pick a god & pray

regardless, this is not about that. it is about the newborns, and their resting mothers. she has in her hands a collection of baby-dragon-safe foods, chopped vegetables and pureed meats. they come with teeth already, of course ( she had learned quite a bit about wyvern care in daein ) but still need their food fine and easily-digestible.

"You know a lot about them, then?" he asks, and places the bottles down against the wall. It does not take him a lot of convincing to simply believe there are better foods for the poor little things; he may not be an expert, but he has seen that they are already quite hearty beasts.

"I fear I know hardly anything on the topic of wyvern care," he says, straightens his back and folds his arms behind his back. "If you are going to feed them, would you mind telling me what you know? I would like to be helpful, and not give incorrect advice to those who are volunteering their time."

              she knew her touch was too cold for their liking ,      she takes a mental note of it once again like a worn-out logbook that already had the same report ten pages ago. the fauna and flora won't change their ways no matter the region she needs to remember that. her blood ran too cold for them and they will always be scared of her, that much she always knew.  it was worth a try.  she lifted her hand up to the canine then smiled upon seeing the wolf who sniffed her palm.   “   hey buddy... is it ok if i pet you?  ”   felicia whispers to the wolf who doesn't protest against her intentions unlike the horses, wyverns, and pegasi; wolves were different. they were used to the cold, heat, all of nature's tantrums and even welcomed it at times. the wolf lazily pushed against her hand and idly leaned into her. she excitedly squeaks upon its sudden approval.  “  aw, you're such a good boy! ”   felicia carefully scratches behind their ears, then moved to the scruff of its neck before briefly stopping to check on the wolf's temperament. it seemed calm.

she watches the wolf as it scrunches it's nose and looks at her. it reminded her of how flora scrunches her nose when she's tired, then subconsciously taps the leather-like snoot of the wolf. in a flash the wolf snaps its jugular on her hand, she stares at it for a second before realizing, she's been bitten. aquamarine hues flutter in shock as she watches the blood stain the canine's fangs, he looked just as frighten as she was, ears pulled back and now two steps away from her. she doesn't dare to move and instead kinda let's herself clumsily laugh.   “   ack... ! aha... ow, that kinda hurt more than expected. i know i had it coming. i got too excited i'm sorry pal... the nose is a no touch zone... got it for next time...!   ”   

she smiles at the canine who remained on guard. well, it was nice while it lasted. she slowly gets up and backs away to not alert the wolf or anyone around her. idly looking around for any kind of cloth to wrap her injured hand, she cups her hand into the other. a sigh that came off more as a whimper smothers in her throat, she really doesn't want to ruin her uniform. seeing as the blood didn't stop flowing she ultimately turns to the fellow beside her tending to a horse, praying he doesn't freak out either.  “   hi there, uhm, sorry to bother you while you're busy but, by any chance do you have bandages on hand? i think i've made a little bit of a mess here, hehe... i can deal with it myself if anything! ”  she smiles, as if that'd help her situation.

for : @lunaede !

( Jugdral does live in the back of his mind, warnings cryptic and obtuse )

-- he would like to have the chance to bond with one again.

So, as he stands, he's feeding one of the horses with his palm up, oats presented as an offering. This one is calm and friendly enough, but clearly attuned to anxiety that Frederick holds in the pit of his stomach. It's skittish when he moves too fast, and he cannot bring his shoulders down for fear of dropping his guard.

The distraction, then, by the girl next to him is a welcome one -- both for the knight and the horse. He stands up a little straighter and his eyes widen as he looks at the wound. Oh, what a nasty bite indeed.

"Milady!" he's a little shocked, and immediately reaches for his own personal first aid kit. He takes out a long bandage and considers the source of the wound. "Where did you...? How...?"

He doesn't have to wait for an answer. He's able to put two and two together, and reaches his hand out. "Let me assist with washing that before I bandage you. Proper treatment of a wound will ensure no infection takes hold."

For its size, the golem moves awfully fast. Their only hope is to take advantage of their smaller size to slip somewhere it can't fit. Though, with the way it slices so easily through everything in its path, Altena isn't so sure that would even work.

