average knight ♘

Florescence ~~~~ something mystically blinding ~~~~ decorates her attire, spunky patterns aflutter ( to make the eyes flutter, blinding as the hues are ! ) Ruby reds and sunshine yellows, tulip pink accentuated by that luminous spunk, her professional skirts and sleeves discarded for athletically festive attire. ( That humors her palette, she must say ! )

Lips purse, upturned at their corners, when lightning-like melodies flood the chamber, resounding with reverberating echoes in a way that amplifies that deep and bass-like echo, sizzling to the ears and invigorating to the heart.

She tugs at the bright and stretchy band about her wrist, tugging it to beneath her delt, following suit with the other arm's band. ( Sweat-catchers, hm ? ) A hum, and her hands find her hips, stanced and ready, humored by athletic inclination ( Master Knight for a reason ! )

It is tufts of green and likened attire that disturbs her focus, and she hums to herself, lax now in her stance ~~~~ a student of hers, the confectionary-gifted one she'd spoken with for a moment's spur during the ball ( which is perhaps why she's here: to shed the sweets ! )

"Stahl~" She chimes, head tilting. "Athletically humored, hm?"

Still, it didn't hurt to mix things up every now and again. That, at least, was what Stahl was repeating to himself as he stared dubiously down at the neon green lycra he'd been presented with upon arriving at the class. It wasn't his usual style of armour... But a quick glance around the room informed him that he'd stick out more if he didn't change, so he donned the attire with graceful concession.

As he re-entered the classroom, a familiar voice called out to him.

"Ah! Professor," he said by way of greeting. He was grateful to see that she was similarly dressed and presumably attending the session too, so that he would not have to attempt to explain. "You might say that. I'm always intrigued by new exercise classes but this is, err... the most unique one I've attended so far."

stallions:

The other man seemed hesitant to try again. Stahl could see why one might not want to put their pride on the line in front of a complete stranger, but he waited patiently for the soldier to make up his mind on whether he wished to press onwards or return. He would not judge him either way; there was no shame in honouring your emotions, although it was something Stahl struggled with himself.

But after a few moments, the smaller man executed a shaky vault across the bog and landed lightly next to him.

"Well done!" Stahl clapped a congratulatory hand on his shoulder. "Not so difficult once you get the hang of it, eh?"

He scanned the forested swamp ahead. It was true, it extended beyond the current extent of their vision, and in the distance, he could see the figures of various other foot soldiers scoping out the landscape.

"Let's head that way," he decided, nodding in a less densely populated direction, off to the right. "Perhaps there's a way around."

In his eagerness, he stuck his lance into the adjourning puddle without properly testing his weight against it before he launched himself forwards. There was a dangerous slippage of the blade in the mud below, and his balance shifted. With a squelch, he landed, knees first, in the mud a few feet from his intended landing point.

"Heh..." He rose to his feet and attempted to wipe off some of the mud. "I guess I got overly confident... Ah, well, a spot of dirt never hurt anybody, right?"

The knight presses on so bravely, while Anankos still trembles slightly. He flinches slightly in empathy as the fern haired man slips into the mud with his so daring attempt to cross a untreaded puddle.

This only makes Anankos less confident. Like he will end up doing the same, that he will end up being a failure once again in front of everyone. Sure, the knight with him is kind and would not judge his failings, but the same surely could not be said about the foot soldiers ahead of them - even if they didn't seem to be paying attention at all.

"Are... Are you sure that you're alright, Sir Knight?" He worries, as he always does. Fretting over every little last thing, especially when it came to humans. He sighs softly, hoping that the knight truly is alright. And he tightens his grip upon his own lance, quickly planting it in the mud as he planned to follow his companion.

"I'm not sure what is in that direction... but I shall trust you..." A quick swing of deft movements is all it takes for him to - surprisingly - land safely upon the other side of the foreign bank. He smiles nervously at the knight, gesturing the direction they now seem to be heading.

