flowers, streams, and far-off dreams.

The very last thing Lana wishes is to bully him into accompanying her the entire duration of the night. She hopes Febail will make the most of the Ethereal Ball on his own terms, and knows certainly the whole experience is as new to him as it is her. But he'd made the effort to attend in the first place, a gesture that deserves to be honored. So when Febail excuses himself, Lana puts on her most encouraging smile to see him off through a merry sea of faces.

He returns to her, in time, and when he does, she thinks to ask him if anyone has caught his attention. He is accompanied by a serving plate which he holds out to her, generously.

"What's this? When I told you to find someone sweet, I did not mean from the dessert table." Her throat trembles with laughter, the kind that warms Lana's heart and soul. The ballroom itself is sweltering enough. Too many bodies crowded in one place, the light from chandeliers bearing down on them with the force of a false sun. For once, it doesn't even cross her mind to refuse a small treat.

voilà 

    Russet eyes widen. It couldn’t possibly be as Lana was describing. Iuchar had only left Jugdral a short while ago! Not nearly long enough for Seliph, as amazing as Iuchar’s sure he is, to have waged war against Grannvale and won. His army had been so small the last time Iuchar had seen them, it was difficult to imagine they’d be able to topple the near endless seeming forces of an empire that has used might to subjugate a continent for more than a decade.

However, Lana would have no reason to lie to Iuchar of all people. It’s not as if she needs to impress him with Seliph’s accomplishments, and luring him back to Jugdral could surely be done without pretending as if peace had returned.

But… if he can neither believe her words as truth nor can he believe she has anything to gain by lying, then what was he supposed to believe?

He tries to gather his bearings though and at least run along with the conversation without causing too much of a scene.

“ So long as there is someone to tend to the home and its affairs, I see little wrong with seeking an education as you have.  Intelligence is perhaps the mightiest weapon, especially in times of peace. Peace can be made with steel and blood, but it is ink and a careful mind that is able to maintain it. ”  

There is a part of him that writhes in his curiosity, too overwhelming now that the subjects of Grannvale’s various dukedoms has come up. But was it not Iuchar who had decided to leave Jugdral for its own sake?

He cannot be missing home and asking for it so soon. He must temper his will to be stronger than that. If he could survive years underneath his father, he can withstand this too.

“ Tell me, ”  he starts, using a nearby knife to cut one of the sweet buns. It would be rude to offer her silent offering.  “ Who else from home has come here? I’ve the opportunity to speak with Larcei already, but I’d like to get a better understanding of who I shall be skirting around these days, should you all have been of like minds and come here together. ”

"That's kind of you," she recognizes the encouraging undertone to Iuchar's words graciously, but meditates over whether he believes it himself. Men that speak with his cadence are masters at twisting the truth to suit their purposes and the most believable lies are the ones people tell themselves. It wont stop Lana from assuming he means well because she does too, wishing him the best in how he chooses to live now.

Her heart swells with relief to see him accept her good will, slicing into the side of the pastry as he shops for information. A furtive giggle catches in Lana's throat at the thought of him going out of his way to avoid any of her friends though she can understand where he's coming from.

She smiles, gently, "It must seem like that, huh - that we do everything together. I promise we hadn't planned it. As you must suspect, many of the noble houses have undergone the process of installing new governance. These things take time, of course." And naturally not everyone is pleased to welcome an heir that knows neither the land nor people they are to serve. They'd be naive to think the restoration of a continent ended at the sword. The war's end had been the beginning to the long road ahead of them.

"I'm not sure how much I should say."

Some of these are matters well beyond her scope and if Iuchar truly intends to make a clean break from his homeland, then they no longer pertain to him either. However he must be at least somewhat curious for them to be having this conversation, she thinks, trying to study his face.

Mother, May I?

edain knew that the topic would not be easy, but it does not ease the pain in her heart upon seeing the look on her daughter’s face and hearing the tone of her voice. still, she smiles if a bit wistfully, because her daughter is so kind, and because she can see midir within her as well.

