duty bound

neirsung​:

    “ …I knew not that there was a threat of cold to be fearing in the first place, ”  Iuchar mutters behind his now doubled up scarves. In his whole life, he doesn’t think he’s ever been this coddled before— not by his retinue of retainers, not by any of the older women he’s met, and certainly not even his own mother…!

How does one go from being told to fall to learn from his mistakes to now being bundled up so much to avoid getting a cold on a sunny day like this? Of course, it was still early spring, but this certainly had to be too much!

He’s yet to catch anything on his rod, and he certainly doubts he’ll catch a cold either, but he is instead caught off guard by the sudden shaking of the ship. Before he can ask what’s stirred the professor into a tizzy, ( or why it’s by Naga’s name he’s calling of all things ) the older man is already handing down orders with as much efficiency as he does clothing.

In a moment, Iuchar sees this motherly steward of a man for the severe knight he’s been hired by the academy for, and for this once, he’d show deference to his call.

“ Allow me! ”  The Abyssian grabs a nearby harpoon, beginning to rig it by example of a nearby crewman doing the same. Pulling back the rope around the harpoon’s dart and securing it loosely with some on-board adhesive, the lad takes to the side of the ship nearby Frederick to see what exactly it is he’s to be fearing.

A creature swims quickly through the waters, cutting through it almost effortlessly. It is huge, but it only means that it is a bigger target to hit. Iuchar takes a deep breath, tracking the beast’s movements and figure out the best plan of attack.

Whilst it is gargantuan, it is still a fish, but there was the matter of the fact a harpoon would in no way be able to skewer one end of the fish and come out the other. He had to aim for a place that would puncture a hole then and stay there even as the creature fought.

Iuchar is no wielder of the lance, always preferring the axe and never straying, but for that moment when he takes aim and the sun glimmers off of his harpoon, it looks as if he was born to wield it. The harpoon flies out of his grip, creating its arc through the sky as it successfully sinks into the crest beast’s flesh even with the numerous disadvantages set against the beast’s foe.

[ d20 roll: 19. Critical Hit! ]

“ Aid me, Sir Frederick! Take hold of the ball at the end of my line! ”  he barks out his own order, pointing to the brightly colored ball weighing down the several hundred meters of rope connected to the harpoon he had launched. Whilst Frederick certainly looked strong and could help Iuchar reel in their catch, he gave Iuchar more the impression of being an unstoppable wall rather than a pair of deft hands, and what they needed now more than ever was that wall to anchor them as the beast fought for its life.

Gloved hands take hold of the rope as it begins to break away from the pole of the harpoon, and Iuchar musters all the force he can into pulling back against it, sweat beading his forehead.

[ enemy d20 roll: 10. player d20 roll: 1. ]

But as wounded as the crest beast may be by Iuchar’s well-placed strike, its sheer size and speed lends it force that one pair of hands simply cannot hope to win against, and Iuchar’s body is propelled into the cold waters, hapless as he is dragged along with his prey’s frenzied attempt at escape, holding onto the rope as a lifeline.

        Iuchar, by present observation, was as excellent a spear-hand as any. Especially in time of dire circumstances. That was no mere glean he had managed, but a square shot into its flank—lodging into hardened flesh. “Rather commendable, my boy!” He swiped the ball just as it arrived mid-air, assuring that his mind was not so far lost in this “relaxing” diversion that he could not support his comrades in their time of need.

          Clenching tightly, he made a motion to steel his entire body for the impending tug-of-war. “It’s done, though, my share of the favour has yet to be served!” He wrapped the rope around his arm, ushering the crew come flooding in to support him. However, in the span of seconds, coordination broke into frenzy, as he gazed upon Iuchar’s figure being thrown into the velvet blue. “My boy!”

      Though he was rather indisposed at the moment, wasn’t he? “By Naga—” A torrent of sea spray scattered against the side of the boat. And the beast attempted to pull the rest of the crew in as well, though he had a hardy grip on the end of his line. With every attempt to escape for its life, came a force just slightly more secure from their end. He supposed that if one were to scrutinize the situation, a beast against a seafaring craft was a test of will—and both were evenly matched. 

[ enemy d20 roll: 2. player d20 roll: 6. ]

      “Iuchar, watch your back!” Frederick is a veteran at polearms and a master of pick-me-up emergencies. Beads of sweat ran off his forehead, as he thundered every inch of strength into his harpoon and straight into the air. His aim, however wasn’t as solid as Iuchar’s, and the blade locked firmly into its tail. With a vehement roar, it flailed under a solid pin into its flesh. Frederick simply prayed they’d be able to immobilize the beast before it took Iuchar beneath the waves. 

[ player d20 roll: 16. ] 

      Without warning, the ship lurched forward, in an attempt to get a closer aim at the beast. Its sigil glowed ominously, breaking the ocean’s surface in ominous foreshadowing. What of the divine and sacred seals propelled humanity into action—if not for fear and a stepping stone for glory?

incursionparagon​:

Sometimes, Cordelia thought she could watch Frederick for time unending. Amongst the Shepherds, she knew none who could compare, who could rise so easily and thanklessly to every challenge and still come back town to raise them all higher; he was at times, she feared, a silent cog, as essential as he was unpraised. More worrisome still was that he seemed not to mind it. 

He was unlike her, far from the loudly lauded paragon so many proclaimed her to be– and yet, he saw her more truly than she had been seen since what felt like before the Risen had first marred the fields of Ylisse. Just as he raised all their fellows up, so too did he raise her– not to the mantle of paragon, but to the praise of diligence, of all the little things so many others thought she had no need of. He had seen her as she was, and she took it upon herself to do the same. 

And see she did; Cordelia saw as he cast a stern gaze that swept across their camp, saw as the vestiges of affection did so quietly soften its edges in moments small and precious… saw as he turned to her, a commander commanded, and bowed his head a man made of swathes of crimson and adoring eyes. How one person forged of steel and standard could blossom as he did to kindness spun of heartstrings and gold, she doubted she would ever understand… but that was half the fun of watching him, was it not? 

The corners of her eyes crinkled slightly as he froze with springtime flush upon his face. If he was this lovely now, then when the day came that he found the one who matched him in all regards (for surely that day would come; knowing him, she could have naught but faith)… 

The light within her eyes dimmed only just, even as the smile playing upon her lips grew wider. If the gods were good, she would see it one day, from however far she might have to stay. In just this moment, however, as he looked to her, very nearly abashed… 

A chuckle fought against the confines of her quiet smile, burbling at the sides and protesting against the weight of the arched brow she levied against her husband. “Frederick…” She began, the lilt of her voice softly swept down, “You’re wonderfully sweet… but no. That doesn’t count. At all.” 

He knew as much when he’d asked, she was certain, though his words suggested he’d wrongly pegged the reason. Did he think, then, that he could distract her from it with tenderness and ribbon rings? 

(She had not remembered the sunlight being so warm. He was almost right. Almost.)

Then she found herself laughing, despite herself, chin tucked down and eyes gently narrowed and a crescent sliver of a smile waking in the moon. She loved him, though the name of it was not as it should have been; if only she could love him better. 

