Cold as Ice(?)

Alcryst's freezes in place. He clenches his jaw. He makes an active effort to steady his sword hand. Yet in spite of the vast skies and scenery of Garreg Mach that surround him, this battlefield feels awfully claustrophobic, as though they were surrounded by walls.

Lambert calls them mere illusions. Alcryst struggles to. He can't do this. He can do this. He knows he can because he's done it before. His mind twists itself into knots to soothe his apprehension; because last time was his father, his own flesh and blood, so shouldn't friends be easier?

Lambert, Edward, and Dimitri tear into Céline mercilessly. Flaming lances and filthy wyvern talons. Cruel Fódlan gauntlets crush into her chest. She stops moving after Dimitri's first blow. The second, Alcryst can't help but let out an anguished cry. "A-Ah... Céline!!"

Is this some kind of test? To see if they had the fortitude to kill familiar faces? How cruel.

Alcryst 10/10HP crits Eager Student 10/10HP with Hagakure Blade (Windsweep) [Roll: 20; -5HP, Eager Student 5/10HP] Windsweep activates! Eager Student cannot counterattack!

Even knowing how powerful a mage Ewan is, when Alcryst realizes how effective this sword is at tearing through armor and flesh, he recoils and retreats. Damn it...!

But does it matter if they recognize their opposing forces? They are only illusions, as Professor Lambert points out. And even if they were not simply projections, would striking them down really matter?

After all, death doesn't stick.

Lambert and her flying ally put on an adequate start to the battle, heavily focusing the lady in royal dressing that has sword in hand. But it is the blonde student that finishes the job, in...quite an unruly manner. He does not even speak as the lifeless corpse continues to take physical lashings.

Flora would stop him, but she decides not to. It is not her duty to determine how her allies should fight. Not when it appears that is how they prefer to fight.

She can see physical hesitation on her final comrade's face while the first enemy continues to be mauled. "Céline," he calls the dead body. Flora can understand others being nervous at the falling of a familiar face, but why does this man seem to care?

After all, he is the one to tell her. Death doesn't stick.

The blue-haired man thrusts sword toward another of their opponents, this one equipped with healing staves. Likely to take his mind off of the disturbing scene. Seeing the youthful foe stagger back with staff in hand reminds the maid of something else, however.

She lives to serve.

Flora 10/10HP heals Edward 6/10HP with Recover [Roll: 5; +3HP; Edward 9/10HP]

For the first time in these bouts, Flora picks up a healing staff that has been by her side since the beginning. And she uses it for just that, heals. No distractions of sacrificial thuribles for her or her target to spill blood over or fear of the dark. Just her, and a student to serve.

For a moment, Flora smiles. The restorative aura clings to the brown-haired boy as well as herself, leaving a soothing feeling in her mind. "Do you feel better? Please tell me if I can serve fur-"

Lethal Messenger 10/10HP hits Flora 10/10HP with Silence Blast! [Roll: 13; -2HP; Flora 8/10HP] Flora 10/10HP is inflicted with Silence! Flora 10/10HP cannot counterattack!

She shuts up. A cannonball knocks Flora square in the chest, and its white fog prevents any sound or air from leaving Flora's mouth. From the little air left, after the cannon has knocked her back so far.

It almost hurts to breathe.

And then to add insult to injury, the mounted one, this "Marth," is already dashing forward to finish what their gunner has started.

Glowing Ember activates! Hero-King 10/10HP hits Flora 8/10HP with Brave Lance [Roll: 12; 2+(1)*4=-6HP; Flora 2/10HP]

So this is what I get, for opening my mouth?

The lance pierces through her, the heavy hand wielding it pushing it in even harder. Now it truly hurts to breathe, but Flora is fine with the pain. She does not check for her own wound's condition. She knows it's the end.

After all...well, you know.

Flora 2/10HP barely hits Hero-King 10/10HP with Nepenthe Gloves [Roll: 2; -0.5HP; Hero-King 9.5/10HP]

Death doesn't stick.

A pathetic blow from her gloves, with only a small scrape of darkness clashing with the darkened figure.

Flora 2/10HP hits Hero-King 9.5/10HP with Nepenthe Gloves [Roll: 12; -1.5HP; Hero-King 8/10HP] Sesshoeski activates! Flora 2/10HP takes -2HP for hit [Flora 0/10HP]

DEATH DOESN'T STICK. 

Flora's final hit has the meaning she meant the previous one to have. A square blow to Marth's chest, allowing darkness to seep within his figure. But that darkness comes with the exchange of a sharp, painful sting. Her time has come.

Mouth opens for one last time, but Flora does not speak any words. Instead, she is laughing. No sound comes out, but her lungs writhe in painful laughter. She is not afraid to fall here. There is nothing to be afraid of. After all,

Flora has been defeated!

death doesn't stick.

