#interaction: lionscion

[bxldrsdraumar]

Collector's Edition Set

Without warning, the earth begins to violently shake and a fissure cracks open wide beneath your feet, swallowing you up before you have the chance to even think about running. When you awaken, you find yourself behind a wall of glass, alongside a dozen statues, rings, miniature objects, and other oddities. The ground before you ripples as if alive, but when a dark cloud full of thunder and lightning rushes toward you, the earth rises up to meet it. They’re elementals from Morfis, you realize at once, and as the one made of earth opens up the glass case to retrieve two of the statues next to you, you understand that this is some sort of shop. Now might be your only chance to plan an escape, because who knows what will happen if you’re bought by one of them. Use what’s lying around you to devise a way to bust out... but don’t get caught. [Grants Lance +1] 

(starter for @lionscion and @luminousrider)

Sigurd sat, elbows propped on his knees, as he had for some time now. He had awoken from a most terrible dream – a thunderstorm, an earthquake, tumbling, tumbling, the breath being sucked from his lungs, layers of earth swallowing him whole before he was deposited in a box of glass, surrounded on all sides by light and muffled sounds – before he realized that the dream was his reality. 

He could not claim to be a tactician – he had a head for battle, but often his strategy was bolstered by the undeniable fact that his power, or the size of his forces, was simply greater than his foes. With a glance at the glass boxes to his left and right, he could not safely wager whether his forces would be sufficient for such a head-on strike as he was used to: children, students of the academy, and more than that, children he considered to be family. Eldigan's boy, grown to a man now, but that Nordion pride underneath his rough-edged exterior, seethed in the box to his right; and Ethlyn and Quan's daughter, taken by the enemy and raised to be a ferocious warrior in her own right, on his left. 

They'd each had their own startles upon awakening, the realization of where they were hopefully eased when Sigurd tapped on the glass to indicate, at the very least, he was here for them. 

The great thundercloud swooped in before him, its ball lightning eyes shifted at the sight of him not propped on the stand it kept putting him on, and it almost seemed as though it was glowering at him. 

He waved, smiled, before settling back into his relaxed posture, quite at his leisure. 

Its eyes narrowed, a hand of wind and pressure tapped on the glass. 

He tapped his foot in response, cocking his head, grin widening. 

The thundercloud reared to quite a great height, lightning streaking through its body in a fit of rage before it spiraled off – the creature's version of a temper tantrum, he thought, amused. 

"You know, children," he said, raising his voice a bit so that they could hear him – if anyone else heard him, well, he supposed it couldn't be helped. "This reminds me quite of a time when your fathers and I – or was it just Quan and myself? Yes, I think Eldigan was elsewhere at the time, but joined us later. Anyway, we were trapped in a situation not wholly unlike this. Some details notwithstanding," he added, eyeing the great thundercloud. 

"But you see, we had gone on a hunting trip near the northern border of Manster and Grannvale – it might have been hunting, but there was certainly merriment enough for it to have been a hunting trip. I'm sure you understand, my boy," he added with a glance at Ares, "but I suppose the purpose of the trip was less important than the outcome. As it turns out, you see, at some point the lines between Manster and Grannvale and the desert become quite fuzzy, and one must prepare for the desert. 

"We had not, young and stupid as we were – don't worry, your father saves our skin in the end – and in the end our retainers were slain and Quan and I were captured by some Isaachian outlaws who had settled about the border. I'm ashamed to say we were quite drunk, so they took us easily, but when we woke, hungover to high Hodr – pardon the expression – we were chained in some fortress they had built for themselves, and they watched us quite keenly. 

"For a couple of days we struggled against out bonds – young and stupid as we were, we thought our Holy Blood enough would get us out of the situation we found ourselves in – before we actually put our heads together and formed a thought." 

From its place across the room, the thundercloud again reared up in irritation, storming over to Sigurd's cell and tapped on the glass once more, from somewhere beneath its lightning eyes it produced a sound of wind and pressure that sounded quite like a whistle. 

Smile widening, Sigurd whistled in return, a low and sharp sound that echoed from within his glass cell. Then, when the cloud streaked through with angry lightning and stormed off, finally out of the room in its irritation, snuffling the lights from the candles as it left. 

"Ah, and there we are," he said, standing, dusting off the seat of his trousers though there was certainly no speck of dust within his cell. "You see, children, the thought we'd had was fairly simple – if we had been ambushed so easily, at night with our guards down, it would have been a simple matter to do the same to our captors. They cannot keep all eyes on us at all times," he continued, moving over to the small stand where he had been posed upon his waking, wrenching the arms from the stand and heaving it from where it slotted into his cell, swinging it about as a test for moment before deciding it would do, "and – oh, what's the phrase? When the cats are away, the mouse do play." 