“You’ve made a very terrible mistake, I’m afraid.” The smile did not match the words. “It seems as though you’ve mistaken a matter of course for a wish. Yes, Frederick, I’ll sweep the grounds with you… but I expect to hear a real wish when we’re done.” She stepped forward as if to brush past him, though she did not truly pass– and there, she dared to cast a playful wink, her hand dropping to her side (though she did not neglect to take his with her). “…hee hee. Do you hear me? Now let’s go. If you’ve not already made yourself acquainted with the cleaning closet, it would be my honor to show you.” 

        The corners of her eyes crinkled, taking with her every last inch of his heart—springtime was in its nature, one of folly and servitude, but if she was so contented he would choose to be a fool each time. She knew not that the nature of both his requests were earnest. There were moments where being apart from her was unbearable, and to ask for more time was a wish ambitious enough to implore for an entire field of ribbons to hang. But, of course, what was a wish to a woman with the moon on her shoulders?

        Her arched brow dashed the last of his hope of getting away with asking for just company (and her company, so just, walked beside him unwavering.). He would see to it then, to come up with a wish fitting for his wife, of whom bubbled in the likeness of a well-loved, well-walked summer. "Drat." The smile did not match the words, and how he smiled, indeed. "A mistake? In your company? I am beside myself."

        There is hardly a mistake between the two of them, bestowed with a diligence to the highest regard of life, action, and pursuit of grime. While she whited out the blots in the sky, opponents to His Highness— predators and the likes— he, too, ironed out every slightly demeanor in sight. The nature of her compassion was one steepled in dedication to her craft, and an understanding that acuity secured less casualties and far-spanning lives for those who deserved the world. So to even suggest mistakes was laughable, and almost worth moving to tears. (Of joy? Melancholy? Who was to say?)

        But the smile did not match the thought either.  For as they walked a fresh spring, her cheeks were powdered in rosy thunder, enough to take any means of rapport right from under his wings. She winked and he hardly had a breath to spare. Frederick was slightly taken aback by it all, though in his memories he remembered she loved in ways he hung onto with every word.  Romantic in nature, clear in intention, lost in the ways of the past. He summoned two brooms from the staff stall, contemplating if it was truly the trick of the light.

        "I found you instantly," He confessed, undisguised to his own desires. Her laughter jingled like bells and he took note that the only wrinkles he would never iron were the ones around her eyes. "Which was a relief, given that I was just about ready to scour the entire grounds to see you."

        "How have you been? Were the scarves I sent you to your liking?" He had knit plenty while planted in the thought of her crescent moon smile. Strewn to the side were plenty with the wrong knots and worn out edges that were thusly donated to his recruits.

        Frederick encountered many a-question, though he evidently wished to keep the conversation as palpably desirable as possible. So instead, he slowed their stroll, pacing himself in precise sweeps lest he miss even a moment more of her. Of every season, he found that spring matched her longing the most. And because he longed, with ardor, for that longing, he lingered in spring until it consumed him.  Until the sun hit her silhouette and profusely spread over her, like a gossamer halo.

{ Skill Points: } 5 → 7 !!

Riding D -> C

(”My comrades in arms have my utmost respect.”)

elegiac-boar​:

It was a strangely paced battle, at times he felt completely drained only to right after feel sound and healthy once more. It was due to Rhys’ magic, he was sure- the priest had been working hard to keep everyone on their feet, trying all kinds of healing magic to patch them all up.

Dimitri got reminded of his own failure at the very first round, but tried to not shrivel in shame at the memory. They had more important things at hand to pay attention to now, such as how the tiger readily advanced towards Rhys with its claws at full display.

It looked terrifying, but thankfully the priest seemed just fine. “Professor…!”

Then, the snake made another appearance, almost as if prowling around them to launch another attack. Dimitri looked at his own hands, and prepared himself to take a chance.

Dimitri casts Ivaldi! Roll1D20+4= 12, hit! 

Leto HP= 13/20

Another burning blast of magic struck the flying dragon,its screeches rattling his bones before its demeanor changed from pained to one of raw anger.

Leto counters! Roll= 5, barely hit!

Dimitri HP= 7/10

Dimitri is poisoned! Dimitri HP= 6.5/10

But the prince’s successful shot seemed to be enough to at least momentarily cause the snake to become almost as if dizzy, its attack only grazing at Dimitri’s leg as he tried to duck out of the way. 

“We are getting there, the flying snake at least seems to be getting weaker!”

@prhyst​ or @keen-kin​ or @dutybounded​

        Sir Rhys is a man of many means. He means to heal. He means to maim. Frederick was quite proud of his prowess, given that he had vastly improved since the first round. And of course, Lord DImitri was a master of his own deeds. He casted a burning blast of magic-- Frederick is unfamiliar with the spell. But still, he admired the flames as they cindered and split through Dimitri’s fingers. 

        Distracted, Frederick was almost throttled by Leto herself, as she tried to tear into him passively with a beautiful, tragic cry. He gasped for a moment, for air, as the dragon seemed less aggressive and more... viable to be hurt? The cry of isolation did not leave him quaking at all, though he felt... pity for the thing. Almost. Frederick could not put a finger on it, but he knew for a fact that it could hardly do anything at all against him. 

Leto rolled Isolation. 1! Miss! Frederick: 10/10HP

        However, Frederick was not a man of mercy, especially not on the field. He had to take his team home, safe and sound. He had to make sure that nothing would come of them. If he was a danger to anyone, let it be to his enemies. Wielding his knuckles, he calmly breathed in. Breathed out. Breathed in. Breathed out.

        Carefully now. No mistakes. Just like he had practiced. 

        Calmly, he pounded the sorrowful creature without end, splitting her scales again and again against splicing blades. A first, a second. A third! Twirling, balancing on his feet... He calmly let himself succumb to the very emotion of a good old fashion fight. Leaping into the air, a gust of wind carried him forward in an inexplicable wave of exhilaration. He was always bound to the ground, carried forth by his mighty steed. But just this once, he released a resounding slash into the great Leto, herself.

Frederick Counter: [20, 12, 11, 7] -> -9.5 damage / Leto’s HP: 3.5/10 HP

        And before the guardian reared its vicious head at him, Frederick made sure to set himself a-light. Soaring wonderously towards the finish-line, he ensured that might Gricenchos would never rise again. Opposing him at every turn, for every cut Frederick whirled into existence, Father Almighty raised a paw to slash into him with ease. A slash for a slash. Ferocity for ferocity. By the time his vision cleared of his unending passions, Gricenchos was clawed up, on the ground.

One-Two Punch Round 1: [16, 9, 8, 2] Never miss! 12 Damage // Gric Counters Tiger Claws: [12, 5] -> -4.0 HP damage Fred // Fred: 10 -> 6 HP // One-Two Punch Round 2: [18, 18, 12, 3] -> 12 damage // Gric Defeated!

