gallantgautier
Prodigal Profligate
Red Cavalier in the streets, Blue Lion in the sheets ;) (Closed RP blog for TheOfficersAcademy)
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♞ ∴∵∴ SIR, THIS IS A STABLE.
Starter for @dragon-kiddos
Sylvain had a plan.
It wasn’t a grand plan, not by any stretch of the imagination. Nor was it the kind of plan where – for once – he’d earn himself some disapproving stares or even exasperated lectures. No, it was the kind of plan that was purely selfish, yet bothered no one. The kind of plan where his itinerary for the day was mapped out in its entirety, and absolutely nothing could go wrong.
It could, in fact, go wrong.
See, Sylvain’s plan had been simple. First was – after making himself presentable that morning – eat breakfast in the dining hall. Not ideal, in all honesty, but the time saved by not having to venture into town was a worthy sacrifice. After breakfast, he went to the stables, ready to gear up Chastity, and after, the two of them would go for a nice, long, leisurely ride. A perfect way to spend his free day.
But, to his horror, the stable was full of animals that would be more at home in a farm. Now, Sylvain doesn’t have anything against cows, he’s not so fond of pigs, though he doesn’t dislike them, and he supposes sheep are kind of cute. And he’s sure they have every right to be at the monastery, better source of milk and meat, right? But surely they shouldn’t be at the stables.
Worse, unless his eyes are playing tricks on him, he’s also pretty sure that kid he’s sat next to in class once or twice shouldn’t be trying to ride a sheep.
As someone who knows a thing or two about riding, it’s probably Sylvain’s duty to help him out, right? And maybe once he convinces him to get down from that sheep – now there is a sentence he never thought he’d catch himself thinking – they can steer these animals to where they’re supposed to be, and then he can take Chastity out for a bit.
“Hey!” Sylvain calls, striding over as the boy climbs atop the sheep – a sheep. A sheep! Why? – unfortunately not fast enough to stop him from even getting that far, “buddy, I really don’t think that’s a good idea. A fall could still be nasty.”
#♞ ∴∵∴「THREAD - SIR THIS IS A STABLE」#♞ ∴∵∴「IINOCENCE SHOULD BE THE ONLY WEAPON IN YOUR HANDS - KANA」#♞ ∴∵∴「SKILL POINT - RIDING」#Oh Sylvain#the sheep isn't the worst of it
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♞ ∴∵∴ RESULTS MAY VARY
Starter for @windsheedme
At some point, while Sylvain had pondered over whether or not he ought to attend the Reason seminar that was being offered, he thought that he might be a little out of his depth. Sure, he has enough understanding of spellcraft to decipher the runes and the formula and determine if the textbook is over-complicating things. And he might have enough talent to pull off something more than basic beginner spells. But this was something else entirely, this idea of seeking to determine a person’s elemental affinity might be just a little above his expertise.
But at the same time, he leaves his overthinking for other things. Curiosity had gotten a hold of him, and it wouldn’t let go until he did something about it. Maybe if they can figure this out, it could lead to even more discoveries, and with those…
Sylvain shakes his head, inwardly chastising himself for getting too far ahead. Still, from the notes he’d taken, a theory of his own is beginning to form. If a person works with spells that don’t match their affinity… Could that be useful, somehow?
To his left, at the other end of the desk, sits a boy he vaguely recognises as someone from his house. If he’s going to test this theory, he might need some help. Sliding his notes along with him, Sylvain shuffles across the desk, sitting at a much more comfortable conversing distance.
“Hey,” he starts. There’s no need to be quite as quiet as he is, the lecture itself is over, and other groups are already chatting away, but he’d rather be safe, just in case this guy is ‘in the zone’ or something. “don’t suppose you feel like comparing notes? I wanna test something, but just wanna make sure I didn’t miss anything.” He lifts a hand to clasp the back of his neck, an awkward chuckle in his throat, “if that’s okay, that is.”
#♞ ∴∵∴「THREAD - RESULTS MAY VARY」#♞ ∴∵∴「MERRIC」#♞ ∴∵∴「SKILL POINT - REASON」#hfjdsk I'm sorry I'll get Merric a fancy character tag at some point!#let's blow stuff up!#(eventually)
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♞ ∴∵∴ TURNABOUT SABOTAGE
Starter for @irroche
Sylvain would say – if asked, which he thankfully hadn’t been, but he’s prepared for the eventuality – that he agreed to help out with cleaning up the monastery ready for classes beginning because he couldn’t stand the sight of a young lady trying to take on the task all by herself. There was, in fact, no such young lady, and the truth was that he’d been handed a bucket and a sponge and told to get to work.
