...snow falling into your ear.

Any weapon, any beorc-made fangs or laguz-grown talons, brought against Naesala's flesh and bone always falters and fails; the quickness of his tongue and the swiftness of his feathers let hits glide off of him like water on oil. Wounds obtained here are meaningless.

But weapons, when fashioned against his home, they always prevail.

Ironic, he thinks, that he is the one who attacks another's place of peace. His own is dismantled and in shards, bright light pulls out of him and he is left once again on his own.

He reaches for Reyson, whose expression as read by Naesala is one of contempt and disgust. It makes sense that the shell of a heron, when placed within his chest cavity, should recoil away from the raven king, but the words still come out pleading, dusty and unused:

'I love you.'

They're said on the battlefield, and Reyson turns away. Naesala will get support no longer.

Naesala 10/10HP misses and misses Giant Bird B 10/10HP with Phoenix Claws [Roll: 7-10= -3, 6-10=-4, -0HP; Giant Bird B 10/10HP

The first target that he sees he attacks, but does nothing to the sleek feathers and bright, bitter eyes. He feels himself pull back -- this is not his enemy, and yet he must fight. It feels wrong in so many regards, and the will to go to battle leaves his body.

Giant Bird B 10/10 HP counters with Gradivus [Roll:14, hit! -2HP Naesala 8/10HP]

He feels the attack and flaps his wings. His body recoils once again as his bones hollow more. It's time.

The promise of it continues to be all too tempting.

Celephais 28.5/30HP casts Painless World on the party! [Roll: 14 - 4 = 10; Hit] Ephidel is inflicted with -6 dexterity for their next turn.

His arms surround his creation, long fingernails dragging up their limbs and almost consuming them entirely. 'To your Master, to your God.'

Yet, again the thought is cemented in Ephidel's mind that they can not fulfill his wishes. Not of their true god, not even to the illusion of him. In both, they were a failure. They did not deserve him; but his false-master was right about one thing.

Ephidel struggled back to their feet.

Ephidel does NOT sync with the vengeful spirit of Nergal

They were not meant to heal; made only to destroy. Pasithee herself had proven as much to the morph. And then that fire began to burn within them again, and with it, a will and desire formed on their own. Outside of purpose. Outside of loyalty and servitude. Outside of Lord Nergal or the church or existence itself.

Ephidel wanted to dismantle this illusion, not for the church, but to prove the inherent treachery Pasithee saw in them. To be the thief she had branded them as months prior. To snatch away what ever they could of her remaining happiness.

Ephidel staggered forward, Fimbulvetr coalescing in their grasp.

Ephidel 10/10HP attacks Celephais 18.5/30HP with Fimbulvetr at melee range! Heartseeker activates! [Roll: 7 + 2 = 9; -2.5HP] Post-Apocalyptic Savior activates! [Roll: 1, hit! -2.5HP, Celephais 16/30HP] ; Celephais is frozen! Celephais is unable to counterattack! Poison Strike activates! -1HP, Celephais 15/30HP

Isadora, who was just on her side dealing with overly curious villagers, stood against them. Their allies attack her, over and over, leaving her weakened until the strange shade that followed her took control.

Eir's stomach dropped. There could be no good that came with allowing the dead to control the living.

Hel raised her reaper towards the one in charge, the one who no one has managed to hit yet.

Celephais

The name is whispered into her ear. It speaks of dreams and forsaken duties....

Eir moved to attack him, but Hel stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. Eir looked back at the specter of her mother, who was still staring at their foe. She followed the length of the reaper, back towards Celephais as another body fell. A spell surged from Celephais's body, ensnaring everyone it touched. Hel's reaper kept the spell away from Eir, but others were not so lucky. She watched as they began to struggle to find the will necessary to fight, some of them turning sluggish.

Hel's hand disappears from Eir's shoulder, the reaper still pointing towards Celephais. The foe was marked for death.

While their foe remained distracted with their spell, Eir sent Lyfja flying.

Eir 7.5/12 hits Celephais 30/30HP at range with Lyfjaberg [Roll 17 + 4 = 21; -1.5HP] POST-APOCALYPTIC SAVIOR activates! [Roll = 1; Celephais is hit! 28.5/30HP] Celephais cannot counter!

The will to live in Celephais leaves Lyfja unable to do much. Eir looked around to her allies hoping to find someone who could help her, but the moment she tried to stray from Hel, Eir found the curve of the reaper keeping her in place.

