apathynoir
coffee?
closed dwyer (fe:fates) rp blog || black eagles student @ TOA
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activity check: march 2024
check: passed
total skill points: 5 -> 8
- BOEL participation reward (faith D -> faith D+)
- monthly point (faith D+ -> faith C)
- thread: sword +1 / can't i just sit here and make coffee or something (dropped) (sword D+ -> sword C)
accessed classes:
- myrmidon
- thief
mastered classes:
- myrmidon
rank up / mastery rewards:
- speed+
- dagger
- physic (pending)
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FÓDLAN IDOL MONTHLY ISSUE XX: THE MAN(AGER) BEHIND THE MUSIC?!
INFO: So we all know who the illustrious Affogato is... but do we know who made him the star he is today? Well, dear readers, look no further than this article. We have the scoop on the person working behind-the-scenes to keep our lovable idol in the spotlight!
THE MYSTERIOUS MANAGER?!
WHO HE IS: The management company behind Affogato's debut is known as above//below Management, which is an international management company based in Nohr. Known as a company that has produced a stream of timeless talent, it's no wonder Affogato debuted so strongly with such a big name behind him!
The manager directly working with Affogato, however, is only one person. He is incredibly quiet and on the DL, so we don't know much about him. However, thanks to a slip-up during an interview, we were able to gather some information about the man. Take a look:
Interviewer: Over these few months, we've learned quite a lot about yourself, Affogato. How do you feel about taking all of these interviews so quickly?
Affogato: *laughter* Well, I like to talk about myself. I don't mean to sound selfish or anything, but people like to learn about my favorite foods and stuff. Since they enjoy it, why not give them more of what they enjoy? It's not like I'm telling them my bank information or anything like that.
Interviewer: *laughter* I suppose that's true. But on the flip side, we know next to nothing about your manager, and our readers are all confused why that is. Do they prefer not to talk about themselves?
Affogato: Oh, yeah, no, he doesn't like to talk about himself much at all. He says he'd much rather be sleeping or drinking coffee than take an interview to talk about himself. He doesn't really ever have much to say, anyways.
Interviewer: Is that so? Why is that?
Affogato: He says it's because he doesn't need to. He's not the idol, so people don't need to know things about him. That Dwyer, man; he's funny, but I don't get half the stuff he---oh, shoot.
Interviewer: Is something wrong?
Affogato: I wasn't supposed to say his name. He gets so mad when I accidentally talk about him too much during interviews and stuff. Sorry, Dwyer! Oh, shoot, I said it again.
So there you have it, folks: Dwyer, the man of mystery, sleep, and coffee. We may never know what the face of this managerial master is, but one thing's for sure---he and Affogato are sure on good terms!
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he comes to dwyer, in the evening, and he knows his son may be resting. it does not matter. he knocks, and he waits, and come the answer - jakob speaks.
"dwyer," father speaks to son, softly now, dressed in his winterclothes. nohrian snowstorms were something harsh, were they not? it was best to stay prepared. "i desired to see you fight in the battle of eagle and lion. i'm glad i remained to see it."
at that, jakob gives the faintest of a nod. "the monastery will do you well," and it is a shame that the two will be separated again. this is no new rodeo for them, however, and for that, it softens the blow. "keep to your studies. i desire to know if you come to mischief."
yes, this was their fate - for now. separated, realms away even, but maybe one day they could surpass the differences wrought by their existences alone.
jakob hesitates a moment, before gently resting his arms upon dwyer. a slight hug. awkward. the best jakob can give, for a man emotionally as stunted as he was. "don't expect me to say it again, but you performed well," is what he says, quietly now. "keep on that path and perhaps you'll become a capable butler. maybe."
he withdraws, and takes ten paces back. the distance between them, for this moment at least, is not cold. it is a physical distance, and not the other way around. "right, then," jakob exhales from his nose. "i have duties to attend to. you know that, don't you? you understand."
hand rests on the door, and he goes to close to it. "write to me, dwyer. i will respond," he goes to close it. "and send you your favorite coffee beans."