The second truth was that, after looking at the state of the walls he’d been assigned to, he’d set his bucket down and left it for someone else to deal with. He’d gotten about five steps away, maybe six, before the crawling unease got too awful to bear, turned on his heel, picked the sponge back up, and got to work.
And maybe it’s just because it bothered him so much, but the wall is sparkling clean in record time. At least, he thinks it’s record time, and that gives him an extra five minutes to admire his handiwork. Time he could spend cleaning another area, probably. How does this place even get this dirty? Does no one else here clean?
The answer, he finds as he turns the corner to find someone else absorbed in the self-same task, is no. And there’s something else too, something like… Déjà vu? Does he know this girl? Or is it that he could have sworn he saw someone else finish cleaning this section when he passed half an hour ago?
Well, no matter. Sylvain allows himself a half shrug as he carries his bucket over, ever-present bright smile plastered on his face as he sets it down next to her.
“Pretty lady like yourself shouldn’t have to do this alone,” he says, moving to lean against the wall, then thinking better of it at the last second. Dirt on his sleeve? No thank you, “need a hand?”
#♞ ∴∵∴「THREAD - TURNABOUT SABATOAGE」#♞ ∴∵∴「THE SUN HASN'T SET UPON YOU YET - CONSTANCE」#♞ ∴∵∴「SKILL POINT - AXE」#after all the ace attorney chatter#I had to reference in the title fhgjsk#ESPECIALLY WITH WHERE WE'RE GOING WITH THIS#(hjfdks also sorry I took so long)
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Starter call!
Give that little heart button a loving tap, and I’ll slide into your DMs over the next few days to get some threads plotted! Capping at four for the time being, though will consider increasing as time goes by!
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#♞ ∴∵∴「A SMILE TELLS YOU WHO SOMEONE IS - MUSING」#bringing this back#the snow might be gone now#but maybe this is why#proper use of the Lance of Ruin#and he doesn't take criticism
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send 🌧 to be caught in a sudden storm with my muse?
On the whole, the beach isn’t as bad as he first thought it would be when he stuck his head out his window earlier. In fact, his own tastes aside, he could even consider it pleasant.
Okay, so the crab that pinched his toe definitely wasn’t very nice. But, you know, a beach isn’t exactly his idea of perfect anyway, so when that was the only thing that really went wrong, he can’t claim that - whatever this whole thing is - is all that terrible.
Naturally, it couldn’t last.
The first droplet hits Sylvain on the tip of his nose, and he peers up through his tinted glasses at a sky he’s sure wasn’t so full of dark clouds a minute ago. Two more drops splash upon his shoulder, a handful more upon his back.
A second later, he’s drenched.
Looking very much the part of a drowned ginger rat, Sylvain dives under the nearest parasol, hugging his knees to his chest to keep as many of his extremities under its shelter as possible. Where did that even come from?
Pouting, he turns his head and pushes sodden hair out of his eyes, as if futilely checking to see if the downpour looks any different from the other side, only to come face to face with the heir of Gloucester himself.
“You too, huh?”
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⚔️ "C'mon, Sylvain! Show me what you got!"
Oh no. Oh no, Sylvain was not prepared for this. He’s only wearing shorts! He’s vastly unprotected! Not to mention unarmed. But Sharena looks so sweet and determined and he just doesn’t have the heart to let her down.
So, he reaches out for something, anything, to use as a weapon. His hand closes around an odd texture, springy yet firm, will probably do for a spar, though he doesn’t really look at it as he charges to meet her.
His mistake. And no doubt it will cost him.
“Come at me!” Sylvain yells back in challenge, grinning, as he gives his weapon a great swing, aiming for Sharena’s shoulder.
And watches in confused horror as he sees the long red thing bend and wobble through the air. He almost drops it, would have if he weren’t squeezing on one end so hard to try and figure out what it is. In the end, it ends up harmlessly tapping Sharena’s shoulder with a light fwap noise.
“...Uh...”
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🌴 It was difficult for her to be seen up in a tree— that was why Nino decided to launch herself up into one. She just wanted to be alone for a while, not worry about people knocking on her door... She spent some time reflecting, until she was ready to get down. Being there without anyone around... hurt a lot more than she expected. She looked down at the ground— that was... a significantly higher drop than she expected... Suddenly, Nino found herself wishing someone would save her. "H-Help...!"
There’s only so much walking he can do in this heat. Part of him knows, on some level, it isn’t actually as hot as Ailell here. It can’t be, if other people are managing just fine. On the other hand, he’s not made for heat of any kind at all. Even in just a pair of shorts, he feels like he might melt out of his skin.
