#countreglay

Mitama wasn’t sure to make of the box when she first received it. It smelled oddly sweet, and the note made her curious. She smiled fondly as she placed the paper to the side. Pent was certainly one to be cautioning others of pace. She hoped that someone was ensuring the man took his breaks from work and was resting enough.

@countreglay

Few knew as well as Mitama and her fellows how gates could alter the flow of time.

It could connect worlds, but the wrong passage could speed or slow time, could send one forward or back. Gates, despite their usefulness, should always be treated with an air of caution. The decision Mitama had made to further her travels by venturing through them was not made loudly.

Solid ground appeared under her feet at the same time the clanging noises of battle filled her ears. She jerked back in surprise, but the gate was already gone from her reach. Fine. She would manage.

Hands clenching at her staff, she looked around. No one had noticed her just yet, but none of the armour or banners she could see looked familiar. She clucked her tongue. No way to know who fought for what or which side to align with. Just the need to survive then.

🌻 - What do you do between replies? 

// I’m a broke college student, so I’m usually doing homework or working on replies for a discord FE roleplay group I’m a part of (I wouldn’t mind seeing some of you there if that’s something you’re interested in! I still play Larcei, but I also am experimenting with Cigyun and Eliwood).

// Other than working and writing, I don’t do much. I sleep, I guess. Maybe play some FEH. Think about Larcei. The usual.

🌺 - How much do you draw on personal experiences when roleplaying?

From Munday Interactions.

💔 I would like to improve our muses’ relationship.

💭 Your thoughts on our threads?

Pent: This was one of the firstthreads I did! I really enjoyed interacting with Pent, and got a real kick out ofhis reactions to Forsyth’s awkwardness and awful puns (a Forsyth of nature, anyone?)

Clair: This has been a reallyinteresting thread – I enjoyed how an item in the scene became a real focus of theconversation. It is also interesting seeing a more bitter, jaded Clair and how thatcontradicted with Forsyth’s ideals.

ooc; YOU’RE IN LUCK the desert is just the ocean but sandier

“Are you family?”

“No.”

“Friend?”

“I wouldn’t say that, either. Just– Look, I brought him here, so can I get some peace of mind?”

Larcei stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jacket. This was a lot more tedious than she was expecting. She’d found him all bruised and beaten in an abandoned alleyway; who knows what had happened beforehand, but that wasn’t the point. In her attempt to make conversation with him while he was half conscious, she’d gotten a clean strike to the nose before he passed out completely.

And now he was hospitalized, and she was trying to get a visit.

“Alright, then. Room 223, down the hall and to your left.”

“Thank you.”

Larcei rolled her eyes once she was out of sight of the service desk. That took much longer than she’d wanted, but hey, she got the visit. Once she was sure he was fine, she could leave in peace and that would be the end of that.

Hopefully.

The room was a standard white with little trace of any other color that wasn’t silver. She hung around in the doorway for a moment, watching his body before stepping toward the bedside.

It took a few minutes, but he woke up eventually.

“Good morning, how was your nap?” she asked, starting off casually. “Found ya half beaten t’ death in a dumpster. Punched me clean in the nose when I said I’d call 911. And now we’re here.

@countreglay

A trembling breath escaped him, though it remained left unheard, swallowed by the sound of the waves crashing against the walls of the ship. Though normally Eliwood experienced a sense of peace and comfort under a blanket of stars, the light from the heavens failed to ease the sorrowful anxiety within his heart. He looked to the horizon, noting the fog, or perhaps tears, that muddled his vision. His hand grasped the splintered edge of the boat’s wooden rail, his knuckles transitioning to white from rigidness. Dread Isle. All along, the lord was aware that returning to this place was inevitable. On this ominous, lonely island, Nergal awaited him at the Dragon’s Gate. His pulse surged at the thought alone of that place, his heart throbbing in apprehension. Attempting to regain his composure, Eliwood clenched the hand hanging down at his side into a stiff fist, willing his hands to cease their shaking.

It was in this place. In this dreadful, frightful place...his father died. Utilizing his own life as leverage, his father protected Lycia from becoming embroiled in war. Rather than freeing himself, he selflessly assisted Ninian and Nils escape, desperately trying to prevent a grim end to Elibe. To protect his wife and his son, his father remained at the ghastly island as Nergal agonizingly stole his Quintessence out of greed. Eliwood swallowed the thick lump in his throat, swearing it were lead from the weight of his emotions alone. Father. Everything collapsed so swiftly. There was no time he could allot to waste as Nergal’s threat multiplied by the day. And yet, there was a burning desire inside of him to grieve. It took every globule of will for him not to fall to his knees and weep until he was jaded. His father was his role model, his very first teacher, the man that taught him principle, and mostly importantly...the father that had loved him unconditionally since his birth.