wingboundwarrior

[wingboundwarrior]

He had family he didn't know about... What a thought. Fiora had spent part of her childhood wondering if family unknown was really family at all. She didn't know her father; wouldn't have been able to recognize him from any other stern-faced stranger on the street, and he probably would not have taken pity on her and her sisters, as much as no one really did, back then. She leaned back in her chair, slightly, reeled with an absent look on her face. She'd decided then in her musings, as a child, that her family was what she could see and touch -- her two sisters, close to her. Anything else, related by blood or not, did not matter. They weren't there, after all, were they?

But her musings stayed silent, especially as he changed the subject. A somewhat rare mischievous smile came to her lips. "An angler should never reveal her secrets, should she?" she teased, but that sounded too much like the advice she may've gotten as a child on the pier, and so, she relented. One hand went to his rod, held proudly up. "You're holding your rod too high... that brings your lure too close to the surface. You want the fish to see it, don't you?" Her own rod is held down low, pointing towards the surface of the water. "And... I'm reeling in, slowly. To move my lure, so that it looks alive, and not dead in the water."

Bottom of the Ocean

[wingboundwarrior]

He makes to leave, and it's an action that's familiar to her, for everyone in her life has made this action before, in one way or another. No one -- not even, really, her sisters -- have sought to stay, and she's never, not for one moment, questioned that decision, never once stopped those around her, but... but...

"...Wait...!"

That brush of something, that she'd almost felt... he'd been the one to trigger it. Not even seeing Farina again had done anything to the coldness inside. It was Karel. His words. His gaze.

Perhaps apathy was making her selfish, but there was a thread in him that may lead her back to herself.

How could she sacrifice that chance?

She was standing, now, waiting for further words to come after her request. What could she say that could convince him to stay? He had no obligation to her. And he was tired, unwell. Surely he would rather find rest than talk with her.

There had to be a reason she could find for him to stay and speak with her. There had to be a reason...

"You... were always... passionate about swordplay, weren't you?" It had seemed like his only driving thought. "... Are you still?"

... Wow, Fiora. Is that really the best you can come up with...?

The Broken Pieces

[wingboundwarrior]

Fatigue is a luxury he's never had. For a moment, it's almost as though Fiora can feel something, sharp and familiar -- and she scrambles for that thread, in her chest, but it sinks through whatever hole has been wrought through her, too quickly, sand through fingers, snow melting on warm fingertips.

Her eyebrows are drawn, small frown on her face, serious in her consideration, as she often is. Though there is a rare wish to linger and figure it out, she knows this conversation is not about her. It is about the ill and drawn Karel, next to her.

Still, she finds herself saying, "I understand."

Stupid. Selfish. Not as if it matters.

But she herself back on track quite quickly. "Are you trying to tell me you do not feel fatigued right now?" For he looks it. He looks as if he is near death itself. Even his gaze is unfocused, as though is he staring at apparitions that are not even there. Hmm... Perhaps he simply means his mind is unable to rest, regardless of how his body feels. She would understand that interpretation, as well.

She leans forward, azure eyes somehow dark in the night around them. "... Perhaps I could tell you a story, to help you fall asleep."

The Broken Pieces

[wingboundwarrior]

Her first introduction at the monastery with the eldest of the Reed brothers had not gone... ... ... smoothly. And really, could any have planned it to go well? Well... perhaps no one could have planned it to go that badly. Her arm still bore a light scar where she had lost flesh, sinew, and tissue to her mistake to trust -- but it hadn't been a mistake, she still thinks, not really. No matter how tentative Lloyd had been in dealing with the beast, it had just been afraid. Its lashing was not from hatred, but from fear. She knew she was right, and Lloyd not understanding that only proved his lack of understanding, his lack of compassion. Not all from the Fang were those sorts of people, but it seemed he was exactly the sort of man she'd believed him to be, all that time ago, when he was still a wolf, licking his his maw and paws clean of the blood of her sisters.

Suffice to say, when she was placed in a situation to find out what was happening to her fellow pegasus knights on patrol, she did not even slightly foresee herself being paired with the other Reed, who did not even work in the guard. She found herself struck again, as he introduced himself, simple and easily as though he were a man unmarred the way he was. This time, though, she kept her lips sealed. She shook his hand, took lead of the investigation, and mostly ignored his complaints of her spending so much time in the nearby town gathering intel. He was still complaining about it now, as they trekked into the woods, to retrace the path her sisters would take in the sky. She barely spoke as she climbed beneath low-hanging tree branch and over long, protruding root. What did she have to say to him? What could she? Fiora could find herself in such icy moods even around her own companions, let alone people who had bathed so easily in the blood of those she'd loved. How could she be anything but cold to him, when... when he had... so easily--...