“my children are so thoughtful.” she says with a warm laugh. somehow even with the thought that midir is still gone she is not sad. wistful maybe, but not sad. not losing the will to fight because the man she loves was dead.

“i am certain that.. your mother- me having you, kept me going lana.” she says, taking ahold of her daughter’s hand and rubbing gentle comforting circles with her thumb. “you were my strength back then, i know it. honestly, you’re becoming my strength now.”

If Lana is to be praised for being thoughtful, it is because she has learned from its source. Edain had been a mother to all, offering wisdom and support to each child under her care and not once had there been room left for doubt that she loved them.

healresolve​:

Ribbons of Fate

     It’s strange to be experiencing this for the second time. An introduction to a monastery she knows several times over, practiced smiles and feigned ignorance as she interacts with her classmates, not entirely sure which of them remembered, and who didn’t. Like the year before, there were a number of new faces as well, a small indicator of time’s forward march, even if it felt as though many of them were stuck in an inexplicable loop. Clearly, there were still many mysteries to unearth not only in Fodlan, but within Garreg Mach itself. 

     But for as much as the curiosities nag at her, she wonders if they are truly her mysteries to solve. At some point, Celica would have to return home. To her people, and her beloved… they needed her. 

    ( More than anything, she needed them. )

     To know everyone, and yet not be known was an isolating experience, and although Celica was intimately acquainted with the feeling of loneliness, this was different. It was an isolation not brought about by her own defense mechanisms, but a force out of her control. In that sense, it felt much more painful.

     The moment she hears Lana’s voice calling for her, she dares to hope. The young priestess had been a dear friend to Celica during her time here, even though things had become rather distant between them as of late. But the elation of seeing a familiar face overtakes her in the moment, joy alight in her eyes as she turns to the other woman, unable to help the words as they come out, “Lana! It’s been so…” But upon noting the hesitance in the other’s demeanor, Celica stops. Gentle eyes, caught in a furtive gaze. Hands fidgeting in anxiety, rather than reaching out with their usual familiarity and warmth. 

     “…so very busy, hasn’t it?” She revises with a newly affected smile, pulling back on what she intended to say, “The town’s been rather hectic, what with all the fuss surrounding the spring carnival.” The beginnings of a chuckle begin to bubble in Celica’s chest, before tapering off at the sight of the ribbon’s in Lana’s palm. Pleasantry soon turns to curiosity. A romantic superstition, hm…?

     Tentatively, Celica reaches for the red ribbon, cradling it delicately in her fingers as she smiles at the other girl. “Thank you, Lana. And judging by that adorable flush on your face, I take it you have someone in mind?”

They’d done this before, she thinks, or something similar at the very least, when barely hushed whispers of the illustrious Goddess Tower swept through the ballroom during the Ethereal Moon, promising lifelong romance between any who ascended its steps on that day while carrying deep affection in their hearts. She remembers sharing the rumor with Celica then as she does now, a tradition of its own making where validity matters little in the grand scheme of things so long as it grants them something to ponder and lose themselves in like schoolgirls.

Lana's hands scramble infront of her face splayed in an ineffectual fan to hide its rising heat, laughing from the heart as she warbles, "Celica! Oh, nothing like that, truly." But even if she had, Lana believes she still would have thought to Celica when it caught her eye just as she would have been reminded of Larcei were it purple.

She steps just a little closer without realizing, bridging some of the distance between them when she points at a brightly decorated tree around which a crowd has gathered. It neither bothers nor surprises Lana that an attraction like this would gain traction, however she wonders if it would be dishonest of her to try to keep Celica's company longer.

"That spot sure is popular today... You know, when the vendor first explained the custom, it reminded me of a fable I'd heard when I was a little girl. There were a pair of siblings who traveled a great distance from home and had to cross a dense forest in order to visit a relative who lived far away. To ensure that they never lost their way back, they tied strips of fabric to the branches of trees. Maybe, the spirit of this activity is the same - that it brings people where to where they are meant to be, f-figuratively speaking, of course. Or I could be reading into it too much."