Flora spends too long in the back to recover from her own weakness, and the husk releases another piercing screech. Her energy is not exhausted, but she is forced to take a tumble on the floor thanks to her initial shock.

As much as she wants to rise back up and slash away with the same vim and vigor she held so far, her legs remain stuck. She lies on her backside, hands still gripping her weapon but failing to have the strength to move. If she does not get up soon, her team will suffer without her support, and she will be a failure once more.

But still, she cannot move. No...is she scared? Now, of all times?

How foolish.

Flora grunts and shakes, trying to feel something, anything in her limbs. Until at last, a partial warmth breaks through her chill, tempting her to flick her body back upwards. She brandishes her blade in front, swinging it twice for self-defense against the monste-

Where is the monster?

Flora innocently spins her head around the battlefield, acknowledging her surroundings for the first time in this combat. She sees the blue-haired man slightly behind the others. Professor Lambert is close to the blonde ally, with the former appearing somewhat worse for wear. And then there is the youngest-looking of their lot, who has just finished the motion of a mighty haymaker.

Sunlight begins to peek down from above them. Have they...won?

No, they couldn't have won yet. She wasn't done with Death. There is still so much for her to ask, so much for her to fight with.

So much for her to avenge with.

The brawler is happy enough, so Flora decides not to openly express negative emotion. Instead, she drops her sword, and finally wields her staff in front of her person. It is back to reality, back to her normal maidly duty. No more chasing ghosts.

Though he knew his injuries would too fade and he’d be returned to full health for their next battle, Lambert still winced a bit when he got up from his spot, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. The team was a tad battered, some more than others, but everyone was standing and seemed in good spirits- a much better atmosphere their their first battle by a mile.

He slowly made his way towards the others, time under his arm and the slightest limp on his step, but with a content expression on his face. Azure pools went over each team member, and he figured that as a teacher he had to at least offer some quick feedback. It was his job, after all.

First, Flora. “You are a fierce fighter, Flora. I knew you were capable and devoted to your work, but your performance and ability with the blade are both impressive. You hold very good focus as well.”

Then, Edward. “It is not everyday that you get to see someone punching a creature of death in the face with bare fists, haha. I found it curious…you do have gauntlets with you, and yet did not wear them. Amazing!”

Next, Alcryst. “You are an archer, but you can certainly hold your ground with a blade. You are a very versatile individual! I hope to see you perform with a sword more often, I can definitely see potential for that in you.”

And finally, Dimitri. “I…must apologize. I suppose I have babied you a tad in this battle…I did not mean to, but I understand how it could be interpreted that way. Regardless, you have certainly proved your prowess with the lance. That last attack was something else!”

How can he do otherwise, when everyone's pressing forward so amazingly? He's always moved in tandem with others, following causes where their hearts beat as one. Beating Death to death certainly is a choice in a mutual cause, but one he'll take up any day with people like these by his side— The thundering light Alcryst and Lambert call down, Dimitri's keen eye and solid calls, Flora moving alongside him to make sure it doesn't get a second to breathe. The shadow thrashes like a wounded animal, rounds after the blow, vengeful eyes trained on Dimitri dancing away from its grasp again.

Most importantly? Its back's to him.

"Got it!" The boy slots into his role easily: As a cork to a bottle, as a lid to a jar, leaping into action in a streak of starlight—

edward attacks eidolon named night with hrungnir (pneuma gale)! roll 2d20: 15 + 2, 8 + 2. hit, hit! 7 damage. eidolon named night 0/15HP.

Hurtling into its back in a full-body slam, elbow-first, he flings it to the ground, before kicking it in the head and bringing his foot down on its chest once, twice, thrice, all force, some finesse— Until a crack resounds and the creature emits a final, withering shriek. Miasma begins to rise to his ankles as the spectre and the shadows surrounding them begin to dissolve.

Somewhere in the arena, the sun rises. Edward laughs, exhausted, exhilarated.

"We... We did it...!!!"

Flora spends too long in the back to recover from her own weakness, and the husk releases another piercing screech. Her energy is not exhausted, but she is forced to take a tumble on the floor thanks to her initial shock.

As much as she wants to rise back up and slash away with the same vim and vigor she held so far, her legs remain stuck. She lies on her backside, hands still gripping her weapon but failing to have the strength to move. If she does not get up soon, her team will suffer without her support, and she will be a failure once more.

But still, she cannot move. No...is she scared? Now, of all times?

How foolish.

Flora grunts and shakes, trying to feel something, anything in her limbs. Until at last, a partial warmth breaks through her chill, tempting her to flick her body back upwards. She brandishes her blade in front, swinging it twice for self-defense against the monste-

Where is the monster?

