#amicitium

Closed starter for @amicitium

True mastery with a sword is more than just swinging your weapon and embracing its sharp edge into your personality, but knowing what separates a true blade from something best left in the kitchen. A master smith from the castle town is offering a seminar to Officers Academy students on forging their own blades, so that they may learn what makes a sword a cut above the rest. For fun, he even makes it a competition–there’s no doubt that whatever you make will be terrible, but the one who manages to make the least terrible blade will be dubbed “the champion Forged in Fire” for a day! [ Grants Sword +1 ]

A warm orange glow was coming from the doorway to one of the lower basement rooms of the armoury. A local smith from. The nearby market town, a master no less attracted by the prestige of Garreg Mach close by, had offered to run a seminar for those curious about their blades beyond simply wielding them.

Byleth had been training in swordsmanship from an early age and now even taught others but this was the first chance she’d had at learning how her weapon was made. There was a basic level of knowledge, cold winter days spent entranced by the bright sparks of the blacksmith’s forge in whichever village they stayed in. The fire being the warmest spot for a young child to be left.

There were a handful of students and staff in attendance with numbers limited to the number of small forges the monastery staff could rustle up. The first part of the class was theoretical in nature, the master smith explaining about forge temperatures and where to hit the steel to shape it. Byleth did her best to pay attention despite the density of the details being thrown at them.

All too soon, the smith wrapped up his talk and gestured for people to pair up and choose a forge. Time to have a go themselves. This was the bit the ex-mercenary had been looking forward too. The sword she used was of critical importance to her and whilst she appreciated the sword gifted to her by Lady Rhea, it’s whip chain action giving it phenomenal reach, there was something to be said for the simplicity of a basic well forged blade.

Starter for @amicitium

“Did I ever tell you about the phantom horse of Belhalla?” Larcei asked, putting the final touches on her costume. She’d thought of many ideas, but ultimately decided to dress as a pirate. It hadn’t been too difficult to make. Besides the cool hat, most of it was clothes she already owned. Purple looked good on her, she thought.  

“Story is, if you go to the plains of Belhalla at night, you’ll see the most beautiful horse. Huge, white as snow, faster than any living creature, the sorta horse a king would ride. And no matter what you tried, you wouldn’t be able to even touch it! It’d just ride around ‘til the sun came up.” 

“I stayed in Belhalla for a bit with friends, so one night we went out to try and find it. Never saw it, but it sure was an eerie feeling.” 

Part of her outfit was wearing several belts at once, which felt a little weird at first, but proved useful for carrying weapons. Larcei hung both a sword and a dagger at her side. Not that she was planning to use them of course, but it added to the look. 

+1 Lance Starter for @amicitium

Soren didn’t think he’d enjoy tropical weather. Heat and humidity weren’t his thing, but... he didn’t find it so bad. Brigid was truly an ideal getaway. Especially out on a ship with a breeze, he was content. He allowed himself a few moments to relax. He yawned, resting his cheek on his arm and drowsily looking out to sea over the railing of the ship. The sun didn’t seem to be burning him as he’d feared, but rather warmed him and strongly tempted him to nap while sunning.

Hm. The shadows cast underwater didn’t seem to be right. He blearily forced opened his eyes again and took a closer look. The shimmering on the surface of the sea and the ripples and distortion of light under the aqua waves weren’t playing tricks on him.

A figure worryingly large was circling under them, as to what it was...

He didn’t know many people aboard and he called out to the first who came to mind. “Elincia! There’s something under the boat!” He snapped awake and ran down to the more crowded area of the ship were the crew had begun to let nets down. “It’s not a fish, it’s a beast! Ready yourselves for an attack!”

@amicitium ; Lance +1

“Hii-YAH!”

With a swing of her arm, another javelin soars upwards akin to a Hawk laguz rising to the sky after a successful kill. With a resounding thunk, it collides with a spear that had been stuck high up in the wall, and both lances fall to the ground, a few feet away from Titania - along with some pieces of bricks. Not too bad, she thinks as a smile creeps its way onto her lips - soon to be replaced, however, by a wince as her gaze wanders back up, towards a hole in the outer wall left behind by the impact.

This might not be the best of ideas... But it is not as though she has a better one. She cannot just grab someone’s pegasus and risk crashing the poor thing into a wall in an attempt to get the lances off, and throwing an axe upwards would... probably result in even more damage.

Oh well. She’s got her orders, so she’s going to follow them - or that’s what she thinks, until her attention is drawn by something much more important to her. Ever since arriving in Fodlan, she has been looking for an opportunity to reconnect with her friends and allies, the most important of them being, of course, Her Majesty Elincia. Unfortunately, it has proven quite difficult, what with their schedules seeming to always result in them missing each other.

But fate works its ways, and just as she picks up the two spears and turns around, her eyes meet those of the verdant-haired queen approaching her. A bright smile instantly appears on her face, as if she had endured days of storm and rain and finally saw the sun once more; she stands at attention, both lances together in hand, before bowing.

     Nibbling on a piece of overripe fruit, Leanne shuffled her wings for the dozenth time, somehow slowly getting used to the restrictive feeling of the fabric pressing against them. It should make for an odd sight to people around her, she thought, long white appendages poking out from the collar of the gray tunic they had all been given, but no one seemed to pay much mind, whether to her or anything else besides their tasks.

     She had tried to ask questions of the strangers around them, in an attempt to either gain more information or seek out a connection, but their answers were always curt. Yes to whether she could have some of the fruit before it was made inedible to the Heron via cooking, No to whether she could borrow some kind of sharp utensil to fix her clothes for her wings. Not that she was confident she could pull it off on her own, though.

