#duskroine

[nagargent]

let’s get ready to rumble (team 6 bronze round)

A strange sensation begins to overwhelm her. Surely, just moments ago she was enjoying the Rusalkan sunshine and the warm sand beneath her feet. Or had she been at the inn, sipping a hot cocoa in her nightgown and preparing to fall into a plush, comfortable bed. The roar of the crowd reverberates in her ears, so loudly it’s almost painful.

How did she get here?

A glance around her shows that she isn’t alone. She even recognises a couple of these faces - it’s hard not to remember Ophelia’s presence after all. Andrei too, looks frighteningly like his son Scipio. Hesitantly, she shuffles closer to the rest of them, taking in the sight of the vast arena. There’s something odd about the crowd, how the people’s eyes lack any light, any spark of life. Her fists curl around the... syringe she found in her hands upon awakening here. It’s vastly oversized and filled with a strange liquid.

“What should we do? I don’t know how I’m even here,” Julia laments, but she doubts she’s the only one with such questions. A bird caws at them from across the battlefield - huge and seemingly made of fire. Her mouth falls open in awe at the creatures majesty and the crowd cheers once more. Chants of “fight! fight!” fill the colosseum, making her head spin. It’s clear there will only be one way out. Julia steels herself, she will be brave and strong today, just like Seliph. “I-I’ll go first, please? I think I might be able to weaken it for the rest of you.”

Syringe held like a lance, Julia charges forward tentatively. Far too hesitant in the presence of such a fierce foe. The crowd and it’s deafening cheers disorient her. The moment she breaks out into a run, she trips, tumbling gracelessly to the ground in a heap. Her right ankle twists awkwardly but it isn’t pain that brings tears to her eyes. It’s shame. The mighty beast roars in rage and in an instant bears down upon her with it’s sharp, piercing beak, tearing into her shoulder as she lays face down in the dirt.

Julia uses Shatter Slash against Sun Form.  Roll d20+2: 1 (+2) = 3! Miss. Sun Form takes 0 damage. Sun Form counterattacks with Sharp Beak. Roll d20: 15! Hit. Julia takes 1.5 damage. Sun Form has 10/10 HP remaining Julia has 8.5/10 HP remaining.

It hurts. Yet it compares nothing to the pain of letting the others down. Failing her allies so early in their trial. Her arms quiver and shake beneath her as she tries to support her weight and get back up again.

She cannot fall here.

@ulircursed, @duskroine, @fangedjustice & @alunyna

[alunyna]

it’s just a phase mom  ─ team 6 steel round

Silence takes the arena before gunfire can continue, light washing over the room in that same blinding way that it had after the bird’s fall. When Nyna’s eyes dare brave the brightness of the room there is no pegasus at her side or hulking metal monster.

Someone coughs.

The white fabric of a healer’s robes flutters around her as she rushes towards the side of their previously fallen ally. Nyna kneels, white magic rushing to her fingertips. He is nowhere near as hurt as he had been -- the arena’s magic having done some of her work already -- but she will not allow him to take on the next battle wounded.

Nyna uses Recover on Lloyd. Roll: 4. +5 HP. (Lloyd 10/10 HP.)

A hand hovers just above his collar, gentle light radiating from it. Wounds knit closed and bruises wipe away as though nothing more than smudges of ink. Only when the light fades does she allow herself a sigh of relief, crystal eyes searching his as though in disbelief.

It is only a dream. Nyna dips her head, rising to stand. Reality is nary so kind. 

“I am glad to see you are alright,” that same hand extends now, an offer to help him back to his feet, “as are the rest of us.”

Finally she lets her attention settle upon the arena’s center. The horror that awaits them is no longer mechanical but flesh -- a man seated atop a gilded lion, larger than life but unmistakably living. 

Gaze flits back to Lloyd. “Be careful. I do not wish to see you fall again.”

@fangedjustice @ulircursed @nagargent @duskroine 

[grimstalkr]

❰❰ HURT ❱❱ sender is hurt protecting receiver !

Tharja was so caught up in the fighting that she hadn't noticed an enemy approaching until it was too late. She heard Ophelia's cry of pain too late and quickly countered the enemy that had injured him. With a Miasma blast, she was quickly leaning down to assess the injury. Thankfully it seemed to be a surface wound on Ophelia's side. Still, Tharja wouldn't let her fight like that.

"Cover us!" Tharja called to the other Golden Deer on the mission, putting a hand on Ophelia's injured side. She led them to cover and let Ophelia lay against a tree. Tharja was no healer but she could make do with what she had, yanking open her bag to find medicinal salves she carried with her.

"You-! You shouldn't have lept in the way of that." Tharja said, a concerned look on her face. It was hard to tell if she was mad at Ophelia for jumping in the way or mad at herself for allowing it. "What if it were a serious injury?"

