozens of times, convincing and matter of fact. it's uncommon, yes, and he's an uncommon man. there's no reason to question what's being said, only to listen with half an ear, watching the snowfall beyond the windows of the sitting room.

a hand touches his shoulder, and the spell is broken——a pebble dropping through still water, sending out ripples of life. "nh?" he hadn't been falling asleep, yet he jolts awake nonetheless, disoriented. the salesman's smile is there still, fixed on him innocently, yet unnervingly. frustration bubbles up again, and he blinks hard, willing eyes to stay open and foggy thoughts lined up in a row.

"just, tell me what i have to do already," he grouses, losing patience with the riddles and phrases. what did that even mean, ' the mask wants the stories to be heard '? "what stories."

the two voices beyond the closet door. the father and the son.

was that what he meant?

"but first, you have to recover the item that was stolen from me!" out of nowhere, the salesman recovers his zeal again as if picking up from where he'd left off earlier ; felix startles, but if nothing else, at least it makes him alert. "yes, that mask can't be left in just anyone's hands. . . it'd be very bad. very, very bad." the way the words are spoken strike an ominous chord, more than just a madman's ravings. he must really be exhausted.

"so please!" another abrupt shift: the salesman is now bent at ninety-degrees, palms pressed together before them, practically on his knees. "i'm begging you. you must get it back for me!"

nobody else seems to be paying attention to the odd scene, market-goers swerving around them returned to their own business after the interruption.

"please!"

"all right, stop prattling." he just wants this man to stop. "we'll find your missing mask. once we return it, you'll take this. . . whatever spell this is, off me. got it?"

the man is stick-straight again, smile pristinely returned. "oh yes, yes, of course. i don't think i'll have to do much. by then, you'll already know the mask's story." then as if nothing had transpired, he gives them a wave like a child, flapping a hand open and closed a few times, then turns and disappears into the surrounding throng, enormous pack of masks on his back and all.

[wolfhednn]

𝗔𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗡𝗢.

mission. HERALD⠀∶⠀any skill.　|　" blood of the crimson flower "

[wolfhednn]

AHEAD, THE SUMMIT OF THE OGHMA MOUNTAINS LOOMED.⠀🗲⠀once, an academy sat on its peak, a cathedral of timeless marble, the seat of an immutable power and the faith that'd controlled minds across nations. there, he'd studied with peers and fought on endless missions that now all seemed pointless and childish, an innocent——ignorant——time.

now, he can see those years for what they were clearly: an embryo, the beginning of resolves that grew inside him like an anchoring seed, shouting against everything he saw around him, a maelstrom that would be dismissed again and again, refused to be listened to. they were the flagstones of a ruined structure that'd be felled and left to embitter and darken before they would shine. and today now stands the product of it, something he supposes he could be proud of. for he might not be all that everyone had thought he would be, but he was something he'd always wanted to be. when he fought, he could do so without scoffing at the ideals that powered his arm ; and when he killed. . .

. . . no. a passionless scoff turns his lips ; a rustle of silent wind disturbs the fur of his collar trim, once white and pristine like snow, now ragged like a lone wolf's mane. he'd never killed for anything more glorious than the fight. he might be delusional in some ways, but he'd stop short of deceiving himself that there had ever been more to the reason he swung his sword or did so now.

perhaps the empire had just become a means to an end. a cause that wasn't his father's, that some part of him might have believed in a long time ago. he can't remember anymore. now, he was also their means to an end. one he'd accepted, turning his eyes to the next battlefield until his death.

"you're back." footsteps' crunch on gravel and rock announce the arrival of a traveling party to this ruin of an outcrop tucked into the oghma mountainside, out of the way of most caravan paths and high enough to provide a good vantage point on the road that wound below. "edelgard. or should i say ' emperor '."

the leader of the empire's assault looks younger than he last remembers, but it's not as though they see each other often. she's only here to give him his next assignment——and it better not be to continue wasting his time here while the war raged elsewhere, dulling his sword and his senses.

"where do you need me."　/　@hresvelged

[seadasu]

Unjust ( but defınıtelч fαır )

☆ 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖻𝗈𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝖾𝗉𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗆𝗂𝖼 ☆ bσw 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗍 ☆ 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖺𝗅𝗅/ʄelix

[seadasu]

These people aren’t corrupted, obviously. Corrupted have this sort of rot about them, body and spirit. Hideous, bleak things. 

It’s been a long time since Seadall has been attacked by people possessed of a different fire. As Felix says, the woman is beyond reach despite the intelligence behind her attacks, forcing Seadall on a consistent backfoot while he weighs his options. Truly, there are no options left to them. Survive is a bare minimum, and Seadall has never settled for anything even close to it - doesn’t know how to even as he twists away from the stab of the lance to feel the bite of a steel sword scraping his side. It’s a minor wound, is all he has time to think, drawing sharp, staccato breaths that mirror his answering strikes. 

Trading blows is inevitable. With stinging knuckles, the weaker swordsman falls to the ground. Stunned, not dead, and in his peripherals is the short woman who’d addressed them first with her weapon aimed high enough to pierce his heart. 

Survival becomes the gold standard.

“Felix!” Does he even say the name aloud? He can’t be certain, nearly blinded by the white-hot flash of light that lands so close that it singes the ends of raven hair flying in front of him. 

No, not light. Lightning. His enemy is dead in an instant, features split between shock and a snarl where the powerful spell split her skull in imperfect halves. Had Felix done that? “H-” He finally has a moment to look back, the word dying on his lips when he catches sight of his companion. The swordsman Seadall been trading blows with was up again - looking to avenge his leader?

