#viridescent lance

[carefreemonk]

It's Azama's birthday, and Forsyth would simply be remiss not to get the monk something.

His choices are thoughtful, in that he put quite a lot of thought into them. Azama seems an unflappable individual, and certainly thinks himself as such, but no human is without weakness. Through careful observation, Forsyth has discerned some appropriate gifts.

First of all is a clock. It is plain and simple, as not to prompt a rejection for being too worldly. However, it has a hidden flaw; after a bit of time, it will start ticking just loudly enough to be annoying. One can try and fix it, but it will always revert.

Second is a strangely-shaped wrapped gift that contains what the artisan described as "sensory slime." Forsyth had shuddered at the texture, it being far, well, slimier than it looked. Within it lies a fair amount of glitter that Forsyth had a time fully removing from himself just from a brief poke--when Azama tears it open, surely it will be a surprise that sticks.

Finally, he has prepared a batch of cookies that seems nice enough, but one or two have a secret ingredient--the herb cilantro, which Forsyth has witnessed Azama avoid on multiple occasions.

He doubts Azama will well and true trust something from him directly, so he leaves the three in his room, hoping each seems like it is from a different person. Such duplicity should be beneath him, but he is simply approaching the monk on the his own level.

That's what he tells himself, anyway.

To further chase away suspicion, he delivers to Azama himself a fairly plain gift, a small candle that smells rather intensely of lavender.

"Happy birthday," he lies. It's a perfunctory gift, clearly bought and given out of obligation. "Men of the cloth appreciate calm, yes?"

It's just too bad he won't be able to see Azama's immediate reaction to the rest of his generosity.

(He shouldn't have guilt eating at him, but maybe the stomachache he can't shake is anxiety about the amount of money he spent on this. Grudges are expensive...)

“Calm, yes,” Azama replies, brow arched. Why now, isn’t this a strange turn of events? A birthday gift for an annoying rival? There’s no way that isn’t suspicious any. “… You needn’t go through the trouble!” Nonetheless, the monk bows in an appreciation as obligatory as the giving of the gift itself. (He resists the urge to twitch. Whatever chandler fashioned this obnoxiously perfumed thing ought to be—)

“Truly. I mean it. Ah, but… Thank you.” 

Now go away. Hopefully Forsyth gets the hint as Azama turns away to focus on a very important speck on the wall nearest to him. Hmm… But…

“Oh! Wait! Just a moment, if you will.”

The monk clasps one of Forsyth’s hands - no escape, friend, it's Azama's birthday so you have to be nice - and from a pouch, Azama fishes out a small crystal. He tucks it into Forsyth's palm. “Amethyst! To ward off negativity. Your soul is looker a bit darker than usual lately.”

(This is complete fabrication of course.) (… probably.)

Azama flashes his teeth before turning on his heels and walking away. ◇ ◇ ◇

It’s been an interesting day. Such thought lingers as the monk flops into bed near the end of the day. But it has not escaped his notice that his room, spartan as it typically is, has changed. Those weren’t there before.

Well. It’s been a decent day. He trusts enough in the gods to let it end on a good note. And so: 

...He immediately does not like the slime.

From the glitter to the texture, the monk pulls a face. Even the act of putting it aside is not so simple - instead, it proves something of a painstaking endeavour, to the point where Azama mutters a cantrip that freezes the stuff solid.

He still has to contend with remnants of glitter after the fact.

For weeks after the fact, even.

Evil.

Evil.

...The cookies are perhaps the worst of the gifts.

What manner of monster would do such a thing??

What a waste of food.

Even at a sniff, they are dubious at best, but being a creature of curiosity, the monk naturally chances a nibble.

Terrible. Awful. If Azama could exorcize them and their maker, he would.

He is nevertheless half tempted to try.

And as for the clock… the clock’s days are soon numbered - soon, as in, as of the very first night it puts on its obnoxious performance. Given there are no named gifters, and bearing in mind the nature of the other so-called presents (aaand most importantly: Azama can’t really think of many people who would bother with presents for him of all people), the monk feels little remorse in getting rid of it.

Chuckling to himself, Azama later regifts it to Python, (almost alongside a couple of cookies, though he resists). It’d fit in nicely with his room, the monk cheerfully offers. (Maybe the archer, deft with his hands, will actually be able to fix it. Who knows! Not Azama’s problem any longer. What does a monk needs with keeping time, anyhow? He’ll go where the fates direct him, thanks much.)

…

Begs the question though: who would go through the trouble?

