#SVVerdane2023

[lunaede]

you know what they say! don't ever in jugdral.

[laslow]

Get In Loser We're Going Shopping | Team Verdane

A drabble in which we earn a little bit more than we bargained for

The realization that things did not go to plan was of little surprise.

Honestly, he'd be surprised if things did go smoothly for once. All things considered, a shipwreck blowing them off course was nothing. A mere inconvenience!

Less so was the fact they lost some allies while gaining others. Laslow prays those swept away by the currents are faring safely wherever they washed up. It'll surely make for a grand story once they've all endured this latest adventure.

He sets his worries aside for now; there are more pressing matters at hand, like scrounging up a weapon or two. Utterly embarrassing, to lose his equipment. But perhaps a kind lady might take pity on him--a poor young man floundering ashore without a sword to protect himself! Yes, he can see it now, the compassion in a lovely pair of eyes, the tugging of the heartstrings--

Someone jostles his shoulder and ruins the illusion. There's a muttered sorry before they're swallowed up by the crowd. Laslow adjusts his jacket. For the best he doesn't get too lost in his head anyway. The bazaar is teeming with people, from sellers peddling their wares seated on colorful rugs to shoppers of all ages going about their day.

"Stay close," Laslow warns both Corrin and Hilda. They push through well enough, only slowing when they all notice an incredibly busy stall with a brightly dressed man at the center. He looks like he wants to stand out, despite the tinted glasses hiding half his expression. Bottles and vases containing suspicious liquids are arranged in haphazard order, and Laslow thinks it's a miracle no one has accidentally broken one.

Eventually, he catches the seller's attention.

"afternoon! could you direct me to the vulneraries, please?" The merchant smiles wide at Laslow's approach, and immediately begins bowing and gesturing and rubbing his hands together when he seems interested in what he has for sale. "Vulneraries? For what ailment? My child, you'll have to be more specific. I've a number of remedies -- warts, sunburn, bellyache, hair loss, sore feet... name your illness and I'll fix it, good as new! What shall it be?" laslow blinks a moment. the one for sore feet actually doesn't sounds too bad.... "oh, for general health! my friends and i just escaped a shipwreck, you see. it was all rather harrowing." it’s now that corrin pipes up, smiling despite the… strange energy of the man. “we were planning to travel towards…” a moment’s pause to pray she correctly remembered the name of their original destination, “grannvale, and we’re just looking to stock up for the journey.”

"A shipwreck? Oh! Yes, I did hear news of a bunch of foreigners coming ashore this morning." His smile seems to curl. "Now, I have just the thing for you. Those waves can be mighty rough." Nimble fingers pick through a sectioned box as he nods along to Corrin's request, lifting one thin vial of multi-colored liquid after another until finally finding one - a vibrant green - and plucks it from the batch. "Grannvale's quite a distance from here. Seven days might get you to the border, if you're on horseback. If you plan to walk, well..." He holds out the vial, his other hand poised under it palm-up like a stage. "This little concoction will melt away all of those pesky aches, and you won't feel any new ones for half a day at least. A must-have for any long journey. You'll feel like you're enveloped in a cloud!" “oh! how convenient.” damn. they’re going to be here a while. corrin leans closer, peering at the little vial for a moment. her expression is considerably less suspicious than it should be, probably. “i’ve never heard of anything like it. you must be quite skilled at your craft,” her head tilts, “how much would that run us, do you think?” news indeed travels fast. laslow isn't thrilled about the idea of riding horses for a week straight, but if it gets them to their destination faster, he'll deal with it. as nice as that green potion sounds, he can't help but wonder what else it may do. delay reaction times, slow down thought processes,... eyes flit to corrin. she really is too trusting. "you seem a knowledgeable man. do you know where we might find a map as well?" "Thirteen hundred for the vial. Good for one person." The merchant glances back to Laslow. "I don't sell maps, I'm afraid, but for a small fee, I can draw you one." "how much for the map?" laslow asks, doing his best to keep his suprise at bay. To this, the merchant thinks for a moment, a finger to his chin. Then he holds up two fingers. "Two hundred, and my handicraft will be yours."

As the merchant names his price, Hilda turns to him with her most disarming smile. “Wow! Your stock is so impressive.” She gestures to the array before laying a friendly hand on his arm. “But we lost so much in the storm…” Her expression falls to one more dejected as she turned to her allies. “I guess we’re out of luck if we want something of such high quality…”

The merchant is taken in by Hilda's wily charms and honeyed words. "Now, you must understand that I run a business, so I cannot simply part with my wares for free. However, I will extend to you a fraction of Nahan's generosity. If you purchase this vial, I will give you a discount. One thousand for it, and I will draw you a map to Grannvale for free." He then reaches over the table and grabs a heftier, long-necked bottle of what looks to be tarnished silver, but you know it couldn't possibly be made of material that precious. He sets it down in front of you beside the bright green vial. "And a sample of a special hair oil, just for you." His words bring a smile back to her face, her expression lighting up. “You mean it? Thank you! That’s such a generous offer.” She bats her eyelashes at him before turning back to the others. “But my friends here hold the coin purse. What do you think?” the most fortunate one here, corrin makes something of a show of fishing around in her pocket as if to further prove that she definitely did not have enough money for the previous price. it’s only a moment before she produces the proper sum, offering it forward with a grateful nod. “we cannot thank you enough, really.”The apothecary takes the money with a grateful bow. "My pleasure. I do hope you'll remember to stop by again before you embark for Grannvale."

Unknown concoction in hand, Laslow leads their little group to a weapons stall. Metal of all shapes and sizes gleams in neat rows. He itches to reach for a sword, excuses of "just testing it out!" poised on his lips when he catches sight of the woman clearly in charge.

Ruffles his hair just so before approaching “Hel-lo there! I couldn’t help but notice these lovely swords being sold by an even lovelier woman.” It's a blur after that--all the trepidation melts from her gaze, interest sparking instead. He recalls the phrases "eye candy" and "nice older lady" being used, but his mind is far too busy catching up with the fact she didn't threaten him with the very sharp weapon at arm's length the moment he opened his mouth. none of this is how he expects it to go. He turns red to the tips of his ears, barely managing not to look at corrin out of sheer embarrassment. (Learned the lesson a long time ago that some women don’t like it when you look at another girl while talking to girl #1) He stutters out a response. “Um. Uh. Well, thank you, my darling, for such a kind offer. I truly do need a weapon—how else can I fend off all the boys vying for your hand?” He throws in a wink for good measure. “Alas, I lost my own trusted blade in a shipwreck.” A dramatic sigh for effect "Well, we can't have that now can we?" She picks up the Slim Sword from her collection. "I've had trouble selling this one. There's nothing wrong with it, but most mercenaries and other battle-types who come through these streets are often looking for something far more valuable than what I have the supplies for. I've give it to you for an eighty-percent discount. 520." She glances up at him with a smile. "You'd look dashing with it, I think." Laslow nods. “I do happen to like my face where it is.” Returns her smile. “You’re far too sweet to be dealing with the likes of those ruffians, buttercup! Aww, you truly think so? May I try it on?” He also gestures to corrin, beckoning her closer. “My friend holds all the coins—she doesn’t trust me not to spend it all in one place.” He totally 100% “””accidentally””” lets their fingers brush Tests the balance/etc “It’s perfect! Thank you, darling. Say, can you tell me a little more about this town? We were headed for Grannvale when we were waylaid by a nasty storm.” "About Nahan? Not much to say. This village has always earned its keep from the sea. Been brought very nearly to ruin a couple times, but we've fared better than other parts of the country. You've come at a good time. It's the best it's ever been in these parts." “I’m included to agree, since I met you,” he says, fixing the sword to his belt. “Any word on that church? Sailors, of course, are full of superstitions, but one can never be to careful these days, eh?” At mention of the Church of Loptous, the woman's demeanor suddenly changes. She retracts from from Laslow with a mixture of fear and surprise. "Why are you asking about them?" She shakes her head. "No. No. Nothing. And that's the way it should stay, here." He holds his hands up in retreat “I’m so sorry, my darling. It was all the talk of the sailors. Thank you ever so kindly for all your help. Perhaps we should go out for tea some time, yeah?” She still seems visibly fluster, but the offer of tea seems to smooth things over a little. She laughs and calls him sweet, but ultimately declines because she does in fact have a husband. But Laslow is quite the handsome young thing.

