quiet cloud of petals fold.

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐑 !

rivalries are put aside, and camaraderie takes their place. and for the golden deer, pulling neck and neck with the eagles and lions despite having the fewest contestants in the ring is all the reason to celebrate! or so rosado and hortensia thought. at the post-tournament grand banquet, the elusian pair have set up a golden deer corner, complete with yellow and cervid decor and drapery, and both hosts arrayed in house colors and face paint. "three cheers for knoll! three cheers for hilda! three cheers for eliwood!" "fear the deer!" a celebration lifting up the class heroes who'd carried them from underdog into the spotlight, and for all the deer who cleared the way valiantly to let them get there: —hip-hip hooray!

FOOD & DRINK:

—  CUPCAKE DECORATING  ╱  from yellow-sugar icing to pretzel antlers to cookie toppings shaped like deer, there's no shortage of supplies to make your cupcakes look any which way you want.

—  CARAMEL MERINGUES  ╱  a triple layer of chocolate and caramel in glass containers, tied off with a bit of string attached to a spoon. perfect to grab and take with you, or feed to a loved one.

—  DOE POPS  ╱  cake pops shaped like deer heads! and something sticking out of each one. a paper fortune? what does yours say?

—  GOLDEN SPICE CIDER  ╱  a warm and buzzy autumnal drink, perfect for the season and sure to banish any chills. both alcoholic and non-alcoholic varieties available.

—  CROUCHING CHOCOLATE, HIDDEN STAG  ╱  a culinary minigame? a table is arranged with a terrarium-like miniature woodland display, complete with moss, trees, golden deer flags, and a herd of deer themselves. one item in this display is made of chocolate. how many things are you willing to bite to find which one it is?

ARTS & CRAFTS:

—  THIRTY-POINT CROWN  ╱  craft your own glorious headpiece with paint, twigs, and twine to show off your deer pride! who can boast the most impressive rack? ( of antlers, duh. what were you thinking? )

—  WOOD CARVING  ╱  for the dexterous and crafts-minded, a setup with display and instructions to carve your own wooden deer to take home. organizers are not responsible for injuries.

—  DEERLY BELOVED  ╱  a stack of deer-shaped paper and pens greet you. "write a compliment and stick it onto its recipient!" the instructions say. if you're fast, maybe they won't even know it's you.

—  READY-TO-PAINT CERAMICS  ╱  a station of unfired bowls and plates and small vases invites you to decorate them however you want! several stencils are provided for the uninitiated, or you can go where your hart takes you.

—  DECORATE A FRIEND  ╱  from washable paint to stick-on sequins, glitter bombs and pinnable deer tails. find a willing victim to array in deer spirit — or make one.

GAMES:

—  FÓDLAN CHESS  ╱  a traditional strategy board game using a triangle-shaped board that can be played by two to three people. the objective is to be the first to move all your pieces to one of the other corners by jumping over your opponents' pieces. are you up for the competition?

—  LIMBO  ╱  everyone knows that being a deer isn't just about strength or smarts, but flexibility. challenge mode: wear an antler crown while playing, and don't let it fall off your head!

—  ANTLER TOSS  ╱  you have five tries to land as many rings on the tines as you can for a prize. if a friend is willing, they can wear the antlers on their head for you to aim at instead!

—  DEER PONG  ╱  the classic party game, with alcoholic and non-alcoholic versions. some say that the non-alcoholic one misses the point of the challenge, but at least it lets everyone play, right?

—  HEADLOCK  ╱  in a classic show of strength, stamina, and bravado, it's time to wrestle like the stags do! put on a headdress of real oaken antlers ( not light, that ) and lock heads with your opponent to throw them to the ground! no use of other body parts or implements allowed.

GUIDELINES:

reblog this ask meme to indicate that your muse is participating! anyone who's reblogged the meme is automatically accepting asks, so no need to double-check. 　

please be mindful of not only waiting for interactions to come to you, but try to be proactive about sending to others too. it's not quite polite to always expect others to do the work! 　

muses from any house are welcome! it's a celebration meant for everyone. 　

