#l&kjustice2020

[rivclry]

♤ dash to escape

There was a small rush of urgency as Leonie and the rest of her group ran to the moving contraption. The guards had done a number on Niles; judging simply by his physical condition he didn’t look to be well. Medical supplies were needed quick and stat so they went ahead of Cynthia’s team aboard the moving contraption.

It took a moment for Leonie to figure out how it worked, slightly jostled by the sudden jolt when it began to move. Currently on their persons they had a shock stick, a vest, and a strange card that gave access to rooms. They didn’t know the limits to the card, whether it ran out of usages or only worked on certain rooms. They would have to find out later.

As the moving box arrived at their destination the doors slowly opened revealing a hall with several rooms. She turned to the rest of her teammates and gave a firm nod.

They’ll find a way out.

@sweettoothforhire @devious-archer @hungrymage

[sweettoothforhire]

» lock and pick

Gaius wasn’t quite sure how this all came to be, but he heard plans involving robbing so of course he jumped in. 

“I’m more into snagging some weapons, but if it’s books you want, we can work with that.” Gaius proclaims with a level of confidence. He might be out of touch with his original profession, but he’s named Sticky Fingers Gaius for a reason! 

...right until he saw the actual lock.

“What in the--” Gaius stared at the strange lock. No padlocks, no little holes to put his lockpicks in... just buttons. “...alright, I can adapt. Sure.” He thinks out loud, tongue sticking out as he tries to figure out how to deal with this foreign lock. He presses a few buttons-- nothing happens. He presses again-- nothing. Usually at this time he’d grab a candy and destress, but he had nothing. He grumbles in frustration and looks over to his companion, a confused look on his face as he points to strange mechanism, “Well, any ideas?”

next: @devious-archer ( tagging: @minorindech or @houseofreglay )

[minorindech]

camisado

Bernie has had a hard time following exactly what was happening.

Azura had started to perform again but this time it felt...different. Bernie couldn’t place exactly what it was about it, but it felt like something rushed over her as Azura’s voice filled their cell.

And it didn’t seem constrained to their cell either. The...thing that kept watching them, he seemed to react strangely to it. Stiffening. Staring. Bernie hated when he came to check on them but this felt so much worse.

Lorenz...did something she couldn’t quite see, but Bernie did notice Ingrid shifting over to block him. For a split second, there was hope. Excitement. 

It...wobbled a bit as she noticed the monster moving again. He didn’t approach them like Bernie thought he would. He didn’t storm into their cell and attack Azura. He left instead, maybe after something more important, and Bernie let out a sigh.

And then the first burst of something rushed into their cell 

Bernie let out a terrified shriek as the first gush of...something shot past her neck from where she was leaning against the wall. She quickly scrambled away.

A mist quickly began to fill up their cell. “O-oh no! What are we-” Bernie coughed.

She squinted as her eyes began to water, looking over at her friends. Her head hurt. Whatever this gas was, it was clearly meant to take them down. Bernie struggled and gasped as her throat tickled, forcing her to cough again and again.

Her hands fell to the floor as she tried to hold herself up. Her arms shook under the weight.

She tried to lift her head to look at her friends. Everything was blurry. Bernie couldn’t tell if it was her eyes watering or...or...

Bernie fell over, and with a crack, her head the floor.

lab team’s really bad day -> @aqura

[theofficersacademy]

                                            Emblem of Justice

                                    Niles    Bernadetta   Cynthia   Ewan                                     Innes      Leonie      Ilyana      Gaius                                     Pent       Selkie       Ingrid      Lorenz

Week 1

Setting: An underground city, ???

You awaken to cold, damp earth and darkness. Strange blue light spreads, diffuse, throughout the gloom and you become vaguely aware of other bodies nearby. There are cots crammed together against the rocky wall, empty bowls scattered across the ground, and it begins to dawn on you that you may be in a prison camp of some sort.