It doesn’t matter. Between the archer and the swordsman, the one closer to Felix is the larger threat. Bending, Seadall picks up the dead woman’s javelin, too whittled down by the previous spell to be thrown…but he wouldn’t have enough experience to throw it regardless. Instead, he wields it like a dagger, bounding forward and shoving the sharp end through leather armor. 

The swordsman falls in a graceless heap. “Felix.” The archer is still somewhere behind him, but Felix is in front of him. One arrow lodged in his abdomen and another in his back. Seadall would think him frozen in place if not for the slight stagger of his steps when he finally reaches him. “Hold on,” Adrenaline buzzes through his system, makes his tone both more breathless and sharper all at once. There’s a third arrow being readied, he’s sure. Maybe it's the fourth? He can feel it flying like a grim kind of premonition, but his hands are on Felix instead. “The stars won’t have us today.” A murmur that’s more for himself than Felix. A grounding element that channels healing magic from the amulet on his belt. It works well enough, relief washing through him when the wound knits shortly after he pulls the first arrow free from his back.

His hands still haven’t lifted, intently focused on Felix but aware enough of their surroundings to push him back down, forcing them both to fall into the dirt in an awkward parody of Felix’s first tackle. The archer’s arrow whizzes overhead and buries itself into a nearby tree with a telltale splinter of wood.

[wolfhednn]

HE PAYS FOR THE DEAD WITH ANOTHER ARROW.⠀🗲⠀this one pierces through leather and cloth, embedding in his torso ; adrenaline dulls the pain when he faces the swordsman back on his feet, now rushing him ; hands prepare in half-fists, ready to defend himself armless, bracing for the first swing——only for the man to suddenly jolt off balance, then pitch forward. a splintered haft protrudes from patchwork armor. the psychic——?

his arm grabbed, the arrow at his back hastily pulled. no, don't——but it comes free in another explosion of pain whose answering yell is only muffled through teeth biting down on his own arm, narrowly anticipating. what was he doing?? but then it dulls, soothed by a familiar, itching coolness.

healing magic.

there wasn't time to be grateful or to revel in it. instead of thanks, he finds himself on the ground, jarring the blood still flowing free from his other injury. a horn sounds somewhere in the distance, over the high walls of the fort. they couldn't stay here ; he could take a few untrained footmen, but while protecting someone? not to mention there was no telling how many more would come pouring out of the gate in seconds. seadall was grimly right: death wouldn't take them today, but they couldn't afford to be idiots if they wanted to make that happen.

his hand finds the other's forearm this time, firm grip brooking no resistance. "we have to go. now." forget negotiations ; the priority was escaping with their lives. another arrow whizzes ; he doesn't see where it lands, if it strikes. damn him for not thinking to bring his shield! shoving seadall behind him as they scramble to their feet, he pushes at him toward the treeline——"go, go!"——only following close behind when he feels him run. darkness blankets them from the wood cover, ferns whipping at his shins and branches in his hair.

neither of them had anticipated immediate, killing violence. maybe they should have. but this was a minor dispute about treating plague patients, not a war. why make more dead?

he doesn't understand, but it's clear the most direct path into the outpost was no longer an option, if they even wanted to continue trying at all. at this point, maybe they should cut their losses and head back, count the trip for nothing, and let the church send some knights out to clean up the mess.

maybe it's only one minute, maybe it's three or five that pass before he slows, the deep ache from the arrowhead still digging into his abdomen finally eclipsing adrenaline and forcing strides to halt, a hand to go to the site of the wound as he staggers, then collapses to his seat on a patch of rocky moss. "ugh..." a groan through rasped breath, and he pulls away a red-stained palm. who knows how much worse all the running had made it. breaths draw in long and sound, training kicking in to slow his heart rate down. then eyes lift to the way they'd come, scanning the foliage for symptom of pursuers. . . so far, the trees are quiet. though that didn't always mean anything.

". . . help me with this," he utters to the psychic, looking over to finally see if the other had sustained any injuries himself. "ugh, who'd have thought. what a waste."

[wolfhednn]

𝗗𝗔𝗬𝗦 𝗢𝗙 𝗢𝗟𝗗.

[wolfhednn]

TRUTH IS TOO OFTEN ONLY A MIRROR OF ONE'S DESIRES.⠀🗲⠀as a child, he used to be frequently disappointed when reality didn't live up to his expectations——whether it was a story, a trip, or a promised gift. like most children, he'd show his temper then and sulk, dismissed by his father who busied himself with apologizing to whoever was slighted and often visited later on by his brother who would sometimes coddle him with a better version of whatever he'd been seeking, if not a flippant joke or tale to make him forget it soon after.

truth eludes search, and he's familiar with the idea that the more doggedly one looks for it, the further away it tends to stray. he's thinking of his brother today——against all odds and his own better sense, he grasps for it regardless: that truth. because hope, frustrating and futile thing that it often is, is one of the hardest embers to snuff out. and even he is only human.

the likelihood it's what he thinks couldn't be any lower.

he tells himself this over and over like a mantra, repeating it like the prayers he disparages. it keeps him in check. like all children, he'd grown up, learned some discipline, and so he's no longer the sulking thing that had to be comforted.

and yet,

the black iron spur is heavy in the pocket of his cloak. his fingers stay wrapped around it as though it were a precious gemstone, one a kind as it is, afraid it might dislodge from its safekeeping and be lost in this web of illegal stables and for the price of his hope, he might bet one precious thing only to lose two.

left. right. another right. the warren of these stalls kept out of sight run deeper than they initially seemed. just how extensive was this seller's holdings? he couldn't imagine that the underground market for illegal horse trade would be so extensive ; why, when he'd never thought horses were difficult to come by normally? the fact that she was here——if she was ; he schools his hope into obedience again——suggests they already knew she wasn't just your usual steed. 73. . . 74. . . the numbers hung beside each narrow door grin snaggle-toothed at him in chipped and peeling paint, old and worn. it spoke of an operation that was not only long-standing, but mobile ; whoever was in charge moved it around like a nomadic enterprise, most likely to evade capture by authorities whenever they might've started catching on. much as he loathed it, this was the only reason he hadn't told anyone else about it himself yet, lest it slip out of his grasp before he had the chance to see for himself.