[lukendary]

🎄+ 💋

the amusement in ophelia's expression seems far too vast for coincidence to have been the spirit of their presence. she keeps her hands behind her back, leaning close to luke with a maiden's smile, a trickster's gaze.

" you foretold the usage of dark magic upon our last meeting, oh brave one! although our lips touched, it seems that i was still cursed by the ghastly plant above us. " manicured nail taps twice against her bottom lip. " shall we try again, sir luke? free me from this curse, else fate will continue to pull us together like dolls tied to a string! "

Luke’s own smirk mirrored hers as he laid his hands lightly on her waist. He was in no mood to say no to breaking this curse with such a nice method provided. “What are we to do but try to free ourselves from these malicious strings of fate?” he mused, getting close and giving her a kiss.

Ah…

“What’s the saying, third time’s the charm?” He kissed her again, gentle but firm, letting it last a few moments.

“Let me know if the curse is still around… happy to assist.”

[teneguine]

@duskroine sent: 

A chance at discovery of one’s self-worth had caused them to miss their father’s last birthday. And the birthday before that. Even during the war, when each day was reached with hands painted under bruises, it was difficult to place attention on a single figure of the army. Even for a single day. Even if that individual was of their own blood and name.

Fate was not kind to them then. Not when one battle would threaten their chance to open their eyes the next day— even if that day was the date of their father’s birth. It is because of this memory that Ophelia prepares the gift weeks beforehand. Tying locks of wheaten blond into a ponytail to reduce the danger of taking fire to any strands. Under the eye of moonlight and a companion of skill, they work diligently.

The gift is done on the morning of birth. Dusk seeks out dark in the early hours of dawn, cloak drawn over their build due to the quick arrival from village to monastery. Surely, sneaking out for days on end would damage the reputation they’ve built up, but…

“Chosen father?” Ophelia asks, thankfully catching the sight of Owain stepping outside of his room now instead of having to hunt him down throughout the hallways. A journey that didn’t seem very appreciated after all the work that has exhausted their mind. “Dusk has come forth with greetings of a delightfully celebrated day!”

Nervousness twitches their smile but Ophelia ignores it. Two steps forward, there’s still space in front of them. They lower their cloak’s hood and wipe a grease stain from their cheek— it doesn’t come off quite right. “For many moons, among the lifespan I have grown into upon this continent’s horrid seasons, the stars lit a treasure in the midst of my path. This treasure, blessed by the constellations of a goddess, is my gift to you.”

As they speak, they untie the long cloth hanging from their hip. Covering falls to the ground and the sound of metal unclipping uncovers the draw of a raised sheath. One of leather and gold buckles, tightly latched over seams and patches of bronze.

“Welcome to your arsenal of darkness—” In a flash of threatric, Ophelia raises the sheath diagonal before them and slowly begins to reveal the sword within. First the hilt, a golden material too reflectant to be titled as iron but whatever metal it is, matches the lining of the sheath’s sides. Then, with a pull of their wrist, the entire sword is revealed. Wrist flicks the weapon forward, blade aimed at Owain’s chest.

“WHOOOSH! I present thee: ABYSS’S VALOR!!”

The dark leather of the sheath holds nothing to the engravings that line the blade’s face. Of a language that, rightfully so, is known to them. Immediately recognizable to Owain’s eyes. A pause brings out Ophelia’s doubt, they tuck the blade back into the sheath and step closer, holding it out for Owain to take. The essence of protection magic is recognizable even from the distance they stand at now.

“But, um.. This is more than a gift. I want to apologize,” Ophelia mumbles, gaze cast at the sword and not at him. “I went through your equipment long ago and…” Another pause, they seem to shrink. Lowering their shoulders and attempting to make themselves smaller in perception.

“Ylisse,” is what they say, “I wanted to… incorporate memory of it into the blade but I… was not sure of its language.” Or culture. Or even geography. Because it is Owain’s home before it will ever be hers. Ophelia nods to the sword, “I searched through your belongings in hopes of finding something to write into the metals and while I found nothing, I did see… well…”

Again, she only gestures for Owain to unsheathe the blade now that he holds it. In formal Nohrian, a secondary language to him but a primary for her, there lies the words in script:

The Story of Dark, Dusk, and Lissa.

"I am... deeply sorry if this act has overstepped a boundary between Chosen father and daughter." A small but apologetic smile settles onto her lips, albeit a bit nervously. "I can have a new sword forged within the next few weeks if you prefer it to be redone as such..."

//via the birthday asks that were lost when i got locked out of his old blog; if anyone else still has one that they’d like me to answer, let me know!

Early mornings are a staple in Owain’s life. On more occasions than he can count had he been forced to be up before the crack of dawn, lest that crack splinter and give way to revealing light. Light which, in the future, could spell one’s doom. For bathing in light was to be made a target for Risen, and if they spotted you, they won half the battle. He’s no stranger to sleeping in, either (everyone has their lazy days) but the fact remains that a sunrise is often accompanied by Owain’s wake-up cry.