Flora innocently spins her head around the battlefield, acknowledging her surroundings for the first time in this combat. She sees the blue-haired man slightly behind the others. Professor Lambert is close to the blonde ally, with the former appearing somewhat worse for wear. And then there is the youngest-looking of their lot, who has just finished the motion of a mighty haymaker.

Sunlight begins to peek down from above them. Have they...won?

No, they couldn't have won yet. She wasn't done with Death. There is still so much for her to ask, so much for her to fight with.

So much for her to avenge with.

The brawler is happy enough, so Flora decides not to openly express negative emotion. Instead, she drops her sword, and finally wields her staff in front of her person. It is back to reality, back to her normal maidly duty. No more chasing ghosts.

& ( FLORA. )

He sits at the frail desk the establishment has provided against one wall in his room ( frail for him perhaps, his father's stature hereditary ) and the chair groans underneath him. Ink and quill await him - fresh parchment, too. But what thoughts?

This was surely a custom for the beorc - the Dragon Tribe had stones to facilitate long-reaching communication! To be resigned to pen and paper and handwriting perhaps indistinguishable to another . . . it was something daunting ( he thinks, in the way his pitiful hand shakes as it takes quill into hand and then dips quill into ink ).

He begins loose thoughts - an introductory: vague, nameless, and terribly illegible. He scraps it and begins again. An introductory- no no! A greeting. Yes, a greeting would do. The stranger didn't need to know him just yet - that was the purpose of all this!

He glances to the idle mask set on his dresser, gleaming at him, catching lanternlight ( for the sun never reached the Abyss ). It wouldn't be too unlike the recent masquerade . . . He had done just fine with that, hadn't he? Perhaps if he approached it the same way . . .

𝓣𝓸 𝓶𝔂 𝓶𝔂𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓸𝓾𝓼 𝓪𝓬𝓺𝓾𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮 . . . Good morning! Dawn is risen and the sunlight perhaps a bit too bright for my keen eyes, but they say each day brings its own intrigue. Thus far, I've had a lovely early-morning stroll. I've filed my papers - boring, yes, but I find it rather 𝓯𝓪𝓼𝓬𝓲𝓷𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 - and have planned a seminar, so perhaps you could guess that I'm faculty. But I do confess, as a foreigner is oft to, that I'm not sure the workings of this game. Do you? No more of that - the both of us have duties, I'm certain. Either class or lessons or a miscellaneous pursuit. The most bountiful luck to you, friend! I await your response. -???

Removing the wax seal, Flora's eyes wander from top to bottom, scanning the letter horizontally sentence by sentence. The penmanship is not spotlessly perfect, but there is a refined feel to the attached ink. Ensuring her read is through enough, Flora reaches for a nearby quill and dips it in preparation.

The entire academy has been assigned to exchange writings with one another. The Abyss and Ashen Wolves have not been excluded from the project, though Flora doubts the letter in front of her is from anyone she knows. She barely knows anyone residing here, even those from her own land.

Flora places her maid headdress next to an empty page, stalling a little to decide what she will write. Not for too long, though. She cannot spend too much time on break. Flora begins to write her reply, with quick yet fine-tuned script.

To my sender,     Good evening. I am sorry that I could not get to this exchange earlier to match your morning greeting. It is dark now. I hope your eyes have not suffered for long after dawn.     You are an instructor as well then? I serve as faculty, whenever time suffices at least. There is much I must attend to, but I make sure filing papers for students is a top priority when necessary.     This is my first time performing this task here. I usually only write when I am required to, so I wish to handle this as any other daily routine.     I will attempt to send my next response in a timely manner. I only hope that I will be a sufficient partner to write with.

Flora's pen pauses in the air before her next line. She is caught slightly off-guard, at the early usage of "friend." Does she...have to return the sentiment?

I will anticipate your next reply. - Your Mysterious Acquaintance (I have refrained from sharing my name under your instruction.)

And now that she has a closer look at her within the night's darkness, Flora feels that she has seen that shade of light blonde hair before. It belongs to multiple people, of course, but one man in particular shares an uncanny resemblance...

No, the maid is distracting herself from the task at hand. Back to work.

"You have a fair point," Flora responds to the younger woman's argument, placing a finger on her chin. "Retreating now to give them further time to prepare is unideal for the safety of our employer...as well as you."

Still, having the other march into the beasts' hands is a treacherous endeavor. Flora would prefer to not have to explain to the higher-ups of the unfortunate disappearance of a student that is not even from the maid's own class.

"Y-yes! Er, thank you..."

Dimitri had, of course, wanted rather to be the stalwart shield, to offer his own body in the way that these others had done so thoroughly in their previous bout, but the conditions, even now, it seemed, were not to be.

He had noticed, too, that when the beast prepared its stance, it had noticed his preferred weapon, and he would have been an ill-trained warrior if he had not seen that the shift in its grip was one that all users of polearms should have been wary of.