More of her allies allow the specters to take over, seeing only benefit from it, calling upon the strength of the wraiths.

The reaper inched closer to Eir, and as if on instinct she stepped backwards towards her mother's spirit, feeling the cold grip of death on her skin. She whipped her head over her shoulder, her heart racing and her eyes wide. The familiar cruelty and lust for power was painted on the specter of Hel.

Again, Eir was nothing more than a way for Hel to gain more power.

Eir ducked away from the reaper and took off running as fast as she could as she saw more of her allies preparing to allow the specters to take over.

"Wait! Wait don't!" She tried to call out, her pleas falling on deaf ears.

But there is little time to dwell upon it, the battle still rages on, and at the heart of it lies Celephias. She lets out wave after wave of apathy, and it staggers the morph to their knees this time.

[Roll: 12 - 6 = 6; Hit] Ephidel is inflicted with -6 dexterity for his next turn.

Through the haze, they can sense someone near, someone speaking, but it reaches them as though muffled beneath the snow. Their gilded gaze follows the sound and finds Chrom speaking to them, but they can not make anything out through their wavering vision.

The one thing they can sense however is his weakening quintessence, it still clings stubbornly to the prince. Ephidel outstretches their palm, following the only order that makes sense, but this time, it faulters.

 Ephidel 10/10HP uses Recover on Chrom 4.5/10HP [Roll: 1 - 4 = -3; +0, Chrom 4.5/10HP]

It almost feels as though Lord Nergal is pulling them back.

They do not have to; for as soon as it concludes, the walls are overrun—monsters not unlike the nightmares of a few nights prior soar over, reaching and crawling and making their way into the village to meet Rusalka’s defenses. With them are the rest of their allies, Selena notes—though some have since taken on a form akin to the nightmares themselves; most also are accompanied by the since deceased—just as Holst and Harken had changed forms during the fight just prior.

The Fluorspar notes how they fight alongside each other—perhaps their deaths were just a blessing, waiting for the perfect moment to unveil itself.

As the battle flows, two figures take the center stage—god-like beings both in command of rivaling armies. It is an ancient battle, so the mage surmises; one where they know each other’s strengths as well as their own weaknesses. Rusalka takes a distorted shape in the wake of the battle they wage.

Celephais uses PAINLESS WORLD: Roll (Selena): 15 - 4 = 11—HIT. Selena is inflicted with -6 dexterity for one turn!

It does not hurt—it was painless, really (just like that grave acclimation; that terrible feeling that grew each time she had attacked). It merely warps her perception, shifting it into something difficult; a thing which she must work to understand.

(Then again, the whole world was difficult; Rusalka was made of memories, was it not? Nothing of it was new.) 

Her allies first take upon the boy—he wears a boy’s face, but how long has he lived, really?—and Selena does not in them take fault; the cannon he commanded was no weapon to take lightly, like the ballistae and onagers Selena was and had grown accustomed with. Even still, the captain falls first, taken single-handedly by Forsyth’s ability. Likewise, a bishop is the next to fall—Andrei nearly finishes her off himself, assisted by Lachesis and Selena’s fellow professor. Already, before she could act: two—and another greatly injured—

…of likely many more.

PROFESSOR'S GUIDANCE (Byleth) activates! All allies dexterity +2!

But such is war, is it not? Selena had made peace with that when she first left home for Grado Keep; when she made her oath; when she trained in the art of the kill; when she was solidified as the Fluorspar.

(And who did she replace in the Imperial Three but a man exiled for the slaughter of innocents?)

Celephais uses PAINLESS WORLD: ROLL (Selena): 3 - 4 = -1—MISS. No change in stats.

She does not allow the illusions to obfuscate her vision further, even as the seamstress tries—

Celephais uses PAINLESS WORLD: ROLL (Selena): 4 - 4 = 0—MISS. No change in stats.

—and tries, Selena does not allow herself to fall victim again.

Irises dart about the battlefield, assessing the situation and deciding Selena’s best course of action. In the action, two observations are made: first, that amongst everyone fighting alongside them, Andrei was by and far the most injured; second, that amongst everyone fighting alongside them, Isadora was not one of them.

Perhaps, this, too, was another of grief’s agents; perhaps, if this had been before the war, Selena would’ve been inclined to join her. All the same, their choices placed them opposite to each other, and though Selena could not claim closeness to the other knight, the predicament felt overly familiar in a way she had yet to come to terms with.

