crimsonretainer

[crimsonretainer]

HUBERT ALMOST WANTS TO LAUGH AT THE DAGGER TO HIS THROAT, something deserved and more for the words he speaks without regard for the thoughts of others. Madness is a new title to him, one that fits so well with the coldness that seeps within him at the thought of the mage going uncaught for so long. "Madness no, but to the edges of anger would be apt!" He cares little for appearances now, shouting to raise his fellow when matters of nations are involved. "And clearly she's been a traitor for far longer!" His gaze is harsh, yet there is little signs of dishonesty in it. Even now, such a truth stings at his mind when it's a cause he's searched for far too long. "That is exactly what I mean to imply, not just that, but the utterly despicable crest experiments that cost Adrestia it's lineage." He's angry, not at the man, but at himself for failing to see what should have been such an obvious thread for so long.

"Aegir, Gerth, Bergliez, Hevring, Varley, Vestra, Arundal and Cornelia. Eight names, eight who lead us to a decrepit emperor left to mourn his children. You think I would so easily accuse her majesty's uncle of the same treachery were it not true?" Words like flames, rising and rising as the man asks for proof. "If you need to know, ask that Prince Alfonse, remind him of the price that words must pay if you must." There is only one suspicion in his mind as to her motive, one that he needed to speak aloud if the man were ever to believe the words from his mouth.

"He never found her you know, My Father, he searched and searched for Lady Anselma, but all records of her ended at Fearghus' border. Even that power hungry fool was unwilling to risk war over Lady Edelgard's mother."

@cielenruine

We didn't start the fire

interlude - Matthias - Week2 - ToAEpiphany - Cont. from here.

[crimsonretainer]

The rage does not dissipate, nor can it truly be allowed to, when the link he's been searching for over the course of six long years has finally been revealed to him. "You truly fail to realise the consequences of those names, don't you?" Dark laughter from his lips, mocking and vicious like some joke has finally managed to break through his ever cold demeanour. It's too late to take it back, the piece of a puzzle that's been obscured by mirage after mirage finally laid bare before hues that burn like the last embers of a flame

"To even insinuate that the Projectionist worked with the Court Mage of Fearghus, hearsay strong enough to link the fate of nations with words alone." A dark look to his visage now, one that spells doom for any who interfere with the work to come. Disregarding the lies of omission for the moment, while his attention turned to the list of names spoken aloud. "A word of advice, any others you spoke of this to should be advised to take this to the grave. Lest you wish them hunted for the knowledge to leave them hunted by they who go to great lengths to obscure themselves." The dull dagger is lowering now, a mask slipping back into place with revealed little of the tumultuous thoughts that lingered in his mind. His suspicions as to the nature of that chilling magic over Garreg Mach has been revealed, lessons as a boy of the Goddess' Fury and the Valley of torment connecting like strings to the blast of magic that had washed over him. Even now, the information is working through his mind like strings of magic, the connections between his despised yet reluctant ally and the magic dating back for eons all joining like myriad strings. "They have always been connected, for far longer than you know." A cold gaze, one that often served as a prelude to terrible magics. "We have seen the memories the Projectionist wished to show, the terrible magics she and her foes wield. Neither is better than the other, not when they have wanted to tear this down for longer than Garreg Mach has stood." His back turns to the man, walking forward to clear the barricade he'd set for their impromptu conversation, allowing the weight of his words to linger in the air like dangling blades. "You should understand now, the danger in speaking the names of those who slither in the shadows." A sigh for the man has left him too much to think about in too short a period, a haunted gaze in his eyes. "Go, speak of this to no one, lest you wish to make them pawns in a grander game."

Sorry I Told Everyone Your Secrets

[crimsonretainer]

His is one of the first faces she seeks.

There is no doubt in her mind that it needs to be. Despite the abundance of calls and words to be exchanged, she makes her way where it is needed first. Widened eyes and opened lips invite concern to settle upon Edelgard's face as she approaches. It's displeasing how worn down he appears as she stands tall near the form of her retainer. "Hubert," she says. "Did something happen? What did you uncover? Tell me at once."

Whatever the case, she doesn't doubt it must have been something mighty. She looks him in the eyes, strong as ever.

As the bottom of her axe brushes the ground, her fingers trace its side. "There are people among this crowd with indiscernible intentions. I trust you've been diligent, but.. Remain cautious." As the whisper falls from her mouth, she quickly fixes herself proper. "If you need anything, you must only speak it."

