Suffer as I have.

Studies at the academy are all about preparing oneself for the future, and this consideration has led to an exercise on…parenting! A lucky few students and professors have been chosen to raise awareness for a monumental new program. Assigned with caring for a magically powered doll that requires rocking, reassuring, and cosseting (that will totally not scream and cry at set intervals through the night) what will you and your aptly dubbed ‘partner’ do to meet the challenge? Or will mommy and daddy fumble the diaper bag completely? [Grants Faith +1]

Looking at the doll, she was slightly disturbed by how real it looked. Freyja was one of the unlucky chosen participants. She frowned before taking a look at her " partner." Wait a second. Something about the woman reminded her of ZENITH. Perhaps it was the giant SIGIL behind her head? Freyja can't really put her finger on it. The white curls were familiar, but the last she saw someone with that hair, they didn't look so disheveled.

No. No, there’s little point in freaking out. If it is Askr, then apparently he doesn’t care to consider it important enough to tell her he’s not dead. Askr thinks he doesn’t need her? Fine. He can deal with whatever’s going on by himself. Who needs that idiot cow anyway?! She most definitely does not! She has better things to deal with!

…Like taking care of a fake baby. With the nightmare goat. Whose condescending voice is certainly just as punchable as she remembers.

“Excuse you?” Dragon growls, smacking away the pen and paper floating before her. “Of course I’m allowed,” Ignoring the fact she does have a point — the odds of her being allowed in the presence of an actual infant are extremely low, considering the situation. “This… thing was entrusted to me just as much as it was entrusted to you.”

Embla nearly trips. Who does this insignificant speck think she is? 

The words feel targeted, like an arrow aimed straight at where her heart would be if one still remained. Of course, they aren’t — couldn’t be, but if they were they would certainly strike a nerve. Which she knows, because they did anyway.

“And here I thought humanity prided themselves on self-sufficiency.”She fires a glare right back. “You want to do everything yourself, but the moment something goes wrong it’s always someone else who’s to blame. Typical. It’s pathetic, really.”

‘Pathetic’ is an understatement. It’s infuriating, really. The arrogance of the statement, to believe that gods have a say in death? To then get angry when they don’t? They think she hasn’t tried? Of course she had, and she has no doubt the cow had too when his human pet died. 

"Self-sufficiency is what we strive for, but when that self-sufficiency is ripped away from us, by another god no less," Veronica said, though being as she was still Thrasir, fully being able to express anger was beyond her, "I think we can rightfully wish our own to take action."

Scarlet red fire flared towards Embla, as Thrasir allowed the magic to escape her finger tips. She would have died for Embla. Instead her humanity was stripped from her and she became Hel's puppet instead.

The initial conversation may have been brought upon for the purpose of her objective, but it’s grown far beyond that. So much so that it feels… wrong, knowing that out there, somewhere, somehow, there’s an audience. Far from the first time since her arrival in the worlds, she wished her power of closure still functioned.

“…You put too much faith in the gods.” It feels ironic to say, having been one who once thrived off such faith. Ironic further how little faith she finds herself having in them, too. “Inherently selfish beings, all of them. They might help you here and there, but the moment something big happens, they’re never anywhere to be found.”

Her own words sting her almost just as much as the flames, yet she can’t deny its truth. She’s not blind, she knows her people believe she abandoned them. Doesn’t matter that they abandoned her first, that fellow gods turned on her too in her hour of need, mortals only care what she doesn’t do. Never what she did. There’s no doubt whatever god this one followed is the same. No point in giving false hope.

"I know the gods are selfish," she said, a new spell sparking to life in her hands. "It's impossible not to know. But I disagree with them not hearing me."

Fire crackled with more force this time, it weakened the cliff face she walked on. Good, perhaps this would satisfy her objective. Bread and circuses.

"Some of them hear and laugh at you." Because Hel had. "And no, I don't have a right to be alive. I'm an abomination, a long discarded tool, but as much as it would have been nice for a different outcome; Hel won't let me die!"