Mother, May I?

in another lifetime, had she decided to stay at isaach? had she been able to shake off the feeling of being a liability to oifey and shannan? what a mysterious lifetime that is, edain doesn’t feel like the current her would have been able to do that. she wishes that the current her was like the mother that lana describes.

“of course. please tell me everything, dear. don’t leave out a single detail.” although, a thought makes her pause. she has to ask, no matter what emotional damage this may cause the two of them. “your father..” she begins quite awkwardly, fumbling with her words. “did you know who your father was, lana?”

It's a little odd, Lana thinks, reciting the story of her life to a woman who shared a large part in it, but in light of everything that has happened recently, she's happy to tell it and to share the experiences that have shaped the path she walks today.

She nods, heartened. "Yes, I—" But a heavy silence falls over her mother that Lana only matches, equally hesitant on how best to approach the topic. It's not as if they'd never talked about this before. Lana knows of her father, of the relationship between her parents that brought Lester and her into this world, and even of his death at Belhalla, however it wasn't the same as knowing or being raised by him in the same way they had been brought up by Mother.

healresolve​:

A Lesson in Belief

LORENZ ARRIVES AT NOON, pushing through the library doors as the tolling of church bells keeping their constant time mark his punctuality. And, still, to his great surprise—he is not the first there. His expression, neutral to start but fanning out into charmed amusement, only grows more curious as he sees the spread out before her.

An eager mind, a sweet demeanor. They will get on famously.

“It is no trouble,” Lorenz assures. Lana is captivated by him, no doubt, but Lana’s is averted as quickly as he notices. His smile grows a little wider, gaze cast in understandable pity. A lot to take in, and a noble paragon of a tutor, although as he opens his mouth to say more—punctuality and a hunger for knowledge are worth lauding, of course! the betterment of one’s self, no matter the station, is commendable!—but she is quick to move on, pouring over handwritten notes as though it were sacred texts.

Well, then. The lesson may begin in earnest!

“Ten Elites—and those very ten heroes are a prudent place to start.” It does take—some generous maneuvering to clear himself a spot opposite her. Lorenz held tucked under one arm a leather-bound journal of his own class notes, however unnecessary they are now. It meets its match among the library books, but he remains stalwart still.

“You have made a rather grave error in your recitations, however—one I am particularly well-suited to correct.” Somewhere, in the mess Lana has made of the table, Lorenz finds a clean sheet of parchment; on the other side of a hoard of books, an inkwell.

No accounting for his artistic merits—but he knows the crests well, and can approximate their shapes well enough. “The Ten Elites were champions. The blood within their veins gifted them their Crests; in turn, those Crests bestowed upon them extraordinary strength. You have a good start, to be sure.”

The tip of Lorenz’s quill moves in tandem with his words: “From here, clockwise, we have: Blaiddyd, Riegan, Lamine, Goneril, Daphnel, Dominic, Gautier, Fraldarius, Charon, and,” a pause, at the final crest, lovingly rendered with more skill than the rest, “Gloucester. My own house. One that has sought with every generation to uphold the Alliance’s values and our sacred grounds.”

There's something in that smile that makes her a little uneasy for reasons she can't quite place, but Lana sheepishly returns it nonetheless, appreciative of the fact he's here to help. Regardless of his reasons for doing so, she recognizes that he is setting aside an afternoon to go over material that must be well beyond him. For better or worse, the way Lorenz carries himself has left an impression on her. His posture is faultless, shoulders and head held high with pride that compels Lana to sit up just a little straighter in her own seat. It's a reminder of her mother and the poise that a noble upbringing instills in one - something she and her brother had been deprived of and now had to work towards cultivating.

Her hands busy themselves with neatly aligning the spines of the several books before retreating from the table's surface to her lap, watching from her peripheral as Lorenz makes some space for his things.  Easily, he demonstrates himself familiar with the subject matter, parsing through the names with far less difficulty than Lana had moments ago.