His shoulders might also be a little bit burned. He’s kind of scared to check. But it doesn’t really hurt, so it can’t be that bad.
The palm tree up ahead calls to him with the promise of shade, and he picks up the pace from slow meandering to something almost like a jog. But as he draws closer, he picks up a sound amongst the cheering and laughing of other people enjoying the surf. Something that sounds like...
Help!
Like it’s coming from the... Tree? Wide, perplexed eyes glance upwards, and he doesn’t see anything, not at first. But then there’s movement, the hint of a hand within all the green and... Nino!
Well... This takes him back.
“You alright up there, sweetheart?” Sylvain calls to her, this time with the beginnings of a smile. There’s no pack of murderous bandits trying to cut down here hiding place here, just far too bright sunlight, and pristine sand as far as the eye can see. “Don’t worry, I’ll catch you.”
Stepping close to the trunk, Sylvain stands ready, arms raised and knees braced. But then it occurs to him, there’s no real danger here, other than her falling. They can take their time, “or, do you want me to come up and get you?”
#Beach Episode#Sylvain vc: what is it with this girl and trees?#hgjfk on the real though#I love this callback#I'm weeping happy tears#precious Nino <3#flowerofiris
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🏃 adventure is out there! :0)
He hadn’t thought that strolling along the shoreline was something he’d ever suggest to one Constance von Nuvelle. And yet, though his memory of it is hazy, he’s absolutely certain if anyone can help him, it would be her.
How he came to that conclusion? Well, it started something like this.
After perhaps only ten minutes of lounging, Sylvain got bored. Sure, the view was okay, and yeah, it’s definitely too hot to want to do much at all, but doing nothing for too long makes him restless. Just because he likes to shirk responsibility doesn’t mean he’s lazy.
So, he decided to take a walk. Get up on his feet, and just... Walk. It’s nice, the sand is a pleasant surface under the soles of his sandals, and a gentle breeze picks up and makes the whole thing tolerable.
But he can’t help but feel like he’s passed that tree before.
Curious, he tried again, it took a while, and at some point the scenery got a little fuzzy, but he’s pretty sure that’s just the heat getting to him. But, after wandering for a while, he winds up back at the very same palm tree.
For his third attempt, he endeavours to enlist some help.
Sylvain scours the beach once more, finding Constance sitting in the shade of a parasol, and damn, why didn’t he think to look for one of those himself? He gives her a small wave, standing just a little closer than what would be considered a respectable distance away.
“Hey Constance,” he greets her, one hand in his pocket, the other lifted to point over his shoulder with his thumb, “have you tried heading further along the beach? Something weird keeps happening, and I thought, since you’re so smart and all, maybe you’d have an idea?” Sylvain pauses for a moment, trying to gauge if he’s piqued her interest, “what do you say? Up to solve a little mystery?”
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🏐! :0)
He doesn’t know where it came from, only that it’s... Here.
It happens to be a ball, plain white and entirely unremarkable. The only reason he even gave it any attention is that he is sure it wasn’t there a moment ago. He’s confident that he’d looked at the sand on his left, and the spot was empty, so he carried on just watching the clouds drift by.
But when he looked again, there was the ball. And with the ball came the inexplicable feeling that he needs to throw it at someone.
And someone just happened to wander by. A slow grin spread across Sylvain’s face as he stands, holding the ball close to his chest. He waits a beat, two, and sets his eyes on his target - her shoulder. Least he could do is not aim for her face in case she turns into it right on impact.
“Cynthia!” he yells as he sets the ball sailing through the air, “think fast!”
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🏊♂️ "Sylvain!" Bernadetta shrieked, trying to pull her arm free from his grasp as he guided her towards the water. "Th-this is it! This is how Bernie dies! From the cold unforgiving depths!"
The thing is, he hadn’t been planning to drag her into the water to swim, the thought alone fills him with dread. But he saw a really cool looking creature in the rock pool and had no idea what it was. And Bernadetta seemed like exactly the person he wanted to show it too. Maybe she knew what it was.
In hindsight, maybe he should have told her that, instead of grabbing her wrist and saying nothing more than “c’mon!” He just... Got a little excited.
So at the sound of her cry, he pauses, shocked that she would think such a thing. Lead her to her death? In the water? He’d never! “What? I’m not trying to-” and then he pauses, suddenly realising what this looks like.
Sylvain drops her wrist, rubbing the back of her neck with a sheepish laugh, “sorry, got a little excited,” he explains, gesturing off to the side in the direction of the rock pool. “But I saw this weird animal. It’s all-” he raises both hands close to his face, making a wiggling motion with his fingers.
“It’s so weird. C’mon, let’s check it out!”
