Oh, this is simply godsawful.

The Prophet, this strange world whispers to him. Azama is not sure how he knows their opponent's title, but he knows, somehow--

and it pisses him off.

That's his title, damn it! He worked hard to get it! Just because he happened to earn it in a small mountainside town in the middle of nowhere full of hicks, suckers one and all, doesn't mean it doesn't count!

He's started a religion, for fuck's sake. What has this 'Prophet' done? Huh??

Actually, screw that. Capitalization privileges revoked. The prophet. Hah!

Anyway, might be worth noting that Azama himself is still in sorry shape. With a roll of his eyes, he waves his familiar staff, newly returned to him. Oh, he knows this energy well, yes...

Azama uses Fortify! 1d20: 8. +2 HP (+2 whm heal+, +another 2 white tomefaire which are irrelevant rn) - Forsyth: 10/10, Lucina: 10/10, Reyson: 10/10.

Live to Serve: Azama heals self by 1.5HP. 4 -> 5.5/10.

He's using it more for himself than for them right now, but they don't need to know that. With a huff, he waves them along.

"Go on then. Do your stabby thing or whatever. This figment deserves to be erased from existence - trust me."

The battlefield clears, enemy illusions vanishing into thin air, and there is a moment’s panic as the weight at Lucina’s hip disappears as well. Fingers reach instinctively for the hilt of the sword that should rest there, only to be met by something terribly unfamiliar.

There is the weight of an axe in her palm, fingers tightening quickly around its handle so as to prevent it from clattering to the ground. They aren’t done, then. Oh Naga.

A cursory glance over her allies, watching as their own weapons manifest similarly, before attention is drawn to what would seem to be the next onslaught of enemies. These are considerably better armed than the last, but she supposes her allies are just as well. 

“Their healer first,” she is no Robin, but she has led a charge before. It is only by instinct that she calls her orders. Whether or not her allies choose to listen is another story, but it can wait. Lucina gives little time for discussion, testing the weight of her axe in her palm.

A breath, other hand coming to balance that grip, and she charges.

Lucina attacks Priest A with Killer Axe: Attack 1: 6+4 = 10: Hit! -3 HP (Total 15/18) Attack 2: 12+4 = 16: Hit! -3 HP (Total 12/18) Poison Strike: +1 Damage (Total 11/18)

The weapon is heavier than she is used to, but its momentum carries itself as she brings it down on the priest before arcing it upwards immediately after. Unfamiliar, she decides, but not terrible. It lacks the grace she has spent her entire life learning, but hey. If it works.

Priest A counters with Seraphim: 15-4 = 11: Hit! -2 HP (Total 4.5/10)

The priest raises hands in defense, and magic sparks to life. Lucina grimaces as it hits her, teeth bared. There had been no time to deal with the wounds she had maintained prior, and now they’re really beginning to sting.

One moment, Forsyth is bracing for a counter-attack, shield raised and ready to defend Lucina and Azama’s unconscious bodies with his life. The next, that white light overtakes him again, reality shifting and warping around him in what feels like forever and the blink of an eye.

Forsyth heals +1 HP from Ochian Shield (7-->8/10 HP)

When it settles, the enemies are gone. It’s suspicious, but Forsyth will take any opportunity of reprieve he can; half their team is still injured and unconscious, and there’s work to be done.

Lucina stirs, faintly. She’s not yet fully conscious, but some healing magic should fix that. Luckily, this shift hasn’t robbed Forsyth of his newfound abilities. Indeed, he hasn’t changed all too much; he’s still dressed in priest’s robes and equipped with the same shield. He’s excited about the expertly-crafted throwing spear that’s replaced the gauntlets, but examining that will have to wait. Lucina needs healing, still!

Forsyth heals Lucina with Recover: 13: 6+2 = +8 HP (8/10 HP Total)

“Lucina. Lucina, can you hear me?” Forsyth shakes her gently, healing energy still flowing from his fingertips. “The enemy seems to have--wait, what?”

Forsyth is interrupted by the sudden intrusion of a large, snowy-white pegasus snout, butting in to chew at Lucina’s hair. Is the distortion of reality so great here that even mounts can spawn? 

(There's a clear disparity between them, but it's the spirit that really counts)

Nailah grinned as she flexed, proud of her strength. Reyson, she'd heard, had a temperament that was far different from her beloved's, and she knew he would attain what strength he could, even if he had to fight nature's predisposition for his kind himself.

"Strength is not merely in muscle," she commented. After the photos snapped she gave him a nod, mouth upturned with an approving half smirk. "That steeled gaze of yours could give my eye a run for its money. Be proud of who you are."

His will may have been tempered to steel-like strength, but Arvis is always a man of appearances and political negotiation first. Dripping blood to the marble floors of such a high social event was unbecoming, and he wanted nothing more than to excuse himself to tend to his blackened eyes.

Twice now the endeavor had been interrupted, and heat flares within him before Arvis quells it to face the voice addressing him.

He had seen the laguz tribes about the monastery grounds, but this was the first time he had witnessed one so close. The ethereal aura radiating off the heron made him feel transparent before his gaze. Composure was never before so hard to keep.

Sweat beads beneath his collar and a wry smile curls at his lips.