A shout-- a voice--... Dark blue eyes jump up, assessing the area and grabbing her iron lance. In an instance, she's been thrown out of her blood-stained memories of battle with the forest coming alive with current battle.

Psychopomp activates! Poacher A loses -1 HP, 8/10 HP Berkut loses -1 HP, 10/12HP

Voices call around her. A man to her far left, who seems to be fighting on the same side as her. The two poachers surround her and the younger Reed, poised at her.

"Better keep up, lass"? She wants to laugh at him. We beat you and yours, you know, she wants to parry back.

One tries to strike her with magic, but she dodges -- and as Linus takes a swing at the bowman, she returns the fire to the magician.

Wingbound Warrior activates! Fiora has +2 speed and +1 resistance, and is inflicted with -1 defense. Chaos Style activates! Poacher A has +3 speed. Black/Dark Magic Avoid+ is activated! Poacher A has +4 avoid. Fiora has Accuracy Ring! Fiora has +2 dex. ... = +3 Spd to Poacher A Fiora hits Poacher A with Iron Lance. [ d120-3 = 10 = 7; Poacher A 6.5/10 HP ]

A swing rewards her with a solid hit -- her bones thrum in pain, and the man winces, but does not return her hit. Her weapon stays poised at the poacher, but her voice calls to Linus.

"Let's see who needs to keep up with whom." Oh, dear. Maybe she is getting a little carried away...

windburn.

[wingboundwarrior]

Fiora doesn't know how to relax. When she tries to sleep, she lays in bed and tries to force the muscles in her body to unwind, but within moments of her mind drifting away, she's re-tightened her body automatically. It's impossible for her not to be clenched. Her jaw is always tight, her shoulders always wound, her back straight and her hands in fists. And her heart -- that is always uneasy.

It is no different now, surrounded by chattering, excited children, and Lukas easily swinging down into the cave below.

So she can't call her concern a premonition, when she always has it. No. But when she hears that dull, sickly thud in the cavern below, and when her stomach falls out beneath her feet, and when she commands the children who rushed at the mouth of the hole to move and peers below to see an immobile Lukas laying on the ground, she still thinks, I knew it.

"Lukas!" she calls, but she knows he won't respond.

There's a variety of reaction behind her. Some gasps in shock, some questions as to what happened, some muttered responses, some chattering in reply. The kids are all talking, and she stands there with her heart in her throat as she stares at the other who was there to help guide her. Is that gleaming liquid on the ground blood, or a puddle of water? She prays it to be the latter and tightens her fists.

"Miss Fiora," one of the older kids asks, "what happened?"

She swallows, and turns to address the lot of them. "Your aide slipped. He appears to be unconscious."

"Oh, my!" Hands rush over a pale face.

Fiora looks out over the faces watching her, mixed, muddled colors of shock and surprise. "You all came to this school to learn to handle emergencies such as this one. This is the time to put some of your training to good use. We're on a rescue mission now. Pull up the rope. I'm going down there."

"B-- but-- Miss Fiora--" comes the voice of the girl that had asked her what happened.

"What is your name?"

"Um... Clarissa..."

"Clarissa." Fiora places a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Do you think you can help watch over my descent?"

"But I..."

"Now is the time to be brave, Clarissa," Fiora encourages, staunchly. Clarissa is clearly the eldest of the bunch, and thus, in Fiora's mind, the most apt to serve. Though Clarissa shivers, she seems to find some resolve and nods.

"Miss Fiora," asks an older boy who had started pulling up the ropes, "what do we do with the younger ones?"

They're staring wide-eyed at Fiora, though they're only a few years younger.

"Do you think you can watch after my steed for me?" She fishes a carrot out of her bag and hands it to the smallest of them.

"Sure, Miss Fiora... but..."

"Thank you." A hand on their shoulder, and she is back to the mouth of the hole.

"Miss Fiora," Clarissa goes on as Fiora returns to them, "I don't think it's wise to--"

"Someone has to go down and get him." Fiora hardly wants the dissent out of her mouth, lest it unsettle the rest of them. She starts tying a knot around her waist. "We'll be back up in a moment. Do any of you have any healing abilities?"

"I-- I do," Clarissa says. "I should... be the one to go..."

"Absolutely not. I need you up here," Fiora insists, "watching after the rope."

"But Miss Fiora... last time he--"

"We'll be fine."