that is an ' i love you ', for jakob speak.
the door closes. jakob leaves.
dwyer receives a visitor in the evening. he is wide awake then, intently polishing his new dagger that he plans to slip into his boot. after the battle of eagle and lion, he's shown enough proficiency to be rewarded with a new weapon. it's a familiar weight in his hand, a familiar sleekness on the pads of his bare fingers.
upon hearing the knock at his door, he answers, finding himself confounded at the presence of his father. he appears to be leaving, and there's a finality in his dress that tells dwyer that it is not for a weekend trip. he bites his lip, gaze sweeping to the side in prepared disappointment; of course his father would be leaving mere months after dwyer's return.
where shall blame find itself this time? in his slovenly manner, his lack of servitude? in his unkempt appearance, his lackluster progression? what is it that keeps his father diverted? what must he do to make him proud enough to stay?
somehow, this question that he's asked himself for years and years sees itself answered. it is in some of the first words his father speaks to him through the doorway: "i desired to see you fight in the battle of eagle and lion." following it are words that shock dwyer even more to his core: "i am glad i remained to see it."
jakob delayed his own departure to witness dwyer in the battle and came away with approval? how can he accept something like this? and as jakob continues, talking of official matters and scholastic advisories, how can he be told this when his father has already nearly set foot outside? these were words that could have ended wars and healed wounds better than any sword and any stave, and they were being handed to him like a dish to be cleaned or a broom with which to sweep?
dwyer feels as though he should be indignant. he ought to make his frustration apparent, ought to teach jakob how to deliver these words with more tact. but when his father approaches him, half-pulls-half-holds him in an embrace laced with coffee and freshly-washed winter clothes, offers him affirmations he has quite literally killed men to hear, all dwyer can manage is tears.
it's joy in having his father so close for the first time since he was so very small. it's sorrow in knowing that he'll have to let go soon. it's custom in always shedding a tear or two when mother and father must return to war again, and he must return to waiting. any emotion he feels carries with it a unique justification, but after a bit he stops registering exactly what they are.
dwyer is human, and he loves his father more than anyone else in the entire world. even he is allowed this kind of thing, no?
he doesn't cry much, of course---only an astute person like jakob could even notice the few pocks of wet that now adorn the stitches in his sweater. the tired shadow that casts over dwyer's face does well to hide the pink swells of his eyes when he eventually does pull back. this kind of thing is foreign for the two of them, but to be fair to himself, it is not often jakob offers anything close to a goodbye this sweet. dwyer is doing his best to savor it.
so instead of anything so ridiculous as sobbing or soliloquizing, dwyer closes his father's distance. one step, two steps, three, four. with his gloveless hands he pats his father's winter coat, straightens his scarf. he picks off a piece of lint stuck to his father's sweater, ensures his hair is properly tied back and tucked safely away. then, when he finally finishes preening him, dwyer shuffles to his bedside, picks up a small thermos, and returns with it carefully cradled in his hands.
"i'd made this for myself," says dwyer then, settling into words he could finally speak, "but i'll at least be somewhere warm for the night. it won't do to catch a cold on your way back to the lady corrin, father."
the sharp smell of black coffee wafts from the bottle that dwyer places into jakob's grasp confidently. he does not offer; rather, he forces, not giving his father a moment to consider. that is the way of interaction between them. dwyer is used to it.
"i'll think about writing to you if it's not too much trouble," dwyer replies with flippance as his father begins to close the door behind him. "as you probably know, servitude is hard work. i'll try to pencil you in... or whatever."
'i love you, too, father,' in dwyer-speak. 'so please be safe.'
the door closes. jakob leaves.
dwyer returns to his bedside where his dagger sits, waiting. without much thought, dwyer straightens the nohrian turquoise pin on his lapel, picks up his dagger, and resumes polishing it.
he can only have the best represent him.