HE THINKS AND THINKS OF HOW TO BROACH THE SUBJECT, to speak a name and a fact unto the world that he knows to be buried in her past. It's a vicious loop of memory now, a younger him running through the wilds outside Enbarr, following the road to Fearghus despite the relentless pursuit of his father's hounds. The first life taken with dregs of fledgling magic in his grasp. He remembers the girl returning with ashen white hair at their hands, the anger and the rage that consumed the room in a sea of flame he could barely contain. She had been barely older than Fourteen when the plans had been hatched, knifes driven into the heart of every church with Garreg Mach as it's shining jewel of crested corruption. He's seen it all in Enbarr, how nobles use their children before casting them aside, a father's mistreatment merely because his daughter was destined to be more than a trophy wife and the effects that lasted to the day. A songstress looked down upon merely due to the class she had no choice to be born in. A father so intent on his son being a weapon that he trained day and night until magic is more potent than the sharpest sword.

Still, his eyes give everything away, which is all too telling when that singular cursed name is leaving his mouth. "Cornelia." A sigh, filled with anger and hatred for the last piece of the puzzle that has finally slipped into place. "The last piece of the puzzle is Cornelia... Fearghus's court mage, Their trump card." Eight pieces that have finally clicked into place, Aegir, Gerth, Bergliez, Hevring, Varley, Vestra, Arundal and Cornelia. Names and targets each and every one, all responsible for the tragedy that had befallen her family and their great nation.

"The board is now set, Your Highness." Words like thunder and visage masked with anger, a guise long held pulled back like the curtain of a stage.

[crimsonretainer]

BY THE TIME THE WORD'S HAVE LEFT ALFONSE'S MOUTH, a name repeated that never should have been spoken aloud, It's already too late. The dagger in his sleeve is useless, blade blunted by years of refusing to put it to whetstone, and yet he's quickly placing it against the throat of the shorter man. "I believe I warned you not to speak names, did I not?" Anger, rage, hatred, all the emotions that flash across his face before he's pulling the man from the room with a strength kept hidden. Ten, twenty, thirty paces down the hallway before the wooden door is being tossed open, man dragged inside before the way out is swiftly barricaded shut. Hubert's emotions rage on his face, a clear sign that Alfonse has slipped up and spoken something that was never to be said aloud in his presence. He knows the circumstances of the past, every detail marked and clearly laid out in now burnt papers. "Did you tell them, did you tell them those names?" Damage control is inevitable if those words have been spoken aloud for others to hear, especially when the nature of Cornelia's involvement was enough to see men put to the executioner's blade. He has little care for the projectionist's involvement now, not what Alfonse's slip of knowledge has painted more daggers on the backs of others than even his own admittance of their existence to Azama had. "Consider, those distress calls are the exact reason we walked into an ambush, and you think it was aid?" Still, the slip that Sophia has a way to communicate with one of them is a valuable piece of information to be exploited. Where magic lingers, there is always a way to trace his lifelong adversaries back to their hole, to deal with them once and for all. "You have sealed your fate with this knowledge, it will not be an assassination they'll send after you now, just ask those pious Blue Lions about the tragedies that befell them for it."

Sorry I Told Everyone Your Secrets

[crimsonretainer]

"Ah, there you are," Alfonse chirped as he spotted Edelgard's aide, quickly hurrying over to him. "I was-- er, I don't think I've introduced myself to you before. Did Edelgard tell you-- well, you know about the conversation we had, right?"

It was Hubert. He probably knew. Why wouldn't he know? He knew everything Edelgard did, didn't he? Sure, it was probably more polite to introduce himself first, but did Hubert care if Alfonse bothered to be polite? Probably not. If Alfonse had to wager a guess, he'd probably prefer that the requisite information simply be delivered to him promptly and efficiently, formalities be damned.

"I couldn't find Edelgard, but I have news for her about the attack," Alfonse explained. "Regarding those who attacked us, that is. I've learned information regarding their identities. Would you-- we should probably discuss this somewhere private. It's... again, I don't know if Edelgard briefed you about our suspicions, but it's-- well, suffice to say, the perpetrators aren't exactly well known to the majority of people present. Er... do you want me to go on, or...?"

HIS SINGLE UNCOVERED EYE CRACKS OPEN TO STARE AT THE MAN BEFORE HIM, were they anywhere else Hubert would have been likely to unleash Miasma on the person standing beside the head of his cot, instead, legs are swung over the side of the cot, dragging himself to his feet and guiding the man towards a more secluded corner of the room.

"Such recklessness will see you killed." A clear and concise warning as his gaze is thrown at the prince before him, as if clearly stating that the knowledge he now holds is not to be spoken lightly when one cannot consider their surroundings to be free of infiltrators. "I assume you speak of Pasithee, Malanthios, Projectionist and them?" His voice makes it clear that the name is not to be spoken, not when his suspicions are finally beginning to be proven correct by the revelations of the past week.