        “Carry forth our will, my friends!”

incursionparagon​:

If there was anything in Cordelia’s life that could be certain, then it would be her affection for the man before her. Affection, she thinks, because it comes in the comfort of his company, in the realization of the person behind the paragon, in crimson shades of fire and sunset and wind whipped hair and everything except for that which he yearns for most; affection, she thinks, because she does not love him the way he deserves to be loved, nor can she ever be worthy of the way he loves her. 

That was not to say she did not love him! No, she loved him with a warmth she’d never thought she would– but the truth of it was that she saw him now, better even than she had during the war, for all she’d foolishly thought she understood back then. She saw, and in him saw love as the endlessly warm and gentle thing she’d never known it could be. Love was blind, or so the poets said, but she could never claim to care for him if she did not see the heart so wasted upon her. 

“I… love you.”

Then her fingers stilled, and it was winter, cold and real. She could not love him as he deserved to be loved, as wholly and gently as he loved her– he kissed the ring she wore without deserving to, and she knew: if she claimed to love him even a fraction as he loved her, she could not keep him. 

“…Frederick,” she murmured softly, for that was all she could say, but through the scarlet of his face and the widening of his eyes and– my! Did he blush down to his ears?– a faint smile rose to her lips, fondness glowing in the cavern of her heart. Next to him, she could never claim to be kind, but not here– not yet– and most certainly not in public, at the very least. He swept past the confession as he might the stones at her feet, though its truest testament remained there, a ribbon once detested now spun about his finger. He reached for her–

–and she caught his hand, pulling it up again, not in scolding but in mischief, the twinkle returned to her eyes as she allowed her thumb to rest over one of his knuckles. 

“…I know you would,” the pegasus knight replied, the ghost of a laugh swaying in the gentle waves of her voice. “Luckily for you, however, I only need you to stand right here.” 

Her own ribbon easily tugged free, no sooner unwound from her own finger than it was caught again, and she paused for but a moment. A ring on the wrong hand still, a mistake soothed with a pair, something once again suffered to make it theirs– 

“Ah… Your other hand, please.” There– there– she tied the ribbon carefully about his ring finger, eyes fluttering near to closed as she left her wish with him, that he might find the one worthy of his ring, that he might receive all the love he has so silently, so selflessly given and more, that he– that he will be happy one day, because above all she knew that happiness had been all he’d ever wished for her.  (It never does occur to her that she might have spent her wish on something (someone) else.)

“And… there we go.” A laugh caught in the cage of her fingertips, undeniably pleased with her handiwork. “It looks rather fetching, doesn’t it? Now, then – how might I help you make a wish of your own? I won’t take no for an answer, Frederick!”

        She doesn’t answer him, of course. It’s not her call to give, nor her confession to bleed. It’s his heart that is on the line, and he knew from the very depths of his soul that he was not poor, in love. He was not ‘poor’ in matters of the heart. Having agreed to a convenient matrimony, he had consented to this life he lived without question and with every last shred of dignity he could afford. An ‘I love you’ from him is, nevertheless, sincere. And he’s glad to be able to run his blasted mouth like a man, madly in love—for it would have been so much harder to shroud his secrets and go about his life without ever telling her. 

        He knows when she said her name, in wintry tones so warm, that she was aching in the same waves she was grateful. Such was the paradox of being married to a man of whom she simply did not love like that. At the very least, he was not deserved of pity, and she knew as such. Whatever she could give, he would accept gracefully. And as she ebbed and waned, her voice brought him such comfort... her touch, even more so. He was commanded to stay still, and just as Frederick was loyal, he was most certainly obedient. Clearing his throat, he straightened up like a soldier called to hail his superior. 

        “Ah, yes...” Offering her his hand, Frederick peered curiously as her hands moved to take it. With such grace and affection, she looped her ribbon perfectly around his ring finger. And his heart leapt at the mere implication of it. Surely, she had not forgotten that he had chosen his lot, and he had chosen to walk down this path with him. His ring was on his right for a reason. She had accidentally mixed it up one day (”right instead of left, my sweet?”) and he, against every inch of resistance from his own perfectionism, decided to match her. If that was not a testimony of his love, he didn’t know what was.

        And now, with a ribbon on his real ring finger, he supposed this was a testimony of hers. He’s red, of course, far more flushed than a trained knight ought to be. He heard his heart drum against his ears, as loud as a war march. But what was one to do when smitten? The very prospect and conduct of a husband was to be true. And his expressions often spoke for themselves. “Ah... A wish?”

        “Am I permitted to say I’m quite satisfied seeing you again? That I need not wishes? That you... are the only wish I need?” Frederick never once broke his gaze, as his furrow brow had long vacated. He thought that it wasn’t romantic enough for her. And probably wasn’t enough to satisfy her fanciful offer. “No? Is that too much?”

        Clearing his throat, he continued. “Might I propose then...” 

        He cupped her hand with a persuasion of the highest of lovers, bringing onto it a soft kiss. And tied the ribbon onto her left ring finger, to mirror her own dedication. Raising his face, just so, to catch her expression, Frederick smiled.

keen-kin​:​

As Rhys cast his spell, Larcei felt a sense of relief. She no longer felt any sickness, and although she still had some aches, she felt so much better. “Thank you!” She called out. 

As Dimitri went to heal Rhys, she saw an opportunity to attack. The enemy looked incredibly tough, but Larcei had confidence in her team. Frederick had already weakened it up, with an incredible 8-punch combo. 

Larcei didn’t know if she’d be able to pull that off, but she felt inspired by his moves, by the speed of his attacks. So as she rushed in, she strived not just for strength, but for speed. 

> Nimble combo used > Larcei rolls: 17, 22, 12, 13. 4 hits! (-8hp)

Four clean punches, and she leaped back to try and avoid a counter… 

A counter that never came. 

> Wyvern lord’s hp: 8 -> 0

As the wyvern lord faded away as all their previous foes had, Larcei looked around. Maybe there’d be reinforcements… but no. The round was over nearly as soon as it had started. And two of her allies still hadn’t recovered from the poison… 

“Only one more to go!” She congratulated her teammates. They had this in the bag.

        Top of the round, and he was quite reassured that they would be okay. There was little hint of much else but a sure confidence! Frederick, of course, had to make certain these victories, so he poised to heal the others before moving forward in battle. “Sir Rhys... If I may!”

        Raising his hand to send forth healing magic, he made certain that the man was devoid of all poison before tending to the others. Rhys was a man of great integrity, healing others before focusing on himself. But just as he was, he was a great soldier and a great comrade to have on any team. As such, Frederick had to focus on his condition, for if Frederick was not going to look after him, who was?

        A beam of warmth shot from Frederick’s palms, reaching out and embracing Rhys in a blanket of light. Though it was not visible, Frederick knew that any poison that was left in his body would have vacated it by now. Such was the power of light and faith, he supposed. He would have had to look into that carefully, to ensure that Cordelia and the Lords were in better shape for later. 

Frederick used Restore. Rhys now unpoisoned.

        “Now! I am off to tend to Lord Dimitri’s poison status as well! Thank you for all you have done so far, my good sir.” Politely, Frederick bowed to the healer, leaving a full impression of his admiration for the man as of these last few rounds. 