The sword is a familiar weight at his hip on the walk back. He's still blushing by the time they all meet up in their room again.

[daeificatio]

byleth loses -2 HP to a table and -3HP to frederick

Before them, a large hole that seemed bottomless.

Around them, a group of guards keeping them from escaping.

And in the corner- Colla.

Byleth didn’t want to jump to conclusions so quickly and brand Colla as a traitor- particularly since he didn’t seem to be involved in the matter at hand at all, but it was hard not to think about it. Sothis herself seemed keen on believing they were led into a trap by Colla and now were going to be captured and…apparently sacrificed considering the talk between the guards. 

‘Prepare their blood.’

It was already an ominous statement, but somehow it filled him with even more dread than usual. A feeling similar to back at the village, where his body felt sluggish and no longer his own and Sothis refused to answer his calls and questions. It was the same now as he turned around only to see Hilda being grabbed by one of the guards.

Powerless. Byleth had been brought to this academy to guide students and care for their safety- and look at where things were going. A man who so far was more used to taking lives than protecting them, of course he’d be a shoddy teacher who can’t keep track of his own group. He had to make up to all of this later- now, focus on getting out of this alive and with everyone by his side.

Frederick was making an attempt to feign being ‘in’ on the guards’ plan and so they had to act quickly. They needed a distraction to disrupt the ongoing order, so…Byleth attacked Frederick- or at least pretended to. In reality he just jumped at the man as if he were going to punch him and thankfully Frederick played along. It was working, they just needed to get the guards to move and…

…and then Ephidel nailed an actual, real punch to Frederick’s stomach, much to Byleth’s shock. So much so that for a short second the professor lost focus and forgot that he was supposed to get pushed by Frederick and propel himself towards the guard holding Hilda so he could try to grab her and then make a run for it.

Indeed, Byleth did get pushed by Frederick. But he was caught off guard, stumbled on his own feet and fell face down. 

Good job on getting captured, Sothis’ comment echoed in his mind. Byleth couldn’t even apologize at this rate because again, it was his own lack of focus and attention that led him to this situation. He tried to struggle, but his already broken hand made it quite difficult to try anything that wouldn’t result in even worse injuries. All he could offer was an apologetic glance to Hilda and then hope that his teammates would figure something out.

He did not expect a kick in the groin from Frederick though.

He did it by accident. It’s okay. Don’t blame him.

But damn, it fucking hurt.

After that some other things happened as well as some dialogue but his mind was far too busy trying to manage the unfortunate injury to the point he barely even registered when the world around them went black and once more they were transported to another space.

[artificidel]

good night, sleep well

As the spell rips from Colla's palm and implodes on Farina, something new roils within Ephidel. It grows within them, moving their digits to press the saw just a hair's breadth closer to his throat-

Before it all flickers out to the scene now before them. The darkness, the town, the allies they sought. The emptiness inside Ephidel feels deeper now somehow. That they were once again a doll left behind. Their gaze comes to each of their captured companions, before drifting to the Xs drawn upon the ground.

'Where do you belong?' echoes in their hollow.

Ephidel wandered the streets of this doll house, alone. Always alone, because solitude was his only companion anymore. Even here, even now, reunited with the rest of those from Fodlan, the morph stands not with them, but at their periphery. The illusion shattered and his damage repaired, he now remembers that he was on the boat bound for Elibe. It matters little though, he thinks. He is no more a stranger to them than his once-enemies returning home.

So he paces the streets, finding this place where he 'belongs.'

Down a darker side street, Ephidel finds a mannequin with a coin purse tied loosely at their hip, and a splattered X behind them. It is not hard to guess this is his place. People in this illusion easily called him thief, and he can not help but think back to another one.

'You took something from me.'

Matthew had said with an unreadable expression.

'I have taken much from many.'

He had countered, and the words echo loudly in his chest now.

So this was the role his new puppet master had for the morph? It seemed as though he was already well fit for it. Ephidel steps upon the X behind an unsuspecting mannequin holding a purse of gold and hopes at least, that he may be useful to this puppeteer.

***

Ephidel's gaze is skyward as he stews in his isolation, until finally the unexpected happens. Farina joins him, in this spot, in this role. It only makes sense--she gained the same dark robes as him, the same deft fingers--and is not out of any sense of companionship. But all the same, Ephidel can not help but think something of it.

Words catch in his throat as he tries to form them, but any are quickly stolen away by the eruption of screams and violence. All throughout the tiny town, members of their group are attacked; having apparently chosen the wrong answer. There is little time to ponder this before the voice echoes again, bringing with it visions of props.

'Your hand must fit its mold.'

They were still this voice's playthings, fulfilling the role given to them. In that case, Ephidel envisions the ring of keys and other useful tools but he can not help but think again that it is all too fitting.

Ephidel had always viewed everything--people, most of all--as tools, and he in turn, was but a tool for his master's hand.

***

A ring of keys materializes, and drifts down into Ephidel's palm, before all goes dark again. High above a spotlight illuminates them in red, and before them is a mannequin bathed in green. It cowards and hides, flinches away from their gaze; and Ephidel can not help but be sickened.

They see Ninian. They see Marquess Santaruz. Marquess Lauz. Every one who was a stepping stone or road block to Lord Nergal's plans. The voice wants Ephidel to pick their pocket and scurry away like the petty thief they had been told they were. But they are more than that. The voice was right about one thing however, the world would only ever see them as a villain. Everyone (nearly everyone. But the morph dismisses their kindness in this moment) on the boat to Elibe made that clear that this is how they saw them. This is what they were. This is what they would always be.

Ephidel looks down to the keys in their hand, catching sight of a small blade on the ring, and clutches it tight. With confident and measured ease, Ephidel takes two slow strides towards the mannequin, before plunging the blade through its middle, and pushing up, up, deep into the thoracic cavity. Twisting the blade in just the way Lord Nergal had once guided their hands. This was how to ensure a pawn was dead, with the least effort, the least mess, but far from quick or painless. When their hand could reach no further, Ephidel dropped the blade and it clattered to the floor.

This is what they were. This is what the world saw them as. Fodlan had merely tainted the purity of their purpose.

***

The lights rise, and the familiar tug of puppet strings guides Ephidel's limbs. They don't fight it. This is what they were meant for. Through the streets they come upon the young dragon; her quintessence is marvelous, it would make for a wonderful gift for Lord Nergal. They close their eyes for what they know is to come.

The blade twists, and the blood crawls up their limb, racking shocks through their frame. Ephidel does not flinch before it, it is a fitting penance.

When the damage stops and their eyes flit open again, the three mannequins are presented. Ephidel takes in the garments of each.

The people of Nahan tossed Colla at their enemies feet to beg for mercy. He was not welcome in their homes. The gilded gaze drifts to the black armor. The enemies of just before. Perhaps prior to this moment, Ephidel might have considered him among their ranks. But his hesitation... his inaction... the morph is not utterly convinced.

Then the final mannequin. It is of a banner Ephidel does not recognize, but it is unmistakable as a soldier uniform. Colla had said as much to them... and Ephidel thinks they are perhaps alike in that way. A tool that is one day discarded when it has exhausted its use.

Still, Colla had stood in opposition to Ephidel. The ways they were alike mattered little against the allegiances they stood for, and it was enough to want to see the young man cut down.