It's almost easy to twist his body to guard their mouths from sight, head lulling downwards as if inviting the other to move closer regardless of the risks when it came to the information they now spoke of. "Refer only to them as those who lurk in the shadows, and speak of their existence to no one." A warning that is born more of necessity than care, especially when the shelter's location has made them little more than sitting ducks

"... Speak freely, lest someone you wish not to know of your knowledge overhears and considers you little more than a target to be... removed."

[crimsonretainer]

HUBERT WANTS LITTLE MORE, TO PASS OUT ON THE COT HE'S CRAWLED HIS WAY ONTO. The room has left him with a sense of exhaustion in his bones that he hasn't seemed to shake, and yet he cannot forego the responsibilities that remain just yet. A part of him wonders if giving the crystal to the wolf was the correct choice, and yet the beast had disappeared before they could question it on the nature of the Projectionist. He can see others milling around, some looking worse for wear, and yet his mind is going to the tome that now lay discarded somewhere, musing over the notes that had slowly faded into dust with that one near one attack on the mimic of the girl. Even her poisonous faith had proven to be almost lethal to her own father, and yet it's an almost distant mirror image of his relationship with his own father. Still, there's no time to think on that, not when the makeshift cot will do for a few hours of sleep before he has to make his rounds and his report about the information

Perhaps it's the exhaustion, or knowing he'll need to search for needle and thread to repair the cosmetic damage to the robes later, but Hubert is leaning back against the stone wall, slipping into a light slumber that leaves him alert to his surroundings. To some, this will be the first they've ever seen him so utterly relaxed, and yet for Hubert this is just rest to recover the vital stores of mana spent against the relentless surge of mimicry.

AS SLEEP BECKONS

Interlude - End of Week One - Bunker - ToAEpiphany2025

[crimsonretainer]

THE KNIFE AT HIS THROAT IS A RATHER NICE TOUCH, one he can't help but admire despite the circumstances of it all. He can't blame the slightly older woman for being suspicious, for the hatred in her eyes at the abnormally coloured spell in his hand. It's a secret he rarely divulges, that no matter the incantation all spells from his hands are a poisonous purple, the rest of a past he doesn't care to think of any more. "The others aren't running around after their open wounds were coated in ash and mud, you are."

The squeezing on his wrist would've hurt if the hand were not already numb from exertion, yet he considers her question all the same. Once, many moons prior he'd discussed with Edelgard the need to divulge their existence with others, yet still, the retainer had not expected it to be for the one that viewed him with such utter distaste in the moment.

A tossed gaze left and right before he's shifting towards a door, careful not to cut himself or pull away from her grasp. "In here, quickly, unless you want your friends to be at risk." She has no reason to trust him, yet his often shady visage is falling just enough to convey the sincerity of his words. Adrestia's seedy underbelly was no secret to the world, and yet to divulge their existence would paint a bigger target than escaping already had.

"Think carefully, Yunaka, to our investigation of the assassination attempt on Count Varley..." It feels like months ago now in the wake of the past three days and yet it was merely less than a few weeks. "A matter so urgent all of the Black Eagles were drawn to the Southern Church, yet upon our return, a route that should have been a secret had an ambush lying in wait?"

A breath, conscious of the knife at his throat. "There is an... organisation, one devoted to seeing the Church crumble to ruins, that selfsame organisation was also behind the insurrection of the Seven and... Terrible experiments that produced all manner of abominations." He can only pray that Edelgard forgives him in the future for the information he's divulging, yet if it means their lives are spared it is all that matters to him.

"They were likely the ones behind the ambush, likely the very same that currently have our friends. Are you really sure you can fight them with wounds like that?" He will not divulge their push for war, not when it seems they have already declared war on the three states of Fodlán with their assault.

"I will not ask for your trust, but at the very least let me tend to your wounds before they try to find us again."

HE SPOTS HER FROM THE CORNER OF HIS EYE, the limp he's associated with barely healed wounds as clear as day, as he moves to catch up with the much shorter woman darting around the room. He doubts the adrenaline has worn off for her yet, yet it'd be remiss of him to allow the wounds to go untreated for much longer. The Marquis apparent thinks of all the times they've interacted, the seriousness that hides beneath her overtly friendly visage that reminds him of a past he wished not to think on.

No doubt, if anyone would be right to suspect him it'd be her, eyes that seem far too adept at seeing beneath masks. Still, it fails to stop him from reaching out with an almost harsh "Yunaka, stop." He'd be almost amused if it weren't for the seriousness of the atmosphere, to order around the once professor with ease as he tries to lay a healing touch on the much more athletic woman.

So focused on the task, Hubert fails to realise they're in a deserted corridor, hand aglow with healing light as he tries to channel the faith into her body. "Your wounds are serious you know, so just, stop, moving." Words through clenched teeth as he tries to land a touch on the woman without triggering her fight or flight.