She had fought well. To think otherwise is folly. Despite her fear, despite the odds, she had fought, and she had struck true, and she had brought them down alongside. That much is admirable for a student, a mage, a future soldier. To, in theory, cull the enemy numbers, even facing the odds, even with one's own life.

Whether she would do so much in a true battle, they know not. But for these parameters, she fought well, and they respect her for it.

So it is that Denning waits for her footing to steady, and proceeds along the field slowly, a procession in silence. They proceed, marvelling silently at bright flashes of quintessence, the sparks and clamor of a battlefield, even in imitation. It is strange, to be able to stroll along an active battlefield and take in the sights, the sounds. They see students and professors circling eachother in deadlocks, others learning to master their weapons, others celebrating their triumphs. Their senses remain open to incoming projectiles, to the girl beside them, to her rhythm and gait.

Something about it wavers and quivers: The former, moreso than the latter. It is not fear, despite her loss, for she yet smiles, and her eyes shine, but they know not what it is.

Their steps do not slow unless she wishes it, but their head cocks at her. Their free hand asks, in a simple sign: okay?

they'd make a lovely retainer - her vision sparkles with stars - and she tries to follow their gesture.

"me?" she asks, feeling oddly disarmed by them, although that bright charmer never fails to smile. "of course i'm alright. this wouldn't bring me down. it's just.. a tactical retreat!"

less than alright, but she does not want to admit such weakness, even when the other had seen her struck down by the brazen sweep of a lance.

"i should be asking if you're alright!"

that's not a question. try again. fingers curl in her skirt.

Beyond expectation, then. Her defense is not flailing, fearful, a close-counter immolation, but focused, intent on taking one down with her.

Rather respectable. An average mortal would have not been able to continue battle beyond this point, so surrender is the logical option for him in this mock battle. She too will fall soon, and she knows it — So it is that the morph's hands are raised in surrender, sword remaining firm in his scabbard, bow beyond usage any longer.

She will fall soon, and will no doubt be in worse shape than them. Respect, and their creed as Knight, demands they keep students safe. If she so desires, then, they will escort her to the medical tents when this concludes.

denning has been defeated!

(In truth, he’d been called many things—worse things, by far; in that regard, ‘nasty’ was nigh a compliment.)

Final adjustments, a shift in stance; following through—with all the force that wasn’t necessary (but the force that was fun, and that was all that mattered):

“ Gladly. ”

Valter attacks Hortensia with Iron Lance! [d20 Roll]: 13 + 4 = 17. Hit! Hortensia HP: 0/6

Clean and easy—a task so simple a child could do it, like a first kill; a caught doe; a snared thing put to rest. (She had been trapped from the start, ever since that Prince Leif fellow had fallen.) It was merely a game of making that defeat as terrible as possible for her to endure.

(Even through false gallantry—a show of will that is too cut in half.)

It was a shame the archer had to go down with her, but no matter—Valter still stood, unscathed, unrelenting, might. The brass of battle echoes in his soul.

And with the tip of his hat, he withdraws, victory already clawed.

it was fun. it was, wasn't it? she wants to laugh, or cry, or maybe both - so all she does is smile, pushing herself to her knees, attempting to make space and part the waves of battle. a saccharine thing, a smile rosado would chastise.

( but she doesn't want to cry! )

hopefully her retainers are winning. the fire tome sits closed in her lap, hair sweat-strung stuck to her face, and her eyes glimmer.

next time, things would be different.

she turns to the odd one, still hovering around, and extends her arm - "a hand, if you please."

denning attacks hortensia with iron bow! roll: 16 - 2 = 14. hit! 1.5 damage. hortensia 2.5/6 HP.

If the girl yet has the wits, the strength to think it, she would inevitably retaliate: Denning would take the blow, for being the seeming 'weaker' opponent, the same way she had gone after Leif before.

Here, it is for the better, for she can weather it.

And again.

Valter attacks Hortensia with Iron Lance! [d20 Roll]: 17 + 4 = 21. Hit! Hortensia HP: 0.5/6HP

It is a nuisance to be limited only to non-lethality. If not for that, Valter could be so much worse—damage so much further—but he is instead restrained to that which can be healed by the medical tent workers. His blade cuts and bleeds as though it were real, and that is made to suffice.

