UNDER CONSTRUCTION

The smile Petra flashes is broad and without deceit. He reads it, like a bolt of blue in a sea of gaudy livery, and an answering smile crosses his own features, as he doesn’t mistake the gesture– for once.  Heart clear, he gives a low nod back in return, holding it for a long second. His slip into the mannerisms that had been ingrained in him in Gallia doesn’t register to his thought, and the action cascades like a chain of dominos.  Minute shifts occur like a wave of rippling fur as Ike shifts to a looser, freer stance, the clap of boots on wood fading as he begins to roll his footwork into a cadence more suited for catlike tread. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he notes that Petra is likewise adjusting, eagerness clear in her eyes. She doesn’t even have to nod for him to understand– he acknowledges nevertheless, simply raising Ettard in an overhead grip, shifting slightly to accommodate.  A slight pause– Petra’s stance is back-footed, power drawn into the back of her sole, like a panther watching for a flaw to strike.  Well, she shouldn’t mind if he creates that opening, then. With a shout, he starts towards the brutes, drawing their attention towards him.  “Leave, or die. Last chance.” He utters.  The two brigands look at the two of them, sizing them up. He can see it in their eyes– predators watching for their chances. They’re the only two combatants left, so if they can take the man larger than him, and the girl that doesn’t even come up to their shoulders, they can wrest control of the ship and leave.  It’s the greed that takes them. The leer of malice flashes across their yellowed grins, and the first to charge towards them is the man with an axe in each hand, tipped with stained barbs.  It does not have grooves for blood, but the wicked shape is meant to draw it all the same– killer axes. 

Ike considers matching the man axe-to-axe for swing, but a moment of consideration has him shake off the idea. Take it seriously. He slides his grip down, and Ettard catches with ease into the overhead swing of both hatchets, like a pole barring a door. 

Spitting and snarling, the brigand heaves, but the momentum of the axe-swing has already been lost, and without it, mere strength is a poor shade. The pole sticks like a stone. Carefully, Ike removes his bracing hand, leaving only his right arm to support Ettard. The sound of grinding steel begins to contact as the sword begins to rise out of the lock, the mercenary staring the other in the eye.  The bandit roars in fury. The grinding steel turns into a jagged screech as he’s forced to retrieve his weapons from the clash before Ike can rip them from his grip. In doing so, he wastes precious time, and takes a bleeding gash as he tries to back away.  The mercenary doesn’t give him that space. Another clang of steel, and this time it’s Ettard forcing the axes downwards, the brigand straining to drag the twin weapons to his side, where he can at least try to force a neutral conflict.  The stalemate isn’t going to last long. The other bandit isn’t idle– whatever he was doing before, he’s noticed the predicament of his partner, and is moving in to break the lock. 

The other bandit attempts to strike at Ike as the latter’s attention is diverted but when his blade swings forth to bite flesh it meets with the cold steel of Petra’s axe instead.

The pressure the bandit puts behind the handle of his weapon increases once his eyes have caught up to his actions. It’s the girl keeping his blade from tasting blood -- an easy target, he thinks, if he could only drive his weapon toward her just a little bit farther...

He hears a huff escape the girl’s lips from beneath the weight of his attempts to crush her, but she’s for some reason smiling and now he’s falling and nothing about how he assumed this battle would go is playing out like he wanted.

With one quick motion the young lady has taken control of the situation by using his momentum against him, safely misdirecting his attack so that Ike was no longer the target of the enemy’s aggression. As the bandit struggles then to bring himself to his feet he realizes the gravity of his mistake a little too late.

Petra is obviously not one to be underestimated.

She’s faster than him, more agile, smarter than him to boot he realizes. It’s hard for him to predict the strikes coming and going as she begins her assault, one attack after another searching for a weakness, but her strikes are weaker, the injuries inflicted, if any, more superficial. He either certainly had her on brute strength or she was just toying with him.

Wearing him down, piece by wretched piece.

Unwilling and unable to keep this game of stamina going for much longer the bandit attacked, forcing Petra into the defensive, and the match continued. The two were engaged in their treacherous dance for not too long thereafter when finally the bandit missed step and fell into the maw of the lion.