She steels herself as she had then, determined in her course of action.

“Ephidel!” Fluorspar calls first, eyes locking on to the church’s deacon. “We have an injured,”—head points towards Andrei, clearly meaning him though not saying his name. (She has the sense that if she did—that if he was alerted to an inkling of assistance—he may resist in some way, just as he fought them in the village’s alleyways.) “I trust you to help him out.” (That is all she says before she meets her rival knight.)

“Isadora.” She speaks before determining her words, but she is certain that she must say something. (Why she was doing this; how she could make this choice; whether she’d be able to live with the consequences of her decision—and whatever became of this battle.)

“I would ask that you rejoin us or stand down.” Selena doesn’t ask any of those things.

Instead, she takes hold of another bead, letting it imbue with her own magic in the hopes that she may make this encounter quick.

Selena attacks Isadora with RED BEADS (Ranged): Roll: 5 - 2 = 3—MISS. Isadora: 10/12HP

She knows her aim is true—decided on non-vitals to avoid long-lasting injury (especially to avoid Isadora’s death), but the circumstances bid otherwise; it is the determined warp from the goddesses’ fighting; the lingering emotion Selena made of her liege; the sudden thought of turning a weapon against an ally—a traitor, perhaps.

Then again, the last time she made a traitor of someone—or so she was told—she was incorrect.

Eyes again scour the battlefield, looking for one unoccupied—they settle on another head of blue: both swordsman and magician. Chrom, she recalls his name to be from introductions, and so:

“Chrom! Assist me in disarming Isadora!”

But then bright pink comes bounding up to him, and the bluenette sags in relief, wrapping his beloved up in his embrace as she does him in hers. He smiles at her question, reveling in her presence, her closeness, a balm after the haggard three days and nights outside the walls. "We survived, Hildie, we made it. I'll have to tell you later when we're not dealing with a battle, okay? So let's both make it out!" As Hilda mounts her wyvern, Chrom follows suit on his pegasus, Nova taking to the sky a wingbeat after the Golden Deer. A familiar warmth settles in the teen's periphery; Emmeryn in spirit, beside him as she's been these past few days. A sense of something bright and happy, maybe hope or joy or satisfaction, wells up in him, buoying him even as he surveys the field from his position in the air.

Roll Painless World: 1, -7, -6. Miss, miss, and miss! Chrom remains unaffected!

The feeling carries him even as Celephais turns her gleaming gaze on their side once, twice, thrice—the creeping claws of the world is difficult and come, rest, lay your arms down not phasing the Ylissean for even a moment. No, they all must fight to break free from this cruel cycle, to finally break the curse that is Rusalka. As Jeralt and Tieve are defeated, and as Byleth delivers a rallying cry, Chrom glances around to spy where his help might be needed most. His gaze catches flowing blue hair on the opponent's side, and his heart sinks. Isadora... did you fall for the thin comfort the village provided? I can't blame you...

Nearby, Selena calls out for Ephidel to heal someone (most likely Andrei, what with the blond's nigh-reckless fighting). The Blue Lion spots the golden-eyed being in the midst of the fighting and swoops down near them. "She's right, we need your help! Look, think about it this way, we're all parts of a greater whole working to achieve our goal together. We can't succeed if we don't have all of us at our very best!" Someone calls his name—Selena, asking him for assistance against Isadora—and he turns in that direction. "Please? We're a team! Stronger together! We need you!"

Roll Sealed Falchion: 7. Hit! Damage dealt: 3.5. Isadora: 6.5/12 HP Roll counter: 10. Hit! Damage dealt: 5.5. Chrom: 2.5/12 HP Roll Darting Blow: 10. Hit! Damage dealt: 3.5. Isadora: 3/12 HP

Of all the things Rusalka has thrown at them, fighting a teammate does not rank terribly high on the list of hurts and insults, but it smarts all the same. If he can just defeat her, knock her weapon out of her hands, talk to her and convince her to return to the rest of the group from Garreg Mach—! "Isadora, please listen to us!" he yells as Falchion's holy blade crashes against her axe. "Celephais and Keranes are going to get you killed! Come away with us, the village is a trap!" Despite his skill and agility, however, the lady knight scores a painful hit upon him. Weighed down with the tiring survival from the previous nights and bereft of armor, Chrom chokes out a cry of agony and hunches over, shuddering against the new wound in his side. He's not done though, licking Falchion out once more towards the female bluenette. Seeing Isadora covered in her own blood, by his hand, aches, and he retreats, bringing Nova back near Ephidel.

