#artificidel

[viridescent-lance]

"Sir Forsyth, yes?" Ephidel addresses from a darker corner of the knight's hall. "I have heard tell that it is your 'birthday,' and that you are Professor Python's dearest 'boytoy,' so I have brought you this." A heavy tome is pulled from beneath clerical robes and presented to the man. "He has said you are fond of martyrdom, so on behalf of the church, these are her histories." His smile turns cheshire like a pleased cat. "You may enjoy the sacrifices of Saint Seiros and her Ten Elites."

"Yes, that is I." Forsyth barely has a chance to respond to the strange, haunting individual before they say something that is made even more outrageous by the impassive monotone they deliver it with. If it were someone else, he may assume they were mocking his relationship--in this moment, he is utterly and absolutely certain that Python has described their relationship as such to this person. "I'm not--that is to say--who told you such a thin--erm, thank you..."

"Gwah?" Forsyth's stumbling is then interrupted by yet another unbelievable series of descriptors, this time making Forsyth wonder if this holy person is truly so austere or if this is part of a very committed bit. The book is, in fact, a very valuable and lengthy account of the aforementioned saint and elites, and must have been very difficult to procure. As he looks up from studying it, he sees a disarming smile that answers none of his questions, simply raising more.

"Is this some sort of game?" To an outsider, Forsyth must seem ungrateful, questioning his generous gifter. But those comments are simply unacceptable, even in jest! He does not know this mysterious benefactor, and he does not know how well Python knows them. For Python's sake, he hopes it is not particularly well. He hopes his expression is severe enough, and he shakes his head. "I appreciate the present, really and truly, but the manner in which you speak of me and my relationship to my partner...I apologize, but it is utterly inappropriate."

This birthday is off to an...interesting start, that is certain.

[nagaficat]

As is customary for Ephidel, he seems to appear from thin air behind Deirdre. Only making his presence known by his uncharacteristically soft voice. He looks almost like a lost child at this soiree. "I trust you are enjoying yourself Lady Deirdre?"

It seems like such a silly question. Of course she is enjoying herself! Deirdre finds it difficult to imagine someone out there who might not be having the time of their lives. It is a wonderful, enchanted, perfect evening and she intends to savor every moment of it.

But she knows that, ultimately, Ephidel's question is one asked in politeness and she smiles warmly at the man who has become someone quite dear to her. "I am very much. Even more so now that you are near!" She reaches for his hands and, as their palms touch, a flower springs to life at her neck.

"And you, Deacon? I trust you and your beloved are having a wonderful time as well?"

[grimstalkr]

bird hunters - flood hunting team

When picked to go hunting Tharja truly hadn't expected Ephidel and Julius to be the ones picked alongside her. She knew little of either of them but she did know that the one time she'd met Julius he'd been rather hostile. Which made her even warier as they were picked to collect food for the others. Her boots were soaked and the ends of her skirt dragged as they traversed what little ground they could to where there were birds to hunt. The eerie silence was made worse by their strange surroundings. She figured speaking so early on in their hunt would just scare their prey away.

Once settled Tharja crouched to bide her time, letting the birds slowly get used to their collective presence. By the time the birds were settled Tharja was more than ready to strike. With a sudden burst of magic, Tharja managed to strike a bird down, watching as it dropped from the magical overload. She was quick to hurry over, snatching it up and looking toward her teammates. Tharja held it up, motioning toward the gull-sized bird she'd managed to down.

She hoped her teammates were doing alright. The water was frustrating to her beyond belief. If she slipped even a little bit she'd drown. She certainly hoped neither of them fell in. Could Ephidel swim? Could Julius?

@disgracedvessel @artificidel

[aimlessarchery]

"Another 'year' has gone by my dear professor, and with it, another of your 'birthdays.'" Ephidel's eyes crease and their smile pulls tighter at that. They hope he notices how they've learned from him.

"Time always moves by so quickly for me however." They take his hand and place within a flask, enchanted by their spells to always be cooling. "Do treasure it."

It is unclear if they mean the gift or his time.

"Hey, your wording's gotten better."

Python feels his shoulders seize with the instinct to recoil, however, at the tight, cat-like quality to Ephidel's expression. Maybe it's the golden eyes, but it looks far too much like a wild animal leering from the bushes.