You find that you are free to roam what appears to be city slums. Guards patrol the dilapidated streets and refuse to allow you passage beyond the gates. They are distinctly inhuman, with pallid skin, pupil-less eyes, and silvery hair. Blue lines of light pulse through the weapons they wield, similar to that which snakes across the streets and buildings. A strange, magical technology you have never encountered before.

The guards regard you with wariness, and are not afraid to use force. However, you eventually notice that you and your companions are not the only ones in these slums. Deep in the shadows are watchful, fearful eyes. Eventually, one approaches you and introduces himself as Aeschylus. He is young, he says, (170 years is quite young for his people) and expresses that he has never seen a surface-dweller before. You find that he is often trailing you and your party, slipping quickly into shadows when he’s seen.

Things to note:

None of your muses have weapons, and those who know magic find that they struggle to conjure it here

Aeschylus is the only one who will speak to you with more than a few clipped sentences. You learn that this is the only life he and the others who live here have known. He tells you that “your kind” has ignored their plight for centuries and allied with those who forced them into such a shameful existence

You catch whispers from the guards of a “savior” who will liberate them

Despite the poor state of the city, most of its technology is still in working order. From glowing boxes that dispense warm meals, to strange cans that transmit your voice from one side of the city to another, the inventions are unlike anything you’ve ever seen before

What to do (suggestions):

Send asks to teammates to start interactions

Write open threads for quick, multi-muse interactions

Follow and interact with Aeschylus

Explore the city but try not to anger the guards

Talk to Mod Ree for hints via NPC dialogue/actions to be included in your threads

[kitsuneiisms]

Destiny by Blood

Constant rush of footsteps outside their containment, guards running back and forth, every which way. Black eyes find watch on the group more often now, Selkie’s nerves twitching every time that stare finds its mark on the kitsune. After several minutes of contemplation, she finally rises from her spot by the wall, taking a seat next to the most familiar face that could afford her company.

“Lady Azura?”

The formalities may be unnecessary, but when the unfamiliar sensation of fear racks her soul, the kitsune who still finds herself a child amidst company might revert to old habits. 

“You... you heard what he said, right? I don’t know what to do. I think the others escaped,” Thoughts race, forming and swirling amidst the wariness that has beset her being, “and we still don’t know what he wants to do with us. Solon seems really angry - do you think they’ll take us somewhere else? Or maybe when they get here, he’ll...”

A single fang pierces her lip, and she shakes the thought from her head. Conjecture and fear won’t help now, yet despite every rational thought, the feeling still permeated everywhere, and to say she didn’t like it was quite the understatement. 

“Are we gonna be okay?”

@aqura

[ingridbgalatea]

ミ✭ dog-eared.

cw; death.

the quiet is sudden.

the air rids itself of forceful screams, and red cords no longer strain and break at the sound of blood spilling through pierced flesh. the otherwise hideous creak and crumple of the beast shreds against metal, reduced to the hum of a disk scratching voice pressed against fabric as snow seeps into ingrid’s ears. calm tide that the moon draws in, and out again— she breathes; her chest weighing of iron as much as her tongue, scarlet angering the bull of her heart. no longer can she hear the distant, murderous intent of the death knell’s crow. an echo repeats itself in it’s memory, but not the bell itself; dull murmur of it’s chime growing flat with every resound. 

snow falls, marble white an unwelcome contrast to the crimson that bloodied her skin; no longer warm and soft, as much as her father might’ve wanted her suitors to see. low, lulling notes of a supposedly happy hymnal play in haunting minor, both meant for the wed and dying. dying. dying. the word begins to lose meaning the more she says it, soundlessly, meant for an audience of no one besides herself. a person with no such companionship dies alone, and that was what she was, right? dying. 

despite everything the stories say, death isn’t at all what they paint it out to be.

—when it ropes you around the waist, (callous touch to bloody wounds,) you’d think you would see your life flash before your eyes. 

she thinks she would see felix, in all his perpetual scowl; once small smile contorted into something she could never understand. his face, worn with battles he both knew how to pick but didn’t anyways. she thinks she would see sylvain, with his carefully painted smile and words that were both ultimately a little reckless and quietly caring, and maybe she wouldn’t feel the need to pick up after him so much. she thinks she would see his highness, in all his polite small talk and tall standing; and she wonders what he would think about what aeschylus had called justice.

was that it? was that what he died for? so chivalry, so honour, so knighthood, so valour, so martyrdom, so justice—

                                                                                               so what? 