81. . . 82. . . at last, stall 86 nears, and his pulse accelerates unconsciously. 83, a grey-flecked beast, old in the eyes, coat growing in for the winter. 84, a tall, brown gelding staring at nothing.

——movement startles him to a stop. stall 86 must be just around this corner, around which another figure now appears, cloaked, identity hidden. it's not unlike his own, with his hair worn beneath one scarf and a second one covering his face from the eyes below, academy uniform replaced with nondescript garb. every instinct screams at him to reach for his sword, but instead, he narrows his eyes and stays on the alert. acting had never been his forte, but pretending as though he belonged here as much as anyone else came more easily than expected when his pursuit was urgent. "get out of my way," he snaps gruffly, only able to hope they wouldn't attack. he couldn't afford a scene here, or a fight. if it came to it, he would have to subdue them as quickly and silently as possible. "i've got water to fetch."　/　@corvusi

[wolfhednn]

NASA sent Sally Ride 100 tampons for the 2 weeks she would be in space.

mission. INFAMOUS⠀∶⠀laundry mixup, better known as felix has never seen a woman in his life.

[wolfhednn]

THESE PRANKS WERE GETTING RIDICULOUS.⠀🗲⠀so felix thinks to himself, standing before the basket of neatly-folded attire with iresome hands on his hips and a deeper crease in his brows than the usual disapproval that'd made its home long ago in the lines there. apparently, some of his classmates had too much idle time on their hands and nothing to do with it. this wasn't surprising by itself ; there were always people who just want to joke around and didn't want to take anything seriously——he doesn't care, as long as it didn't end up getting in his way.

but going out of one's way to strip down someone's drying laundry, then find some other unwitting suspect and do the same, just to exchange their clothes and make everyone's life more difficult?

why.

he couldn't understand why anyone would bother.

"hnh. perhaps i should ask sylvain. seems like someone who'd pull this nonsense." but even as he scoffs, he doesn't really think it's him. sylvain might be a frivolous fool and a halfwit, but he wouldn't go out of his way on purpose to annoy him like this.

in any case, he wasn't going to be handling these clothes ; they obviously belonged to a girl. the style of clothing aside, there were all manner of. . . intimate articles in the basket that he had no interest in handling. that, if nothing else, was something sylvain could be good for. no doubt he'd handled plenty.

hefting the basket up by the handles, he sighs audibly and makes for the door, swinging it open with one foot and turning sideways to squeeze out into the adjoining corridor. ears redden at the thought of being seen by anyone like this, but he'd heard that others had similarly met the ends of the laundry thief lately, so surely they'd recognize that there'd be no other reason for him to be carrying girls' clothes. still, he tries to be as discreet as he can as he makes his way down the stairs and across the way to the other side of the segregated dorms.　/　@macnaradhaigh

[wolfhednn]

𝗦𝗜𝗠𝗜𝗟𝗜𝗔 𝗦𝗜𝗠𝗜𝗟𝗜𝗕𝗨𝗦 𝗖𝗨𝗥𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗨𝗥.

mission. EPIDEMIC⠀∶⠀reason.

[misericordel]

"ah!" veyle gasps, unable to stop the man from ripping the papers out of her grasp. the laughter that follows combined with the glares and jeers leveled her way causes her to second guess herself.

thankfully felix is here to back her up, but even then...

"aaaahhh, it's this nonsense again." the merchant sighs, kneading his shoulder with his right hand and holding the stack of papers out carelessly with his left. "i was willing to give the church the benefit of doubt, but here they are paying people to make things up about me again."

the crowd erupts into jeers and boos again, taking the man by his word almost immediately in comparison to the two of them. he doesn't have to say anything else, a small self-righteous smirk appearing on his face while supposedly no one is looking at him.

"what are you talking about!?" veyle stutters. again, he says. this is the first time they're coming out to apprehend him, though! "he's— he's lying! what do we have to do to get all of you to believe us!?"

[wolfhednn]

FELIX CAN'T BELIEVE HIS EARS.⠀🗲⠀paying who to make things up about some common medicine seller? why would anyone bother? yet, he finds that there's nothing for him to say——he can't exactly prove that it's not true, though he hadn't expected to come out today needing to. and deep down, he'll admit that a part of him wonders if they're wrong ; the church is hardly innocent despite what they'd like everyone to think. he's seen enough these recent years to question some of their decisions himself. was there more here they hadn't been told? it wouldn't be surprising by now to be sent on a wild goose chase to apprehend a criminal, knowing only half of what was going on.

"just get lost!" the crowd, sensing their upper hand, has grown bolder ; the voice this time belongs to a young boy, voice still high.

"get out of here!" others join in.

" ' what do we have to do to make you believe us ~ ?! '" someone mocks in singsong, "maybe don't think you can march off with anyone who helps us!"

"take your holier-than-thou attitude with you!"