He did notice, however, that his fall seemed to have unsettled the other soldier more than it had himself. The next leap was met with a longer hesitation, but he waited patiently on the other bank, feigning interest in something in the distance in the hopes that the other would feel less pressure. He looked back just in time to see him land nimbly beside him, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Now you're getting the hang of it! Yes, let's."

They traversed a few more makeshift stepping stones through the boggy forest, some more successfully than others. By the time they had lost sight of the other knights from their newly forged path, Stahl was coated in mud from the knees down and splattered all over.

Finally, they reached a bank of land higher than the rest. He scrambled up the side of it and examined his surroundings.

Winter in Fodlan was tough. It had been weeks of cold and darkness now, and although Stahl considered himself to be fairly unwavering in his composure, the collective despondency of all those around him was beginning to take its toll.

Yet, recently, rumours had been flying among the students of a refuge in town for anybody brave enough to fight their way there. There were tales of merriment, free-flowing food and drink and a blazing fire... It could have been unfounded, of course, but the four walls of the Monastery were beginning to drive him insane, and the potential benefits outweighed the risks, in his mind. 

And so Stahl began the treacherous journey to the alleged safehouse, head tilted downwards against the buffeting winds. It took longer than it perhaps would've in more favourable conditions, but eventually, he found himself standing before the unassuming building. He leaned his weight into the heavy wooden door and stepped over its threshold. Immediately, the snow on his nose melted as the heat of the roaring fire enveloped him like a warm hug. He looked around in awe and wonder at the safe haven that was just as it had been described.

There were a wide variety of people present but his gaze was naturally drawn to the uniform of his peers. A group of students were gathered around a table, gossiping excitedly, some pointing towards a sign that Stahl couldn't quite read at his distance. Filled with curiosity, he approached.

"The Faerghus Finisher: any challenger who eats a whole bucket of our spiciest chicken wings will receive it for free."

Oh, so this really was heaven?

"I'm in!" He nudged his elbow into the blond student next to him. "Up for the challenge?"

The day had finally come, and Stahl nervously adjusted his jacket as he looked around the open-air ballroom. It wasn't quite to his expectations in some aspects -- what with being only a few inches tall -- but the venue didn't fail to impress, with its garlands and sparkling lights. Absentmindedly, he rubbed at the mark of air decorating his palm, wondering what tricks the Morfisians had up their elemental sleeves.

getting acquainted — accepting! schmoovin' and groovin' — accepting!

flowers.

[ Charcuterie Board ] - As it turns out, eating an entire charcuterie board was no mean feat, and Stahl quickly found himself overstuffed. Fortunately, he spotted a familiar face from across the hall and strode to meet his old friend. “Chrom!” he greeted. “Would you care for some cheese?” He presented the half-finished platter with a flourish. “Er… It was… like this when I found it…” The falsehood hung in the air like a physical presence; he had never been a talented liar.

“Hmm?” The bluenette turns his head at the call of his name, the familiar voice making its way through the ball. Green hair catches his eye, and he smiles, coming over to meet his friend. “Stahl! I’m glad to see you here at the ball. Are you–er, I would ask you if you’re enjoying yourself, but,” he gestures to the half-empty platter, “that appears to answer my question.”

"Ah, you don't need to worry about me. My stomach is a void that cannot be filled. Although I have given a solid effort." He chuckled good-naturedly. "I'll try to offload the rest of this platter elsewhere, then. Enjoy the ball, my friend, and I hope to catch up with you later."

There was a tap on his shoulder and one of the mouse servers handed him a small card before bowing and melting back into the crowd. Reading the name on the front of the card, he was surprised but pleased. Although they were housemate, he’d yet to meet the young knight in person.

Glancing over the sparse information on the card, there wasn’t much to go on. Best he seek Stahl out and get to know them. Spotting the mop of brown hair off to the side, Dimitri made his way over. As he drew closer, he unconsciously tugged his dress shirt, trying to straighten it out in a vague attempt to smarten his appearance. Passing by an abandoned table, the Prince also grabbed a spare plate of canapés left there. 

“Greetings Stahl” He said, inclining his head in a polite bow. Offering up the plate he added “I’ve been informed you enjoys lots of food. Will a canapé suffice for now?”