"Please," he gasps out, "you're our... only hope... I beg you..."

Purpose is the only thing that has ever driven Ephidel. When the hand of Lord Nergal commanding them was lost, they sought a new master in the Archbishop. It is that incessant need to serve that gives them will at all.

As the walls collapse and the Outsiders charge the village, one of them jogs to the morph's side and gives a hearty slap to their shoulder, grin pulled wide. Forsyth, they recall, as well as the kindness he had shown. Worrying for them as their edges frayed. Ephidel can see that same fraying in Forsyth now, and returns the sentiment in kind. Taking hold of the hand at their shoulder and spilling faith into him.

Ephidel 9/10HP casts Recover on Forsyth 5/10HP [Roll: 6; +4, Forsyth 9/10HP]

The body of Garreg Mach find each other again, and though brief, it is not limited those still of the living. The spirit of Lord Nergal surrounds Ephidel, and they are once again overwhelmed by the warmth of his smile and hands, no matter how ethereal they may feel.

The din of battle is silent behind his Master's gaze of affection. Purpose may be what drives Ephidel, but it was always purpose for the sake of his Lord's love.

Ephidel could have it here... the happiness his Lord wished for them...

Celephais 25/25HP casts Painless World on the party! x3 [Roll: 20 - 4 = 16; Crit] Ephidel is inflicted with -6 dexterity and -4 speed for his next turn. [Roll: 3 - 4 = -1; Miss] Ephidel is unaffected, remaining at -6 dexterity and -4 speed for his next turn. [Roll: 7 - 4 = 3; Miss] Ephidel is unaffected, remaining at -6 dexterity and -4 speed for his next turn.

But Selena's voice breaks them from their reverie. She did not seem to trust them last they spoke... yet now, behind the command of her tone was the softness of faith.

'I trust you to help him out.'

Then further, the voice of another--Chrom--pleads for Ephidel's aid.

'...we need your help! ... We need you! ... Please, you're our... only hope... I beg you...'

... Ephidel turns to Andrei. They hate him. They hate the distain they always see when his eyes are pointed towards the morph.

Perhaps Lord Nergal wanted happiness for his creation, but joy... joy was something Ephidel could not understand.

Fear however, fear was something they knew intimately, the same fear of death painted across the man's features. Even if it was just the illusion of love, the illusion of purpose, Ephidel could not fulfill it.

They may be a failure as a morph, but maybe they could be a success in something else. Something small, but real.

Palm outstretched towards the bow knight, Ephidel fulfilled their new purpose sworn to the church. To heal the broken.

He shrugs. That doesn't matter. "Are you implying that you could heal one's mind? Such skills are highly sought after, you know." Reyson could, he thinks idly, but he does not know if the Reyson that became ash and dust and bones could do all that the Reyson of Serenes was able to.

"If you can, then you must be in demand for your skills."

He picks up another flower and hands it to the strange figure next to him. His movements are bored, languid; he does not betray what he feels beneath the surface. Anger, disdain, despair... those forced outside have been harmed repeatedly by the elements, and Naesala feels that in his bones.

Ephidel doesn't entirely expect Naesala to take the offer, but it is there for him if he likes. The morph sets to work grinding the flowers together in companionable silence. Eventually producing one of the group's concoctions to compare to the balm and ensure its quality. Blessedly, they matched.

Content with their work, Ephidel began to spread the previous concoction over their damaged joints, so that the vial may be reused for the fresh one.

Ephidel used a Concoction Roll 1d20: 18 +6HP Ephidel's HP 9.5/10

Their damaged soothed and a concoction made, Ephidel looked out towards the horizon and began to speak again.

"I thought you were selfish at first. Destroying his body and endangering our mission, but having lost Lord Nergal, I understand. Someone finding their own dear one more valuable than another's?"

They could not see a world outside themselves, or perhaps, they simply refused to see it. Now that anger they felt towards Lord Nergal's killer was turned inwards at Reyson's.

"You were right. If the world will take their lives, then they do not deserve their bodies."

He is not good at this task in particular, but he takes the flowers and begins to sort through them -- separating them into different piles for healing items. He's content to do this alone; it has felt as though the entire day has been spent with others, and he would prefer to spend some of it alone.