#Beach Episode#fhjks I had to turn this prompt around a bit#because the boy can't actually swim lmao#so lets look at weird rock pool fauna!#minorindech
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🔥 !
With the sun beginning to dip below the horizon, Sylvain will admit, the scene is straight out of novel. The sound of gentle waves lapping at the shoreline, the sky free of gulls and their raucous calls, it’s the kind of evening that might make him contemplative.
And, it’s mercifully cooler.
Which means making his way to the large bonfire is inviting. To his surprise, as he moves to one of the log benches, he finds it already occupied. Sylvain sits on the opposite end from Dorothea, one knee bent with his foot on the wood, wrapping an arm loosely around his leg.
“Not a bad night, huh?” he says, just to make conversation. “This place is kind of weird though, right? Not in a bad way, just...” he waves a hand in a vague gesture. There’s no real way to describe this seaside haven,
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The beach is completely empty save for the characters who have wound up here thanks to some strange, divine power. No employees, no tourists, nothing. There’s a house large enough to fit everyone, but you find that you need neither sleep nor food while you’re here. When you walk a certain distance along the shoreline, your vision begins to grow hazy and you wind up back where you began.
Still, there are few things to be done in this strange purgatory…
ASK MEMES
send 🎣 to put together a makeshift fishing rod and pass the time catching fish with my muse
send 👀 to accidentally catch my muse changing clothes
send 🏃 to explore the boundaries of this world with my muse
send 🌴 to climb trees with my muse
send 🌊 to watch the ocean and reflect with my muse
send 🏊♂️ to go swimming with my muse
send ⛺️ to escape the crowded house and go camping with my muse
send 💯 to ask my muse to teach yours how to swim
send ♨️ to discover hot springs with my muse
send 🎆 to put on a fireworks display with my muse
send 💫 to go stargazing with my muse
send 🌙 to go dancing in the moonlight with my muse
send 🍽 to experiment in the kitchen with my muse
send 🥂 to drink with my muse
send 🦀 to go crab hunting with my muse
send 🏖 to go sunbathing with my muse
send 🌧 to be caught in a sudden storm with my muse
send 🔥 to gather around a bonfire with my muse
send ⚔️ to spar with my muse
send 🏐 to play a game with my muse
send 🦞 to ask my muse to care for your muse’s sunburn
send 🛶 to make/use a boat with my muse
send 🏰 to build a sandcastle with my muse (or just play in the sand)
send 🐠 to go looking for wildlife in the surf with my muse
send 🏹 to go hunting in the forest with my muse
Or make up your own!
#♞ ∴∵∴「BURDEN OF CHOICE MADE WEIGHTLESS- ASK MEME」#we can make these semi mini I think?#though I might not get to them today
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♞ ∴∵∴ ROLL AWAY AGAIN (open)
Sometimes you just have those mornings, when you wake up in your bed with no memory of how you got there the night before. On rare occasions, there’s the tell-tale throbbing in his skull that informs him the lack of memory came from one too many glasses of wine. Others, the infirmary walls are enough to know his lack of memory of the journey to bed is probably because his unconscious ass got carried there after taking a reckless blow.
But he’s never looked around his room with no memory of waking up before.
And maybe it’s strange that his thoughts zero in on that first, and not that this is not his room. Sure, there’s things here and there that belong to him. There’s the little figurine upon his bedside table, his jacket hangs upon the peg on the back of the door, and a few of his novels sit upon a desk. But the walls are the wrong colour, so are the curtains, the bed is made as pristinely as usual, but those are not his sheets.
Weird.
Weirder still, is the view of a pristine beach that greets him when he draws back the curtains. Sylvain opens his window, sticking his head out of it to see if he can make out any familiar faces amongst the few figures that roam the sand, but they’re all much too far.
And it’s damn hot out there. He pulls his head back inside the instant that unfortunate discovery makes itself known.
As much as the thought of going out in that heat daunts him, there’s no denying that staying in here isn’t going to answer any of his questions about where here even is. As he ponders a plan of action, his eyes catch on something dark, neatly folded fabric placed upon the chair, and he pads over to investigate. His hands find a pair of plain sandals, sitting atop black shorts accented with a green panel at each side, and a red belt that looks nowhere near functional, especially with all those tassels. Despite that he’s certain he’s never set eyes upon neither the shorts nor the footwear, he’s positive they belong to him.
Really weird.
With a shrug of his shoulder, Sylvain decides to change into the clothing that’s both his-yet-not-his, reasoning that if he’s going to head outside, he’s going to do so without melting into a vaguely Sylvain-shaped puddle, thank you very much.