It was quick and easy work.

The bandit stood no more.

Activity Check - Feb.

Skill Points Earned: 1

Granted From:

Monthly skill point allowance

Applied to:

Flying (D+ -> C)

Activity Check - Mar.

Skill Points Earned: 0

Activity Check - Jan.

Skill Points Earned: 1

Granted From:

Monthly skill point allowance

Applied to:

Flying (D -> D+)

Activity Check - Feb.

Skill Points Earned: 1

Granted From:

Monthly skill point allowance

Applied to:

Meeting on the Sea [Salem & Petra]

The congratulatory pat on the back succeeded in knocking Salem off balance and he stumbled a little, but managed to find his footing once the sudden surprise faded and a rare laugh took its place. When was the last time he had felt the adrenaline of triumph like this? Even with Leif’s army, each battle felt like a desperate evasion of the darkness that followed closely at their heels. It had been quite some time since the stakes had not been so high, if ever.

But Salem just as quickly as the smile had come to his face, it shifted back to a hardened line of concentration. He knelt by Petra’s feet. The injured one was already beginning to swell. He brought his hand to hover over it and this time breathed the magic of life into the energy that gathered in his palm. To be able to heal as easily as he could take lives was perhaps the only reason he continued to practice magic.

“There,” he said, rising to his feet again. “The swelling has gone down.”

His eyes swept out across the dock. All around them came the sounds of clattering iron and steel as the pirates recognized their loss. There had been few casualties for either side. A fortuitous outcome. The Knights of Seiros stepped in to make their arrests.

“We are lucky,” Salem observed, glancing toward Petra. “Or I should say– I am lucky. Your instruction may have very well spared us greater injury.”

She held her swollen foot as still as she could while he worked his magic but, try as she might to keep a tight vigil for him, Petra couldn’t help but take a peek this time at Salem’s work.

The tingling in the space beneath his hand felt wholly different than it had earlier on her skin -- quieter, warmer, less intense -- but left her just as inspired. Petra gazed on with wonder as she flexed her leg to test its range of movement when his work was done. She was always amazed at how naturally magic seemed to come to others.

A tinge of disappointment touched her bottom lip before she wove it back into a vivacious grin.

“Thank you,” she replied, now testing her weight on the healed foot. “The ocean spirit smiles gently upon us today, but you also are of fast learning. For that I am very grateful.”

“And that’s when I told him that I...”

The classmate paused, worrying his bottom lip.

‘Strange,’ his eyes seemed to say as they peered nervously into hers. Despite the politeness in Petra’s expression -- years of Adrestian training bearing fruit in the correctness of her smile -- he could not shake the feeling of a quiet intensity sensed lingering beneath her watchful gaze.

Though he could not exactly name it, the classmate got the sense that Petra was like a huntress -- always the predator and never the prey. What secrets did she hide behind her lovely smile? Was she in reality simply toying with him like one would with their food right before the strike?

Petra tilted her head, her expression ever refined but now turned innocently curious as she waited for him to continue.

‘But that’s ridiculous,’ he willed himself to believe with a sheepish grin, dismissing the better part of intuition. ‘I am surely just imagining things. Petra would not so much as hurt a fly without reason.’

She dreams a dream that plays in her head like a river of memories because her mind is too tired, too burdened to think. She discards the weights of her false self and enters it gladly to drift among the gently babbling waters.

In it she remembers the tides softly pushing and pulling at her skin as she dives down, down, down deep beneath the crashing waves...

The blade hot and alive in her hands as she moves with a single strike.

The wind in her hair as she falls, the same gusts beneath the wings that catch her -- keep her safe from harm.

She is weightless.

“Imagine a string pulling you up by your head all the way down to your toes.”

His words were hard to decipher when he was speaking so fast. She was not yet as fluent in this foreign language as her caretakers would have liked and so the tutor was becoming impatient with her lack of understanding.

‘A string...on my...head...?’

She pinched the air above the crown of her head and pulled. There was nothing there, of course, but was this what he wanted?

