#erkcana

[notsoscarlet]

hc + separation :3

sorry im just getting to some of these LOL my brain has been weird. anyway 🫶

i feel that this is something that is a core component as to why samto is Like That, at least how i'm writing him. there's "separation" in the literal sense, EG him being seperated from his homeland and family by being abducted and enslaved as a child, which in itself segues into a mental separation: that as a result of the trauma from that experience he can't naturally connect to people — so he puts on airs to try and gain the trust of everyone around him... he sucks i like him👍

[serraic]

You know, if Serra weren’t, like, about to faint, or something, she’d probably be totally embarrassed now.

Because here’s Erk, leaning over her, holding his bottle to her lips, his hand on hers, and this is an indirect kiss, and he’s holding her hand, but all she can think of, ahh, water.

It’s cool, and nice, and it tastes really good, for some reason. She takes a lot of greedy sips — too many to be polite, for sure. But finally, the world starts arranging itself into clean little shapes again, and Erk is by her side, eyebrow all angry, standing over her.

“... Why are you looking at me like that?”

He looks like he’s about to... maybe yell? Or something? She doesn’t really know, just — something’s up with his face. It’s really, really serious!

She didn’t say or do anything... weird... when she was out of it... did she?

Dreaming in the Rain

[wingboundwarrior]

Magic...

Ah. She should have known. He is bettering himself in the use of magic. Obviously. And just as a pegasus knight must work with mercenaries before they can join a squadron, he, too, did his share of mercenary work. The concern that’d been burning through her is eased, for the moment.

Interesting, though, that the study of magic is, indeed, so tied to the study of religion, to nature itself. She wonders if he — like most people from that side of the continent — believe in Saint Elimine and her God, or if he prays to the Mother Earth and Father Sky. Perhaps he prays to no one at all. She hopes his life is not so mired in misery that he’d’ve come to the same conclusions as her, though...

“Forgive me for not noticing. Your ability speaks to your dedication to your craft.” Her smile is kind, but... somewhat tiny. She wonders what the end point is, for him, if it isn’t to work as a mercenary one day. Honing his skill, for... what? “So... that is the only reason you fight in this company? To keep Lady Priscilla safe?”

My Lord’s Son

[stepbysstep]

"Almost there...shouldn't be that long now."

Lene's comment attempts to break through the awkward silence she has found herself in while walking alongside Erk. They currently find themselves walking up and down the second floor of the monastery, looking for some esteemed "guru" or whatever his title was. Lene keeps more to the front, perking up temporarily at the sight of a new door only to settle down back to earth upon realizing it is the incorrect one.

The reason she's with this quiet man? He claimed to be looking for this sage of wisdom too, and offered to join Lene to meet them. Seeing how they Erk had the same goal in mind, the dancer saw no issue in accepting his company! Plus, she thinks she remembers seeing him sitting aside during some of her classes. If they're classmates, this is the perfect excuse to learn about each other!

All that being said...Erk is sure making this chance hard to seize. She forgets if the two have even exchanged words ever since climbing up the stairs. His pace has been rather slow through the halls as well, he almost looked to be deep in thought about something.

Not being one to buckle down so easily, Lene takes a sudden pause at the next false room. She waits for Erk to get closer before spinning back to him, a playful smile over her face.

"So, Erk! You're seeing this guru guy to get over your fears, right?" Lene slips to Erk's left side, one hand behind her back. "Sounds pretty vague...you know what you're gonna ask about? Orrrr, are you too scared to think about it?" she gives herself a small chuckle at the ironic statement.

@erkcana

"I trust you!" and other lies to tell yourself

non-mission task: affluence (faith+1)

[goldoanheart]

Kurthnaga wonders if this other boy is shy or if he is simply the quiet type who does not like to be bothered by others. Or perhaps like the young dragon's dearest friend, he struggled to come up with the words that he wanted to say and instead preferred to stay silent in lieu of having to say anything at all.

"Don't let my presence bother you, I intend to quiet. I promise," He says a smile. Once they both got into their books, they probably wouldn't even notice the other was there.

But... it was nice to have some company just to sit with sometimes; wasn't it?