                                       she doesn’t see their faces. not anymore. 

eyes press softly close (though they were already shut), the softness of a cruel winter lies on her eyelashes. her flesh, or lack thereof, is tangible as the touch of another wraps around her form. blood drips without distinction between flesh and cloth; dyes the snow as red as strawberries in the summer. everything feels numb in all of her own tragic, human fragility, and fingers thrum in her head but not against the back of the one who’d begun carrying her. a loss for words, and a loss for names… even recognising who had lifted her up in that piteous state was difficult. air travels through her, trudging through the muck of blood and mucus; disquieting smell of metal filling her lungs. she is breathing, yes, yes, but only so; where the thunder of her thoughts meet her lips there is only a drop of rain, scarlet blood. 

ingrid wants to be held a little longer, blink in dream-worthy bleariness; living in the little moments between uneager steps that mark the snow. it’s a little like riding a horse, or a pegasus returning from flight; soft footfalls uneasy against the ground, lifting and falling. gentle light filters through; warmth leaves her embrace unconscientiously, as you might pry a toy from a child. holding, holding— nothing; empty air, an unraised hand closes around itself as her body is lowered to the ground. to the ground… no, deeper than that; a grave, maybe? she can’t tell. it is certainly not a bed; nor as welcoming— the cold stings where the wind bites. 

            she lies, still.

quiet returns, though not for long (but she couldn’t be sure of that fact, for time was no longer as meaningful, nor invaluable). soon(er, or later), the faint buzz of chatter resonates, velvety words against blue lips; the voice quivers in the cold but does not drone itself out in defeat. poetry, was it? the rhythm of the voice is only nervously placed; she hopes she’d gotten at least that bit right. overwrought pauses were scarce, but not absent in his recital. she manages to catch a few words from it— how was she so sure that it was a ‘his’?— but nothing so sharp as to cut through her numbed skin. grievances, promises, memories, whatever poems would say and sing, and…...

‘rest in peace.’

                                                                                                              ...oh. 

for who was that sentiment? 

                                             f o r.. wh o?

    who was r e s tin g in p  e a ce ?

                                            ……………… w  h     o ...

                                                        am   i  

            d

                                   e 

                                                                         a  

                                                                                           d ? 

                                                      -!

—i am certainly breathing and breathing and breathing and i cannot seem to stop and not unless i’ve forgotten how to see (i have) or hear (perhaps) or think (i have not) but until i have forgotten how to breathe then that is territory i will not step. but where is the line and when do i cross it and have i crossed it already? i am certainly breathing and breathing and breathing but what if it is only in my head and only there instead? what then?

see, i’ve never considered myself immune to failure and i never will, but i am only as pained as any other human and therefore i must deal with it as just. i am not immune to failure but i am not immune to not relishing in it, if that makes any sense; but i am barely making (creating, really,) anything. every new word makes me hate the last but that is untrue with stories for i cherish them all. yet, as an artist i must learn to hate my craft. so, as a martyr, must i learn to hate my death?

-and truthfully i am not so earnestly as regretful (to die) as of the thought that there would be nothing to regret but there is and there are lots and things i will never right and things i will never write and that in itself is a despairing thought. what is martyrdom without a god and what is knighthood without a king? likewise, what is idolisation without an idol and what am i without myself? 

              ..

unwound thoughts hover over the precipice; carved deep into the ravine below, indistinct words of a priest. like water that drips between the cracks of ruined earth, it eludes her— no matter how much she would try and fail to hold it in her hands. words were fickle, and they were never as right as ingrid would have hoped them to be, but if she could remember just this— it would be enough. 