        He pattered off in the other direction, throwing all his fret towards Dimitri instead. Such was the life of a Great Knight, was it not?

silver round // @elegiac-boar, @prhyst, @keen-kin

        Tantamount to a good fight was a running start. Careful plans and well laid traps were, of course, important to any operation. Of course they were. However, when it came down to a good old fashioned fight, one must take to emotion like flame. It would catch readily, so long as one was willing to let everything go and fight solely on feeling. Fight solely on the balls of your feet, until the last fist is thrown, the last axe is downed, the last breath is taken. Frederick knew that it had to start somewhere. So why not start with him?

        “Allow me, students!”

         Untethering himself from the floor was easy. Even if he did not have his trusty steed Josephine with him, he knew what it felt like to be free. Buckling his brave knuckles tightly, he charged ahead—emulating steam as he bolted straight towards the Wyvern Lord himself. Landing a solid punch, the strongest of his will from his fist onto the chest of his enemy, he threw his entire body weight into the next. This time he knew even lightning, at this range, was unmissable. A second, equally blaring strike landed on flesh, cutting into scaly armor and scraping up a sullied mess! But such was the fate of a monstrous fiend.

Frederick used One-Two Punch! Never Miss! -1.5* 4 = -6HP damage. Wyvern Lord’s HP: 14/20HP // Prayer Ring grants +1 HP to Frederick: 9.5/10 HP

         A third, a fourth, burning wounds into the Wyvern Lord before it could even roar in thunderous opposition. Just as he was about to plow another punch in, the Wyvern Lord flitted its arm forward, fronting a full-on magic attack. To his fortune, and likely the vision of his loved ones leading him to dodge for his life, the hit was quite light. He felt it singe his hair just slightly, leaving him sore, but still readily able.  

        “There will never be enough prayers to save you now!”

Wyvern Lord rolled 7, barely hit! -1.5 HP damage. Frederick’s HP: 8 HP / 10 HP

        Lunging at his opponent, he lit his fists a-flame in sheer emotion, riveting from side to side, meeting flesh and scale. It was fury, it was exhilaration, it was every bit he had trained to do to serve his lord, his lady, his nation. But now, they were just in a ring fighting ghosts. Regardless, Frederick was not going to leave his team disappointed. Honing every inch of his mind towards feeling, the flow of time sauntered backward. And he knew he would make each mark, as though it were his first. (And as though it were his last.)

Frederick used One-Two Punch! (Pt. 2) Never Miss! -1.5 *4 = -6HP damage. Wyvern Lord’s HP: 8/20 HP remaining.

prhyst​:

“Um… let’s see.” Rhys had planned to just restore and cure people’s poison, but if they just had one enemy left, that Ragnarok spell could hurt a lot more than poison.

He raised his fists. The aura knuckles were comically large on just about anyone, including him. The ornate gold, magically charged gauntlets couldn’t be farther from his usual garb, but that was what this was for, right? To train and learn?

It was silly to imagine he’d ever be a great warrior. That was a dream he’d given up long ago.

But he was here now, and he could do his best!

“Uh, here I go!” Rhys took a running start at the valkyrie. “HYA!”

Rhys First Roll: Nat 20! -4, but -.5 to that. -3.5 to valkyrie. Valkyrie HP: 2

The first strike with the knuckles caught even Rhys off guard. He threw a punch as best as he knew how, and his mouth dropped open as the blades of the gauntlets pierced the projection’s neck with a flicker. No, blood, but-

“Woah!” followed by a reflexive, “I’m sorry!” even as he punched again.

Rhys Second Roll: 6, -1, but -.5 to that so Valkyrie HP: 1.5

The second hit landed though not as cleanly. He scrambled away, still in awe at himself as the valkyrie sent a Ragnarok spell his way.

Valkyrie Roll: 2, miss!

The raining fire missed Rhys entirely. He still wheezed with exertion as he ran away from the enemy, panting and eyes wide. “Did you guys see that! I- wowee. Mia would be proud,” he added quietly to himself.

@dutybounded​

        Since the last man standing had all but gotten his soul slapped out of him, Frederick almost considered stepping back for the Lord or Lady to do the final touches. Almost. He had, of course, the instincts of a knight who had trained all his life for moments like this. It was easier than breathing to him, as all the pieces fell into place and parted the very ocean for Frederick to get to his final destination. Frederick touched upon something he hadn’t since the first couple of rounds, rearing up for a full throttle attack to finish the poor soul up. 

        Burning with inspiration from Sir Rhys full spin attacks, Frederick watched as he landed one after another in a succession that would make even tornadoes envious. It touched upon untapped potential on the priest’s hidden talents, and though he may not have noticed it as of yet, he would have made for an impressive hand to hand combat fighter. And he wanted to join him in this spirit of combat. 

        “Pardon the intrusion! I’ll clean up these pebbles on the road!”

        He swung freely, blighting out any notion of a counter attack. Throwing out a ferocious punch, and then a second in no time flat, he felt each knuckle pierce into the projection with ease. Turning a half step, foot lightly sifting the dirt off the training grounds, Frederick rolled another gauntlet thrust into the figure’s chest. He breathed in once, absorbing a final ounce of strength that came with being amongst such coordinated strength.

        …And struck down the Valkyrie with a punch that thundered in finality. It rumbled as the projection shattered down to its feet, disappearing in that last forceful smash. Frederick watched the vision fade and finally remembered to unclench his jaw. 

Frederick rolled 13, 9, 7, 6. Valkyrie defeated! 

        “Ahhh, nothing like a clean battle, wouldn’t you say? I propose we prepare a strategy for the next round, students!” Clapping his hands together, he gladly stepped aside to gather his wits and return to his comrades’ sides. All in a day’s work!

       “Is everyone feeling alright? Do you need a quick patch up?” He was immediately back into his attendant mode, looking everyone up and down to check for damage and bruises. From the looks of it, Sir Rhys may have needed some tending to. And the others were still stirring about like they had remained poisoned from the last round. Well—such exceptional work required exceptional after care! And thus, they were on it!

keen-kin​:

As the rounds moved on, Larcei felt she was getting used to punching stuff. She’d done a much better job in the second round than in the first, despite the more powerful enemies, and she was hoping to continue that trend. 

In preparation for the third round, she chose a new pair of gauntlets yet again. They were lighter than the previous pair, so less powerful. But the guy handing them out said they were specialised for hitting more times in a row. Testing them out, she could certainly feel that. Satisfied, she headed back into the arena with her teammates, noting that even Rhys had opted for gauntlets this round. 

“Nice choice.” She said to him, though she hoped he’d still be healing as well. That sickness from last round hadn’t subsided yet, and they’d all been hit by that brawler’s knuckles… 

Larcei takes 0.5 poison damage Larcei’s hp: 9 -> 8.5

Despite that, everyone seemed to be in high spirits. There was a strange charm this team of theirs had, that encouraged Larcei to do the best she could. Facing down the new team of enemies, one in particular caught Larcei’s eye. He looked sneaky, and would probably be annoying if left unchecked. 

Larcei rolls: 6, 23, 7, 10. Barely hit, critical hit, barely hit, barely- (-12.5hp)

The phantom disappeared before she could make her final blow. 