A maid in the corner laughed and as the man turned to scold the woman the young girl’s nanny firmly pushed the child’s lower back forward to bring her shoulders back and arch her spine.

The man turned back and sighed with relief.

“Posture straight. Shoulder’s back. Chin higher, child. That is how you must carry yourself from now on.”

Petra blinked, understanding not his words but his expression.

Bernadetta admittedly wasn’t quite sure where the fun was to be had in an event like this. The amount of people, the work they had to do, the danger of the fish swallowing you whole in one gulp and having to spend the rest of your life living inside of it and eating the scraps of whatever fishy meal it ate…

But she wasn’t about to ruin Petra’s fun, not when her fellow Eagle looked so excited about it. 

Bernadetta flushed and, nervously, followed along behind Petra to the spot that she had pointed out. “O-oh, you don’t have to do that! I wouldn’t want to make you waste your time by trying to take care of No Good Bernie…”

Unless…maybe Petra was worried about Bernie doing such a horrible job at this and embarrassing the entire Black Eagles house? Yeah, that had to be it, it made much more sense. Bernie couldn’t even blame her for that. She was probably right! If anyone could find a way to make a disgrace of themselves it was so monumental it brought shame on everyone associated with them, it was Bernadetta.

“Uh…I guess, if you really don’t mind, I can stay with you…” A different kind of bait? It wasn’t enough to just throw the hook in the water like that? Bernadetta frowned at the rod as she contemplated it.

“Wh-what kind of bait are you using?”

Petra made her way to the spot she had pointed out, looking back to be sure Bernadetta was trailing along behind her. Once at the end of the dock, she set her things down and turned to help her babbling friend with her gear. Really it was just the fishing rod Petra needed to tinker with and so she reached for Bernadetta’s hook then bent to grab some bait to place on it from her bucket.

(The bucket seemed to lurch with a sickening squelch as Petra plunged her hand into its depths. When it came away, her fingers were sleek with a sticky grime.)

“It is my pleasure to be extending my knowledge to my fellow classmates,” Petra replied, dismissing the notion altogether that she would ever feel she was wasting her time with helping out a housemate. It was a pleasure, really, to be able to share her expertise with others. And maybe, if Bernadetta was comfortable with it, she might be able to teach Petra a thing or two as well sometime.

The exchange of ideas was just as valuable as -- if not more so than -- any exchange of goods in the foreigner’s eyes.

“In Brigid these creatures are being hunted in different ways, so I have brought many different kinds of bait with me today,” Petra admitted proudly, well-prepared as per usual. She finished placing the bait on Bernadetta’s hook and moved on to place bait on her own.

The so-called “bait” was nothing more than a piece of raw fish about the size of a palm. Furthermore, if one peered into the contents of Petra’s bucket, they would find it was filled to the brim with different types of fish and crustaceans either butchered or whole as well as what looked (and smelled) like fish innards -- a stark contrast to the bucket of worms everyone else had received for the tournament.

As Ike catches the distracted look in her eyes, his smile drops off his face with a sobered quirk, and he puts out what he thinks should be a polite expression in its place, spirits suitably dampened.

Ike knows too much of the atrocities at sea to have any mercy for those who willingly came out here to prey on the vulnerable, but these individuals still bleed– and suffer pain. That, perhaps was a little callous. “… Sorry. You just fight like someone I knew.”

The flutter of wings and raised talons aren’t present, but he can see them in his mind’s eye. Of them, he was the calmest in their flurry of talons, so the comment had slipped out as natural as water.

Petra’s answer jolts him out of the giddy haze of discovery.

“Beasts?” Ike puts a hand to his chin, squinting. “Hey now, don’t insult beasts. They have more sense than to throw themselves on our swords like this.”

His train of thought is then paused as he notices Petra making an attempt at his own style, prompting him to let out a rueful chuckle.

Well, she didn’t slow down a beat. She really isn’t worried about the whole thing. A skilled warrior, who isn’t going to falter in the least. The best way to describe the pirates– Unfortunate? They shouldn’t have come here.