He is not so lucky.

His back against the tree is an attempt to relax himself, and his wings flare out a little. It creates a sort of canopy by which he can shelter himself, though he knows not how much that will help his unease. He's alert enough, however, and looks to the side as he sees a member of the outsiders approach.

Ephidel. Wasn't that their name? He vaguely recalls the person most closely associated with him; it's difficult when most of the memories after Reyson are tinged with something dark and vile.

Perhaps he should welcome the company. A shame he does not have the energy to.

"Are you here to assist?"

"I am." They said, joining Naesala's side and placing down stones that could loosely work as mortar and pestle. "I am one of few with healing experience."

Time and again, Ephidel only proved themselves to be an agent of destruction and hate without Lord Nergal's hands guiding them. They wished so dearly to hold on to the illusion of purpose and love that they would do anything to keep it, despite it long since vanishing. Their view so narrow that no one else mattered until they were upon the receiving end.

Someone deciding their beloved person worth more than another's. Naesala would hate them if he knew. Ephidel does not blame him, but they do not think it would bring him peace either.

In the recesses of their mind, they knew him to be a false image of Lord Nergal. But that fact could not eliminate the smolder of fire that still lingered in their core.

Emotions were illogical; Ephidel had long understood this. Used it constantly to their advantage, and it made the sting of them falling prey to their grasp all the more sharp.

Perhaps it was that then, the fear of death still pushing them on despite no reason to. Work may at least distract from those thoughts, give them the smallest sense of purpose even to those who may have been the ones to snatch it.

In the wilds beyond Rusalka's gates, the only tools were makeshift. The morph set to work building their collective shelter with scraps of collected wood and stones turned hammer and nails.

Mindlessly, they struck their own digit as they worked, then staring as though it was completely incomprehensible.

Roll 1d6: 2 -0.5HP Ephidel's HP 4.5/10

Push forward. Like you always have, and always must.

andrei attacks corpse tree d with brave bow (7, 11): 5 damage corpse tree d hp: 0/5 corpse tree d is defeated!

The final enemy falls, and only then does Andrei's grip falter, his next arrow dropping to the ground as he clutches at his bow arm. Aside from this exhaustion, he'd certainly not sustained any further damage, compared to the other. Still, he keeps wary eyes in the direction of the battlefield, a hunter expecting a wounded beast to pounce. The frigid wind around Ephidel falls gradually silent, signifying the end of the battle.

With the fire now smoldering, it had simply left Ephidel feeling weak; he looks back up to Lord Nergal. Serene despite his wounds. It takes the morph a while to rearticulate his legs and stand back upon them, before slowly walking towards his fallen Lord.

The robe is removed from Ephidel's shoulders, before he wraps it around the open wound (Lord Nergal should not be seen in such an ugly state.) Perhaps it is all too fitting. When Ephidel first woke, his Master swathed him in a velvety cloak (the one torn and thread-bare he still kept in the bottom drawer.) Now Ephidel would carry his Master into death with another.

He hefted his Lord over his shoulder, and without a word to Andrei, walked back towards Rusalka. The other could stay, he could follow, he could cut Ephidel down for all it mattered, and now he thought better of Naesala. Understood the selfishness behind his actions.

His Master's body would not be taken. He would encase it in ice and guard it night and day if that's what it took.

It was nightfall when he finally reached the village's gates.

A dangerous one.

Andrei's breath hitches in his throat at the raw fury traced in Ephidel's expression. The blast of swirling ice from his next attack emits a loud crack against its target, and the aim on Andrei's bow momentarily wavers, every instinct bidding him to point it at what could be considered the largest threat in his vicinity.

Then a tree branch connects with Ephidel, breaking the eye contact for just the briefest moment, and Andrei's next breath rushes out of him in a dizzying burst, his focus regained. No. The mission. Focus. He turns his bow on the target that had just attacked.

andrei attacks corpse tree a with brave bow (6, 11): 4 damage corpse tree a hp: 0/5 corpse tree a drops 4 white crystals!

The tree crumbles down to dust, ghastly limbs fading into the earth and leaving nothing but the familiar white crystals. Andrei doesn't allow himself the space to think, to dwell on the nature of their enemies. The foe that Ephidel had attacked creaks back into motion, and he takes aim at the next target.

andrei attacks corpse tree b with brave bow (13): 2 damage corpse tree b hp: 0/5 corpse tree b drops 3 green crystals!

