Prince in Purgatory

The cave enhances the violent sounds of their approach. Each scream, each clash, each crack of magic—all of these reverberate throughout the space and echo much louder than they would have elsewhere, giving plenty of notice to those who still remain. Unsurprisingly, the warning is more effective than their strength; what pirates remain have clearly decided to abandon their stations, because the further that she and Berkut make it in, the emptier it gets.

"Pity," Zephia says. "I would've liked to see how well you handled your lance in tighter quarters."

Another time, perhaps. For now—

"—ey...?! Hey! Who's there?!"

Though hoarse, a third voice echoes towards them. It's pointless to wonder who it could be when the answer is obvious. The pirates with sense had left; those without had already rushed the intruders and hardly lasted long enough to regret their choice. Leaving...

"...I'm a student at Garreg Mach! Please, save me! Those brigands have all left!"

Zephia holds back a sigh. "...Rather loud for a duckling, isn't he?"

It helps, at least, in locating him. They follow crooked paths down until they come to the pirates' camp, hastily abandoned with food and drink still strewn about everywhere. Tucked away towards the far wall is the student they were sent to rescue, bound and bruised but very much alive. The boy's eyes light up the moment he sees them, and he squirms against his ropes as he struggles—and fails—to stand.

But by the gods he was already tiresome. Also an idiot, what if the people who had come to help him were worse then the bandits? The fool should be keeping quiet and trying to free himself, yet he was mouthing off already.

"Professor, would it be unproper to suggest we gag him for the trip back." Berkut mutters, even as he reluctantly approaches the other student. No attempt is made to put on a friendly or comforting face, instead he doesn't even bother to hide the disdain. With his dagger he crouches down... wiping the blood off onto the students shirt, then works away at the ropes. At the words of wanting to pray daily, Berkut nearly stops.

Nearly unfortunately.

"Stay still as I deal with these bonds. Also keep it down! The remaining pirates were dealt with, but it appeared many of these ilk are gone on some mission. Don't want to risk getting their attention as they come back." As he finishes, Berkut steps back.

However, instead of the expected gratitude, the student looks shocked at the blood now staining his clothes. "What was that for? Also who cares, they're gone now! Let's just get out of here fast!"

"I wish to become a good and strong king like my ancestor. Circumstances demand me to be a strong king, one who can defend his people, but I also want to be remembered as a king who did his best." Kurt leans back in his chair for a moment, eyes closed. "It's difficult, isn't it?"

Were it more peaceful times, perhaps he would be content as only a good king. But when not just the people of Ast, but also Holtz depend on his ability to protect them, how can he be content with only good? When he thinks of the weight of all of the lives depending on him, how can he settle on what is worth letting languish?

"It is unlikely most common people in Jugdral will ever see any sort of reparations for what they endured. They may feel as though they have suffered for nothing. Some of the men my group encountered were like that. If there are still no jobs and still no food, how much does it matter to your daily life that leadership has changed?"

If someone swept in and dealt with the Empire before him, would he be able to find closure? Or would he be like the men of Jugdral, desperate for a person to blame that's no longer there?

Realizing with a start that Kurt just mentioned wishing to become a king. Has he been talking with a prince this whole time? Well a bit late to mention it, still he sits up a bit straighter.

"Rebuilding is no easy feat, especially for the common people. Though I doubt all of the bandits and the ilk are just poor people who have no choice. No doubt there are some just taking advantage of the chaos. Ex-soldiers who fought on the other side, and would rather take then risk being jailed for whatever crimes they committed." Berkut thought for a moment, before he couldn't help but let out a small laugh at Kurt's words.

"True, money can help, though the problem is getting it. Perhaps it would be smart for the leaders to rely on each other a bit more? All the countries are clearly still suffering from the effects, yet perhaps setting up a better frame of trade and support could stem the tide as they rebuild. Making sure traders are price-gouging and making things worse for the common people, exchanging resources and the like." As he talks about it, he can't help the slight edge of bitterness. After all, when Rigel had asked for aid for it's famine, Zofia had turned up it's nose. Relying on other countries could simply be setting up the nations of Jugdral to be worse off. Still he writes it down on his paper, though makes sure to express doubt about it.