She does not speak, but Lana's attentiveness is uncontested, transcribing the words of her tutor verbatim. In theory, the Ten Elites call to mind the Twelve Crusaders - heroes favored by the gods and granted power to accomplish exceptional feats.

"From here," he directs which prompts her to look up and follow the hand that pens each crest, unique symbols that only feel familiar from repeated exposure during lessons.  For a moment, Lana almost thinks she can envision other names in their place. Ulir, Hezul, Fala, Blaggi... Her silence speaks awe, an understanding of their significance even if she cannot share the personal attachment to them those of Fodlan do.

"That means you must have inherited it - a Crest," she deduces, absentmindedly conferring her inference. “That's remarkable. A family name is something special.” Pride itself is not a sin. Lana has pride in a great many things from family to home and service of those in need. It is when that pride causes people to commit heinous acts that one be led astray. She cannot know the values his house upholds, but he doesn't seem to be a bad sort.

saionofvalflame​:

healresolve​:

To Believe, or Not Believe

Soren wasn’t a ray of sunshine at the best of times, and when confronted with such utter idiocy, nothing could mask the curdled scowl on his face. To deny what was so commonplace in the world, indeed a part of their own religion made little sense. Some things like sorbet served in the dining hall and elsewhere in the region were simply impossible without magic, and Soren was willing to bet most villages had access to an odd stray healer.

Well, he’d show them.

His fellow students were also mages, which ought to make this easier. However, Lana and Saias seemed to want to take polite approaches.

He shook his head. “Magic can’t be taught in an afternoon, even when someone is naturally inclined to it. Tell me, do you think they have an ounce of sense between the lot of them?”

He flipped open his Bolganone tome with a snap of the spine. Soren wasn’t aiming to hit anyone, and any creature with a sense of self preservation would scurry away at the sight of his expression anyway. He focused on an empty patch of land for the spell that was unmistakably difficult to miss or explain away.

(”Oh earth, burst forth with fire and swallow all in your way!”)

The hard packed earth of the pathway cracked deeply and jagged shards of stone and lava erupted from the ground, high enough to have grievously injured a person or even someone on a mount. “Is THIS fake to you?” Soren shouted at the crowd, half mocking, half infuriated.

A couple people seemed convinced enough to run away. Most though, weren’t.

“An illusion!” one said.

“A trick!” added another.

“Nothing more than a staged show!” a third called out.

He’d tried to keep cool, but he was close to simply brute force whacking people with the closed tome if this kept up-

@healresolve​ is next!

A little patience can go a long ways, but even Lana has her doubts to its usefulness here. These folk will not be appeased by words alone and it’s no small wonder that the faculty would like to wash their hands of the whole situation rather than waste anymore time arguing with the personification of a brick wall. She hesitates to deem any living being a lost cause beyond reason, but she won’t exactly lose sleep over adults that would act no better than children, throwing fits in the middle of Garegg Mach and plugging their ears to truth.

Her head tilts in interest at the suggestion Saias puts forward, her arms crossing as she responds, “Truly? Would that work?”

Soren gives voice to and echoes the doubts weighing Lana’s mind, though she’d prefer a peaceful resolution to the conflict when all is said and done. Her inclination is to agree with him given that not everyone is born with an aptitude for magic, but until they can rule out and exhaust all avenues available to them, she’d be the last to pose any opposition to at the very least trying the plan Saias proposed first.

Ever the mediator, Lana addresses both, leveling, “While Soren does have a point, it can’t hurt to-” 

She audibly gasps, eyes widening at the brazen display of property damages left in the wake of magic. The crowd roars, attention (and suspicion) converging on the mage responsible for the earth-rending spell that reverberates throughout the ground several beats after it had been cast, aftermath not only heard but felt in a shift from protestors.

“Shameless,” an indignant woman leading the charge hisses as if affronted personally. “What are they even teaching here? I demand an audience with the archbishop!”

Lana resigns to shaking her head back and forth. “Soren,” she sighs, dismayed. “Before acting on your own, please consult us next time.” And there won’t be a next time if she has any say. She’s already more than appalled by that last stunt which managed to accomplish all of nothing. 