Thief’s hp: 10 -> 0

Huh? Larcei took a moment to register what’d just happened. Must’ve just been a weak phantom. But, an enemy down was an enemy down, and that was grounds for celebration!

@elegiac-boar​ or @dutybounded​

        “Thank you Sir Rhys! Your actions will be remembered with great care!” Frederick saluted the man warmly, though he had to focus on what he personally could do for the team. He would have to remember to do the same for— Oh, Naga! He didn’t bring a restore spell did he? Glazed over his eyes was a look of apology, though no one expected a Great Knight as himself to do the healing of a troubadour. Even so! He would have to look into that in the next battle, with certainty. 

      As Lady Larcei immediately blitzed out onto the battle field, she ascended upon the rogue-like fiend with a fury he had only witnessed in real war. What beautifully raw power that woman had. Valkyries were of myth, but a skilled archer as her were of legend. “Excellent work, Lady Larcei! You set an example for everyone around you!” 

      Though he was aching to fight, himself, Frederick had already taken it upon himself to look after the welfare of his team. And it looked as though Lord Dimitri was worse for wear... Raising his arm up towards the sky, he summoned the strength of the sun to assist him in his time of need. Such were the lofty powers of light, were they not? Entranced by the sparkling warmth, he imbued Lord Dimitri with a healing spell from afar. 

Frederick rolled 10. He recovered +4 HP. Dimitri’s HP: 9.5 /10 HP!

      “There you are, Sire! Go, show us your true strength!”

elegiac-boar​:

And so, the cavalier had been successfully defeated- thankfully. “Wonderful job so far, everyone! Let us keep this up until the end!” A single phantom stood before them all now, the brawler with poisoned fists, a painful reminded of what was coursing through his veins at this very moment. 

I’m still standing, it’s not so bad right now. He reassured himself, flexing his fingers from under his own heavy gauntlets. The best course of action for opponents that rely on melee combat was ranged weapons, wasn’t it? It was best if he resorted to a spell, then. The prince took in a breath, and attempted to focus on the formula.

Dimitri attacks with Thoron! Roll 1D20= 4, miss!

The electricity barely burned in his muscles, fizzling out in a pathetic spark at his fingers. He must have flubbed something in the formula or wasn’t focusing enough- or maybe he just wasn’t born to be a magic user.

It still felt embarrassing, however. “Ah…come on! I really should take on extra reason classes, now…” Noticing his struggle, the brawler took on a chance to retaliate,

Brawler attacks!

Punch 1 | Roll= 1, miss!

Punch 2 | Roll= 12, hit! 

Dimitri HP= 8/10

He had seen the first swing coming, ducking in time to avoid a blow to his ribs, but the second still managed to hit him square in the shoulder forcing a grunt of pain from the prince. 

Dimitri is poisoned! | Dimitri HP= 7.5/10

“Gh…ah…” The impact from the punch was amplified by the poison, making his muscles sting and his vision swim. Focus, focus.

Dimitri lifted a thumbs up for the others. I’m okay, I’ll be fine.

@dutybounded​

        Under any sort of altered influence, perhaps he wouldn’t be standing where he is today. Perhaps he’d still be following Chrom at his beck and call, on bended knee. Or perhaps he would be regaling information to his recruits back in Ylisse. But for fervent reasons to which he refuses to think too deeply about, he is here. And he has to watch his other comrade in arms be trifled by a succession of hits he cannot block. It’s a bit infuriating, given that his responsibilities as a great knight were to protect, to forge, and to siege. And he had done pity little to pull them out of danger. 

        Which meant that his hits had to count. Furrowing his brow, Frederick breathed in. He stoked the flames in his stomach, waiting for the next opening. He appraised the situation, forcing his way closer to inspect his party’s status. And in doing so, was awarded such kindness by Sir Rhys, himself. “Thank you, Sir Rhys! Your kindness is very much appreciated!”         And he laughed good-heartedly at the healer’s suggestion. “Well, given that we’ve been granted such abilities, I don’t see why not! You should try your hand at using knuckles! Perhaps you will learn something!”

        In their soft pitter-pattering, Dimitri, however, wasn’t looking his best. And Frederick bit his tongue for not paying attention. Even with that thumb in the air, Frederick was rather concerned for the young man... such were the burdens of natural-born leaders. “Lord Dimitri! When we finish up here, I will tend to you immediately!”

        “But for now...” Boiling in his stomach is this desire to dip his hands into the flames once more. It does not consume, him, no— but fascinates him in such a way he cannot fathom. It is everything that he hopes to emulate in his fighting. Everything that he stands for in his fighting. While he is a man of controlled, tempered heat, his combative skills lean solely on such freedoms only fighting will allow. To fight is to be free, to feel emotion is to fight. He leaned his entire soul into it, this flame, that it would consume him whole and allow him the blinding passions to escape whole. 

        “Yield! I will not let you go any further!”

Frederick rolls 19! Does -2 damage. Brawler HP: 4/8 HP left!

        The flames burn up brightly in his wake, and he settled in too quickly to realize what the brawler had hidden in his sleeve. Two strikes, in close succession, slit at his chest and arm so deeply, he felt poison seep into his heart. It hurt like a death strike itself, and he felt unsober just staying still, gripping at his chest. Such excruciating pain! Only to leave him still standing! Perhaps that was the intention... to kill him slowly... He ought to be more careful. 

Brawler rolls 20! and 9! Does -1.5 damage plus poisons Frederick. Freddy’s HP: 8.5/10 HP

elegiac-boar​:

+6HP from Frederick’s Recover! | Dimitri HP= 10/10

Not too long after Dimitri managed to pull himself up to fight, another of his teammates came to his aid with healing spells. It wasn’t entirely necessary, but the knight was faster than Dimitri’s protests. “Frederick…thank you, your help is much appreciated.” In a way, the knight reminded him of Dedue. A gentle giant, always looking out for others- it brought a smile to the prince’s features.

“Uh- you can call me just Dimitri, also!” He called out to Frederick before turning to face the phantoms. Yep, he was just like Dedue.

A Cavalier, a Dark Mage and a Brawler. Yet what made the prince’s stomach gocold was the sight of the cavalier’s weapon- a shockstick. Some time had passed since the mission at Tagzig, but the scars from the electric weapons - both mental and physical - were still clear as day in his mind.

Dimitri gulped down. He’d fight the cavalier if he truly had to, but he wanted distance from that weapon.

Suddently, the phantoms began targeting them, and the one that came towards him was the brawler readying itself with its gauntlets.

Brawler attacks!

Punch 1 | Roll= 4, barely hit!

Punch 2 | Roll= 11, hit! Dimitri is poisoned from the Venin Knuckles!

Dimitri HP= 9.5/10

The first punch only grazed his side, but the second hit him square in the gut, and even though he wore armor in his uniform the impact still forced air out of his lungs. But worst of all weren’t even the hits, but the burning feeling running through his veins that came right after. Weaker than the blaze of his crest, invasive, sapping his energy and making him feel dizzy and sluggish. 

