#𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐚𝐭 𝐚 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞! (missions)

[amnesiac-pawn]

In Ruins (Morgan-Hubert)

There’s been word of crumbling ruins, remnants of an old town and its gravesite becoming overgrown with strange greenery. Beautiful though its blooms may be, superstition and old maid’s tales have painted it as a beautifully haunting omen for a disaster to come. To that effect, the neighboring villages are too afraid to venture and clear it up, avoiding any and all routes that might cross it, and so have pleaded for aid from every passerby willing to help. As you enter the mouth of the ruins to dispel their needless fears, however, you find that these are no mere ruins. The vines close the entryway from which you came, and, looking ahead, you find that the ruins are, in fact, a huge maze. To make matters worse, the vines that now prevent you from leaving don’t seem to be content to stop there. All around you, the labyrinth shifts and changes; the walls move, the plants snake and snap. You and your companion must hack and cut your way through and find a way out, lest you intend to bury yourselves in a grave that never needs to beg for flowers. [Grants Sword +1] 

Fingers shake around the hilt of a zig-zag blade, a weapon more for intimidation and to be used from afar than to cut through enemies ahead. The vines that trapped them reacted as just: sharpened though the Levin may be, the plants laughed at his attempts to shirk them away. Every strike, every stroke, was an act of pure force and control; sweat beads at his brow. His sigh is shuddering.

It was too alike the forest he escaped from only days before. At every corner, Morgan expected to see a beast of rot and ruin, mire dripping from maw and death at its claws. A fox spirit’s laugh echoes in his ear, but his only companion was the shadow at his heel.

“We’ve been here,” he breaks the accustomed silence. “I marked this—see the singes?” The blackened edges were fresh, only fifteen minutes old from when Morgan had sizzled the vines between his fingers. The maze could shift, but for now, seemed to be giving the duo a break.

“If we go left, we’ll circle around again.” Levin sword points right, where Morgan takes the lead. “Let’s try this way.”

He finds comfort in Hubert’s presence. It’s a quiet reassurance: he wasn’t alone, and there were no spirits whispering in his mind now to goad him into tragedy. Hubert would act as an anchor whether the Eagle realized it or not.

“What do you suspect is at the end of this thing?” he asks, knowing they both had an inkling of something grave. Perhaps their own.

@heartoftheloathsome

[amnesiac-pawn]

Braided Bonds

nagaficat​:

Friendship bracelets are making a resurgence, but this time, lance wielders are tying them to the shafts of their weapons to show off their popularity. Join the cool kids and decorate your lance with some sick new threads. [Grants Lance +1]

Morgan had not been on her roster the first time he showed up to Deirdre’s class. She felt terribly awful that the registrar had left him out but, of course, welcomed him to join. He’s become a delightful presence in her lectures and his enthusiasm to learn has helped her confidence grow in this new path her life has taken. The Golden Deer student has made himself so comfortable in her class that Deirdre fully believes him to be one of her own Black Eagles.

His visits to her office happen enough that she is not surprised to see him sitting across from her desk. In fact, she is quite delighted. Too often she finds herself alone now left with nothing but memories of her past for company. There had once been a time where she would have given almost anything for even just one hint of what her life had been like before. Now there are times the feelings of loss and loneliness are so strong she wishes, if only for a moment, that someone might steal it all away from her again.

What does surprise the new professor is the array of colorful strings now strewn about her desk.

“Good afternoon, Morgan. What is it you are working on?”

@amnesiac-pawn

The fact of the matter was such: outside of class, the monastery got pretty boring. Sure, Morgan could read or train at any time to fill his days, but he could never deny the need to spend time with friends. And, with so many of his friends having such vastly different schedules, Morgan often found himself alone. And bored. Bored and alone.

The simplest solution would be to simply take more classes to fill his schedule, but that came with piles and piles of extra work for every class he might join. While he loved the environment, he wasn’t as fond of the homework. But maybe if the teachers just looked the other way...

And so his plan came to be: attend class, but don’t actually sign up for one. There were only a few professors he’d dare to pull such a stunt with (gods know Hanneman would force him to do double the work of the other students, or something equally as painful). Where better to while away his time than in a magic course? There was always more to learn! (Even if he could probably teach the class himself.)

The first time he wormed his way into Professor Deirdre’s class, he wasn’t sure it would work. Deirdre was kind, but he was sure that she would gently escort him out upon realizing his name wasn’t on her roster. At the beginning of class, however, she only gave him a kind smile and noted something down—he would later find this to be his name added to the end of her student registry. No questions asked. And she didn’t check homework.

The first time he wormed his way into Professor Deirdre’s office, he knew he had a friend. She no longer raised a brow at seeing him relaxed on the other side of her desk, flipping through notes or bent over a book, waiting for her arrival. His questions were never about class or her teachings, but her day, her life, her story. She was his friend! That he was sure of.

“Afternoon, Professor Dee! I need your help with something.” Straight to the point today, it seemed. Morgan gestures to the array of colored string in his collection, and then again to a smaller pile consisting of reds, golds, and blacks.

