endeavour

A wild-eyed, silver-haired mage and bursts of fire and thick scent of ozone. Innocent bowls of chocolate left out in the corridor. Something about the gar, swimming menacingly through the fishing pond. A curious fascination with outlandish technologies... and the sensation of being watched.

None of that made sense in conjunction, of course, but it was hard to dispute that... Yeah. Sometimes when you walked by the door, there was the distinct feeling of something—someone—watching from afar. And it never rested.

As a child, he had no use for tales of knights in shining armour or kings and queens of yore... The Countess of Reglay, perched upon on her jet black mount and decked in shimmering regalia, drew Pent’s eyes with a sense of awe and wonder that could only be mustered by a child. Father was kind and wise and gentle, but mother was formidable, a dizzying mix of sheer power and sterling will.

He dreamed of being in her place (in both their places, truly, but when they were ever brought up in the same breath, governance never had quite the same appeal), magic thrumming and pulsing in time with his heart and the thundering gait of hooves on dry earth. 

When his own magic came in, crashing against him like waves against the cliffs that flanked the port-towns he loved so much, when his mother soothed away the fear of being swept along its current and the momentum rising hot in his throat, Pent had the dawning realization that he could. Stepping into her world wouldn’t have to be but a dream, and perhaps then, the warmth in her eyes would be laced with pride as well.

.  .  .  .  .

She never came back.

The stables were silent and still, mourning with him what rode out to the Bernese mountains, swallowed by the range and never to return. Days stretched out into weeks and months... Another valkyrie, lost in service of Etruria. Another among those never recovered, not even her mount. Gone. Vanished. Not even a body to perform her final rites.

Still reeling from the new-found weight of his title, Pent barely found it in himself to grieve; there wouldn’t be time for it anymore. Reglay needed guidance, and he had to establish himself in the high-courts before the vultures caught scent of fresh blood. Perhaps the greatest irony was that he did become more like her then, layering velvet over the steel and mail and plate that he held so close to his chest. His House came first; the province and Mordred’s courts came first.

Everything else would have to wait.

.  .  .  .  .

Years later, so far from home, Pent wondered if her spirit knew where to find him--if she would be watching as he tore through this foreign battlefield, under a foreign banner, finally riding out as she once did.

Flames wrapped around his hand, burning in the face of the gusting wind without the aid of ink and vellum. The broad, bounding muscles of the stallion under him flexed, and they leapt across the field as flames licked through the dry grasses and cut off the enemy pursuit. (It sang in him, every bit as euphoric as he had always imagined it might be, even before he understood what it meant to be so connected.) Forward they forged, through smoke and ash and the taste of magic still fresh in the air.

But Pent supposed it was fine if she didn’t. 

He would return some day, Pent promised the both of them, and when he did, her legacy would be passed on. There were stirrings of magic in Clarine, Pent could see it in her eyes, and when she is old enough, he would tell her the stories of the valkyries of Etruria and the blood in her veins.

.  .  .  .  .

ashenprofessor​:

The peculiar noises being emitted by the mechanical beast beneath her were crescendoing, getting louder and louder which each violent movement. There was no question that the situation was escalating, Byleth was officially becoming slightly worried. Not just for her won safety but Pent’s too.

Pent’s insistent cry came a moment later and she felt the metal beneath her light up and flare. A brief burst of heat rose of it as magic rippled across the surface, flowing off it like liquid. Pent must have tried a spell on it. “Getting a bit hot here. Maybe don’t try that!” She warned him, grateful for her armour protecting her skin from burning although it was still becoming uncomfortable. 

The attempted tampering with its operation had enraged the magical bull further. There was definitely now steam rising from its nostrils indicating it’s rage. Her hope of staying upright was dwindling by the second as the rocking increased, plates and hinges groaning under stress. Reflexively, she wrapped her arms round the bull’s neck, hugging her body to its getting a close as possible. 

Over the noise of the mechanical menace she heard Pent issuing instructions to her. It was difficult to make out exactly what her was saying but she caught the words “eyes”, “throat”, “disrupt magic” and “thunder.” Her brain quickly pieced together what he was asking her to do. If she fired a thunder spell into one of those two points she might be able to disrupt its magic flow and stop it.

The professor had only begun learning magic in the last couple of months but thankfully the thunder spell was one of the few she’d already mastered. Leaning further forward, she cautiously lifted one hand from its current position and raised it higher up the neck to where she spotted a gap in the plating pulsating red in time with the jerks. Muttering the spell under her breath she felt the crackle of energy spew forth from her palms, striking the bull in the glowing spot.

The effect was immediate. It let out a pained screech before bucking wildly and falling still, the signs turning dim. Byleth ungracefully slide off its back landing in a heap on the floor. Ring on her back she let out a sigh of relief. She was still in one piece.