As he makes his way through the corridors, somehow knowing which corners to take, there’s clear signs that there’s others here – his friends, maybe? Hopefully? – But he doesn’t come across anyone. A short distance away, there’s a row of loungers in a shaded spot that looks significantly more tolerable than standing in the sun, and he shoves his hands in his pockets as he makes his way over.
And his fingers meet something… Metal? Brow furrowed, he pulls it out as he sits down to find a pair of round, tinted spectacles, that – once again – he’s never seen before but he’s sure they’re his. He slips them on too, because why not? Relaxes into the lounger, and listens to the distant call of gulls while he waits to see if a familiar face paces by.
#toaopen#♞ ∴∵∴「THREAD - ROLL AWAY AGAIN」#song lyrics carrying my ass in finding a title#yes it's the heroes outfit#sans towel and drinks#because I had to
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WHAT GOD HAD WROUGHT.
irroche:
✦ — she greets death like an old memory. it is not her own. lips form a polite smile, the veneer of her expression so delicate it threatens to fracture at the most innocuous of questions. in her eyes, the memory of black-eyed dahlias in the shadow of the emperor’s collapse. a sight lovelier than the prettiest flowers in all of enbarr. the ghost of a girl left to grow in the dark, atrophying until all that remained was this. all this, with no more answers to give than questions their arrival had prompted. what had brought her to this? the smell of a burning sweetness remains, the quiet broken as the raucous, cheerful shouts of the knights that still stand with them breaks through. what did they celebrate —
when it felt like they’d lost more than they gained? survival? still, they are in this world, left with no way to return and no more certain since the very beginning. the emblem of honesty, she’d said then. what did they think? what had it meant? a key, a door, a dream — maybe this was all that it was, in the end, just a dream that she’d still yet to wake from. perhaps, she would open her eyes in a moment and see the ceiling of the room afforded to her in abyss. she would greet the others, as she often did. she would pass abyssians on her way to the library and someone would say something insufferable and she would be launched into a just fury.
maybe, the joyless sobs of a most worthy betrayal are just a dream too.
constance looks away. what would she offer him, except pointless niceties that would mean nothing when it did not come from his liege? his loss was not her own. ( not all deaths were weighed the same in the eyes of the goddess. ) just as hers was not his. memory returns her to ballrooms of the empire, of the way he stood at the recesses and waiting for the return of a princess that would not come home. she remembers the way that the nobility reveled in the absence, haughtily claiming their birthrights as if their emperor ought be bereft of his. she remembers the way she’d looked away from him then. content, to pretend that the peace of her childhood would have continued without recompense for her house’s dutifulness.
she turns away, now, guiding horse back to rider. constance slides from the saddle. does what she can to guide sylvain back to his rightful place upon chastity’s back.
she apologizes, but thanks the destrier for her patience. sylvain, for his efforts.
constance finds herself, now, more than five years later with nothing to say.
their lives, an immeasurable loss, she thinks, and she cannot begin to understand where the mourning begins or where it ends when it has become as much a part of her as the magic that runs like ichor in her veins. how should it begin? was it even her place to do so when she does not feel the same ache, when it feels that she walks now without drowning? it is unbecoming for a lady of her status to openly weep in public, much less over the enemy of just a moment ago. to sob, when her friend fell silently to the very beasts that controlled her life. to scream, when she realizes that there are no answers that would satisfy her in knowing the pointless slaughter of people that had no stake in this fight. she greets death as an old friend.
the heir of house nuvelle will not weep, pointlessly, and she will not collapse to her knees like the child she had been years ago. the sun still rises.
constance greets the mourning in the waking silence.
♞ ∴∵∴ FIN
#L&KHonesty2020#♞ ∴∵∴「EVENT THREAD - WHAT GOD HAD WROUGHT」#♞ ∴∵∴「THE SUN HASN'T SET UPON YOU YET - CONSTANCE」#♞ ∴∵∴「HAPI」#♞ ∴∵∴「MORGAN」#♞ ∴∵∴「THE SHADOW OF DEVOTION - HUBERT」#♞ ∴∵∴「MATTHEW」#♞ ∴∵∴「LEO」#we did it guys!
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WHAT GOD HAD WROUGHT.
vonvestra:
Why?
“Lady Edel—!“ Choked by a cry of pain, the name ends half-formed. One knee hits the earth as dark magic as dense as a whip lashes across his chest and arm. Yet transfixed by the pallid face he knows too well, he doesn’t fall. Even the hand he’s brought to his shoulder to stymie the fresh wound goes unnoticed until the fabric of his glove is sticky and damp with blood.
Why?