“We must proceed tactfully. Now, Saias, how would you go about teaching this crowd magic?”

Magic isn’t real and anyone stupid enough to think it is is just another sheeple, so says a group of naysayers protesting outside of the church. All black magic? Fake. All white magic? The work of a charlatan. All the Reason teachers have had enough. See if you can get rid of them, but with discretion. [Grants Reason +1]

@atypicalsenerio && @saionofvalflame

There’s a commotion outside the cathedral making waves across campus, noisy folk who as far as Lana can tell have nothing better to do than harass the good people of the church. She descends the vast, stone stairwell at behest of one of the priests, reminded that, for better or worse, Garreg Mach Moanster’s gates are open to all however disruptive. Although even the most patient clergymen are at their wit’s end after enduring this nonsense for days on end.

Her head rests on a propped arm when she gets a better view of the lot congregated just below, forming a tightly packed half-circle that makes it difficult to come and go. The crowd appears to be a diverse bunch composed of commoner and nobles alike united in one faulty belief: dismissal of magic. In spite of all the disturbance they invite into this hallowed place and how the simplest solution would be for the Knights of Seiros to shoo them off, Lana understands it to be a delicate matter. The church has a reputation to uphold and financial backers to appease. She has been told one such person in the crowd had been responsible for sizable in donations in the past. 

Blatant in their intentions, the protestors vocally decry the existence of magic and Lana has to wonder if they’re simply being obtuse. Proof of magic is everywhere in the world around them. To no avail, Lana tries to reason with several individuals, using her admittedly limited knowledge of the Church of Seiros.

“Magic is a sham, a hoax! You're being deceived!”

Mother, May I?

“i-” edain visibly sniffles, then lets out a giggle. “i’m sorry, i’m your mother, i should be the one comforting you.” the warmth on her cheek is real. lana, her daughter, is so very real and in front of her right now. her mind still can’t make sense of how this is possible, but it’s starting to not matter.

“oh, i love you equally so lana.” her laugh this time is more of a choked sob than anything else. “i’m sorry i may not be the mother you know and love, but i promise you i will love you the same.” she lightly places her hand over lana’s own on her cheek. this warmth is so very precious to her.

Leaning into the touch, Lana hums, grateful for this and mother both, gazing up at her with the utmost fondness. She needs no apologies, but she will never refute anything given to her by the woman infront of her.

“It’s alright, promise,” she reassures. “You were, are the best mother anyone could ask for.”

In tandem they laugh, a gentle, nervous thing as though they are learning to harmonize. Lana’s mother is the strongest person she knows by far and she knows the worth of that strength, how many it has saved over the years. It’s still strange to think and hear that this woman she has known all her life may not be the one who raised her - that this only authenticates Rion’s claims in that other world. She can’t say she cares to wrap her head around the whole of it when mother is here with her in the moment.

Mother, May I?

febail is a name that she recognizes. the unmet sibling of patty, and her sister’s son, if she had the whole scenario right. but then the girl tells edain her name in the thought that her mother is an amnesiac–

lana if it’s a girl. lester if it’s a boy.

she is reminded of a conversation between her and her husband, back when he’d still been alive. they’d both agreed it would have been better to wait, to be able to be the proper parents that a child deserved. still, they’d had (foolish) hope that they would eventually be able to start a family.

they’d even come up with names, in that foolish hope. names that ended up never being used, so she thought until now.

“oh, lana.” she says with a tremble in her voice. her daughter’s name comes out of her mouth so naturally. “you are my child, aren’t you?” she smiles, feeling tears begin to form in the corner of her eyes. edain sucks in a deep breath, trying to keep her tears at bay.  “i didn’t think that i’d ever be able to have children.” then, edain looks up at the girl properly. there is yngvi blood in her, she can just tell. “are you real, sweetheart? am i not just imagining you?”