“I think it needs a little more work”

In its frantic tossing and turning, the bull almost seemed to rear, and the steam whistling through the unsealed edges of steel and the holes that mimicked nostrils seemed close to the angered braying of the real, flesh and blood beast... And if the objective of the endeavour had been to install an artistic vision of a bull, Pent might have even offered it full points, but the entire purpose was to create a thrilling experience that one might, feasibly, survive.

(In retrospect, at no point did Pent truly believe she was going to die... But having a few broken bones and fractured ribs was hardly any better. That was the sort of thing one didn’t really want to have following on one’s track record.)

He wasn’t asking the impossible, but it was hard to deny that it was a significant feat to release her hold of the bull to reach her hand over the prescribed location. The sage could only watch with bated breath as one second, she hovered and lightning crackled through the air with a hint of static that hung around them. The red of the lines painted her palm a faint red, and the rest seemed to flow in slow motion.

Electricity pulsed through the lines, pushing back the red as if exsanguinating the bull, and with one final wail and heaving throw, the mechanical beast ground to a deathly stillness. Sparks of electricity still rolled off its metal hide as Pent ran to her side, his heart thrumming in his chest despite his relative safety. He hadn’t been the one at risk of being thrown against a wall at startling velocities.

Pulse. Check. Breathing. Check. His own sigh of relief followed.

𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒   𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒 :     bold .     𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒   𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒 :     italic .

ANGER  . jaw clenching , hands balling into fists , teeth grinding , yelling , going non - verbal , stuttering speech , rushed speech , slow and concise speech , rambling , quiet , arms crossing , shaking head , tearing up , animated , expressionless , projects , internalizes ,vents , withdraws , tighter movements , passive aggressive , direct , physical magical outbursts , verbal outbursts 

JOY  . easy smiles , fighting back grins , suppressed laughter , loud laughter , giggles , chuckling , smirks , whole body laughs , covers mouth when laughing or giggling , throws head back when laughing , slaps leg , touches people around them when laughing , looks down when laughing , looks for eye contact when laughing , sparkling eyes , bubbly happiness , quiet subtle happiness , obnoxious happiness , wants to spread joy , quietly savours joy .

SADNESS  . crying , bottling it up , seeks distractions , wallows , meditates and processes , avoidance , seeks out comfort , withdraws , swallowing thickly , talks it out , internalizes it , sad smiles , depression naps , uses alcohol , uses drugs , seeks out sources of joy , fidgets with sentimental item , sits in silence , broods , gets moody , wants someone to share the misery , tries to hide negative emotions , nurtures others to make themselves feel better .

EMBARRASSMENT   AND   SHAME  . blushing , looking away , rubbing at back of head , covering face , laughing nervously , laughs it off , overthinks , lets it go , self deprecating humor , deflects , gets irritated , smiles , withdraws , crossing arms over stomach , crossing arms over chest , hands in pockets , shoulders sinking , shrugs , falling into silence until comfortable again , talking a lot to compensate .

GUILT  .   avoiding eye contact , shoulders sinking low , head hanging down, crying , chest aches , lashes out , internalizes , apologizes , deflects , communicates , withdraws , grand gestures for forgiveness , accepts fault easily , punishes themselves , martyrdom , victim complex , over - active guilt complex , healthy conscience , internalizes even after forgiveness , seeks redemption , moves on easily , denial , lack of guilt or conscience , sorry they got caught more than caused harm , can’t handle knowing they hurt others .

FEAR   AND   ANXIETY  . trembling , crying , sarcasm or sass to cope , rambles , goes silent , gets angry , fidgeting , impatience, clenching jaw , picking at nails , chewing at lip , pulling at clothes , adjusting jewelry or clothing , swallowing thickly , eyes widening , over - reacts , under - reacts , calm ,  logical , panic , irrational, overthinks , carefully analyzes , talks to themselves , breathing exercises , flight , fight , withdraw , fawn .

sheergrace​:

It’s pathetic how easily her grace shatters in the presence of winter. Crumbling in devastating debris, ones she was forced to step through. Walk over and continue with her journey. Sooner or later, the issue would come back around to bite her – teeth sharp and able to break the sturdiest of walls she’s built around her heart.

And with her lance held in trembling hands underneath the gaze of someone higher… some of the faculty… Azura isn’t confident in her abilities to calm the tides of humiliation in her mind.

“Professor Pent,” she pauses – moving her gaze to the ground then the pair of eyes beside her, “I’m not sure if we’ll find any villagers out here.”

There’s something solemn about the songstress’s expression, but with it faring as her typical one… not much can be said. Yet, she can’t push the thought of failing out of her mind. What if they were too late? What if the guard had sent them out at the right time but… she had slowed them down? Surely, the guard hadn’t been lying to them. With such a memory, he swore that the little girl had seen a few more villagers make a retreat to the forest – most likely in the dim hope of outrunning whatever plague set about the surrounding villages. There had been a group… with children. Did she…

Did she cause them death? Were they lost to the plague, now?