"If you want to be a good ruler, then the simple fact is there will be no easy answers. It will take work, effort and time to help the people. Perhaps the best thing would be to be committed to it. Don't simply give up or... abandon it." A scowl crosses his face as he finishes. Refusing to acknowledge his own words, he forces them and Valentia from his mind, and a smirk on his face.

a selection of headcanon questions inspired by key bones in the human body.

skull.   what memories/thoughts do they guard the most from others ?

cheekbone. what makes them smile ?

mandible / jawbone. what are they incapable of saying out loud ?

teeth. what lasting mark do they leave on others ?

hyoid / neck. who taught them to speak up, or stay silent ?

clavicle / collarbone. who/what do they lean on when they're vulnerable ?

scapula / shoulderblade. what burden do they carry on their back ?

sternum. what makes their heart pound hardest ?

ribcage. who/what are they trying to protect ?

humerus. do they use humour as a shield or a weapon ? what from/to ?

radius. who/what do they reach for first in a crisis ?

ulna. who stands by them no matter what ?

carpals. what small habits do they have ?

metacarpals. do they ask for help or clench their fists and bear it ?

phalanges. what is their relationship with touch ?

spine. when do they lose their backbone, what scares them ?

pelvis. what future or legacy are they afraid/excited to be responsible for ?

sacrum. what sacrifices have they made ?

coccyx / tailbone. what outdated beliefs do they still carry, if any ?

femur. what drives them forward ?

patella / kneecap. how compliant/obedient are they, who will they kneel for ?

tibia. who/what keeps them moving forward ?

fibula. do they ever feel overlooked ?

tarsals. what past mistakes stick with them with every step they take ?

No Skill Points

"The independence of the Holy Kingdom was largely mediated by the Church, which received significant popular support due to the actions of the previous emperor, who sought to consolidate the northern church's power under direct control of the Empire. The backlash from the people against that was one of the major factors in Faerghus being able to raise enough support to rebel in the first place, as well as the direct support of the Church."

"Besides," she continues. "The lack of force used in the 776 Insurrection delayed the Leicester Rebellion, not caused it. The loss of troops that would have been needed to quell the insurrection and preoccupation of the military would have incentivised an earlier rebellion from Leicester, not prevented it.

"And is there anything wrong with looking weak to the world? Harsh use of force only makes a nation look cold and hostile, discouraging trade and diplomacy. A so-called 'weak' country may have much more power through alliances and diplomatic connections than would otherwise seem."

Realizing her overpassionate manner, she flushes slightly, leaning back and smoothing out her skirt. Taking a breath to steady herself, she looks back at his smug face.

"Looking weak simply invites invasion. A country could have as many alliances and connections as they want. It is easy to forge such things in times of peace and plenty. Yet when war comes to their doorstep, it is just as likely that those allies may abandon them. Or simply not even be able to react in time, if the weak country can't even fend off it's conquerors." For a moment the thinks about it, looking through one of the text books. "A recent example of that, we could just look to one of the most recent conflicts. By all means, Brigid had a strong ally in Dagda. Yet as soon as the war turned, what happened? Dagda was forced out, and abandoned the island to be turned into a vassal state to the Empire. What good was that alliance?" A smirk crosses his face, though he gives slight sigh as he continues to look through the books.

Yes, some might say, for what more had she been to her once-beloved Hounds? No, others might deny, for she had still bent her knee and bowed her head low. So which would sit better with her, when she lacks any sort of grand ambition to be a leader, yet remains far too selfish to commit herself as a loyal follower?

—unnecessary things to wonder, when all she must do now is lead a dance. But her time in Garreg Mach has been marked with thoughts like these, where everything simple and innocuous has her reflecting what had been done and questioning what it must now be for. It has been nothing short of exhausting and vexing in equal measure.