It’s not like Azama ever has a dearth of enemies wherever he goes, but, like, hasn’t he been on his best behaviour here at the monastery??

What has he done to deserve this?

Sigh.

May the gods see fit to punish the bastard, he curses softly as he crawls into bed, nevertheless content (if a titch disgruntled).

(He knows that’s not really how it works. Whatever. He’s the holy man here, not you.)

[nagaficat]

"Lady Deirdre, forgive me for intruding, but are you quite alright?" Running into his friend is always a pleasure, but that streak seems to be broken as the gloom and sadness hanging over her presence is anything but. Still, he is grateful he can be here for her, as a friend. "You need not tell me anything you would not like, but...I worry, seeing you like this. If there is anything I can do, say the word."

It's almost a retelling of their original meeting, sitting together in a field of flowers. But Deirdre's face is one of heartbreak, not joy. Sigurd had just arrived home, and her other husband, Arvis, is teaching at Garreg Mach as well. She should be happy; had some manner of conflict soured their reunion? It is fruitless to wonder, and best to listen, but he cannot help his curiosity.

Sigurd's return has brought with it complications Deirdre could never have expected. It was not the happy reunion she had anticipated and she is left broken and unwanted. She's had to cancel her classes multiple times because she does not want her students to have to see her with puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks. Even Lord Arvis's arms have not been enough to comfort her.

It does not surprise her that Forsyth notices her sorrow when he runs into her.

"I am not alright," she admits and a lump forms in her throat, threatening to choke her. "Lord Sigurd he...I do not think he loves me anymore. And our friends despise me. I do not know what to do. I do not know how I am supposed to continue to live my life each day knowing that I love him but watching him avoid me."

Tears well up in her eyes and she thrusts herself forward into her friend. The one friend she has trusted with the truth of her son. He is a kindred spirit, someone who also seeks out the good in everyone. It means so much that she still has him.

[redmessenger]

backstreet’s back, alright!

oh my god, we’re back again @viridescent-lance @aimlessarchery

It’s been a while since Lukas found himself at a bar, and even longer since he’s had drinks with these two. Even thousands of miles away from home, walking just a beat behind Forsyth and Python is enough to bring out this feeling of tenderness and what he can only describe as relief. Relief to have made it here in one piece, relief to see those two hale and hearty, relief from brunt of Valentian politics. Lukas takes his seat at the counter and looks over at his friends, warm fondness in his voice as he offers them something long overdue,

“I will buy the first round. My treat.”

Yet not even a beat passes before Lukas adds his caveat, a subtle familiar jab at Python.

“But anything beyond that will have to come out of your own pocket. I’ve been trying to keep my expenses down recently… So if you happen to have ‘forgotten’ your coin purse, I suggest you pace yourself through the night.”

[twistedisciple]

"You there! Yes, you!" Forsyth marches up to the troublemaker--Griss, he's heard. This man has been causing a series of ruckuses across the ball, and even visiting grief upon Lady Celica! He shall not allow such miscreancy to continue! He seizes the man's hand, hardly taking notice of the flowers blooming on each of their necklaces. "Your knavish actions have visited chaos upon this gathering! I command you to cease at once, or face disciplinary action!"

Is this man even a member of the staff, here? How could Lady Rhea approve such a fiendish individual? No matter; he will either start to behave, or Forsyth will take the necessary steps.

"Command?" Griss whirls on his new critic with a look halfway between amusement and challenge, and boy is he a sight. He cuts the figure of a knight even with emerald cloth in place of armor, his posture straight, a chiding look that would've come straight from the pages of a textbook if there was one on making faces (and Griss is pretty sure there's gotta be at least one, somewhere, that's found its way into this guy's hands). Griss, by contrast, slumps down by nearly a third of his full height, shoulders and neck at odd angles, one arm hanging, the other limp in the knight's hand. He makes no effort to pull away, but a smirk snakes lazily across his lips as a flower blooms from his own vine. That was easy. Now he could have a little fun.

"What're you gonna do if I don't?" he prods, tilting his head and staring up at the knight from an angle. "Gimme a preview of this 'disciplinary action,' if you've got the authority."

[princessmacedon]

personae non gratae

The Mechanic is missing. 

The weight in Maria’s backpack feels heavier than ever, though it carries less than it has in the preceding days. He had warned them of the Aukes from the first: their aggression, and how the last thread of civility between them was as fine as spider’s silk (though he hadn’t used such a flowery metaphor at the time). Still, Maria had not expected for it to be so truly fragile - yet here they are, forced to defend themselves from the Aukes’ attacks and in search of a vanished friend.