Ephidel clasps their hand to the livery of the last empire and shoves the mannequin roughly to the ground, signifying their choice.

***

All the spotlights but the one illuminating the livery cut out, and Colla's story plays in the wake before all goes dark again. A hazy silhouette appears in the distance and the voice comes not from above but the shadow.

'Do you know who I am?'

The voice is familiar. From memories and dreams of Rusalka. Ephidel and the others who had witnessed it turned to each other. Confiding what they already knew. She was the one from the dreams. The one who wrote the letters. The one who sought revenge, and this was it.

'My family was fated to die either way. You will die because you are sheltered by the foul beast that condemned us for who we are[...]Pasithee is my name, child of Celephais and Keranes. Do you know where you are?'

Darkness closed in around them, but it was Maria with her quiet voice who stood to answer Pasithee's final question.

'Is this... ...your second 'eternal punishment?''

The voice does not answer. Instead the darkness grows closer to all of you until it’s all you can sense. Endless nothingness. Then you are nothingness.

[princessmacedon]

an arrival in nahan

Saltwater laps at her boots, stripping away a handful of sand and plastering two more to her heel. Hers is the first boat to touch the shore, but even the sea drowns in her ears, its susur swallowed by the irreverent beating of her heart. It rockets, from spine to sternum and back again, so fiercely as to throw her stumbling into the foam. Water grapples at the hem of her dress, flecking it dark and darker still; distantly, she is aware of someone else's hands, forceful as they hook her elbow and gentle in the catching.

"--Michalis," is all she gasps, watching the other boats come in. In all the chaos, she had been holding his hand, but hers is empty now. Whoever dragged her out of the waves releases her when she does not run back in. It won't help anyone if she panics, and she presses her palm, fingers splayed, against her chest. Perhaps Tiki will need her. Perhaps she should check on Frederick. What of Nanna and Sara, who have not yet reached the shore? Miss Ayra and her dearest Larcei? There must be something she can do for someone.

Her focus turns outward, and her heartbeat calms; Michalis never comes.

When the last of them arrives they number nine, a sorry bunch no more formidable than a clowder of drenched cats, soaked to the bone and some of them bereft of fang and claw. She herself has lost not only her great grandfather's heir, but his shield as well, and something in that fact makes her feel so small.

Too small for dreams and all such things she clings to (tries to cling to), but just right for their only-almost-even split of five and four. The innkeeper and his pity make a gift of two rooms for one night, the larger half sent to the one with the sturdier door. Her body tucked against the wall, fingers wrapped loosely around her ankles, Maria makes herself smaller in a big room, just like she always used to. Someone is murmuring somewhere, but she is too tired to... to...

In the early morning, Michalis is still not there, and Maria thinks he surely must have met a distant shore. He is too saddled by guilt to leave her abandoned overlong, and moreover he is far too stubborn to die: therefore, he must be elsewhere, dour but alive.

Sleep never reclaims her, having long since ceased to be a place of repose. Instead, she marks the time in the measure of the sun's halo refracted in raindrops crawling down the window pane; they are long gone come the calling of their fractured convocation, but the speaking-- the purpose she finds in it-- is better than the silence.

Perhaps it is just the taste of the wind in Verdane, but the scent of spring comes and goes, a flower on the breeze. Frederick (a 'sir' would suit his name warmly, like a winter coat) calls for what information they have at hand, and simply put: they have none. Maria does not hesitate to politely raise her hand, bidding for attention as though she were still inside the classroom.

She remembers the houses, half-built, and the crumbling walls. Gathering information has never been her forte, but she loves people as much as she cannot leave them be. She gives, but she does not trade; there is no promise of information, and though she hopes, she does not expect. But--

“I want to help them, if they need it. If they have wounded, I could help heal them! I would like to, if I can. May I? Please?”

They let her go with a promise shared not to leave alone, and she hurries down the stairs.

The innkeeper is like a metronome at rest, leaning neither toward hostility nor friendliness, but rather standing pin straight in the middle. Nevertheless, it was his kindness that allowed them safety and a good night's rest, and the warmth it kindles in her heart flowers on her face a smile. (If she allows herself a moment of wishful thinking, then she would like to think he wavers once.) And she gives to herself a well-worn mission, that she might savor all the kindnesses she's shown -- what good in the world she sees, she would dearly love to sow.

She presses him, almost to a point of worry, for where she might make herself useful. Not once does the innkeeper insinuate there to be a wounded soldier, a scraped knee, or even so much as a sniffly nose in the town. For all her curiosity, she learns of one person beyond the chores localized to the inn: a woman named Parsa, bereft of sheep and possessed of problems.

But the others are all gone or sleeping, and even sweet, beloved Tiki has run off with the others to play. Never one to break her promises if she can help it, the little cleric upholds them twofold, setting herself to the tasks of floor scrubbing and window washing in the safety of the inn. She's not the best at it, but she's certainly better than she would have been a few years ago by hops and skips, and it helps that she has enthusiasm aplenty to match.

It's when she pauses to wipe the back of her hand across her brow (working hard, yes, but mostly delighting in striking a pose like unto the characters in her books) that Maria spies what seems to be a merchant enjoying her lunch. The plethora of bags holds promise and catches Maria's attention, reeling her in until she stands next to the woman's table. The merchant, for her part, carries her words like she carries her coins: each one counted, their weight and worth carefully measured. Another one or few are added to the pile when the balance comes up short, and always clipped ere they threaten to overflow. Even so, Maria finds no fault in her answers (she is asking the wrong questions, like as not).

Indeed, things lost at sea sometimes washed up on the shore, the information parted with, somewhat unhappily, a word of advice. Quite clearly far more intriguing is that Maria offers to purchase something from that picked-clean shore, though the price to be shown is that she must show. One hundred and fifty-nine gold; unimpressive as it is, that is all she has.

And all she has will buy her a bridle, if she will forfeit it -- an odd thing with bells hanging at its woven joints, clearly as cared for as it is worn. But what a troubling thought it is, to forfeit her every coin! She cannot think of a beloved voice that would not chide her for it, and so far away from home she is uneasy to relinquish even this small security.

But Iote's Shield is heavy in its absence, and hers is a bleeding heart; she cannot say no, not when someone else's heart might bleed for their memories, too.

Gold dances between the merchant's knuckles, but with little more to give, Maria has little more to get. Word of the situation in Grannvale and elsewhere is vague. That they are doing well is a joy, of course, but she cannot forget the shadow that stretched behind Sara that night on the ship, just as she cannot forget the children stolen away from their homes. Sacrifices, all, just like she had been once -- only they did not even have the dreadful fortune to sleep. Whatever haunted those who called Jugdral their home had left many sorrows in its wake; would it be a kindness, then, to resurrect such nightmares for the sake of her curiosity? To light the match and dangle it near the wick of panic?

She cannot rightly say that it is.

"Thank you very much, Miss! Safe travels, wherever you go!"

Later, the professor will remember her shield and bring it back to her, crusted in sea salt and accented with kelp though it might be, and she will hug it to her chest and tell him that it is her brother's shield. Oh, there is a bloodline behind it, a nation she loves and a crown in its steel, but from the first time Michalis defied Papa and snuck it into her bedroom whispering histories to his two sisters cuddled by his lap, it has always been his. It kept him safe when he fell; it kept him safe when he fled; it kept him safe when he returned to her, and it will keep him safe when he leaves again.

Later still, when they have all reconvened, she will raise the bridle before them in hopes of returning it home. Its owner will recognize it-- probably-- mostly-- and Maria will not think too hard after so many years why her memory frays only in sudden, uneasy splotches. The surer and the more well traveled will plant fingers against a hand drawn map, charting a tentative course to Verdane, and they will make ready for a departure in Nahan.

