#aurheatum

"Y-Yes!" Alcryst straightens up when he's called, only relaxing slightly when he sees the Archbishop in... jinglebells? There's no chance to comment before she hands him his gifts.

Fódlan Fishing Guide. Alcryst's eyes light up once he recognizes the cover. It's a popular book in the library, so much so he's only been able to sign it out once. Even so, knowing it could be borrowed made it hard to justify buying himself a personal copy... now, there's no room for debate. He'll have to show this to Diamant first chance he gets.

The lure looks familiar somehow...

...but Alcryst can't quite place it. (Sorry gifter.) He doubts it'll be so lucky in his hands, but the only way to know is to put it to the test!

“Thank you!” Forde salutes the archbishop before she leaves (saluting isn’t right, he knows, but leaving her without some formal gesture would be wrong).

Once alone, he looks through the cards. They’re an incredible gift, he thinks as he looks through them. Playing cards are just nice, aren’t they? A great way to spend an afternoon with friends, free from worry. And the art is simply incredible, with such a confident style Forde could only dream of.

He sorts through the cards to see all the art, but hesitates when he sees the queen of diamonds. A lady who looks just like Eirika… no, she was Eirika. Forde smiles as he continues looking through, what a lovely surprise. Reaching the king of spades, he recognises the man as a knight he’s fought with.

25. a birthday memory

The annual date of his birth often passed without celebration, and in this regard, most sons and daughters of Sombron were the same.

In place of festivity shared with others, their fingers clasped together in solitude and their eyes closed upon a desire of their bottomless yearning. It was no less ancient a tradition than the blood-battles of twins that defined them. Centuries in passing have yielded the very same pose on a Fell Child's quietly murmured wish, sometimes the same, other times different- Rafal himself could only remember the three he had crystallized so strongly his heart quivered to see them real.

I wish for a dragonstone.

I wish to live another year.

I wish to be stronger than anyone.

Once he had wanted for these things like nothing else. Perhaps simpler days had even allowed for simpler wishes. But as for these days- these days were the darkest.

Beneath the overlooking silence and hole-ridden roof of Lythos Castle, a shimmering blue at his fingertips cast light upon his fallen sister's body. They illuminated his blisters too- scorches from the intensity and duration of the healing sessions that would one day revive Nel. One day. As a bead of sweat trickled down his temple, only a wiggling sensation of something missed caused Rafal to set his hands down, pointing his gaze at a notch on the wall.

The three hundred sixty fifth tally. Substitute for a day of the year. December 31st—another birthday.

Knowing exactly what to wish for, he straightened to sit properly on his folded knees and clasped his fingers together in a tradition never-ending. Perhaps this would be the year, he speculated. Perhaps in this century his deepest desire could come true, he yearned. And then. . .he wished.

White Heron Cup starter for @hosannan @bxldrsdraumar @aurheatum

Entering the contest seemed like a great idea at first. After her embarrassing defeats at arm wrestling and meatball eating, this could give her the chance to prove to Linus that she isn't just some chump. Nanna is probably the most elegant and graceful person she knows. With her as a partner, she's sure to have a leg up in winning, even if she herself is hardly a dancer.

Then she learns who they will be dancing against and her confidence dissipates almost immediately. Sigurd, legendary hero and her mother's brother, partnered with the leader of Fódlan's religion. Two figures very much larger than life. The bit of time she had spent practicing with Nanna beforehand was nowhere near enough time to prepare for this.

But she's not about to back down!

"Well," she turns to Nanna with a nod, "let's do this." She offers her hand and the two Thracians begin the dance they had been working on. It's a lively dance but nothing overly complex. They'd only had a short time to prepare something, after all.

Step to the left. Clap. Turn. Step to the right. Clap.

It isn't terribly difficult but Altena finds herself watching Nanna a bit too closely trying to copy her movements. She's out of sync, just slightly behind. If she had just been more confident in memorizing the steps, she'd have had it down.

@aurheatum ; Gauntlets +1

"Will freely admit, Archbishop, I didn’t take you for someone fond of throwing hands at first.” A good-hearted chuckle follows Tibarn’s words. “But, who am I to judge. I’ve met women who looked gentle, but could actually tear off my wings.”

He leans against the barriers of the small balcony stretching above the hall where the training is meant to take place, watching the slowly gathering group. A few more students arrive; scrawny Mages by the looks of it, every one of them. Studying their postures and body builds briefly, the Hawk cannot help but think a little of the likes of Soren and Reyson.

And by that, he means that he gets a feeling these kids might just hurt themselves more than they do the opponent if they try to throw a punch.

Well, uhhh, there is a nurse present for the demonstrations so hopefully the poor sods get quickly patched up if that happens. But also, hey, Tibarn would be the last person to discourage someone from training of all things.

She finds him in the gardens, alone for the moment though earlier he had been walking arm and arm with a friend and before that speaking with the cleric Sephiran.

Perhaps it was best to let bygones be bygones but though she had only passed the other by chance his loneliness is palpable, and more than that – familiar.

“Professor,” she greets, approaching him slowly, “I hope despite some of the more unlikely events of the evening you have been able to appreciate the holiday.”

She stands in silence with him for a moment, her own eyes drawn to the stars as they always are in any time of reverie.