“I hope it works,” Maria murmurs softly. Draped across one arm and beneath the other, she carries a folded old cloth she’d taken from their base. Even after repeated shakings, it still retains the scent of dust-- more than once, she has had to press a hand to her face and stifle a sneeze-- but the most important part is its white color. 

Not that she is well-versed in the finer aspects of war; that is the dominion of her siblings, having grown in a far different cage than she. Then again, she can only hope that the people here know it as she does: vaguely, yet inexorably tied with the want for peace. 

Her heart thrums as the three of them walk quietly through this broken land, where life grows not boldly, but in secret, stolen between the cracks of soot and stone. Perhaps this is a fool’s mission-- no doubt Michalis would have words about this endeavor-- but if they could only stop this fighting and turn their efforts towards living... the prize will have been worth the price.

“...Do you think it means the same thing here?” 

@viridescent-lance, @nagaficat - team ruins aukes parley thread!

[lordleonster]

"Hail and well met, Sir Quan!" Forsyth has heard the man is Leif's father, and thus Altena's as well? He must be an honorable man, to be Lady Ethlyn's husband and have raised such fine children. And he extended an offer to teach Forsyth about the Jugdralian history that has inspired this tournament! "It is good to see you."

"I heard from your son, Lord Leif, that you were interested in relaying history from your homeland to me?" Forsyth nods, motioning for Quan to take the seat beside him. He's prepared pen and paper for taking notes, and two cups of tea. This first impression shall go swimmingly! "I would be more than willing to listen, if that is your desire!"

"Well met, Sir Forsyth the True!" He meets the man's vigor in full— a stern, reassured smile adorning his face. Quan raises his chin to acknowledge him, much like a brother-in-arms. Something about his brow suggests familiarity, though he hails from a different country than Thracia. "However far we go in this competition, I promise to be at your side." The gravity of a promise is present, for Quan valued the cooperative measures his son had implemented for the upcoming battles. And, really, he had been waiting for an opportunity to duel, again, after all this time. It was the best way to get his blood roaring, and the best way to judge if he was still in good condition to serve his people back home.

"Indeed! I had written you quite the passage, though I hear the same goes for you. Miss Sara informed me of your eagerness. I suppose we both talked at length, hm?" The amusement staggers forth from this dark brown irises, sizing the man up. Forsyth's energy was quite contagious, wasn't it? "You remind me of a number of friends, back home." Present-tense. He had a peculiar feeling that they would be joining him, in this strange purgatory of an academy. "My son must have given you a summary of the whole situation, but..." He eyes the cups of tea and acquiesces, brandishing a proud grin to manifest the honor and sorrow of his nation.

"Since you are so inclined," He gestures to the recliners in the lounge, priming him for a long, fascinating story ahead. "After you."

[stealstaff]

Martin the Warrior

You notice things you would never have picked out before. Seeing the world from down here, you occasionally find odd tokens in the grass, in pots, in other such hidden places. Trouble is, they appear to be but half of whatever treasure you’ve found. Not to worry! One of the fairies captured in a recent mission is all too happy to take them off your hands, promising good luck and miracles for every complete match. Who knows if the ‘good luck’ is real, but there does seem to have been one small side effect after the fact: you’ve learned, quite incidentally, that you can now speak with mice! And hoo boy, do they have a lot to say: they humbly request your help, O strange near-hairless rodents, in order to defeat the threat of other mice invading their (your) territory. Teach them, they plead! Teach them to fight! Well, all right then. Surely nothing untoward will come of you showing one or two of them how to swing a stick… [ Grants Any Skill +1 ]

It had been fun and exciting realizing she’d somehow been shrunken down small for about 1.75 seconds.  That was how long it took for her to realize that bugs (that are already gigantic and terrifying enough) are even more gigantic and terrifying when she is the same size as them.  The novelty has worn off quickly but, thankfully, a big green knightly type has offered to fend off any creepy crawlies if she sticks close to him.

It still sucks hard but, Tina has to admit, it’s nice being around an adult that’s willing to accept and even help her deal with her entomophobia rather than dismiss it or exploit it.  Normally knightly types are boring but she’ll stick around for the protection.

Then shit gets interesting again and she can almost forget about the terrifying flap of hideous butterfly wings overhead as a mouse approaches the two of them and starts to speak.  She listens, stunned speechless for once, as the mice beg them to teach them the art of war.  Well, she just so happens to know a thing or two about that!  And, before she can start thinking, she starts speaking.