/ As Lady of the Lake, such endless tears shouldn’t be feared. /

“I’m…” words coil in her throat and she attempts to swallow them down, but she can’t. They stay and soon begin to burn – banish the thought, ignore the tears. Azura tightens her grip around her lance and pulls it closer to her chest. In hopes of gaining the faintest amount of security. It must have been the sole reason she was deployed to Faerghus along with the faculty members. Surely, they only required her ability in combat. Oh how problematic she’ll become on the battlefield. With her poise removed by the mere sight of winter’s blessing, there isn’t a possible chance of her being a benefit to the Academy.

She’ll try, of course she will. Rather facing failure in battle than pure rejection is her favorable ending. Both will leave her hurt, but one will lessen the pain. “I’m sorry,” her apology barely falls as more than a whisper, but it’s the best she can do, “if it wasn’t for my stumble earlier, we might have… recovered them in time.”

The songstress doesn’t allow herself any other explanation, just a small nod before she focuses back on the sound of their footsteps against the ground. It’s enough to soothe her heart for now. Even if their footsteps become heavier as the moments pass. Louder. Faster? It most likely takes twice the time for her to realize than Pent to. That those footsteps aren’t… theirs. 

Azura stops, her hand almost reaching out to stop the professor as well. Almost. He’s wiser, not to mention more fit for battle – she instead shifts her gaze towards the group of strangers in front of them. Fortunately, their attention and direction of their ‘ marching ’ isn’t towards them. It’s left, thankfully, but their presence does little more than create a wave of unease.

“Professor…” She looks between him and the group, but she doesn’t move away. Pent’s wise, if he makes any action to retreat, then she’ll follow. Until then… observe and attempt to stay to the side.

The battlefield was not a game of chess. People were not pieces; terrain would never be a perfectly predictable, calculated element. Slush and mud and blood and burn marks in the stone blur the straight and narrow lines, throwing theory to the wayside as what few students remain on mission detail were treated to the mottled greys of battle. It wasn’t a pretty thing.

Pent could hear her voice behind him, already treading the dreaded hypothetical that plagued them all in the fray. What if. Honed reflex steeled him over, and Azura’s words swept over him like the snow-melt in the gutters. There was no place for that sort of rumination here; not yet. It wouldn’t help.

“Save your apologies for after—” The implication: there will be an after. He supposed that wasn’t too grand a thing to promise, however vague. “We can discuss them then... But for now, if you intend on staying, then we fight for those that remain.”

However many there were. The mud was trampled soft in the villagers’ panic, making sharp ridges in the once populated street of the village, now freezing into make-shift traps that threaten to catch one’s stride on the retreat. There couldn’t have been many villagers remaining; not with so much blood in the streets.

Her hand stopped before it reached him, but Pent still paused. The glyph at his feet and slowly curling into existence around them sparked and crackled with energy as storm clouds brewed in the skies. The thunder was not a natural thing, rumbling with magic that emanated from where Pent stood.

Rexbolt.

ashenprofessor​:

As the machine started again, Byleth settled into the rhythm she had established in the previous test drive. To begin with all was going smoothly, the bull was moving smoothly with the occasional thrust to try and toss her off but nothing she couldn’t handle. Then there was a clank somewhere in deep in the machinery …

She looked toward’s Pent at his call. His words were meant to be reassuring but they were at war with the expression on his face. He seemed concerned about the noises, staring  down at the control device in his hands. He fiddled with something on the device, causing a second thump from beneath her.

Immediately, the beast’s temperate changed. It started bucking furiously, wildly as it tried to rid itself of her. She tightened her grip around the horns and cried out in shock. “What’s happening Pent?!” The symbols etched in the metal were pulsing violently, a deep red in colour, like a visual danger warning. 

The intensity of the movement was quickly escalating. Dignity was tossed out the window as she solely focussed on remaining in one piece. She mentally sorted through her options. Dismounting safely was out of the question, the only way she was getting off the bull was if she was flung off likely straight into a wall. Ouch! Her own arcane knowledge was insufficient at this stage to be much help in calming the machine and its unbridled gesticulations prevented use of weapons to physically stop it. It was all down to Pent.

“I need you to do something, anything” She shouted at him between ragged breaths, the physical exertion starting to take its toll. “I’m not sure how much longer I can hold on!”

Steel groaned, the raw edges grating together where metallic joints pushed past their intended range of motion. For brief moment, Pent could have swore there had been wisps of steam or smoke lazily curling from the bull’s nostrils, or perhaps from the seams between steel plating. Either way... Not ideal.

“I’m trying.” The idea of perhaps directly manipulating the effect of the device with his own magic had occurred to him, but Pent could feel his magic rolling off the device like water off an over-saturated sponge. In turn, the device only continued to glow brighter and burn hotter until the sage had no choice but to throw it to the ground with a pained hiss. Even rattling off the ground, it continued to sputter and flicker with an uncontrolled energy. 