Her attitude and her intent to learn of combat are familiar, and put him at ease. Ike takes a beat, and decides that he likes the girl. A solid head on her shoulders, and the right priorities. She knows what’s important, and that’s a good sign as any.  Her skill is evident. He notices her reacting with deft swiftness and almost supernatural intuition as an arrow nails itself off to her side. Even while trying to learn a new skill, her instinct for danger is unharmed. It’s something he could work on– he flexes his fingers, the scratches stinging in the salty air. And the way she hones in on an enemy, almost as if she could scent their momentary weakness…

It should have been sated long ago, but Ike can feel the stirrings of wanderlust once again stir within his chest as he wonders about the world she must have come from. He’s lucky to see her in action. Such opportunities– he knows, come from great effort, but are found only by luck. 

After this battle’s over, he should ask her whether she’d be up to sparring sessions!

“…Practice, huh? It’s an honor to fight at your side, Petra. Let’s clean this up.”

She quirks a brow at that, curious but unsure whether the time and place to ask was appropriate. Something for another day perhaps, when their blades could possibly even do the talking for them.

His mention of her words being an insult to beasts makes Petra smile and for a moment she ponders over his words. In a sense he is correct, she concludes, and decides to leave it at that for now.

“The honor is mine,” she chimed in finally, his small laugh not left unnoticed and matched with a broad smile of her own. It was easy to feel intimidated by such a presence fighting beside her, but Ike seemed to have a manner of being as he spoke that made one feel at ease instead.

As though Petra truly wouldn’t mind following him into battle any day.

Still, the fighting drew on and staying shrouded in one’s comfort made for a dull blade indeed. With one fluid motion Petra’s weapon was suddenly drawn back at her defense. The battle wasn’t over and she could not help but feel that she had taken too much time for granted already.

Her eyes darted to the last remaining marauders aboard the ship. They were two brutish looking men, casting dangerous glances all about them like cornered animals, somehow still scrambling to grasp at any route that could possibly lead them away from what was now the inevitable.

Bernadetta yelped as her name was suddenly called out. She nearly fumbled the bucket, but managed to catch it before it could land on the ground. Bernadetta let out a relieved sigh. “Thank the goddess…” If it had hit the ground, Bernadetta was sure it would’ve made a loud noise. That would’ve attracted the attention of everyone else around, and they’d all be staring at her, and Bernadetta was sure that she would’ve died on the spot if something like that had happened.

…what had distracted her again?

Oh, right!

“P-Petra!” Bernadetta wheeled around to face her fellow eagle. She even managed a shaky smile in response, though it was hard to look confident with the way her eyes kept flickering around to make sure that nobody really was staring at them. They weren’t. Good.

“I-I…sort of?” Bernadetta shuffled the equipment that the attendant had shoved into her hands around awkwardly. “F-Ferdinand kept saying that I needed to get out more. He kept coming to my room and trying to get me out…S-so I figured if I did one thing, then I could use that to get him to leave me alone for once! The problem is…”

Bernadetta looked over at the lake nervously. The students were all huddled around, looking at the various fish that swam around under the surface…Bernadetta wasn’t super knowledgeable about fish, but she was pretty sure that those weird fish in there now weren’t there on nights when she snuck out to sit by the pond by herself! Absolutely sure!

“I’ve never fished before…and those fish don’t look like anything I’ve ever seen before. Wh-what if I mess it up? What if the fish is super strong and it pulls me into the water and then Bernie gets eaten by all the fish? What if-”

Bernie stopped herself. Her voice was starting to get pitchy, and when it did that, it usually got louder, and Bernie didn’t want any more attention than she already had.

Swallowing nervously, Bernie looked back at Petra. “U-um…y-you’re gunna participate though, right Petra? Y-you’ll probably do great!”

Petra’s eyes widened with passive interest when she caught Bernadetta off guard. Causing such a thing hardly ever seemed difficult, but it was always fascinating in such a simple way how the smaller eagle would react.

‘Bernadetta was able to catch her bucket before it hit the ground,’ Petra thought, intrigued considering that was not an easy thing to do on such short notice. At least, not without a certain degree of quickness and skill. ‘She is quite agile indeed.’