And besides, he prefers training when nobody else is awake. 

So to see Ophelia at his door is a genuine surprise for him. That there is something wrong is among his first thoughts, but that idea is shot down when they mention a special day. The End of the Last Holy War? The Day of Devotion? No, what sort of holiday could it be...

“Many moons...” he repeats, and then it hits him. “Chosen Second, surely this cannot mean-” And it does. On this day twenty-two years ago (time relative to him, of course), the universe was bestowed one Owain Dark. Whether that was a curse or a blessing is yet to be seen, but one thing remains certain: Ophelia remembered. Shock colors his face as they continue, shaking off any morning drowsiness with a dropped jaw and wide eyes.

WHOOOSH! There it is, held before him in the hands of another: Abyss’s Valor. Owain is slow to take the sword at first, believing for a moment that he is still dreaming or seeing tricks of the light, but when it rests comfortably in his hands, he’s reminded that this is real. It feels of a decent weight--not too heavy or too light--and can be deftly maneuvered by him even undrawn. When he does pull out for the second time, though, he appreciates its craftsmanship. The metal is unlike anything of standard munitions--shining and well-tempered enough to make a grown man cry. And when his eyes gloss over the inscription, when they read the hallowed words written by his kin, they well up with tears.

“This,” he sniffs, cheeks burning red and powerless to stop a flood of tears, “Crimson Ophelia, this is nothing to apologize for! You have crafted for your father (with your own two hands, might I add!) his most mythic armament! For a thousand thousand years shall I cherish this gift! It will be the stalwart defender of our home, passed down for generations unlimited! If ever a Chosen One is lost, Abyss’s Valor shall shine and light their way.” 

He doesn’t even bother re-sheathing it, choosing instead to throw his body onto his child’s. Their frame is held tight against his--maybe a little too tight--and the sloppy mix of cried tears and running snot makes contact with their hair. Owain doesn’t care. He’ll wipe it off when he’s done. For now, Ophelia ought to know how appreciative he is of their gift. “Thank you, o blessed kin of mine,” he whispers, “It’s perfect.” 

The hug lasts for what feels like half the time it took Ophelia to make the damn thing, but eventually breaks. When it does, Owain is sure to run his sleeve and then his clean fingers through their hair, adoring the effort his child puts into everything. He’s quite jealous, if he’s being honest with himself. Sometimes Ophelia manages to find ways to outdo even him, and he’s supposed to be the greatest. But as he looks upon them now and his smile turns wide, he realizes that this feeling is simply part of being a father. To raise a generation more successful than his, that is the true mark of parenthood. 

“Now then... You mentioned not knowing of Ylisse’s language, yes? Wait here, Warrior Chosen by the Stars. I have something you may wish to see.” It is fortunate that this exchange takes place just outside Owain’s bedroom, for he has the ability to turn around and retrieve that special something. His sword is mounted above his desk, displayed in a way where both the ornate sheathe and decorated blade are visible. When he returns to Ophelia though, he holds a book. A dusty old book, with a title so faded he almost mistook it for another. 

“Behold!” he extends it out to them, intended for their hands to take, “The Manual of Justice! Written entirely in the tongue of Ylisse, it is a collection of only the most legendary and harrowing of names. Stygian epithets line its margins, divine monikers marking each chapter. It is the construction of my fabled vocabulary: the very vocabulary used to pen my Book of Supreme Fatal Divine Names.” He trusts they remember that one. It, too, holds a special place in his heart, but is mostly written in Nohrian dialect. Odin figures it best to have multiple written records of his genius, so that no matter where one may originate, they can draw inspiration from his epic tales. 

“We shall comb its contents together, and I will use it to teach you the language of my home. Take heart, Ophelia of the Glittering Stars, that when it is time to visit, you’ll be able to finish all the castle’s tomes in a week!”

[gentlenekomata]

❛   gouge .   wield  a  sharp  object ( a sword! )  at  my  muse .

" hm? a maiden stumbles upon the crimson battlefield in hopes of reigning true to her testimony of strength! YOU, lady of spring whispers, clash iron with me! let us— oh... princess sakura? "

From here!

She usually doesn’t like hanging around the training grounds, but sometimes, she just has to do it: her normal tasks expects her presence in the church hall, but from times to times, some has some deliveries to do for certain knights of Seiros, usually regarding sending some supplies or medications to apply on the wounds received from the battlefield. She’s always very careful and watchful when it comes to cure and help people and she really doesn’t mind coming all the way to the training grounds for those kind of reasons.

Walking with hasty pace, she eventually reaches the entrance of the place, gently pushing the big door with one hands, since the other one was carrying the supplies –!