#[ ic ]#[ indevouement ]#[ asks ]#[ farewell father and safe travels... though you don't need me to tell you that ]#[ so all i will say is i would very much like that thermos back when you're done with it. ]
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today is one of the most important days of the week. right now dwyer is cooking in the kitchen, surrounding himself with all manner of pots and pans. he is but a fish in the wide sea of frying vegetables and crackling meats, swimming about to keep close tabs on every single thing. he is a fish-manager. fish have managers, right? even if they didn't, dwyer is a big, responsible fish.
today is the day that he plans out what to do for the cooking club's weekly meeting. for once in his life he's decided to put in one more ounce of effort than usual, and that desire manifested into becoming the president of the cooking club. there's even a small member base! he wants to ensure people learn valuable skills through delicious dishes, so it requires careful consideration of a broad range of tastes.
he's staring listlessly (yet, strangely, intensely) at a pot of fondue mid-melt when he notes the sudden materialization of a dramatic aura. dwyer doesn't even have to turn to know who it is.
"hello, professor odin," dwyer acknowledges, moving slightly towards his new guest to... shake his hand. not sure why that's necessary. it's clear that the scents of experimentation have brought the professor of darkness to dwyer's kitchen. it's so abundantly clear that dwyer wonders if he's going to have to start waving a wooden spoon as a precaution. no testers allowed.
his thinking is interrupted by odin's forward-not-forward request. dwyer isn't fluent in dark-nese, but he's been practicing. from what he can tell, odin is requesting his services. thank goodness! someone actually read the fliers he put up!
"so you want me to cater or something?" he interrupts, hearing a crackle that sends him scooting back to his cooking coalition to check on the various foods. "yeah, that's fine. you're gonna need to be specific on what exactly you want, though. i don't have a clue what your idea of a culinary 'clarion call' looks like."
master dwyer, wilt thou elevate a classic charcuterie board in the name of justice?
#[ ic ]#[ fellpurpose ]#[ t: master dwyer wilt thou elevate a classic charcuterie board in the name of justice? ]#[ professor odin i respect you as a teacher and as a man ]#[ but if i see you dipping shit into the fondue i'm cracking this +4 reforged wooden spoon over your head like an egg ]
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it is similarly not unusual to find dwyer up late.
his insomnia hits him at the worst of times. sleeping comes so easily to him until it doesn't---where he is then left lying in bed for hours in a vain attempt to get an hour's sleep in. when he becomes too frustrated by sleeplessness, he trudges to the kitchen to do some midnight baking. it calms him and, even if it doesn't help, he gets some treats out of it. occasionally he meets the odd lurker in the dark, drawn in by the scent of vanilla extract and sugar.
tonight's menu is caramel-chocolate shortbreads. dwyer wants something a little harder than cakes but not crunchy, so shortbreads are the way to go. and who doesn't like caramel and chocolate? paired with some milk tea... goodness, dwyer feels bliss just by imagining it.
he's just finished placing the shortbreads in the oven when he picks up a new, unseen presence. he's learned to stop throwing things at whatever he notices thanks to a previous incident involving a fork and a lost student. the lecture he got from faculty the next morning...
so instead, he just goes for the plain and simple route. "who's over there?" he calls, though continuing to focus on the chocolate he's prepping for the shortbreads. "if you're trying to stay hidden, it's not working. i know somebody's here."
nothing good happens after midnight
#[ ic ]#[ deathsdue ]#[ t: nothing good happens after midnight ]#[ you cant hide from me i have the epic butler senses. ]
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🧃"It's not coffee, but it'll make you feel better. Do try to relax darling."
he feels something cold placed in his hands. it's rectangular in shape and has weight that shifts. a juice box? when was the last time he ever had one of these?
he doesn't waste time drinking it, though. he surprised even himself with how much effort he exerted---before he knew it, he was thirsty and craving replacements for all the sweat and blood and whatever else he shed out on the field. a simple box of juice is unfathomably delicious right now.
"i, uh..." normally he'd be averse to taking a break when there's so much work left to do... but boy this cot is comfy. comfier than the ground, anyways. "i'll do that. thank you."
#[ ic ]#[ maligknightsthorns ]#[ asks ]#[ event: battle of the eagle and lion 2024 ]#toaboel2024#[ dwyer the juice box fiend in your area ]
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"Someone made a right mess of you, didn't they?"