Alright, that wasn’t going to work.

Pent turned his attention instead to the rampaging bull, threatening to tear off from the pedestal and send the other professor flying through the air. Byleth was a sturdy thing, but even Pent knew there were limits to human grip. That was not the intended subject of investigation today. His gaze was drawn to the lines of magic that flowed across the bull, and the flashing, pulsating light to its eyes in time with that of the device. It was only thrashing harder. If he couldn’t cut off the magic fueling it from afar, then perhaps...

“Byleth, I need you to try to get your hand over the eyes, or the throat--there are foci there that act as ports for magical exchange and keep the bull animated.” The plan was only coming together as the words were leaving his mouth. A stream of consciousness. “I assume that you are proficient enough in reason magic to bring about a bolt of thunder. Something to that effect should be enough to disrupt the circuit from your end.”

freliaes​:

    “Right.” Innes unsheathes the small dagger strapped to his waist, conveniently passed off as another part of the ‘brigand’ ensemble. It was already risky enough wandering into the lion’s den — it’d be outright stupid to do so without any insurance. “Wrong answer.”

    He presses the blade of the knife to the man’s neck, applying the smallest bit of pressure to his jugular vein. “We don’t have to kill him, but I can make this interrogation as slow and painful as he likes. Paralysis? Poison? Keep testing us, and you’ll find out which this blade is laced with. Now. The Duke. Tell us what you know.”

    The bandit tenses when the knife makes contact with his throat, teeth gritted in what appeared to be hesitation and fear. But it was clearly not enough, for he soon rears his head back and defiantly spits in Innes’ face. “I ain’t sayin’ SHIT! Damned if I tell ya, damned if I don’t, so do yer fuckin’ worst!”

    Innes tightens his grip on the knife, fighting the overwhelming urge to lunge it into the man’s throat as he wipes his face with his free hand. Disgusting. Disgusting—

    “Wrong. Again.” The Frelian prince hangs onto his composure by a thread, voice tight and very clearly agitated through his clenched jaw and gritted teeth. He removes the knife from the bandit’s throat, lowering it to his inner thigh. Innes remains conscious of the man’s position, of the possibility that he might begin to scream or struggle. Blade presses into skin, though not enough to draw blood. The positioning, however….

    He reaches forward to grip the brigand’s collar, pulling him close. “No one has to know about this,” The statement comes in a threatening murmur, Innes pressing the knife deeper into the bandit’s leg, dangerously close to— “Or they can, and you can say goodbye to your little friend, first. What’ll it be?”

Pent grimaced, watching the other’s hand twitch around the hilt of the dagger. If the bandit didn’t start talking, then Innes wouldn’t be acting for very much longer at that rate... And while he was prepared to have to make their way out with a bit less tact than initially planned, Pent suspected Innes wouldn’t take kindly to resorting to such measures over something as amateur of a blunder as this one.

 With every panicked movement, the fabric of the bandit’s trousers scraped against against the edge of the blade, never cutting but shearing and thinning the thread. “See here. My friend can be quite persuasive, but that is certainly how how this has to end. You have a remarkable amount of agency in your position,” Pent began, walking with a deliberateness in his step that allowed every step to resonate through the dusty stone of the cellar floor. Slowly. Approaching. And stopping just behind where the man was tied up.

His hand came down firmly on his shoulder; the bandit flinched visibly. “But of course, I must admit that he isn’t proposing anything lethal, so I suppose just this once we can indulge him and take at least one before—”

“Fuck. Fuck you fuckin’ crazy shits, fuck—why do you want him anyway?!”

Crass. One silver brow arched, eyes raising to meet Innes’ in the dark. He’s cracking, shattering like glass under pressure. “He has a lot to answer for. Don’t you worry about why. The point is, there is nothing that he could be to you... That would be worth what you stand to lose by hiding him.”

A moment of relative silence. The sound of the man’s ragged breathing was all rattled off the walls, and Pent let it steep like a fine brew. The sharp gulps of air, shooting through the stillness like fine fractures across the winter ice.

“Duke Sahren—”

Pent frowned. “Cieran.”

“Is what I said.”

princepsumbra​:

“Certainly not faster than this thing can fly,” Leo replies, voice level so as not to startle the yellow monster. Retreat, he thinks, may entice it to follow. Predators—potential predators—seek out prey; if they show they’re not cowering mice in a field, perhaps it will leave them alone. 

That doesn’t guarantee the gigantic bird will leave the monastery at large in peace. Pent follows Leo’s advice, sending his bread roll skipping merrily along the noisy terrain. Distraction tactics hardly ever fail. Beady eyes snap down to the new variable, beak clacking as it bends down to snap up the paltry snack in one smooth motion. 