[peerlessscowl]

[ Garden ] - Outside of the dance hall, explore the miniature gardens the Elementals created for you, populated with all sorts of strange (and carnivorous) plants you’ve never seen before.

"Well met, Raymond."

Out in the quiet of the garden, a stoic voice Raymond might recognize approached from his left. Intense, golden eyes and trims gleamed bright against the black of Ares' elegant clothes, regarding the other with a deep nod.

"You may have already seen her about, but I've found Nanna safe and well."

Or, as well as one can be when held captive. The scrutinizing gaze of the 'patrons' was ever hot on his neck, but he dared his rock-headed patron to find anything wrong with what he was doing now.

"Whether you had anything to do with that or not, knowing I had another's support meant much to me."

The mark of Earth had begun to shimmer through Ares' gloved hand as he gestured towards Raymond with it. He didn't need to warn Raymond about the obvious threat looming quite literally above their heads, but he still felt like he should add:

"And you now have mine as well, should you need it."

It sounded rather dire with how he stressed the offer, but it came from a place of gratitude rather than the anger it might be typically construed as.

He had come out to the garden for some goddamn peace, for it seemed that everywhere Raven turned there was something else out to cause him mischief. The reason he didn't like balls, for they are one or another much the same.

He heard the shifting of boot-sole against the footpath, and his head dropped, and he let out a soft sigh, turning to meet whoever it was that had sought him out.

Relieved, for perhaps the first time that night, he found a kindred soul - the young man Ares, with whom he'd had a share of adventures to this point, but little enough conflict.

"Well met," he returned, and out of instinct his fingers found the bracelet of dandelions at his wrist. "Yes, she...she found me. I'm heartened that she's well, and that you're reunited. I had nothing to do with it, but I'm glad all the same."

What the other man replied with drew him up short, and he blinked a bit before he allowed himself to relax. He understood, he thought, where Ares was coming from, for he found that in many things they were much the same - he was often loath to accept or ask for help, and he recognized when there was a threat to his security.

He recognized when a valuable was in front of him, as well.

Nodding once, he clapped his palm against Ares', the mark of Air calm, mild for the first time that evening.

"I thank you. Rest assured, I won't take it lightly."

[bxldrsdraumar]

[ Fairy Wings ] - shimmer and dazzle in your new boutique threads! And what’s this... it seems they’ve some interesting accessories to choose from as well, the likes of which may be more functional than you initially thought. Soar!

Ares had spotted him while searching the crowds, twirling far above them all in the sky with his wife, but without a pegasus or wyvern's support to be found. Rather than so much as exclaim his shock at the sight, Ares was rapidly becoming so numb to the insanity of these elementals' magic that he could do no more than muster the most bewildered squint.

More important than any bizarre magic was the knowledge that, now that he knew he was here, it was only right to pay a greeting to someone so dear to several of his own friends and family. He must have caught them at the end of their dance, for they soon gracefully touched back down to the dance floor not too far from him.

"Sigurd," Ares began as he approached, "Well met."

If he were in distress, he was sure he wouldn't have looked so thoroughly delighted. Or, actually, when he thought back to the other elemental prison they'd just recently escaped, he wasn't so sure. What Ares was sure of was the strategy of patience and agitation Sigurd used to give them that valuable opening in the first place, one he had already forgotten when he was first dropped here. Seeing him so at ease despite the situation was a good reminder, as well as an invitation for him to do the same.

Or try to.

Those wings were quite the show stealer, and as Ares fought to push his gaze onto something else, it fell on Sigurd's vine necklace.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to see your vines so full of blooms already, but it is impressive nonetheless."

Where Sigurd's was bursting with flowers of every hue, Ares' was still much more vine than petal. Rather than discourage him though, the sight of it only served to again put him in mild awe, his apparent skills now another benchmark for his own to reach towards.

"I'm aiming to gather more of them myself -- in the name of a duel I'm having with your nephew, as well as bettering my own networking abilities." He offered his Earth-branded hand. "Might I have yours too?"

"Ares, my boy! Well met indeed!" Whatever else the boy had to say to him was drowned out by the roar of Sigurd's delight in his ears, the musical chiming of his lady love's breathless acceptance caressing his heart.

He saw the boy extend his hand, and tipped his head back for a laugh before rushing forward and clasping his arms about the young man, wrenching him upward in a great bear of an embrace, twirling him about before setting him back down and clapping him on the shoulders.

"The most delightful news, my boy - oh, I am simply overcome with - well, no perhaps I ought to wait until my lady deigns to speak." He was a rush, babbling somewhat nonsensically. Seeing that Ares had his hand still extended, Sigurd clasped it firmly, pumping a strong handshake from the surely stunned young man.