He frowned. He had thought that his armor, that his skill and training might have been enough to allow him to bear the hits.

He supposed not.

Dimitri 9.5/10HP hits Eidolon Named Night 1/15** with Kongo [Roll: 12; 2/2 = -1HP] Eidolon Named Night 15/15*HP Dimitri absorbs +1 Def from Eidolon Named Night (Dimitri +2, Eidolon -2) Dimitri’s Foreboding Count Decreases by 1; Foreboding 2 Unbeaten! Hypnagogic Shriek activates! [Roll: 3 - 1 = -2HP] Dimitri 7.5/10HP

At the very least, where his fellows could batter it with hit after hit - Edward and Flora raking in clean strikes one right after another - what he could do was clean up the dregs.

Charging forward, the tip of his spear struck true, and the shivering darkness bucked, as though waking from some night terror of its own, and let out a shrill, keening sound before the soft, breathy sound became a great and terrible wail rending the night.

Unbeaten! Hypnagogic Shriek activates! [Roll: 3 - 1 = -2HP] Flora 8/10HP

She does not cover her ears in response to the wail, taking the full brunt of its response to pain. The screams, they remind her of the insecure shouts of innocents who had their peaceful lives taken away by circumstances beyond their own control. People who did not deserve their unfortunate destinies.

Not her, though. She deserved this.

Flora 10/10HP critically hits Eidolon Named Night 15/15* with Brave Sword [Roll: 18, (1.5+1)*2=-5HP, Eidolon Named Night 10/15*] Eidolon Named Night 10/15*] is inflicted with Break! -1HP [Eidolon Named Night 9/15*]]

Flora does not give Death the time to fully recover before diving in with sword in hand. Between her last assault and now, the opponent appears to have shifted their choice in weaponry. A tall, chopping weapon over relying on dark curses. It doesn't matter to her.

Just something she can aim to disarm. So she does just that.

No emotion can be observed from its face still, but one can imagine the feared figment begins to feel fear itself. Not that Flora cares. The adrenlaline in her forces her to make another hit.

Flora 10/10HP hits Eidolon Named Night 9/15* with Brave Sword [Roll: 13+2=15, 1.5+1=-2.5HP, Eidolon Named Night 6.5/15*]

She strikes downwards this time, rubbing in the prey's lack of options. If she had the proper energy, she would have liked to hit again. And again. And again and again and-

Flora’s Foreboding Count Decreases by 1; Foreboding 2

A bleak thought stirs in her mind, not the same as her invitations of death. It causes Flora to stumble backwards with her free hand landing on her forehead for support. It is as if the fatigue she should have felt from her previous offenses has finally come back to her.

Not enough for him to balk, at any rate. Most of their weapons look like they've changed, at a quick glance: Actual weapons for most of them, though Lambert doesn't seem to be a fan of magic in general, but if he says not to worry, Edward's going to trust him. His own fan is gone, but he still has his fists, and that's good enough. While he should also mind the armor (which he is, in a fashion, in the 'we need to break that' sense), minding things (in an 'i might break my hand on it' sense) obviously isn't his forte at this point.

Luckily for him, that doesn't seem to matter. Dimitri directs, and without thinking, he moves—

edward attacks eidolon named night with walking weapon! roll 2d20: 11 + 2, 13 + 2. hit, hit! -2HP, -2HP. eidolon named night 6.5/15HP. eidolon named night counters with dread of desolation! roll: 12 - 4. hit! 2.5 damage. edward 7.5/10HP.

Fearlessly reaching into the dark and making contact. The shadow burns unimaginably cold under his hands, almost making him fear it'll take his skin with it, but he manages to brutally haul it out for a brief second to sock it in the teeth— Before the bared teeth and countless eyes melt away from under his grip, leaving only that lingering chill deep in his bones. His teeth grit as he suppresses a shudder— The way it hurts feels wrong.

So? Has her life finally come to this? Being pitted against the afterlife she selfishly cowered from, only to selfishly embrace it days after?

For whatever reason, Flora's body does not freeze at the face of Death. No, she has been with it before, she has no reason to dread it. She has already died once. Why would it matter if she dies again? After all-

Death doesn't stick. Death doesn't stick. Deathdoesn'tstick. Deathdoesn't

Flora 10/10HP hits Eidolon Named Night 6.5/15** with Brave Sword [Roll: 11+2=13, (1.5+1+1)/2=-1.5HP, Eidolon Named Night 5/15**] Flora 10/10HP hits Eidolon Named Night 5/15** with Brave Sword [Roll: 13+2=15, (1.5+1+1)/2=-1.5HP, Eidolon Named Night 3.5/15**] Eidolon Named Night 10.5/15** misses Flora 10/10HP with Dread of Desolation [Roll: 7 - 4 - 6 = -3; -0HP, Flora 10/10HP]

Flora does not even conceptualize what is in her hands before flinging it forward toward the enemy. Upon seeing it slashing away in front of her, it seems to be a full-on sword, compared to the pitiful dagger from last time. Normally, she prefers to depend on knives alone. But she can make an exception for today.