"They can wait, for now, please just sit still before you reopen the wounds."

Like hell she was gunna listen.

Yunaka keeps walking. She's fine. There's others to check on and make sure they're alright before she worries about herself. Out of everyone here, she's one of the lowest priorities to get healed up. Once the important people are good then...it's nothing she hasn't walked off before.

She had hoped by her continuing to walk away down an empty hall, he would get the hint. Instead, the sound of footsteps continue to echo down her way. Behind her, there's a flare of magic. Behind her, there's a hand reaching for the back of her neck.

Larimar freezes.

Yunaka whirls around and grabs his wrist in one hand, forcing it away from her. In the other, up comes her knife, sharp edge towards his throat. "Don't touch me." She snarls. Her body is sore, her nerves are frayed, she doesn't want to be dealing with any of this.

There's enough space between the knife and his throat that the threat is a courtesy at best. She's got no intention of spilling blood just yet, but that doesn't mean he can just waltz up and do what he wants either.

"I don't need it." She doesn't want it either. Not from him. Not when she still doesn't know whose blood Edelgard might be putting on his hands. "My wounds can wait until the others are taken care of, now go-"

Yunaka pauses. She frowns at him, head tilting as she considers his words.

They can wait. Why did he say it like that?

"Who is they?" Her eyes narrow. She doesn't have the patience right now for any more games. She squeezes his wrist tightly. "Who did you mean by that?"

[crimsonretainer]

HE REMEMBERS THE LAST TIMES HE FELT THE FURY SIMMERING IN HIS VEINS, this makes the third time in his short life to feel the anger he does now at the fiends lurking in the shadows. Once, it had been on the road to Adrestia, fleeing from his father's hounds as a young man, the next when her majesty had returned with hair bleached white and a fire in her heart, and now, all directed at the same source. So long has he yearned to hunt them from hole to hole until nowhere was safe for them to hide any longer.

His success at protecting her this time is merely a temporary boon to his already foul mood, yet he listens all the same, positioning himself to protect her from any would be assailants. They, after all, had the ability to disguise themselves as anyone, so he would remain cautious until the end. He dares not to speak his concerns, no doubt she's already noticed so many of their numbers missing from the bunker. "His majesty is resilient, no doubt those loyal to you are already circling to ensure they cannot reach him."

He knows the sign of nerves in her movements, moving closer yet never touching, guarding her from watching eyes so that she may speak freely. "Edelgard..." They're not in private, and yet he doubts that it means little to drop the title, hand reaching with healing glow for the wounds he knows linger beneath cloth. "What you decide, we shall follow gladly."

Oh, he knows the look in her eyes far too well, the one that stared him in the face, there's a level of guilt there for the way they seem to have come out better than some of their peers, some he's managed to check on, others like Yunaka have managed to elude his untender healing touch. "As you command, Milady, I'm sure our agents in the nearby provinces will be more than eager to recreate our net." There are words unspoken, a promise to root out the traitors in the southern church, a promise to open the road to Enbarr should plans go awry, he was, after all, her obedient servant.

A HURRIED MOVEMENT THROUGH THE BUNKER, passing by the myriad students of different allegiances with a single point of concern. The golems were too familiar, and the weapon that screamed overhead too horrifying to be anything but suspicions in his mind. He can see her in the students' uniform still, brow furrowed in concern at the white marred with red.

"My Lady..." A tone of concern, hand reaching aglow in purple light as it trails the wounds mirrored on his own body. He hopes the glow is enough for people to not have looked as closely to them as he leans in. "It would seem THEY have decided to move without us, and the status of Enbarr is... uncertain." The words are treasonous to His Majesty, and yet it was him who had charged him with this task all those years ago.

"I implore you, Milady, Ascend to the throne before they can." A plea of hubris, of one who has overstepped his position as he continues to heal the last of the wounds the golem had inflicted. "To attack us and the monastery so brazenly... it is little more than a declaration of war on Adrestia by the fools lurking in the shadows." Words that have made his task clear, if those unseen forces wished so badly for War, then they would be forced to meet them head on, casting aside all pretense in declaration of an unwillingness to be their pawns any longer.

How she has longed to stamp them out— To rid them of any agency they deign to have and flush away their presence from the continent entirely. To eradicate the monastery is a bold move; perhaps strengthened only by the fact that herself and her fellow Black Eagles were not at the building itself upon their attack. She seethes internally, quelling it only as her retainer's words reach her ears.

"How despicable," she says with a sigh. Edelgard's right hand gravitates towards her chin as her gloved fingers tap. Once, twice, three times. If she leaves now, that will only make Yunaka truly believe that she is involved. The last thing she desires is to be lumped with them. It is painful enough to have them infiltrate her life more than she cares to say. "My father is there. As are many others.. The throne as well, which you speak." Edelgard breaks the eye contact she has established with Hubert, lowering her hand to tug on her crimson cape. "I intend on it— On becoming Emperor, that is. Even so.. I hesitate to do so right now."