And again. Like practice; like training; like war.

Twin moons glisten, for he could tell she was done for, the last of her strength given to this cause.

“ Once more. ”

hortensia 0.5/6 hp hits denning 1/6 hp with fire (roll: 14 + 2 = 16, - 1.5 hp, denning 0/6 hp.

"you're a very nasty man!" she huffs towards the man bearing the lance - a last attempt at boldness in the face of her demise. she knows she cannot bring him down, so she focuses her flames onto the bow wielder, slumping forward breathless as she knocks them down.

"go on, then."

It is of no concern. Gloved hands simply pat out what parts of its uniform had begun to smolder, golden eyes now fixed upon her now that it had offered the lancer an opportune moment to strike.

denning rotates the blue lions to the left.

Fleet feet, a hand signal. take the opening, knight. Show what you can do, for it knows what that target is capable of.

“ So you’re a prince, hm? ”

Valter attacks Leif with Iron Lance! [d20 Roll]: 3 + 4 = 7. Hit! Leif HP: 0/5

His blade slices the boy all the same—poised and powerful enough to force a retreat. (Though, he wouldn’t mind if he stayed here to die; only that it would make things messy for him in the future.) With that, only one remains—the mage, flaming, as he noted earlier. She had struck the archer twice now, and chances were: Valter was next.

“ You. ”

He stands upright, a parody of a warm smile on his face. (Two down, one remaining.) His grip on his lance shifts.

“ Hello there, ” he grins—it isn’t much of a greeting, really.

He dashes forward.

(What intense misfortune Miranda gets thrown into then.)

Wishing to pursue the opposing side's archer, the Moonstone stops in front instead, blocking Leif from further progress. His expression hardens.

“ Depends upon who's asking. ”

Leif tries to raise his axe to cut him down and not be stopped in his goal, but in an attempt to do so, he does not prove fast enough to even deflect that lance, its spearpoint making it through the arc of his axe's blade.

Leif has been defeated!

The brunet is tossed back into the grass of Gronder Field, a crescent moon of red lining the front of his chest and the wind feeling properly knocked out of him. He spits out a bit of blood and grits his teeth, getting up off the trampled earth.

“ Damn it. I'm retreating! Sorry I couldn't do more... ”

That much he says to the Elusian princess, ashamed all over again, a third year in a row...

roll: 1d6 = 6, tiebreaker = 6, hortensia goes first. hortensia 6/6 hp hits denning 4.5/6 hp [roll: 1d20 = 5 + 2 = 7, -1.5 hp, denning 3/6 hp.]

she does a little curtsy, and then looks to her left, where emblem leif -

he has fallen. against the dirt, red like the moon, and she finds herself standing

utterly

alone.

he speaks to her, but her voice fails her, following leif's footprints in the dirt - her breath fills her ears, the banners becoming oppressive - but she stands her ground, as any good princess would. she won't lose - she can't lose. again she casts, but her spell falters -

roll 1d6 = 4, hortensia goes second. hortensia 6/6 hp barely hits denning 3/6 hp with fire [roll: 1d20 = 3 + 2 = 5, -.5 hp, denning 2.5/6 hp]

as when she turns her head, she finally sees the crazed look in her other enemy's eyes.

Sakura HP: 0/5

Sakura has been defeated!

She remained motionless for several seconds, but then she realized that it wasn’t a real battle, just a tournament and the terrible pain she felt in her lungs would soon go away as soon as she would reach the medical tent; she pulled all her remaining strength in her arms and pushed towards the ground to lift her body from the dust and possibly facing the enemy that did this to her.

She remembered the first time they met, during the Midsommar festival: he gifted her a very cute flowery crown, out of kindness and simply went away, not even revealing his name or anything; but that was enough for Sakura to vividly remember him and considering him a very good person, with a pure heart and a kind soul. He was also that person, she wouldn’t easily forget about that.