( they say faces you see in dreams are only of those you know; but she doesn’t remember this one at all. perhaps it didn’t matter as much as she wanted it to. )

 he opens his mouth— crooked smile, as though the thought seemed almost entertaining. where there is a joy of knowledge and the ability to know and have faith, reflects only voided blankness. 

then, he speaks, and ingrid wonders if it was worth listening.

    “ your fate is already written. ”

                                                                    i          k      n   o     w. 

a maskless shiver lives on her skin. did this moment dictate her fate? or was it every disappointing choice she’d made until then; with the affirmation that she would fix it before… before her death? before that, even? did she have a choice to do so at all? ink stains the page but in all her efforts to wipe it away, it only smudges; leaves otherwise permanent stains on parchment and temporarily on her skin. part of her withers, like rotting paper. she wonders, momentously, if it was her own writing all along, or if it were the goddess’s authorship— that she lived a short life and died an unsatisfying death.

                ‘ unsatisfying. ’ 

                                     goddess, it was. 

ingrid doesn’t see her life flash before her eyes, no.

 it is only an open book, and she has ruined any and all chances to read it. 

               she stops at the last page before the final chapter; finger                                     hanging over the top-right corner. 

the page flips like the snuffing toss of a pegasus’s head; discontent and mild in it’s expression— but it ends only there. 

                                                     she has it dog-eared, for reference. 

 “ ... however, the reason you are here, alive at all, is the question: can you change what you believe is written as ‘fate’?”

                                              .

                                              .

                                              .

something twists inside her.                                                                                   

                                                                          had she changed anything?

her heart screams in her chest. it pounds and tears and shrieks and rips and it beats and beats and beats and beats and beats and beats and beats and beats and beats and beats and beats and beats and beats and beats and beats and beats and beats and beats and beats and beats and beats and beats and beats and beats and  beats and beats and beats and beats and beats and beats and beats and beats and beats—

                                   and then it stops. 

                                                        …

he doesn’t wait, walking away.

                                                                           ingrid doesn’t run to meet him.

                      the world turns, but she has stopped turning with it.

                                                                               …                           

   No, 

                        ( a wan, dying thought. )

                                                                   I haven’t changed anything at all.

[jehannanmage]

In the relative calm of the... store room (?), Pent found the first moment that allowed them to breathe. From the dust in the air, it would seem that whatever door they opened hadn't been touched in a while, but even that was leaps and bounds above the stale must and rot that was suspended in the still air of the basement and its cloying promise of death. "Ewan." There was still a tremor to his fingers, but it would pass. Pent looked his way. "... Are you..." Holding up? Alright? Well at all?

Ewan followed their group in reflective quiet, brows furrowed in thought. He couldn’t decide: had the man in the cells suffered worse than the Body they had seen dragged away earlier? Or had he but suffered longer? Was it something you could actually quantify? And did it really matter?

For better or worse, both were out of their misery now, at least.

Bristling, he stared back as the professor looked his way, brows lifted as though to ask, ‘Am I what?’

Blinking in surprise at himself, he schooled himself, gulped, and nodded slowly. “I... think so.” As all right as any of them down here could be, he supposed. He’d not gotten smacked around or zapped and had gotten a few good licks in - he didn’t have much to complain about, did he? He’d not ended a man’s life moments ago with his own hands.

“... Are you...?” Holding up? Alright? Well at all...?

Pent. Their fearless professor... or so it was easy to think, but having witnessed the man following the Thoron Incident, Ewan knew him to be human.

“... It’s okay if you’re not.”

[nobletoatea]

𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝓪 𝓳𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓷𝓪𝓵 𝓽𝓾𝓬𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓲𝓷 𝓛𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓷𝔃'𝓼 𝓹𝓸𝓬𝓴𝓮𝓽—

𝕯𝖆𝖙𝖊 𝖀𝖓𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜𝖓— Approximately two weeks since awakening in Tagzig.

All my life, I’ve known I live more as a public figure than a person. Nobles are ever aware of their appearances, the impact of their choices, the way eyes will pry into their family trees and if one isn’t careful, wrong choices can get one pruned from such a tree. I am not above this intrusive behavior, it’s a fact. With a title and influence, you’re a part of living history.