"How will you--"

"Clarissa, just watch the rope." Ah, there's the commander's edge in her voice. Or is it the tired big sister? It's so much the same, really... "And what are your names?"

"Johnathan and Nathan, ma'am."

"Hold the rope steady for me. And double check the knots."

"Yes, ma'am!"

She looks back into the darkness below. At the bottom, she sees Lukas, and yes... that puddle is bigger now. It's certainly blood.

Eyelashes flit closed for a moment, before she steels herself, and descends.

The feeling of falling is a feeling so easy and steady to her. She feels it in her dreams. She feels it in her waking hours, walking and standing. She feels it in the sky, boundless, and stretched beneath each out-held hand.

She feels it now, as she descends into darkness, nothing above her and below her. The rope is tight but she still falls, falls, falls, feet and inches at a time, down to where Lukas lays, immobile.

When she gets to his side, she doesn't try to wake him. She searches him for injuries. It's his head that's hurt worse -- and that's what she tries to wrap. Thank Spirits she always keeps healing stuff on her. Round and round and round messy red hair, stained darker with blood. She feels nauseous as she works, bones aching, rope fallen slack around her and now mopping up some of his blood around them...

Nothing Bad Ever Happened To Cave Divers

Affluence (+1 Bow)

[wingboundwarrior]

He doesn't tell her she can take a look, but he doesn't quite say she cannot, either -- he simply unravels before her, sallow, and pallid, and evidently exhausted. She decides to take that invitation before he can change his mind.

"Don't worry about it," is all he receives, kindly, to his apology.

Anywhere flesh is visible, so are vibrant bruises. There's hardly any skin unmarred, untouched by memory of battle. Bandages and the way he holds himself leads her easily to pain points. His left shoulder -- his leg. His nose is broken, too, but noses are something hard to bandage, something that must set on their own. She sets to rewrapping his leg and shoulder, giving his arm a sling to rest in, to take the weight off what aches.

As she works, she waits for that sympathetic roil to bite her in her stomach, but all she feels is the familiar pain in her fingers and wrist, and a stinging in her still-healing side.

"What are you doing out here?" she finally says, as she's making the sling. "You seem exhausted, if I may say so. Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

The Broken Pieces

[wingboundwarrior]

It isn't hard to hear the exhaustion in his voice -- plain to hear and to feel even if not to see. He should be in bed, not walking with injuries... what is he doing out here? She gingerly sits next to him, taking out bandages of her own as she does, answering his question.

At least not feeling means she doesn't get offended by the fact he doesn't recognize her at all...

"I am Fiora. I am a pegasus knight, from Ilia... we fought alongside each other, once, under Lord Eliwood's banner. And you fought alongside my sisters as well..." Though if he didn't remember her, odds were not high he'd remember Florina. Farina, though... in certain circumstances, he may have. "We didn't speak often... I understand why you would not remember me. Let me take a look." Now she's speaking to whatever ache or wound he'd been assessing.

The Broken Pieces

[wingboundwarrior]

Fiora wanders, for the first time in her life, weightless. There's nothing to tie her down. No self-conscience, nagging in her ear, boring into her skull. Nothing telling her what path is right, and what path is wrong, and which way to turn towards, and which way to turn from. Whatever voice that was, that had been planted in her... it is gone. Or... no. It isn't gone. She can still imagine it, if she tries. The thoughts are ingrained in her -- a part of the pattern that make up who she is. But it does not have any power over her. It tells her what to do, and she feels no desperate ache to please, to fall over herself serving the invisible god in her head.

Is that... good?

Standing in the stark darkness of a monastery courtyard, highlighted only with a sliver of silver moonlight, she flexes her fingers, looks around at the battered battlements and walls. Perhaps it is good to not need to please that invisible something. But it left her with no other feelings, either. No fear. No joy. No sorrow. No guilt. No anything. She is paper-thin. Awake in the middle of the night, thinking of Farina finding her out here, and not worried about her ire. Not worried about anything at all. Not how the monastery will recover. Not how she will recover. Not if she ever will.

Who cares if she does? She never cared if she were okay. It only mattered if her sisters were alright. But then; the thought of them not being alright still stirs nothing in her. Spirits, Fiora, what is wrong with you!