“I’m making a bracelet for someone, but I’m having a little trouble deciding on colors, or even what pattern I should make. See, it’s for Julius, and he doesn’t seem the type to wear a friendship bracelet, but he does seem the type to accept any and all gifts on the face of the earth. Do you have any thoughts?”

Finally turning his gaze up to the other, Morgan wears a small pout. “I want him to like it, y’know?”

[amnesiac-pawn]

The Real Treasure is Friendship (Morgan-Sylvain)

Hope you’ve been brushing up on your cartography skills: it’s time to grab your mapping supplies and set out. This is new territory to everyone, so travel with care and hang tight to your map- oh. There it goes, perhaps lost forever… wait! There it is! Oh. Huh. This isn’t your map… but it is a map, albeit a crude one. The most important thing of note on it, aside from the fact it seems to loosely detail your surroundings, is that nice big red X in the corner. 

“I cannot believe you lost our map, Sylvain. Do you know how hard it is to be precise when charting unmarked territory? Do you know how much work I put into that?”

He had already lectured on for a good five minutes straight. It wasn’t exactly Morgan’s idea to put on a cartographer cap and go out exploring a new area, but after his professor basically forced him to do so, he wasn’t about to go alone. Sylvain begrudgingly agreed to join him, and while the first few minutes were awkward and stiff between them, Morgan soon fell into a comfortable state at the flirt’s side. Sylvain was all too similar to Inigo; it was hard not to make the comparison, and even harder to not warm up to him for that very reason.

Had Morgan never known Inigo, he never would have entertained the idea of hanging out with Sylvain for even a second. Every word out of the man’s mouth was filth. (It was kinda funny.)

“I let you hold it for five seconds and whoosh! There it goes! Like a leaf in the wind, lost to nature! Unbelievable.“

With a huff, Morgan stomps a few steps ahead of the lion, hoping that their map somehow got stuck in some brush or a tree. A flicker of yellowed parchment catches his eye; mage whips around to face it, and yells in shock and relief at the sight of a piece of paper caught in the branches of a small sapling.

“There it is! Oh, you are so lucky, Gautier,” he says, making his way to the map and plucking it up, “‘cause if I had lost all that work for good, I—wait.”

This wasn’t his carefully-detailed map or his thin handwriting. Morgan holds the paper up to examine it before turning it towards the lion. “This is not my beautiful map. Look how cruddy this is!”

It was bare-bones at best, but it was at least somewhat accurate to their current location. In the corner, a big red X covers a small expanse of the paper, indicating that something might be hidden there.

“Do you think another student group made this?”

@housegautier

[amnesiac-pawn]

Vendor Bender (Closed: Morgan and Alm)

Morgan Anathema Abank was no fool.

Maybe he shouldn’t have been picking fights immediately upon his return from the battle against Sophrosyne. As he was still healing, moving his torso too much hurt; even laying down in bed forced gasps from his mouth as he bit back pain. There was no reason he should be out and about when he was supposed to be on bed rest...

It’s not his fault the infirmary was full and he was deemed “well enough” to finish his recovery in his dorm, where no one was there to order him to lay back down. Besides, rumors were flying, and the rumor that there were legendary weapons being sold by some street vendor was far too great to pass up.

Morgan Anathema Abank has never been a fool.

When this haggard-looking man holds up some rinky-dink blade with some ribbon tied around the hilt and calls it Falchion, Morgan really can’t hold back his laughter. (Even if it hurts like a bitch to laugh.) We’re talking full-on, head-thrown back, hands-on-his-hips kind of laughter, amber eyes lit up in absolute delight.

“Oh, you pathetic little man!”

(We never said Morgan was the kindest of men.)

“You really think that’s enough to fool me? You’ve got to be joking—is someone recording my very words, taking innocent bystanders’ responses as some sort of jest? Or are you truly profiting from such a poorly-concocted scheme?” Claude would be so disappointed, he thinks.

“You’re going to have to try a lot harder than that to pass off some flimsy little iron sword as Falchion!”

Needless to say, the vendor didn’t like this. Though their products were... shoddy at best, they still had a keen eye and could see the pain that just barely twisted on this nobody’s face as he laughed.

And that was something to take advantage of.

( People are beginning to crowd. A scene is forming, but no one feels obligated to step in to stop it. )

A quick, carefully-placed jab from the angry vendor is enough to send Morgan crashing back into the ground, clutching over his ribs in pain. Amber eyes dart around in a panic; he can’t fight alone, not in this condition, why did he leave his room—

A flash of green.

“Lord Alm!”

(A silent prayer sent Naga’s way. Thank you for keeping friends nearby.)

“A little help, please!”

Hopefully, the Saint King had been watching this little spectacle with the rest of the bystanders and knew just what to do.

@rudlm

[amnesiac-pawn]

Stealing Kisses

hungrymage:

>starter for @amnesiac-pawn

ϟ–Fingers entwining, Ilyana sticks close to his side. Warmth radiates off her little fire elemental and keeps the icy temperatures at bay. It’s a long, freezing walk from the library to the dorms—except for tonight.