But down here, I have none of that.

It’s a tired old saying that everyone will die someday, but it’s true. I had a genuine scrape with death, a standing at the edge of an abyss to which there was no escape.𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕕𝕚𝕖 𝕒𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕖, 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕕𝕚𝕖 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕒𝕟𝕪𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕗, 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕕𝕚𝕖 𝕡𝕠𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕓𝕝𝕪 𝕚𝕟 𝕒 𝕙𝕠𝕣𝕣𝕚𝕗𝕪𝕚𝕟𝕘, 𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕗𝕦𝕝 𝕒𝕨𝕒𝕪 𝕤𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕖𝕕 𝕠𝕗𝕗 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕓𝕪 𝕒 𝕞𝕒𝕝𝕖𝕧𝕠𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕕. That— that is what has permeated my soul, taught me what fear truly means.

Since that first moment ｏｆ ｆｅａｒ， ｏｆ ｈｅｌｐｌｅｓｓｎｅｓｓ， ｈｏｐｅｌｅｓｓｎｅｓｓ， ｄｅｓｐａｉｒ I’ve really understood I will die someday. Will. Of age or something else. Just as Lorenz. Ever since I’ve arrived here, I’ve only been Lorenz.

Who is 𝓛𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓷𝔃 , and what would he leave behind if he died here? If away from my people and estate, I were to pass away? What will I leave to those who knew me? Will I be an inspiration, a source of fond memories? Or have I spent my life being a nuisance and striving for that which it feels no one else does, for some ideal of nobility that is either mocked in one place or dismissed as unattainable by those who have been betrayed by corruption. What do I leave behind, just for those who meet me face to face?

I hide my poetry writings, most anything emotional or shameful, but I ask others to show theirs off, I encourage them to grow and live freely while I deny myself the same. 𝓦𝓱𝔂 𝓭𝓸 𝓘 𝓱𝓲𝓭𝓮, 𝓽𝓻𝔂 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝓵𝓲𝓿𝓮, 𝓽𝓸 𝓪𝓿𝓸𝓲𝓭 𝓶𝓸𝓬𝓴𝓮𝓻𝔂 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓫𝓮𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓸𝓸 𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻, 𝓽𝓸𝓸 𝓲𝓷𝓿𝓸𝓵𝓿𝓮𝓭, 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽, 𝓽𝓸𝓸 𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓿𝓮?

I’m just a hypocrite, really.

—I hold Eos’s hand and tell her about things she will never see, including me as I age, and I hope that’ll be enough.

——I hug Cynthia and don’t hold back for a moment, even though I don’t think she’ll live in Fodlan forever and we’ll have to say goodbye someday, and I hope that’ll be enough.

———I talk to Aeschylus and want him to understand us, those who must seem to burn bright like candles at both ends, and hope that even when I die he will know we lived fully in our short years, and I hope that it’ll be enough.

————I think of Claude and all of my classmates and acquaintances, acquaintances, perhaps not even my friends I was so foolish as to not be one of them, and in my time I wanted to be a source of good and hope in the world, a voice for commoners, a peacemaker, a navigator through the murkiest depths of darkness of politics and war so I may make someone’s life better, and I must pray I inspired someone else to carry on my work—

—because i’ll be gone someday.

𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒾𝓉’𝓁𝓁 𝒷𝑒 𝑒𝓃𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽.

[aeschyluus]

The saws were marvel of engineering, even with the benefit of all of Aeschylus' many years. And once those panels came down, it would be time to move. He had so many questions. (Fears.) But they could wait; Pent didn't know if the boy could. "Aeschylus." He didn't think he'd be saying the name again. 'Focus, focus--' "Hesperos. His arm.." Pent knew he saw it already also, whatever poison was consuming him held back by a crude strip of cloth. "It can't be saved. I need your help."

“...”

The buzzing had only just stopped. Even against metal, it was a sound that made his skin crawl. He knew what Pent was asking. He didn’t like it.

But in the past several hours, the number of things that he didn’t like had come to outweigh that which he did. This was merely another in a string of unfortunate truths.