She doesn't like to run. Hates feeling weak. She'd rather stand and fight but she hadn't brought a weapon. She's never been one to believe in ghost and monster stories. How was she to know there would be an ounce of truth in the rumors?

Debris rains down and blocks the path ahead. The path she'd used to come down here in the first place. The creaks and moans of the golem grow closer and time is running out fast.

Well, Frederick isn't much for planning, or really thinking too hard about strategy. He's reflex in the heat of battle, stand your ground and prepare to face your enemies head on. That's not a wise choice currently, though. He needs to get through that crack and escape, and he has to at least try.

After he's sure Altena has made it through, he tries to squeeze -- and fails. He's simply too large -- especially with all his armor on.

frederick rolled 1d20 Result: 7 !

Grimacing, he fumbles with his plate armor in an attempt to get it off as quickly as possible, but time is running out. That creature is headed straight for him, and if he's not quick he's going to be seriously harmed.

The silence that came with night was often a long held companion of Ephidel's, but now, the small hours were filled with too many thoughts to occupy them, and too few distractions to avoid them.

Pondering their existence--their purpose--was nothing new since awakening in Fodlan. But just as they were beginning to find meaning within, Pasithee arrived to set them straight.

Ephidel would only ever be what they were seen as. A tool that had grown dull.

The vestiges of winter still clung to the Great Tree Moon, and the evening chill swirled around the morph. In the wake of the collective nightmare, the administration was allowing students and staff to return to their home countries; something else for Ephidel to ponder.

It did not seem to make a difference. Elibe or Fodlan, Ephidel would wander aimless. They had carved out something for themselves here, but perhaps that was more the reason to leave. They were made for Lord Nergal. Their purpose was Lord Nergal. Even if their master was dead, finding something outside of him was paramount to treason.

Ephidel's gaze was trained skyward, and the night air had brought them to the training grounds. Though surprisingly, they were not alone. A knight was at the far end, doing sets relentlessly.

What breakthrough did he have, then? In that place? He knew what he had wanted -- the control of his own narrative, to do what his mother and father could not. He did not want to be a pawn. He did not think of Robin or Chrom as grandmasters in a game of chess, but now that he had a chance to live life off the board he was all too eager to learn what that meant.

Was it wrong of him to want that? To want to be more?

He did not have a purpose here. He did not really even have a liege; he was on his own, a knight of seiros in name alone. Should he consider something different?

He hit lance against the practice dummy again, again, again. He tried the axe. He tried the sword. He wanted to exhaust himself until there were no more thoughts in his mind.

Frederick did not notice at first that Ephidel was there. He had been too busy focusing on the smack of steel to canvas, of the strength of his swing. When he did, he dropped his weapon and sighed.

What a terribly sad story. Of course Frederick can feel for the protagonists of this tale, though he has questions as to the validity of it all. Folklore born from tragedy may be exaggerated or greatly misinterpreted, and while Frederick does believe that there was something to this story as a whole, he's sure the connection to this plant is tenuous at best.

Still, he humors himself -- humors his friend and fellow shepherd. To have another person he knows from back home here eases his soul, calms his mind. He misses them all. He's not about to say he does not believe in the tale if it would shoo away one of his connections to home.

Libra is a healer. Libra is also incredibly fierce, something that Frederick can not only appreciate but also can relate to. Frederick's own healing touch is non-existent; Lissa and Mari have always been better at easing the pain of others, and while Frederick would be able to assist in a pinch he does not think he has the ability to help a dying plant.

"Libra," he says, and looks at the wilting thing in front of him. There's not much he can see himself doing, but he's there. Emotional support and what have you. "Do you have a plan of action, or should we... perhaps give it more water?"

He has no idea, if that's not obvious.

"you don't have to worry about that. belle's carried his fair share of armor. and i'm pretty light. we'd only be airborne long enough to land someplace safe, out of their reach, so he won't have to strain himself for long."

there isn't much time or point to thinking about the ' what ifs ' of the plan going wrong — they had to do something, act somehow; with the monastery in its current condition, she hates to say it, but they don't have the luxury of dotting every I and crossing every T.

and the knight. he's even more ready to begin than she is.