She eventually managed to stood on her legs, a bit trembling, but she would recover soon in the medical tent. “I’ll be waiting at the medical tent, if anything is needed. Good luck on the battlefield!” she chirped at her companions and then she turned towards him.

“You know, I still treasure that flower crown” and she lastly smiled, turning her back and walking off the arena.

Fortuitous, some would call it. Is it a stroke of luck or skill? It seems the rest of the battle would decide it. Eyes lock back onto their destined target, the newest deemed weakest link, simply because of the damage he has already attempted to shrug off. One more, and it should be simple for the other to follow up.

(focus. this is what you were made for.)

denning attacks leif with iron bow (curved shot)! roll: 14. hit! 1.5 damage. leif 2/5 HP.

The arrow flies true and lands with surety, and a robust archer's stance whittles away into fluidity once more, ready to move—

steady hands, hortensia.

roll 1d6 = 2, hortensia goes last.

a flourish of her hand sends sparks careening towards the very attacker, an offputting person with eyes she swears aren't quite right, not that she has time to look -

hortensia 6/6 hp hits denning 6/6 hp with fire [roll: 1d20 = 6 + 2 = 8, -1.5 hp, denning at 4.5 hp.]

Leif understands well the concept of performance, but this mock battle is another attempt, another question, another year that he must face himself. With the flags of the three houses blowing in the wind, will he stay upright and free like those banners? Or shall he fall to the earth below, tattered and bruised like all the rest of the times?

Leif rolls D6 and gets 6 + 2 = 8 LEIF GOES FIRST!

More people means more opponents, more people to send him to an early defeat. It's a sharp glint in his eye that has his feet moving fast and his axe moving faster, more keen to make his mark.

Leif 5/5HP hits Miranda 6/6HP with Iron Axe [Roll: 6 + 4 = 10; -2, Miranda 4/6HP]

Iron axe swings and lands despite the wild, wrathful way he aims it, aided by the tumult of the many battles around them.

“ Princess Miranda! ”  he yelps in a bit of surprise but it soon melts into challenge.  “ Keep your wits about you. I will be your opponent! ”

But their reunion is not solely their own, and soon, out of his periphery, he spots the shine of a lance—

They’d claimed victory that year, but all the same, it felt… unsatisfactory. He’d been shot down by a little Deer boy towards the start of the event, lending nothing of his strength to their victory.

Well, the Lions had yet to win. He could prove himself that way.

Turn Order Roll: 6. Valter goes second!

He picks out his enemies on the horizon—yellow bands (fitting): a pink mage with a heart on her face, an axe-wielder with fire in his eyes, and–

Her. (Hmph.)

Valter is not the first to strike—though he bounds across the battlefield, soaring, flying—the enemy brunet is faster. (Perhaps he should hunger more.) All the same: lance is braced—

Valter attacks Sakura with Iron Lance (Tempest Lance):

[d20 Roll]: 9 + 6 = 15. Hit!

Sakura HP: 2.5/5

—and it pierces, devoid of remorse. First: eyes wide and sharp, then the curl of a smile:

“ Hello again. ”

And he withdraws, spinning the weapon in his hand in preparation for a secondary strike.

roll 1d6 = 5, hortensia goes third!

"rude!" she snaps at the lance wielder who had dove her classmate - he dances just out of reach of her tome, so she turns focus instead to the one which had been previously engaged by her classmate.

hortensia 6/6 hp hits miranda 4/6 hp! [roll: 13 +2 = 15, - 1.5 hp, miranda 2.5/6 hp]

fire whirls from her fingertips - peals of girlish laughter the accompaniment.

celebrate, of course!

it's not as meticulously planned as she would like, and the dorm rooms are a bit cramped for three, but she'd grown up hiding in smaller places than this. she doubts they mind, either - she hopes they don't, because she's been worrying more and more about being a good friend and not just a cute one, and she really, really, doesn't want to let them down. nail polishes and makeup brushes are spread across her bed, a fluffy towel laid over her pink-and-blue comforter, and she sits with her legs folded beneath her.

and she's wearing a smile, of course! this smile does not tear at her eyes or bare her teeth. it sucks in her lips and dimples her cheeks, crinkles her nose just the slightest bit, an action not consciously made. there is a softer light than usual in her eyes, a sincerity reserved just for them.

for her dearest friends.

she splays her hand across the towel as she picks up bottles of polish one-by-one. glitter, blue glitter, "mood changing" - whatever that means - pink, gold, the works.