The gauntlets were poisoned. He almost let out a chuckleat the irony, considering how he was the one donning a poisoned weapon before. “Be careful…! This projection’s weapons contain poison!” He warned his teammates before catching movement in the corner of his eye. 

Cavalier attacks! Roll= 3, miss!

At the sight of the shockstick, Dimitri almost jumped out of the way- the cavalier barely able to reach him. The prince lifted his hand in a futile attempt to counter both phantoms, but his heart beat too fast and his focus was awry.

Dimitri counters Brawler with Thoron! Roll1D20= 7, barely hit! | Brawler HP= 7/8

Thoron traveled through his arm, it felt horribly uncomfortable and burned as it exited the tip of his index finger and hit the brawler phantom in a weak but still effective bolt.

Dimitri counters Cavalier with Thoron! Roll1D20= 5, miss! 

Towards the cavalier, nothing. His mind was too scrambled by the scare from the shockstick and the poison to even focus on the spell’s formula. Gather yourself, Dimitri. You must not fall now, you have already embarrassed yourself once.

Icy pools caught glimpse of the mage. That will do. Just get away from the cavalier.

Dimitri attacks with Killer Knuckles!

Punch 1 | Roll= 17, critical!

Punch 2 | Roll= 15, hit! 

Dark Mage HP= 2/5

That’s when he remembered. Mages, more often than not, were rather pysically fragile. Hence why this one crumpled like paper.

The impact felt satisfying, more than before. The first punch in particular- it felt scary, terrifying, at how good it felt. When something crunched under his fists, part of Dimitri shuddered in horror, but another glowed with excitement. Yes, that’s it. that’s it- I have to stop. The dark mage stumbled backwards, curled in themselves, before raising a hand dripping with mire.

Dark Mage counters! Roll= 15, hit! | Dimitri HP= 9/10

It would’ve hurt less if the burn wasn’t accompanied by the flash of poison in his veins. Yet, panting with eyes watering from the dark magic, the prince still lifted his head high. “I…am okay! Let us move on!”

Dimitri is poisoned! | Dimitri HP= 8.5/10

@keen-kin​ or @dutybounded​

        By no small effort, Sir Rhys and Lord Dimitri had carried out most of the grunt work before he even had a word's width of conversation. Goodness! Such brutality from the enemies should have been accounted for, yes but—he was rather glad he managed to heal the lord before charging off in the next direction. Now, while the others were still in rather good shape, he better lay stake towards his chance at combat. And from the very tick in his hands, he knew just what to use.

          Splinting his hands open, he attempted a lengths at which he had never done before. Such was the opportunity of illusions! Reminded of the lick of flame, to which he normally had no query towards during nightly campaigns, Frederick brushed up those memories for his strength. It must be pronounced! That scarlet light! It must be wonderfully handsome, vibrant and true! As a faint glow began to grow in his palms, Frederick excitedly exclaimed, "Now look here! Such delightful power at the palm of my hands!"

         He had kept his zeal tempered long enough! The sparks grew immensely, drawing up rapid spirals of lively heat and passionate flame. And rushing towards the dark mage, of whom had made quite the mess of his companions, he flung the little sun in his hands right towards its dark heart.

         "Too late! There are no confessions after death!"

Frederick rolled 20! Critical hit! Dark Mage HP: 0/5. Defeated!

         Oh, how pleased Cordelia would be when she heard this! He would have to pen Lord Chrom and Lady Lissa immediately! As his foe’s body was engulfed in flame, he watched as it faded away like it had never really existed. Such were the stakes here. Whatever came their way would meet an end quite brilliant.

keen-kin​:​

They’d made it to the second round! In the small break they had, Larcei decided to swap out her iron gauntlets for a shinier, spikier pair. She’d also been offered a strength boosting snack, which she gladly accepted.

“Glad to have you back.” She said as Dimitri returned to the arena, freshly healed. It seemed everyone had decided to switch things up a bit. Seemed like she was the only one not equipped with a tome now. 

She’d punched her way through the first round, and she’d keep punching now. Her first target was the cavalier, who had taken up the very lance Rhys had discarded. 

Larcei rolls: 13, 6. Hit and barely hit! (-2hp) Cavalier roll: 13 (-1hp)

Have you ever tried to punch a horse? Because the moment she rushed forward, Larcei realised she hadn’t. Things went surprisingly smoothly, all things considered. She got one good hit in, one meh hit in… but she could already feel the difference from last round! 

Her opponent retaliated, and lightning coursed through her arm. Thankfully, this magic was weaker than what she’d faced last round. “That was nothing!” She exclaimed. “We’ve got this round in the bag guys!” 

Larcei hp: 7 -> 6 Cavalier hp: 5 -> 3

@dutybounded​

       This round had begun quite abruptly, but he was readily prepared this time around for the worst. He had a physic spell tucked directly into his repetoire, with a little scroll tag detailing exactly how he was to use it, and what sort of utility it could undergo. He had phoenix claws—primarily to practice his gauntlet skills (no, there were certainly no other subconscious motivations involved.) And he had... bolgonone. Oh. Okay, well, no one in his group had any conscious idea that he had a fondness for the heat of a campfire. This would be quite alright! He just needed to keep his mind at peace, for all it was worth.

         “Very good, Lady Larcei! Gauntlets are a bit tricky to maneuver in, but you’ve managed well.” Frederick engaged in instructor mode, falling back on old steps like they were footprints in the sand. It was far more easy to default to that, as it was all he had known for most of his life. As his turn revolved around the corner, Frederick resisted the urge to attempt a bolgonone spell in order to serve his original purpose. Make certain to keep his comrades safe! 

        The Lord was first in his order of operations. Sprawling his hands upright, he focused warily on the sudden rush of power flooding through his finger tips. At first they appeared as yarn strings, similar to the children’s cat’s cradle.... and soon they erupted into a fully bloomed light. Casting such a light towards Lord Dimitri, he made certain that the young man would feel sprightly and ready for the next round of action. “There you go, Lord DImitri! Good as new!”

 Frederick rolled an 11, healing +6 for Dimitri. Dimitri’s HP: 10/10

        “Now, I must attend to the battle. If you’ll excuse me.” Relinquishing his worries for the time being, he prepared for any incoming enemy attacks. What sort of devilry will cry from this round, he wondered?

Oh no oh no.

Rhys had spiritually been in a similar position to Dimitri, shakily smiling with a thumbs up when clearly not feeling his best. If the enemies were this tough in the first round, what would the second or third be like?

“It’s okay! Get some rest- I, er, well, I haven’t had all the best luck either.” Rhys returned the thumbs up. “Juice boxes do wonders! I’ll be with you once we’ve…” he faltered. He didn’t want to be negative, but he could imagine at least one other person, such as himself, needing a forced rest. “…gotten through this.”

He turned to Larcei, hoping his magic would finally have a bit more of a kick.

Rhys Roll: 16, +4 HP to Larcei. Larcei HP: 8/10

It did. The spell healed her significantly. “Ah, whew! Okay, go get em!” he cheered, albeit a little weakly.