"   hm? a maiden stumbles upon the crimson battlefield in hopes of reigning true to her testimony of strength! YOU, lady of spring whispers, clash iron with me! let us— oh... princess sakura?   "

Much to her surprise, Sakura finds herself frozen in place in what it seems like a very audacious and vivacious training, a sword pointed at her, but in front of her there is a very petite and cute girl, just like her. She’s quite impressive, she thinks as she gently pulls a smile upon her rosy lips, hands lifting as to show the motive that brought her there.

“Miss Ophelia, I’m glad to see you’re working hard” she chirps with a soft tone, then offering with her free hand a towel. “Hope you don’t mind if I brought some useful supplies for you and the other knights training here!” and she carefully places the towel on a small counter nearby them, then turning to waving goodbye.

“Good luck on your training, you’re doing great!” and she takes her leave, waving the pale hand still trembling, since despite the sequence of events, she got a pretty good scare.

[aegisshielded]

❛   hush .   raise  a  finger  in  a  gesture  to  silence  my  muse .

There was silence around the group out on a training exercise and Felix's amber eyes kept scanning the darkness around them, keen to spot anything that might raise suspicion. The group had been tasked with simply keeping watch to prevent any nighttime prowlers from attacking a nearby farmer's livestock. Another group member approached Felix just as there was a rustle from off in the brush by the trees.

Quickly, Felix turned to raise a finger to his own lips--a silent gesture to keep quiet--before he turned back to looking at the tree line on the edge of the farmer's property. When no further noise was made, Felix sighed and stood up straighter, finally acknowledging the other.

"What is it?" he asked bluntly, dark bags under his eyes serving as evidence of the sleepless night for the watchdog student.

[allegreta]

“Ah, Ophelia! Yes, it was me!” Leanne rises from her studies with an excited little hop, beaming as she greets her classmate. Finally, her gift has been found out! “It seems as if my selections were well-chosen!”

“Come in, come in! If I had known company was coming I would have made us some tea!” Leanne gestures for Ophelia to make himself at home on her bed or seat, whichever he prefers. It is lovely to spend some time with a classmate, and she is excited to chat about the festivities as well. “I’m so glad you enjoyed the gifts!”

Ophelia is a warm individual, and Leanne should like to bask in his flame more often. The holidays are a fantastic opportunity for the opening of communication and conversations indeed!

“ Ah, so you are still looking for your Winter Envoy, is that so… ? I am permitted to lend you a hint then if you wish for it.

“ Your Winter Envoy states that they are among birds often. It might do you well to search for a winged friend then in your attempts to find them. Best of luck, Ophelia, and may your search be fruitful! ”

IS THAT SO...?  an outlier amongst the flock...   ”   ophelia nods, his mind wandering off to the cast of classmates and friends he was familiar with.  though despite the thought, there was the lingering reminder that he didn’t have to be acquainted to the winter envoy in order for them to act upon their gifts.  fingers tap in rhythm against the music box’s lid—   his mind is too far in speculation to realize kent’s departure.  it’s this train of wonder that pulls ophelia in a stride, only stopping once he’s before the quarters of a classmate.  not one he knew as well as he hoped to.

(   @allegreta, leanne   )

ophelia is already composed when the door is pulled open.   "   AHA!!  dusk has uncovered her winter envoy!   "   in their hands rests the small music box, carried with such gentleness that it seems odd to their character.  they grin,   “   so, am i right?  are you the mysterious envoy that bestowed upon me the greatest of presents?   ”

and if so, well, she had many kind words to give in return.  she has two pages of kind words, actually!

[alluxerim]

spirit blooms

     “Yes, finally!!” The moment they’re out of the town, Khalkós wastes no time in jumping from Lucius’ shoulder, a bright flash enveloping her body in midair. When the light clears, she is back in her full form, looming over Lucius in a gesture that would seem threatening, if not for the sheer glee on her expression. “Come on, let’s do the thing!” she immediately says in her natural, booming voice, holding out her four arms in an eager gesture.

     “M-must we...?” Lucius sighs, but obligingly grabs ahold of one thick, trunk-like upper arm, allowing Khalkós to hoist him into her arms. With a joyful shout, she rushes off before Lucius can do more than beckon to the other two to follow.

     But the spirit speeds up, and it’s only when they’re alone that she sets him down, regarding him with an oddly serious look.

The trees are dense, as is the fog, and it's hard to see through to anything but... darkness. There's the sound of the stream nearby, but everything else is... eerily quiet. Khalkos considers their options for a moment, then lowers her voice so that Daimon and Ophelia can't hear. "We ought to lose... them somewhere."

     It’s clear who she refers to. Lucius looks troubled for a moment, but then shakes his head, voice firm in reply. "We cannot," he says, gaze lingering on Ophelia in the far distance, "I won't leave them here, in the path of possible danger."