The maid says nothing, but follows up from the brown-haired boy's assault. She chases after the figment with no regard for how far it will take her or how fast they are going. All Flora needs to do is kill Death. Kill Death, and her problems will all disappear.

It tries to cast a curse on Flora, but she simply ducks under it. It is on primal instinct, that she evades and continues to chase the opponent around. Death does not hunt Flora. Flora hunts Death.

Eventually the chase does slow down, her pursuit causing the ghost to step into the moonlight to be slightly more visible. Flora's own face shimmers in the moonlight as well.

Her face with no expression, outside of thinned icy pupils.

This monster, if he recalls correctly it didn't retaliate against any of their attacks. A good whack was even able to take one down! Perhaps if Alcryst manages to repeat it...

He sees his chance. Once Lambert unleashes his spell, Alcryst pushes forward to follow up—

Alcryst 9/10HP attacks Hetero-Sapien 4/8HP with Heavy Staff! Roll1D20= 1 :Miss! Hetero-Sapien 4/8HP Hetero-Sapien cannot counter!

—with a swing and a miss. He doesn't know what caused it, if it's because he's dizzy from blood loss or blind or both. All he knows is that he hit air, and panic threatens to overwhelm him.

Alcryst is damaged by Minor Poison! -0.5HP. Alcryst 8.5/10HP

"Alcryst!!" Edward shouts, as the other's bowled over, but there's hardly any time to react about it. Wincing, Edward makes a mental note to properly apologise later. Seriously, couldn't he have like, rolled it over to him? Sent it skittering across the ground? Given it to him like a normal person?

Well, if some kid got its sticky hands on it again en route, that would've probably been worse, so maybe not. Can't do much about spilled milk besides mop it up, but he still feels bad about it.

The lapse of judgement is more than just a chronic lack of it though— Whatever limits they have are starting to approach. As time keeps dragging its feet onwards, the bunker's starting to feel claustrophobic, filled with the tinny smoke and the bodies and the noise and the constant stream of not-children and pale almost-people pushing their way into their room seemingly without end. Lambert's pale and shaking, Flora's bleeding herself dry like she has a death wish, Dimitri's taken hits and Edward's pretty sure both himself and Alcryst are poisoned; Even if they're still holding up well enough, they're bound to start flagging eventually.

A trapped rebel is a dead rebel. Grey eyes begin to dart. Is there some kind of win condition they're overlooking? Some secret exit? Or do they need to push back into the hallway? What if—

A rumble cuts them off, another one of many. As eyes dart towards the ceiling in panic, but what he doesn't realise is that the miasma the bloodsmoke has been warding off has ceased, leaving only their red haze of blood behind, and that the children also freeze, not to look up but to hold little hands to noses and mouths— But what he does see is that the eerie, pale monster that's just started to terrorize them anew suddenly shudders, shakes and wheezes, then slumps over and begins to seep viscous red smoke from all orifices.

At the sight, the not-children begin to scream, all at once— And honestly, he wishes they'd've kept going when they all stop at once too, collapsing like puppets with their strings cut. Whatever structure they had underneath their not-skin seemingly liquefies and turns into biped-shaped mush within seconds, likewise pooling tarnished crimson onto the floor.

A long, horrified pause. Did they do that? Did the censers do that? (Did they win?) Unsure what to make of the enemy goop, Edward carefully stops breathing, holding his nose shut, and turns to the rest of the team.

"Um. I. I think we should leave?" And forget any of this happened also, please?

And as if hearing him, the arena begins to shimmer and shift...

Good Child C 6/6HP attacks Alcryst 7.5/10HP with Cockleshells! Roll1D20= 9, hit! Number of allies: 1, Bronze Damage, -1HP. Alcryst 6.5/10HP

Alcryst cannot counter!

Naughty Child A 4.5/6HP attacks Alcryst 6.5/10HP with Carving Knife! Roll1D20= 2, barely hit! -0HP

Alcryst cannot counter!

Two giggling children encroach on their position. When they attack, Alcryst doesn’t hesitate to put himself in the line of fire, to protect Flora from their knives and malice. There’s little opportunity to fight back, regrettably, but what matters right now is ensuring she doesn’t suffer further injury. Flora had been activating her device since the battle started. She can’t afford to lose more blood, he thinks.