"...Expression could use some work, though."

He takes the flask from the clergyman's cool fingers.

"Sure thing, pal. Taking it slow is my specialty." The gift is lifted slightly higher, tipped toward Ephidel in acknowledgment. "Especially if I've got a good drink to keep me company."

[swiftscion]

i want to see someone get shot 🥰 - team 10 iron round

Larcei tries to protest against Deirdre’s scolding--tries to put up her arms in defense and come up with some reason or another to justify her suspicions. Isolation leads to suspicion, she would have said, or She was holding a strange magical artifact! But as though this dream wishes to put their feud aside, the arena shifts. Rustic bars, dusted floors, and simple wooden seats all vanish without a trace. The smell of blood and sweat in the air is gone, giving way to something more sterile. The playing field widens. Metal plating covers the ground they walk on, streaks of blue energy coursing through the floor. For lack of a wall and iron gate, a similarly colored bubble surrounds them. It seems to hum with life, appearing translucent but definitely solid. It is a force field, meant to keep their fight contained. On the other side of this field remains their audience, though their accommodations have been upgraded. Their seats of matte-black chrome are padded using some soft and alien material, and they hover in the air, so that everyone can have their perfect view. It is a setting totally unknown to little Larcei--far beyond even the scope of her imagination. 

And when she looks at her hands, expecting some powerful weapon of a similar era, she finds nothing. Not even the tingle of magic at her fingertips, not even the flow of mana in her veins. “GUESS I DON’T HAVE A WEAPON,” she tries to mutter to herself, but speaking below a shout has been made an impossibility. Her voice, regardless of how much she tries to control it, rings at a deafening volume--each word pounding against the eardrums of all unfortunate enough to hear. But strangely enough, she doesn’t seem to notice. 

“BUT I’LL BE DAMNED IF WE LOSE BECAUSE OF THAT! YOU!” and again, she points to Lucina, “ENOUGH STANDING AROUND! IF YOU’RE REALLY ONE OF US, THEN YOU’LL FIGHT TO GET OUT OF THIS PLACE! ATTACK THE ENEMY; GIVE THEM EVERYTHING YOU’VE GOT!”

Larcei uses Rally with her Booming Voice! Lucina receives +6 speed and +3 luck for one round!

The enemy in question is not so easily felled, however. One, evidently the leader, towers over our heroes with limbs of great mechanical might. Its entire body is cased in metal armor, but the sheen around that seems to provide even more protection. It, too, is of the sky-blue color seen on the floors and walls around them. Each of its shoulders holds a missile rack, and strapped front-and-center is an intimidating gatling gun. Of course, this technology is foreign to Larcei, but she isn’t the kind to be willing to mess around and find out with strange devices. Especially when those devices are pointed at her. 

Three nodes surround it, each a futuristic pod of robotic material and circuitry. At their cores is a similar blue light, and evidently, they are connected to the main body. After taking a look at them, Larcei doubts even Lucina could hold her own. She turns to another ally.

“YOU TOO, LADY DEIRDRE! YOU TRUST HER, RIGHT? THEN BACK HER UP IN BATTLE!”

Larcei uses Ruse with her Booming Voice! Deirdre receives +3 speed and +1 luck for one round!

UP NEXT: @exclted @allegreta

[twistedisciple]

[ Embrace ] + [ Dip ] Wasn't this that human he fought down in Abyss? Or maybe that hasn't happened yet in this timeline. Regardless, hopefully Griss wouldn't mind how rigid Ephidel's moves were when they are matched in the dance line. The morph effortlessly dips the other low. "Your scars look lovely in the moonlight."

"Huh?!" Was that supposed to be a pickup line? Or was this guy one of those misguided kids running around with the romanticized ideas of fell worship that he'd met earlier in the night? Either way, the suddenness and the absurdity both are enough to distract Griss from the dip until his back cracks and he's staring up at a pair of gold eyes set in a moon-pale face, mask-like in its pallor and lack of expression. His jaw falls slack, confusion notching a line between his brows. No, there's something different going on here. The man reminds him of the Corrupted, somehow. Except that skin of his is too smooth, too perfect. Inhumanly so, but not like the undead.