"Oh! It's just a novel, one I've read many times before," Kurthnaga lets out a gentle laugh. The book in his hands was near tatters, each page with a telltale dog ear upon it from the various places he had stopped reading over the years, "It's self-indulgant really. But yes, I do quite enjoy it."

What Have We Here?

[adheidth]

If you were to ask Alice later, she would tell you she definitely didn't scream.

"Kh-! Watch where you're aiming that!"

A bolt of flame soars just-barely over her head as she yelps, a very unladylike declaration leaving her mouth. She'd put her hands on her head, ducking, making eye contact with the youth before her. She swears there's something familiar about him, but she's pretty sure she doesn't know -- or know of anyone -- quite this young.

This is a question she doesn't have time to focus on, anyway!

"Are you lost?" she asks, now that she's less startled and (hopefully) less in danger of being given a new haircut. She spreads her arms, showing the child her open palms.

(Is that what you do for children? Or is that for scared dogs? Oh, she should've read more on the subject...)

"I promise, I shan't hurt you! I only want to help. Tell me, what is your name?"

It's a hard thing to bite down upon, but she keeps herself just-barely from her spiel about her duty as a noble. She isn't certain how well it will land here, and although she finds it of the utmost importance, it can wait until they've both settled down.

(Yes, her face is definitely very red, and her hands are shaking besides. She'd really rather not get burned to a crisp today, no-thank-you!)

@erkcana

what's with this sassy lost child?

mission board: anniversary. || any +1

[wingboundwarrior]

The midnight moon shines pearlescent on the blade of Fiora’s lance, slicing clean strikes through the air. Over and over, again and again, she strikes at nothing, fighting no one, deliberate motions, following the rhythm of a battle imagined. Her face is serious, eyes dark in the night, left hand held at her side, wrist bent, still, while her right works her weapon.

Whatever she is seeing in her mind must be a powerful thing, indeed. She doesn’t hear the noise at first. She’s entirely entranced, body straining with the action, legs burning, arm aching, but—

A twig snaps, and she spins, her weapon leveling with her.

Her eyes go unclouded as she focuses on the figure before her. There, in front of her, is a young man, robed. Probably a student from the monastery... she lowers her weapon... but... wait... is it? Can it be?

Tentatively, Fiora takes a step towards him. Then another. Then, a smile comes to her face.

“Erk!”

She runs to his side, hugging him with her once-immobile left arm as she did so. “I didn’t know you were here...” She pulls away, studies his face. She’s looking — to make sure he’s well. “How long have you been here?” // @erkcana

This Mind Isn’t Mine

[serraic]

@erkcana

There’s something calming about island life when you’re not in the thick of work. The odd breaks you’ve managed to carve out for yourself offer the opportunity for an activity unique to coastal surrounds: exploring tide pools! These little pockets of seawater dot the intertidal zones of the rocky beaches about this section of the archipelago, and are treasure troves of marine microbiomes waiting to be discovered.

Okay, Serra... deep breaths... you can do this...

For some reason, Serra’s more nervous right now than she’d been when she applied for the monastery again. And why in all the world would that be? It’s only Erk, after all, isn’t it? Isn’t it? He’s — smitten with her. Like every boy is. He’s irrevocably in love, just like anyone would be, and why wouldn’t he be overjoyed — excited, even — at the prospect of spending a day outside with her?

But her stomach is in uncomfortable knots, that twist and clench and cramp. The world feels too-light, too-tight, in her worry... Ahhhh! Just go ahead and do it, already!!

She knocks at his door. Waits a moment for an answer. Knocks again. What, she’s anxious!

The door does finally open, and a weary head pops out from behind it. Serra beams. “Hiiiiiiii, Erk!” she sing-songs. (Another clench of nervousness. Ohhhh...) “So, um. You know, of course, the islands the monastery has been cleaning up for whoever... well, I hear it’s actually really pretty in some parts! So... we should go!”

Y-yeah... that was good, wasn’t it? ... Yeah....

Sunday Funday

[serraic]

“H— hey!” Here he is, Erk, being unfair again, like usual. He holds something she wants — dangles it in front of her face — and when she shows the slightest hint of interest, he threatens to take it away. It’s a sharp wound to her chest, that causes her to look at him in a mixture of shock and fear. If she were a lesser person, she might think to grasp his hands pleadingly.