Alcryst 6.5/10HP uses a Thurible to heal Flora 7/10HP. [+2HP; Flora 9/10HP]. Alcryst 4.5/10 HP

Thurible count: 1

Alcryst takes damage from minor poison! Alcryst 4/10 HP

Blood flows freely from his new wound. The skin around the gash in his leg turns red and purple, and swells uncomfortably. Poison? Some quick-acting infection? Will it affect the blood, and the device’s effectiveness in turn? Alcryst moves the device to collect fresh blood from his new wound, just in case. “I-I’ll be alright…” He’s said this before, but now it’s far less convincing with how his voice wavers, how dizzy he’s beginning to feel…

Then he says something that makes her chest freeze, even more so than it typically feels.

"Death...doesn't stick?"

Flora repeats Alcryst's clarification with a mumble, looking down at her slashed leg once more. The cut is deeper than what she needed to get blood out previously. And suddenly, she is in even more of a hypnotic daze than before.

The maid does not even shout for Alcryst's safety as he acts as a foolish shield for her wellbeing. Flora already knows what must be done next. She doesn't even need the cold sword for the task. It might hold risk for further injury or sickness, but why does it matter?

Death doesn't stick.

Flora 9/10HP uses a Thurible to heal Alcryst 4/10HP [+2HP]; Flora 7/10HP, Alcryst 6/10HP

Flora tosses the stiletto aside and places her right hand around the sword slice. She prepares the now-extinguished thurible with her left hand underneath the wound. And then she squeezes. Tiny drops of her blood spill out, enlightening the censer for a fourth time.

Admittedly, the woman feels rather light-headed, though the main cause between blood loss or being so close to fire is unknown. In her dizziness, she sets the soothing light in Alcryst's hand, while taking his own thurible and setting it aside.

"I told you already. Leave these to me. I will not ask a thi-"

Her grave statement is cut off when Alcryst's staff is hurled back to the two of them, nearly toppling him over. Flora has no reason to laugh...but a lip motion between grief and amusement manages to sneak through. She holds her hand out to him again without further words. Her eyes imply that she will look after him after that stumble, no matter if he wants her to or not.

Alcryst’s Heavy Staff was stolen!

…Ah.

Perhaps Alcryst should have expected this. Things were going so well for him, after all. It was only a matter of time before the other shoe dropped.

But to have his staff stolen by a mere child… how mortifying. To think after all these years Alcryst would still find new ways to embarrass himself. And in the Arena of all places…! As reassuring as it is to see his allies rally around him, each voice casts an unwelcome spotlight onto his blunder. Without a weapon to defend himself with, Alcryst is less of an asset to the team and more of a liability. In other words, practically useless.

Something heavy slams against Alcryst’s leg, startling himself as well as his horse. The sharp glint of metal disappears as soon as he sees it. With his horse panicking under him, Alcryst sees no other choice but to escape the saddle. He dodges hooves as he shakily finds his footing. Warm, sticky blood spills from his calf, coating his skin and the wool and leather torn by the knife. Bearing weight on it hurts.

And… and what’s worse, he starts to feel rather off. Was the knife poisoned? Or perhaps, is that miasma coming back to haunt them? The red smoke from earlier is nowhere to be seen, and the chemical stench encroaches the party once again. A thurible lays by Edward; Alcryst quickly picks it up. It… it needs blood, right? He presses the lip against his wounded leg, watching as his blood begins to pool into the vessel.

Alcryst 8/10 HP uses a Thurible to heal Dimitri 7/10HP. [+2HP; Dimitri 9/10HP]. Alcryst 6/10 HP

Thurible count: 1

Alcryst takes damage from minor poison! Alcryst 5.5/10 HP

But even within the bedlam, Flora can make out a scene that she detests. Likely due to the focus being on him for the past few interactions. Their troubadour has gone out of his way to use his injuries to restore their allies' strength.

He should be using the healing staff on his person to help others, not sacrificing his entire body.

That is her job.

Flora 9/10HP uses a Thurible to heal Alcryst 5.5/10HP [+2HP]; Flora 7/10HP, Alcryst 7.5/10HP

Her right hand is beginning to feel limp, a defective limb will only get in everyone's way. So she instead lifts her dress ever so slightly, and produces a swift, diagonal swipe with the stiletto on her right leg. The motion is getting somewhat routine at this point. She manages to find comfort in the blade's cold touch.

The thought that she has her own healing staves as well has not crossed her mind.

She takes a cautionary look to check if he is still staring at her actions before moving forward. Flora picks up another thurible on her way to Alcryst's location, being efficient in lumbering while filling the receptacle with her blood. Another fire lets loose, and she adjusts the censer to release its healing aroma between him and his horse.

"Sir Alcryst, correct?" Flora speaks to him, offering her weaker right hand as support for him. "Please leave the activation of these devices to me. There is no reason for our able-bodied fighters to waste blood in my stead."