Lana has always been her mother’s daughter, trailing behind and at her side ever since she’d learn to walk. She had not known loss as the others had, deprived of both parents by the Empire as many of her friends so cruelly were. Certainly there had been times that she developed a curiosity for the father who was never returned to them, but growing up she had not wanted for anything save a peaceful world. 

At the call of her given name, suddenly she feels like she’s home again, cathedral dissolving into little more than white light. Instinctively Lana catches one of her mother’s hands, bringing its palm against her cheek.

healresolve​:

Mother, May I?

mother, she called her mother.

she’s never had children. she would have remembered if she did. even knowing the strange way this place works, knowing that brigid’s own grown children are here and that her (dead) brother is alive, she can’t convince herself to believe this girl her daughter.

her husband was dead before they could have even tried for a child. there was never a point in time where she even thought she could be pregnant. she’d wished and wished and wished that the two could have tried for children before belhalla, that midir would have been more stubborn and convinced her to try anyways, but a daughter was not something she could simply obtain from a few prayers.

“uhm, i’m sorry..” edain begins hesitantly. even knowing she was not this girl’s mother it felt… wrong to dash her hopes like this. whoever her mother was, it was clear that the two were bonded closely. “are you mistaking me for someone else, miss? i don’t have any children, much less someone of your age.”

It is, to date, the least funny joke she’d ever heard. Edain of Junby has always been known to her daughter as a woman of untold wisdom and wit, but Lana fails to see any humor in a parent who pretends not to recognize their own child. She thinks back to Sety who had confronted Lewyn on behalf of a heartbroken sister that their tactician neglected to acknowledge outside of battle.

Lana’s expression wilts, eyes imbued with concern. “Mother, oh dear, are— are you feeling alright?” Her mind grasps for an explanation, anything to make sense of this bizarre situation. “Febail— that’s right, Febail developed amnesia here in Fodlan too. You may be suffering from memory loss. It’s me, Lana. I’m your daughter. Lester isn’t here right now, but he’s your son - my brother.” She’s rambling, she knows, inundating her with information that is well beyond her understanding. It had been different with Febail. This was Lana’s mother - the person at the very center of her world who she continually strived to emulate and model herself after. If this woman looks younger than in her presently addled mind, she doesn’t notice, preoccupied only with jogging memories that never existed. 

The academy professors are bogged down with work and need a little extra help. Teacher’s assistant positions have been opened up and are available to just about anyone willing to lend a hand. Try your hand at helping teach some of your fellow students—or get an inside opportunity to change you and your friends’ grades in the assignment logs. [Grants Authority +1] // @thyrosus

The history of a continent is, in essence, its lifeblood, a reflection of people that lived and those that live still in the legacy of its founders for better or worse. It takes Lana no time at all to understand the influence of the Church of Seiros and her saints, comparable she imagines, to Blaggi and the Twelve Crusaders, silent protectors - peacekeepers - of the land. Given the opportunity, she’d like to learn more, expand her perspective beyond that of one nation for reasons greater than securing exemplary grades.

It must be around noon - she’s since lost track - that the early morning light gives way to something warmer, brighter, gently pulling her attention from poring over books in earnest study to the windows glistening with sun streaks. She’d scheduled a meeting with one Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, a native of Fodlan, who would understand it more intimately than any text, but no amount of preparation feels adequate when he steps past the threshold and into the classrom. There’s a bright, ostentatious flower pinned to the jacket of her tutor that Lana is wise enough to withhold comment on, but she ducks her head for good measure in the event she’d been staring, unable to meet his eyes quite yet.

"I cannot give you thanks enough for lending me your time," she prefaces from seated position, nearly every inch of her desk covered in tomes and notes carefully penned during lectures past concerning subjects from Fodlan’s geography to Wilhelm I. 

healresolve​:

Genealogy of the Holy Bow

“Lanaaaaaaa!” That tone of voice was one Patty knew all too well. ‘I get why Lana and Febail get along so well,’ she thinks, pouting as her cousin nags her. Sure Lana was right– but why was she the one getting an earful!? Pretty much half the class had skipped to go to the carnival! It was nice that Lana cared about her, but that class was just– it was boring!