She followed Bernadetta’s gaze as the latter told her tale. More than anything it seemed Bernadetta was worried about confronting the latest additions to the pond-going family, but the young huntress on the other hand was quite confident they would not be so difficult to handle if one simply knew how.

‘Pull her in? Eaten?’ Petra contemplated. What did Bernadetta mean by those words? These creatures were not the human-hunting -- or even the human-eating -- kind.

Not usually, anyway.

Elsewhere, tournament directors were beginning to round up the spectators to announce the start of the competition. Their voices boomed, signaling for the contestants to cast their first lines, but Petra continued on with the conversation as though she hadn’t heard the announcement.

“I am wanting to have fun with participation more than anything,” she laughed, grateful for the complement nevertheless. She lifted her chin to motion toward a spot at the end of the dock they could use to set up. If they were going to catch the bigger fish -- the ones that were the most fun to catch, really -- they would need to be as far into the deeper parts of the pond as possible.

“I can be teaching you how to safely fish these fish,” she offered confidently, a knowing smile spread across her lips. “First, you will be needing a different kind of bait that I am having with me. So...”

ooc; starter for @irroche​

A new trend has swept over Garreg Mach in these early autumn days of the Horsebow Moon. Various notes have been springing up around campus. Some claim to be looking for love. Others simply want to yell into the void about a frustrating assignment they’ve been given. And yet others might bemoan the presence of ghosts in the monastery’s halls… The letters are many and varied. The one thing they have in common is the fact they are all anonymous, and there is an implicit understanding that discretion is required to play the game. Will you take up a mystery pen pal?

There was a saying in Fodlan culture that went something along the lines of “practice makes perfect,” Petra recalls, her quill casting slow but deliberate shadows across the smooth parchment set before her. As the evening sun surely sets behind the monastery walls, so too does she come to a close in her letter, holding it before a candle -- its wick by now near the end of its own journey -- so she may read her practiced scrawls.

Her lettering was bold, the words evenly spaced and certainly discernable enough, but would they be understood as she intended them to be? Half an hour later after the letter had been sealed and tucked away hidden in a bushel of flowers within the greenhouse, Petra wonders if this practice would bear any fruit -- whether it would increase her skill in writing or find its way into the hands of a stranger at all.

The letter read as follows:

Dear stranger,

I have come a long way to be able to write this letter tonight -- in more ways than I can explain on one page -- and as such I am determined for my voice to reach you with these words.

Are you well? Have you eaten enough today? Remember to replenish your fluids during training and stretch every morning before starting your day.

As for myself, I find myself doing well enough for the most part. I must admit, however -- lately it is getting harder and harder to focus on the present. I miss home dearly and am seemingly unable to stop my thoughts from returning there. If only my body could catch up to my dreams... I would be far, far away from where I stand today.

Most days the thought of home brings me great pride and joy. On others, plenty of sorrow. On worse days, it fills my heart with a blackness that I fear.

Are you able to understand me? I truly hope so. I have spent too much time, wax, and parchment writing this.

Sincerely,

ooc; starter for @minorindech​

It’s time for the seasonal fishing tournament! This year, however, it seems a strange mixture of fish has been added to the pond. Why do these fish have teeth!? And why does this one give off an electrical shock!? Some anglers might find this just an exciting change to the ordinarily boring tournament, but others might feel they need to investigate the sabotage… Or perhaps YOU’RE the one who dumped these exotic fish in the pond. [grants Axe +1]

Records of fishing tournaments passed showed many a jovial student shaking hands with the head administrator -- strange how the man never seemed to age, Petra noticed, but perhaps that was a fault of the illustration rather than the subject -- the tournament trophy left by the wayside in favor of displaying the true trophy of the tournament: the prized fish to win it all.

If such fish were worthy of being called a prize, Petra was unsure as she was still left quite unfamiliar with Fodlan’s aquatic resources. However, they all seemed pretty stale and uniform in appearance to her. Again, perhaps the illustrations simply did not do them justice and yet even with the most creative imagination Petra could not fathom that they would be much livelier than they appeared on paper. Fish out of water, in every sense of the phrase. Surely there was something that could be done about it. The tournament deserved better.