She's wandered far enough in the darkness to approach a figure sitting on a low wall, messing with a wrapped injury. She draws closer, because even a Fiora that doesn't care cares. "Forgive me, sir." She keeps her voice low, so as not to startle him. "Might I help?" She's already opening the pack against her side when he looks at her, and those eyes pierce her to where she is standing. She recognizes those eyes -- though she did not know them well, she feels she'd never forget the intensity of their gaze, and the fierceness of that drawn face. Though... it appears more drawn, now, than it had been before. "... Karel! Are you alright?" // @otgolokh

The Broken Pieces

[wingboundwarrior]

January Activity

Status: Passed! Skill Points Gained: 1

Activity ➜ +1 Sword

Skill Changes:

Sword - D -> D+

[wingboundwarrior]

They say things are cyclical. Like the seasons pass -- like spring is always to be followed by summer, to be followed by fall, to be followed by winter, life is always to be followed by death, always, always, always.

Fiora is a mercenary. Nothing is more common, more constant, than death. She is not only acquaintance, but companion, law-hand.

She used to feel something when she saw this. The splattered blood, the fallen bodies, the grayed faces. As early as weeks ago, jabbing her lance into flesh and blood, feeling bone, sinew, real resistance, she felt sick.

Why does she now feel... nothing?

There's a wound -- a real one as well, but -- imagined inside of her. She runs her mind over it. She thinks of the White Wings. She thinks of the 5th Wing. She thinks of Lyra. She sees their faces, alive and then dead. Nothing. She thinks of her mother. Nothing. She imagines her baby sisters, slain before her. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

Ever since she woke up.

Nothing.

Is this what it is to be a morph? A being with no feelings? Is she like Brendan Reed? Ursula? Uhai? Kenneth?

Did she come back wrong?

Is there no way to come back right?

She keeps looking at herself. In glass, in water. She doesn't seem to have the pallor they do. But she doesn't feel right. Or can she feel at all? Is that even possible? Has she lost it, in the darkness that surrounds death? Is that darkness so impermeable, that nothing can escape it?

She thinks of Lyra's laughter, fading into darkness. How horrible... that something so beautiful can be lost...

She's so lost she doesn't even notice she almost stumbles into someone carrying someone.

"Pardon me, sir," she tells him -- before that mess of hair strikes her. She pauses, in spite of her new self. "... H... Heath!" // @loyaldeserter

Cyclical

[wingboundwarrior]

It's true that there's far more to it than pegasi are weak to arrows -- she's relieved that she can impart some wisdom to Lapis. It's regrettable she's never had a pegasus rider ally to hear these things from before, prior... but she supposes she can't be too surprised. Even where she comes from, pegasus knights most often worked with other pegasus knights...

But Fiora's somewhat placid expression hardens at Lapis' words. "You must practice how you mean to go on," she says, and it is rather chastising, rather like the older sister or commander that she is used to being. "Do you want to do it again?"

    “ Oh, no! ”  Lapis rushes when she hears Fiora apologize.  “ It's still really interesting to me. My country only fights against pegasi, but I like hearing about it from the other side. Keeping your lance out in front might sound obvious, but when you were talking about it, I got the real impression that even the way you fight is all about protecting your battle companion. When I think of it like that, I start to think maybe we're not all too different even if you're up in the sky and I'm on the ground, y'know? It also helps me know how I should try to cover for you in a fight if I know where you're focusing on. We're all told that pegasi are weak to arrows, but there's far more to fighting than just that. ”

And, well, if they're going to be working together to take care of these monsters, they should be working in tandem!

To Fiora's next instruction, Lapis replies,  “ I'll try. One, two...! ”

And when Lapis drops, she drops a bit less gracefully than she might have liked but she sticks the landing ultimately.  “ I... think I can do that! Hopefully it'll be a bit smoother when I have to dismount for real. ”

[wingboundwarrior]

Rime,

Thank you for your kind words. I am not sure how I feel about finding camaraderie in sorrow. Do not misunderstand me; I am used to working in teams. But the thought of divulging my sorrow to another feels almost foreign to me. I suppose perhaps it comes from being the sole caregiver, growing up, to my sisters. I often had only myself to rely on. Even saying this much would be strange outside of a letter. It's still strange, really.

Where I grew up was cold all year round. Our ground was unsuitable for crops. I spent most of my youth learning how to fight, for I knew that was my future, and fishing for food. The cold was so bitter. Wintertime is still nostalgic, but melancholy in a sort of way.

My sisters are unaffiliated teachers.

I'm surprised to hear you are also a knight! There are quite a few of us, however, so it stands to reason that we may have passed each other unknowingly. I suppose it is, indeed, a small world. Smaller than I ever believed.

How have you liked your time at the monastery so far? Do you have any advice for someone just joining?