"Ah, the flowers bloom, just as the heart of love does, don't you find?" The whirlwind of Sigurd's brand gnashed its teeth against the stolid cracked earth of Ares', and their flowers blossoming only brought a tinge of wistfulness to Sigurd's eye.

Whatever Ares had been saying was well and truly drowned out, for his timing could not have been more impeccable as to find Sigurd so drowning in bliss.

[sayhwaet]

With an uneasy peace settling back over Fódlan, many soldiers that had been conscripted by paranoid nobles are now being sent home. However, some had seen this as their big chance to become knights and to make something more of themselves. They’re unwilling to let go of their training, and reports of these ex-soldiers convening together late at night reaches you and your party. Upon investigation, the ex-soldiers ask you to join them in these sessions, hoping either to learn from you, to practice with you, or to simply get a good word in with the Knights of Seiros. They ask for a future, having been robbed of one already, but do you really have any place to give them one? [Grants Any Skill +1]  (starter for @lionscion)

"Embarrassing!" he called from the back into his cupped hands before leaning back onto the propped wooden training sword. "If this is what yer offerin' to the monastery, no damn wonder they ain't getting back to you with any job offers." 

It wasn't with any malice that he heckled the gathered sellswords, it was that they were actually embarrassing him. He remembered being shiny and new, too, with nary a lick of grease behind his ears, but at least his sword arm had always carried true, his seat in the saddle as comfortable as if he'd spent all of his few years there. 

Things're different in Jugdral, he had to suppose – vast and empty spaces, less kind roads for pedestrians led to most free knights worth their salt to learn to ride quick, and to make the sword of lance an extension of your arm with a quickness. To carry on as though the world owed you somethin' when you couldn't even put anything back into it, and to demand to be paid for it to boot? 

That took a brass pair, for certain. 

"Nah, nah – look," Beowolf lurched forward from where he leaned, moving from the stance of a casual observer into a brisk lunge, a sweeping strike coming just shy of a rotund man's ribcage before he switched the grip, the blow sliding into harmless air as he straightened. "See, ya wanna come from elbow f'r precision, not just brute strength it with yer shoulder every time. Good way to dislocate a shoulder, friend." 

Cocking his head over his shoulder, he whistled sharply, grinning at the massive young man that had come with him on this venture – and a familiar face, in spite of himself, the familiar shine of golden hair, the familiar command, but in a body that brooked only simmering rage. 

If he ignored that last part, it was almost like Eldigan was here himself. But he had died, and Ares was not his father. 

"This guy wantsta see power. What say we show it to him, kiddo?" 

Boss Makes a Dollar, You Make a Dime

[blaiddllodi]

He could not have been happier for such a contest, and minded little the conditions. There had been worse, surely, in the wooded mountains that he'd been made to run through, and his school uniform was certainly cleaner and in better repair (and lighter, of course, made for more acrobatic movement) than some of the armor he'd sported during those times.

It had pleased him to see young lord Ares amongst the number gathered at the bottom, and a…vocal professor of the Golden Deer whose reputation preceded him mostly in the sense that he could hear the man's lessons being conducted even as far away as the stables. And, slinking about, always slinking when there was conflict to be had, wasn't he? Was that odd man, who had chased he and others through a morose and foggy night in the woods.

He did not seem to have the knife on him, but Dimitri admitted it was harder to see for the rain.

That man had a less than ideal start, dragged down possibly by the weight of his heavy robes, torn and scalloped about the edges though they were, but the professor stayed true to form and bounded forward, taunting his opponent along the way.

Dimitri watched carefully, seeking out the places where their feet had fallen, pressing the balls of his feet into the earth, before he tossed a grin at Ares. "I will see you at the top then, won't I?"

And he was off, pressing forward through the slog and surpassing the dark stranger, and meeting the Deer professor head on.

1d3 -> 2, Advances to Space 2; 1d10 -> 9, stays on Space 2

If he wanted to see his mettle, then Dimitri would oblige him, gripping the back of his coat firmly in a gauntleted fist and tugging the man backward with all the ease his strength allowed him.

Contested Roll 1d10 -> 9, stays on Space 2

"Apologies, professor, but…you did ask!"

Next! @lionscion

Playing in the Mud

Distress | King of the Hill

[bxldrsdraumar]

Well then. Sigurd smiled as Ares and Altena took his cue to burst from their prisons. Their blood is strong. For a moment as they moved, backlit from the display lights reflected on the glass cases, Sigurd could almost imagine that he saw the shadows of their fathers, his dearest and most beloved friends, moving in tandem with them, but he realized that did them an injustice. 

These two were fierce warriors in their own rights, and did not need to be so pigeonholed into the role of taking up the mantle for their fathers. It wasn't something he wanted for his own son, and he certainly wasn't going to allow himself to treat them in such a way. 