Asked with levity by a girl uncharacteristically acrid with the stench of blood and iron, the only reprieve that she had anticipated this may happen and had gone without her usual perfume. Followed by the clacking of her heels, Poe's voice comes from behind him, then beside, tinged with her usual honey but strained slightly by the tiredness of her lungs and fatigue of her body.
"For the skills you had mentioned, I hadn't imagined you would take direct part in an event like this." He had shown an interest in tailoring and implied a proficiency in service work in their prior meeting, neither of which implied combat prowess... though, he was attending a military academy, so perhaps she was the one with egg on her face for having assumed. Unless...
Her sweetness catches something darker. "...or was someone ill-intended enough to catch a bystander in the crossfire?"
he can smell the blood before he senses her movement. this tent is filled with the stench, of course---it's a med tent, after all---but the smell of it being worn comes different than oozing from an injury. he straightens towards the voice, thinking about whether he's heard it before.
it takes a moment for him to realize, but he does. "poe?" he queries. "i didn't think we'd meet again here. sorry i can't look you in the eyes---i can't really see. like, at all." really, he'd hoped they could meet in better circumstances. after his boasting about his skills, to be seen again in such a state is downright mortifying.
though, his brow quirks. poe hadn't imagined he was a fighter? did he really not give off that impression? "i'm not really sure what you mean." his brows furrow. "did i never mention that i was a butler? all butlers are trained to kill with daggers and heal with staves... and stuff. i guess i forgot to talk about that." to be fair, it was a speed match. he hadn't had much time to talk about anything.
"so... don't worry about it. i wasn't a helpless guy that got dragged in or whatever. i just went in to see what all the fuss was about." nevermind the fact that he got shot down first on his team. "it was pretty alright. i didn't really do much to help out, though."
#[ ic ]#[ loveevangelist ]#[ event: battle of the eagle and lion 2024 ]#toaboel2024#[ asks ]#[ poe this is NOT how i wanted to show you how cool butlers are ]
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dwyer cannot see.
he knows that the battle was for fun, and that nobody was out to get him. this much is very obvious. even though that rowdy little mage seemed hellbent on exploding him with her legion of mechanical bugs, dwyer was sure she wasn't actually aiming to explode explode him. obviously.
however, that does not negate the fact that, as a final gambit, eitri deployed a brass monster of a beetle on him, and the light it exploded into was so harsh it damn near burnt his eyes out. it's all temporary, but for the time being, it feels like the sun's turned off. this is going to be terrible for fixing up his clothes.
much as he dislikes it, he has to request assistance into the med tent. he walks at a hobbled pace, one arm outstretched and constantly seeking while the other lies wrapped around someone he hopes he can figure out to thank later. when he finally finds a seat and can smell the acrid stench of disinfectant and vulnerary, he settles.
until he hears a familiar voice. his father is manning the black eagles tent.
dwyer tenses, preparing himself quickly to fight against jakob's insults: "what happened to you, boy? did you get run over by a pack of horses?" "no son of mine would ever get so roughed up in a play fight." "you let your teammate fall without healing them? are you even a butler?" oh, he's ready for the words. lay it on him, father, because he'll fight back like the cornered beast he feels like.
"my boy has found himself injured," comes his father's voice after pause, attentive and only minimally distant. "is that so? well, describe them to me."
well, that's different.
dwyer is stunned and his defenses quickly chip. there's little more coming from jakob than observation and inquiry. no jabs, no questions of skill. and, perhaps even more surprisingly, dwyer takes it with no questions asked.
"most of this came from a swarm attack," he answers back, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. he wants to lie down for a nap soon. gods know he doesn't have to worry about lighting. "i can't see anything right now. the last attack was really bright. i also got hit a few times from a dragon, so... that's where the claw marks are from."
they massacred my boy!!!!look at how they massacred my boy!!!!!!