"get hit by a carriage on the way out!"

this isn't getting anywhere. if they keep trying, it's likely they'll be met with force, and putting down a crowd of unarmed civilians just to arrest one potential crook is the work of a fool. they'd only worsen the villagers' impression of the church if they did. "let's go," he says to the girl, trying to convince and steer her away before she can make some other plea to just embarrass them more. "this is pointless." snatching the allegedly counterfeit papers back from the still-seated man, he turns on his heel and begins forging his way back through the crowd, chest burning with humiliation.

[ostianshadow]

you wanna take a swing oar what?

[anniversary mission board | lance+ ]

[ostianshadow]

Quiet, he says. Matthew can appreciate that.

"It was pretty busy, huh. Guess I don't blame you wanting to catch a break." The boat continues to drift, light breeze gliding it through the water one painstaking inch at a time.

"You didn't wanna participate? Test your mettle?"

He reaches for the oar through the reeds nearer the water's edge. Reaches, fingers just dusting against the grain of wood but not quite within reach yet. He tries again, a careful swipe, but the boat pitches against a rock and well, careful isn't quite the name of the game now as Matthew, with a yelp of surprise, makes a grab for whatever might keep him nice and dry -

The paddle, in this case. Ill-advised as any ounce of logic would have decried.

There's a splash.

[wolfhednn]

HUMAN PERCEPTION IS AN ODD THING.⠀🗲⠀at first he thinks he must have fallen in, or is about to, the sharp cry and splash making him flinch as flecks of water wet his face. but his two feet are still on the ground, the slender branch still in his grasp. and the oar: struck loose from his hand and gliding on the water's dark surface, drifting, little more than a silhouetted shape a meter away.

the underside of the boat bobs up to the surface just past it, a rounded dome, an instant before there's another, larger splash off to its side, big enough for him to see where the water sprays as if it's been struck by something under.

that gets him to move, alarm rising. "hey!" lurching toward the water, then recoiling when he sees something flip up right in front of him from beneath the surface and slap the top before disappearing back under, stout and living——a fish? no, it'd looked like the end of a tail.

like——

some meters out next to the capsized boat, a head breaks the surface ; he hopes it's whoever'd been in it and not the other end of whatever he'd just seen. "something's in the water!" he barks, gesturing urgently for them to swim to shore as he stoops down to try and grab the end of the oar again to help. "get over here!"

[wolfhednn]

𝗔 𝗧𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗢𝗙 𝗧𝗪𝗢 𝗧𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗦.

mission. EPIDEMIC⠀∶⠀any skill.　　/　　combat doc

[tomatotactician]

        Feathers flutter across the field as the Felix's arrow strikes true. Leo is already gripping his lance, sending a bolt of flame arcing from its tip towards the girl clinging to her steed.         She flickers. The flames fly past, harmlessly dissipating in the wind; Leo scrambles for a follow-up, fighting down his questions: What? How? Why?                  If he can get between the girl and her axe, she'll be—         He's too slow on foot. The pegasus barrels towards him, into him as Dervla leans down and snags her weapon from the weeds. Leo hasn't been trampled by a horse in years. It hurts like hell. At least pegasi swoop with their hooves tucked, but the impact sends him flying, rolling, clinging to his lance with a groan.                  He can already hear Xander's voice in the back of his head: Get up! Would a foe in battle wait for you to find your feet? Leo grits his teeth, rising raggedly.

[wolfhednn]

HE'S NOT UNSKILLED WITH A BOW ,⠀🗲⠀but the girl's movements are too erratic. she doesn't fly like any normal pegasus knight, instead darting around in unpredictable jerks and bounces like a madwoman. it's effective in deterring fire, that's for sure, though he has no idea how she's managed to control her mount to pull it off. one arrow——two——both miss their mark, a wild laugh sounding on the heels of the second that he swears he sees pass through her again. what is that technique she's using?!

"eyes over here, haha!" a sharp impact on his side sends him sprawling in the grass with a pained grunt ; damn it. he'd been too focused on trying to hit the girl that he'd lost track of the other opponent.

where was his ally? pushing himself up and ignoring the angry smarting in his ribs, he nocks another arrow and fires, more to deter his assailant than hit him ; a quick glance reveals the blond also staggering to his feet on the near the other side of the field. "wh—shit! dervla, hit 'em!"

"when he's got a bow? not on your life ; i'm a flier!" she does another loop around the far end of the field on wingedback instead as gelam mutters something he can't hear from here under his breath.

suddenly, the shrill blare of a whistle stops them all in their tracks, heads whipping around to the sidelines where one of the proctors jogs towards them with an arm in the air. "six feet apart! the rules are to stay six feet apart at all times!" felix can hear shouted across at them, and the proctor gestures as gelam as he comes closer. "it's an automatic loss if we catch you again."

a scowl screws on the young man's face as he drops his eyes to the ground and agitates the grass with the toe of his boot. "okay, got it."

"i'm serious."

"yeah, i said i got it!"

a taut second passes between student and proctor before the latter pointedly puts the whistle back in his mouth and backs up toward the sidelines again. "okay, resume. six feet apart."

[wolfhednn]

𝗕𝗢𝗥𝗥𝗢𝗪𝗘𝗗 𝗕𝗢𝗡𝗘𝗦.

mission. PEARLESCENT⠀∶⠀riding.

[oflowersandlight]

She’s beginning to tire of being dragged around like a child’s rag doll. Striking Felix for doing so is, unfortunately, out of the question; if whatever is out there is looking for them half as hard as they are now looking for it, it would be unwise to provoke any sort of pain response, most of which are very noisy, in Poe’s experience. Instead, through a thin smile, she assures below her breath:

“I am perfectly alert, thank you. And I’m in no greater hurry to stand around than you are.”