“Hehe you’re in luck!  I just so happen to be like a former soldier or whatever!  It’s like really friggen easy.  All ya gotta do is swipe their shit before they can attack!”

“Swipe their...shit?”  The mouse leader blinks, clearly confused.  “But our enemies have no shit to swipe!  They have no weapons and neither do we.  If you would show us how to wield them, surely we would have the advantage to win the day!”

Tina simply shrugs.  “Oh.  Then I ain’t got nothin’.  Sorry!”

@viridescent-lance

[atypicalsenerio]

Forsyth feels a little awkward being pitted against a Golden Deer student; that student being Soren, of all people, does little to ease the discomfort. After their calamitous cleaning attempts at the last year's ball, he's had the distinct impression that the mage does not particularly think fondly of him. Still, he readies himself, shield in one hand, lance in the other.

Magical defense has never been his strong suit. But it's fine. He just needs to hit hard and fast enough that he doesn't need to take many blows at all!

Forsyth uses Hit and Run! Roll 1d20=3, miss!

Too late, Forsyth realizes Soren has anticipated his movements. His feet dance gracefully and Forsyth's lance cleaves thin air. He is able to scramble out of range of a point-blank counter, but that is all; he feels watched, read like a book, and tries not to let it get to him. He really does.

Soren HP: 5/5

Soren couldn’t say he was pleased to see Forsyth on a personal level, but he also hoped that his magic would cut through the wall of armor as it was made to. Besides, he was happy to see few people anyway, and their bizarre chain of experiences together wasn’t one he wanted to try and quantify. He watched Forsyth charge and he rolled out of the way, springing back up to make his own attack. He still stood close, but he’d rather focus his efforts into his magic than trying to scramble away.

Cutting Gale Roll: 2+4, hit. Charm and Fiendish Blow brings total to -3HP to Forsyth

Even though it grazed him, Soren’s magic was potent.

“You can still surrender. I believe it’s clear I have the advantage.”

He hoped he wouldn’t be tasting gravel for his words.

[troubadontcha]

🌋 VOLCANO - how bad is their temper? is it a slow boil, or a instant explosion?

Genuinely, Dwyer doesn't have much temper at all. Annoyance is easy, but frustration takes strong circumstance or time. And full-on anger... well, it's exhausting. He doesn't much care to experience it, nor to maintain it, and makes all sorts of mental dips and weaves to avoid such a thing.

If anything actually manages to break through into building his temper, it's definitely a slow boil. And you must be one persistent, patient person-- or just extremely destructive.

[ladyleonster]

[ Wish ] - Off to the side there is a lonely well. Perhaps if you toss in a coin and keep it company for a moment, it will grant you a wish? 

Forsyth needs some space. While he is a social person, the events of this night have pushed him to his limit. The crisp night air, though a fabrication, is welcoming and refreshing, and this walk of seclusion is just what he needed.

He's not alone for long, though. He rounds a bend, seeing a clearly inebriated pink-haired woman doing...something. She's attempting to throw coins into a well? It must be a wishing well, and her wish is dodging fulfillment left and right as the coins refuse to land in it.

He's gotten close enough to recognize her as Ethlyn, Sigurd's younger sister. Before he can attempt a greeting, she bursts into tears, wracking sobs that shake her entire body as she stumbles back onto the bench behind her.

"...Lady Ethlyn?" Forsyth approaches cautiously, sitting beside her. He doesn't know the correct course of action, but he cannot leave her alone like this. What to do, what to do...oh! He produces a coin, holding it out to her. "I am not certain what wish you were making, but I would gladly use my own to fulfill it, if you so desire."

His other arm hovers awkwardly behind the bench. Is a hug appropriate here? Leaving her to cry on her own feels cruel, but he does not want to intrude on her personal space.

With each coin that bounces off the brick walls of the well as she misses her mark, Ethlyn gets angrier. And the more frustrated she gets, the less accurate her aim becomes. There is a whole mess of gold surrounding the well now as she sits on a bench nearby. Sure, she could get up, retrieve her coins, and drop them in from a closer distance but that would require standing and walking and she very much does not feel like doing that right now.

Plus the tink of metal bouncing off brick is satisfying in a way and the effort expended in chucking them is sort of beginning to calm her nerves.