#[ ic ]#[ indevouement ]#[ event: battle of the eagle and lion 2024 ]#[ t: they massacred my boy!!!!look at how they massacred my boy!!!!!! ]#[ *comes in looking like shit* father where is my sewing kit. i am going to use echolocation to fix my clothes ]
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at first, none of the soldiers speak up. they talk in whispers amongst each other, unsure how best to answer the question. what did a "general approach" entail? what was there that two men could teach? and one of them looked to be a butler---why on earth was a butler here?
one finds the courage, after a little while, to answer proper. "er... we suppose startin' off with general tips couldn't hurt...," he mumbles out sheepishly. he draws back quickly when dwyer throws his armfuls of weapons to the ground, straightening his back and adopting a sharp mien.
"if that's what you wanna do," he begins, voice strict and straight, "then pick up a weapon. any one's fine. i'll beat you around with my own until you figure it out." that was how his training style worked, anyways: get the stuffing knocked out of you until you adapt. surely this was a fine way to instruct others. "and don't worry; i won't give anything less than my best."
can't i just sit here and make coffee or something
any skill +1
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dwyer watches alfred closely for the first handful of minutes even if his own hands never stop moving. while he doles out corrections where necessary---"you're not applying the gauze tight enough. it'll slip off if you don't make sure it's all in place."---he organizes herbs on shelves, waves around his staff, and cuts bandage strips for communal use. secretly, he's thankful someone else came. it's an opportunity to free his hands and work on smaller tasks so they're finished.
when he stops seeing such massive screwups from alfred, dwyer eases up on him. occasionally his eyes flick back to check his work, but alfred is an adult. he doesn't need constant supervision. hopefully. he allows his back to be turned to alfred while he dresses another student's wounds.
"i guess you could say i'm used to healing, yeah," dwyer concedes, rolling his neck. how long has he been in here, anyways? he forgets sometimes. "all nohrian maids and butlers require extensive training with the staff before they're allowed to work for royalty. it's just how it works." as he finishes working on the student in front of him, he steps back for a break. "i'm not, like, certified or anything... but i did pick up some field medicine here and there, so i'm probably better than a majority of non-faith students here. if we're not counting that i'm studying faith myself." that's a bit of a ridiculous fallacy, but he hopes alfred gets what he means by this. he's not a man of any cloth. he's just a butler.
dwyer can feel his blood clot in five different places when alfred tells him he's a prince, but he tries to keep his cool. he hasn't said anything horrifically disrespectful, right? "it's important you know how to do little things like this," he offers instead. "citizens like a prince that's good at a lot of stuff, probably. and it's good for if you're bleeding out on the field."
❀ · . — Please. Turn off my fucking life support
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Eitri 6/6HP critically hits Dwyer 2/6HP with Swarm
[Roll: 20 + 2 = 22, -2HP]
Dwyer 0/6HP
holy shit.
@laruarva
✦ 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐢𝐱𝐞𝐝 𝐯𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐟. ✧
BOEL2024 ROUND ONE, battle 15.
#[ ic ]#toaboel2024#[ t: getting mixed vibes from this one chief. ]#[ event: battle of the eagle and lion 2024 ]#[ grimkkr ]#[ alyration ]#[ spent all day on this fucking thing hope you like it ]
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Dwyer has been defeated!
#[ ic ]#[ event: battle of the eagle and lion 2024 ]#toaboel2024#[ mun art ]#[ nat 20 rolls get a nat 20 experience ]
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and that was all she wrote.
dwyer dusts his hands, offering a courtesy bow to dheginsea as he surrenders. he's not sure if he's allowed to use his staff on an opponent, even if they have bowed out, so instead he holds his bow out of respect. "i apologize for the unintended injury," he concedes, genuinely. sure, he wanted violence and evil death murder as recompense for his ruined uniform, but that was all metaphorical. he didn't actually want to rip a hole in anyone over it. "when this is over, please allow me to make it up to you somehow."
he personally watches dheginsea go to ensure there's no pressing matter to attend to before turning back to face his remaining opponents. his teammates are doing well so far. he must continue to do his part.
he notes a gaping hole in the enemy positions. that hole provides a ramshackle safety against the problem character---alear, in this case---so he decides that is precisely a place where ishtar would fit. he bows formally to ishtar and offers his hand to her. "lady ishtar," he says, "please follow me. i would like to guide you to somewhere a little bit safer for the time being."