When she looks around the space, there are so many faces she has come to consider friends. She can't abandon them; not when they lurk and she has the means of assisting. "I trust your judgment, yet.. I made a promise. I said I would aid my allies at the monastery so long as they stood by my side. I can't abandon them here."

Their war torn faces; their injuries and frowns plastered on their faces. She is hardened to it by now, but their words stick with her all the same. "Use other means to get eyes and soldiers on Enbarr for now. We may well be able to use this play to our benefit, if we act carefully."

[crimsonretainer]

PERHAPS THIS IS WHAT PREACHERS MEAN WHEN THEY SPEAK OF FAITH, an unshakeable bond that does the world of good to the slightest quiver in his hand. Ferdinand has understood his burden, a secret shared in detail before of where he experience with magic came from, and yet he's never been judged for the harshness in his gaze since. For so many today will have been their first experience with the horrors they wrought, so he can forgive the signs of magic exhaustion making themselves visible.

"See to it that the situation never does..." There's no hatred in the words, so calmly do they dance between the line of order and heartfelt plea, as magic is slowly snaking amongst the closing wounds. It's been an age since he's had to rely this heavily on meagre faith, leaving the retainer uncertain of its effectiveness at the current moment of time. "Adrestia without the great Ferdinand Von Aegir? Better off..." It's a testament to the adrenalin in his system that he's cracking jokes even as the hand is covering his, warmth contrasting the unending cold.

"I'll sleep when I'm dead." A sentence between truth and lie, even as his shoulders shag, leaning closer to whisper the words he'd hoped never to speak. "So many are missing, and with those beasts out there, we're cut off. This... may be our last stand..."

until we're gray and old { ferdinand & hubert

※Epiphany 2025 | Intermission

[crimsonretainer]

Mareeta knew not to judge a book by it's cover. Good people can come from anywhere, and bad people can pop up out of the most stalwart.

Still... when she hears a dark mage is in their group, Mareeta can't help herself but to be on guard.

"Oi."

Mareeta pulls him off to the side, looking down at him, grey eyes glistening.

"You're not slick. I know you probably aren't affiliated with them, but it doesn't take an idiot to realize that a black robed dark mage among our group is questionable."

She moves forward, not... quite, pinning him to the wall, but definitely cutting off windows of escape.

"So I'm taking it into my own hands. Got some questions for ya. And you will answer them. Am I made clear?"

IT TAKES A LOT not to pull the dagger from his sleeve, the adrenaline that had coursed through his body in the heat of battle not yet cleared. He can't blame anyone for being suspicious of his mage garb any more, not when its appearance is not unlike the masked mages on the mountain pass, yet he'd been trapped in the ambush like the rest of them, the bruise on his ribs was more than enough evidence of that.

"And yet your suspicions are enough to get you killed when you drag someone fresh out of combat into a darkened corridor." His voice, levelled with ice, is telling of how little patience he has remaining for anyone willing to attempt to trap him when so many of the Black Eagles are still missing. "You forget something Mareeta, the Officer's Academy has fallen, I am no longer a student, and you are no longer a Professor..."

How odd, the temperature seems to have dropped as he's forcing his way forward without a care for whatever role the person before him once held. "So allow me to make myself clear, any suspicions you may hold are fine, but if those suspicions would put His Majesty's subjects at risk? I'll remove you from the equation myself."

Hubert has never mourned for innocence lost, not when there was little innocent to hold in the dark corners of the continent.

[crimsonretainer]

NO AMOUNT OF SCRUBBING IS CLEARING THE ASH FROM HIS SKIN, the wild retreat from Garreg Mach has taken more and more from an already fragile peace of mind. His gloves and most of the supplies he'd haphazardly stored as a worst case scenario, lying somewhere in the mud of the Oghma Mountains amidst scores of beasts. He's taken a headcount best he can, a hurried search for the acquaintances as Teachers, Students and Knights alike nurse their wounds.

Panic hasn't set in yet, but he can feel the creeping terror at the edges of his awareness, the book and its letter is a taunt to them, when so many of their fellows are missing in the wake of that abominable weapon descending. Still, he can't give into that dark feeling in his gut, not yet, there are endless contacts spread across the continent to reach out to, to task with searching for the missing Black Eagles while the divisions between nations fall.

The suspicion is back in force now, a narrow gaze at the water reflecting his face as pieces are rationalised again and again. He'd warned Dorothea of his suspicions before they set out, mused aloud to Edelgard that Count Varley's attention was clearly elsewhere, and yet none of the pieces had clicked until it was all too late. Had his approaching Dimitri sent him into an ambush on return? Every question has him spiralling more and more in the depths of an anguish and hatred he thought he'd long suppressed.