Unleashing the magic caused the cliff to shatter under her own feet and she suddenly found herself falling. Instinctively, Thrasir reached up and caught the remaining edge. Now she was truly at Embla's mercy.

Embla’s eye visibly widens, both from words spoken and action taken. Is she from Midgard? Had she been right after all? Then, would that mean those words truly were meant for…?

No. Of course not. Impossible. Embla is fine. It must be some other kingdom, or some insignificant town on the outskirts that was taken. An Askran, probably. If it was one of hers she would know. Their blood is hers, she knows her own blood. Though this one doesn’t have any…

A blink, then another. Snap out of it. Now isn’t the time for that. She might not care about her, but she’d rather be set ablaze than allow the only other connection she has to the world she calls ‘hers’ perish. 

Hardly a moment passes before she’s knelt at the cliffside, gripping the other’s arm tightly. “What are you doing, you fool?!” She hisses out, pulling on her arm to drag the assumed Askran back onto the ledge. She ignores the screaming voice in the back of her mind, shouting how this is so obviously a trap.

“Are you stupid?! Where did you think that little stunt of yours would get you, huh? Glory? Honor? Or are you just making a statement?” It’s strange, but for a moment, her mind recalls saying something along those lines before, long ago… Of course circumstances were different, that was back when she could care. This lecture is just a formality. 

…Their hair is kind of similar.

Embla does not know what the other options are! Scissors again!

…Is that supposed to happen? It’s the same as last time, which was a draw, so this certainly looks like another tie… What does ‘win’ and ‘lose’ in this situation even look like?

"You got it!"

A different outcome, surprisingly. Or, perhaps, not so surprisingly. She assumes ties must be abnormal, at least. What kind of game results in only ties?

Judging by her opponent’s expression though… seems she won. “Hm,” Not exactly in the plan, but alright. “I suppose I get the… ‘top bunk’, you said? Lucky me…”

Her ‘skirt’ twitches, very nearly unfurling her wings to fly to the top before catching herself. Thankfully. Does she care if she’s exposed as inhuman? No. But this room is far too small for her wingspan. She may be stronger than most, and more resilient to pain at that, but smacking her wings against a wall would still hurt. Nothing wrong with climbing the ladder provided. The end result remains the same — sitting, and looking down on the others.

Embla nearly trips. Who does this insignificant speck think she is? 

The words feel targeted, like an arrow aimed straight at where her heart would be if one still remained. Of course, they aren’t — couldn’t be, but if they were they would certainly strike a nerve. Which she knows, because they did anyway.

“And here I thought humanity prided themselves on self-sufficiency.”She fires a glare right back. “You want to do everything yourself, but the moment something goes wrong it’s always someone else who’s to blame. Typical. It’s pathetic, really.”

‘Pathetic’ is an understatement. It’s infuriating, really. The arrogance of the statement, to believe that gods have a say in death? To then get angry when they don’t? They think she hasn’t tried? Of course she had, and she has no doubt the cow had too when his human pet died. 

"Self-sufficiency is what we strive for, but when that self-sufficiency is ripped away from us, by another god no less," Veronica said, though being as she was still Thrasir, fully being able to express anger was beyond her, "I think we can rightfully wish our own to take action."

Scarlet red fire flared towards Embla, as Thrasir allowed the magic to escape her finger tips. She would have died for Embla. Instead her humanity was stripped from her and she became Hel's puppet instead.

The initial conversation may have been brought upon for the purpose of her objective, but it’s grown far beyond that. So much so that it feels… wrong, knowing that out there, somewhere, somehow, there’s an audience. Far from the first time since her arrival in the worlds, she wished her power of closure still functioned.

“…You put too much faith in the gods.” It feels ironic to say, having been one who once thrived off such faith. Ironic further how little faith she finds herself having in them, too. “Inherently selfish beings, all of them. They might help you here and there, but the moment something big happens, they’re never anywhere to be found.”