"Do correct me if I misstep," she tells him, taking his hand as instructed. From what he'd illustrated, it certainly looked simple enough. Three steps, taken in the rhythm of whatever song was playing. She could do that.

...which is to say, she could certainly try.

"...This," Zephia decides after the fourth step, "feels terribly boring."

Her steps aren't the worst, and he thinks that with some practice she could no doubt be skilled in it. Yet there is little to do with a lack of interest. After all, he had once only cared about the basics, at least before meeting-

A scent, like smoke filled his nose, and for a moment he feels a burning in his hands.

Berkut forces the thoughts away, and gives a small shrug. "Perhaps you will feel different on the night itself, as the atmosphere can help." That familiar smirk crosses his face.

"If you'd like some amusement, did you know some people actually say dancing is almost akin to a duel? Comparing the steps, back and forth with a partner like fighting with one person on a battlefield." As he talks, Berkut can't help but take the lead back for a few steps. Guiding the professor through a few moves. Almost as if showing off the meaning, the back and forth movements to the dance. "Movements that respond in kind to one another. Matching and testing each other."

no church i've ever heard of has deserved respect or trust.

a subtle look of approval settles over her features, as does a flash of understanding. the corners of dorothea's lips curl slightly when he looks away, and before the sentiment dissipates into the air between them, it's met with a hum of agreement.

"look at that! you're a gentleman after all." his smirk is met with something just as amused as dorothea shoots one last glance his way before stepping through the doorway. she quickly makes her way down the marble halls, her footfalls cushioned by the familiar crimson carpeting. she pauses only when she suspects she's walked too far and too quickly, and turns to wait for her partner to catch up.

"where exactly is your homeland, if you don't mind my asking? is it far?"

Not that the difference was important anymore. Glancing at her, part of him wants to simply ignore the question... yet she is helping him. Plus, it's not like there's really any reason. It's not like he would ever be stepping foot back in his homeland.

"I am from Valentia oversea's, specifically the former Rigelian Empire. Though it has now been merged with Zofia-" For a second his discipline weakens, a sneer on his lips. "And has become known as the One Kingdom."

"Uncertainty breeds fear. If they know we're the ones responsible, they'll only see us as violent bullies. If we leave just enough traces to know that he met his untimely demise, but not enough to lead it back to us..." He pauses and smiles, letting the thought hang in the air. "Let's just say that people will be left wondering while they sleep at night."

The boy does make a point in that the longer they hold out, the more opportunity lies for more scams to take place... Still, whatever's in his pockets will end up in theirs, as long as they act before the merchant has a chance to pack up and leave. Could they possibly negotiate a meeting with him? Travant is starting to regret having so openly lambasted his goods, but he was never a man who liked honeying his words to begin with.

"Fear can be useful..." Nodding along, the student thinks over what to do. "That does leave us with few options. We both insulted the man to his face, so he may not listen to us. Though with his ilk, honestly if we flash enough gold in his face he'd probably come scrambling regardless. Not like he's going to keep what we offer anyway." The smirk widens slightly. "Perhaps that may be the best method. Rely on the merchants natural greed. You insulted his goods more openly, so perhaps I could go to him, flash gold, say that I've changed my mind about some of his merchandise. That I'm perhaps interested in looking at some of his 'rare' pieces, but in a private room so that we're not disturbed by... others this time. Let his own foolishness lure him into the trap. I do have enough saved up that I believe it would entice him to meet with me."

Their encounter had been but the once, but in that time she could not deny that honesty was certainly counted amongst his virtues, even in situations where it might have behooved him to be silent. He carried himself with the manner of a man who believed every word he said, and Lachesis could, at least, put stock in his pride.

"If that is the case, then, would it not follow more logically to go to the training hall?" Her steps paused, and she tilted him to better look into his little froggy face. "Rather than to seek a magical solution to a curse you do not know, should our focus not instead be on the source?"

Even if he had not stricken grave insult upon a person, the spell had not manifested from no where. This sort of magic, even in children's tales, stemmed from an origin point.