His father is just as likely a suspect, the fool more than willing to sell out his kin if it meant power consolidated. Perhaps the slips of his masked persona had given him away of late, encouraged his father to align himself with them again. A reasonable explanation for so many crestbearers finding themselves besieged at once, still, he can't allow himself to lose focus now, grateful for the closed door as he reaches into the pouch he'd clung to for dear life.

Once, there had been fanciful war plans drawn up, outfits bought to match the occasion, and yet he doubted Lady Edelgard would care for his outspoken declaration of intent as the student's uniform is replaced slowly and carefully with the outfit decreeing him as Marquis Vestra. Turning from the basin filled with the last dregs of water mixed with blood and ash, this was not the war of freedom they'd envisaged, yet Hubert would treat it all the same when it came to these arrogent fools that saw fit to declare war on Adrestia.

Perhaps it's the reforged focus and the fire in his eyes as the tome is slipped into his cloak, but anyone waiting to use the meagre washroom goes unnoticed by him as he exits, aware of only the slightest brush of shoulders as he goes in search of a map.

IN THE STORMS WAKE

Interlude - in the bunker, TOA-Epiphany2025

[crimsonretainer]

[ HARD ]:    preparing to deliver what they both know will be bad news, the sender tries to prepare the receiver by quietly greeting them in a solemn tone. // what if this was timeskip au :flushed: 

"hey, hubie." her voice is soft as she takes a seat beside him. there's a reluctance in her every gesture — hands fold in her lap, fingers twitching, instinctively reaching for rings she no longer wears. dorothea pauses, an empty ache in her chest at the thought. that habit, those old motions, all a reminder of simpler days. ones when there was more certainty, more hope. she forces her hands together instead, fingers locked, and stares at them, trying to ground herself in the silence.

maybe he already knows. no, he must know. it’s hubert, after all. the emperor’s right hand, edie’s ever-watchful confidant, the one who knows everything long before anyone else does. the man who’s always seen through her — who’s never let her wear any pretense.

dorothea swallows hard, and tries again. "i’m sure you’ve heard by now, but…" she falters, breath catching in her throat. how do you speak when the very air is thick with the weight of it all? "our losses... were worse than we thought. we did everything we could for those who made it out, but..." she bites her lip, trying to steady herself, but the trembling doesn’t stop. she wonders — does the same dread pool in his stomach, too? "i don’t think they’ll make it through the night." the words are barely audible, hanging between them like a death sentence. she finally forces herself to look at him then. "and... and i’m not sure if any of us will. we’ve lost too many already. one more ambush...and we might not have enough to fight back. we might not survive the next one, hubie. i don’t know how much longer we can keep this up."

"I'M SORRY" Hah, merely words to be spoken that could never make up for the hells that had been unleashed onto the continent. Eyes that trail to bare hands, his gloves lost on the mountain pass years ago. Even now, he's still unsure of the locations of the Black Eagles that hadn't been there when they'd fallen prey to an ambush unrivalled by anything else.

He's spent years tracking down every lead, hours spent pouring over reports in an attempt to figure out who'd betrayed them. Yet at night his dreams are plagued by the screams unending, from seeing the unconscious bodies of his classmates, his friends lying in the dirt as Golems bore down atop of them. He lies, of course, and says the bags under his eyes are from the latest midnight oil report, but he knows that Dorothea has seen through him, seen the same horrors he had that day.

He can't even bring himself to look in a mirror of late, stubble growing rampant in the wake of endless sleepless nights spent hoping for news of the still missing students. Still, he has to be resilient, unyielding to tides as his arm reaches up to tug her close. "We'll remember them regardless..." It's all he can say, really, words inadequate for the thoughts running through his mind and the shame he feels at his failure to keep the Black Eagles safe from their schemes. "I'll... make sure their families are looked after..."

The shudder is back in his hand, something he's tried to suppress when others are looking to him for strength, and yet Thea was right, wasn't she? Even their temporary encampment is falling to ruins around them, fleeing through field and farmland in an attempt to get back to Enbarr's unscalable walls. "We'll make it through this 'Thea, I promise."

And yet that twisted seed of self-doubt is laughing at him, mocking him for giving them all false hope.

@encantresse

[crimsonretainer]

HE'S ABOUT SO SPEAK as golden light trails overhead, akin to an arrow in shape, as it's radiance leaves him chilled to the core. Few can go unaware of the myths surrounding Ailell, of the Goddess' wrath summoning a great pillar of light to turn it into the barren wasteland it now is. Yet that distraction is all that the mechanical golems need to encroach on their crumbling position. He has no time to warn the rest, the remains of the garrison of Adrestian Soldiers moving to shield them from the brunt of the damage.