The familiar ache (it had faded for so long, had it not? Did Lady Sister's presence in this village worsen it again?) begins to press at his bow arm, the strain of quick, repeated attacks taking its toll. Andrei does not dare lower his bow, however. There are too many threats here, and he cannot afford to falter.

His anger boiled over, clarity sharpened his mind, and his spell was aimed at one of the last remaining trees.

Prayer Ring heals Ephidel for 1HP! 8/10HP Ephidel 8/10HP critically hits Corpse Tree C 5/5HP with Fimbulvetr at melee range [Roll: 20 + 6 = 26; -5, Corpse Tree C 0/5HP] Corpse Tree C has been defeated! Corpse Tree C drops three yellow dream crystals!

But again, its allies retaliated. The final tree snapping its limbs at Ephidel's leg, staggering him fully to the ground.

It was more of a struggle to stand back up now, as he was beginning to feel the effects of his damage.

The rage inside him began to simmer, as the winds around them slowed.

miasmic slime b attacks andrei with miasmic sludge (1): 0 damage andrei hp: 10/10 andrei counters with brave bow (19, 19): 4 damage miasmic slime b hp: 0/3 miasmic slime b drops three red crystals!

Daylight still trickles between the shadows of the trees, and maybe that is what deters the motions of the shadowed monsters, for their movements are more sluggish than he remembers. One of the two breaks away from Ephidel's ring of ice to lunge for Andrei, but falls short before he even needs to dodge, landing with an unpleasant squelch feet away from him.

He looses one arrow, then another, both striking true against the monster. It explodes, then, into a familiar shower of red sparks, leaving a few crystalline remnants behind. The other monster of the same constitution turns at this, rearing up in his direction. Andrei doesn't give it a chance to do more than that.

andrei attacks miasmic slime a with brave bow (6, 9): 4 damage miasmic slime a hp: 0/3 miasmic slime a drops one white crystal!

The trees pay him no mind, instead focusing their efforts on Ephidel. Icy wind whips through the branches, limiting their movements, but at the same time seemingly doing little damage. Raw rage, rather than the cold precision Andrei had come to expect from him, seems to be driving Ephidel in the moment, and his attack is suffering for it. Andrei narrows his eyes, and aims once more.

galeforce activates! andrei attacks corpse tree a with brave bow (5, 5): 2 damage corpse tree a hp: 3/5 corpse tree a counters with ruinous branches (3): 0 damage andrei hp: 10/10

Like the branches, his arrows are buffeted by the same cold wind swirling around Ephidel's person, both only grazing the edge of one of the corpse tree's limbs. Its returning blow, too, is lost to the wind, which had hardly died down since the beginning of the battle. "Ephidel!" Andrei calls, bow still held at the ready in case this shift in attention would result in the other's rage being turned towards him, "Control yourself!!"

Neither of them would be able to fight properly, if this continues.

Without breaking eye contact, Fimbulvetr was focused enough and shot at the enemy.

Prayer Ring heals Ephidel for 1HP! Ephidel 9/10HP Ephidel 9/10HP hits Corpse Tree B 5/5HP with Fimbulvetr [Roll: 7 + 6 = 13; -2.5, Corpse Tree B 2.5/5HP] Poison Strike activates! Corpse Tree B 1.5/5HP

The direct hit sent snow crystals crawling up the capillaries of the tree trunk, eventually leaving it frozen over solid.

Corpse Tree B is Frozen! Corpse Tree B is unable to counterattack!

Then the enemy was upon him again, branches snapping forward. While only one set managed to connect, it was aimed squarely at his center. Momentarily staggering him and weakening the storm.

Corpse Tree A 3/5HP hits Ephidel 9/10HP with Ruinous Branches [Roll: 12 - 4 = 8; -2, Ephidel 7/10HP] Ephidel is unable to counterattack!

But they had a mission to accomplish, and from the tracks on the earth, that direction provides their strongest lead thus far. And besides, it would be unwise to allow Ephidel the freedom to act without a single witness.

(Ephidel had made the decision to ally with him, last he acted without a witness, had he not? Andrei tries, and fails, to put that regret-tinged thought out of his mind.)

Striding forth to match the other's pace, they travel in silence for just a few moments as Andrei notes the drag marks growing more pronounced, as though no real effort had been put into hiding these tracks. And not far ahead, still within the shadows of the trees — a slumped figure.