As it stands, though, she just shoots him her most wounded look — which, to be clear, is pretty wounded. (Serra’s always been fantastic at morphing her face into something, probably due to the strong feelings always running under the surface.)

“I already said I was free, didn’t I?!” She really does want to grasp at him... but she keeps her hands at bay, because it’s not really the sort of thing that ladies do, is it — hold the hands of their lover, before he’s even confessed to them, or anything?

But... he says something to eat... omigosh, omigosh, omigosh. Omigosh? Is it... actually a date?

You know— he flustered her... she may as well give as good back!

“Are you asking me out on a date, Erk? I knew it was only a matter of time before you finally came to your senses... To think I waited so long...! Well, anyway, I accept. So? Show me, what do you have planned?”

I'm Here To Make Sure That Doesn't Happen

TASK ⌁ FACE YOUR FEARS !

[txmehunting]

nobody ever asks sennō to do anything.

some might argue that it is due to his inability to promise anything concrete until he is appropriately compensated. others will blithely state that it is just because sennō's personality wards off everyone, friend, foe, or the desperate alike.

sennō would agree with all of this. why not? if you need his help, pay him. he is a merchant, not a do-gooder, and he would thank any prospective requestors to keep that in mind.

he thought the same of the noblewoman that came to him one evening, pleading for someone, anyone to listen to her plight. she spouted nonsense about her wife---how she hasn't aged in ten years, how she isn't the woman she had once been---and sennō had been close to blowing her off when she said something of unique interest:

a painting is the suspect in this debacle, perhaps having stolen the noblewoman's wife's soul and holding it captive. it is a dark force, the woman suggests; magic the likes of which has scarce been seen before. all the while, the offending portrait grows ugly, paintstrokes leaden with a weeping cellmate.

sennō wanted to see it. oh, how he wanted to see what magic curses a painting so. after demanding more information ( and squeezing some payment out of the noblewoman's pockets ), he set to work.

the first order of business was studying the soul as a concept---why would a painting want such a thing, and how was it that it stole such a thing while the body still remains alive? sennō may be a skeptic, but he is no fool; in a world where magic rules, unseen apparitions and soul-snatching are not far out thoughts. the subject dictates his book selection: " the shape of a soul, " its writer unknown.

but before he has the chance to return to his reading table, some... child reaches out to him, words sharp yet stumbling. sennō raises a brow. " excuse me? " he snipes, almost immediately turning irate. seriously? it's 2 a.m., and this idiot has just now decided it's a good time to bother people? " out of all of the books in this library, it is the one in my hands you need? "

clearly he is dealing with some immature, entitled type. they're a dime a dozen at this hell monastery with all of its silver-spoon children. " too bad. you should have come here sooner if it was such a necessity; now, if you'll excuse me, i have reading to do. "

A Portrait of Darkness to Slay

MISSION -- SAVE THAT SOUL !

[serraic]

The world is bright in an entirely uncomfortable way — too-bright, too-searing, and even Erk’s voice, which is totally lovely normally, makes her feel ill. Her hands are shaking where they are, knees weak... and before she can really think, she plops to the ground, sitting on the stair she’d just climbed.

“Maybe...” she mutters in response to him, trying to focus on the shapes of the world and how to stay steady among them. But her brain really, really wants to be dizzy, and slide away, and make her collapse into little, tiny pieces, and...

“Water...” That’s a good idea, right? Some water... that’ll steady her. Her voice is a bit of a croak, and not as demanding as normal, but... surely Erk will help her. He always has, after all, hasn’t he? He’ll help her... surely, surely...

Dreaming in the Rain

[wingboundwarrior]

Fifteen, yes! The exact age of Florina! Fiora smiles, glad to have guessed correctly — but her serene simper gives way to bewilderment as the young mage goes on.

“What? Of— of course you don’t have time! Neither of you do... both of you need to be focusing on the upcoming battles.” Lest— well, she cannot even think it. Even the consideration of danger befalling either of her sisters rends the entire world from her.