Her own words sting her almost just as much as the flames, yet she can’t deny its truth. She’s not blind, she knows her people believe she abandoned them. Doesn’t matter that they abandoned her first, that fellow gods turned on her too in her hour of need, mortals only care what she doesn’t do. Never what she did. There’s no doubt whatever god this one followed is the same. No point in giving false hope.

Embla nearly trips. Who does this insignificant speck think she is? 

The words feel targeted, like an arrow aimed straight at where her heart would be if one still remained. Of course, they aren’t — couldn’t be, but if they were they would certainly strike a nerve. Which she knows, because they did anyway.

“And here I thought humanity prided themselves on self-sufficiency.”She fires a glare right back. “You want to do everything yourself, but the moment something goes wrong it’s always someone else who’s to blame. Typical. It’s pathetic, really.”

‘Pathetic’ is an understatement. It’s infuriating, really. The arrogance of the statement, to believe that gods have a say in death? To then get angry when they don’t? They think she hasn’t tried? Of course she had, and she has no doubt the cow had too when his human pet died. 

Was it dangerous? Absolutely. Did Thrasir care? Absolutely not.

What was there to care about? Death? She couldn't die. Not that anyone on this... adventure knew that. Sure, it would be inconvenient to be unconscious for who knows how long, but what was reward without risk?

The company she had been left with though left much to be desired. Was the Embla of her own failed world still alive? Did the Embla of her world care that her followers were all dead? And what did this Embla know? All these questions were unknown. Subconsciously, Thrasir wondered if whatever was left of Veronica resented Embla for not stepping in.

"A rather different terrain to what I am used to," Thrasir said out loud, to see how Embla would respond.

The hardest part, she had thought, would be finding a target. But even that proved simple. A stranger wanting to ‘explore’ took surprisingly easy to her offer to join. Especially considering the… strangeness about her.

She reeks of death. Hel’s death. Yet that couldn’t be right. Not only would that make her from Midgard — impossible in its own right — Hel’s soldiers have always been mindless. This one has individuality. A name.

A name she must’ve heard incorrectly — there’s no way she said ‘Thrasir’. 

Her senses must have weakened further than she thought if she’s making mistakes like this. 

“Is that so?” Even if she’s mistaking the mark of Hel on the other’s being, death is unmistakable. Whatever realm the dead walk in Fodlan can’t be too different from the glimpses she’s seen of Midgard’s in the past; dark and unwelcoming. Annoyingly not too unsimilar to her own realm, but hers is far superior, of course.

"Nay, I believe the island's heart is more volatile," Thrasir hummed, a small smirk crossed her face as she glanced back at Embla. "With potential severe consequences for wrong moves. That is what I'm more used to."

Somewhere that she could manipulate. One well placed spell to upset the delicate balance so she could move in with Líf and rain death and destruction upon a world. A gleam came to Thrasir's eyes as she recalled how she worked at Hel's weapon.

Alternatively… is she being threatened? She smirked. She saw it. No one smirks with good intention. Is she going to try to push her off the cliff? Her ‘skirt’ shifts slightly. There’s a reason she chooses to walk behind when traveling with another, but should her ‘partner’ strike even without the element of surprise, her wings will be ready.

Now to act like she suspects nothing. 

“You almost speak as though you’re experienced with such ‘consequences’. Messed up that badly, did you? How tragic.” She huffs a sharp laugh, though perhaps one that leans more towards ‘mocking’ than ‘friendly’. Something sort of cathartic, in a way. Acting ‘nice’ has been exhausting. If her following the instructions of her objective just so happens to give rise to the option of a break from that… who is she to refuse? 

Was it dangerous? Absolutely. Did Thrasir care? Absolutely not.

What was there to care about? Death? She couldn't die. Not that anyone on this... adventure knew that. Sure, it would be inconvenient to be unconscious for who knows how long, but what was reward without risk?

The company she had been left with though left much to be desired. Was the Embla of her own failed world still alive? Did the Embla of her world care that her followers were all dead? And what did this Embla know? All these questions were unknown. Subconsciously, Thrasir wondered if whatever was left of Veronica resented Embla for not stepping in.