Another step closer, head tilted in a motion reminiscent of its smaller bird cousins. Leo’s fingers flex once more, tiny sparks of fire flicking in the spaces between the digits. Animalistic instincts alert them to danger a split second before human instinct kicks in. The bird’s great, plumed head rises, all other motion stilled. 

Forest green eyes scan the surrounding thicket for sign of an intruder upon this fragile peace. Nothing seems out of the ordinary— 

A loud squawk sounds in the depths of the trees. It echoes, rendering it impossible to determine an approximate location. Their yellow companion doesn’t spare another glance as it tears through underbrush, bulk moving with surprising grace. 

Pent is of the same mind, it seems. Both professors make a start forward, the fire spell again extinguished, when another bird charges mere inches before them. Wind buffets Leo, sending his bangs fluttering. Frozen in place to avoid death by stampede, the prince only watches, attempting to count the endless stream of creatures. 

Ten, he eventually settles on. Though that doesn’t include the one from before nor the one in the forest. Twelve in total, with the distinct possibility for more. Leo holds no interest in pursing them further. He’s done his part—determined these are no mere birds, and that their intimidating appearance does not equal open hostility. 

If his life were a storybook, the scream adds yet another heavy dose of dramatic irony. Glancing back at Pent, the prince adjusts his gloves. “How fast did you say you could run?”

The great yellow bulks of the beasts blundered through the clearing none too gently; their heavy, haphazard steps and blundering mass of their plumage sent twigs flying into the air and branches snapping in their wake. Pent narrowly dodged the barrel form of one bird just in time to feel dull vibrations in the packed soil of a second incoming, lurching sharply to the left to stumble out of the way of that one also. A broad, clawed foot print dug into the mud where he stood but moments earlier.

If it weren’t for the scream, Pent might have even suggested they turn back to enlist the aid of others; he wasn’t brought onto the faculty just for the sake of pest control, and surely there were other better suited for charming feral animals. 

(And if word of these creatures made it back to Etruria, some enterprising noble would have tried to smuggle one or two or a dozen back, and Pent had no desire to see them thundering across the plains in Elibe either.)

“Irrelevant; I had rather hoped we would be running in the other direction, but the choice had been made for us it seems...” And so he took off in a sprint, pushing back supple branches and scraggy underbrush after the last of the yellow birds. They truly left a trail of disarray in their wake... Uneven ground made for poor footing, and Pent found himself nearly tripping more then once.

But the further they ran into the forest, the screaming seemed to morph to discernible words.

“Stay back!” Not particularly promising. “I don’t have any more!” Avian bandits? Something wasn’t right. “There are too many of you!”

The sprint slowed down to a slow jog, then a walk as Pent caught his breath in the next clearing over... And promptly lost it again. The clearing looked as if it had been caught in the middle of a summer dandelion bloom, a bright lemon yellow with the sheer number of hulking birds that congregated at the base of a tall oak tree. There had been a girl in the tree, decked in Garreg Mach’s blacks and golds, and an upturned basket at the base of the tree. Birds closest to the tree pecked at the ground and the basket, sending it tumbling into the air... And the ones further away tried to take their place. Dozens of them.

Pent watched in mild mortification. They could be set off at any moment.

seraphiia​:

     She nods slowly, not quite recovered from her earlier moment of involuntary candidness. They were both fortunate he hadn’t asked a more personal — more embarrassing — question, for Celica was sure she would have been made to tell all, if the strange twisting of her words had been any indication. 

     The next question, though seemingly innocuous, still brings a twinge of discomfort to her chest. What would she be doing, were she not Queen? It was something she never allowed herself to dwell on for too long — daydreams and what-ifs could be exciting and appealing, but they did not restore broken countries, nor did they feed starving mouths. 

     Incorrectly, Celica repeats in her mind, as she opens her mouth to answer. “I’m…” not sure, would have sufficed. It was not a total lie, nor was it the complete truth. She had thoughts about where her life could have led, but certainly nothing concrete— “Rather fond of a quiet life by the sea. In a small cottage, perhaps, with my own garden. Teaching children at the… local c-church…?”

     Celica clasps her hands over her mouth to keep any more from coming out, surprised by her own answer. That was something she’d never admitted aloud before, not even to herself.

     “I…” She hesitates for a moment, wary of whatever else this tree could make her say, “…I’ve no doubt there’s some sort of magic at play here. Whenever I think one thing, my mouth says another.” A sigh, “Attempting to bend the truth has proven to be a rather… unsettling experience.”

He had mentioned alternative hypotheses... Perhaps it was time to start considering them because at the rate things were going, the evidence was starting to lean towards ‘truth-inducing tree’, and Pent wasn’t entirely certain what implications would come of it. Cultivation for espionage? A moment of unwise candidness whenever one is just too close to the tree?

(An the more he thought about it, the most questions came to Pent’s mind. IF it were true, then how close did one have to be for it to take effect? What part of the tree was causing it? What if it were not the tree at all, but something closely associated? One question led to another led to a dozen...)