The students deserved better.

So when she found herself making some new additions to the pond in the dead of night there was nary a shred of shame to cloud her judgement. In fact, there was a word in the Fodlan language for what she was doing...

Redecorating.

Yes, she was “redecorating” the pond. It needed a bit more color. An octopus here, a stingray there, perhaps a few electric eels... Harmless creatures, really -- if one knew how to handle them -- and just the right touch of je ne sais quoi to liven up such a bland pool of water.

Perhaps she’d add a leopard shark later as well. For good measure and out of the goodness of her heart, of course.

The next day was full of festivities and animated bodies shouting and cajoling each other as some pointed at strange creatures that offered tiny glimpses of themselves just beneath the water’s surface. Petra joined them in peering curiously over the water’s edge.

Strange. Some of those she didn’t remember adding to the party. Ah well.

A bushel of purple haze caught her eye beside her.

Without allies from the sky, Ettard works much like a scythe through wheat on the incoming pirates. It’s not a good match for them. Unsteady ground, with not enough armor to blunt the swing he carries, and of which he’d trained for. Each strike he heaves carves a gaping hole into the incoming flank of pirates– they are displaced or crippled, and he can make quick work of the holes that then open in their formations– not that they have much to speak of. 

It’s the way of a sea-raider, he supposes. Attack from where you can– be acrobatic, come from all angles. 

That advantage is mostly negated when your opponent can do very much the same, Ike thinks, rocketing off the mast, to crash feet-first into an enterprising scallywag, and has to spend less to achieve it– A gentle shove from Ettard’s tip sends another raider screaming as he falls from his perch.  Ike soon finds his attention drawn to something else. He’d gotten sick and tired of battles on ships a long, long time ago, and there is something unique that catches his eye, a streak of violet darting between targets constantly present at the peripheral of his vision.  It’s Petra, of course. 

Axework bites into the flesh of many, like a hungry shark snapping at calves and letting go, snicker-snack.   A whirling flurry of strikes, each like the sharp-toothed bite of a snapping turtle. Tendons are cut with the neat precision of a cookie-cutter scoop, sending men to kneel and arms to fall limp. 

She’s an experienced fighter, and Ike finally understands her meaning. Eager to fight– in her element. 

The way she moves is rhythmical and fatally agile. Almost unconsciously, Ike finds himself slowly placing his own steps to the beat, trying to trace her movements– and realises that each thud of his boots on wood carve a familiar beat, a chord in his vision. A dance meant for many, a pack of wolves– paws and feet cutting divots into the dirt, circling, weaving each claw and bite into a deadly chorale of blood. It’s not a style he’d seen often– more impactful than cats, more committal. Each swing like a swipe, confidence in the weight of swipe. Excitement itches in his fingers, and he steps down from the mast to even ground. He wants to try. A giddy nod, and Ike steps into formation. Petra’s deadly dance is from her people, she’d said. It’s a beautiful thing to behold, and he’d do well to not swing out of step and get in her way.   He observes for a few seconds more, letting the roars of incoming bandits loom closer than he would have otherwise. Three steps, two steps, one–  

Ettard is pulled into an underhand grip, held like a sheathed fang under his body. He flings his center of balance forward, darting the flank of an incoming group. It’s up to this point that it’s what a cat would do, not willing to allow themselves to get so close to an enemy’s own teeth.  A wolf, however, would just barrage through. After all– they’re not hunting alone.