When the shock finally wears off, a wicked look takes its place and Griss claws his hands up to the man's lapels, digging his fingers into either side and dragging himself up closer. One shift off-balance and both of them would topple to the ground.

"Want some to match?" he purrs, for now effortlessly as he clings half-suspended from the other man's neck. "We can trade; I'll cut you and then you cut me."

[allegreta]

a kiss stolen away in a corner, ignoring crowds

Leanne holds tight to Ephidel's hand, weaving through the crowd to find a place of respite in a wayward hallway. Parties are lovely, but the emotions of everyone at once is so much, and she would like to have some time to feel Ephidel alone, thank you very much.

Away from the partygoers and in the comfortable quiet, Leanne takes a moment to study Ephidel's face. They're stoic as always, but the faint affection that thrums from them is something she wants to soak in all she can. They really are a pretty individual, she thinks as she runs her free hand through their ponytail.

"Ephidel...is it okay if I try something?" The feeling tugging at Leanne's heart is impossible to ignore, but she does not wish to overwhelm Ephidel. He nods, though, following her lead as he's been doing all night. He is powerful, strange, something she does not fully understand, and yet he trusts her, takes her words in like she is an oasis and he is a wanderer in a strange land. "I would like to kiss, again."

Another nod, and she moves her hand from theirs to their cheek. Their skin is warmer than normal, no flush but where it is usually cool to the touch it emits a gentle heat. It's exciting, and she squeezes her eyes shut as her lips meet theirs. They still don't seem to know what to do, but they follow her lead, moving their lips back against hers, awkwardly mirroring her arm positions and bringing them closer. Kissing is completely foreign to them, it seems. Leanne will do her best to teach them, then!

"You can kiss in a lot of different ways." Leanne tries to keep her voice steady as she takes a moment away from kissing to catch her breath. She tucks a strand of hair out of her face, studying Ephidel's expression. Minuscule differences, but there's an implacable change. They look intently at her, interest written all over them. The beginnings of joy twinge in their soul, a feeling she's hardly felt in this caliber for them before. She wants more. "I've only read about this one, so we'll have to learn together."

Back in she goes, this time parting her lips and letting her tongue snake through. At first Ephidel does not open his own mouth, but he learns quickly, his own tongue entering the scene and finding Leanne's. They explore each other's mouths, hands beginning to roam elsewhere. Ephidel no longer mimics her like a mirror, though he still shadows her movements. She can hear their breathing; a rare feat, and if she focuses, distinct small whines. It's intoxicating, to be able to cause this.

"Mm..." Leanne doesn't want to fully stop kissing, so she mumbles her approval during a lull. Ephidel pulls her closer, almost as if they are protecting her. She likes the feeling of it, and evidently so do they. Leanne does need to breath, though, so she has to separate eventually, panting against the morph's shoulder as she grasps for their hand. "Do you like it? I do. I would like to do this more, if you would."

[beholdenning]

Perhaps death had made Ephidel soft, but he finds comfort now in the silent manner Denning speaks. A manner Ephidel once found far below himself. 'This feels familiar.' He signs to his elder, with eyes trained skyward. Upon the stars and elementals looking down upon them. 'These strings...' The thought remains unfinished, in a way that implies his mind would not allow him to form the idea. What it means to look upon your puppeteer.

Ephidel is a familiar sight, a familiar hollow in their senses. Denning falls into this silence with a readiness it would never offer any other, its hands coming up with fingertips pressing together, waiting, patiently, for Ephidel to finish, to signal to its younger kin that it is listening — But its gaze trails upwards to follow his, and it gives pause even in words it can string together more easily.

The morph has spent much of its time thinking upon the scrutiny given to it. The strings — The strings are a comfortable tension in a body that had gone so long without, but this constant supervision... It sits strangely between its shoulderblades.

It did not get to look upon its master often. Beyond the first year or so, Lord Nergal had never looked upon it so constantly again. Time between his gaze fixed upon it and time without became irregular and disjointed when it bothered to recall exactly how long each period was. It is less looking upon, it thinks — So much more being seen in return.

Something like a breath leaves it without thought or intent.

'do you miss it?' it asks, in return — For him, for itself. It does not know what to make of it. It craves to be wielded, but to be spectated... Coveted... Admired...