In the corner of the light, there's a flash of crimson from Berkut's chest — yowch, that doesn't look shallow! — and Henry laughs as he shoves himself in between Berkut and the Risen-not-Risen. His arms as thrown wide as they face the monster itself, warmth trickling into his blood as the monster roars from the impact of the spell.

"I'm going to KILL you!" Wild giggling, as his hands start to glow again alongside a fuzzy comfort in his gut. "Take your arm for myself—!"

A slash, a blur, and the light fades as quickly as it blooms. Henry stumbles back, shoulder brushing against Berkut's, as a twinning wound emerges on his chest.

Still it was a weak blow, an accessory to Henry's magic. Determination running through him, he bring the spear around. If these Revenants are the same as back home, then simply impaling them would not be the most effective measure. Instead, he trusts in the hard, treated wood of the spear. One fluid motion bringing it up... then down.

The reward is a wet, loud smashing sound. A final, almost pitiful groan from one of the creatures before it slumps to the floor in front of them. A laugh escapes him, almost frantic as he feels his own enjoyment of this taking over.

It might be the influence of the man next to him, but he finds himself enjoying this.

shiro's sent plunging into the water once more, all hopes of victory dashed by the familiar darkness that engulfs him before his head breaks through the surface seconds later. he bobs in front of the canoes with a frown and (not so elegantly) spits out the water he's almost swallowed. plegh! blegh! ptooey!

"okay, okay! you win fair and square."

when all's said and done, berkut really is as skilled as he claims to be—there's no discounting the fact. even with their size difference, the guy clearly knows how to seize leverage as the opportunity presents itself.

The grin stays on his face, even as he nods his head. "Well, I for one would be more than happy to extend our contest on land. It's rare to find someone to present such an enjoyable challenge."

Berkut does not waste a single second, quickly staring to paddle back to shore. "I'm curious to see how well you do with a naginata in hand! Though I think you'll find my lance just as much a challenge, if not more than this paddle."

The smirk that crosses his face at least is friendly, even as he nods once more to Shiro. "I would hurry up though. After all, wouldn't want to lose the race as well!"

See? It really isn't that hard to listen. She has never asked for anything more than what the people around her can provide, and yet they've only disappointed her, time and time again. How utterly laughable, then, that this near-nameless boy, one who owes her nothing and is owed nothing in turn, can so easily do what her once-darling Hounds could not. Just listen. Just obey.

Just stay.

"...Come along, then; let's get this over with."

Zephia takes the lead this time, guiding them both into the cove. She makes no effort to quiet their approach; her shoes strike against the ground in sharp clicks, alerting the two guards on duty. But whether they're aware of the intrusion or not doesn't matter; two spells enacted in rapid succession burst through, electrocuting them where they stand. By the time she and Berkut walk past, they've melded to their clothes, and the window to save them is rapidly closing.

More pirates doubtless await them ahead, but Zephia doesn't look to be in any rush. Instead, as the next pair of sentries sound their cries of alarm, she looks down at Berkut and smiles.

Not even a glance is spared to the two dying men. The magic was effective, he couldn't help but admire it for that at least. Naturally a professor would have to have some skill to be employed at the monastery, at least one would hope, but seeing it on display was always an intriguing sight on it's own. It also helped that just from how she spoke, he highly doubted she was a member of any faithful.

Hearing the cries of alarm, Berkut meets the professors gaze and does nothing to hold back the cruel smirk that crosses his face. "It would be my pleasure professor." Striding forward to take the point, Berkut holds the javelin in front of him and prepares. Listening to the shouts, there had to be a half dozen or so guards coming to aid the two sentries that had shouted.

It would be easy enough work on his own, let along with the professor and her magic at his back.

A throw impales one man, straight through his gut and leaving him breathless, unable to whine in alarm. Hearing the footsteps, Berkut draws one of his daggers and approaches the other sentry. A clumsy axe blow swings his way, and Berkut brings up one hand, catching it before plunging his dagger straight into the mans eye and yanking it out.