#elysieth

Closed starter for @elysieth

Ever since returning from the mission at Brigid, Dimitri has taken most of his available time off to rest. Not only physically, but mentally as well. However, as spring slowly made its way in, Garreg Mach’s pacing only sped up in time to celebrate the incoming warmth of summer and promises of abundant fertile soil and game. 

There wasn’t much time to rest, but the Crown Prince wasn’t complaining. Much, at least.

As always, his sleep was rather short. Disturbed by dreams that now were just fuzzy, incoherent memories in his mind, he was never one to be able to sleep much making him one of the early birds at the Academy. Temperature wasn’t too hot yet so Dimitri settled with his usual uniform, the deep blue cape cascading proudly over his left shoulder. 

And so the blond Prince made his way through numerous halls in the monastery, greeting staff and guards with a polite nod or bow. His walk was aimless, at a slower pace as he took in the smell of flowers that had just bloomed and the comfortable breeze that swayed leaves around.

Actually he was just trying to get his mind off one thing: water.

Ever since they all returned from Brigid, Dimitri started to feel a considerable discomfort around bodies of water. It wasn’t exactly fear...or at least he didn’t want to believe it was.

Yet his supposedly aimless walk took him to the monastery’s ponds, right in time for the Seasonal Fishing Competition. There he was, holding on a fishing rod that had been just handed to him by staff, standing right at the end of the cursed pier, staring into the deep blue abyss (in reality the pond wasn’t that deep at all). The Prince started to breathe more deeply, feeling cold sweat already.

‘Come on Dimitri, it is just...a pond. And you have to fish so that others can eat! Do your duty!’ He attempted to hammer it in his mind. Get that dang fish Dimitri! It’s just fish! It doesn’t have Nosferatu!

Throwing the bait into the pond, he sighed. He didn’t want to stare at the water, so he settled with looking around. Uneventful really, until a familiar silhouette was spotted.

          he’d heard the tales before, prior to his brief return home for urgent business that had gotten in the way of his formal schooling here ( and he has to say, he had missed it, more than he would have expected for such a short sojourn; a friendly tournament and a handful of experiences that might have been forgettable to anyone else to carry with him across the sea ). a stormy-faced swordsman who walked the countryside, mercenary by trade but far outstripping anyone of his profession and age; youth still smoothed his features and his motions on the battlefield, and he’d cut down dozens, hundreds, before taking even one blow. the ashen demon.

          three years ago, leif would have been impressed, curious — daunted, even. like the imaginations of those who traded the stories, pollinating fodlan with ever-aggrandizing accounts of this figure’s exploits, he would have envisioned a man larger than life and kept his epithet with awe. they said the demon carried an infernal blade, skeletal and thirsting for blood, that could fragment at his will into joined vertebrae like a serrated whip to pierce past even the strongest defenses.

          the more the rumors grew, the more leif had to smile to himself.

          he has to admit, he hadn’t really expected it to be his friend when he finally manages to find the fabled swordsman — sitting on an empty pier just after dawn, like any ordinary man. but to see dark teal dressed in muted shades rather than long waves of blond austere in black and gold is still a little disappointing, just the same. the alleged battlefield terror is a little slenderer, a little less assuming than he’d expected. he wonders briefly if aless would have wanted to meet someone with a reputation that matched his own, and if he would have challenged him to a duel on sight. demon sword to demon sword.

          ❝ pardon me. ❞ he announces himself inoffensively. expectations or none, the truth is that he doesn’t know this man at all past stories. inquisitiveness ( and maybe some hope ) had brought him here, but he would have to find the rest of the way on his own. ❝ are you the one they call the ‘ ashen demon ’? ❞

SEND ∅ FOR MY MUSE’S OPINION ABOUT YOURS.

              12th of the garland moon

mother,

it should come to your delight that i finally have just the tale bizarre enough to shatter the monotonous cycle of letters i respond to you with. this is not to discredit my previous statement that the officer’s academy remains an awful bore to me when one negates the timeless history inscribed within limestone. not to mention, the amount of effort i’m forced to exert every day goes beyond any labor that i had experienced in enbarr and, dare i say, under count bergliez’s watch. i will keep my complaints to myself though, because you don’t like it when i’m ungrateful but also because i do not wish to mislead you into believing i’m having a miserable time away. also, before you ask: i am not causing anyone trouble, i am not causing trouble with caspar, and i have made a friend. i must ask for you hold back any glee towards the last statement though, for i have yet to see if my assumption rings true.

anyway, the tale:

there is a professor that baffles me in this institution. not only does this professor not bathe, they fished up an entire season’s worth of bounty from the pond and left many of us similarly enthused anglers without game for two months. i have seen this professor occupy the pond at sunrise and remain stationed at the dock, in the very position i first saw them in, until sunset. mother, i know this is where you would chastise me for my own indulgent habits, but must i remind you that at least i take precaution of my health and commit to quarter-afternoon slumbers between my activities. i have also seen this professor devour an exaggeration of half the monastery’s food supply, to which they remain stubbornly in the dining hall for a grand portion of the day’s free-time. this is not the bizarre part of my tale, however.