Why did something called Trickster require faith!?

Before she could complain once again, she notices Lana’s gaze has moved to the stalls around them. Of course Lana has always been kind and fun to talk to, but it was hard to imagine her at the fair, eating candy and playing games until the sun set. 

It was funny– it made her think of when she was a bit younger. Carnivals and fairs weren’t commonplace in Jugdral, not after the empire, but they happened from time to time.

( ‘Here ya go kids, go wild!’ ‘REALLY!?’ ‘Thanks Patty!’ ‘Let’s do that game first–’ )

The orphans loved it. It was hard to find the money for a luxury like that, but she always managed. And now she was faced with Lana looking longingly at the plush toys which line the walls. 

‘Play a game?’

Lana’s words fall on deaf ears as Patty takes up the toy bow, pulling back the string. “C’mon Lana, live a lil! We already left class– might as well stay and have some fun!”

Rolled: 5

The arrow flies…and misses the target. Completely.

“Ehe…I guess I ain’t that good either…”

Patty is everything Lana is not - loud and confident, capable. They are as different as the free-wheeling sky and the earth below and sometimes she cannot help but wonder if their resemblance is only skin deep, that she’s incurably dull by comparison. Patty’s most successful heights will always be hearts won with little more than a disarming smile. She looks younger with a pout on her face, childish and carefree as though that were the whole truth. Lana knows that Patty wears her concerns differently than Febail and even herself.

Were they in a schoolhouse in Tirnanog, Lana wouldn’t dream of cutting classes, missing any lesson thoroughly prepared by her hard-working mother, but here, under Fodlan’s open skies, she makes the concession. After all, it isn’t often the two of them find time to be alone like this. 

An eager Patty snatches the bow and its matched arrow, stretching the bowstring and loosing it on the display before them. It whistles through the air and… lodges itself into the booth’s wooden backing, failing to land anywhere near the designated target. Lana is slow to process the result, having assumed her cousin’s skill with a bow at least on par with her handling of a blade. Her mouth opens around a laugh, though to her credit, she has the grace to smooth it into a small albeit amused smile. 

“It was a valiant effort,” she lies, reaching a hand to pat her on the shoulder.

The vendor, too, grins, retrieving the arrow and placing it on the counter once more. “Phew, I’ll say. Maybe your sister here will fare better. Care to give it a go?”

Lana wordlessly blinks, eyes drifting from Patty to the stall’s owner now winking at her. For once in her life, she thinks she will rise to the provocation of challenge. “May the Crusaders be with me.” Her posture draws from memories of Lester’s attempts to teach her when they were younger, a time when Lana had yet to find her own calling. Her gaze narrows in focus, locked solely onto the ringed center of the target and she releases the shot.

Rolled: 19

All of Lana’s fondest memories of her mother are from the abbey, haloed by a heavenly, white-gold light filtering through windows that they’d learned to close when Imperial soldiers swaggered through town. It’s not a time she particularly enjoys returning to, but she’d wanted to remember the meaning of every line devotion-carved line in mother’s palms. The cathedral at Garegg Mach has a long-standing, proud history that Lana comes to learn more about each day from the good people that volunteer in it. Students and faculty alike sing the praises of Fodlan’s goddess, offering worship in the form of prayer and song. The atmosphere always reminds Lana a little of home - a little of the family she’d left back in Jugdral. 

Lately, she has encountered more than a few familiar faces in Fodlan from the aunt lost to them twice over and Empress Deirdre who hails from a time before time. It stands to reason that it would only be a matter of time before Mother too should appear before her.

“You’re here,” Lana gasps, crossing the busy church to greet the woman who raised her, knowing she is not mistaken. “You never wrote me... But I’m sure you had your reasons. Oh, I wish I’d known you were coming. Well, I guess, it doesn’t matter now. I’m so glad to see you, Mother.”

A Random Act of Kindness. // Accepting.