"i'll be right behind you." and once again, as he heads down the slope with the plate on his shoulders weighing each step deep into the snowbank, she pulls a little bit more confidence from the resolve lining his shoulders and steady in each of his movements. right. turning and pulling herself with a quiet grunt into belle's saddle and taking her bow firmly in hand, she checks over her equipment one more time. if nothing else now, she couldn't fail him.

( after all, he's never been one for tactics. he was surprised when Robin suggested they protect their healer, after all.

he's gotten better over time, but it's clear this is not his strong suit. )

He offers her only the smallest of smiles in turn -- anxiety does not allow for too much expression. He's ready, and so is she it seems.

He moves down the mountain with a determined look on his face, and aims his lance in a defensive stance. He does not want to attack if he can avoid it ( he is not one for needless bloodshed, even if that blood belongs to animals ) but also he does not wish to become more of a target. Even less so would he like to see his companion harmed.

[1d20] Roll: [20] Result: 20 Reason: Frederick success in distracting wolves

It.. works. Extremely well, actually. The wolves seem disinterested now; perhaps they have had their fill, or perhaps they are alarmed by how loud and large Frederick looks waving his lance around. He tries hard not to have his voice betray his surprise -- while there was no flaw in the other's plan, he certainly did not expect it to be this easy.

"Away with you!" he calls, and juts his lance out at the last few who wish to steal a few leftover scraps. "Begone! Ah! My lady! It looks like we might have found success this day!"

Fondness finds its way to his eyes as he listened to Frederick speak, biological or not it was always sweet to see people unite and become family. The Shepherds seemed like an enjoyable group if he could see some of them in that light, Alfred could relate to that. Traveling with so many wonderful people as they tried helping the world set him up to meeting many people that were dear in his heart, some maybe not as sibling or a 'proper' role in a family, but family nonetheless. "I think that's beautiful, i'm glad you get to be a part of the shepherds then! I'm sure they feel the same way about you."

Then his eyes go wide at the names. "No i haven't!" He blurted out a reply. Which by all technicalities was true, he didn't meet them, he met the Emblems with those names. But how could he explain that to the man who wasn't affected by it in the slightest? 'Haha i haven't Sir Frederick, but i sure met their Emblems! Oh yes Emblems are blah blah blah'? As much as he could... he feared giving the poor man a heart attack in the process.

"But say, why don't you tell me a bit about your homeland?" Alfred said putting down his work for a second, checking from a distance if it was good to the eyes—for not being a master of precise work it was kind of looking like Alear...? "I'm curious about the Shepherds and the people that forms it if you wouldn't mind humoring me a little. I can tell you about Firene in return if you'd like."

"I would like that," he says, softly, in response to Alfred's offer to speak about his homeland. Frederick misses Ylisse and his friends -- how could he not? -- and speaking of it eases his heart just a little. "I come from Ylisse, and it is a beautiful land. The people there are kind, they work hard, and they love their Exalt. There was... a time of unrest prior to the late Exalt Emmeryn's reign."

That's a way to explain it, he supposes. There were so many deaths, so many people who were hurt. He does not forget the shell-shocked expressions of the men who came back with blood on their hands and fear in their hearts.

Fighting a fruitless war. It breaks down the soul, rips it to shreds, plants hate in the space between the ribs. There is no glory or honor there, and it is something Frederick is so grateful for every day. Under Chrom, under Emmeryn... he was doing good. He was saving lives. He can go to sleep without hearing the cries of those who were slaughtered, for every fight was an honest one.

"Now, though, the Exalt Chrom ushers in a new era of peace and prosperity. He is the epitome of what it means to be ruler. He would have made his sister, Emm-- Exalt Emmeryn proud."

Thoughts of Emmeryn always feel like a cut on his tongue. He can still taste the metal of blood, feel the gnashing of teeth and the sting of tears in his eyes. A ghost in her own right.