[making-dough]

getting graded in fire emblem rp ♠ - She'd been mid-swing when she'd been suddenly pulled, yanked to... whatever this place was. Looked like a doll house. Feels like one too. Controlled by a mysterious talking Voice. Well, at least, they'd found everyone else so at least that was some good news there. Even if it felt like some more cosmic weirdness. And why was it that she was getting the odd impression that she was never aiming for Jugdral to begin with? Well, all this were 'roles' assigned by some cosmic weirdness, then the black cloak and Colla's reactions made her 'role' clear enough. A thief, huh? Well, the gold were certainly tempting enough. Though, she can't really claim much in the way of thiefiness. Fine. She'll play along for now, standing right behind Ephidel behind the unsuspecting mannequin holding a purse of gold "Why do I feel like we're not out of the woods yet?", she muttered quietly to herself.

The Voice returns with some more mockery, mocking them for their assumptions and their empty-handedness, offering them some tools but warning that they have to fit their 'mold'. You are empty-handed. She'd been ready to complain about exactly whose fault that would be but then Miss Mysterious Voice turned around and offered a choice of props so fair enough? The warnings about needing to fit its mold sounded vague enough, though given what had happened to Frederick and co, it was most likely a promise of more violence. Well, she couldn't really say she wasn't familiar enough with that kind of gamble. The life of a mercenary was never easy, after all. Violence, blood and the risk of permanent harm were all just a single mistake away, whether you were ready or not. Whether you wanted this life or not. Her mind drifted almost instinctively towards the bloodstained blade, sharp, trustworthy and practical. Even if it turned out to be a mistake, she'd much rather to have a weapon in hand than without. There was a brief flicker in the direction of the silver lance before she'd decided against it. That had looked a little too rich for her. It was probably a good idea to avoid being too indebted to Mysterious Cosmic Voices™. This would do. The blade she'd imagined had turned on her, stabbing her through the middle and sending a sudden jolt of pain through her body, but somehow, that was just fine. It wasn't as though she was expecting to get out of this completely unscathed, anyway. And soon it was time for the next test. The Voice returns, sounding amused yet disappointed at the same time. "If another believes you a villain, then a villain you shall be.", the Voice laughed before a series of lights revealed the trial laid before her. A glance towards the mannequin cowering before her told her just about what she was expected to do. "A villain, huh?", she muttered to herself, walking up to the cowering mannequin in green and placing her hands around its neck. There she stayed for a moment as if caught in indecision. Pondering whether or not she could deliver the final blow. And wondering if the flashes of the purple curls on top of its head she was barely glimpse was simply her imagination or not. Well, that settled it. If it had been armed, she wouldn't have anywhere near as many qualms but a cowering foe? Villain or not, she didn't much care what others thought of her but she'd at least like to be able to recognise herself. With a grunt of disgust, Farina simply gave the mannequin a quick frisk and then threw the mannequin off to the side, as if she'd lost all interest in it. She wasn't enough of a do-gooder to help it and neither was she ruthless enough to do it harm. Well, unless it had been carrying anything worthwhile, anyway. She'd happily help herself as a 'payment', then. The rest were a series of questions that she could honestly do little to help in, neither having as much familiarity with the old empire that once ruled Jugdral nor familiarity with this mysterious Voice that they'd apparently encountered on a previous mission. Apparently, they got her name, at least. Pasithee, child of Celephais and Keranes. Somebody cursed by something that had condemned her and wanted revenge, apparently. That was the piece of information they could confirmed from this Voice. Eventually, the Voice no longer answers. Instead the darkness grows closer to all of you until it’s all you can sense. Endless nothingness. Then you are nothingness.

[ofdusk]

getting graded in fire emblem rp (corrin edition)

"Where do you belong?"

that voice sends corrin’s skin crawling. she has seen this before — dreamed it before — and she has known nothing good to come of those past encounters.

but her feet know their path as if guided by invisible strings. she passes the doorway, watches as those two young princesses nestle against one another in its warmth. for a moment corrin thinks to pause, for home had always been a word with so many meanings to her heart.

but she continues.

for her fate had always had one truth to it. no matter what she may have chosen at that bridge, her brothers’ swords ringing in the distance, it would have always come to this.

princess takes her place among a sea of frozen faces. they stare as though enraptured, as though ready to hang off of her every last word, to heed her every order. she remembers the first time gazes fell to her this way, remembers just how her stomach had tightened with fear and the weight of responsibility.

she had learned how to stand here, like this — how to bear a smile and speak hope into words like a promise.

and so she does, feet planted firm at the center of a crowd listening intently to what she has to say.

At the same time, the crowd surrounding Corrin becomes animated and clamors for her. Fingers grasp and pull at her clothes and hair. They try to strangle her. They try to drown her under a sea of bodies. Corrin loses -3HP

"ɎØɄ ₣ØⱠⱠØ₩, ɎØɄ ĐØ ₦Ø₮ ⱠɆ₳Đ"

the bodies chant.

"You are empty-handed." And at these words, anything you might have been carrying disappears from your hands and pockets. "But out of generosity, I will allow you to take a prop."

hands grasp at her throat, pull at her hair. they are right, corrin knows, as they sing their miserable unison. she’s sure that she is crying, though from the pain of their hands or their truth she is unsure.

only with that voice does the onslaught pause, and corrin gasps frantically for air as the sea of bodies stills. her eyes have only just shut when the familiar image of her sword flickers across her mind.

corrin does not consider the possibility of a lie, does not think for a second that there is something too good to be true about the offering presented before her. she cannot afford that, not with handprints still fresh around her neck.

she chooses the yato, feels the ache of ita absence in her sword hand. if she has been wrong in believing she was meant to lead, she couldn’t be wrong in knowing that she had been meant to wield that sacred blade.

(…surely)

A single spotlight flashes on over Corrin, bathing her in green. A second light flashes on, illuminating a mannequin before her in red. It holds a sword over its head. She can see nothing else around her. "Do you understand the role you play?" asks the voice.

in this moment, the last nightmare feels almost more forgiving. at least then she had not been alone, at least then she had not felt so helpless.

the image of her sword and all its comfort is gone in an instant. it burns, agonizingly so, but nowhere near as much as the words whispered into her mind. no one, they call her, and with a certain horror she wonders if they are right. all she had ever been was a byproduct of circumstance, after all. the faith that was placed in her, the victory attributed to her name -- all of that had been undeserved. and she had known it, too.

but she was foolish, perhaps selfish. she had dared to call those things hers, to think of herself as something more than the girl in the tower; dependent and naive, frail and helpless.

when next her eyes open, they are met with a blade. corrin blinks, slow, feels every rise and fall of her chest as the scene before her sinks in. this is what had been intended for her, perhaps all along. there is nobody to call for now -- nobody to stand between her and the incoming attack, to dispatch the assailant so that she doesn't have to. she could step out of the way, she thinks, but what good would it do?

if she was meant to die, then she has outrun that fate for long enough. it will come for her in the end, anyway. it always does.

with a trembling breath, corrin shuts her eyes and stands beneath the sword's edge.

Cornered in an alleyway, Corrin and Hilda face Farina. There is no escape for them, so they offer themselves to Farina's mercy. The thief frisks each of them but finds nothing valuable and throws them aside. The villagers are nobodies.

[theofficersacademy]

                                         Corrin (F)  Tiki  Hilda Laslow                                       Ephidel   Farina   Byleth (M)                                         Frederick   Maria

BLINK [August 18th - August 24th]

Tag: #SVVerdane2023

Location: Unknown territory, presumably Grannvale

You don't remember the days passing. You don't remember sleeping. You don't remember how you got here. You don't remember when your clothes were changed. It's like you stumbled across a wrinkle in time and lost several weeks. Maybe you're just that exhausted. Your wounds, after all, have not healed, and Corrin still stumbles around under the effects of strange medicine.

