astra's wielder

amnesiac-pawn​:

“I’d assume any warrior would be judged like that,” he murmurs, not caring whether or not she hears. He wasn’t exactly a warrior. Not that he was solely a scholar, either—mage, tactician, what have you, he still had battlefield experience. He was still important! Even with his twiggy arms!

“Thank you for the promise, but I know I’m strong-minded whether or not you agree.”

But the moment he awkwardly shifts his feet into stance, that statement flutters away. It’s not that he’s positioned incorrectly, but without the power behind his movements, he’ll be pushed over as easily as if he were standing on one foot at the edge of a tall building.

Fingers flex nervously around his blade before tightening (too much).

He swings.

Ayra steps cleanly out of the way.

He sighs.

"we'll see if your actions live up to that statement." she replies back, adjusting her stance ever so lightly. would he be able to live up to her expectations? that remained to be seen.

she steps easily out of the way of his first swing with a raised brow, before retaliating herself. she doesn't put all her strength into it, for she figures if he was already struggling to even be confident in his strike the first time around well— she can't imagine him getting any better.

amnesiac-pawn​:

He’s quiet the rest of the short walk. Morgan knew he was lousy with a sword, despite how much he liked to correct his friends when watching them train. It was one thing to know proper technique and another to display it, and, well, he could barely get his grip right.

“Part of me wonders why you’re entertaining this,” he says upon their entry, after he’s picked up one of many training swords laying about. “I know you know I’m not a swordsman. I stay as far away from melee combat as possible.

“Is this meant to teach me a lesson, or do you really think I have a shot, here?”

"you're right. you're not." she nods bluntly, not exactly caring about not hurting feelings or anything of the like. it seemed like he understood his role here perfectly well anyways so were there really feelings to be hurt in the first place?

amnesiac-pawn​:

Nose scrunches up. The longer this conversation went on, the more he regretted not letting Cynthia run him dry with her workout regimen when he still could. Maybe having a little more muscle on his bones would save him from Ayra’s ire.

As to whether or not Morgan understood the assignment… that was left up in the air. Letizia’s demands had been pretty vague: learn what Ayra was hiding. That could mean anything, so his failure wasn’t actually his fault. But her bargain leaves him quite sure he’d end up with nothing to offer for Letizia’s collection of secrets.

“Right,” he says after a moment’s pause. “Sure. Okay.” The confidence has left his voice, replaced with a sort of resignation to defeat before they’d even begun to spar. He trots after her like a wounded puppy, arms crossed over his chest and slouched slightly as he tries desperately to think of a way to get out of this proposal before they reach the training grounds.

“Are you just gonna be… dodging me? Or are you gonna be, y’know, trying to kick my butt, too?”

such weak words— ayra can only hope he'll show her at least something in their spar. she glances at him, her hair swishing left to right as they walk.

"i will be on the defense, so no. i will not attack you unless provoked." she replies back with a neutral voice— morgan would be hard-pressed to find any emotion in her tone.

amnesiac-pawn​:

“Is that an invitation? You want me in one of your classes, professor?” Now that was a hoot. Perhaps he would make a surprise visit, after all. (And quickly come to regret it upon aching limbs and worn muscles.)

He shrugs to her question. “I figured you wouldn’t easily tell me something juicy enough if I just asked for all your secrets, so I’d have to find out on my own. What would you have done if I had just asked, huh? Probably knocked me back on my butt and told me off, no doubt. It’s lose-lose either way.”

A brief pause. “Well, since the cat’s out of the bag, anyways, why don’t we have some tea? Maybe I can wrassle some secrets out of you, yet!”

"if you're willing to work hard in my classes, yes." she replies back, not quite seeing what the fuss was about. she eyes him up and down, noting his scrawny physique. "regardless of whether you can attend one of my classes or not maybe i should give you a personal lesson..." she mutters in self thought, only to look back up at him when he starts speaking again.

well, he'd be right in that... but she doesn't say as much. "... the proper way to do it would have been to have a normal conversation and try to get their secrets out without giving yourself away." she says, squinting down at him. did this boy even understand the assignment he was given? she had to wonder.

swiftscion​:

“You do?!” Oh how Larcei rejoices in hearing those words! They’re all she’d ever wanted to hear her whole life! One last, tight squeeze is given, before the shorter of the women pulls away–for real this time–and grins at her mother. So much excitement, so much joy! What a rush it can be. But Larcei has to calm down: Ayra said so. She’d breathe–in and out–until she stabilizes. Use your words, remember that.

Larcei blinks, deep and hard. Her emotional state is reset, flittering on something close to neutral. “Wow… You know, I almost thought this would’ve been impossible,” she confesses, sheepishness drawing her gaze away, “since I couldn’t find you no matter what. I must’ve been a pretty bad searcher then, to only have finally met you here of all places!” 

Light, awkward laughter prevents a silence from being formed between the two. A pair of gloved fingers scratch at the top of Larcei’s head while she giggles, furthering the image of her being woefully unsuccessful in her endeavor. 