“Now, now, let us not jump to conclusions.” It wasn’t so much of a jump as a... somewhat wider step, but the idea was the same. The sage sighed, picking through the shortlist of possibilities. His fingers drummed against the folded page, moving in quick darting bursts that matched the sparks of idea and speculation. “There are always confounding factors to consider.”

(‘For example, you may just be a terrible liar.’)

Pent didn’t say that. It might have been a compliment though.

“We should have more suitable controls before we accept that hypothesis,” Pent suggested instead, sighing as his fingers came to a stop on the creased paper. “Multiple subjects, with and without the condition--a collaborative effort between the two of us, if you will. I propose we both answer a question with the intention of lying, once near the tree and once elsewhere. That should cover our bases, I hope.”

ashenprofessor​:

Pent had an apprehensive expression on his face when she looked towards him. Was there something wrong with the mechanical beast or was he admiring the student’s handiwork? She had had some reservations when she’d first seen the contraption but now having gotten to grips with riding it, she found herself most impressed by the ingenuity of its design.

She could do without its continued determination to chuck her off but assumed it was part of the ‘challenge’. 

Pent soon gave the go ahead to proceed and she felt the rocking movement increase in intensity beneath her after he activated something on the console. A short, sharp squeak escaped her lips in surprise as she almost lost her balance in the saddle. She tightened her grip on the horns, knuckles turning white, as she rightened herself. 

She’d ridden nervous horses in the past, those stricken by sudden fire on the battlefield, but it was a different experience. A real animal’s reaction could be calmed with some soothing words and petting. She highly doubted the same could be done for a mechanical one even if it was magical. 

The motions eased again as he fiddled with the panel again. She shot him a grateful look, brushing the tray hair out of her face. At his suggestion that they should retry the ‘steeper’ difficulty scales, Byleth mentally prepared herself, tightening her grasp and loosening her joints to move with the bull. 

“Erm … I guess so” She replied attempting to inject confidence she didn’t totally feel into her tone. “Go for it”

The bull kicked up as it began moving manically, shaking her left and right. It was initially a struggle to hold on but not impossible. After a few moments she grew used to it and sat up a little straighter. This isn’t too bad  she thought. 

She only hoped she wasn’t getting ahead of herself.

Things had gone smoothly—as smoothly as intended, at any rate—and perhaps that should have been the cue for Pent that fortune had other plans in mind. Magic coursed through the device in his hands again as he went to switch the Bull up again, no different than it had before, but then... Something sparked. Like the sensation of pin prickles under woolen layers on a cold, dry winter morning, the flow of magic almost seemed to bite at his finger tips, an aberration in the glyphs, no doubt, and Pent nearly dropped the device all together.

Catching it seemed to be little better. The contraption was war in his hands, far warmer than it should have been even if he had been holding it the entire time. More concerning was the flickering of the ruins, coinciding ominously with an audible clank that came from deep within the bull seconds before it began to buck in earnest.

“Don’t worry, it must be an error in increment,” Pent chuckled, though his brows furrowed while he fiddled with the magic and controls. That was odd. It was no longer... Responding as it did. Magic hiccuped and stuttered through the device, erratic in it transmission. “Let me just switch this...”

Mission : Spiraling  //  Month : Guardian Moon

In the dead of night, as you and your party are trying to sleep, the guards assigned to the night watch sound the call to arms. You are confronted by a Demonic Beast unlike any you have ever seen before: some terrible cross between a human and a wyvern, arms morphed into wings and sharp talons clutching a scythe. Its golden mask gleams in the dying fire as it screeches an inhuman battle cry. The beast quickly proves itself nimble in the air, utilizing hit-and-run tactics against your ground-based allies. Shooting it down ought to end this quickly!

[bow +1] @restornais

It was not an encampment of novice soldiers, still learning the ways of war and battle, but the seasoned hands and old guard of Garreg Mach that took up arms in Faerghus. In the packed tents, trained soldiers and foreign captains slept between the bed rolls of greener recruits and the few students who remained in to carry through the mission while shifting patrols rotated the watch through the night. The quiet was tense even as they lay in rest...

... and perhaps that was why Pent rose from his light sleep without much surprise to the clamour of hollering and bells ringing around them. Steel clattered from the other side of the canvas, and flashes of light shone through from bursts of magic, all of which belayed the ungodly screech that tore through the cacophony to make itself known. Unafraid.