But now she’s concerned. “What studies?” Is he focusing so intently on something else, he may not have sufficient energy or care to devote to the battlefield? That just simply wouldn’t do...

Her answer to his question comes in a complete afterthought. “I’m nineteen.”

My Lord’s Son

[serraic]

@erkcana

The sunny day that Serra had arrived at Garreg Mach Monastery on had started to turn drizzly. Boo — rain always makes her hair a bit unruly, and no one likes feeling soaked to the bone. She covers her eyes with a gloved hand as she glances skyward, trying to tell if the oppressive gray clouds seem near to parting soon. The sides of the building block out parts of the sky, though, so she can only see her corner of darkness. Double boo. She frowns to herself, and picks up her pace. 

Like Father Meven had promised, she does, indeed, have new quarters. Something nice and befitting to a cleric of her status. Bigger than even her quarters in Ostia! The momentary crinkle of sorrow on her face flattens out to a self-satisfied smile, and she finds herself humming to herself, even as the first few raindrops splatter around her and the small courtyard she’s moving through. 

Behind a tree, she sees a flash of red cape. 

When you live the sort of life Serra has lived, it’s not unusual to dream. In fact, dreaming is sort of all you have, really. Dreaming with her fists clenched is how Serra has become Serra — a beautiful, lovable cleric that any man would give life, limb, country, and riches upon riches for. She’s a healer of little compare and no one could doubt her beauty, after all — any man would be lucky if she thought them worthy of a date. 

But… 

But there’s always been someone that Serra thinks of, since their parting in Ostia all that time ago.

(Dreams of. 

Prays for.

Misses beyond compare.) 

It’s just a dream, though, she knows. Her footfalls don’t stutter, her hum doesn’t waver. He was never there any day or night in the last 4 years, and he isn’t there now. 

(Does that mean she’s given up? Not… completely. You see, Serra is a woman of faith. She knows what it is to believe in things you cannot see.) 

The twinkling of rain turns into a sudden downpour. Serra squeaks, caught unawares — rushes across the courtyard with her cowl pulled over her head and ducks beneath the overhang of a building. 

“Augh! No fair! And it was such a lovely day. Now I’m all wet,” she complains, to no one in particular. But there is someone to her left… she glances up, out of her cowl, again, and…

It’s just a dream, she knows. He was never there any day or night in the last 4 years, and he isn’t there now. 

She blinks, to clear the red-purple phantom, and see who really is standing there. 

But… 

There, staring back at her, mess of purple curls and sharp amethyst gaze, red cape hugging a small frame, and book clutched to his chest, is the shape of the best friend Serra ever had, and the first person she ever loved. 

She blinks again. 

Again, he does not vanish. 

Slowly, it dawns on her that what is happening is, in fact, actually happening. Erk is… really there? In the flesh? 

Serra crosses the distance between them and grabs his wrist. 

He’s solid. 

Immediately, emotion explodes within her. The air is compressed entirely from her lungs — then her legs go weak as spots of white cloud her vision. For a moment, she thinks she’s sick again, or going to faint, but… 

Pull it together! If it really is Erk… 

If it really is Erk… 

Oh… can it really be? 

“E— Erk?” Her voice is tentative, only for a moment, before a sun shatteringly bright smile overtakes her. “Hah— omigosh— you scared me!”

She doesn’t just mean right now. 

“You really came! You must’ve heard, right? Well, don’t worry! I’m better now.” She drops his wrist with one hand, pulling her cowl from her head with the other. “Though you were right to worry, with how delicate I am… there were days even I thought I wouldn’t make it… but! Saint Elimine was there with me, and she told me, personally, that my time here wasn’t done yet. Isn’t that splendid? Even Saint Elimine came to see me!” 

The one strap of her bag that’s on her shoulder slips, and she, grinningly, offers it to Erk. 

“I forgive you for being late… and, you know, I’m so generous, I’ll even let you carry my things to my room!” 

(Inside her body, her heart is racing. She feels like she can hardly breathe, matching his eyes, chattering away as she always does.) 

Is it really him? 

Dreaming in the Rain

[serraic]

“Aren’t you listening at all?” For all his studying, he rarely seems to pay attention... “It wasn’t my strength, it was Saint Elimine, with me! She gave me the power... praise be her graces!”