“Speaking of, just where were you all these years? Couldn’t have been at the academy, right? I’ve been here a few months without seein’ you yet!” 

The question is asked solely out of curiosity. While one could definitely make a case for Larcei being mad, for her to curse her own mother for her absence, she’s simply too gladdened by what she now has to harbor any kind of resentment for Ayra. If she was a naive kid, maybe. But Larcei’s grown up now (even if she’s still quite naive), she understands that there must have been a fitting reason for her lifelong lack of a mom.

And even if there wasn’t, taking it out on Ayra wouldn’t solve anything, now would it?

"..so you were searching for me this entire time." ayra murmurs, her gaze softening. she would have scolded her for such naivety normally, yet somehow looking upon her daughter now she didn't have the heart to. to have looking for her this whole time.. larcei cared so deeply for her, too deeply. ".. well, you didn't find me for a reason. i stayed out of the public eye as much as possible up until now."

amnesiac-pawn​:

“Okay, in my defense, you were never on my schedule. I don’t do ‘sword classes,’” this punctuated by air quotes. Alas, she’s seen right through his not-ruse! Maybe the truth would slake her thirst for an answer.

“Would you believe me if I said a scary lady set me on a mission to learn whatever secrets I could about you, very specifically, and report anything I learn back to her, hence my little notebook?”

Saying it aloud certainly didn’t sound plausible, and yet… Letizia did put some thought into this, after all.

"you should start doing them." she replies back rather bluntly, the blank look on her face not quite showing her thoughts. imagining the boy in one of her lessons was hard though, as ayra knew she had the tendency to be (rightfully) harsh on the students that attended her classes. he didn't look like someone that would keep up with her rigid rules, but maybe he had the capability of surprising her.

hresvelged​:

At Ayra’s call, Edelgard keeps still in her steps as her eyes trail towards the rather unexpected sight in front of them. She has seen and heard many odd things, but there certainly is a first for everything. As intrigued as she may be, their goal in the here and now isn’t to question the noble- An accomplishment for later, she deems.

To top it all off, she could not fathom how the monkey was armed. Edelgard knows they are to retrieve this supposed pet safely, but the way its eyes peer between the two says otherwise. It’s almost as if it doesn’t want to return. Still, perhaps the animal is simply surprised.

The princess, too, finds herself keeping a weapon of kinship near her person. Although not an axe, she was certain she could wield a sword all the same if the need arises. “I haven’t the faintest idea why it’s holding a sword,” she muses softly with a sigh in her tone. “There’s no telling what it might do.” The best course of action would be to retrieve the sword as quickly as possible, but the grip on it was so tight- So skilled. Did the noble train their pet for this? Before she can finish her train of thought, the monkey begins to charge closer as if it were ready for a fight.

the swordswoman clicks her tongue in annoyance. nobles— they sure were something for training a monkey how to use a sword. perhaps it was meant to be something of a guard dog.. pet— monkey? that did not change the bizarre feeling in her chest. this certainly was unlike any other mercenary work she’d taken in the past. the monkey charges at them, no room left for thoughts about anything except this new fight at hand.

ayra is quick to take her sheath from her belt, willing to at least try not to get the pet hurt too badly right away. they just needed the chance to disarm it. her gaze narrows as she dodges out of the way of a overhead strike— this damn thing even fought like a human.

very well, she would fight it like it was a human child then. just briefly she thinks of the few spars she had with shannan to train him in the astra style. back then she used her sheath in the same way to keep from hurting him.

she goes on the offense, using a feint to distract the monkey and strike at the wrist of the hand that still holds the sword. no blade involved, which hopefully would result in minimal injury.

the sword clangs softy onto the dirt ground, seeming to enrage the monkey. she grits her teeth as it switches to simply attacking her with its entire body, ayra blocking with the length of her sheath— though now it clings to her sheath with enraged shrieks.

amnesiac-pawn​:

Maybe fate would be kind to him today. Maybe he could get out of this situation after all. Maybe after he lowered his book to take a peek, Ayra wouldn’t be staring right at him—ah. Lady Luck, as it turned out, did not care for any Ylisseans in the immediate vicinity. 

Ayra nabs up his book as easily as if it had been a mere leaf. He can’t help the little squeak he lets out. A string of scolding is already on his lips—be careful with that how can you treat a book so coarsely don’t you know how delicate that binding is it’s clearly had to be repaired before because of people like you—but the flop of his notebook on the ground silences him. 

Of course it falls open to the page with PROFESSOR AYRA written clearly at the top, followd by a series of bulleted points. All information about her. 

Morgan was not a subtle man. 

“Maybe… an hour?” Give or take. Not long at all, and certainly not well. 

“I mean no harm, promise! I’m just, uh…”

He very surreptitiously kicks his notebook behind him, nudging the cover closed with his foot. 

“… trying to learn more about my favorite professor?” 

she hums, crossing her arms together with the book still in her hand, remaining none the wiser to how rough she handles it. "i see." her lips purse tight in thought. she really hadn't been crazy then. his excuse as to why almost makes her want to laugh.