“…This anniversary was not always one most related to romantic love. At its founding, Garreg Mach was meant as a place to celebrate bonds of all kinds – particularly familial, for we are all the Goddess’s children.”

Rhea holds out both hands to him with a slightly pained smile.

“If you’d like we can pray together, for whatever bonds you most cherish. I am sure She will hear our prayer.”

Kurthnaga glances up from the ground, eyes still tear stained and bubbling over with an emotion that he couldn't quite begin to explain. Of all the people he would think to come up to him, he was certainly not expecting the archbishop herself to be one of them.

He nods his head, a silent gesture of respect as she speaks, gentle and quiet.

"Lady Rhea... I'm afraid the bond that I would have most wanted to share on this night is far from being attainable... not to say that I don't cherish the ones I have now...! But... well, it's complicated... and I have never been much of one for prayer anyway..." He frowns, casting his gaze back to the ground.

Like a thinly veiled curtain, the beast disappears. The room fogs and the clapping of the audience comes to a pause⁠— It is childish to think this is the end. The battlefield is silent and empty, stance firm in the ground as she anticipates the inevitable. As the clouds leave and light comes to fold does Edelgard realize this is, indeed, a matter of test.

There’s the soft sound of footsteps. Hooves, rather. A steed graces itself at her side, clad in imperial reds and golds. Giving it a gentle pat, Edelgard hoists herself up onto the horse with a grace befitting of her status. Once more does an axe make its way towards the princess’s side, familiarity instilling authority.

Even if Rhea may have spoken words of caution earlier and has seemingly placed herself in a guiding role of sorts, it is not within Edelgard to blindly follow. Her axe, her horse, her soul⁠— They deny the assistance. There is little time to waste, only moments for her to get ahead of everyone else and act. She does not stay with the rest of the group, using her free hand to hold the horse’s reigns and act independently.

Lifting the axe in the air, she commands the horse towards the back of this odd enemy. She can’t say she’s seen anything like it, but her objective remains the same. There are many smaller enemies, but she believes it best to target the one in charge. It is always this way⁠— One cannot prevail without taking down the final boss. Swinging towards the large pieces of metal, she raises her axe in the air and strikes down a clean, firm hit.

Edelgard attacks Alloy Arsenal: Revolution w/Killer Axe -> Roll: 17+6. 23. Critical Hit. -5 HP. Alloy’s HP: 15/20.

Alloy counterattacks w/Heavy Stomp -> Roll: 6-2. 4. Miss. Edelgard’s HP: 8.5/10

The foe takes note of Edelgard rather rapidly, but it is much too late. Her horse flees the scene in the blink of an eye, leaving the arsenal fighting nothing more than empty air.

There’s been an anonymous bounty posted on the academy’s bulletin board detailing the search for The Ultimate Sword of Ultimate Heroism. Apparently, it’s been hidden somewhere in the monastery. The mysterious benefactor makes great emphasis on the fact that they deliberately hid it, as is willing to offer a generous reward for any who ‘complete their trial.’

To receive training for the very reason she’s come to Fodlan is a rare and promising opportunity.

The ability to search, to take on this swordperson’s quest and get ever so slightly better at finding what is lost... That means a great deal to Larcei. If she hones her skills, does this sort of thing enough, then who knows? Maybe mother will fall right into her lap.

But as she stands before the bounty board, reading this poorly-scribbled request, the growing crowd around her becomes hard to ignore. Two turns of her head tell her that their eyes are all locked on the same prize as hers: The Ultimate Sword of Ultimate Heroism. Competition’s starting to look stiff, with all sorts of eager students and grizzled knights cropping up to get a look at the mission details. As the mob thickens, it almost becomes a fight to read, Larcei herself having to push and shove to skim the last few details... And then it stops. As though they were split in two by the stroke of a sword, they part. Larcei spins around to locate a root cause, and there she is:

“Lady Rhea?” 

She is a princess from Isaach, but even Larcei knows of her academy’s archbishop. Her presence is iridescent, combining lapidary mannerisms with legendary appearances. If Larcei had to describe it, it’d be like seeing one of the Twelve Crusaders in the flesh, irregardless of her belief in the goddess Sothis. Shock forces her jaw wide open, while awe has her feet carrying her to the side. 

But of the forces that control her, curiosity pushes hardest. 

It bids her to speak, to put that opened mouth to use and seek out a potential partner. With Rhea by her side, Larcei has more than a leg up on her competitors. “Um, hi!” she starts, with a small wave to draw attention, “Are you checking out the latest mission? ‘Says something about an ultimate sword hidden in the monastery. I bet you know this place like the back of your hand...” 

“But if you’re looking for a sword, you might want my help.” In spite of the way she nearly fangirled earlier, the raven-haired manages to wear confidence in her smile. Though she wants to work with Rhea, she knows, deep down, that she is also a valuable asset here. Not once has Larcei forgotten a sword, managing to track down even those misplaced by her brother and cousin in a pinch back home. Weapons are her lifeblood, the art of the sword her bread and butter. In her own mind, there’s nobody more fit for the task. 

“Swords are a huge part of my culture, you see. I know how they think, where they’d be... I even have some ideas for this particular case I’ve been thinkin’ of trying out-- Er, with your permission, of course!”