     Though, he can't say his curiosity hadn't been piqued by the other... spirit? Daimon, who in all honesty seems similar to Khalkós in some aspects. Lowering his voice further to match hers, Lucius asks, kindly, "Is it the presence of the other spirit that bothers you?"

"Something's wrong about him," she answers, frowning. "Something I can't quite put my finger on." Though perhaps that something is the fact that he's gotten under her skin by waving freedom in her face. "If I can't trust my eyes, then I can trust my guts. And my guts are never wrong."

     "I believe you," Lucius says, "And I'll be sure to mind him. But I have... a duty as well, and I can't give that up. Please understand." He cannot allow his student to come to harm if he could be there to prevent it.

Khalkós grumbles, but gives a nod of understanding. Where Lucius goes, she goes.

     Walking back within earshot of the others, Lucius gives an apologetic look. “The trees are too thick to pass through this way,” he says, “Maybe we’ll have to try another direction?”

@duskroine​

[poweroverflowing]

Decided by Destiny

You watch as the storybook characters play out their scripted lives, day in and day out.  As though fettered, they stick to their routines; they fulfill their roles - or lack thereof. They do what must be done to keep the main beats of their storybook life going. But what happens if something new and different were to be introduced by an outside force? Will they continue on as if nothing happened? Or will they instead break? Perhaps you might be inclined to find out. [Grants Reason +1]

“Gee, it sure is boring around here...” Odin muses to himself, downtrodden in expression while he watches the common folk go about their day. The town is packed with people, yet not a single one of them seemed to have much of a soul. He strides around for some time, looking for something--anything--he feels he can really interact with. He tries waving in the face of a woman walking her children, yet receives not a reaction back. He gives a man at a fruit stall a poke on the arm, yet he continues on repeating the same line every fifteen seconds like a broken record player. Hands on his hips, and he’s stumped. The man blows out a puff of defeated air, eyes searching the area for something to do. “Is this what happens when humans are born without being given a name? ...Do they all lack a soul...?” 

And then, an idea. A crazy one, but it’s Odin. Crazy is just about what you’d expect from him, “I know! What this town needs is a villain! An antagonizing force to disrupt their mundane lives!” Now who could that be? Odin’s normally the one to play the hero, not the bad guy! But another quick glance around reveals that nobody else would be willing to step up to the plate. He sighs, figuring that with no real people to see him, it wouldn’t hurt to expand his depth of character a little bit. Without any passerby to stop him, he’s free to dash on over to the town square. Up and onto the fountain he goes. His boots get wet doing so, but from the point of interest he begins to pace in circles and decree, gazing out into the crowd with great fervor, “Hear me, puny mortals! This village is now being occupied! MWA HA HA! You heard me right! I, the greatest evil doer who ever done did, will henceforth be making your home my lair of doom! All will fall before my dark powers, so be prepared to--huh?” 

There, in the distance! A tuft of blonde hair, known to Odin like the back of his hand. It’s Ophelia! Yet it can’t be! She should be back in Nohr, reveling in the peace of a hard-fought war. But then again... He got here through a devilish trickster in Ophelia’s home country. It’s entirely possible that she stumbled upon the same book as he, and wound up entangled in the same mess. The father’s face scrunches up as he thinks on this for a while, stopping his circular motion in its tracks. Ophelia’s smarter than that, much smarter. There’s a chance this might not even be her! He has to test her, and what better way to do that than to keep up the act and engage her as a villain? 

“AHEM,” his voice darkens, really trying to sell the bit, “You, way in the back! Don’t think I’ve failed to detect your presence! Did you really think a Chosen One would go unnoticed in my heinous lair of nefarious flames?! HA HA!” Down he leaps, slowly pacing for the Nohrian mage. Odin is too wrapped up in his fantasy to notice, but the townspeople are beginning to react to the spectacle. Many stop what they’re doing to watch by the sides, while some even cower in fear as he approaches. Soon he’s within normal talking distance, yet in typical Odin fashion, insists on still yelling, “So we meet at last! I am Oberon Dark, Damnable Dealer of Superdeath. You must’ve thought yourself a genius paragon, but I am afraid you’ve walked right into my trap! Using my most wicked move, Cyclone of Ghastly Torture, I will end this valiant fight!”

Right. End the fight that’s... Only beginning. It can probably just be assumed that Odin means he’ll beat her with but a single move, but you ought not to put it past him to just be skipping to the good part. He readies himself in a stance, holding his arms up wide to emulate the eyewall of a tropical storm. He begins to inhale air, making a sort of ‘FWOOOOOOH’ sound. This is an indication that he’s both charging up the move, and giving Ophelia the chance to deliver her line.