"I suppose that just leaves me." Twirling his makeshift weapon thoughtfully, he tested the weight of it, the balance, and found a good grip. He'd spent quite a long while watching the glass of his cell, and he'd come to the conclusion that while it was clearly meant for keeping things in, it could not possibly stand up to the blood of the Twelve Crusaders. 

Taking a brief stance, Sigurd hefted the pole in his arm, dashing forward with a quick punch of force – he almost felt the world begin to blur for a bare moment, and his blood turned hot in his veins before like a breath of wind that heat was extinguished, leaving him with an odd hollow thrumming in his chest. 

He hummed around the feeling, raising his cape over his head to shield himself from the falling shards of glass as he moved forward, satisfied with the crunching under his boots. 

"On we go, then." 

Their first objective cleared, now another reared its head before them: as high up on the shelf as they were, they had to find a way down. He supposed that they could move along the shelf in hopes that finding a way out would present itself, or that there may be stacks of shorter shelves along the way, but it seemed to him that this would take too much time, too much exploration. Sigurd could not fathom the risk of wasting so much time that their captors came back, possibly sealing them in even more secure cages. 

That left straight down. Toeing aside some of the debris he and Ares had created with their exits, Sigurd found that there was a cloth runner covering the shelf underneath the cases. Tucked under all cases along the length of the shelf, it might have been a problem to dig it out, but thankfully three of the seven cases now lay empty. 

Sigurd pressed a hand to the glass of one of the remaining cases – it would cause a ruckus if they were to smash all of them, but perhaps if they could just... 

He leaned forward, pushing his shoulder against the front of the case, and was rewarded when the bottom lifted just slightly, tipping backward until he released. 

"If we can free this runner, I think we'll be able to use it to climb down. Ares, my boy – I'll ask your help, you and I need to budge these cases back just a bit. A couple of inches should do it. Then Altena, you pull it out when most of the weight is off." 

@lionscion@luminousrider

Altena has never thrived in confinement. Whether that meant something tangible like the stone walls of Castle Thracia on a rainy day when she was a child or something more metaphorical like the heavy yolk of destiny and responsibility, she does whatever she can to avoid it. She yearns for the open sky on the back of her wyvern, free to come and go as she pleases. And now she finds herself encased in a glass box as if she were meant to be some sort of doll.

To make matters worse, there are two others here with her, in boxes of their own. Ares. Her younger brother's best friend. She knows him to be quite capable but his loyalty belongs to Leif. She has no desire to wedge herself between them.

And her uncle. Her mother's brother and her birth father's closest friend. He doesn't need to say it but he looks at her and sees the face of his friend. She knows this has to be the case. It's the case with everyone else who knew the prince of Leonster and she is sure it is the same with Sigurd.

The two men seem to be as frustrated with their shared situation as she is though they show it much differently. Sigurd picks a fight with a storm and Ares snarls and bangs against his glass until it is sealed even tighter. Altena waits silently. There is no point in drawing the attention of their captors and adding more trouble. She watches and she listens.

She listens as her uncle calls them children (does he not realize she is almost as old as her mother now?) and shares some sort of long winded anecdote featuring her father. She sulks and leans against her stand. If this is an attempt to comfort her, it does not. Though, when she glances over at Ares, she can tell he feels quite differently. It's rare that she's seen him so enthralled.

The Quan in Sigurd's tale is much different than the Quan she'd been told about up until now. If the people who knew him in Leonster were to be believed, the man who helped bring her into this world was some sort of godlike being to be held in the same esteem as the Crusaders themselves. A martyr who could do no wrong. Her uncle paints him as human. Young and naive and capable of giving into vices.

It's difficult to hear about him, especially when she knows it is for her benefit that he is the subject of conversation, but she listens. There is a sort of comfort in knowing that he was, indeed, a man who could make mistakes like anyone else. If it is inevitable that she must carry on his legacy as Njörun's scion, at least the pedestal she must climb to is not as high.

The air elemental eventually grows tired with Sigurd's refuse to comply with its wishes and leaves. Altena had often been told growing up that she was just as stubborn and indignant as her mother. It was one of the only things she knew about the woman who gave birth to her. Watching her uncle now has her wondering if it's a trait shared by her whole maternal family. Leif can be quite stubborn as well. Does Seliph share similar traits?

There is little time to wonder about it. The storm subsides and they are, finally, left alone in the darkened shop. Altena takes cues from both men and wrenches her own stand free. She uses it to wedge between the door and the wall to her case. Ares had had the right idea to test that earlier before his efforts were thwarted by the elemental. With a grunt, she pushes on the stand with all her strength until the screws holding the door's hinges on pop loose and the door opens.

She steps out and says nothing, keeping her distance from the other two. All that really matters right now is getting the hell out of here.

@bxldrsdraumar @lionscion