Yet he found himself on the floor, marginally better than a newborn fawn, staring at a tome with more horror in his eyes than at the enemies with real violent intent standing before them all. Blazes, people of his team were resorting to sacrificing their own blood to keep the situation at bay- Lambert’s gut twisting as he saw both Flora and Edward seemingly fine with offering their own blood to some sort of censer, the rancid smell of miasma in the bunker replaced with a an even worse mist of crimson iron.

He wanted to throw up, or pass out. Or perhaps both in quick succession, the thick smell of blood, the skull on the tome’s cover staring right back at him as if mocking his display of weakness. His teammates doing what they could, facing enemies whose faces and bodies badly mimicked that of a human being- their faces a sickly, disturbing pale, their stares empty.

Lambert could almost smell fire amidst it all. Fire, burnt corpses, ash- his body held down by chains of miasma, exhausted yet still trying to fight it, only to look up and see those same ominous pale faces.

Lambert, you-

are embarrassing yourself! But __ther, what is there for me to do? It scares m- That matters little! You will be th_ Ki_g _f Fa_rg___ o_e day! That is unacceptable behavior! But… No more buts! Get up, And face it like a tr_e kni_ht!

This is hauntingly embarrassing. I must get my act together.

I refuse to cower while my teammates are putting their safety on the line. Because even if this was an illusion, what if it came to happen in reality? Would Lambert sit down in fear and watch as his companions fight to the death? Three of which are kids, and one is his coworker who got promptly attacked by the enemy? He couldn’t recall who the voice that flashed in his memory belonged to, but one thing was correct. This was unacceptable behavior. 

I am in no position to show fear. Even if-

Even if it’s the fear of supposed death.

Leveling his breath, Lambert got up and ran a hand through his face and through his hair, to ground himself. Azure pools caught sight of Flora once more- the most injured out of their group, before his gaze fell on that detested thurible. The very idea of a blood sacrifice sent a chill down his spine, wondering if it was even aligned with the Goddess’ rules…but if it was to aid a friend, Lambert was willing to turn a blind eye to all of it. Biting into his own wrist as he took advantage of his own body’s elevated strength, Lambert watched as his blood fueled the thurible and a rest mist was quick to manifest. The professor then turned to face his injured coworker.

Lambert uses a Thurible to heal Flora! [+2HP]. Lambert 8/10HP, Flora 10/10HP Thurible count: 1

He probably looked like crap, but at this point he didn’t really care. “Flora…at least- please, do not sacrifice your own body like this anymore. You are already hurt, stop it.”

Hard to make a point when he had just done the very same thing he was asking her to not do, but something within him saw no problem in gambling his own blood and bones for the sake of another- of a friend. If it meant that she wouldn’t have to do this ever again, then he’d happily take her place as the sacrificial lamb.

Once, and then twice is the servant struck by the small demons that only faintly resemble children. Flora is caught off guard, childishly wiggling her frozen stiletto around in a pathetic excuse of a counterattack. It whiffs on the first offender, while some ice makes contact with the second. She is more accustomed to throwing these weapons, not using them as sudden self-defense.

She does not understand. Has she not done a credible job of protecting the squad with her own body? These attacks can only mean one thing: failure. She is being punished for failing to fulfill her purpose properly.

If that is the case, then why do her allies still call out her name? Request her to stick to their side? It might be placebo, but the soothing air that comes from the fire-filled containers gives Flora an improvised answer.

She must simply work harder, that is all.

Her vision clears up to see Professor Lambert return to her side after his initial attack. He holds a third thurible in his hands...

No. Stop it.

As he lacks a blade, Lambert uses his own mouth bones to release the required liquid into the cup. The flame lightens their proximity, Flora feeling reinvigorated and bothered all the same.

"I am alright​​​​​​​, Instructor," Flora firmly reassures him, her weaponless hand already claiming another thurible that has fortunately found itself by her feet. She checks the previous self-inflicted wound. It has already run dry.

Flora 10/10HP uses a Thurible to heal Lambert 8/10HP [+2HP]; Flora 8/10HP, Lambert 10/10HP

A prompt slash right under the first, this one closer to her wrist, should suffice.

Icy blood pours out once more, dripping into her censer to release more azure flames. She looks her superior teacher in the eye, making sure he accepts her service. Flora places the thurible adjacent to his own feet, ensuring the effect is for him alone.

"Keep your health and the party in greater priority than mine. It is all that would make me...happy."

Happy, yes. That is the best way to put it.

She spends no time waiting for a reaction, instead heading toward the other blonde individual on their team. The one that requested to keep her nearby. A good maid always listens.

"I am alright, sir," Flora repeats her response, a little weaker this time. "I would rather you avoid them striking you down...but I shall comply. Thank you."

Alcryst coughs, pulls up his cloak to cover his nose and mouth. Staff in hand, on horseback... ah, one of those troubadours? He did hope to play some sort of supportive role. Unlike the last arena, where they were meant to beat the enemies before them, this time they merely had to survive. With the Ward and Restore spells in his repetoire, Alcryst hopes he can be useful.