Arrows and magic soar through the air past him as he burst through the canvas flaps of the tent, wisps of flames already manifesting in coils around his hand. There was but a fraction of a second: his eyes caught sight of the glimmer of a gold mask and jagged steel against the crackling thunder of another mage’s spell; flames leapt from his hand, shooting out like an arrow in the direction of the blood-curdling screech. It struck true, and rippled off the beasts hide like rain, showering back down upon them in a flurry of sparks and embers.

minorindech​:

Whatever hypotheticals are laid out by Pent are nowhere near as terrifying as the sinking feeling in Bernadetta’s stomach as they travel further and further into the mine’s depths. It is easy to simply write the feeling off; far too familiar to the stairs to the basement back home, the agonizingly slow walk to her own torture, the rising adrenaline of knowing no matter how she fights or what she does, she’s going to be tied up and left still for hours and hours with the watching eyes of things that hide in the dark upon her and-

It’s easy to think of the stone dropping into her stomach as simply that. But there is something…else to their descent. Something that makes her think of those horrible blue lights, which triggers the usual pain in her head. A library…a mine would be an awful place for a library, and the thought slips through Bernadetta’s fingers before she even has the chance to think of why this dark would make her think of libraries and-

and it doesn’t matter, not with the sound of something breaking in the distance, and the edge that is clearly entering into Pent’s voice. Bernadetta swallows. For once, she is thankful to not have her bow at her side. The lance isn’t as familiar, and she’s not sure exactly how effective it will be against the spider machine monster, but it feels like far better protection than her bow…

She wishes she’d taken more reason classes…

There’s quiet as their pace slowly brings them deeper, entering into a wide room with plenty of space. This would be a perfect room for a big monster she thinks, moments before a large monster appears.

A leg comes crashing down behind them and Bernadetta screeches, throwing herself forward. The mechanical spider screeches as well, blue lights flashing a blinding blue that makes her head scream back in turn, as it slowly scuttles its way down the wall to face them. Bernadetta’s foot backs into an overturned mine cart and she swallows. No where to go now…

“Look out!” She yells, watching the spider lift a leg. Pent is closer by just a few feet, and it’s enough for the spider to turn its attention to him first. She really doesn’t want to die by getting stepped on, she thinks, as its leg comes flying down towards him.

Down and down and down they went... The damp and the cold permeated here; the air stagnated and tasted of earth as one breathed in, musty and ancient and... Still. 

Pent didn’t want to point out that at some point, the tunnels had shifted from carefully reinforced corridors to raw, bare stone that had been crudely hewn into the very earth itself. The miner did not survey this area long enough to leave signs of their presence here; and if they left with any hope of a motherload still resting below their feet, then it was because something made them leave.

Whatever it was was still out there. Stalking them now. Every so often, Pent could hear the scrape of stone on steel... The click of tiny metal points; the grating sound of artificial joints grinding in the distance. They would be at a disadvantage, of course, with the walls of the mine bearing down on them and poor footing and then dark that would settle upon them once the lantern burned out—the flame wobbled. Flickered.

A flash of light was all Pent saw as a metallic leg came darting out of the shadow, all golden gleam and blue glow. The sage stared for a moment. Something about the cool light of the lines of blue held him in rapture more than any amount of terror the monstrosity it was attached to could have elicited.

“Look out!”

Her shout pierced through the trance, and Pent barely rolled out of the way in time, magic already burning at his finger tips. In that instance, the claw crushed through the thin metal of the lantern where it had been dropped in his place, leaving the whole chamber darkened and washed in a blanket of pale blue light.

(Metal and blue and blood and he already knew that such a point would tear through flesh with an unrelenting, unfeeling ease. Machines did not weep.)

Through the darkness, when his magic materialized and struck the automaton right where the limb articulated, it was not a burst of warm flame, but a shower of purple-black sparks as the metal groaned and the leg fell from the spider from the joint and another began to spasm. Still, it reeled and began to scuttle disjointedly instead towards Bernadetta on its remaining legs, burning even brighter blue. “Keep away from it, Bernadetta!” 

princepsumbra​:

A bright, lemon yellow bulk plummeted into the trees. Leo curls his fingers inward, extinguishing the flames. Something about the beak, the bulging eyes, the height of a grown man suggested this beast is not one to scare with magic. 

“Neither have I.” 

The unknown doesn’t scare Leo, far from it. He’s faced a dragon before with more confidence than this. It’s the eyes, he decides. Something utterly unsettling in the extended eyes, the half-lidded expression belying a potential predatory instinct. 

“Don’t make any sudden moves,” the prince cautions. Green leaves cling to the blinding feathers. “…What would draw such creatures here?” Are they magical? Some extremely distant cousin of dragons? The bird finishes righting itself, bright orange talons flexing as it stretches its legs. Advances a tentative step closer. Leo eyes the sky again, awaiting signal that a flock approaches. So far, the clouds remains free of threatening silhouettes. 

“Pent. Offer the beast your bread roll.” Leo settles his gaze on the bird again, keeping his tone even. Perhaps it’s simply hungry, or simply moving from one nesting ground to another. Whatever the motive, Leo would rather avoid drawing the ire of this unknown entity. 

He’s frankly more annoyed with the vague description written on the mission statement. How exactly does one forget to mention the more sinister details of ‘large creatures.’ 