this professor is known to devour soap, mother. i suppose this may be why they do not bathe? not only that, but i thought it would be a grand idea to befriend this professor, for they may be in possession of a valuable crest. during floralia, i generously offered them a package of seiros tears as a show of respect. they took my present and chewed it, wrapper and all. if that had not been enough to offset me, they spat the gift back upon my bare palm. first the wrapper and then the gum. the gesture had thrust me into such a state of shock, frankly, i don’t remember the events that happened next.

i am still washing my hands vigorously, because my skin never ceases to crawl at the thought of it.

mother, if this is the outcome of attempting to befriend others, what little interest i have in socialization seems to decrease more. i stay firm in my belief that i have enough company within my books.

             your little light,                          linhardt

@elysieth {bow mission task}

“I would think a professor would know to be punctual.” MItama called the approaching educator. “Were you not a mercenary? Surely such late arrivals were not given pardon?”

Mitama would admit upon some reflection that the earliness with which she found herself at the edge of the forest was bizarre and unexpected. After all, her father had once lamented that her rising with the sun would surely be the day that all the realms would come to a screeching and fiery end. But when word of her mission reached her ears, she simply could not sit and wait to deal with this problem.

Spirits. She would scoff at the idea were she not already being watched by the townspeople with such worried gazes. As if the spirits of this world or any other were so easily swayed by the cries of mortals to protect their lands upon a whim. Certainly there was another reasoning for the disappearances, and she very well intended to find it to put to rest any thoughts about spirits being helpful. The day she found a god or goddess that listened to or helped its people would be a day she would be very surprised indeed.

@elysieth

Experimenting with new materials for sword crafting, huh. Azelle is not quite certain as to what he thinks of the idea, but he supposes that perhaps they are suffering from shortage of the usual metals, and necessity is the mother of invention? That or the purpose is nothing more than research and science, and truly, who is he of all people to reject and look down on such ideas. He, who spent time uncounted engrossed in studies he expected to never have use for.

Who said that a smithy cannot broaden his horizons in unconventional ways too.

He and another Professor - an enigmatic man he knows to be called Byleth - are set to help with the whole affair, and that is all he information he has at the moment, so he simply makes his way to the arranged spot.

Once he does, however, he realizes that this is rather extravagant even for his standards. Oh, dear. He is not quite sure what to question first - a “sword” that is very clearly made of paper, a strange-looking blade with a sign “Danger: Explosive” hung on it, or what appears to be a strange, frozen fish with a very long nose.

After some deliberation, he chooses the first option; he might check out the “explosive” thing later - he likes to think he is fairly fireproof - and he does not want to touch the fish, someone else can test that; so he reluctantly picks up the paper sword.

The hilt is made of normal materials, but the “blade” grabs his attention, and he examines it more closely. Several stiff sheets of paper, stuck, bound together and fortified so that the whole thing is not flimsy. Someone has put effort into this. The edge is not particularly sharp, however, as he notices.

“Honestly not the worst I’ve seen”, he mutters under his nose. “But not necessary in my opinion.” Upon noticing the blacksmith standing nearby heard him, he looks up at him and chuckles. “I don’t mean that in a bad way, just-- Really, have you ever cut yourself with the edge of a paper sheet? That alone is exsanguination waiting to happen. Maybe something to consider for the future.”

The large man nods slowly, eyebrows raised, as if  Azelle’s words just gave him an idea, and the Mage turns away and swings the “sword” a couple times through the air. Mission complete, he managed to conceal his feelings on how ridiculous this is.

@elysieth, @bluebloodedpride Mission board: Bright colours in the marketplace have caught your eye: a 'piñata', the merchant called it. Hollow creatures made of paste and colourful paper strips and filled with a... surprise. You like surprises, don't you? They explain the rules of the game, and you pass over a gold piece to give it a try. (Lance +1)

It was another bustling day in the marketplace. Faces, both strange and acquainted, lined the streets, each going about their way purchasing goods at various stalls. A couple hagglers could be spotted throughout the area, both customer and merchant unyielding to the other as their back-and-forths dragged on. Leonie was no stranger to the act, just now walking away from a successfully discounted bag purchased from a stubborn merchant. Quiet grumbles about wasted time slipped past pressed lips as Leonie continued her way down the line.

The call of a particularly jovial merchant caught her attention as she marched on causing her to stop in her track to hear what he had to say. Save for the counter and odd multicoloured object dangling loosely behind him his stand wasn’t particularly impressive. In fact, were it not for the rainbow like object Leonie doubted she would have even given him the time of day to explain what it is he was doing here.

“A ‘piñata’, huh?”

After hearing his explanation Leonie couldn’t deny her interest was piqued. According to the seller (or would game master be more appropriate in this context?) the first person able to bust open the ‘piñata’ would get to receive the surprise that was inside. Essentially this was a test of strength if Leonie understood the game correctly. Her arms crossed, brows furrowed in contemplation. She was interested and she did want to play, but Leonie had made the trek to the marketplace alone; she had no partner to play this game with.

As if on cue she spotted two familiar figures just out of her left peripheral. She jumped at the opportunity immediately, blocking their path before they could get a chance to walk away.