Ike extends Ettard, the sword peeking from his grip like talons ready to lash– and they do, in an arc as he’s carried past the group. Blood splashes across the deck. His other foot slams into the soaked wood, and the momentum arcs backwards–a quarter-circle of a step back followed with the tip of his foot. Ettard swings out again, sideways. Ike waits until the tension gathers in the grip, and kicks himself forward into a lunge.  Howl to the moon’s cry. Be fearless. Go. Steel crashes against steel in a terrible cacophony. Axes–spears, swords crash together in a deafening racket as Ettard contacts them all and rattles with impact. Ike grits his teeth, feeling the vibration down to his bone– but he trusts in fur, the makeshift steel ‘pelt’ that Ettard provides for him. The screeching lasts throughout the entirety of his strafe– there are simply too many holding the line, but he can feel knees buckle and balances slip, weapons clattering on Ettard as they fall, their owner’s fingers nerveless and unresponsive.  Ettard swings back into clear air, and Ike drops his charge, looking back to gaze at the effect. The row of pirates is staggered, clearly unstable. It would have done more if someone else had been there– oh, nevermind. The students have scented blood, and they fall upon the weakened row.   Ike laughs as he shakes off a numb grip, wiping off the trickles of blood from his reckless gambit. Nothing had penetrated, but the amount of superficial scratches… He supposes that’s why only wolves do this, with the fur to catch them. Ah, he’ll figure it out later. Sorry, Rhys. It looks worse than it is…  With a smile, he holds Ettard back out, point out and hands firm around its grip.  He can see the new line of pirates in front of him shudder, resolve quaking. By the time he steps forward, they have turned tail and fled, like a wave of clucking chickens. Scoffing, he returns to Petra’s flank. Ike looks ahead, and the stream of raiding boats has stilled. Some of them are beginning to scatter… It shouldn’t be too long before the pirates retreat– and they’re just about almost entirely leaving their boat alone, save for the crickets. Some of them are even pulling back their mates from the connecting planks, shaking their heads wildly as they look at the two of them like the hound of hell’s own sprouted heads.  Ike gives them a gimlet eye, daring them to try. In the meanwhile, since they’re at an impasse… He glances over. 

“I see what you mean by eager. Having fun?”

Fun?

She thinks about that, letting her tongue roll over the word and savor the many facets of its flavor.

If she thought too deeply on it her enemy’s anguished cries would begin to echo in her ears, their blood spurting and sticking to every crevasse of her grip in her minds eye. She could see the light of their life flicker to an end in each and every one of them, some tangled with sorrows -- others with regrets...

Fun...?

No, ‘fun’ wasn’t exactly the word she would use here. This was...practice? A challenge? A mercy, truly, as they had chosen to wrong the Empire of all things.

Petra shrugged, her eyes settling on the students cleaving through the charge until their work was also done.

“People and beasts are as one,” she replied, an echo of words once spoken on a broken plane somewhere far away. “I am not being worried about this killing.”

But the fact remained that the young princess could not say she was entirely unhappy to see her skills sharpen with each swipe of her tool. It was unfortunate what havoc her swing wrought, but it was necessary. Dare she say, even comforting to a foreigner on borrowed land? She was right at home amongst the chaos.

“It is good practice,” one that he also seemed well-versed in, seeing as he so easily was able to follow in her footsteps, “and there is being much that can be learned from each other.” He had not escaped her watchful eye in all that time fighting, after all.

Petra brightened then with the glint of curiosity as she studied Ike’s blade, his grip, his stance, even the set in his eyes as he glances her way. With what little time they could spare before the final wave of enemy stragglers rushed past, she tests her grip on her axe to mimic the way Ike holds Ettard. They are two wholly different weapons, she knows, but she wonders still how she may be able to incorporate his methods into her fighting.

There was certainly much to be gained by the small exercise, Petra understood as she swiveled her blade steadily through the air, testing her reach. He had demonstrated such an excellent command of it -- the weapon becoming an extension of Ike’s body rather than simply a means to an end.

Two truly as one, achieved by plenty of ‘practice’ as she so called it. 

Skill Points Earned: 1

Granted From:

Monthly skill point allowance

Applied to:

Ike’s knocked out of his moment of worry by Petra’s honest tone. It’s a silly mistake to have made, frankly, and he shakes his head in chastisement to clear his mind. 

Right, it’s not like he’s fighting alone. Tunnel visioning onto what he has to do and account for is more Soren’s thing, not his. He’s made a mistake to ignore his very viable combat partner and get caught up in his own thoughts like this. It’s a rookie slipup. Ike chuffs in dismay.