Those dead eyes meet his and for a moment he thinks he sees a flash of recognition in dilated pupils. Clawed hand rises. A fool’s hope overrides his senses as he looks desperately for a sign of hesitation. A pause. Any sort of consideration to spare her loyal servant. But she lunges as swiftly as before and the new flare of pain forces him to double over. Second knee hits the earth with breathless gasp, then his uninjured hand, and he spits bloody saliva into the dirt beside his fingers. Eyes stare, wide and unseeing at the forest litter.
He had known that there would be no happy ending to this nightmare. He thought he had prepared for the moment he saw her face again on a corpse. But reality always finds a way to be more horrific than dreams. His arm begins to tremble, muscles enervated by hopelessness and the poison of betrayal. Twice, she had seen him. And twice she had struck at him.
Heat passes nearby in the wake of a fireball, and another human-like shriek follows.
Why? he asks for the third time, forcing what strength he has left into the push that gets him off his hands again. She had once told him that she would never use the power of the crest stones in such a way.
Though he is neither grateful nor relieved by the distraction the fire attack provides, it allows him the time to rise back to his feet. A quick assessment reveals the feeling has gone from his left arm, but it remains intact. Again, the revelation comes with no real joy. If she means to kill him, then best she get it over with.
No, a final act of service as her retainer would be to end this beast she’s become. She wouldn’t want to be remembered this way.
“Sylvain.” Hubert staggers toward the other student when he catches sight of him and finds a steadying grasp on his arm. He catches his eye, then makes a cursory glance over the rest of him. Bloodied. Bruised. They’ve all seen better days. The bony, living lance still twitches in his hand, however. It would take a Relic to rival a Relic.
“I can’t imagine you’ve forgotten the battle in Almyra, but do you recall seeing a stone in the tiger’s chest?” He doesn’t wait for an affirmative. They hardly have much time. “Lady Edelgard–” He exhales sharply and starts over. “I’m certain this monster possesses the same power, and yet I’ve found no traces of a stone. If we can find it… shatter it… perhaps that will put an end to this bloodbath.”
Rallies Dexterity, Speed, and Blessing for Sylvain
Next: @gallantgautier or @displaced-tactician
There’s… A voice? He can’t hear, can’t move. There ought to be a heavy, scratchy woollen blanket over him, but he can’t feel that either. There should be a hand clutching his, but it’s not his hand that’s hurting when it should be, gripped too tight and a voice biting out I won’t let you!
“You can’t die on us yet!” He says, and he sounds… Weird. Sylvain wants to open his eyes as the bottle is pressed to his lips, but the lids are too heavy, breath wheezing in his chest as he labours to swallow, “they still need you out there. Come on!”
That… Doesn’t sound like him either, laboriously, thick lashes finally lift, the world still blurred as his eyes turn upwards. “Fe-” he starts, caught on a gasp as he tries to move his shoulder. But the eyes that stare back at him are blue, under a silvered helm and pinched brows. Those eyes scan over him once again as the last of the vulnerary empties down his throat, and he shudders at the sensation. It’s always disorientating, how the pain can go from debilitating to mild, like pins and needles through each of his extremities. Hands find their way into his armpits, lifting Sylvain to his feet, and he wobbles in place as the world threatens to turn swing around once again and leave him sprawled on the dirt.
But the knight keeps him steady, plucks the Lance from the ground and shoves it into his hands as if it burned.
Maybe it did.
Weary honey amber turns once again to the clearing that came into existence from a thorned blade and shockwaves of dark magic. Too many bodies lay scattered, but onward he presses, pushing the blood that falls into his eyes aside as he limps back into the thick of it.
Hubert finds him before he finds anyone else. Did Constance escape the wave? He can’t see her, can’t see anyone else, but Hubert’s grip on his arm keeps his attention, as does his question. The Crest stone… He remembers, back then, he hadn’t known what it could mean. But now…
He doesn’t miss the way he pauses at her name, but doesn’t bring any attention to it. His eyes turn to the monster yet again, whip like blade swinging wildly, and Sylvain can only hope the poor soul facing it got out of the way in time. He looks back to Hubert, gives him a single firm nod. “I’m on it,” it comes out rasped, but still, he advances.
There’s no battle cry this time, no valiant charge. All the strength he has left, he channels into summoning wind around him once more. It starts near his feet, rising upwards and curling around his arms with every step. As the Husk lifts its blade to swing at its target once more, he sets the spell loose, a blade brilliant green colliding with the back of its horned head.
Sylvain casts wind! Roll: 25 (17+8) Critical hit! 3 Damage! Hegemon Husk HP: 9.5
The beast pauses in its assault, head turning at first to look over its shoulder, empty black rimmed eyes seemingly not seeing him at all even as it turns to him proper. It advances upon him, sword raised, and Sylvain trains his gaze towards its chest. In the centre, he can make out some kind of spherical shape, hollow, like something should…
The Crest Stone. There’s no Crest stone.