His elemental overlord, however, did not appear to agree with his assessment of his level of fun. For he suddenly felt the urge to mingle with people he had never spoken to before; in fact, one person in particular. The Blue Lions house leader.

Almost subconsciously, he turned to seek him out, where he was greeted with the sight of his vision come to life. Ah. There was no way to prove the meddling of their watchers, but he highly suspected this was their doing, and that Dimitri had felt the same pull.

"Greetings!" He inclined his head in kind.

With the initial irritation of the interference wearing off -- he was never one for grudges, anyhow -- he found himself quite pleased to have been mentally thrust towards the prince. He had always respected the man but had not yet had the chance to introduce himself.

stahllions:

Stahl couldn't help but allow a small sigh of relief to escape his lips as Zephia finally showed some sign of co-operating with their false master. He had been beginning to wonder about her strategy; not that he could have come up with anything better himself. As he'd already realised, this was a lose-lose situation. With any luck, Al hadn't noticed his tension.

It seemed he'd got away with it for the time-being, as the Dragon's gaze was fixed squarely on Zephia. It was almost as if he'd forgotten that there was another party in the room at all, which suited Stahl just fine.

"Patience, my dear," Al said pleasantly, visibly gratified by the small act of willing. "If you turn out to be worth the risk, perhaps I could be persuaded towards better rewards. But trust is earned, not given." He stood from his desk now and walked round to perch on the other side, not quite eye-level with Zephia, but closer than before. "Now... What information can you offer me?"

Now, his gaze swept across Stahl as well, who had been too busy wondering whether he should also stand to have actually come up with a solution to the thorny issue of information provision. He gulped, and stared resolutely at his mission partner for her direction.

Zephia smirks, glad that Al had so easily fallen for her little paltry tricks. Relenting was the easiest way to get what you truly wanted, after a bit of pushing. Offer, counteroffer, pretend like you wanted more, and then relent. It had always worked for her before after all; why shouldn't the same apply here?

Fodlan may be a different place, with a different worldview, but Zephia was still playing by her own rules. And she imagined that Al was doing much of the same. He did seem like the scheming type, if that was not already evident by the whole operation he was running here.

"Depends. What do you want to know, Sir Al?" She follows the "dragon's" - there was no way he was a true dragon, she would have been able to tell after all - gaze over to Stahl, who sits as rigid as a person could sit. Oh, poor thing. He had surely been so nervous since they had come in here. Perhaps it was a very good thing that she had taken over the talking. But that left a conumdrum: what information was she supposed to give Al? She knew hardly anything about the academy and Stahl had certainly been here longer than her. Which, that meant that this part must be left up to him.

Until when, a few seconds later, she dropped him straight into the deep end.

As both pairs of eyes were drawn to him, he suspected that he somewhat resembled a rabbit caught in headlights. Nonetheless, he gave his best attempt at avoiding rousing suspicion and cleared his throat decisively.

"Uh... Y- Yes." He gave a more confident nod than his feeble words had suggested. "What would you like to know?"

Al appeared to be hiding a smile, and Stahl suddenly got the strong impression that he was toying with them, testing them. The territory they'd found themselves in was dangerous; they'd have to tread carefully.

"Well, to start, how many are they training at this Academy?"

This felt like a fairly harmless question, so Stahl gave his best estimate, erring on the lower end of the spectrum to mitigate any harm that might come from the knowledge. And so began an interrogation of sorts, with the Dragon quick-firing seemingly innocuous questions and Stahl answering to the best of his ability, bending the figures slightly where he felt there might be an underlying motive.

"Hmm..." Al tapped his fingers together. "This has been very enlightening. One final question, then."

He paced slowly once more around the front of his desk, eyes downcast as though deep in thought. He settled mere paces from the pair and looked up with a cunning glint in his eye.

"There have been some... issues with the presence of the legitimate identities of our cadre at the Academy. It seems that, when faced with the authentic version, our targets are much less likely to be convinced by our members. Would you have any issues with, say... dispatching these former colleagues?"