Dwyer [3/6] rotates the team to the left.
@alyration
✦ 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐢𝐱𝐞𝐝 𝐯𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐟. ✧
BOEL2024 ROUND ONE, battle 15.
#[ ic ]#toaboel2024#[ event: battle of the eagle and lion 2024 ]#[ t: getting mixed vibes from this one chief. ]#[ old scalebag ]#[ alyration ]
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dwyer is a healer. he is not defenseless. by the will of the gods, if he had to go out in a fight, he'd smash a teapot and start swinging. he's definitely not wishing his father were here or anything, but if he is here, then dwyer is sure he would be pleased by the sheer acts of butlerism taking place on this battlefield.
he watches his teammate sling dark magic at the dragon targeting him with a close eye. the way the nosferatu magic seeps into the scales and bites the flesh beneath catches him; this display meant there was weakening.
of course, weakening did not mean defeat. dwyer learns this swiftly with another round of dragon swats.
Dheginsea [4/6] hits Dwyer [4/6] with Iron Gauntlets
[Roll: 12 + 2 = 14, 4 + 2 = 6, -0.5HP, -0.5HP]
Dwyer [3/6]
the claws tear at him, scratching his skin and mussing his hair even more than usual. however, when dwyer looks down to assess himself, he sees something more terrible than blood all over the floor.
his uniform was ripped to hell.
ohhh no. this was not going to slide. this uniform was made from material he wasn't used to, and the embroidery took hours to remake. he can foresee himself sitting in his room, poking the crap out of his finger just to get the pattern right. the labor! the un-paid-labor! does this adult dragon man not care about the rights of the worker? does he know that dwyer has too much pride to take this thing to a school tailor? does he know that dwyer's bullheadedness will now be his downfall?!
he's mad now. yes, ishtar needs help, but honestly, sorry, girl. there's bigger problems to be addressed, and come hell or high water dwyer is going to address them. he pulls his iron sword from his holster and charges, pulling back to prepare for a mighty sundering blow!
Dwyer [3/6] hits Dheginsea [2/6] with Iron Sword (Sunder activates!)
[Roll: 9, -2]
Dheginsea [0/6]
[Dheginsea is defeated!]
"this is for my uniform! SWORDYFAAAAAACE!!!!" dwyer bellows, cracking his sword into dheginsea's draconic hip like he was playing a bat-and-ball game. channeling the power of the slappyface in this one critical moment, he delivers a blow that could shake the heavens and bring the gods to tears at his feet. probably.
he's so caught up in ensuring his clothy revenge is enacted that he doesn't even see eitri's second set of beetles. not that it matters; they were all duds from the start, it seems.
Eitri [6/6] hits Dwyer [3/6] with Swarm
[Roll: 5 + 2 = 7, -0HP]
Dwyer [3/6]
@old-scalebag
✦ 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐢𝐱𝐞𝐝 𝐯𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐟. ✧
BOEL2024 ROUND ONE, battle 15.
#[ ic ]#[ t: getting mixed vibes from this one chief. ]#toaboel2024#[ event: battle of the eagle and lion 2024 ]#[ laruarva ]#[ alyration ]#[ old scalebag ]#[ GET SWORDYFACED OLD MAN! ]
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dwyer has only been here for a short while and he already regrets signing up to do this. he knew he was in for it when he showed up to the group as the only guy with the staff, and he was doubly in for it when he was placed smack in the middle of the field. he was so toast. but alas, scorned butlers must make do.
his partners bear tough faces, so he tries to match. his opponents are all people he hasn't met yet, so he has no frame of reference for their strength. all told, there's nothing he can really be intimidated by. even if they all turned into dragons or something, it wouldn't be the most out there thing he'd seen.
the match begins and the person with the red and blue hair fires off like a shot. dwyer catches them in his line of sight right as they attack his teammate---ishtar, her name was, right?---and dwyer readies his staff out of reflex. when there's an opening, he swings his staff high and lets the magic do its job.