Whatever the case, Corrin, Tiki, Laslow, and Maria have found themselves locked away inside some sort of keep. The rest of the children who had been with you are missing, perhaps in other cells. Your clothes are missing as well, replaced instead with rustic rags. When you look at one another now, it's almost hard to see anyone but helpless common folk. That's how you feel. Screams echo through the forlorn halls every now and again. You've been brought here as live sacrifices for the dark god, for a new world, your identities and your status stripped away, meaningless.

Hilda, Ephidel, Farina, Byleth, and Frederick have chosen to put their trust in a mysterious stranger named Colla, who leads you now into Grannvale. He has spoken quite little about himself, so his motivations remain a mystery to you. He proposes sneaking straight into the heart of the black-clad army's territory in search of its leader.

What you know:

You don't know how much time has passed since you were in Nahan with all of your allies. How you arrived where you are presently remains a mystery.

Your attire has changed mysteriously. Corrin, Tiki, Laslow, Maria, and Hilda now wear rustic tunics, similar in style to the villagers of Nahan. Ephidel and Farina are clad in black cloaks, Byleth has gained a new, fiercely sharp blade, and Frederick now wears the heavy robes of the Loptr Church. Colla does not seem to have noticed this change.

You feel... strange. The world looks odd, like the colors are changing before your very eyes. Maybe it's the exhaustion.

What to do:

For both groups, this segment will be a dungeon run. Corrin, Tiki, Laslow, and Maria aim to escape the dungeon, while Hilda, Ephidel, Farina, Byleth, and Frederick follow Colla into a cave between the mountains, supposedly the hidden entrance of an enemy fortress.

You can choose whether you want to move the game as a chatplay, or post it to the dash per turn, like a traditional thread. If you believe that your team may be slow, then a chatplay is recommended.

The dungeon run will be similar to a board game. The team will roll a D6 to determine how many squares they will move. Each character will have their own chance to roll the D6 and engage with whatever they find, but the whole team will move as a group unless you choose to split up. The map will remain hidden to you unless you find clues that will help you figure out the layout of the dungeon. Mod Ree will provide descriptions of the areas you enter, and your options to move.

You do not have to roll on your turn. Narrative > gameplay, so if something has caught your character's eye and you wish to spend more time with it, then please do so.

For the sake of keeping things moving, do not wait for your teammates. If you ping a teammate and they do not respond within 4 hours, skip them. They can take their turn later. Those who are available should be moving the game along.

If you need additional information, ask Mod Ree.

[delicatevalentine]

the world is our oyster (team verdane)

Chatter and overlapping voices flooded the inn room once everybody had returned from their exploits. Everybody shared the information they'd gathered and the supplies they'd obtained -- Hilda's nose wrinkled slightly as one produced a bucket of bait -- and began discussing what to do next. The options seemed to boil down to remaining at the inn or moving onto the capital.

Hilda observed the debate on their next steps as one might a tennis match: with vague interest, but with no intention of stepping onto the court.

"Whatever you guys think we need to do to achieve what we set out to do, I'm in." She settled back onto the bed that she had firmly situated herself on and watched the show, perfectly content to remain a follower of some of the more natural leaders in the group.

After much deliberation -- Hilda may have nodded off a couple of times -- the group made a collective decision to move on. There were some hesitant looks to see if anybody would choose to subvert the group and carve their own path, but everybody seemed to be in agreement (or, at least, harbour less strong opinions than their desire not to be left alone).

With a commitment to set off at dawn, the group split themselves roughly between the two inn rooms to rest. Sleeping in a shared room was not her preference and she thought that she might struggle to sleep. But, after the events of the past few days, her body succumbed quickly to the call of unconsciousness...

... Only to be rudely yanked out of it by the peal of alarms.

[artificidel]

"I have taken much from many." He says evenly, and it sounds like shattering glass, for it is not said with pride.

Before, death was simply a matter of convenience. To tie loose ends. To sever liabilities. To reap what had been sown. But there was value in life beyond its harvest; Ephidel only now understood that. Pride whispers that what has happened can not be undone, so there is little point in ruminating. But the morph has also learned the same can not be said of his enemies.

"If you seek something from me, speak it plain."

He doesn't think what he took can so easily be returned.

"If it is my destruction," Eyes sharpen minutely, and voice turns harsh. "it will not be so easy."

four stages

[daeificatio]

women fear me fishermen love me - a bro story | team verdane, byleth & frederick drabble

With no equipment, almost no money and in a land he had no knowledge about, this truly was a pickle. But sitting around and wallowing in worries wouldn’t improve their situation, so Byleth decided to act quickly. During their short reunion, the professor decided to check out the shore and the docks while accompanied by Frederick, a Knight of Seiros.

Now, the choice was strategic, very much so.

The first thing Byleth noticed once they made contact with the townspeople after they seemed rather wary of some of them. Part of him understood why- after all it was a small town and they all had hailed from a different continent, but it could still cause them issues. In particular, the professor noticed how he was one of those who wasn’t seen with the most comfortable gaze by the locals.

Hardly a novelty to him, but upsetting all the same. At the very least in Fódlan he knew why he was called the Ashen Demon- in here…he didn’t know why they seemed to fear him. Was his appearance and mannerisms truly that unsettling? It was hard to tell. Perhaps this land had an entirely different culture of behavior that he had yet to understand. Regardless, Byleth wouldn’t allow himself to think too much about his condition. There was no good from self commiseration, much less in a situation like this.

But it was that wariness by the locals that led him to choosing the docks. Although he was an ex-mercenary and his social skills were pitiful, if there was one thing Byleth was more or less used to was interacting with gruffy, seasoned and roughed older men. Mercenaries, guards, soldiers, sailors and fishermen were all common figures he’d come across throughout his life under Jeralt’s Mercenaries, so here he felt more comfortable. And, of course, the presence of Frederick did help.

"I neglected to introduce myself," he said, apologetic. "My name is Frederick."

Byleth knew that the big guy was faculty- well, not quite faculty, but one of those Knights of Seiros. He had spotted him here and there before, but never talked with the man. "My name is Byleth." A pause. "Nice to meet you." Be polite...the girl in his head quipped every now and then. "...most fishermen seem to have left already." Less people to talk to, but less eyes on them. "Sailors are easier to talk to. I think."

Byleth has had almost no bonds formed in his 21 years of life, but he still acknowledged the good that came from tagging along someone you can at least trust with your safety. Frederick seemed by all means a good, loyal man. A good companion, which only made the professor more confused once he noticed the locals seemed even more wary of Frederick than of him. The docks were already rather empty- most fishermen had already left as it was midday, coupled with Frederick’s presence…it was difficult to approach.

"I would agree with that," he said. "Let us find a sailor and ask first if we are the only ones shipwrecked. I... worry for the others I was traveling with."

"...me too." He wasn't particularly close to anyone on that ship but many of them were his students and colleagues all the same. He needed to know if they were okay.

No sailors or fishermen seemed keen on giving them any attention other than stink eyes- that if they didn’t just flat out turn their back to the duo. It stung, to be unwelcome in such a blatant way, but Byleth took it in stride. If they couldn’t approach anyone to talk, then they could at the very least find other means to draw attention. His first idea was to fish and see if they could sell their catch to someone, hopefully the deal making it easier for them to communicate and also getting them some coin. After all, they were short on money…and they had to pay the inn.

And then of course, because nothing is ever supposed to be easy in this damned world, everything in this town seemed rather pricey. The fees of the inn already had Byleth doing a low whistle deep in his mind, but now the prices to buy and rent fishing supplies…a net was well over the amount the professor and the knight had together. The rod wasn’t too cheap either, and it didn’t really seat well with Byleth busting their gold this early with fishing supplies.

Not when they could use what their mothers and nature gave them: arms.

Arms were, my all means, for free. Byleth had two of them. Frederick had two of them.

In the end, a plan was formed. Frederick bought a bucket with plenty of bait. He’d give Byleth some of it and he’d attempt to grab a fish straight out of the water with nothing but his bare hands. The looks of absolute shock from the locals didn’t go unnoticed by the professor, but he couldn’t care less- right now they had a priority.