Enemy unit 14 attacks Player Unit 2 with Advantage Enemy unit 14 rolls [4d10+7] Roll: [10, 7, 4, 3] Result: 31 Player unit 2 rolls [4d10+8] Roll: [9, 5, 4, 3] Result: 29 Difference: 2 All units lose 1HP (Unit 2 2.5/4HP, Unit 14 3/4HP)

A cough from his lungs as the cloud of dust that the enormous lance lifts into the air with each swing, yet, he raises his hand to unleash a weaker burst of miasma in tandem with the rest of the strike force beside him. He's all too aware that the defensive line is crumbling, yet the ominous clap of thunder and rushing wind as his eyes widening, turning quickly to the harried soldiers and barking the only order that can come to mind as magic rushes over them. "We cannot allow the road to Enbarr to fall, form ranks!"

Hubert stalls and thinks, thinks of Dimitri and Matteus who he knows went on ahead of the Black Eagles, he's not sentimental, and yet he hopes they escaped before the weapon arrived. A shake, gaze turning to the magic tingling at his senses, watching the golem that slowly reared back to swing before grabbing the closest person to him, pulling them down as dust and debris rained down.

Enemy unit 7 attacks Player Unit 2 with Advantage Enemy Unit 7 rolls [4d10+7] Roll: [7,10,7,4] Result:35 Player Unit 2 rolls [4d10+8] Roll: [10, 8, 8, 4] Result: 38 Difference: 3 All units lose 1HP (Unit 2 1.5/4HP, Unit 7 1.5/4HP)

He doesn't need to shout it, a volley of arrows flying overhead to rock against already crumbling armor, still, his magic for healing is spent, leaving the hint of fear for what lay ahead as he pulls the person beside him back to their feet.

"We can't..." A hacking cough, dust covering his features like snow, "We can't... let them through to Enbarr."

@amitieos, @hresvelged & @cutestrival

black eagles strike force!

fall of garreg mach, unit 2

[crimsonretainer]

IT TAKES HIM LONGER THAN HE'D ADMIT TO AWAKEN, the smell of smoke reaching his nose as the carriage creeks around him. None of his spies had warned him of an impending ambush, a matter he'd clearly need to look into as gloved hands reach beneath the wooden plank for the tome. Even years of training for the eventuality can do little to calm his nerves, throwing a gaze to the students hurrying to and from. There was no time to mourn and check on the endless cavalry strung around the battlefield, not when he had matters to attend to.

No, he cannot afford to lose anyone, not when plans had finally set themselves in motion. It's a shift in his persona, that steel gaze shining through as he nods to the Professor riding with them. "No time for fomalities, no doubt they'll attempt to circle around the nobles in the wagons behind us." How could he have been so foolish, of course it was all a diversion, attack the monastery while the bulk were away was so obvious. It's an anger in his veins, magic humming alert, as if itching to take down whoever dared to move.

"I can heal as necessary, watch for the treeline!" He's slipping back to the rear, tome open in hand as his mind rationalises whatever ambush awaited them. They shouldn't have split from the rest, he knew this, and yet he hadn't even thought to say it, no, despite what his fellows may say, there were no expendable lives for their plan. Perhaps it's his anger at himself that recognises the waiting ambush as they approach the carriages he knew Ferdinand, Bernadetta and Yunaka to be travelling in, a roar to get down as the arrows skim overhead, catching and leaving flesh wounds.

Enemy Unit 2 attacks Player Unit 2Enemy Unit 2 roll: [4d10+6] Roll: [7, 3, 2, 1] Result: 19 Player Unit 2 roll: [4d10+8] Roll: [9, 6, 3, 2] Result: 28 Difference: 9 Player Unit 2 loses 0.5 HP and Enemy Unit 2 loses 1.5 hp Player Unit 2 3.5/4 hp Enemy Unit 2 0.5/4hp

Its rage incarnate as his gaze turns to the masked figure, feeling his fellows turn to the treeline as magic, raw and power, begins to coalesce on the wind. "BEGONE!" The fury in his voice cannot be denied as the counter leaves his control, arching until their adversary is illuminated against ashen leaves.

"Deal with them!, We can disconcern their plans afterwards!"