Dwyer [6/6] heals Ishtar [4.5/6] with Heal
[Roll: 18, +2HP]
Ishtar [6/6]
a perfect heal, of course. nothing less. dwyer lets his pride out for a moment (materializing in a brief shimmy of his shoulders) before returning to his slouchy self...
Eitri [6/6] hits Dwyer [6/6] with Swarm
[Roll: 16 + 2 = 18, -1HP]
Dwyer [5/6]
...right into a faceful of bugs. exploding bugs! dwyer cries out in shock as he's hit with bronze beetles, shielding his eyes as they burst into light. what on earth was t---
there's a rumble, then a roar. the bugs distracted him from the transformation, but dwyer knows what that sound entails. sure enough, his suspicions are confirmed. as he waves the bugs away, finally, he is suddenly slapped---TWICE?---by a set of dragon paws!
Dheginsea [6/6] hits Dwyer [5/6] with Iron Gauntlets
[ Roll: 10 + 2 = 12, 18 + 2 = 20, -0.5HP, -0.5HP]
Dwyer [4/6]
he knew he was pretty much primed to be a target, but this is bonkers! he lets out a pissed off sigh, gripping his staff tighter and pulling slightly back. he has no words for this. with any luck, he'll either leave the play-slaying to his teammates or get knocked out so that all of this will be over.
@laruarva
✦ 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐢𝐱𝐞𝐝 𝐯𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐟. ✧
BOEL2024 ROUND ONE, battle 15.
#[ ic ]#[ event: battle of the eagle and lion 2024 ]#toaboel2024#[ old-scalebag ]#[ alyration ]#[ t: getting mixed vibes from this one chief. ]#[ this would have been infinitely funnier if he had a heavy staff instead of a sword i think ]#[ new goals to work towards ]
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as soon as the carriage makes its stop, dwyer nearly flips out of it to be ready to assist corrin out. as his hand stretches out, his mind is racing---what will corrin require from him first? how should he structure the regime? will he need to crash course on something? he'll wrassle a pegasus, gods willing. he's beyond volunteering to teach just to help; this is a personal test to show that he can add "weapons education" to his repertoire.
as soon as corrin is out of the carriage dwyer follows swiftly behind. he keeps his hands ready at his sides. he'll need to give a once-over of the soldiers once they find them, and then from there assess what is most urgent. men who want change need to know what can change first. he's not about to sit down and look into each man's psyche---they'll tell him what they want or he'll move on. there's no time for unsurety.
it doesn't take long for dwyer to locate the group of soldiers in the dilapidated house. it's in a room dwyer assumes used to be the dining hall, littered with forgotten utensils and rotted chairs. was this really the base of operations? he stares.
well, it's not his place to harp on such details. he's not here for cleaning duty. "lord corrin," dwyer calls down the hallway, "i've found the soldiers. there's down here, in the dining room. i'll wait on your advice."
can't i just sit here and make coffee or something
any skill +1
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dwyer shakes his head. "i'm afraid i don't know what you're referring to," he replies, knowing exactly what camilla is referring to. everyone always tries to get him off his game, but ho, it's little more than a fool's escapade. the butler is no act. the butler is. to simply "put down" his years of rigorous training just because a royal humbly requests it? he'd rather start belting nohrian folk songs in the castle foyer.
there's no reason to get worked up about it, though. right now he's being asked a question, so the proper thing to do is, of course, answer it. "the new game?" he asks, tilting his head inquisitively forward. "you wouldn't happen to mean that new card game? i can't say i know too much beyond the basics." and, he internally stresses, only the basics. he can't do those crazy combos people seem to be pulling off in the halls where matches take place. yet.
"but if you're looking to play, i can see about acquiring decks for the two of us?"
Card Games on Dragons
#[ ic ]#[ maligknightsthorns ]#[ t: card games on dragons ]#[ lady camilla do you know what pot of greed is. ]
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