Roll D10= 1, no fish!

Roll D10= 5, almost!

Roll D10= 5, catch!

Their first catch was a small one that nearly escaped, but Byleth managed to grab it at the last second. In his eyes any catch was a good catch, he wouldn’t let himself be discouraged.

…much less considering how fun this was. Even though his face was very much blank and his eyes were transfixed on the water below.

Roll D10= 2, no fish!

Roll D10= 3, no fish!

Roll D10= 5, almost!

Indeed, fishing in these waters was truly more difficult than in a lake or river. It wasn’t often that Byleth got to fish like this at the shore, but it was an experience nonetheless.

Roll D10= 8, catch!

Another small one, not much different than their previous catch. They still had plenty of bat and plenty of time. Though it wasn’t visible on his face, Byleth truly was enjoying this. Sure, the entire situation was less than ideal- being trapped in this continent with no equipment, almost no money and almost no information of where to go and how to traverse these lands, but this specific moment was fun. Standing fully clothed at the shore with a trusted companion, getting to fish in the good old raw style. He was genuinely enjoying this moment. The professor was very much quiet, but he wondered to himself if Frederick would be willing to fish with him again like this sometime in the future.

Well- that was the future. Right now he has to focus.

Roll D10= 10, a big one!

Particularly when he felt something pull at his arm with quite a bit of force. It was no small fish trying to tear the bait off his grip- no, this was a truly, truly big one. Byleth instinctively wrapped his arms around it to try to subdue it, but it was quite obvious that he couldn’t do it alone. “Frederick, help.” 

It would go like any other unarmed hunt, except trickier considering how the fish was in its element and if their grip were to falter, it would readily escape. With no sword or dagger with him, they’d have to knock the fish out with their bare fists if they wanted to get it out of the water.

Byleth punches Fish! Roll D20= 10 Fish HP= 3.5 Byleth HP= 9 Frederick HP= 9 Frederick punches Fish! Roll D20= 17 Fish HP= 2 Frederick HP= 8 Byleth punches Fish! Roll D20= 16 Fish HP= 0.5 Byleth HP= 8 Frederick punches Fish! Roll D20= 12 Fish HP= 0 Frederick HP= 7 Fish has been captured!

It was, indeed, an experience. Byleth had been confident that they’d be able to subdue the fish thanks to Frederick’s muscles- he was a big, strong guy, so it was only natural that he’d be able to knock the creature out with a couple blows. Although both men did get jostled around by the fish, they came out of the water drenched and victorious with a massive fish on their hands. And their act wasn’t at all ignored by the locals- as soon as Byleth regained his bearings and looked around, he spotted some fishermen and sailors staring and whistling at them.

The fishermen on the dock actually seem a bit impressed by this spectacle. Most of them stopped what they'd been doing to watch you both thrash around in the shallows, but the size of the fish is what really gets them. One of them whistles at you as you drag it ashore.

As they drag the fish to shore, Frederick looks down at their prize (as well as the other two small fish Byleth had caught), and then frowns. "All right. What do we do with these now?"

Byleth was pleased- even though it didn't quite show on his face. They managed to get a really big one. "The fishermen seem impressed as well. We could try to sell them." Or...perhaps, try to spark up some conversation.

Frederick nodded, and picked up the fish so it would not drag on the ground. "Ah. Point the way, professor."

Felt weird. But this was no time to hesitate- if they were open to communicate, then the professor would take the chance. Although the fishermen still seemed wary of Frederick’s presence, their view of Byleth had apparently been slightly improved. Though feeling a bit put off by his companion being rejected still, the professor approached the fisherman.

One of the fishermen seems pretty impressed by Byleth's catch, though his compliments aren't forthcoming. He'd been in the middle of tying up his own boat when the whole fight had gone down, so he'd seen most of it. He nods toward the fish left with Frederick. "Not bad. We thought you were crazy diving in like that. Still do, honestly. But I guess crazy gets you something nice once 'n a while. What's your name? Never seen you here before."

Seeing how the fishermen seemed more open to talk now, Byleth decided to take the chance. Leaving the big fish with Frederick, he stepped up to talk with the man. "The lack of a rod or net won't hold me back. If I need to use my hands then so be it." He pushed some wet hair away from his face. "My name is Byleth. Me and my big friend came here by boat from another land but got shipwrecked because of a storm."

"That guy?" The fisherman glances toward Frederick, skeptical of the use of the word "friend." "Well, I'm short a man this week. I can give you a real rod if you wanna fill in for 'im. I'll pay ya too. Though if you wanna catch things with your hands, I won't stop ya either." With that, he holds out his hand. It's ruddy, with calloused palms. "Name's Ramin."

"Yes. He's big and looks scary, but he's very strong and kind. His help is very valuable." If he could find a way to get those people to change their view of Frederick to be a more positive one, he'd try- even though he pretty much only got to know Frederick now. As for the job...it could work for their situation. He could aid with rent, and this would get him a way to communicate with the locals and get information on this land. "Deal." He took off his wet gloves, revealing pale and skinny hands- but calloused all the same, to shake the other man's. "Good to meet you, Ramin."

Ramin still seems unconvinced on the topic of Frederick. He leans in close just in case he’s in earshot. “I’ve seen men like him before. You’d be wise to cut your ties sooner than later. Bad luck will follow you otherwise.” He straightens back up and gives Byleth’s hand one final shake. “What’re you planning to do with your catch, friend?”

That was strange. Frederick didn't look like a bad-luck type of guy to the professor. He looked like your average knight-dude if anything. "Bad luck? What do you mean?" Byleth kept his voice down, slightly tilting his head to the side in an attempt to showcase clearer curiosity and compensate for his blank stare. "Me and my friend were thinking about maybe it in the market."

"Just be on your guard around people like him," Ramin says with a stern eye, and that seems to be the last he'll say on the topic. Suddenly he brightens and thumbs Byleth on the chest with the backs of his fingers. "How 'bout you sell it to me? I'll pay ya better than those misers in the market. Even found something nice on the beach earlier that might interest you."

"...I see. Thanks for the warning." Not wanting to push his luck and undo the progress he had made in communicating with the fisherman, Byleth let go of the topic even though it still bothered him. Again, Frederick just looked like any other knight in his eyes. "What do you offer for it?" One dark brow slightly arched in interest at the 'something nice on the beach'. It could be nothing...but it could be one of their missing equipment. Who knows.

"Come here." Ramin motions for Byleth to follow him over to his boat. He steps down into it, the vessel rocking slightly as he does, and then drags a weighty shield out from under the seats in the back.

"How 'bout a trade?" He shows Byleth the shield. "Caught this in one of my nets earlier, but I don't have a use for it. You look like you've seen a few fights. Might come in handy."

Byleth follows Ramin into the boat, seemingly at ease though his eyes carefully watched his surroundings. Ramin seemed like a fisherman like any other, but one could never be too trustful considering how this was an unknown land. His attention however was caught by the sight of the shield being held up- he had seen this before, at their boat. It belonged to that one young Blue Lion girl. "I'll take it." Any recovered equipment was already progress. "You're a good dealer, Ramin. Thank you." He offered the fisherman his hand to shake.

Byleth has acquired the Iote’s Shield!

As soon as the teacher made it out of Ramin's boat with the shield in his hands, his shoulders almost unnoticeably dropped in relief. Behind focused cobalt eyes and a pale blank face, Byleth was actually slightly nervous throughout the entire exchange. During his entire life it had always been his father Jeralt who was in charge of those situations- that or some other man from the merc band, but never Byleth. Instead, he’d always stand back and watch as deals were made, still too young and too inexperienced both with people and words to try it himself.