Maybe he could ask Dimitri for some juice… no, he was crawling on the ground, that wouldn’t do.

He wheezed slightly, hoping the battle would end swiftly.

@dutybounded​ or @keen-kin​

       “Agh! Lord Dimitri!” Frederick laments the loss of their comrade, far too early into their campaign. With some good will, he does stay conscious, but he seemed out of commission for the time being. Somehow, it feels like a failure on Frederick’s part. He’s obviously not Lord Chrom, but he, like any other Lord, must be protected for the sake of his regional prevalence. And as a professor.... as a knight, it was wrong to stay up while the Lord was taken down. “Please! Do rest.”  (He’d have to retrieve his treats or a healing staff after battle for the poor lad. And while he had the compulsion to do so right now, the battle was already underway.)

         He has little to account for in his time here. He needed to pick up any wary predisposition and clear out this space for the next round, lest Lady Larcei and Sir Rhys become further targets to these projections and their spite. Reading his oven mitts thrice over, he noticed that they were beginning to tatter just a bit from the wear. (He was utterly petrified! These were Cordelia’s...) But it was better to make it out conscious than utterly knocked out of the leagues. “Very well then! Taste my wrath!”

Frederick rolled 13. -1HP to troubadour. Troubadour’s HP: 0.5/10 HP

        Pulling his fist back, he dashed straight into the troubadour for a full throttle, forcing his entire back into the punch. He felt the vision’s bones crack beneath the impact, and oh, how relieved he was! If there was any force to his punches now, he might just make it out in one piece. Glancing over at his comrades, everyone was still in tip top order, now all he had to do was— ngh! 

Troubadour blocked Frederick’s 6 roll. Counters for 6. Frederick’s HP: 6/10 HP

        He had the upper hand! What foul moves! Had he been any slower the enemy would have beat his skull in! Frederick steadied his breathing, preparing for his wits for the next round. It was beginning to make him feel a bit incompetent-- what, with this poor aim and a loss of a comrade. He had to wipe this clean off his records, before long.

elegiac-boar​:​

Archer is poisoned! -0.5HP per turn. | Archer HP= 5.5/15 Troubadour is poisoned! -0.5HP per turn. | Troubadour HP= 6.5/10

It seemed that the poisoned blade of the Venin Axe indeed did work on the phantoms, seeing as they momentarily stepped back and hunched over as if in pain or overtaken by sickness. It was fascinating if it didn’t feel so…strange, mildly morbid even. Shaking his head, the prince refused to allow such sight to disturb him. They are mere apparitions for this training session, they are not in real pain. It wasn’t like him to make use of weapons with poison however, so he was unsure of what to feel regarding the axe.

An excellent weapon, an excellent killing machine- no no no no, not now. Throwing the axe to the side a bit too roughly, Dimitri settled with his steel gauntlets next. Definitely heavier than his usual pair of gauntlets, but fine pieces of armor nonetheless.

Icy pools met with the troubadour, and Dimitri advanced.

Dimitri attacks with the Steel Gauntlets!

Punch one! Roll1D20 = 12, Hit!

Punch two! Roll 1D20= 3, Miss! | Troubadour HP= 4.5/10

Although his second swing missed, the first one hit its target in a solid blow that felt almost satisfying. Despite his physical prowess, the prince rarely ever tried to engage in melee combat. Lances were tradition in Faerghus, and…

It felt too violent. Too visceral, too animalistic. Yet there he was, punching a ghost with steel framing his fists. “Uh…uhm…I am sorry!” Apologizing to a phantom, Dimitri? “I mean- gah, disregard my words!”

The troubadour took a step back from the punch, but then prepared to retaliate.

Troubadour counters! Roll= 9, Barely Hit! | Dimitri HP= 6/10

It hit him in arm, far less sure than his own punch had been, but still hard enough to make the prince wince in pain.

@dutybounded​

        It happens to the best of us, Lady Larcei manages to comfort him before striking her foes yet again. What a strong-willed woman... if she was among them, he had to, at the very least, make sure he wasn’t left in her dust. Gesturing in good will and lending his support as she fended off her enemies, Frederick volleyed a few words of frankness. “Indeed! Though I would hope that I would be able to help you, if only a little!” Truly dissatisfactory work on his end! What would the gods say to this?         “Sir Rhys, steady your arms a bit! Might it be that you— “ His entire body braced itself as the man raised a shock-stick instead of a staff in his direction. Grimacing, Frederick’s disposition for instruction shined through. Really! There was no need for such unprofessionalism in training! He’d have to invite the man to one of Frederick’s Fanatical Fitness Hours to get him on the right track. “Sir Rhys! If you are so nervous in battle, you may very well injure your comrades! Please, do stay behind me and straighten up!”

        Though, he did feel quite grateful that he managed to iron out his issues by the tail-end of that fiasco. “Oh. Ehem.” Clearing his throat, he thought perhaps he had been too harsh on the man. It wasn’t like he was any better, with the oven mitts and parasol in his repertoire. “Thank you, Sir Rhys, I greatly appreciate it. I...I apologize for my harshness earlier.” 

        Lord Dimitri, with no wonder as to his prowess, had practiced swinging with gauntlets soon after. Perhaps it was because they were both on unnatural territory that Frederick empathized quite a bit. With one swing square on its mark and the second swing missing, the Lord held his ground in proper. And following in his weighty motion, right from behind, came Frederick in full swing. 

“The Gods didn’t hear you? Then you’re at my mercy!”

Frederick rolled a 20. Critical Hit. Troubadour HP: 3.5/10 HP Remaining

        He heard a crunch as his fist bruised the man in a curved hook to the nose. There were certainly bones to be broken, weren’t there? If only he had come prepared with proper gauntlets... surely he’d have cleared the way for the others! Upon his second swing, his arms met air and he grimaced. Why was it that he was so heavy footed when it came to hand-to-hand combat? Was it because he had become too accustomed to horseback combat? 

        Before he could say another word, however, the Troubadour doubled back and smited him with their steeled blade. Dastards! The lot of them! He couldn’t bring these injuries home! It would be a disaster to explain to her...

Troubadour countered with 18! Hit! Frederick HP: 7/10 HP Remaining

elegiac-boar​:​

+1 HP from Rhys’ Heal. | Dimitri HP: 9/10

The training session quickly started to feel much similar to a fever dream in a winter afternoon. Dimitri had managed to successfully attack the phantom archer and got countered in return, which was coherent, but then a knight suddently appeared with oven mitts in place of gauntlets and proceeded to deliver a jab to the archer powerful enough that it would’ve easily concussed any average human being. Oven mitts.

And through all of that, he could feel the warm buzz of a healing spell being directed at him- Rhys, the kind priest who had been struggling with a shockstick (shudders) earlier, had offered to soothe his sore shoulder.

All of that in quite the small timeframe. Okay- no problem. A strange training session this was, but it was at least…interesting? Entertaining? Dimitri wasn’t sure of what he was doing.

A sigh, get yourself together, Dimitri. You may think about all of this later.