“I know,” he murmured, and then took a steadying breath. The fists he had not realized he was making slowly released.

“... You may have use of my machines.” He rolled the larger of the two toward Pent, its blade glinting even in the low blue light. “I will procure whatever else you may need. And...”

Hesperos wasn’t here.

“... I will... explain to him.”

[hungrymage]

snacker? snocker? food-holder?

starter for: @cynthero

ϟ--Obviously, there are certain rules a captor should follow when imprisoning a poor soul. Ilyana knows her mysterious wardens had broken every. Single. One. by the time she half-stumbles into a guard patrol. Not her fault she’s so hungry she can’t see straight!

Anyway. Rule one: provide food for freshly awoken prisoners. Rule two: seriously. Even a glass of water would be nice! Rule three: do not move people while they’re sleeping! Muttering apologies at the mean looking guards, Ilyana searches for her snack pouch. And searches. And searches. There’s no comforting weight of bread at her hip, no reassurance that hunger pains will disappear within a few bites of cheese.

They took her snack pouch?!? No, no, no. Maybe it just fell off in the cot she’d woken up in? Whirling away in a flutter of lavender pigtails and yellow cape, she practically runs back to the sleeping area. A fruitless search leaves her collapsed in the center of the room. “Savages!” Ilyana says to the unfeeling stone wall. Her stomach growls in solidarity. Oh, she will have her revenge. Just not right now. Food first.

Determination glints in her eyes. They want to treat her like a thief? Fine. She’ll act like one. A grumpy guard crosses her path again when she re-emerges onto the streets. So maybe not a thief. But….

“Oh…please…help…” Ilyana stutters, the back of a hand flying to her forehead. “I’m so…hungry…” With her free hand, she grips the side of a building before sliding to the floor in a heap.

“Steady there, girl.” A soldier says. “The vending machines are just down there.” He raises a hand and points down a side street before carrying on his way.

Ugh, he wasn’t gonna carry her? Ilyana resolutely pushes herself to her feet once more and begins her quest. It’s not hard to find these…vending machines after all. Muffled cries of pain? frustration? lead Ilyana to a brown haired girl sitting in front of a contraption, her arm stuck inside.

“Are those….holding food?”

[rivclry]

♤ silent tunnel - open

Leonie walked with the others down the tunnel, her shoulders slumped forward, exhausted by the ordeal they had just recently been through. Somehow, by the grace of the Goddess, they had found their way out. It was a miracle really. Since their split Cynthia and their team had been able to find the others who were missing. According to them they had been locked up in a lab the whole time; subjects to an unknown experiment that they were lucky enough to not find out what it was. Who knew what would have happened to them were they any slower. Leonie shuddered at the thought.

As one of the healthier members of the group Leonie stood near the back, ready to fend off any enemies that may start approaching them from behind. Near the back with her was one of the children the group had rescued. The little one had a bandage wrapped around their head and was looking as if they were struggling to keep up.

Eos, was it?

Leonie jogged up to the young child and knelt before them, meeting their eye level as she gave them a smile.

“Hey, are you doing ok?”

The child simply stares (?) back at her, it’s difficult to tell since her eyes are bandaged up. However there’s no smile on the child’s face, their lips barely flinching when Leonie went to talk to them. Leonie’s brows furrowed in worry but her smile stayed stretched on her face. She stood up and grabbed the child’s hand, motioning for them to walk together.

“They’re quite quiet, aren’t they?”

[sweettoothforhire]

she's still just sitting there. staring, like it'd do anything. ( part of her is tempted to just convince herself that he's alive, just sleeping. ) head flicks up when gaius sets his hand on her shoulder, apologizes and she doesn't know what for. she produces the small machine aeschylus had given her. clicks the button. watches, anyway, to see if he'll answer. she sets it down in the snow, her hands in her lap. "it's okay." she doesn't want to cry, but she does. "everything's going to be okay."

Her words bring him back to the prison, back when this whole mess started going down.  