“Hubert!” He calls, as loud as his protesting ribs against his lungs will allow, “I’m not seeing a stone!” And then, the Husk is upon him.
Hegemon Husk attacks! Roll: 4 (6-2) Miss.
With a wide swing, the barbed blade sings though the air, and perhaps, pained by its own injuries, Sylvain barely has to duck for it to sail over him.
Hegemon Husk attacks again! Roll: 9 (11-2) No damage. Barely hit reduced by Philanderer.
As the weapon comes to the end of its arc, the Husk quickly swings it back towards him, its aim much truer. But Sylvain meets it head on, jaw clenched as he raises the Lance, catching the sword between its twitching spines, twisting once before giving a great heave. Perhaps it’s only the beast’s own exhaustion that causes its grip to loosen, the blade clattering to the ground, though not as far as he’d have hoped. Close enough for it to turn a fraction away from him to retrieve it.
Desperation check: Successful! Sylvain attacks again!
He’s tiring, he knows, likely only has a few more casts left in him, but Sylvain calls upon his spell once more, the glyphs flashing in the air before him as he aims for the monster’s neck.
“I’m not done.”
Sylvain casts wind! Roll: 22 (14+8) Critical hit! 3 Damage! Hegemon Husk HP: 6.5
The spells meets its mark, the beast shrieks, weapon forgotten while its hands rise to clutch at the leaking wound left upon the juncture of its neck and shoulder, and Sylvain leans heavily upon the Lance.
@displaced-tactician
#L&KHonesty2020#♞ ∴∵∴「EVENT THREAD - WHAT GOD HAD WROUGHT」#♞ ∴∵∴「THE SUN HASN'T SET UPON YOU YET - CONSTANCE」#♞ ∴∵∴「HAPI」#♞ ∴∵∴「MORGAN」#♞ ∴∵∴「THE SHADOW OF DEVOTION - HUBERT」#♞ ∴∵∴「MATTHEW」#♞ ∴∵∴「LEO」#hfjks he angy
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WHAT GOD HAD WROUGHT.
displaced-tactician:
Morgan furrowed her eyebrows, not exactly satisfied with Hubert’s answer. Morgan believed the man only because he cut himself off, as if he caught himself before saying something probably super secret and fun.
Morgan turned to look at the Professor as he flew near and when Hubert attempted to warn her she turned around, just a second too late. The other Professor’s Sword flew its way towards her, burying itself in her right shoulder.
((Edelgard: 15 but warded so it’s a “Barely Hit.))
Morgan yelped in surprise, feeling the jagged bone like blade rip into her. She didn’t know how to react after though. On one hand, a immense pain dully spread through her arm. On the other, she was angry. She was absolutely infuriated that a creature and thing so vile, insolent, and insignificant had actually harmed her. A pathetic little worm like this had the gal to attack?
Electricity coursed through her left hand as she matched the swords trajectory, and shot a massive beam up towards Edelgard’s wrist, hoping to make her drop the weapon.
((9 to hit with Thoron. Edelgard healed. 2.5 damage so new total 11.5 Health))
The creature screeched in surprise, the wrist going limp for a second before the broken and cracked exterior started healing. But it dropped the handle of the sword. The sword then snaked back into itself, landing not too far in front of Morgan and shlorping out of her shoulder.
Morgan, while not seriously injured, fell to her knees from the blade shlopring out of her. Morgan didn’t respond beyond that, still somewhat in shock from the attack. She held her hand against the wound, her jaw clenched tight. She had been hurt worse, had she? She had? She had. This was nothing. Was it nothing? It was something? It had to be? What was this disgusting blade?
For a moment, she knelt there shocked, thinking. Why was her body reacting so violently to such a wound?
@gallantgautier
The tide is turning, he can feel it. They are so few, a handful of students thrust into a battle in their home that’s not home, backed up by a slightly larger handful of knights who can barely offer support except for keeping the rest of the Imperial forces off them. It should be impossible, but it isn’t, they’re winning.
But he thought too soon. Leo’s flames follow his own spells, striking hard and sure. But the creature turns, hurling yet another of those awful, nausea-inducing sphere’s at him, and from afar, Sylvain watches with a yell in his throat as the professor falls to the ground, his pained cry all that tells him he’s still alive.