"what do you think?" she asks goldmary and rosado both. "gold goes with our uniform.. and i am a golden deer."

The nurses in Abyss had wrung their hands and told her that she should venture up to the surface to get her old wound checked out. It's really busy, so no one would even notice if she slipped in to the infirmary. She'd just be one more patient, so no one would pay her too much mind. It would be quick; just an assurance that everything was healing fine.

And true to their word, the infirmary is indeed packed. There had been some big mission or something that happened before she got here that had left a number of students and faculty alike injured. The specifics aren't really what matters to her. What matters is that a nurse had taken a single look at her, muttered "Another one?!", and shuffled her off to one of the empty cots.

This... would not be a quick experience at all.

Indeed, she sits there for an inordinately long amount of time waiting for a nurse to come see her. Just when she thinks her turn has finally arrived, heralded by the shuffling of a curtain, what she sees is not a nurse, but a familiar face. Even dressed down, she would have to be blind not to recognize the extremely distinctive appearance of the girl all but gawking at her.

"there's nothing to knock on!" she points out, voice colored with indignance, and then raps her knuckles against a steel pole sitting beside the bed, one that holds a curtain that provides very little in way of actual privacy.

"besides, i'm your princess, and you're supposed to be dead. you're in no position to try to boss me around."

hortensia steps over to marni's side, then, looking her over with a scrutinizing look, as if furrowing her brow can reveal what's wrong and why she's still here.

‘Learn how to withstand interrogations that may test your emotional and physical strength.’ It had been such a bizarre description that Ingrid had signed up, more curious than anything about how such a seminar could be taught.

Well.

She clearly had her answer.

She hadn’t had any weapons on her when the instructor had attacked, not expecting the sudden assault. The instructor had melted from the shadows, quiet as the empty space between stars until they were right in front of her, levelling a blade that glinted in the afternoon light, so sharp she was certain her bones would have been like butter against its steel.

She hadn’t run, at least not yet, instincts from years of training clicking into place. Her mind whirred, her body moving of its own accord as she’d dodged the first blow, aimed a kick to the instructor’s knee to slow them down.

She had missed, if only barely, her heel grazing the side of their leg.

“What are you doing?!” She leapt back as their sword cut through the air, a hairsbreadth from her face. Her braid swung to the side, heavy as it smacked against her back. “Who are you?!”

They were the instructor of the seminar, as they let her know before attempting to attack once more. Ingrid dodged again, managed to duck beneath the instructor’s arm and jab her elbow into their side. They reeled, and she took the opportunity to knock the sword from their grasp, kicking it away before she backed up towards the door.

“I’m pretty sure this is not the standard format for a seminar.” She couldn’t help but chastise them, as if the instructor would somehow bow their head and beg for forgiveness.

No, this was a maniac to be certain, this person who seemed borderline gleeful at the chaos they were sparking.

“No.” The instructor looked like they were on the verge of laughing as they straightened, freeing a dagger from their sleeve that Ingrid had not seen. “This is a format of my own design. I will be chasing you and your partner through the forest to raise tensions.”

They continued to tell her their lesson plan, like some sort of maniacal villain out of a children’s book.

But what snagged in Ingrid’s mind the most, like a hook caught in a fish’s scales, was when they said ‘partner.’

Partner? Panic surged, just as a flicker of pink caught her eye. Someone else had been foolish enough to sign up for this seminar, and now both of them would be subjected to the machinations of this person.

When the seminar was over Ingrid would be writing an absolutely scathing letter to the archbishop, because there was no way someone like this should be teaching anything.

Pink flashed in her vision again and she turned, perhaps foolishly so as it weakened her defenses should the instructor attempt to attack again. But she had to see who else had unwittingly joined this seminar, had to warn them to move before the instructor pulled out another weapon to attack them both with.