@duskroine

[constancevonnuvelle]

Letter do be kinda sus tho

Starter for @duskroine

Constance was going through a drawer in the Golden Deer classroom, minding her own business. It was the middle of the night, and there was one other student in the room, but honestly she couldn’t care less. She doubted that student really acknowledged her at all, they seem to be absorbed in their own work, after all, so it’s unlikely they would expose Constance for her trespassing. They were as well, after all. She needed supplies for a project and this was the only classroom with an unlocked room. What else was she meant to do? Wait for her classroom to open? No. She’s too impatient for that.

It was odd though, what she needed didn’t seem to be in here. Annoying. Constance sighed and turned to leave, but noticed a letter laying on the ground by the classroom door just before she almost stepped on it. Huh, how strange. Picking it up, she turned it over in her hand. No indication of who it’s for. Even stranger. Constance walked over to the stranger to turn over this strangeness, placing it on the table gently.

“This was under the door. Is it yours by any chance?”

[nagargent]

all kids go to heaven - team 6 silver round

Garbed in the robes of a Saint feels sacrilegious, but with both staff and tome in hand, her weariness starts to fade somewhat. It has been a long, drawn out nightmare but at least she is equipped to be most useful to her allies. The quietly hopeful hint of a smile is painted across her face as both Andrei and Ophelia rise once more. Both radiant and glorious in their power, risen like the legendary phoenix. With both of them blazing brightly, surely there was nothing to fear.

Their foe, shaded and indistinct has other ideas though. There is nary a moment to catch their breath, to ask after everyone’s health and prepare to attack. In an instant it’s right up in Ophelia’s face and, panic ridden, Julia rushes over to his side too.

“Don’t you dare! Not my dear friend--” she shouts, clutching the Luce tome to her chest. Their is no time to call upon illusory warriors, or to prepare much aid. Julia comes to a halt, transfixed in horror. Ophelia isn’t under attack, thank whichever gods and goddesses have chosen to answer her prayers, but the vague form of their foe warps into a disturbing deconstruction of her friend. An arm here, an eye and smirking mouth over there... none of it connected, all of it lacking the bright, divine spark that makes Ophelia so wonderful. Rather, it dissects and scatters the heroine of Dusk, so terribly that if Ophelia wasn’t stood whole right next to her, she thinks she might faint from the implication. “I can hardly bear to look at it. Ophelia, is it hurting you?”

There are no wounds or marks of which she can see, but pain can be inflicted in the strangest of ways. Julia is careful and cautious to focus only on the real Ophelia, rather than the abomination before them. Something stirs though, she can feel it as she turns her head to call out.

“Everyone, be careful! It’s about to try something, I’m sure--”

Before she can finish her sentence, it’s myriad of eyes (except Ophelia’s) appear to shoot at them. Glowing light bursts from it’s eyes and whilst she, Nyna and Lloyd are able to jump out of the way in time, the same cannot be said for Andrei and Ophelia. Both frozen solid and Ophelia - her own gaze appears a million miles away. Their connection, severed abruptly, makes her wants to weep in despair. Julia takes a shuddering breath to steel herself. She must stay strong, must be brave if she wishes to be of any aid to either of them. Instinctively, she steps between the enemy and Ophelia, knees knocking together but refusing to tear eyes away from the many cold, unfeeling compound eyes that dot it’s ambiguous form,

“Nyna, Lloyd, please watch out for Andrei too. I’ll keep guard here,” and it is to her great relief that this creature without form chooses her as it’s prey. At least the others will be safe and unharmed. At least. It strikes without mercy, hitting her square in the chest with a ball of light. Almost knocking her off her feet, she adjusts her stance and balance before fighting back. What a fool she was, not to simply take Ophelia’s hand and run. Like her friend it is swift and relentless, unlike Ophelia it is determined to choke out her last breath.

Mimic attacks Julia with Luce Roll d20: 5! Hit. 1 damage to Julia Julia counterattacks with Luce Roll d20: 9! Hit. 2 damage to Mimic Julia takes 2 damage from Thorny Hide Mimic follows up with Luce Roll d20: 12! Hit. 1 damage to Julia Mimic has 38/10 HP remaining Julia has been defeated

It’s knocked out of her by a blow to the chest as her skin loses any hint of colour or life beneath it. Light, her birthright, finally brings her down in a way even the flames of chaos could not hope to. Her knees buckle beneath her as she falls forward, terrified and desperate - she had to stay on her feet, had to fight and protect her precious friends. Black tendrils dance across her vision, she cannot fight it much longer. The abyss calls out and pulls her under. It takes the last, fading morsels of her strength to please.

“Ny..na... L-loyd... ‘Phelia... Andrei... Please, sur... vive. Protect each other... please.”

[odsfinest]

❰❰ HURT ❱❱ sender is hurt protecting receiver !!

//This isn't even that graphic imo but juuuust in case.