"A rather different terrain to what I am used to," Thrasir said out loud, to see how Embla would respond.

The hardest part, she had thought, would be finding a target. But even that proved simple. A stranger wanting to ‘explore’ took surprisingly easy to her offer to join. Especially considering the… strangeness about her.

She can sense no blood running through her veins, only an essence that reeks of death. Hel’s death. Yet that couldn’t be right. Not only would that make her from Midgard — impossible in its own right — Hel’s soldiers have always been mindless. This one has individuality. A name.

A name she must’ve heard incorrectly — there’s no way she said ‘Thrasir’. 

Her senses must have weakened further than she thought if she’s making mistakes like this. 

“Is that so?” Even if she’s mistaking the mark of Hel on the other’s being, death is unmistakable. Whatever realm the dead walk in Fodlan can’t be too different from the glimpses she’s seen of Midgard’s in the past; dark and unwelcoming. Annoyingly not too unsimilar to her own realm, but hers is far superior, of course.

Ah, well, they’re already going. Who cares. Just copy the kid and get it over with. 

Embla ‘chooses’ scissors!

Mimicking the… whatever that is he’s doing with his hands is easy enough. The heightened senses that come with being divine make it easier to cover the fact she doesn’t know what she’s doing, anyway. Or maybe this game is just easy. It’s been, what, three seconds and it’s already over? Typical mortal attention span.

Okay. Round two then.

"Ro...sham...bo!"

Embla does not know what the other options are! Scissors again!

…Is that supposed to happen? It’s the same as last time, which was a draw, so this certainly looks like another tie… What does ‘win’ and ‘lose’ in this situation even look like?

As expected, the professor speaks for peace, and the knight for violence. Predictable a scene as ever. She may as well be able to act out the rest of the interaction from here. ‘Noooo, Valter, you can’t kill people, killing bad :(‘ ‘hahaha maniacal laughter stab stab’ then they cry or whatever. Something dumb like that. Probably.

Embla rolls her eye at the interaction, though the action likely goes unnoticed due to the shadows she’s chosen to make her home for the conversation. “If we kill each other now, we will be fewer in number when the time comes for competition.” Which hardly matters — she could win this whole thing solo, she’s certain — but would still be inconvenient. Who will they use as sacrifice later if the weak among them are already dead? If they’re going to die either way (which of course they will, they’re mortals), at least let them die in a useful way.

Dragon steps forward to position herself in front of the other two. If they are this predictable, she may as well use it to her advantage. Play nice for a while, gain a bit of trust. She offers a smile — unpracticed and unnatural (and perhaps still unsettling despite her efforts), but a smile regardless. “I see nothing wrong with the professor’s idea. In fact, I volunteer myself for first round of this ‘activity’.”

The way she talks about rock paper scissors is...really weird? It feels like she puts emphasis on words just to mess with people. It's unnerving. But it's also funny, because she looks like she's trying so hard to look like a certain type of dark mage or something similar. If she were to ask him, she should probably try less.

...huh, wait. Her ears are pretty pointy, huh? And she lives in the basement, is dodgy about where she comes rom... Suddenly, things click into place. She must be some kind of laguz! Her red eyes are pretty draconian if he's judging her Tellius-like, but there are so many different kinds of laguz he's learned about she could be a squirrel for all he knows.

Anyway. She's still weird, but it makes a lot more sense now. And if she's evil it's a bit more understandable.

"Okay! I'll match ya for it. I definitely want a top bunk. Ro...sham...bo!"

Ah, well, they’re already going. Who cares. Just copy the kid and get it over with. 

Embla ‘chooses’ scissors!

Mimicking the… whatever that is he’s doing with his hands is easy enough. The heightened senses that come with being divine make it easier to cover the fact she doesn’t know what she’s doing, anyway. Or maybe this game is just easy. It’s been, what, three seconds and it’s already over? Typical mortal attention span.