She recognized the girl from some of their classes, and from seeing her around the stables and the pegasi.

“Hortensia!” She shouted, trying to wave her arms. “We have to move. This person is a lunatic!”

hortensia was a very lucky princess on that front - skilled in magic, charming, beloved by pegasi. staves, too, came easily to her. swords?

a little bit less so.

oh, she could wield them, but there was, unfortunately, room for improvement. room for improvement she would not dare to voice, but room for improvement nonetheless. when she’d seen the seminar advertised - both as being for swordsmanship, and for withstanding interrogations (a skill which was highly useful for any political position, in her expert opinion!) - she’d signed up without too much digging.

it was a prolific school, after all. surely the teachers here could be trusted to be responsible, and she wouldn’t have to worry about a thing. perhaps it would be more hands on than a lecture, but nothing too dangerous. emblem claude, at least, had not indicated anything, well…

anything like this.

really, nearly snagging her hair on the brush is so unbecoming! and it’s not even her fault - this instructor, this utterly insane person, laughing like a maniac with a knife in their sleeve. she’d ran when she’d watched a blade be drawn against a woman she swore she recognized, and had pushed her back up against a tree to listen.

partner. a team exercise?

when ingrid - yes, that’s her name, isn’t it? she’s done so well, so kindly, to remember - waves her arms, hortensia pulls herself out from the tree’s shadow with a huff and a wave of her own arms.

“you can’t treat us like this!” she says, rather pointedly, to the instructor, and then beckons for ingrid to follow her.

“through here! they’ll struggle to follow.”

The grass feels different in Fodlan. She idly runs her hand through it, thinking about the differences. It’s short, deliberately cut rather than trampled in battle. And the texture is superb, she feels as if she could walk around barefoot without issue. 

She watches the students exiting their class for the day. Some she recognises, most she does not. They wander off in different directions, and Yune wonders where they’re going, why they’re going there, what their stories are. Of course, there’s plenty of time to learn…

One student does not wander away, in fact she approaches. And introduces herself! “Nice to meet you Hortensia!” She smiles, standing to meet her. The girl is short, but she’s still got several inches on Yune. “My name is Yune.” 

“it’s dyed,” hortensia answers, oozing confidence. “where i’m from, we have enchanted dyes. isn’t it so vibrant? oh, is your hair natural? i bet it is.”

she doesn’t crouch to the other - isn’t tall enough to crouch - but she does lean over, just a smidge. head tilts as she appraises the other.

“do you have any siblings, yune?”

sure, she hadn’t experienced whatever had recently plagued the continent, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t in need of a celebration! maybe it was the childishness which still nipped at her heels that made it seem so exciting. either way, it suggested two very important things to the second princess of elusia:

that there would be colors and fashions she had never seen before, and;

it would be a chance to network.

she’d already grown into it, after all - it was easy enough, refreshing, even, to use her charms to help grow elusia’s friends and trade instead of using them just to survive and smile through it all. this was just as good an opportunity as any - maybe even better! many of the other royals were attending this school, after all. surely she could rope one into going with her?

and so her plan was set. it was admittedly a bit haphazard, pieced together mostly in the margins of her notes, accompanied by doodles of a stern instructor’s face.

diamant. 

she doesn’t plan to give him a choice in the matter, of course. dressed out-of-uniform for the day, her hairstyle of choice is pigtails, with a hairclip carefully strung into her bangs to evoke a likeliness to alcryst. her skirts are ever poofy, her heels granting her the smallest boost to her height, and when she approaches the older royal it’s with an ever present sunshine smile on her face.

“king diamant!” hands clasp behind her back, and she bats her eyelashes at him, skidding to a stop just before him. 

“you know, i could use someone to keep me company in attending this festival. imagine if someone were to endanger me! and then i thought, oh, king diamant is so strong. he wouldn’t let the second princess of elusia go unguarded!”

her smile doesn’t falter. she doesn’t move any closer - not yet, of course. biding her time is just as important as being cute. and, hey, she really is trying to be nice, too! she’s sure he could do with some relaxation and fun.