And now…he did it. By himself, without his father being there to give him a push or start the conversation for him. Byleth didn’t consider himself a spoiled child, perhaps sheltered in an odd way at best, but social situations still gave him a chill down his stomach and a burn on his chest that he could only assume would be the replacement of a thundering, anxious heartbeat if he had one. Well, he was able to at least return to his companion…or rather companions, seeing how a young girl from their group had joined Frederick, with good news.

At a steady pace, Byleth returns to his companion- well...two companions. A young girl with green hair that he had spotted in their boat before had joined Frederick. "Hi." He greeted the two, then turned to Frederick. "I talked to the fisherman. I sold the big fish to him because he had this...shield. This shield belongs to a student from our group, the small one with red hair. This means most of our equipment is most likely underwater or scattered around at the beaches." He paused, then a glimpse of disappointment manifested in his eyes. "I'm sorry. I tried to tell them you weren't a scary person, but they didn't budge on their opinion." He knew how bad it felt to be feared and avoided by others all too well, so he truly felt bad for Frederick. "Well, we can always fish again. We have plenty of bait." He turned to the small girl. "Want to help us?"

Frederick frowned just a little, but didn't want to press Tiki. Dragons were such strange beings, and he would have plenty of time to think about the how and why of her age later. Instead, he put a hand on the back of her head, patting a little like one might a small child. "See? He said we can fish again," he said as an attempt to placate her. He looked up at Byleth and offered a confused expression. "Why do they think I'm scary? Should I speak with them? I mean no harm."

"I don't know. I tried to press but he just didn't budge." He curled a finger under his chin for a moment, before shaking his head. "I don't think it's wise. Most are afraid of you, but some could get violent. I don't want you to be attacked." He looked back at the young girl. "It's okay. We can fish more. We can catch another big one."

He picked up the bucket of bait and looked into it. "We could definitely attempt to catch more... perhaps then, you and Lady-- I mean, Tiki," he corrected. "Could I attempt to sell them? We do need to pay for our rooms... and food. And of course, supplies as well. Unless we wanted to look for our lost weapons first, which might also be a good idea. I've lost both my lances, I'm afraid."

Though she was distraught over the loss of her fish, Tiki slapped her face to pump herself up, nodding when the suggestion for another fish to be reeled up was offered. "I would love love another fishy! Then we can use it to feed everyone! Share food to make friends and be happy after what happened." Jumping down from Frederick's shoulder, Tiki smiled wide at the professor and the knight despite her swollen eyes. "Then once we are done, we can find everyone's weapons again!" Throwing her hands up wide and gesturing at the sea. "Ban-Ban said the best fish is caught earlier after all!" She insisted.

The professor looked between the two of them, then at the shield in his hands. It was slightly grimy with dirt and algae, but his judgment wasn’t wrong- it truly was a piece of their equipment and by the looks of it, it seemed like someone’s prized possession. Though he didn’t know the shield’s name or history, he knew it belonged to that one red haired young girl, Maria.

With blank but not unfeeling eyes, he nodded at their promise to fish again later and do something about their catch, maybe a nice big meal for everyone. It seemed like it could be fun. The girl in his mind made a quick comment- about how she had never seen him consider something ‘fun’ outside of training and fishing with his father.

For once, the comment wasn’t the sassy type he’d usually ignore. Assuming the warmth he felt in his chest was the beginnings of hypothermia, the professor moved on to at least take the shield back to its owner.

[artificidel]

chopchopchopchop

It was over before they even realized it began.

The rain came, orchestrating a little tune upon the wooden boards of the upper deck. It did nothing to lessen Ephidel's resolve. They remained stone still at the bow of the ship as the downpour engulfed them. Eyes ever fixed on the horizon, waiting to see the shorelines of Elibe.

But then came the sky-rending screech, the heavy beat of wings, and finally the crash of a tail. It split the ship in twain and sent the morph flying from her safety.

Ephidel could not swim, could only struggle as the waves toppled over them again and again. Filling their hollow with the brine of the deep as the undertow claimed them. They swirled in the depths, buffeted by hail and the ship's debris and finally dragged along the sea bottom. Damaged, disoriented; eventually all went dark.

***

Consciousness returned slowly, the morph first needing to find the shape of themselves again. To rearticulating their digits, their limbs, and their eyelids before they cracked open. Ephidel was not dead, but upon a shining beach. Their frame damaged and memories disorganized, but alive. They were not alone either; those from the monastery--no... those from the ship they were on...--were here too. They would soon find out they were in Jugdral. That's right... they were assigned to stop a cult that was kidnapping children. They think...

Ephidel rose on shaky legs, needing to expel the brine in their hollow and the plank from their chest before joining the others.

***

The people of Nahan were hospitable enough, but still had the near universal distrust of the morph; it bothered them not. They were here for a mission, Ephidel thought as they skulked the streets. Drinking in any information they could gather. There was no shortage of children, and they played outside without fear. From the center of town, life seemed picturesque. So Ephidel wandered to the edges.

***

The edge of town had offered little but directions to the capital, a makeshift weapon, and some quintessence of game. There was nothing to be found in Nahan the morph concluded, setting their sights higher and tapping the destination on Corrin's map. Verdane.

"If anything is known, it will be by the ones in charge."

Or those standing behind the ones in charge.

[artificidel]

"Did you know?"

The accusation is out of her mouth before she has time to think it over.

"Did you know that someone would open The Dragon's Gate again? Did your master tell you?!"

There's no way he would have known. Mail had been backlogged for everyone. It's not as though he was especially privy to information they all had waited weeks to hear. But even so, the circumstances are so eerily familiar that it's almost impossible to not assume the morph had his hand in it, even partially.

This isn't like the ball, where Lyn could afford to look the other way out of consideration for the atmosphere. Before, she could overlook his presence, a mere defanged dog without a master, but if they were to return back to Elibe, that would be an entirely different story.

She unsheathes her sword and points it at the morph. The others on the boat would understand if they knew what he had done.

"Answer quickly or I will not grant you mercy."

It was not a matter of if, but of when Lady Lyndis would approach him. He knows how this looks. Knows how the facts even align with his means of operating. The rumors of dragons in Elibe a waiting trap, and a lone, outnumbered, servant of Lord Nergal's the bait.

At a glance Ephidel looks all but guilty, with no counter that could not be upended. But if looked at closer, there were facts that still did not add up.

If Lord Nergal had released the dragons, why had destruction not already ensued? If Ephidel was still within Lord Nergal's good graces--still a piece of his plans--why was he only now returning? If Ephidel was to kill the lords, he has had plenty opportunity but still not acted.

This ship was days out to sea. The sun had risen and fallen several times. It would be far too late if a messenger returned to Fodlan or went on to Elibe.

An interrogation from the princess of Caelin was inevitable. But all the same, the drawing of her sword was a bit unexpected.

Just as quickly, a spell coalesced in Ephidel's palm. Unreason was unstable in his grasp. Sparking and pulsing like a powerful void. Strong enough to crack the joints in his digits to unnatural positions.

"Settle yourself, Lady Lyndis." Comes his even response. "I understand your fury, but then you must understand my retaliation."

Most of Ephidel's manipulation tactics have been put aside. They do not serve him as much as they once did, but that is not to say he has abandoned them entirely. Lady Lyndis cares not for Ephidel, perhaps not even herself now. But there is one thing she would relent for.

"There are far too many innocent bystanders on this ship, wouldn't you agree?" He says with a grave look. "I know not more than you, but if you still doubt my words, I would wait for dry land to be beneath us."

[artificidel]

Something about them was off, she could sense it, see it. Everyones feelings were obvious, but not theirs. That alone intrigued Freyja, but the additional odd feeling they gave her added to it. They feel, non human, someone who-- by all accounts, should not exist. "You seem fun at gatherings, whats on your mind?"

Ephidel knew what they were on this ship. Despite every native being at odds with one another, the morph knew they could all stand under a banner against them.