If only the disguises provided were not ridiculous.

As to not draw attention to the fact that she and Stahl were together on this mission Panette was dressed in drastically different attire. Her hair was tied back and the gown given to her was not only uncomfortable to move in...but also a strikingly bright shade of pink. "...Gross," she spoke under her breath, trying to focus instead on the task ahead. Hopefully if this went on long enough she would get to wear something much more suited to her tastes.

His lips downturned slightly into a frown as his observations revealed the great flaw in his plan. The King and his companions had left the wine vendor -- with a hefty haul, nonetheless -- and ventured further into the market. They were absorbed in conversation, seemingly oblivious to the dense crowd that parted before them as they strolled, the villagers gossiping gleefully from behind cupped hands.

stahllions​:

Stahl was well-acquainted with the other student’s tendencies towards theatrics, and so the expansive response was not wholly unexpected. His patient gaze tracked the blond’s pacing following his declaration; the thoughts flying around his head were almost visible. Finally, he came to a sudden halt, his eyes ablaze with the glimmer of a decision made.

After he had been enlightened, Stahl looked rather doubtfully at the sword in his hands. He could barely wield it competently under standard conditions… To throw it up in the air and catch it without losing an extremity seemed a vast overestimation of his abilities. But… Owain’s enthusiasm was contagious… He found himself not wanting to disappoint the fellow.

“Hm… What was it you called it? The Thracia Thrashing?”

Well, why not? He cleared his throat. 

“Thracia Thrashing!!!” he declared as he sent the weapon high into the air; perhaps a little too ambitiously for a first attempt. It soared above his head, its blade glinting in the dwindling light, before gravity wrested back control and it began its descent.

Fast.

“Eek!” Stahl jumped backwards out of the way and watched as it clattered harmlessly to the paving stones.

“Ah… Well… Perhaps more practice is in order…” he said, raising a sheepish hand to scratch the back of his neck.

Owain’s smile doesn’t fade. Watching Stahl shout--the enthusiasm he puts into his performance--solidifies in his mind that he ought to be the one. The rest he considers growing pains; Owain isn’t acerbic enough to make comment on the poor weapon management.

“A fine first attempt!” he beams, hands pulling themselves into a clap. “You are truly an apprentice worthy of my eldritch knowledge. Watch and learn, Stah- Er, Leif! I shall show you how to complete your sacred form!” 

Two steps forward and he reaches the hilt of the blade. After bending down to pick it up, Owain inspects its craftsmanship. A low hum sounds from his mouth as he allows his finger to slide over its edge--impressed or perhaps relieved at the lack of any real damage. The surface scratches could be buffered out, but they were likely there before they began.

”AHEM!” 

He clears his throat, and, with every fiber in his arms, sends the sword twirling across the sky. Rather than scream the move now he waits for a few precious moments, allowing the weapon to spin juuuust overhead before he begins...

“Thraciaaaa... THRASHING!!!”

With a hound’s leap, monkey’s dexterity and perhaps, a bit of miraculous luck, he catches the grip where Stahl had let it fall. And the blade comes crashing down--hard. Perhaps a little too hard, for when it slams into the cobbled streets it wails a horrifying tune. Like its soul had been split apart, like its spine torn asunder. 

“Uh... Might’ve overdone it again...”

A dolorous expression marks his face when Dark straightens his posture and pulls Stahl’s blade level with his eyes. What he sees looks less like a sword now, and more like a sickle. The way it’s been bent and misshapen totally just robbed it of any usefulness; he doubts it could even cut a blade of grass, with how flat its edge has been made.

The first half of the performance was rather impressive, he thought. The build up, the weapon release, the acrobatics... He mentally took notes. After all, the troupe were likely looking for members that could entertain and distract their victims rather than exact impersonators, if the advert was anything to go by.

As perhaps was to be expected, however, it all quickly went wrong. Whilst his mission partner succeeded in catching the blade again, it seemed that he had miscalculated the impact of the momentum on balance of the weapon. A piercing clang rang out across the empty street. Stahl winced as he saw the remodelled version of his sword.