But as the moment draws closer he starts to doubt again, familiar anxieties arising that he sorts through… or would sort through, if he weren’t addressed. He swallows, clasping his hands in front of him, and tries to remember what was said to him. It was said out of concern, he knows…

“Oh… I am not- um, injured…” He turns to face the person who spoke to him, a knight with a stern countenance. “I was not present for the arena either.”

“But, thank you for your concern…” Ah, wait, did he not say he was hurt…? Anxieties switch from his own safety to that of the man before him, still rising steadily. “Are you badly injured? From what I hear, less than those from the arena is not much of a standard…”

“T-Though I do not mean to imply that you do not know the extent of their injuries…” He waves his hands, a little frantically, as he continues. “For certain cures, the side effects may negatively affect those already injured or ill, so I am here to help determine whether they are safe for others…”

That's not... exactly a common train of thought for him: 'oh no, someone isn't hurt'. This is a strange case, however, and Frederick feels his shoulders tense, both at the thought that ran through his head and the realization that it will be him who tries this medicine.

He should be glad that he's the only one wounded here. He is, he supposes. Maybe. He was too wrapped up in himself for the moment to notice that this boy seems... very anxious. He can now see it so easily because in a way that mirrors his own emotions; caught up in thick bundles of nerves and a set jaw that is resolutely determined not to let his feelings show. He's better at hiding it, it seems, compared to the other.

"I see," he does say, straightens his back. He sighs. So, this is his lot in life. "I'm not badly injured, no. Hardly at all. I most likely could avoid all medicine if I needed."

It's mostly true. And he wishes he would. But alas, duty is duty, even if it requires eating grass or other such substances.

This is a crucial element, he supposes, for his goal is simply personal entertainment, and perhaps some healthy competition, rather than to get picked up as some local noble's lapdog. Still, there's some excitement to the competition, or perhaps it's just his own eagerness to start throwing things.

He is nothing if not consistent in his motives, after all.

Niles offers a smile to the knight beside him. Oh, he's worked with this one before. He likes this one, even, not that the sharp grin on his face gives any indication of that.

Sir Frederick is strong. Sir Frederick is competent. He will be a fine competitor in a competition such as this.

Perhaps its something to do with the sport.

Frederick gives Niles a nod and a soft smile. "It is good to see you," he says, because it is. Admit it or not, he does enjoy chatting with him, even if he is mocking -- it seems to be in his nature to do so, and Frederick is both too tired and too relieved by the normalcy of his behavior to be irritated. He hands the spear already in his hand to his competition.

And it had been pretty neat at first. There's a history down here. One she is unfamiliar with but she can still respect the ancient stones hidden underneath the monastery. She'd like to learn more about this land she's now been residing in. But there is little she is able to explore before an eerie, whirring sound grows louder and closer from the depths.

Altena stops and holds her torch out until it comes into view. Not a monster, no. Something more metallic. Its movements seem too rigid, too restricted to be anyone in armor. And the size...it's massive.

A familiar voice shouting her name and a hand grabbing hers and pulling snaps her out of her state of confusion. The golem's weapon screeches as it tears through the stone wall next to it and Altena's feet begin to move faster, faster.

The golem on the other hand. That thing might hurt her.

"Apologies!" he calls loudly as the golem seems to stomp its way towards them. "We need to get out of here quickly, Altena, or we're going-- ah!"

He skids to a stop and finally lets go of her hand as a series of rocks falls to the ground before them, blocking the passageway. His eyes widen as he sees the boulders fall, seemingly from the movement of that giant following them. He looks at Altena with wide eyes, blinks, then looks back behind them. It's approaching quickly, and he needs to think quickly.

Or... continue running. Both are better options than standing there.

He's never been the best with flying mounts. That's not to say he does not care for the creatures of the sky, it's simply that his skillset is better served with other tasks. Even so there is a commotion about, and the loss of so many wyverns is fresh on the minds of students and faculty alike.

Frederick does find his way into the stables. His hands are tasked with holding blankets and bottles while he's told repeatedly how to assist the newborns. How complicated motherhood must be, that so many wyverns are ignoring their call to it; he's never been a parent, could never understand it, and yet he's filling the role of caretaker. It's certainly different from his time as a knight, it requires a softer touch -- he's not adept at this, but he's not terrible either.