Alcryst 10/10 HP attacks Hetero-Sapiens with Heavy Staff. Roll1D20= 8, hit! -2.5HP (Hetero-Sapiens HP= 4/8) Hetero-Sapien cannot counterattack!

Alcryst follows Lambert's lead, though without a proper weapon the best he can do is bludgeon the monster with his Restore staff. He retreats with his horse and takes stock of who he's with. Lambert, Dimitri, a girl with light blue hair, and...

"E-Edward?!" As happy as Alcryst is to see a familiar face, he's less sure about the censer that his friend holds now. Sinister red smoke spills from the brass. "Blood? Shouldn't you have figured out what it does....? N-Nevermind." As Alcryst thinks about it, he realizes that the time it would have taken to understand the object is a luxury they can't afford. "I'll protect you then. But please don't go too far with this..."

That being said, that man appears to prioritize offense first, physically striking a man-like husk alongside Professor Lambert. Lambert started the offense with a...toss of his tome? Whatever is most effective for him, she supposes.

What she doesn't let slide is the reckless abandon of another of her teammates, a young boy. He found something to chase away the poisonous fogs, sacrificing some of his own blood in the process. Only a minor amount, but that is a minor amount too many in this time of crisis.

The students shouldn't be forfeiting their lives for the sake of their survival. That duty naturally falls on her.

Flora manages to find a second censer lying about. Before picking it up, she rustles through her dress slightly, pulling out a frosty knife...longer than she usually prefers. No matter, it will serve its purpose all the same. She places the blade in her left hand and turns over her right.

Flora 10/10HP uses a Thurible to heal Edward 8/10HP [+2HP]; Flora 8/10HP, Edward 10/10HP

The blade only lightly scrapes over the hard part of her right hand, forming a light gash on the surface. She slices on her non-dominant hand, to prevent herself from being that much of a burden afterwards. The iciness of the blade makes the wound not hurt that badly, though it is not without discomfort. But she doesn't mind.

The cut is deep enough to spill some of her blood into the thurible she now picks up with her hurt hand. As before, the cup lights up, this time with a sea blue flame that resembles her own hair. The fire may look cold, but it burns hot all the same...Flora holds it further away from herself.

"Let me light these," Flora strenly states while holding the soothing flame out toward the injured boy. "You should not trouble yourself with the pain."

[MENTAL CHATTER] Does your character have an ongoing inner monologue, or do they more frequently think wordlessly/in abstract?

[ENTANGLED] Does your muse experience synaesthesia? (eg. tasting sounds, or seeing colours in music) If yes, does this have any effect on their creativity or understanding of certain senses?

[ALOUD] Does your character subvocalise (sound out words in their head) when reading silently to themselves, or no? When reading fiction, do they “hear” individual voices for each speaking character?

[WPM] How quickly can your character type, read or write?

[MOTHER TONGUE] For bilingual muses: does your character think in one particular language more than another? Are there certain topics or themes that they may be more likely to switch to another?

[FOCUS] How well can your muse focus on their own thinking or study in the presence of distracting background stimuli (loud environments, background chatter, visual clutter…)

[OFF TRACK] Is your muse prone to letting their mind wander? To their detriment?

[INTEREST] Does your muse find it hard to learn about or remember details of subjects that don’t captivate their personal interest? Even if they might be useful or advantageous to know?

[AHAH!] Is your muse good at recognising patterns and putting information together to recognise correlations or solutions quickly? Or do they need others to spell things out to them?

[SEEING RED] How easily is your muse’s judgement or perception swayed by their emotions and state of mind? Are they most always cool and level-headed, or are they prone to rashness or switching stances quickly?

[JUMP THE GUN] What biases does your muse hold that impact how they perceive the world or choose to take in new information? Do their personal blindspots and preconceptions lead them to errors in judgement?

[RECALIBRATE] How frequently does your muse evaluate their own ways of thinking? Have they little self-insight/feel set in their minds for better or worse, or are they constantly questioning their own outlook? To the point of self-doubt, even?

[SPLIT SECOND] How decisive is your muse? How confident do they need to feel about the outcome of their actions, or how much pre-thinking must they do before they feel they can act? Do they trust in their own decisions?

[FOREIGN] How does your muse fare when presented with ideas, concepts or experiences that feel far outside their usual norm? How hostile, sceptical or inquisitive might they be when encountering new viewpoints?

[STUDENT] Does your character enjoy learning for learning’s sake, or do they only seek out knowledge when they specifically need to?

[NOTES] How does your muse track their ideas and thoughts, or things they need to remember? Do they keep written or voice notes, or do they just think/hope that they’ll be able to recall what they need later?