Loosening his stance, he glances over at her, only to blink at her gaze. 

“You are perhaps like me, yes?”

Huh? Did he say something? He backtracks, but there’s a conspicuously blank space where he’d zoned out for. Ike grimaces, and decides to make a guess.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that. You mean, eager to fight?”  

Well, in any other situation, probably, but with how unprepared they are it’s more likely to be a chaotic scramble where they cling barely on for dear life… uh…

Yeah, actually? He’s still raring to go. It’s not like he can change things here, anyway. 

Giving off a sigh that’s half-exasperation and half-resignation, Ike rakes fingers through his hair, and then gives a half-loop around to Petra’s side. 

“… Yeah. Don’t get surrounded, alright?” 

That’s when the bugle-call resounds again, the scout blowing his whistle for all its worth, and a row of raucous shouts erupts all across the north side of the deck. Glints of steel harpoon into the edges of the ship and splinter the rail, and Ike blinks as he realizes the bandits must have come in on smaller boats to evade their gaze from below. 

Instantly, sailors rush to the edge to hack away at the ropes, and Ike’s tempted to swear as he continues to look up for the incoming divebombs. But no, he can’t hear anything. Petra is already moving, so he has no choice but to keep pace with her.

There’s a shadow in the fog looming. Ike can feel the spray of increased wind and sea air– another ship’s near. The crash of pirates and sailors rises in crescendo, a multitude of problems popping up as the bandits proceed to begin their opening salvo. Ike can hear the bark of cannons, and crashing splinters as both ships fire blindly and scrape across hull.

Here’s when the whistling of black wings should show.

Any moment now…

…Huh. 

Ike can’t shake the tension in his shoulders entirely, but he can feel them ease. The chance of an aerial assault is falling by the minute– or at least, an assault by ravens. 

fwip

Steel clinks as Ettard spins idly in the mercenary’s hands. Picking up the fallen tomahawk from the deck, Ike weighs it and gives a casual throw back, brow furrowed. 

thunk

Ah, he missed. Well, it doesn’t matter, because since there aren’t any fliers… 

That means it’s safe to charge. 

Petra stares at him a bit more intently as he stalls, waiting, hoping wishing against all odds that he might answer in the affirmative but what came from his tongue was instead nothing of the sort. She blinked, momentarily caught off guard.

Inwardly she had to laugh. He hadn’t heard her, but perhaps that was for the best. Had she truly been in that moment so eager to hear that she was not alone in her alienation? She had to be more careful.

Misery did love its company after all.

“Right,” Petra agreed with a small laugh. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t fully aware of what he might mean, but his words seemed simple enough. “Fighting is the way we are living back home. I am not able to be doing so much fighting in Fodlan, so I have become....off of practice.”

“I would like to be correcting that today.”

The bugle-call resounds and Petra nods, taking up a position behind Ike to watch his back. Even from behind, she can tell he is distracted as she feels him shift while he looks around, looks below, and finally, looks...above?

She looks up to mirror his gaze toward the sky. Was he aware of something she was not? A quick check of her surroundings would assure her they were not in danger of magic being hurled their way or even a simple sky assault. After a moment it seemed that Ike noticed this as well, but not before some strange actions done on his part.

It was always better to be safe than sorry, she supposed, writing off her partner’s bizarre actions. But there were more pressing matters to attend to now.

The marauders had by now made their way onto the deck where allied crewmates had neglected to cut away their harpoons. They were a sizeable few, some looking far more murderous than others. Nevertheless, it took only a few shouts before the fight was upon them then as allies and enemies took up their weapons at each others throats with little signs of mercy.

Petra readied her blade and met eyes with one such enemy who in return took one look at her, smiled a sinister smile, then lunged to take her down with a wide swing -- too wide -- full of reckless abandon. Surely he was under the impression that since she was smaller than him he could take her down with little effort.

It was easy work to undercut his intentions with a swift blow of her axe.

A bit too easy. The quick and efficient work was enough to touch a smile to her lips.