"You humble me with such an offer, milord. It is pleasure enough to make your acquaintance when I am in such a state." Gloves steeped in iron press to fine lace spotted with such as he bows.

One of the students has been hounding their peers to join their newest club, one where you “roleplay” a “hot myrmidon” on a quest to defeat a dragon, using dice to control the flow of combat. You may be familiar with tabletop versions of this game, but this student insists that “live action roleplaying” is the best way to do it, with costumes and props and all. Defeating a dragon? For some of you, that’s “been there, done that”! [Grants Sword +1]

starter for @cadenzardea

Kurth sat next to Reyson in the small club room, crammed onto a small bench with the heron, the two of them sitting across from the student who had brought them here as they explained the rules to the game that they were trying to introduce to the pair of laguz. Kurth had to admit, he found himself just the slightest big interested. He found himself leaning forward a bit in his seat, just to be able to hear the student’s explanation just a little bit better. Sometimes it was a bit of a fun idea to run around outside and be a little silly. He hadn’t had this kind of fun in a long time, so surely he could allow himself to act like a child for a little bit and run around in a field pretending to fight things. 

The prophet falls, and pride swells within Lucina’s chest. She watches Forsyth’s back as it readies to attack their last standing enemy when, for the fourth time, the world around them is consumed by light.

Fingers clench around her sword and a frown etches over her features when she recognizes the difference in grip to be that of a lance. Unfortunate. At least she knows this better than magi - huh?

Vision clears finally, and the feathered head of a large bird butts affectionately against her cheek. The draw she feels to it is the same as her earlier pegasus, but she has never seen a creature quite like this.

Not the time to question it.

Lucina takes -1 damage from Toxic Poison. Lucina: 9/10 HP

Her ring is gone, but the poison remains. Magic does not warm her skin where it once had, and the myrmidon’s poison is allowed to permeate her skin.

Ahead of her, a beast roars. Cerulean flickers upwards, finally, watching the forms of their enemies finish taking shape. Gods above. At least it isn’t a dragon.

Kinshi wings spread for Lucina and she settles atop her mount, testing the weight of her lance in her hands. A glance across her allies as she is lifted into the air. Here goes.

Lucina attacks Shadow Trickster with Brave Lance: 2d20+4: 8, 4. Hit. Hit. -10 HP. Shadow Trickster: 78/88 HP Lucina activates Stun. 2d2: 1, 1. Hit.  Shadow Trickster is Stunned until next round. Lucina activates Darting Blow. 2d20+4: 21, 7. Hit. Hit. -10 HP. Shadow Trickster: 68/88 HP

Her pegasus had been fast, but the speed of her kinshi is unmatched. Lucina dives, swinging her lance once--twice--four times. Each blow lands and she watches with something akin to amusement as the subject of her assault strains to return the favor. Pitiful.

“It’s stunned--you should all be safe to attack,” a call back to her friends before attention turns to the beast. It’s only right to treat her enemies fairly.

Lucina activates Galeforce. Lucina attacks Red Beast with Brave Lance: 2d20+4: 8, 7. Hit. Hit. -10 HP. Red Beast: 78/88 HP Lucina activates Stun. 2d2: 2, 1. Hit. Red Beast is Stunned until next round. Lucina activates Darting Blow. 2d20+4: 15, 5. Hit. Hit. -10 HP. Red Beast: 68/88 HP.

Exactly as she had with the trickster, Lucina slashes at the monster. It too strains to retaliate, only to be hit twice more. A flourish of her lance as the kinshi knight retreats. Perhaps she should pick up the weapon more often.

Salty, crispy, and delicious— Reyson absolutely did not regret getting this basket of fried potato slices. What was regretful was how the man at the stall had piled them up beside pieces of fried poultry that would tie his stomach into knots within hours should he eat them himself. It would be a shame to waste the food, especially with how much it had cost, so the only option seems to be to pawn it off. This man seems to be a strong young knight, built more like the carnivorous hawks of Phoenicis. Perhaps he would appreciate the offer?

"Would you like these?" He asks, shoving the basket of food into the knight's hands. "It looks quite good, but I, ah, cannot eat it myself. I'm on a strict plant-based diet. I learned so the hard way."

Prince Reyson, was it? Forsyth believes that is the name of the winged, beautiful young man in white who is currently approaching him with a basket of expensive-looking fried chicken--no, that is past tense, Forsyth is now holding that basket. Oh.

“Ah...this does look appetizing for those who enjoy meat!” A battle emerges in Forsyth’s mind, raging as he tries to make certain he is holding the container correctly. Forsyth does not eat meat, and attempting to do so would almost certainly spell disaster. However, it would be incredibly rude to decline such a kind gift, and on top of that, Reyson seems to be some sort of avian man. It might not just be potential gastrointestinal distress on his end, but ethical. “I appreciate your generosity!”

Forsyth and Reyson lock eyes for what seems like a century. Neither man shifts an inch; the energy between them feels fit to burst. 

“...however, I must decline. I also do not eat meat, despite what my appearance might suggest. I apologize, milord.” Honesty is the best policy here, Forsyth decides. Between the prince’s soul-piercing gaze and what happened the last time Forsyth forced himself to eat meat at a social gathering... “I could, however, help you find someone who would appreciate this? It’s the least I could do.”