One of her fellow knights approaches and sits beside her and she sighs, prepared for a lecture. She doesn't know Forsyth personally but he's a rather loud individual. She's definitely seen him put his foot down and stand up for propriety before. But no lecture comes. Instead, he offers her another chance at a wish and some awfully kind words that she knows she doesn't deserve.

Ethlyn reaches out and their palms touch as she takes the coin, causing flowers to bloom at each of their necks. She holds it and considers his offer for a moment before holding it back out to him. "I appreciate your offer but, if I'm going to be honest, I don't think this well has the power to give me what I really want."

She wonders what Quan would think of what she did if he did suddenly come back to life. Would he pity her? Take her in his arms and try to comfort her? Would he be upset that, for a moment, she forgot about him and tried to find solace with another man? He'd want her to be happy, she knows that much. But she isn't.

[carefreemonk]

☆ e-erm... (nw if it's too late to do this i just did not see it in its initial glory lol)

[ azama steps up to the mic ]

...

...

Must I...?

... Fine then.

He's everything you could want in a knight! Stubborn, uptight, dashing, and oh so loyal. The sort who's easy to tease - almost too easy, if you ask me.

But he does seem possessed of a virtuous heart - the sort that many a god look favourably upon. Maybe that's why he's so lucky...

ahem. That should be enough, yes?

(Not in the habit of rooting for competition, sorry not sorry.)

[nagaficat]

Self Rescuing Damsels: A Win for Feminism (Team Ruins Mini Game 2)

@viridescent-lance

"We are fucking under attack!" One of the Aukes hollers as they rush past the holding cell. Deirdre perks up, finally standing and separating herself from Forsyth. A rescue mission! She knows it must be! Her friends would not sit by knowing that she and Forsyth were taken and locked away. And that means Maria must have made it back safely to warn them!

Everything is working out just as she knew it would!

Two guards had been assigned to watch the jail cell but one of them leaves with the person who gave them the warning of a fight. Now is the perfect time to launch an escape. Deirdre leans in and whispers to Forsyth, "I will draw that man over to us and you must take his key. Our allies surely have come to find us and they will need our help." He had promised he would get her safely out of her and she trusts that he will succeed.

"Sir Guard!" Deirdre holds onto the bars of their cell as she calls for the man's attention. "Sir Guard, please! If you are under attack, I can help! I am a healer. If you take me to your wounded I can heal them. My heart aches to know that there are people suffering out there that I could be helping." That is what had gotten them into this mess. The knowledge that she and others had the ability to heal. An attack means wounded and if they are so desperate for healers, perhaps they would consider freeing her.

The man raises an eyebrow. Without knowing that Deirdre is just like this, he finds it difficult to believe but after a moment, is intrigued enough to approach the cell. "What're you getting at?"

She smiles. "I simply wish to help. It is in my nature."

@viridescent-lance

[redmessenger]

not even jupiter can find a lost opportunity

@viridescent-lance witch's accord round 1!

Lukas has no intention to be soft to Forsyth. Within this game his friend is simply another player, in this round a direct opponent that can spell his undoing as much as anyone else. For now, though, he greets his old ally like any other time, with a warm smile and a clap on the shoulder. "How fortunate we are to find each other here."

Forsyth is a known quantity compared to many of the other people in this game. Lukas is fairly confident his friend will decide to Ally, but whether he'd be willing to lie to win... "What are you thinking for this round?" he asks curiously.

[ashenprofessor]

[ Whoops ] - While they dance, the sender trips over the receiver.

"Byleth! I hope you've been enjoying yourself." It's always wonderful to run into a friend, and Forsyth has been meaning to catch up with Byleth for some time now. Their busy schedules have conflicted far too much, and he's missed them. "Despite the chaos and hijacking, it seems as if people are having a good time."

The little rat band begins playing a jaunty tune, just perfect for dancing to. Forsyth taps his feet to the music, setting down his glass and extending a hand to Byleth.

"Shall we dance and partake in the merriment?"

Unfortunately, Forsyth's coordination regarding dancing has never been the best, and he's had a few drinks to boot. They're not even a minute in when he stumbles and trips over Byleth's foot, sending them both tumbling to the ground and into an unsuspecting rat waiter.

"It's been an entertaining evening so far. How about yourself?" They enquired having greeted Forsyth, noting the slight swaying to his gait. "After everything which has happened recently, it's been nice to relax for a night off despite the strange circumstances. I accept your offer of a dance, I know this tune"

After accepting the opportunity to twirl round the dance floor with a certain green haired knight, Byleth was grateful they had chosen to not follow tradition and wear a gown. Viewing them as not only was it impracticable but given their current position it seemed to have been a wise move. Goddess knows what would have happened if Forsyth had tripped over the hems of that or if they had themselves!