Intensity like this is an old friend, one that Shannan could never forget. That tightness in his chest, the sound of his heartbeat in his ear, that slight ache in his lungs from heavy breaths; oh how he didn't miss this close confidant.

Perhaps it's this familiarity with the heat of battle that creates comfort, even while pressured. For the most part, his adversaries speed isn't even comparable to his, allowing for evasion with ease. While Balmung continues to feed off the crimson plasma spilled, one enemy does manage to go undetected. A thief, ready to deliver a rugged stab to Shannan's back. While it probably wouldn't have done too much to the Isaachian, someone clearly thought it a more prudent issue.

With a deafening scream behind him, his attention pivots from the enemy just felled. Behind him, Ophelia, with a dagger lodged deep into her stomach. Watching the small girl stagger back, clutching the handle, there's not a moment of thought that goes into his next action.

Those flailing strands of raven hair don't get a moment to settle his next step forward puts him between the young girl and the thief. One slash would've done the scrawny man in, but even as that blade cleaves through cloth and flesh alive, Shannan doesn't stop. A hot red streak blinds him in one eye, yet that doesn't slow the swordsman down. The poor thief coughs and hacks harder, blood dribbling down his chin, yet there's no sympathy or remorse in any strike that follows.

Nimble hands pull Balmung back to swing again, only to slash down, then back up, all in the blink of an eye. His boot meets the crooks chest, kicking him back with no respect. Flipping his sword, the palm of his other hand meets the butt of his handle, only to force that blade straight through their chest.

As the bloodied holy weapon is yanked out, the enemy falls over. A sigh escapes, before sheathing that stained sword. With arrows soaring overhead, definitely not targeting the two, there's a moment to get back to the young mage. With ease, she's lifted up, held close to his chest.

Those tears of hers pain him, but definitely not as much as that dreadful wound must hurt her. "Don't finick with it, it'll hurt more without the knife. You'll be okay," he whispers, already seeing reinforcements and healers coming to support them.

[perfectionist-prince]

a kiss to prove a point !!

Another Kiss || a kiss to prove a point

She was, by all meanings of the word, infuriating.

If there was anyone on this earth that could push Siegbert’s buttons, it was Ophelia. She knew him better than anyone—except, perhaps, Soleil, but that wasn’t important now. She knew how to make him angry, how to make him sad. How to make him want to do nothing more than wrangle her to the ground and praise her at the very same time.

And here she was. Doing just that.

“I am not—” he starts, but her bemused look makes his words fall away. “You cannot compare me to—!” And there it was again, the slight cock in her stance, the upwards lift of her chin. She was toying him and he was letting it happen.

“I am no fairy tale prince, Ophelia!”

All she does is tilt her head. “... aren’t you?”

The noise that escapes him is not human. (He is red. There is no denying it. The blush spreads all the way to his ears.)

And so, to prove that he wasn’t, he must do something entirely un-prince-like. Something that would never happen in some children’s tale—not like this, at least.

Strong hands fly to her shoulders, easily keeping the heroine in place as prince steps forward. He stoops down (at this point, to a familiar height) and practically slams his lips to hers, perhaps harder than necessary. Or entirely hard enough. Not a fairy tale.

“There. See? I am not—” he begins again, but the grin that decorates his friend’s lips shuts him up entirely. 

“Ophelia!”

[dragon-kiddos]

Outside of Kana’s room, lies a box tied with gold and silver ribbons; a clear contrast of hues and yet upon this black box, it sits pretty all the same. When opened, a card can be seen over top a bundled cloth wrapped thoroughly in plastic.

To the Chosen One’s Sun,

Greetings and may your day of birth be the brightest you’ve ever seen of it! With much effort and work, there has been a party scheduled to happen after your last class of the day. A student— Sharena Solgren— will be sent to take you there when the last bell is dismissed. Inside this box, I’ve gifted you with a cape similar to my very own. Think of it as us twinning during the party!! Unfortunately, I cannot see you until the party begins, since my presence must be used for preparations and classes instead. Still, I hope the cape and circlet are enough to express my joy for you this early in the morning.

With much love,

Ophelia Dark, the Chosen.

The aforementioned cape and circlet lie inside the plastic and, just as the card states, the cape matches Ophelia’s very own in length and material, although the color is a dark, fine blue on the inside, and a fresh white over top. The circlet, though, is silver, but still very alike Ophelia’s in mineral and gem. The box is empty besides those few items.

Similar to the card’s mentions, Ophelia only shows herself after Sharena has taken Kana to the Reception Hall, where decorations stream down from the highest point of the walls and spread from corner to corner. Although the decorations were in the rights of Ophelia, Rhajat has clearly toned down some of the flashier and longer banners and streamers.