It turns to Morgan soon after, but the beast stands between him and the young strategist, can’t tell if the lash of the blade it sends in her direction hits her or not, nor how badly. Jaw clenched, a growl equal parts anger and frustration rises from his chest. Mad as it looks, the beast must not have completely lost its mind. It knows what he’s trying to do, has to know. A regular monster would watch his every move with all the noise he makes, not to mention the spells he sets loose.
Sylvain pulls on the reins, urges Chastity into a canter to find a new position, hit it from a weakened point and get its gaze back on him. But movement in the distance catches his eye, and as they manuever around, he can pick out a blue-ish shape, topped with gold that he eventually recognises as Constance. She’s alright! But her movements are slow, unsurprising with the injury she sustained, stubbornly marching back to the battlefield.
Change of plan. With a sharp cry and tap of his heel, Chastity swerves around and changes course, right as the Husk turns towards him.
Hegemon Husk attacks. Roll: 3. Miss.
Without its weapon in its hand, the beast lunges at him, clawed hands cleaving the air as they descend towards him. But Sylvain flattens himself over Chastity’s neck, wicked talons passing over him easily. But he keeps going, doesn’t stop as the distance between him and Constance closes under Chastity’s powerful strides.
He doesn’t slow her down even as he reaches the other student, tipping over in the saddle with an arm extended. As soon as he’s in range, he wraps that arm around her waist, hoisting her up to sit in front of him, despite her protests.
“I’ve got you. Trust me, okay?” He tries for reassuring, but with his own strength waning, it falls a little wide of the mark. With his passenger secure, he calls upon another wind spell, wisps of green between his fingertips. If he can’t keep the husk’s attention on him, he can keep an injured comrade safe.
The spell takes shape in his palm, longer than he’d like, and he’s not sure if that’s due to exhaustion or Constance’s squirming. Finally, he takes aim, “Back me up, Constance.” He says, and lets the spell fly.
Sylvain casts wind! Roll: 13 (9+4) Hit! 1.5 Damage. Hegemon Husk: HP 10
The blast collides with the monster’s face once again, and Sylvain lets out a whoop, fist punching the air. They can do this. They’re winning.
And then, all hell breaks loose.
The beak, bone or whatever it might be, shatters, and the face under it is unmistakably Edelgard. He’d half entertained the idea, with what he’d learned of his brother’s fate in this reality, the princess’s disappearance, Hubert’s injury... But seeing it, in all of its undeniable horror, is something else entirely.
Dark magic gathers again, and he has half a second to recognise what’s happening. He won’t let it go the same way.
But Chastity is built for speed in combat, not for carrying the weight of more than one, and she’s tiring. He could urge her into a gallop, get them out of there, but they’ll never make it.
Sylvain looks over his shoulder to Constance, sees her once again sprawled on the ground, barely conscious. Sees her now, still battered and combat-worn. He looks back at the hu- at Edelgard, and knows what needs to be done.
He leans down, a hand on Chastity’s cheek, face close to her ear, “get her out of here, girl,” he tells her. The whinny she lets out is a mournful one, stomping her foot once in protest as he slides out of the saddle and onto the ground, wrapping the reins around Constance’s wrist. Chastity tosses her head, neighing loudly as he steps back, then gives a sharp slap to the horse’s rear, “go! Get out of here!”
Hegemon Husk attacks with an AoE: 20. Critical.
Ever faithful, despite that he’s sure she’ll be at his side even until the bitter end, she follows the command, turning to gallop away as the dark energy gathered finally bursts free. Sylvain stands, a deep breath held within his chest as he braces, ducks his head down and covers it with his arms as the wave collides with him.
He can’t make a sound, there’s no cry of agony or even a grunt as he’s sent sailing backward, litter more than a gasp as all the air is knocked from his lungs. He collides heavily with a tree, hearing a sickening crack as something breaks. He lifts his head, vision blurry, and something drips into his eyes to further obscure it. Blood, he thinks? It’s hard to tell when everything gets so... dark.
“I won’t... Not here...” Sylvain whispers, the hand at his side curling into a shaking fist. “P...Promised, I-”
The world spins, and goes dark as he collapses.
Sylvain’s condition: Critical.
#L&KHonesty2020#♞ ∴∵∴「EVENT THREAD - WHAT GOD HAD WROUGHT」#♞ ∴∵∴「THE SUN HASN'T SET UPON YOU YET - CONSTANCE」#♞ ∴∵∴「HAPI」#♞ ∴∵∴「MORGAN」#♞ ∴∵∴「THE SHADOW OF DEVOTION - HUBERT」#♞ ∴∵∴「MATTHEW」#♞ ∴∵∴「LEO」#Connie stuff okay'd by mun!#here's hoping we actually get to do something with it hgfjksfhdsjk#I PRAY FOR US
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