To be all these things, at a constant? Denning is a mimic, no chameleon, no performance piece. Art meant to be hoarded rather than displayed. A tool meant to be used rather than treasured. It has been so long since it has seen proper use.

'i... i could do better, more, back then.'

[nabataprophet]

under the sea | team flood

The concept of a land submerged under water is altogether not entirely foreign, even to someone like Sophia, who has only recently left her village. The reason? Put simply, the temple in Arcadia where Archsage Athos entombed his Divine Weapon had a similar defense mechanism to keep out intruders. Of course, the passageways weren’t submerged all of the time, unlike here, where the water seems to be a constant. And if there is nowhere to go but the water, then into the water they will have to go.

Sophia takes a step off of one of the few buildings not completely submerged under the water and allows herself to sink into the water.

Opening her eyes under the water, something glittering catches her attention and she swims over to investigate.

[roll 1d10: 2. roll 1d20: 11. roll 1d10: 6. 6 tokens gathered!]

Emerging like some sort of deep sea creature, sopping wet hair spreading out around her like seaweed, Sophia places a small pile of tokens on the edge of a roof, where two people(?) stand waiting.

“...Here.”

Without waiting for a response, Sophia sinks back into the water.

@artificidel @cursedbluebird  @etoilerrante 

[ulircursed]

"In the end, you still bested me by one token." Ephidel notes, slightly smug. But there is a thoughtful pause before he continues. "Perhaps past actions aren't always indicative of future ones..."

Ephidel's words hadn't been overtly hostile throughout their entire acquaintance, even, perhaps, less so at the moment. Still, Andrei feels the now-familiar chill up his spine as the other speaks, and he has to suppress the urge to take a step back, and his voice is cold in response to the other's musings.

"The final outcome of the game is no concern to me," he says, "Though it would... inconvenience me, if you were left with incorrect assumptions about the debts owed on either side."

Regardless of whether Ephidel makes any action to take them, Andrei places two candies within his reach, the number that the other had lost in the first round, before taking a step back again, putting distance between them.

"Merely looking upon your face is—" Creepy. Unsettling. None of these are words he would wish to admit aloud to the other, so he settles on, "—nauseating." Arms crossed tight across his chest, he turns to leave. "I'd prefer if you stayed away from me, should we meet once more in future engagements."

(Though, with how the fates operate, Andrei has a feeling he wouldn't quite get his wish.)

[fellincantation]

take me to build a bear workshop bitch. i require a small sweater vest

"You know good and damn well I can't take us anywhere with no arms or legs." The snake hissed, flopping about. Ephidel would look snazzy in a small sweater vest. Maybe just this once Grima could use her magic and do something.

To the mall!

"Fine. I'll figure something out but we're stealing the items we take. We aren't paying for a single thing." She didn't have the pockets for that.

[viridescent-lance]

if two guys on the moon allied with each other would that be nice or what :)

starter for @artificidel

While he'd had little doubt of Lukas' integrity, moving on to a round with higher stakes and a partner who he does not know well both does have Forsyth a little stressed. Still, he wants to believe in the goodwill of the world; and the bracelets will tell him his match's choice last time, anyhow.

"Ah, Sir Ephidel! I hope you are well." Forsyth does not know the man well, but he's heard tales from Python and seen him around. A holy man in training, if he recalls correctly. His bracelet clearly indicates he chose allyship in the last round, which is a marked relief. "I had the great fortune of being paired with a close friend of mine last round, and thus mutual allyship granted me two more candy."

Forsyth holds up his hand, showing off his bracelet's Ally brand clearly.

"Of course, I am a mere stranger to you, and I do not expect you to immediately place your trust in me. Thus..." Forsyth produces both the prized pen from Clive and the inkwell Python had gifted him for a previous birthday, and places them on a nearby table. "I am selecting ally, but if I were to go back on my word and betray you, these are yours. A pen gifted to me by my commander for my first promotion, and an inkwell from my cherished partner. Both hold immense personal significance to me, and I am putting them in your hands."

Hopefully this will be enough to seal his trustworthiness in their amber eyes. Forsyth does not plan on sacrificing anyone's fun for his own benefit, even with his penchant for sweets. This is as much a game of trust as it is the moving of sugary tokens.