Sky

Writing my Worstie 💌

[wingboundwarrior]

She has to impress him, hm? She's questioning how it is she could possibly do something like that -- for he's many times her size -- when Hyperion proves this point with his prowess and flips Heath over. For a half a second, instinct overtakes, and Fiora takes a step forward, to intervene -- but then she hears Heath's laughter, and sees the tongue, and what was once a beast mauling has turned a play session, truly, as he had said it was. She relaxes (insomuch as, really, she can), and beams at the pair. In no time at all, she finds herself mirroring their laughter, one hand over her mouth, other crossed over her.

She hasn't laughed like this in so long...

"Do you need rescue, Sir Heath?" she teases, after a few moments of laughter on her own. Perhaps it is her turn to try to join. But Hyperion surely wouldn't like that, would he?

Huxley is watching the exchange tentatively as Fiora puts herself a few more paces between him and the rolling, laughing mess of limbs. At least it will be easy not to fear him, after this display.

(Then again, it is not as though she fears death anymore, anyway.)

One-Eyed One-Horned Flying Green People Eater 🐉

[wingboundwarrior]

Huxley was a good steed, by any approximation that one could use. Stalwart, still, gentle and tame. Yet from a combination of crankiness from a long flight in, a wish to tease a friend long unseen, or perhaps genuine hunger, he took a bite at Farina's back. "Huxley!" Fiora chided, making low noises to attempt to ward away his frustrations. He didn't glance away from his goal of treats. Fiora found herself unimpressed, for the moment. But... after all the two of them had been through together, she could and would never fully turn harsh on him. It was completely impossible.

Smiling a little too sentimentally, she kept the carrots coming to the pegasus in front of her.

"Anything more exciting in your life than lance prices?" She knew there was always more than what was on the surface, with her sister. Whether or not she got to it was another story entirely. For good measure -- 'least, she thinks it is -- she tacks on, "You can tell me anything, you know."

And Maybe Overcompensate

continued

[wingboundwarrior]

October Activity

Status: Passed! Skill Points Gained: 1

Activity ➜ +1 Lance

Skill Changes:

Lance - D+ -> C

Gained Access to the Class:

Pegasus Knight

Mastered the Class:

Myrmidon

Gained/Obtained:

Speed+ from mastering Myrmidon

[wingboundwarrior]

What a thought. That maybe there was an end to all of this, one day. That one day, fortresses would become homes, settlements meant for battles built into permanent residences. A landscape of war transformed into a peaceful community. If that were to happen, it would be many, many, many years in the future. It would be an existence she and her sisters never got to experience.

It was fine if she never experienced peace, but for Florina and Farina? It seemed horrible. Unfair. A terrible fate. A tumultuous childhood to a bloody adulthood. What had they ever done to deserve it?

Nothing. And that was the problem, and why it was so hard for her to pray, when she was unsure if anyone was listening.

She hooked her bait, silent, serious crease on her face, and threw it into the ocean.

“I hope you’re right about that,” she finally said. “I hope someone’s ancestors, one day, will experience peace.”

Spirits know she’d likely never end up having a family of herself. She didn’t have time for such things.

“Your family has been in war so long,” she noted, quietly. “Do you have a large one?”

Bottom of the Ocean

[wingboundwarrior]

It appears a group of monster hunters is visiting Garreg Mach, known for their unconventional use of glaives that utilize secondary automatons to control the battlefield. With dozens of heads on their walls, the group has invited those at the monastery to join them on a hunt. But, why is it that this creature seems to have a consciousness that rivals that of yours? And why is it pleading for you to help it? [Grants Lance +1]

“And they are... your allies?”

She’s talking, in a rather clipped, tentative tone, to a monster hunter, who is controlling a large creature, made of some sort of dried clay, staring at her with glittering, deep eyes, sparkling with some sort of magical energy she can’t understand. The problem is... it is in the shape of... well... of what a dragon would look like.

“We can control them entirely,” he responds. “They’re nothing more than tools, just like your lance. Think of it like a puppet. I move this glaive, and it responds. See?”

He demonstrates. Moving it to the right, then the left. The creature shuffles, but its eyes does not leave Fiora.

“I... see.” She feels unsettled by it all, for some reason. Perhaps because it is wearing the face of her once-adversary. There’s little time to talk, though... they should be looking for the monsters that these monster hunters are, well, here to hunt.

She looks to the side, and sees the person who came with her from the monastery, Cynthia, returning with the other group of hunters. They exchange greetings of “did you find anything?” “I think I got a trail”, while she rode closer to Cynthia on Huxley.

“You don’t think there’s anything strange about these... creations of theirs,” she mumbles, under their chatter, to her companion, “do you?” // @justicespeared

The Ancients