@amitieos, @hresvelged & @cutestrival

black eagles strike force!

fall of garreg mach, unit 2

[crimsonretainer]

December Activity check

Completed Threads:

None

Skill Points gained:

1 (Monthly)

Stats Changed:

Reason: D+ -> C

Pending Claims:

Dark Mage Banshee

[crimsonretainer]

♫ HAPPY HOLIDAYS~ ♪ dorothea slides into the seat opposite him, silent for a spell as she simply watches—no, stares. it’s clear she’s making a show of it, leaning in to catch his eye, her expression unflinching. ( she wonders if it’s common for others to try and intimidate someone like hubert. ) his gaze is held for a few more seconds, before a grin betrays her. "did i scare you?" a giggle follows. "did i make you nervous, hubie?" the moment is fleeting. the songstress lets herself relax into her chair, her posture now languid and casual as she gestures vaguely toward their surroundings. "i’ve gotta say, i’m relieved you’ve made yourself so easy to find today. it’s saved me precious time."

her attention drifts downward, but quickly snaps back to him as she pulls something from her lap: a carved chessboard, not wrapped like the other gifts she's prepared this evening. ( in case he wishes to inspect it first. ) and with it, an accompanying journal — pocket-sized and weathered.

"i made a fascinating discovery this holiday season. apparently there’s… hm. how do i put this?" gently, dorothea places both items onto the table, then lifts a finger to tap against her chin in feigned intrigue. "a colorful market for enchanted chessboards. no idea what for, but i figured you might find it interesting. so, i got you one." she gives a small nod toward the journal. "and that's full of spells for moving the pieces. something about 'bringing strategy to life?' you’d know better than i would when it comes to these things."

pleased with herself, the songstress leans forward again, her elbows resting on the table. "you’ll have to humor me with a game sometime. i can’t promise i’ll be a worthy adversary, but i’ll give it my all. deal?"

STUDENTS HAVE BEGUN TO LEAVE THE MONASTERY IN BATCHES, Garreg Mach relied on the support of the regional churches, and those churches relied on the nobles for funding, funding which had become conditional on noble children returning home for the holidays. In part, it made the cafeteria much more bearable for the man slowly slipping at an almost endless cup of coffee.

No one has approached him for the day, which made it almost bearable to stay solitary for the one period a year in which he allowed himself to truly relax. Of course, he's been productive as well, stocking the storeroom with supplies for those that wouldn't be leaving while ensuring any stray parcels made their way to their owners. Yes, Hubert is more than content with his little peaceful corner, letting his gaze roam until the umber haired woman is filling it out completely.

Of course, he knows far better to complain or attempt to slink away, lest a rather unfortunate occurrence be brought to light in front of their fellows. Instead, he leans back with an almost invisible smile, allowing the staring contest to continue in silence before a giggle is breaking it up. "Or perhaps you're simply getting better at finding me." A shockingly teasing tone as the cup is placed onto hard wood, leaning forward as the chessboard is lifted from her lap.

It hums, not dangerously, rather akin to devices enchanted for the simplicity of moving the pieces through magic alone. Yet... it speaks to how well Dorothea has come to know him for the gift to be so meaningful. Even that worn journal hums like a battery to his senses, a sirensong to the mage that it's spells almost wished to be modified, and so, Hubert takes a moment to collect himself, to listen to her offer of a match before an almost playful smirk is appearing on his features. "Oh? Is that a challenge 'Thea? Deal."

His hand slips to an envelope, a letter he'd yet to deliver that he's slowly moving across the table. "An invitation you might suppose, there is a rather exclusive dressmaker in Enbarr, one who specialises in fabrics of the more... resistant nature." As thoughtful a gift the magus could give, one that showed the level of thought and scheming that went into his mind. "Rumors have it that this particular dressmaker is quite adept at outfits for mages." An extremely subtle smile, turning his eyes back to hers.

"Happy Holidays, Dorothea."

[crimsonretainer]

🎄

if they were awake enough to realize it, they would consider it another misfortune that they had chosen a mistletoe to nap under. as it is, they're already grumbling under their breath as hubert approaches, his heels on the floor responsible for the sound that rouses them, rising to their feet and trying to draw on their most wide-awake expression so as to avoid whatever unwanted opinion hubert sees fit to regale them with.

HUBERT ISN'T ANNOYED, not when the mistletoe had only been placed there after Lin had managed to find somewhere relatively peaceful to nap. In fact, he hadn't intended to wake the Crest Scholar at all, merely planning to quietly move the mistletoe before they awoke from what looked like a rather peaceful sleep. With the fast approaching holidays, even the monastery seemed to care little for work, students and faculty alike beginning to wind down for the remainder of the year.

No, Hubert doesn't mind at all that his fellow is stretching out from a long nap, instead reaching to pluck the mistletoe from its resting place in one fell sweep. Still, he's aware of the enchantments ticking down like a timed spell, rolling on the ball of his foot to place a kiss to the magus' forehead before it can unleash whatever nasty trickery it held.

"Next time, it may be easier to sleep in the dorms than somewhere you can be so easily pranked." A hum as the retainer walks away, satisfied at managing to one-up the scholar who'd swapped rooms with Caspar to avoid the constant bickering between the retainer and Ferdinand.