"favorite professor?" she raises a brow, her lips quirking in a subtle, amused smirk. "right... because i would be granted that honor by a student who hasn't attended a single one of my lessons." she almost rolls her eyes. almost.  she would have remembered such a scrawny looking student in her class with ease.

july 2022  → passed

skill points  → 7 to 9

thread skill points  → (any skill, used as axe ; dropped)

sword  → C(1/2) to C+

amnesiac-pawn​:

It was certainly harder to follow someone in a crowd of people, especially when the follower was not fond of crowds. People jostled Morgan and his book in his desperate attempts to keep pace with Professor Ayra. At one point, he nearly went tumbling to the ground when one student began to argue with another over who deserved the last bon-bon from the confectioner, but thankfully side-stepped just in time to avoid a face full of gravel.

Morgan toes his way to the edge of the crowd, peeking up over the pages of his novel now and then to keep in line with Ayra. Something was off. There was no way she came all the way down here for one singular apple—the kitchen gave out fruit for free if you asked nicely! (Dating, and later being engaged to Ilyana taught him many kitchen secrets.)

But Ayra looked right at him. And he looked at her.

She didn’t look away.

(He raises his book in front of his face to hide.)

head turns and ah— there’s the little perpetrator. ayra stares at him with a gaze that slowly turns into disbelief as he raises his book in front of his face as if they had never locked eyes with one another.

disbelief was an understatement, actually. there was no way anyone could think they were doing a good job hiding— were there monastery students out there that were just that stupid? at the very least she knew this was not a student that attended one of her classes before.

gloved hand places the apple back on the display case before she turns and approaches him. the crowd had begun to disperse somewhat, and ayra takes the chance to pluck the book from the poor boy’s hands.

@njorunheir

for her next lesson ayra had decided on showing her students how one could beat a lance with a sword. the weapon triangle had been drilled into her since she was young, but it was not as if it was utterly impossible to win against a lance with a sword. it was just a matter of maneuvering the disadvantages and turning them into strengths in such a fight. with the help of a borrowed knight of seiros, a good demonstration was in order for this next lesson.

the swordswoman pauses upon hearing a knock on her classroom door, head turning in its direction. she’d asked for them to come much early so they could work out the demonstration before hand... but even this was earlier than expected. 

a voice sounds from beyond the door and for a second it seems almost familiar.... but she’d merely called for a knight of seiros to help with today’s lesson. she’d already crossed paths with too many people she knew, it was impossible to add another one onto that count.

lualamina​:

As he does in every duel, Jeritza waits for his opponent to make her first move. To prove that she has the courage to match bold words. Other swordsmen have shrunk from the challenge before, and he has let them, unimpressed by any blade not backed by resolve. Lightless eyes follow Ayra to her position and watch impassively as she takes a stance unknown to Fodlan’s shores, but it’s not yet enough to bring to life the blade that hangs inert and silent in his hand. For a moment, everything in the hall grows still.

Then the clang of blades announces the start of their duel. Jeritza catches hers with the edge of his own as she changes directions. A flick of his wrist knocks the point away as he takes a step toward her left and then back. In the time it takes for her to reposition, he hazards a test of his own. He has the advantage of height and makes use of it immediately with a quick thrust at her side, forcing a full arm’s length of distance between them. It’s a riposte of almost clinical calculation - a problem followed by a solution, question then answer - perhaps unsurprising for one called a professor. Indeed, even the students sitting by on the sidelines are familiar with their teacher’s routine that is, though not predictable, measured in the way that seeks only to answer and never to create.

he sees right past her attempt at a feint, though perhaps she should be unsurprised— he was a professor. ayra’s gaze stays cold, not yet deterred from their fight, for what kind of swordswoman would she be if one stray hit knocked her off of her game? she can’t stop the quiet instinctual gasp that leaves her mouth as jeritza thrusts his blade at her side. cloth rips and skin even breaks as she’s forced back and away from him.

mockiatto​:

This dialogue continuing was the worst possible outcome in Jakob’s mind, and Ayra didn’t budge. There was honestly nowhere else for her to move to.

“Sit. You’ll take up less of my field of vision.”

Jakob stabbed into a potato, irritable even at his dinner. He always got a bit more abrasive when he didn’t get to be with Corrin. She was a queen now, with other responsibilities and more important people to talk to than a butler every day.

“Are these potatoes bland to you? The gall of them to serve something with just salt and call it seasoned…” he muttered, shifting some of his attitude from her to their dinner. It was edible, but there was always room to complain.

what an irritable man. nonetheless she sits across from him, setting her tray down with a bit of a slam (though, not on purpose). today’s cafeteria menu was less than exciting, but then ayra was never picky about her meals. as long as it had nutritious value, she would eat it. the man across from her seemed to think differently, though, with the way he complained about them in a quieter voice.

@mockiatto moved from (here)

"Yes."

Yes, he did mind. Eating in the crowded dining hall was a far cry from the quieter ways he was used to taking meals back in Nohr, but it is what it is. Jakob kept eating, even as she stood there with her tray of food. He sighed. "Just sit, people are gawking."