Without the additional guidance Felix has, Poe is left to rely on her own Gods-given senses. The foliage paths wind into themselves—Poe considers having a strong sense of direction to be a necessity for her craft, but even she has begun to lose her sense of where they’ve come from. She suspects that whatever may wander out of sight might not have the same issue. In fact—

—it is easy for the mind to wander, hovering around the conclusion that such may be by design.

"Did that really sound like pain, to you?" In the dark like this and with a line of sight mere feet long at any given time, her ears strain to pick up the slack, searching for discernment between reality and the phantom noises caution conjures. Any footstep could belong to her, him, or whatever else ekes out life out here. Any breath could be hers, his, or otherwise. She quickly casts a glance behind them, but finds nothing. "I had assumed it might be a warning."

[wolfhednn]

IN A HALF-WILD BEAST, BOTH COULD BE TRUE.⠀🗲⠀his eyes narrow against the dim and dingy shadows of their surroundings as he thinks about how to convey this, but instead a rustle in the distance pulls his attention away entirely. the line of discussion easily forgotten in favor of vigilance, he stills his steps. . . listening. . .

the distant bay of dogs has never once subsided ; he can't tell if they're still as far as they were before or getting closer, and if that's just in his imagination if so. he's letting the tension get to his head. taking a deep, quiet breath, he finds himself almost wishing one of the hounds or whatever monster lay in this warren would come out already ; dangerous though it might be, he could handle himself in a fight. this kind of sneaking around was better suited for the thieves and conmen.

at the end of the long row, there's another turn. then another, and another in tight quarters, drawing a frown onto already-tense features. it feels like they're getting deeper into some corner——

the ground disappears from under him, stomach lurching to his throat and hands grasping wildly for anything, clawing at skidding walls of hard-packed soil.

"ngh!" legs crumple under as he hits a painful landing on something hard, jabbing him in multiple places. fearing the worst, he looks down, but it's hard to see anything in the deeper darkness of the pit a half-dozen meters deep. it's fairly large, enough that he's not certain if the solid blackness over his shoulder is shadow or wall, but as he gingerly tries to lift his leg, he's relieved to find it not stuck on or pierced through by anything, only to hear the rattle of hollow objects displaced and knocking around under him as he moves. he shifts his weight more firmly to try and put a foot down on hopefully solid floor and is met with a crunch, and his hand, reaching out cautiously to brace, touches something hard and dry and turns it over. half of a skull peers back up at him in the dim shaft of moonlight, upper jaw missing, inhuman. instinctively, he pulls his hand back. all around, other bones are piled, impossible to tell apart.

"a grave," he pronounces——or something like it. another awkward step gets his other foot to the bottom, wading through knee-deep, as he begins to register the sting in a few different places where he must have been cut as he'd landed.

[ruinedskys]

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰

𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖻𝗈𝖺𝗋𝖽: 𝗂𝗇𝖿𝖺𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗌 | 𝗌𝗒𝗅𝗏𝖺𝗂𝗇/𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗑 | 𝗀𝖺𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗌 +𝟣

[ruinedskys]

One of two things is happening–

Either Felix is about to tell Sylvain off (really tell him off, tone turned ice despite a subtle rose tint  to his cheeks) or his proposal is actually being considered. Felix is funny that way, that even after all these years, he can’t really tell what’s coming for him. There’s no indication either way since he always looks a little bit ready to fight.

Red brows threaten his hairline, surprise slipping through for the briefest second. Got him. Stopped in the hallway together, Sylain laces his hands behind his head and grins, feeling a bit like he’d already conquered the harder part of the evening. Everything past here had to be a breeze. “Just maybe?” His voice lilts, teasing. The rest of his body follows the curl at the end of the question, gesturing away from the direction Felix had been headed originally. “When have I ever led you astray?” 

Too many times to count. But who’s really counting? He’s bound to have some good grace cushioning the years and years they’ve known each other.  

With the knowledge of new and unerringly judgmental eyes around the Monastery, the grounds are appropriately vacant as the distant bell chimes the official end of the working day. That or anyone with good sense is practicing their steps for the upcoming dance. It gives them time. “I wonder how it all works. What do you have to do to look back at it… ? say a little prayer to the Goddess? Light a fire under it? I’d hate to come all this way and not be able to make it,” he waves his arms in the air, a vague gesture. “Work.“

Trailing off, he slows Felix by throwing his arm out as if it were something he could use to block their path. “Look, you can kind of see them even from the bridge.” Even from this far down, Sylvain could see the clunky metal addition where it seemed suspended outside one of the more famously trespassed balconies. “I figure I’ll just pull it down…if I lean over the balcony, I’ll be able to reach it- unless there are easier ones to grab. You won’t let me fall, right?” He chances a glance, assessing. “That’s assuming they aren’t magically warded. Unless you’ve got a better idea.” 

It occurs that he should have put more time into planning this. It’s been less than one hour since they’ve learned about them at all, but that makes this the only chance. After today, security will be even tighter - especially if they’re not the only ones trying to see the new technology.