Icy pools locked with the next target, the troubadour. Because it made sense, right? To make use of this poisonous blade and first make sure all, or at the very least most, of the enemies are struck by it to ensure his team’s victory. Dimitri gripped the axe’s handle tightly, and rushed forward.

Dimitri attacks with the Venin Axe! Roll1D20= 11, Hit! | Troubadour HP: 7/10 + minor poison damage.

Swift and sure much like his previous attempt, it seemed that the Goddess was smiling at him-…or perhaps he had been just being properly diligent in his axe-wielding classes, so his efforts delivered results naturally. 

The troubadour stepped back from the hit, their step visibly off most likely due to the poison, but there was little time to rest before they delivered their own counter.

Troubadour attacks! Roll= 9, Hit! | Dimitri HP= 7/10

“Gh-!” And their attack was just as effective as the prince had been, forcing another grunt from Dimitri. “For projections, they are surely quite strong. A training session this may be, but be mindful regardless!” He called out to his team. 

@dutybounded​ 

        Relief settled in soon after his rush of exhilaration—there was always something to be grateful for when healers came onto the scene in full glory. Sir Rhys had everything in order, healing up the lord of their company to good shape. And goodness! Lady Larcei certainly lived up to her name! He was rather entranced by the very energy of their comradery, as they parried and lit up their battle ground in spirited motions. However, he needed to ready himself for their next plan of action. For success in one round did not mean anything if the battle was lost overall. 

        “Quite right! There is always the trappings of underestimating your enemies. We better keep ourselves prepared for the worst.” Frederick, of course, always had preventative measures in mind. If he were to make it to the next round of battles, he had to be sure to ask for better weapons this time around! It wouldn’t do to continue down a road of oven mitts and parasols! Especially if his comrades in arms were fighting for their lives out there. In measured steps, he found his center of gravity, grounding himself and targeting the archer with a quick one-two.

        And missed. What righteous irony, this was... “Ghastly performance.” He clicked his tongue, disappointed in his sorry display in front of the others. It was a rather fortunate thing that they were all respectable folk, but still... He was not in the leagues of letting himself go so easily, when there was so much more he could manage. “Again then!”

         With another left hook, the archer dodged and slithered away from his grasp, leaving him a failed husk of a fighter. He cursed his lack of training up until now, for it was not luck that could have possibly brought him such shameful results. This couldn’t do! This couldn’t do at all! “By all means, they’re quite capable, aren’t they?”

         He worked up a sweat, feeling tiny beads well up on his forehead. What would Lady Lissa say if she saw him like this? Laugh, probably? He had to better himself, and quickly, or else her inevitable arrival to the school might begin with her calling his knighthood to an end. Not that she was so harsh as he was so self-flagellant. Distracted by his busy thoughts, the archer slung a single close ranged arrow and landed a shot right where his left shoulder was still reeling back. 

 Missed twice! Archer remains at 8HP. 

Rolled 16 for Archer counter. Hit Frederick for 2 HP. Frederick’s HP: 8/10 HP remaining.

        “Argh!” With such a direct hit, he was unsurprised that even a projection could manage to shock him into a stunning sort of pain. Was it supposed to hurt like this? He had to be careful (and for once, he was glad his wife was not taking part in these frivolous events!) lest his weight become burdensome for the others. “I will shake it off. Do be careful everyone! Let us not lose this synchronized energy!”

elegiac-boar​:

The perfect training dummies, or so the projector had mentioned. From the looks of it however, it seemed that her words rang true. Phantoms that acted and reacted just like living fighters, a chance to hone their skills that was much better than hitting wooden dummies all day.

It made Dimitri feel less guilty about destroying the wooden ones, too. After all, phantoms didn’t break nor bleed, they just vanished.

It’s okay, it’ll be fine, he thought to himself. Although the idea of fighting ghosts wasn’t one he was fully comfortable with, this was a training exercise and those phantoms were there to help them all improve in battle,not to disturb him.

And the best part? This gave them all a chance to try on different weapons. Dimitri embarrassedly admitted that his skill when it came to handling weapons was pretty much limited to just lances and swords, him having barely tried anything else. He was a specialist with lances, but with anything else he felt awkward. Time to fix this- with heavy steel gauntlets and an axe with poison painted in its blade.

Dimitri locked eyes with one of the ghostly opponents- an archer, it seemed. “Okay, let us begin. I will cut through!”

Dimitri attacks with the Venin Axe! Roll1d20= 18, Hit! | Archer HP= 12/15 HP + minor poison damage

It felt a bit strange, but his attack was still as clean as it could be. Satisfaction with a little bit of pride bubbled in his chest- his first attempt seemed successful enough as the poisoned blade cut through the archer’s middle.

The archer however reacted just as quickly, jumping back and aiming an arrow at the prince.

Archer attacks! Roll= 11, Hit! | Dimitri HP= 8/10

The phantom arrow lodged itself in his shoulder, earning a gasp from the blond. It felt…too real, to the point it made him take a few steps back, holding his shoulder with his free hand. “Ough-…! I am fine! But…wow, these training dummies surely feel realistic!” The arrow vanished, but the pain persisted.

And that’s why he didn’t like magic. It did things. Weird things.

@keen-kin​ or @dutybounded​

        He isn’t prepared for the likes of a battle. Sure, he had jogged thrice upon the campus, prepared his wife and his sire breakfast, and stoked the fire two-fold, but there was still so much to be done around these parts. He hadn’t even finished baking that chiffon cake that they were preparing in the dining hall before a messenger had expressly told him that he had to be on his way towards the projection hall. Frederick was neither in good humor nor persuaded that they had started half an hour before their mark, but... Perhaps he was just taken in by the festivities that he hadn’t properly checked the time. 

        Gods, he was disoriented. What did he have on him? A parasol for the light weather, lest he meet a fair lord or student that needed shade. And, oh goodness... He forgot to take off his oven mitts? Really? Before he could scheme to retrieve his legitimate gear, the fighting had already flared off. Guess he had to suffice with what was left to him by his bumbling deliberations. Lady Larcei was, of course, in great shape. She displayed a promised skill in hand-eye coordination, and doubled down on shots. Then came Sir Rhys, who was... well he looked as disoriented as Frederick was, wasn’t he? Frederick nodded his sympathies in the fair man’s direction. 

        With the pleasure of anticipation, he readied himself to follow up on Lord Dimitri’s call. A Lord by every means, he deferred to the young man’s judgement and character. And what stunning motions he managed to force in! Now... Frederick was hoping that he could manage half his might, given that he was ill-equipped and unhardened by folly. With a single breath in, he wielded his fists and charged readily towards his foes. The archer had a particular look on their face, one that was just itching for a one-two— MISS. 

Frederick misses the Archer with a 5. 12/15 HP remaining.

        In his shock, Frederick released the last of his inhibition—he would not be subject to old grievances any longer! He had to keep up his pace to protect his comrades! Shedding his cares, Frederick winded around on his feet, making a full turn to load his fist straight into the jaw of the poor, wounded fellow. His essence expounded and surged, leaving way to that very sweet spot that felt like searing fire.

        “Pick a god and pray!”

Frederick rolls a 20. Critical Hit. 11/15 HP remaining.