Sumia or Cordelia or Cherche would probably have an easier time with this, but they are not here.

He holds the items in his arms as he rounds the corners. He pauses before walking into someone else, though so abrupt his stop is that he drops some of the formula on the ground.

"Ah!" he leans down and picks it up. "Apologies, milady."

[ soothe ] sender kisses receiver to stop them from shaking

[ forehead ] sender tenderly kisses receiver's forehead

[ brief ] sender sneaks a kiss to receiver's cheek as they walk by

[ brow ] sender kisses the bridge of receiver's eyebrow

[ impossible ] sender kisses receiver as a final gesture, knowing they can't be together

[ hiding ] sender checks the area around them before kissing receiver, trying not to get caught

[ handful ] sender peppers the receiver's cheek with multiple, playful kisses

[ line ] sender draws a trail of kisses down the length of receiver's shoulderblade and up their neck

[ almost ] sender and receiver are centimeters apart, about to kiss, but something interrupts them

[ side ] sender places a kiss on the side of receiver's nose

[ tip ] sender kisses the tip of receiver's nose

[ underside ] sender leans in and places a suggestive kiss just under receiver's jawline

[ giggle ] sender starts tickling and kissing the receiver all over in order to make them laugh

[ knuckle ] sender lifts receiver's hand to their lips and places a polite kiss there

[ last ditch ] right before receiver leaves for battle, sender rushes into their arms and kisses them desperately

[ the middle ] in the midst of a battle, sender steals a second alone with receiver and kisses them to reassure them

[ dreamy ] sender and receiver indulge in a handful of slow, romantic kisses

[ darkness ] sender and receiver makeout in a completely dark room

[ ear ] sender nuzzles and kisses receiver's ear

[ recline ] sender climbs ontop of receiver and steals a kiss

[ lazy ] sender kisses receiver to wake them up from a comfortable sleep

[ dramatics ] as sender and receiver argue back and forth, sender launches forward and kisses receiver to stop the fight

[ distance ] across a large space, sender blows receiver a kiss

[ hold ] sender and receiver are hugging, and sender kisses receiver on the cheek in a tender display

[ regret ] sender and receiver start to kiss, but sender backs away in the middle of it, knowing it's a bad idea

[ reunion ] thinking they'd never see each other again, sender and receiver are reunited and run into each other's arms, sharing a kiss

[ inner ] in a heated moment, sender trails kisses along receiver's inner thigh

[ lovebite ] in the midst of kissing receiver's neck, sender changes tactics and gives them a tender little bite

[ greeting ] sender and receiver greet each other with kisses to both cheeks in quick succession

[ bunny ] sender gives receiver a bunny kiss by rubbing their noses together back and forth

[ supportive ] sender kisses the top of receiver's head

[ fingertips ] sender places light kisses to each of reciever's fingertips

[ tongue ] sender and receiver indulge in a heavy makeout that involves tongue

[ first time ] sender leans in and kisses receiver for the first time

[ final ] sender and receiver share a kiss for the very last time, and they know it's their last

[ storm ] caught in the midst of a torrential downpour, sender can't help but close the distance and kiss receiver in the rain

[ scar ] sender sees one of receiver's scars for the first time and gently kisses it

[ desperate ] the situation is dire, and sender can't stop themselves from rushing forward and crushing receiver into an aggressive, frantic kiss

[ tend ] while tending to receiver's wounds, sender gives receiver a reassuring kiss

[ stolen ] sender and receiver cross paths and can't resist ducking into a safe place to makeout before they carry on with their day

[ irresistable ] sender taunts receiver by easing closer, promising a kiss, and then backing away, making receiver chase their lips

[ lipstick ] sender is wearing lipstick, and uses that fact to mark receiver with a few lipstick stains

[ chest ] sender removes receiver's shirt and immediately rushes forward to kiss their chest

[ shivering ] sender places small kisses all over receiver's stomach

[ fake ] sender and receiver pretend to be a couple and are forced to kiss each other to blend in