[wolfhednn]

HE'D SAY HE'D BETTER NOT END UP REGRETTING THIS ,⠀🗲⠀but when sylvain was involved, the chances were so slim that it hardly seemed worth it. still, a faint light plays at the edges of his eye as he follows in step after the other's more energetic strides and emphatic gestures, not bothering with a response to the barrage of rhetorical questions. he'd barely been paying attention when the professor mentioned the new innovations in class ; talk had already moved by that point onto the ethereal ball, of which he had no interest each year and didn't plan for that to be different anytime soon.

similarly, he's content to listen to sylvain with only half an ear——until they're close to the tower in question and he nearly takes an elbow to the face to stop him in his tracks. "hey, watch it."

naturally, he goes unnoticed.

impassive amber gaze follows the line of sylvain's instead to the decorated balconies dotting the height of the goddess tower's circumference, head tilted back, searching the cracks between skeletal tree branches for a sign of anything abnormal. it takes a few moments, the angle of the sun reflecting off the metal and causing it to blend in with the aged stone facade, but he finally catches sight of the object and instantly wonders how it'd taken him that long to see it. perhaps precisely because he'd been expecting something more subtle. the recording device juts out of the side of the stone like an unnatural arm, bulky and unnattractive ; they must really be desperate to catch anyone determined to squirrel away here if they were willing to set up something so ugly. he realizes just as sylvain proposes working together to pull it down that they'd have to commit a form of theft to accomplish this, and his next sigh comes out grated as his weight shifts onto one foot, hand resting on his hip. "instead of falling, you should be worried about getting caught by the knights. or the acolytes. you might even get expelled, depending on how much they spent to buy it."

if there's a ghost of amusement to the tenor of the last part——a threat they both knew was likely trivial owing to their statuses——it was all in sylvain's head.

"do we have to do this now? why don't we just come back at night if you're so concerned about this?"

[wolfhednn]

𝗡𝗘𝗦𝗦𝗨𝗡 𝗗𝗢𝗥𝗠𝗔.

[wolfhednn]

HE'S NEVER BELIEVED IN MIRACLES.⠀🗲⠀not as the clerics and the priests tell them of saints and the goddess' hand: brought down by divine intervention, making wine out of water and sickness into health, at the blink of an eye curing all things and making all troubles well. it runs against the edicts he's been taught and what he's always known——that if there's anything like those miracles, they're to be found at the end of the road of hard work, grasped between hands from which the skin had peeled and bled for.

no. if miracles existed, he thinks they come in much smaller and more useless ways.

a loaf of bread in the back of the pantry that miraculously hasn't gone bad ; a lesson that had to be cancelled, allowing him to sleep in a little later that morning ; a black iron spur, once lost, suddenly showing up again exactly where he steps on it, nearly ruining his boot. and the tune of a song he can't get out of his head, only to suddenly find himself hearing it on the outside, too.

　　none shall sleep, 　　none shall sleep. 　　even you, oh Princess, 　　in your cold room. 　　watch the stars 　　that tremble with dread 　　and with hope.

he's never been one to relate to the romantic overtures of the famous operatic aria, most well known of the pieces from lasairfhíona, but there were plenty of other things about the work he'd resonated with. coming from a militaristic family, obviously the plights and feelings unique to a warrior fighting a battle far from home rang true——the listlessness of knowing whether you'd be dead or alive come morning, and the way old thoughts came to haunt the darkest hours when sleep fled. it was an old opera, so it'd been a long time since he'd heard those songs ; he still recalls the last time he had seen it performed in fhirdiad when he was younger, before everything had happened, sitting in the rows with his father and his brother. it was hard to explain what had made him think of it again, and even harder to accept that its appearance in the market square of the cathedral town on the same day was just coincidence.

almost against his will——he'd come here to run errands, not to get sidetracked——he approaches the seated crowd gathered around a man beside a large instrument, curiosity compelling every step. but where he expected a musician, the man did nothing but stand there half-smiling like a shepherd tending his flock ; all of the listeners sat with their eyes closed and faces upturned, basking intently, and he just there to watch over them. it was an odd sight, least of all because the instrument appeared to just be playing by itself, similarly without movement, the notes of the aria drifting out from its shining bronze surface in a tinny and distant crackle. it didn't even sound good, yet something about it pulled at him nevertheless——as though he were looking at a large portrait and leaning to peer in close at a small, subtle detail in its background: trying to solve a mystery that spoke out in such a small voice, demanding not to be drowned out.

what was it? what was it he was listening for? beneath the barely-audible melody and the muffled rise of the tenor's voice. . .

　　but my secret is hidden with me 　　the truth no one shall know.

the last thing felix remembers is looking to the ' musician ' in turn and seeing patient eyes looking back, wordlessly allowing him to sit here with the rest ; a half-smile, wavy blue hair. . . just like his own, and not at all like his own.　/　@ruinedskys

[wolfhednn]

𝗦𝗟𝗘𝗘𝗣𝗟𝗘𝗦𝗦 𝗡𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧.

mission. ANNI 2025⠀∶⠀heavy armor.

[seadasu]

Jumping to conclusions isn’t what Seadall likes to do. Whatever the general population thinks about the art of fortunetelling or sight-related gifts, the talent has taught him to do just the opposite. To weigh what he knows versus what is laid bare before him, if only to keep him from making important decisions based on intangible feelings. 

That doesn’t make it easy.

Rubbing at the angry red left on his skin by the stranger’s hands, he looks to Felix even as he strives to keep the threat in his direct line of sight. 

“Hmm…” There is a small wrinkle between Felix’s brows, but he doesn’t know the other well enough to glean whether it’s confusion or just simple fatigue that’s conjured it. When the other doesn’t answer fast enough, he leans in. “You purchased a mask?” He hadn’t been paying much attention to Felix, but the other had indicated that there was something he’d left behind. “Which one?” this, he aims at the shopkeeper.