“Fate graces us with the birthday boy’s presence!” And although Ophelia’s attire is that of a formal touch, she doesn’t hesitate to tackle Kana immediately after he steps into the hall. Unfortunately, the tackle does push the two friends to the ground but Ophelia laughs it off, as if she could never care about the condition of her attire when the occasion was Kana’s. “How has your day been? Ohh, I’m so very overjoyed that you’ve made it!”

But as quickly as she’s taken him down, Ophelia stands up and pulls Kana to his feet; making sure to dust off anything that might’ve gotten on him during the fall. Afterward, she stands back with her hands on her hips and smiles, a genuine, bright one. “Now, might I show you around the expanse of your party?”

Little dragon only finds the box when he returns to his room after lunch—part of the reason being his staying in his parents’ room; part of the reason being he got his socks dirty from running around without his shoes and now papa is making him put clean ones on. Nevertheless, he peers down at the parcel blocking his doorway, a slight tilt to his head and a curious grin on his face. There was only one who this could be from.

Every word writ ignites another spark of excitement inside his chest. By the time he reads her sign off, Kana cannot help but to jump in place, delighted giggles pouring from his lips as he rushes back into his room to unearth the rest of his present. 

With a flourish, little dragon drapes the cape over his shoulders and ties it off as he has seen Ophelia do time and time again. He takes a moment to admire her gifts in the mirror, striking a pose in a very similar manner that the dark heroine would, right down to the unhinged grin. At Sharena’s later discretion, he finds himself amidst a party in his honor. 

Ophelia might think she is the one that brings the duo to the ground in her embrace, but the reality was that, as Kana’s delighted shriek breaks the air, it was his power that tackled her over. (An unstoppable force meets an immoveable object and they go flying through the air.) In a heap of bright fabrics bundled around the sun and the moon, little Kana buries his face against his friend’s chest, gloved fingers gripping her as tight as the fates would allow. 

“Thank you for doing so much for my special day,” he speaks against her chest, voice muffled into the fabric of her top. “Thank you for loving me so much, ‘Felia. You’ve made me really, really happy!”

They rise together, hand-in-hand. (His face hurts from smiling.)

“I’d love nothing more!”

[teneguine]

[ ROAST + BLUE LIONS SOUP + GOLDEN DEER SOUP + BLACK EAGLES SOUP ] food over the fires, from meats to marshmallows. each house has their own representative bonfire, and each fire has a large pot with their representative soup. add something to it or try out what your classmates have been cooking.

chosen one has sight of his chosen second near a small pot, where her hands move swift with diligence. upon hearing his greeting, ophelia gives him a smile and gestures, urgently, over to the stall counter she stands before.

" chosen father, i require your wisdom for my creation. " and with delight ever so present in her gaze, ophelia beckons odin's attention with a flick of her hand, towards the small pot. " restraining these dishes to single titles seems little-minded, especially when the power of manipulation lies within our hands. so, i present thee: a soup of all three houses! "

then, she gasps, startled and distressed, " oh no, no, this has not a styled name yet! what could work...? esteemed soup of dark sunset! no, those colors do not equal a sunset... "

//via midsommar pt. 1; still accepting!

"To think, that my child is naming their food... I have taught you well!"

Excitement and elation paint over the features of heralded Odin Dark. He is gladdened by what Ophelia's words mean to him--that they understand the merit of bestowing everything with a soul. He grins at his child, arms folding over his chest to express that he is impressed by their creativity.

"I know you think it best to name this exquisite dish before trying it, Crimson Ophelia, but the engine of inspiration is sparked by frosting on your palette. The flavor must shake the words from your very soul! So let us stall no longer. We shall sample your soup together, and allow our bellies to belch its name!"

Gross analogies aside, he takes up his spoon--the trusty one named Scald-Scooper--and sizes up the Dusk pot. All sorts of things are bubbling and swirling around in there. He can see potatoes and fish, and beans and sausage, and some things he can't even identify! The vastness of ingredients is triple that of everyone else's pot, so to make his judgement fair, Dark gives his child's meal a good mix. Once he feels the ingredients are blended well enough on his utensil, he removes it, and sticks it into his mouth.

It is hearty, it is warm, and it is spicy. Delicate cream meets the thickness of stew, and the result is set ablaze by foreign spice. To Odin, it is a luxury--a far cry from his days of eating bugs in the Future Past. Once again he is gladdened by the accomplishments of Ophelia, and as he swallows, he can feel inspiration rising to the surface.

"A thoughtful balance of flavor explodes on my tongue... Like a stream of lava meeting the vast ocean, this dish is the joyous reunion of fated warriors... Secret combinations are unlocked when the ingredients fuse together in your mouth--they are a hidden door in a dark dungeon... Prepare yourself! It's... COMING... TOOOO... MEEEEE..."

One fist slams down against the stall, the other pumping high into the air. "Behold! The Palace of Unending Wonder!"