[ninocence]

With the morph's continued attempts to curry favor with Nino, when he learned today was her birthday, he set out to continue this tradition of gift giving. Though unlike others at the monastery, Ephidel had not had the chance to study Nino closely. He was at a loss, until an idea struck him while wandering the fields. "Happy Birthday, Nino." He says from the shadows, mentally thanking Python for the advice on how to more 'casually' wish those well. From beneath his robes, Ephidel presents a crystalline sphere. Within, a single white lily, plucked from its roots and in its prime. But it would not wither. Trapped within this artificial prison, its beauty would never fade. A gentle fall of snow from Ephidel's own magic blankets the flower when shaken. "A gift for you, on this most precious day."

Nino is quick to make friends after arriving at the monastery, but her birthday isn't something that she expects much attention from. Even back in Black Fang, with her family, birthdays just aren't that huge a deal. Not worth celebrating, she remembers Sonia's words. Maybe it's not true, maybe it was just her wanton cruelty as always, but that doesn't mean it's false, either.

It's easier for her if she learns not to mind.

Thus, she can't help the apprehension that comes from Ephidel's sudden appearance in her field of vision. Sure, she'd gotten past her initial fear of him (of his eyes, Mother's eyes) after their time within the dream mission, but not enough to really expect any additional interaction. Especially not acknowledgement of her birthday. How does he even know, anyway?

(She hasn't really had occasion to check the monastery's bulletin board.)

Her eyes widen at the sight of the gift he presents to her. It's beautiful, mesmerizing, the way the snow falls over the blossom within. She takes the globe in her hands, giving it a gentle shake herself.

"Thanks, um — Uncle Ephidel...?" the address slips out more like a question, a plea for permission than any term of familiarity. Nino isn't truly her daughter, nor should she and Ephidel have any bonds beyond that of mere acquaintances or allies on the battlefield...

But he had saved her in the water, nevertheless. She told herself she'd give him a chance, and he'd helped her when she needed it the most. And now, he'd deemed her birthday to be worthy of celebration. She watches the snow drift down again. "I like it," she says in quiet awe, "It's really pretty."

She finally tears her eyes away from the gift to look up at him again. "Thank you," she repeats, "I'll take good care of it, always...!" A promise, like a child's hand reaching out for a deeper connection.

I am nothing like Sonia, he'd said. Nino believes him, now.

[hresvelged]

💚☄️👑

💚 GREEN HEART - what things make your oc feel comforted? hugs, kisses, food?

She feels comfort when she's with someone she can trust. Even if they are just sitting alone in silence looking up at the stars or having tea (even sweets if she's feeling inclined), she doesn't particularly seek much else. She constantly keeps herself busy because she is forced to- The seldom few moments where she is able to simply live in the present is enough to please her.

Also I would like to mention that one of her favorite gifts is the armored stuffed bear because I simply think that's cute but also shows a softer side to her. She'd feel comfort in getting items like this because it treats her more as a human rather than if she's gifted something like Aymr. Aymr is a tool crafted for her hands to accentuate her powers while something more heartfelt like a stuffed bear is a genuine present.

☄️ COMET - what do people assume about them? are they right?

There is the assumption that she is untouchable- That she is up on a pedestal where the only gaze she meets is none other than her own shadow. She is self-aware of this and muses about it in her supports. In those musings, she notes how lonely she finds this. If she can only rely on herself, it becomes an even greater burden to bear than it already is. She'd rather this not be her reality. Edelgard very often takes to the front lines herself because she would prefer to be a leader who acts than one who has others do her bidding. It also creates a disconnect between herself and everyone else, hence the loneliness she holds.

She is always formal with her peers and rarely shows other sides to herself. They assume this is because of her position, which is not wrong in itself. There is also the assumption that she is straight-forward and perhaps even cold at times. The latter is more about her tucking away everything else because she has to while the former is pretty true. She'd rather be blunt than dance around something.

👑 CROWN - what does your oc want to be remembered as? why?

While she would like to be remembered as the person who changed Fódlan for the better, she's never fought for the sake of specifically having her name go down in history books. She does fight for the Hresvelg's, but more for what they couldn't do (because of the way their world works) rather than continuing the lineage itself. The fact she plans on giving the throne to the most qualified person instead of a Hresvelg specifically is telling enough. Also a big fan of her supports with Dorothea because they encompass this well.