“Oh,” That serene gaze sweeps over them one more time, and Seadall shivers when it feels more that he’s been seen through rather than looked at. “Why…I can’t say…” 

As the salesman dissolves into mindless rambling, Seadall clears his throat. “You don’t remember?”

It gets a reaction. Another lightning boosted twist of his entire body, glaring at Seadall with palpable ire. “You think I don’t know every mask? Every story that is my burden, to-” With his head in his hands, he breathes harshly, until those breaths slow. He comes up smiling. “It’s my joy, my calling. Of course I know every mask.” 

Seadall doesn’t step back because he’s retreating, but he does edge closer to Felix when that endlessly patient, loving gaze turns toward him.

“Every mask is a gift, given to me to give to others whose souls yearn for them. You must have needed one such…unless…unless you’ve stolen it.” A flicker of madness. There and gone. “You wouldn’t steal one of my masks, would you?”

[wolfhednn]

HE MIGHT BE SLEEP-DEPRIVED ,⠀🗲⠀but he can see when a man is clearly too mad to be worth their time. they're not getting anywhere like this, and he has even less patience today than usual. "i didn't steal anything," he retorts sharply, instinctively in defense, but even so he knows that it's true. why would he have any reason to take that man's wares? he'd only gone into the store in the first place because. . . because. . .

strange. he can't remember. but it must not've been important.

"one of your masks just appeared in my room. i was planning to give it back, or i thought someone had misplaced it, but the lack of sleep. . . "

the warmth of the sun on the back of his neck is like the heat of a glaring eye. voices, as if from underwater——a man and a child. the man has to leave home for a little while to research something outside, and the child is whining for him not to go. it's just the two of them in this place. their words are garbled and incomprehensible, stilted sentences, but he understands this like he'd learned of it somewhere before. he's placing his hand against the barrier again that separates himself from them. it's me! he wants to yell. but he doesn't know why. i'm in here!

"the lack of sleep. . . ?"

felix jolts back into himself, grunting and giving his head a firm shake. heel of hand presses to his temple, hard. what was that?

what had been talking about? "ngh. . . before i could, i. . . i couldn't sleep."

"yes, that would be thanks to the all-night mask." the happy salesman's energetic bobbing——nodding, he supposes, though he's never seen anyone do it with almost their whole body like that——is just as offputting as the rest of him. "it does do that. holds stories and stories beyond your wildest imagination, it does! it has to."

something about the way he says that strikes felix as strange ; brows knit. "has to?"

"how else could you last through grandmother's tales all night? she'd get angry with you if you fell asleep, wouldn't she?" confusion swirls in his fogged mind ; his grandmother? he supposes that's true. ——wait, no, he hadn't even known his——what was he talking about? and why did it feel like it made sense? with another bewildered groan, unsure what to think, he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to will scattered thoughts to order themselves. eventually, their random swimming arranges itself into something he can grasp onto.

"turn me. . . back. whatever you and that mask did to me. get rid of it."

[seadasu]

Unjust ( but defınıtelч fαır )

☆ 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖻𝗈𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝖾𝗉𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗆𝗂𝖼 ☆ bσw 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗍 ☆ 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖺𝗅𝗅/ʄelix

[seadasu]

Oh. 

As compact as he is - Felix’s weight is a brutal force. Maybe it’s the added swiftness, the sheer burst of motion behind the action, but Seadall doesn’t find his bearings quick enough to do anything but fall. It isn’t even a graceful fall. The impact steals the breath from his body, air hissing through his teeth when he lifts his legs and uses momentum to land on his feet in a crouch. 

It’s at least better than having an arrow between his ribcage. “Thanks.” Despite the alert, the archer doesn’t fire again, making their exact location difficult to pinpoint. Positioning himself at Felix’s elbow, he faces away to scan for enemies in the opposite direction, finding the wildlife to be eerily still. “I’ll admit that the conflict I was expecting was more…raised voices behind closed doors.” He should have known better…

In the quiet, he breaks away from Felix, catching his gold-toned gaze long enough to convey apparent apprehension. The outpost’s heavy door refuses to budge when he pulls, iron ringing when Seadall drops it. “Hello? We were sent here to help, like he said,” Another glance at Felix, weighing the new name and title before he repeats it. “Felix Hugo Fraldarius, that is. We aren’t enemies.” 

Ready for another surprise attack, Seadall jumps back a pace when the door itself hisses. A long, loud scrap of metal announces that someone is on the other side of the door. 

Everyone’s not dead. He’s relieved for a span of a second before the door springs open to the unmistakable hush of an arrow that grazes the side of his face. “Who-” Two arrows rapidly fired, though the dancer sidesteps the second with only instinct to guide him. Three arrows, two swordsman, and a lance fighter that closes the space between herself and Seadall with a killing kind of focus. “Wait!” He dodges the steel that sweeps a jagged edge in the dirt where his feet had just been. 

Foldan politics. Seadall could stay here for years and not understand them. With his lips forming a permanent frown, he holds his hands up and continues to sidestep strikes until any seem rational enough to listen. Without looking, he can hear the clash where others have engaged Felix, too. “What is going on?” He manages to demand a few minutes later, when the initial adrenaline has worn off. 

“You’re more religious idealists,” The lance wielder is looking over Seadall’s shoulder, to wherever Felix is. “Come to make sure that we’ve been dealt with? Whatever help you've brought, we don't need it -we won this outpost fair and square. You can either be locked up with the rest of them in the dungeons, or you can die. Pick one.” 

“Foldan politics…” It’s a curse, but Seadall can’t wrap his head around what he wants to say. “I don’t understand. Are you at war?” 