Thankfully, Byleth's quick reflexes saved them from completely face planting the ground as they were able to roll to the side. The poor waiter they almost took down with them was not so fortunate. The rat didn't fail but their tray of drinks was upends, a shower of sticky liquid falling on them and the surrounding floor. "I'm really sorry." Byleth said, ignoring their current state to apologise to the waiter. They reach out their hand to help Forsyth up. As they did so, they felt a warm glow coming from the necklace they wore that evening as a bright blue flower bead blossomed there. "Let us help you get this cleared up, dancing can wait."

[disgracedvessel]

Forsyth does not know why Julia's brother lives in the Abyss. He knows little about it to begin with, really, mostly that it serves as a haven for those who have reason to seek refuge from those above the surface. Whether Julius has run afoul of someone in Fodlan or chooses to live there of his own volition is a mystery, and quite frankly none of Forsyth's business.

It is proper etiquette to meet and thank your gift-giver, of course. But Forsyth must admit, he is curious as to what Deirdre's mysterious son is like. From what Julia's described, he is perhaps sentimental? At the very least, he is devoted to his paramour. And to gift Forsyth something so valuable and offer him knighthood if something were to happen to Valentia...he must carry the virtue of his mother and sister.

He doesn't bring the book this time; it is far too old and valuable to risk during a trek like this; but he clutches the bookmark note firmly in his hand as he wanders the underground. He probably should have figured out something a little more concrete as to Julius' location, but he's in it now, and he must commit!

He stands out like a sore thumb. Julius isn’t the only one who thinks it, nor are his eyes the only curious pair to follow the gleaming emerald through the otherwise dull marketplace. He doubts a man that bright-eyed has come to Abyss on purpose, or — if he has — doubts that he intends to stay longer than he has to. An errand boy for the church, perhaps, which is a sight even less welcome than the naivety in his face. Julius is content to let him pass, but he glimpses the handwriting on the note in his hand and swivels his head to watch over his shoulder. His secret exchange recipient? Brow furrowing, he withdraws the gold piece he had been halfway to handing over to a merchant - much to the woman’s dismay - and turns away to trail the stranger deeper into Abyss.

At this distance, he can tell for certain that the note is the very one he had tucked away inside his recipient’s gift, and for a moment he considers introducing himself to get at the praise he’s certain the man is prepared to heap upon him for such a rare book. But he abandons the idea for something more entertaining. He quickens his pace to step around who he believes to be the knight named Forsyth and turns to face him with a friendly smile that, at a glance at least, does appear genuine.

“Are you lost?” he asks helpfully, and glances toward the note. “Or perhaps seeking someone?”

[areadboar]

Press Howl for Respect

closed starter for @viridescent-lance

Among the new students are massive wolves unlike any that Fodlan has seen before: not monsters cursed by crest stones, but mounts that are frequently used by Elyos’ elite cavalry units. The Officers Academy has gone out of its way to import a small pack of these creatures, hoping to one day offer certification for aspiring Wolf Knights. However, these seasoned veterans prefer sunny afternoon naps and would rather ignore whatever nonsense that’s coming out of your mouth. You’ll have to earn their respect first. [Grants Riding +1]

Dimitri like riding, would even say it’s one of his favourite hobbies. Nothing quite managed to calm him like a long afternoon ride on his trusted steed. Of course he was used to riding horses, the animal in front of him was not a horse. Not even close. If anything it looked like it would eat his horse for breakfast. 

They had been an influx of new students recently from another far flung continent. A land called Elyos where according to its denizens, the elite cavalry rode giant wolves. Said calvary unit had kindly ‘gifted’ the Academy with a pack of these wolves with which to train the students to ride. Naga knew what he was thinking when he signed up to this class but here he was, trying to make friends with his new mouth. 

“Easy there” Dimitri murmured as he cautiously approached the wolf, his hand open so it could sniff. “I’m a friend” So far the wolf had been nothing but friendly so far, if anything it looked bored. With a giant yawn, flashing all its teeth in his direction, the wolf gave his a unimpressed look before walking in a circle and curling up on the ground. 

So much for riding one. 

Looking at his fellow classmate, Dimitri noticed others having similar troubles with their wolves. “Hey Forsyth” The house leader called across to the nearest pair to him “Are you having issues with your mount too? Its like I’m not worthy of its attention”