Her sweet smile makes her appear like the young girl she still is. She spins, happily, and starts ascending the first flight of stairs of three.

“Come on, now... ladies don’t carry their own things, especially when there’s a strong young man with them! Don’t you have any understanding of etiquette, Erk? Or social standings? Let me explain it from the top...”

They’re up the first landing, halfway through the first set of stairs. Serra begins going on.

“Ladies are delicate and gentle creatures. We’ve been put on this Earth to be admired and loved. God put men on this Earth to take care of us, and to serve us...”

First set of stairs, done.

“Not all women are ladies, of course. Not all women have the social standing, or the upbringing, or the frailness. In fact, there are women that are even more powerful than men! You should know that better than anyone. Lyn is one of those women... you saw how skilled she is with the sword! She could take out hundreds of men with a single swipe! Of course, she still deserves to be admired and loved... but she doesn’t need to be looked out for, as closely as someone like me does.”

Second set of stairs, done. (Her heart is hammering in her chest. Her breaths are coming in faster. She’s so excited to see him, after all!)

“Ladyness is something that’s learned... how to dress, how to act, how to take care of yourself... it’s a very fine art, and not everyone—... not everyone knows it. It’s something you grow— inside of yourself! But—... as long as there have been ladies... there have been people to— to watch those ladies and take care of—...”

Third set of stairs, done. But... The desperate tempo of her chest has only grown, causing red-hot pain in her sides, her hands. She pauses at the top of the railing, gasping. Spots of white cloud her vision for the second time today. The world slides around her, moving, slipping, falling like she’s on a boat caught in a storm. “O— oh,” Serra mumbles, and leans over the banister.

Her breathing comes in shaking gasps. For the moment — she’s forgot to look brave in front of Erk. She thinks she’s... going to pass out...

Dreaming in the Rain

[wingboundwarrior]

@erkcana

It was only proper practice to look, at least a glance or two, into the people who were hiring the 5th Wing for whatever bloody business was to come. After all, the pegasus knights of Ilia were honorable people. Mercenaries they were, first and foremost, but it did not mean they accepted every ask given of them. It did not mean they wandered, eyes closed, into a new situation, dangerous and unsure as it was.

In all of her research of Lord Pent — nights spent outside of his estate, speaking with people in nearby villages — she had not learned that he had children.

But he must have at least one. She saw the way Lady Louise brightened around the young purple-haired mage, the way she touched his shoulder and head with affection. Lord Pent had a barely restrained pride, too, when looking at the boy. How strange, that no one would mention their son. She had heard that he was kind beyond regard... but not a father.

“I didn’t realize Lord Pent and Lady Louise had a son.” This was her opener to Erk, one evening, as the young boy passed her by. She smiled in her small, sad way. (The sadness was not quite about him, as it never was entirely about what was happening around her.) “We haven’t been formally introduced... I am Fiora, a pegasus knight of Ilia. Your father hired my squadron to scope out the Dread Isle.” A pause. “I know him to be a kind man... you must be proud of him, as he clearly is of you.”

My Lord’s Son

[wingboundwarrior]

For a moment, Fiora swears she can see a hint of surprise in the other’s face. But as quickly as she believes it is there, it is gone, and she is left with her own ruminations, and the closed off impression of a young boy before her.

So young... not truly her junior in too many years, but young enough to be a little brother. “How old are you?” It is a surprising, sudden question, she is sure. “You look about the age of my littlest sister. Have you met her? She’s here, in this outfit, but... she’s quite uncomfortable around men, so I would understand if not. Her name is Florina. She is the other pegasus knight here, currently.”

This young mage — whose name she is not even sure she fully recalls — seems about as tentative as Florina can be. Perhaps the two of them would get along well. Perhaps they already do, and she is meeting a close friend of Florina’s, but... if Florina had a friend — especially one that was a boy — she was sure she’d know about it, by now.

(That smile he gave her was nice, though. It communicated to her succinctly; whatever he said, he regarded Lord Pent as his next of kin, too. How beautiful a relationship... a person who needed raising, and a pair that wished to raise. She smiles to herself.)

My Lord’s Son