Gaius wasn’t wrong after all. The chaos and cheer eventually fades, and hidden behind smiles and gimmicks was still a kid not immune to the cruelties of life. He doesn’t know what that mechanism is for. It looks different and not from their time. It must have been looted somewhere. Or, judging from how she waited, either something capable of healing, or something Cat Eyes gave her. He’s placing his bet on the latter.

Fucking asshole.

If you wanted to go around giving gifts, at least don’t straight up die right after.

His eyes fall on the man lying motionless before them, Cat Eyes never to be seen again. 

They really liked ya, bud. You better have some trace in history for their sake.

He turns his attention back to Cynthia.He doesn’t know if everything’s going to be okay. They don’t even have a way back yet. Their only guide in this time is gone. Their numbers less than when they started. Still, Gaius pretends not to see her tears, letting her keep on the front for a while longer. He dusts off the muck, snow and dirt from her head, and dips it down just a tiny bit as he lightly pats her.

Stumbles, I don’t know how you did it. But you raised a strong girl.

 “...atta girl.” 

[minorindech]

eumenides

Her head still hurt when she tried to think.

Not too badly. There was some bruising, and she noticed she got dizzy suddenly when she’d been staring at the wall while she ate. But there were others with far more serious damage than her, so she didn’t say anything. She could handle a bruising. She’d handled that before.

The handcuffs didn’t even leave any marks on her wrists, no sign of the familiar indentations, but then again those handcuffs were so different from just a simple rope, Bernadetta wasn’t quite sure what she was thinking

So, she decided. If thinking hurt, she just wouldn’t think about it.

Bernadetta thumbed absently at the strange weapon she’d gotten. It was bigger than what she was used to with her bow, but she was sure she had figured out the idea of how to use it. There was a switch where the harpoon seemed to be stored. Pull the switch, harpoon fires. Easy. Like it was nothing. She could do nothing.

She wished she had the chance to practice with it when the time...inevitably came. But she didn’t think anyone could handle it right now, not with the states they all seemed to be in.

Bernadetta sighed, head resting against the wall of their home - she didn’t want this to be home. “What are you going to do now, Bernie?”

[theofficersacademy]

                                           Emblem of Justice

                                   Niles    Bernadetta   Cynthia   Ewan                                                                       Innes      Leonie      Ilyana      Gaius                                                                                 Pent       Selkie       Ingrid                                                      Lorenz         Azura

Week 2

Setting: A strange facility in Tagzig, sometime before Year 1176

You don’t know how many days it’s been, but at last the city gates open. A flood of new guards leading a procession of Agarthans in regal robes enters and you notice that several in the escort wear the beaked masks you’ve seen on dark mages before. The citizens of the city gather around the streets but are quiet and obedient in their presence. One of the guards comes to the front and barks commands in a language that you can’t understand, but suddenly you feel hands pushing you toward them. You and the rest of your party are shackled and led out through the gates. Before the gates close again, you look back and see Aeschylus breaking to the front of the crowd, only to be knocked down by one of the guards.

Beyond the gates, the same blue lines illuminate streets, but in place of houses, there are bleak, squatty buildings appearing to be guardrooms, and giant, sleeping metal monsters. At the far end, after you’ve trudged for some time, sits an impressive facility, well-lit and in better shape than the buildings of the city slums. You are stopped here and lined up in a row. A guard shines a strange light on you. Those with crests notice theirs cast a shadow on the wall behind, then you’re split into two groups and led into the facility.

The first group is led down a long corridor. The rooms branching from it appear to house medical equipment, examination tables, and other strange tools. Your weapons are removed and you are placed in a holding cell for the time being. An ancient-looking Agarthan with an odd fixture on his right eye frequently comes to check on you.

The rest of you are taken deeper into the facility to what appears to be a true prison. Your weapons are taken from you and you are pushed roughly into a cell with electrified bars. In the corner is a newly dead corpse, its head rolled to one side and its mouth agape to show pointed teeth.