In the early morning, Lana has the passing thought it may rain, too fleeting to make a difference and now failure to heed her own intuition bears down on her as a heavy rain that threatens to soak through the pages of homework and notes she protectively cradles close. She hears so clearly the patter of raindrops against the pavement like a heartbeat echoing the one in her chest while she searches for some cover from the downpour. Dampened bangs cling to her forehead, sky water eliciting a shiver from where it trickles down the skin of her neck.

She thinks to cut her losses then, to race back to the academy and accept the wrinkles soon to develop in paper, accept that sometimes these things just happen. Her eyes scan the horizon for an indication it may let up soon that never emerges, but there is a large tree nestled in the center of town that catches her attention instead. Apparently someone else had the same idea because beneath its leafy awning, Lana comes across a purple-haired girl who looks to her in soundless understanding, making room for Lana on the cold yet thankfully dry bench.

faint footed {

          Rejection had formed a noose by his lips without so much as a second thought. It was a sizable school, could she not simply pass it under the table to one of the professors for a couple of brownie points? But what seizes him momentarily is the fleeting, but ever-present term: waste. He hates inefficiency above all else, as even a feather out of place would leave an army grappling for flour to eat. And to think, this bold-hearted girl would approach a man in a mask for a sweet surplus.

          “…Have you been working all evening? Would it not be more sensible for you to have it?”

          As cold as he was, he was not to lash out at community volunteers who carried the school on their shoulders. (That much, he had a grip on his own sensibilities for.) Not waiting for her response, he relieved her of the plate and split it cleanly in two with a fork. Dashing his own half into a mug, Gerome had enough peaches for one very-difficult-to-please wyvern.

          “This won’t go to waste. Now, see to it that you don’t faint on your feet either.”

          There were seasons of passing, afoot, as the verdant waves of the trees and greenery had grasped the school in a sense of beginning. He ought to have leaned towards gaining new allies, or at least maintaining an impression of modesty. However, he, too, was still too green to make anything of this new year.

            Gerome took to his feet faster than light and thundered away, cape and all. Charity was for those of able hearts. And he couldn’t afford such magnanimity, anyway.

@healresolve​

Words are not Lana’s forte, but she thinks, under the dim, hard-working light of the chandeliers overhead, they might not be his either. It’s just an assumption on her part - a hunch, really - that this masked student who takes his meal alone in the evening when the crowds have thinned, might not want for company. There are handfuls of classmates that Lana doubts even a year’s time will see her acquainted with, students in other houses she recognizes only for the spaces they share and he may well be one of those people she never truly gets to know beyond passing pleasantries such as this, but she doesn’t mind coming out of this encounter without a name. She will remember the parts of his face that peek out behind that mask, his kindness, and the voice that he asks after her with what faintly sounds like concern.

The carnival is in town! Nothing like a little truancy and fried treats of your choice to spend away an entire afternoon… And giant, stuffed plushes and shiny prizes catch your eye. “Play a game?” The booth attendant holds out a rickety toy bow. How hard could it be? [Grants Bow +1] // @lockpicnic

"Patty,” she had huffed, scolding, cheeks flushed and her heart pounding from racing out of the classroom after her cousin hadn’t shown up for the entire lesson. In fact, Patty had not been the only one who failed to turn up. Lana may have thought a cold passed around the student body to explain all the absences had she not known better or heard the whispers of those planning their own truancy. Her shoulders rise and fall with a sigh, glancing at their surrounds with a noticeable interest that she fails to conceal. “We have class. You can’t play hooky just because there’s a carnival going on.”

So she says, but Lana isn’t looking at her cousin anymore. The streets are lined by stalls boasting colorful games and enticing smells that are difficult to ignore now that she sees them for herself. It aches with a nostalgia for festivals she’d attended as a child before the Empire’s reaches had extended into Isaach. She remembers how eventually carnivals stopped coming to town and how Lana and her friends had made their own fun, pretended for the sake of the little ones that they knew they’d return.

“Play a game?” A woman stationed at one of the booths Lana hadn’t realized she was staring at interrupts her thoughts. “All ages are welcome - to try, that is. The rest depends on you.”