"The emperor who brought everlasting peace to Fódlan...or the tyrant who shed the blood of her people..."

I also think it's noteworthy that she even says this during academy phase because while she does hide a lot of things, she doesn't conceal her disdain towards the current system. She even calls the nobility useless. She strives so hard for this peace that she's willing to risk everything the people already have come to know. By showing Fódlan people what hard work with their own hands can do, part of her goal is already accomplished.

[aimlessarchery]

an exploratory kiss, testing the waters between them; i can kiss you in an interesting and peculiar way

"No, no, no. You're supposed to be kissing somebody, not blowing out a candle." Python squints disapprovingly through the dry air that puffs over his face. A soft, pliant sigh is one thing, but Ephidel's lips are pursed tight like a fish. He'd taught the guy what a birthday is. Demonstrating a kiss is proving far more trying. "You've gotta loosen it up a little. Just go with the flow." A hand rises to Ephidel's cheek, stroking a thumb by the corner of his mouth in a bid to relax. Once his lips are slack enough to no longer qualify as puckered, Python meets them again. "…There. That's a little better." Still a bit…lifeless, but an improvement nonetheless. He pats Ephidel's pale cheek in facetious approval. "You'll be a casanova in no time, I'm sure."

[swiftscion]

blooming villain - team 10 steel round

Confidence surges as the enemy crumbles. Larcei is allowed to have her victory, no matter how much struggling and yelling it took to steal it from the jaws of defeat. She watches in awe as Lucina tears out the mech’s spine, before the splash of electrolytes gives way to another change in scenery.

This time, an art gallery. Rather than a cage or forcefield, a cube of glass panes keeps their fight contained. It is a giant display case, housing what will soon become a masterpiece of carnage. Ornate floors are covered with sprawling red rugs, the fine trimmings at the end of each tile a work of art in their own right. Paintings adorn the walls outside their box, ranging from detailed sceneries to immaculate portraits. And again, an audience revels in the spectacle. This time each member is distinguishable with a unique and pompous outfit; dresses studded with dewdrops contrast against the finest suits Larcei had ever seen. They all have opera glasses glued to their faces, which, when viewed as a collective whole, gives them an eerie undertone. Not one single eye can be seen, not one intent made clear on a face.

So she turns to the new set of enemies, and tightens her grip around the sword she’d been bestowed. A Brave Sword: standard in its making, but a reminder of mother. Of the few things Larcei inherited from her, the Brave Sword was her most treasured memento. She knows now that mother is watching--knows she cannot afford to fail her. 

Paintings hover on the opposite side of the arena. The first four--two eyes, one nose, one long mouth--make up the conglomeration of a face, while the other four float on their own. They are beautiful, but so creepily animated. Looking at one in particular, of an upside-down man hanging from his ankle, sends shivers down her spine. It earns her scorn.

Larcei uses Brave Sword! Roll 2d20 = 16 and 14, hit and hit! -6 HP and -6 HP, Everlasting Art activates; Portrait of the Hanged Man 0.5/10 HP

Her sharp sword cleaves through its paper face, ripping a giant X-shaped tear into the priceless peace of art. The audience gasps--likely offended that she would vandalize such a thing--but the tone of the gasp shifts into one of excitement as it begins to counter.

Portrait of the Hanged Man uses Halahala! Roll 1d20-2 = 1, miss! Larcei 7.5/10 HP

A warped blast of eldritch energy arcs across the air. The sound is something unheard of by human ears, something akin to a screech from the void or the rending of space. But luckily for Larcei, the assault on her ears is the only one she suffers. It is an easy dodge, requiring just a small hop to the left, and leaves the painting open for a follow up.

Only, by the time she rushes back in, it has begun to crack and fade away. Her sword swipes at nothing--again, twice--and she’s left bewildered. “Huh, I guess that was it. Scissors really do beat paper...” 

So she makes her way back to her team, figuring it’d be best for them to stay grouped against so many opponents. Of note is the fact that her voice has returned to normal--no longer an affront to those she fights beside. 

“Looks like another easy fight, wouldn’t you say?”

UP NEXT: @nagaficat @exclted @artificidel @allegreta