Things to note:

Those who have been imprisoned in the research lab are: Bernadetta, Ingrid, Lorenz, Azura, and Selkie

Those who have been imprisoned in the actual prison are: Niles, Cynthia, Ewan, Innes, Leonie, Ilyana, Gaius, and Pent

The shocksticks that were stolen earlier from the guards have been removed from your possession, but it would seem that you still have your vending cards. Any papers and small trinkets that were collected are also still on your person

Guards seem to patrol your hall once every hour

You hear the others refer to the ancient Agarthan by the name Solon

Those who have learned dark magic are capable of using it with some effort

What to do (suggestions):

Send asks to teammates to start interactions

Write open threads for quick, multi-muse interactions

Find a way out of the facility

Look for your weapons and other possessions; what you brought from home might be here somewhere

Talk to Mod Ree for hints via NPC dialogue/actions to be included in your threads

Recap from last week:

Through investigation, the party has discovered that this is the underground Agarthan city of Tagzig

The party successfully pulled off a robbery of the library and learned that King Lambert is the most recent king on the surface. They have also obtained maps of western Faerghus

There is a “Liberator” or “savior” who works on the surface to free the Agarthans

Innes and Niles were caught and heavily beaten by the guards while trying to figure out one of the machines in the city

Other lore details can be found in the team doc

[kitsuneiisms]

Sunshine in a Dark Place (Justice Open)

“That was the worst nap I’ve had in a while...”

A yawn, a stretch, Selkie slowly raises from her cot, rubbing her eye with one hand. The other reaches for sheets that do not exist, attempting to throw them off to wake for the day, yet merely grasps at air, tossing her balance off and nearly causing the kitsune to stumble off her makeshift bed, one that was not the same height as her usual one. 

Slowly, vulpine eyes adjust to the light, and the realization comes to the girl that no, it’s not this dark because of how early she woke up. Gaze darts from side to side, familiar faces in similar conditions sparse between strange, fearful eyes, scattering into the shadows as she escaped the prisons of an unsatisfying night’s sleep.

Except one. One face lingers a few moments, Selkie’s eyes lock with this stranger, and suddenly, though only for a moment, a feeling familiar yet obscure washes over her. As the stranger fades into darkness, however, so does the feeling, and the kitsune is left, yet again, lost and alone in a new place.

Her gaze combs the cots, noting some are empty, while some students are just waking up. Unceremoniously, she trots over to the nearest cot containing one Garreg Mach Affiliate, and sits herself down on the edge.

“Morning, sunshine!”

[ingridbgalatea]

Bernie was still sniffling as she approached her classmate. It was a dumb idea, but it was worth a short, wasn't it? "H-hey, Ingrid? Do you remember that time you broke down my bedroom door?" They might be in a strange place with things they'd never seen before, but metal was still metal, right? "Do you think you could maybe try breaking the handcuffs like you did my door?"

She almost hadn’t noticed her approaching, at first. Her energy was meek and, in simple words, that of a wallflower, so the voice comes to her as a surprise. Ingrid hears the sniffling before the words, and she turns, still rubbing her hand gently over her wounds.  In all honesty, it does take a moment for Ingrid to remember that. She pauses, her face flushes, and she opens her mouth to speak. “Oh, yes, that...” well, she had ended up fixing her door (even sturdier than before, if she’d say so herself!), so the thought counted. “I remember.” What was the point of bringing that up now? It hardly seemed related to—

                                                                              Ah.

Ingrid frowns, slightly; she’s skeptical of the idea, to say the least. Her eyes travel towards the cuffs and for a moment, she struggles against them— tugs her wrists apart and flexes all the muscle on her arms with nearly all the strength she has left. She doesn’t feel the skin on her wrists freed; instead, the hard push of cold metal on her hands and a disappointing load of frustration. Ingrid shrugs, sheepish, towards Bernadetta. “I don’t think so. This metal seems to be sturdier than the metal back at the academy, so no such luck, I suppose,” Ingrid glances towards Lorenz. “I mean, if a crest-enhanced fire spell didn’t do the trick, I’m not sure if I can manage by brute strength alone...”