Of course, if this literal bread crumb approach to avoid fighting doesn’t pan out, Leo will not hesitate to unleash his magic. 

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Under any other circumstance, Pent believed that he might have even found the creature comical. 

With the ungainly gait and graceless landing of the creature, there was no way that it could have been a predatory thing. The piles of fluffy, soft plumes that covered its body and hid it wings even made him wonder just how well the beast could fly. Pent had only ever heard of large, flightless birds that made their living kicking up the dust of the dry earth. “... If need be, how fast could you run?”

(If anything, Pent had more faith in a good couple of bursts of unnatural fire than running, but they did say that in situations like these, one need not be the fastest runner... Just the faster runner.)

What a thought. No. He wouldn’t feed Leo’s flesh to the beast. His fingers dig into the soft crust of the breakfast roll and tore it in half, throwing it in a loose under-hand toss to send it rolling noisily along the twigs and weeds of the forest path. He didn’t know if it was the motion or the sound, but the bird’s eyes darted from them to the now-stilled chunk of bread and... Bent over to scoop the entirety of it into its gaping maw and swallowing it whole.

It was not satiated, Pent thought, not with how purposefully it stepped towards them, as if aware of his deception and how the other half of the bread roll had been tucked away in his pocket. But then it stopped. Raised a great, yellow head to the canopy, and listened. Pent also listened. A squawking came from deeper in the forest; it must have been a call of some sort because the yellow creature took off in a dash with a heavy, rough start towards the call.

Pent almost stepped forward, but another bird with more momentum tore right past the two mages, tumbling out of the trees and right back into the thicket. The another. And another. Birds, running past them like they had heard some siren call. And Pent may have just written it off then then; he was not employed by the Academy for something as petty as pest control, but then...

ashenprofessor​:

The was a steadying hum of magic in the air as the beast sprung to life beneath her. With a jolt the mechanical bull lurched forwards with a strong rocking motion before tipping backwards again. It was nothing like anything she had ever ridden before. The gait was just off. 

Horses had an even gait which you rode at a rhythmic pace in tandem with the animal. Every time she tried to match the bull’s motion she found it changing direction and resisting her. Was that part of the magic enhancement used in its design? Following Pent’s advice Byleth reached forwards to grasp the bull by its horns, the natural shape of them making for handles. The steadying force of the handholds allowed her to feel a little more connected to the bucking contraption. However, it took a few more minutes of moving at the more … sedate … pace for her to feel totally comfortable with it and feel as though she could predict future movement.

“I think I’m getting the hang of this now” she called to Pent, attempting to inject a bit of confidence into her tone. She wouldn’t want him thinking her incapable of assisting him with this task. She had a reputation as a capable mercenary to uphold.

Looking around she spotted him lurking at the edge of the room. ‘Why is he hanging back?’ She wondered. ‘Is there something he was afraid would happen?’ He had seemed quite insistent that she held on to something but that could just be friendly advice as she got used to riding the machine. It had been a little difficult at the start sure but now she’d gotten the hang of it, how bad could a sequence be?

“Shall we start the sequence. I’m ready” She challenged with a determined voice. That may have been a mistake and now she was flirting with danger. She put that doubt out of her mind.

“Let’s put this beast through it’s paces” 

It had been described to him as a programmed obstinance, to measure the changing velocity of the rider and sense the shifting pulses of magic within the field and anticipate what the rider may do... To purposefully be difficult and throw the rider off balance. It was a simple concern, but one that Pent did not expect to actually work; the logistics to enabling it seemed too far-fetched.

But not so.

“Fascinating.” He hadn’t intended on saying it quite as outloud as he did, but with the thumbs up from Byleth, all that was left to do was proceed. “Excellent.”

She sounded confident. Good. One of them should be.

Metal groaned, and the squeal dissipated as grease worked itself into the rocking joints of the false beast, now prompted to flail and buck harder by the device. If it were a thing of flesh and blood, Pent might have called it ‘agitated’, no different from cattle taking into the fields to shake off the flies. He had little doubt that anyone with experience riding a skittish horse into battle would be able to withstand it with little issue.

“This is the next increment; there are three in total, each subject to minor adjustments...” To demonstrate, the light on the device brightened and dimmed under his touch, momentarily causing the bull to thrasher just a touch harder and then slow down to something less than before... And back again. “For the sake of brevity, I think we can forgo these adjustments for now.”

Fleeting Snow & Ethereal Ball: I’m assuming that all my threads on Pent have either been dropped or completed. Please let me know if there is anything in particular we did you feel Sparks Joy but otherwise, I look forward to new content!

Other threads/starters: BOLD = on me, otherwise the draft is out of my court; please let me know if anything has grown stale and you think would be better dropped!

the art of subterfuge - @freliaes

prototype - @ashenprofessor

in high feather - @princepsumbra

luminescence - @minorindech

tree ventures - @seraphiia

Starters owed for @restornais (bow+1)