There, at the very edge of this clearing, he lay. Purples blooming across his throat, and reds dripping from his breast. Despite his serene expression, as though napping blissfully in the sun, there was no question about it.

Heat did not radiate from him. There was no pulse of energy. His quintessence--long held dear, as though a hearth often warmed by--was gone.

It was gone. He was gone.

He

was gone.

Embers from that hearth spat over, leaving red hot coals upon the ground. Coals that Ephidel grasped at--even as they burned his limbs and caught on his sleeves--for even just the smallest thing to keep. And keep it he did. The embers did not die with Lord Nergal, Ephidel was merely their kindling.

If the Dragon's Gate had felt like lightning that wracked his frame immovable, then this was an all consuming fire. Heat burned white-hot in his core even as ice crystalized up his limbs. A chill fell over the forest. Frigid winds whipped up all around them.

"Who did this." He murmured.

Who did this to him? Who could kill a god? Who snatched away Ephidel's entire reason for being? He was meant to protect him, die for his sake. How could he outlive his very purpose?

"Who did this." Ephidel said louder, but no less chilling. The winds whipped harder, and the air around him began to freeze.

Without Lord Nergal, he had nothing. Without Lord Nergal, he was nothing.

"I w i l l f i n d y o u." He boomed, in a way that reverberated much larger than his frame. A frame that could now barely contain him.

Fimbulvetr was let loose, buffeting everything around him.

"W h e r e a r e y o u?!"

Emotion Unlocked

Rage

As if to answer and stop the blizzard consuming their home, the trees seemed to twist to life, and just beyond, dark shadows skulked from their roots.

They began to attack, branches snapping at Ephidel and tearing his vestment. Fimbulvetr swirled faster, but lost in rage as he was, he could not focus the spell properly against the enemy.

Being a knight, however, she could not be distracted from her duty for very long.

It is through this determination that Selena finds herself in the village’s approximation of an apothecary. Though the mage could not claim knowledge in the art of developing medicine—she was not even versed in white magic (or as it was referred to in Fódlan: faith magic)—seeing the emperor again, plagued still by the illness that had gripped him in life, she could not help her desire to alleviate whatever he may be suffering behind his smile; anything, she would do in the service of His Majesty.

She learns first by observing, passing along herbs and the like when she is asked; then by actively doing, if just one step in the process. Gradually a proficiency is built, until she is able to work with a fraction of the same efficiency as the other villagers, even if she did not yet know what each aid was for. The knowledge is internalized, fossilized into stone; carried on for when she returns later, alone.

Perhaps it is merely her nature that she cannot remain idle for long; or maybe it is that she does not tire at the same rate as the other villagers. Whatever the reason, the work begins anew—sorting through baskets and using freshly gained information to do more; to assist; to aid.

(A few moments pass; she recognizes the faint presence of another.)

Eyes turn instinctively, an old weapon expecting a threat—and a sharp gaze softens, when she realizes that it is not. “Oh,” is all she says at first, before continuing: “You’re…”

…not quite like the others, but that wasn’t what Selena intended to say. Though his eyes glimmered unnaturally and his presence was as loud as a doll’s, Selena assumed humanity of the man she was looking at. Given all the facts, she had no reason to assume otherwise.

“…one of the clergy members, right? Of the Church of Seiros?” (He had walked alongside them; the long path from the monastery to the tear to Rusalka.) “Are you here to make medicine as well?”

The Fluorspar stands, taking the supplies to her work station and setting them down. “I am, at least. You’re free to join me, if you’d like.”

Light-footed as he was, it was not long before Selena sensed his presence and turned with sharp reflexes. She clearly had the skills of a well worn general, but Ephidel did not flinch before her sudden attention. He merely blinked owlishly as she asked her question.

"Indeed," He spoke softly, stepping forward and beginning to roll up his sleeves for work. "I am a deacon of her faithful, well versed in the healing arts. So I was asked to assist in preparing medicine."

Chemistry was admittedly one of Ephidel's weakest areas of healing knowledge--lacking taste and bodily functions to metabolize tinctures made such work difficult--but he had begun to learn more of it from Lady Deirdre.

The morph joins the Fluorspar then at her invitation, taking up an area for his own work, and regards her one last lingering time. Staring for perhaps an uncomfortable length of time.