     What really distracted her was the constant noise surrounding her. An uncomfortably loud, scratchy hissing sound that effectively drowned out the source of every single piece of information from the hearts of those around her. Bits and pieces of what might have been emotions floated to her senses from time to time, but it was impossible to tell what they were, or from whom they had come. And while Leanne couldn’t boast expertise on very many subjects in the world, she knew enough about seid magic to know that this wasn’t normal. It wasn’t chaos, and it wasn’t a problem with her own senses. It wasn’t even the same empty feeling that she had felt from their captors when they were first assaulted. Leanne filed the information away in her mind, to be shared with Lady Micaiah when they next were reunited.

     She was beckoned to her designated work station by one of the other prisoners after she had finished eating, shown to the rice and told, in what seemed like as few words as the other could manage, to rinse and dry the bowls and load the rice into them for serving. Ok, she could probably manage that! Pushing up her sleeves, Leanne got to work.

     As she loaded up the fifth bowl, the Heron snuck a glance towards Elincia, in conversation with the young Beorc who had rescued them from their cells. The details of what exactly had happened during their time locked up was unclear to Leanne, as she couldn’t see much of anything, but there had been the sounds of magic, of something shattering, a gasp of pain, muffled sobbing. Clearly nothing good, and she decided against asking Micaiah for clarification. Seeing each other once more after they had emerged into light, however, Leanne could tell that Elincia knew more about what had taken place - and had been affected. That much was clear, even without the use of Heron senses, no matter how much the young queen tried to hide it with a brave expression. She’d made much the same expression, after all, before Leanne saw her facade crumble for the first time. Leanne resolved to ask her about it, and to offer what comfort she could, when they next had a chance to do so. She turned away for the moment.

     On her other side was the pretty Beorc girl with the quiet voice, who had been in the same cell as Leanne and offered healing. The Heron gave a friendly, but uncertain smile; too used to being able to immediately gauge emotions with seid magic, she didn’t quite know what to discern from a near-stranger, based on body language alone. “You are... alright?” she asked, turning curious eyes towards the other’s work station to see how she was handling the work given to her, “This place is, hmm, scary... but we will, more strength... together!” With so many of them all in one place, Leanne was sure they would get through this, somehow.

As you gather information from the students and the surrounding villages, you begin to notice a common thread: mages utilizing unfamiliar spells that aren’t known in Fódlan or beyond. But as you prepare to ambush a group of suspiciously-robed “mages”, you notice their physical, non-magelike builds and strange weapons in their hands. Swords, lances, axes, all made of a strange “organic” material, if you could call it that, and eerily similar to what you’ve seen from the Heroes’ Relics. The Church would be more than interested in bringing those back for inspection, whether by force or theft. [Grants Any Weapon + 1]

It was supposed to be the faculty and knights. Supposed to be, and yet who else had Cordelia found among their number but a familiar bright-eyed face? Not that she was unhappy to see her, mind, but neither could she say she was particularly happy to see her here. Gods, she was just a student! Whether she had or hadn’t encountered worse hardships in her life thus far, was it not part of a knight’s job to see that she did not have to experience more? To let students be students...

Thus it had been naught but a matter of course for her to alight by the younger pegasus knight’s side, offering to go with her when their one group had split into many. Chagrined though she might have been with the situation, it at least served an opportunity for the teacher to see the pupil’s ability, not least of all in a situation where she could keep her safe if necessary. And besides... She was good company, nigh shining and eager to learn; if war had not claimed her own order, then...

...Ah, but that was a useless thought, and far too distracting, besides. Shaking her head clear, the knight flashed a mild smile at her companion. 

“Forgive me. You said you were gathering information before this, didn’t you?” Though there was not a single other soul in sight, her voice remained akin to her footsteps treading through the snow: quiet, a sound not far-reaching. “I believe I’m caught up with most of it, but--”  A hand suddenly held up, gentle gaze now sharp and alert. 

Collecting feathers was like counting sheep— it was a matter of intimacy and vulnerability, enough to sprinkle stardust on your eyelids and put you to sleep. Dreams that were coaxed from their shells often bound the best and worst of a person's psyche, and could eat you alive if you weren't careful. And as it was, Henry was... never all that careful. In fact, it was neither a delicate ceremony or a light-footed dance, he tore through hoards of crows by running head first into them. They cackled, of course (they always did), because a murder knew him more intimately than a dream, and they knew his antics quite well enough to play with him.

"Ahaha! Crowm! Crownathan! Crowseth! You know... you could be a little more generous when you flap around! Show off those tail feathers, strut that stuff~" Making a ruckus in the courtyard, his laughter bounced as he did, and his crows made as sullied a mess as he would. Feathers were up in a flurry, taking to the wind and slipping between cracks and pruned greenery. He caught two, three, enough to make up for the cawtastrophe, really.

"Nya ha ha ha! You there! Mind giving me a hand? Or should I just summon a Risen and take its hands instead~"

The dining halls here take him far beyond the limits of his own imagination. It's spacious, and it's clean, and the food smells tantalizing enough to draw students in from several feet away, yes, but most of all, it's lively. Clumps of students sit together, talking about classes, about strategy, about all the things they'd like to do. Others sit alone, burying their faces in books as they eat or simply focusing on their food.

Niles hums, surveying each of them as he tosses an apple in his hand, vibrant and red. There's a young man by the windows who looks about half-asleep; a woman fingering the edges of her jacket, clearly nervous to be here. A tall fellow grimacing as he picks out every manner of vegetables from his plate. And... her.

"Well, well," he hums, sliding into the empty seat beside her, "Either you've worked up quite the appetite after a grueling day, or you particularly enjoy being stuffed..."

...Which isn't really true. The portion looks just about the same as everyone else's, but what's a little embellishment here and there?