…because their mission assignment had very conveniently left this kind of conflict out.

[wolfhednn]

GOING BACK UP TO THE GATE HAD BEEN RECKLESS.⠀🗲⠀the moment another two arrows sing out, he's moving——pouncing forward to pull seadall back out of the way, only to be rushed before he can reach him by a pair of crude swordsmen. their clothing suggests local and haphazard militia, but as he swings his sword to block the first incoming strike before relinquishing his position to hurry out of the way of another one, he realizes that whatever they lacked in skill, they made up for in cold-blooded zeal. these people hadn't just come out to warn them ; they were aiming to put a permanent end to any perceived threat.

"don't try to reason!" between drawing blood with the edge of his blade along the first attacker's sword arm and taking the few seconds of opportunity to turn around and engage the second, he manages to bark out at the bewildered psychic——who, by some miracle, is still alive, but won't be for much longer if he continues trying to understand rather than defend himself. "put them down!"

when an enemy came at you with bloodlust, they waged their life to achieve that end. in order to survive, you had to be willing to do the same. any half-hearted effort out of reluctance to harm would only end with your life bleeding out into the dirt and nothing to show for it.

"nhgh!" a boot to the stomach sends his opponent staggering back, doubled over and retching ; but it's just enough time for the first to decide to abandon his weapon altogether, charging him head-on instead like a wild bull. felix lets his own sword be thrown out of his hand from the impact, lest in the chaos of hitting the ground and rolling, hands ripping at his hair and spit in his face, he only end up running himself through. if seadall was fighting back now or was still trying diplomacy, there was no way to tell.

twisting and fighting, he eventually manages to worm an arm between himself and the assailant enough to fasten his palm to the other's throat, thumb and fingers digging hard into the gap of the jugular. the man's eyes bulge, face reddening with fury and exertion ; they roll again ; felix finds himself on top and bears his weight down, driving a knee down and forward just beneath the center of the breastbone.

"yield, and i won't——"

pain explodes at the center of his back, a hard arrowhead digging in under flesh and sinew. gasping, he staggers up to his feet on instinct, plodding several labored steps back. a line of warmth tickles the side of his neck, dripping from his face, and he snarls as his left hand flexes into a claw, eyes searching for his sword. the man he'd just been on was curled on his side on the ground ; the other swordsman was staggering towards him ; behind them all, the archer readies another arrow. but felix sees the spearwoman rushing forward again, ready to drive her javelin through seadall with a wild grimace——and that's where he throws the blast of thoron, a sizzling boom of thunder magic shattering the quiet wood in a funnel of white.

[wolfhednn]

𝗕𝗢𝗥𝗥𝗢𝗪𝗘𝗗 𝗕𝗢𝗡𝗘𝗦.

mission. PEARLESCENT⠀∶⠀riding.

[oflowersandlight]

“If we knew the details, we wouldn’t need to look for it,” Unhelpfully, she non-answers. Satisfied that there is nothing left to learn from the empty vial as-is, she undoes the clasp on the leather bag she’s brought for this occasion and gingerly places it inside. She has no intention of leaving before finding something properly damning, even if it takes them until the sun rises. But still she pockets it in case it is needed—she is sure they have some sort of spell back at the monastery that can reveal what it once contained.

“But I have it on good authority that something is not right here. This is a difficult continent to keep a secret in,” She says with an almost conspiratorial smile. The paths forward become shorter and shorter, each turn giving way to another in briefer succession. “And while the dogs themselves are an open secret–” One more turn reveals a dead end, to which she stops, placing her hands on her hips—what an inconvenience– “–those poor souls who have gone missing–”

Her thought is rent in two, killed before it leaves her lips by something bigger, louder. Guttural; something caught between a snarl and a wail. Poe flinches, a hand raising a bit too late to cover her ears. Her first thought is that it is a beast, but if it is, this is no sound she’s ever heard a beast make before.

It doesn’t sound close enough that she feels confident they could see it. 

It doesn’t sound far enough that they don’t have to worry about it, either.

Poe turns, fully pivoting on her heel. More quietly: “…you don't see anything of note, do you?”

[wolfhednn]

HAND FLYING TO HIS SHIELD ,⠀🗲⠀feet ready to move poe out of the way of something incoming. but even as the body reacts to protect her, his focus is on that cry. something about it was strange. it was ferocious, but he'd never heard any creature or crest beast make a sound like it.

what was wrong with it. . .

instead of answering her question, he quickly takes her wrist and pivots back the way they'd come——"this way"——taking several hastened steps before saying anything more. "whatever made that sound. we need to find it." he couldn't explain why, only that he had an inscrutable feeling, and that he couldn't say for sure that it'd be safe. "stay alert. it could be dangerous." the next bend brings them to an uninterrupted corridor extending forward, longer than any since entering this labyrinth ; he nearly stalls upon seeing it, suspicious of its empty and open invitation. one thing he'd considered when she'd mentioned the dogs earlier is the maze's spotless condition. if there'd been multiple people torn limb from limb in these hedges, he'd expect to see more evidence of struggle, blood or scraps left behind. perhaps lady duval was just a meticulous cleaner, but it didn't make sense to go through that much effort just to do it again.

for now, he didn't know what to make of it, or if it mattered at all. they needed more evidence, anything to point them in a clearer direction. and that guttural bay had to be something. then it clicks:

"it sounded like it was hurt."

at the end of the corridor, he keeps his head on a turn, but heads right at the next intersection instead of continuing forward. it was the opposite direction of where the mask told him to go, but——he hopes——closer to that sound.