Morgan readily agreed when she suggested they investigate this rumored shortcut. She was unbothered by the claims of a petty thief stealing books from unsuspecting students. (If someone wanted to take one of Morgan’s books, they’d get an angry mage on their hands.)

Free hand draws his jacket closer around her shoulders. Even after adding wool leggings and long sleeves to her winter attire, she still felt a slight chill. After shivering in the library, Morgan had silently draped his own jacket over her own, then kissed her cheek and returned to his notes.

“…I promise not to get food stains on it,” she says now. In the mostly unlikely event that it happens, she’s an expert at washing them out anyway. “Thank you, hex boy.”

For a moment the only sound is their footsteps echoing down the hall. Six months together and she’s still figuring out her comfort level in terms of spontaneous gestures of affection. They come so easily to him; slowly, she’s learning to follow his lead. Part of her hopes that he’s not irritated at her slow progress. (Silly thought. Morgan would tell her if he wasn’t happy with something.)

Raising up on her tiptoes, she presses a soft kiss to his cheek. “Ah…I had a nice day with you…”

It had been a wonderful day. Class was dismissed early and Morgan was able to slink off to the library with his beloved in tow. Ilyana didn't mind sitting with him while he worked; after the first time she found him bundled up in his hidey hole in the corner of the library, she started bringing her own books to read while they curled up together. They spent nearly the entire afternoon like that, Ilyana snacking in-between chapters of a new novel and Morgan taking notes on the etymology of the runes of certain faith spells.

If not for the cold, the day would have been perfect. Yes, it allowed him a cute moment to drape his jacket around Ilyana, and while it warmed her, it left him cold!

Her promise brings a smile to his lips. "I trust you," he chuckles, squeezing her hand gently. "You'd wash it even if you did, thunder girl. I know that."

Somehow, her tiny show of affection makes his face bloom with heat. A doofy grin spreads across his face as he turns his attention to the floor. "I did, too, love. Every moment spent with you is a good one."

A glint of silver out of his periphery causes the mage to snap his eyes back up. His steps slow for just a moment, but when all he finds is an ordinary suit of armor, he continues on.

And then the damn armor jumps out at them.

"What the hell—!"

The loud clang of metal against tile cuts Morgan off as his first reaction is to shove Ilyana to the side, out of the way of their attacker. Worried, amber eyes flicker over to her; he knocked her to the floor.

"I'm sorry! Here, get up, get up—"

He hurries to pull Ilyana to her feet, but the knight waits for no couple. It raises its sword once again to attack and instinct kicks in.

An entirely new instinct.

An entirely new, non-magical instinct.

For the first time in his life, Morgan opts for the blade rather than his fire.

Feinting left, mage runs to the nearest suit of armor and pulls the blade from its hands. He fears for a moment that it, too, will attack him, but it remains as lifeless as ever.

The enemy knight brings its blade down in Ilyana's direction, but Morgan jumps ahead of it. Blade smashes against blade; Morgan groans, weak arms already screaming in protest.

"Try and get it on the ground, Ilyana! I think we might be able to stop it if we can separate the armor pieces from one another!"

[amnesiac-pawn]

Path Turn (Morgan-Leif)

There’s been word of crumbling ruins, remnants of an old town and its gravesite becoming overgrown with strange greenery. Beautiful though its blooms may be, superstition and old maid’s tales have painted it as a beautifully haunting omen for a disaster to come. To that effect, the neighboring villages are too afraid to venture and clear it up, avoiding any and all routes that might cross it, and so have pleaded for aid from every passerby willing to help. As you enter the mouth of the ruins to dispel their needless fears, however, you find that these are no mere ruins. The vines close the entryway from which you came, and, looking ahead, you find that the ruins are, in fact, a huge maze. To make matters worse, the vines that now prevent you from leaving don’t seem to be content to stop there. All around you, the labyrinth shifts and changes; the walls move, the plants snake and snap. You and your companion must hack and cut your way through and find a way out, lest you intend to bury yourselves in a grave that never needs to beg for flowers. [Grants Sword +1] 

“We’ve been here.” Despite the maze’s shifting nature, it never moved any marks made or added to its walls (so far). Bare fingers trace over a blackened stone, evidence of Morgan’s fire. “We turned right, and ended up back here.”

To their left, the path quickly succumbs to shadow despite the dim light emanating from above. Morgan had no intention of getting lost in the dark, especially not after what a good decision splitting up was during the mission. Lesson learned.

“Want to try straight on?” Chin juts forward to emphasize his point. “That looks far more hopeful than any other option.”

The journey thus far had been relatively silent. Although their current situation mirrored the one that had endured only days ago, neither party was keen on bringing it up; it wasn’t something they wanted to relive. Constant reminders walked with them whether they liked it or not, with phantom whispers tugging at the mage’s mind—and perhaps a nail or two missing from Leif’s hands.

The zig-zag sword clutched tight at his side was just another reminder of everything he did wrong between the pages. Morgan wouldn’t allow himself to be put in that situation again, unarmed, ignorant, wanting to be the hero. A glance at Leif—a real hero—and he exhales slowly through his nose.

“Are you... doing alright?” he asks eventually, but it remains unclear in what context he was referring.

@diadic