But it was not the ostracizing that kept them away, that kept them alert, that kept them staring out over the horizon without rest. They had bigger concerns than the vermin that may band together against them.

The morph felt her approach far before she spoke, but there was no hostility in her aura.

They are silent for a moment, considering how to articular their answer.

"I do not know how long it has been since I've been upon Elibe, and what these rumors might mean for it. ... if it might signals my God's return."

Ephidel regards her, and for once appreciates the quiet company.

"Would he have me back...?"

They longed for purpose. For meaning. For love.

"Or have I become defective?"

[artificidel]

She had promised Kent she would proceed with caution, but she also did not miss the way he hesitated in his responses to her accusations. It frightened her, she had never seen him that way.

There was one more person she wanted to check in on... He had been kind enough during the odd dream exploring flooded ruins. She had heard whispers, jokes perhaps, of throwing him into the abyss and letting him sink... But seeing as they were dreams then surely he would have woken up with them even if he had sunk to the bottom of the abyss.

She wondered how many people here wanted to throw him overboard and allow him to sink to the bottom of the sea. She had heard that there were odd things about him, but she hadn't noticed much herself. Her time with him had been brief; but he was quiet, and spoke in an odd manner. He was cold and clammy, but with the rain they all had been cold and clammy.

People avoided him, more so than they avoided Lloyd. He remained tucked away in a corner, hidden under his cloak. There was being alone, and then there was being lonely.

Marianne steeled her nerves and approached. They didn't need to speak, but perhaps just being near him would set others at ease? She leaned against the railing, staring at the horizon and the gentle waves.

He feels her approach. Expects it to be nothing more than another accosting him about his knowledge of what may be happening in Elibe.

But her essence feels the smallest bit familiar... and when she finally stood beside him, she said not a word. After a moment, Ephidel looks to her puzzled, but still, questions were not asked.

He tilts his head curiously, and then recalls. He knew her from the dreams in Rusalka. They had not spoken much then, but considering it now, she too tended to stand at people's periphery.

He blinks slowly at her, before returning his gaze to the sea. They stood together a while, sharing a comfortable silence.

[daeificatio]

to forget is to die, to look back is to be left behind

tw: dissociation

A void.

His pain and injuries were gone, his mind felt slightly jumbled but clearer than before. As he opened his eyes, Byleth found himself in a world apart from the one he knew. A disembodied voice that he didn’t recognize talked to them as if they were its toys or playthings much to Sothis’ annoyance, but Byleth was much more focused on the fact that their missing companions were back and healthy- and the town before them wasn’t real. 

It was toy-like, almost like an upscaled diorama. It filled him with a strange sensation, the disconnect bothering him deeply but without a chance to analyze why, because the voice was quick to inquire them.

“What role do you play?”

Bright markings appeared throughout the false town, though only one caught the professor’s attention. Just around the corner, a mannequin pierced another with a sword- the sight oddly realistic considering what composed the scene. A murder taking place, perhaps the settling of a deal- or maybe an ordered service. Byleth’s eyes couldn’t remove themselves from that sight, part of his brain already set on what he had to do. What his role was- or rather, what his role was supposed to be.

Perhaps not to himself, but to the rest of the world. Byleth was a murderer. A hitman. He took lives for money and his blade belonged to whoever had the deepest pockets. A demon with no expression who prowled around forests.

His feet took him to the position of the aggressor. Gloved hands closed around the sword’s hilt and there he stood, in a pose that has been repeated time and time again in his life so far. Even as a child, Byleth remembers. He remembers the first time he killed a human, he was a child and it wasn’t much different from what he was doing now.

To the voice above, it seemed enough. While some of his companions were punished for apparently making incorrect choices, Byleth was spared. It felt bitter and unearned. He had never been one to engage in self commiseration, but it felt wrong to be spared over admitting to this.

What does this mean to you, the girl in his mind commented.

Are you coming to terms with who you are?

Or are you accepting defeat?

Byleth couldn’t find the power to reply, and so he waited for the voice’s next question.

“What will you take?”

Behind his eyelids, only one shape was defined enough for him to try to grasp. It was painfully obvious even more considering his current predicament, but at the same time he had no basis to go against it. A blade, sharp and trustworthy, but stained in blood. One that looked like any other blade he has handled before, unremarkable in its appearance but its potential and value very much relevant in his mind. It was shameful to admit, but Byleth was more used to the weight of a sword in his grasp than that of a human’s hand. Of course, Byleth didn’t grow up alone. Jeralt had always been there for him as well as all the other mercenaries from the band. There was never a moment where the professor found himself left alone or abandoned in any way- even more now that Sothis has materialized inside his mind. 

Byleth has never been alone, yet at the same time Byleth led a lonely life.

The world happened and evolved outside of his control, his mind always failing to catch up to it. He had always felt like a spectator, watching life behind a screen- warm and breathing, yet not quite there. The fellow mercenaries partied and his father often took him to taverns, laughter and loud, obviously drunken singing reverberating throughout the stone and wooden walls. Movement everywhere, occasionally people patting him on the head or ruffling his hair. Byleth was there, physically.

He was in this world, physically.

But as he watched the blade materialize into his hand, his mind quietly wondered if perhaps he had been compensating his feelings of detachment with the familiar weight a weapon offered to him all this time.

If perhaps, this attachment he felt to it was just because he had never felt his own heart flutter or thunder, and that the only times he was able to physically experience an emotion was when he was handling a weapon, be it to defend himself or to attack another.

“What will you do?”

The voice from above questioned, and the professor raised his head to see a single mannequin before him.

A figure with no identity of its own, cowering with its hands up as if trying to shield itself from harm or asking for mercy. It was bathed in a bright green light, all while Byleth was drowned in red- the blade in his hand. It was obvious, what he had to do. What he was supposed to do, at least.

He needed to kill it. Bring down his blade upon that figure and end its theoretical life. Byleth remembered the faces of those he had killed before, but he never remembered them in the seconds before their death. Be it because of the darkness from a night attack, or because everything had happened too fast or because of an ambush from behind- Byleth didn’t know the faces of his victims before he took their lives.

Maybe you saw them, but chose to forget them.

No, I’d never choose to forget something like that.

Perhaps your mind made that choice for you, out of your control.

Why would it do that?

Because human brains would rather forget than to face suffering.

I’ve never felt that way. 

That doesn’t make you any less human.

The conversation was short in his mind, but it felt as if it had taken centuries. On that mannequin, he could only see his victims as flashes of memories passed before his eyes. Decades of mechanical actions, of unfeeling cold murder because his mind failed to process what he should’ve been feeling and instead replaced it with nothingness. The still ocean of his brain wasn’t out of choice, he was simply born that way.

That doesn’t make you any less human.

But it doesn’t mean you can’t try to work around it.

Gloved fingers eventually let go of the sword as metallic clatter filled the void. His hands were now free, filled with an uncomfortable lack of anything much like his own heart- except now it had been out of a choice. 

It’s about time you hold on to human warmth.

His feet took him forward, and that same hand that once held a sword now was placed on the mannequin’s shoulder. Placed awkwardly at first, slightly unsure, but with conviction. His form was positioned not as an overbearing defender, but of a caring guide. Instead of his victims, what he saw on that mannequin was now his own students. All of those youngsters he had been tasked with teaching, who often became startled from a battle or worried over a task and he’d always come to them to guide them back to a path they could follow with confidence.

Byleth was met with surprise when he opened his eyes- and instead of being punished for going against his role, he was met with arms wrapping around his middle. Looking down, a red mop of hair adorned with a shiny golden tiara.

“Maria.” It was the only word he had managed to utter in this sickening void, and instead of demanding effort it felt warm and gentle on his being. She was there, one of his students. He belonged with them now.

Though awkward due to lack of practice, the ex-mercenary wrapped his arms around the young girl and let his mind understand the weight of a human soul instead of a steel blade.

Byleth has been recruited!