#kirablik

Kiran reveals a small mechanical cat, only the size of their palm. "Uh, it's not animated, and it's actually powered by hot water, so if you put it in the bath with you, it'd swim around. You know, like, do a little paddle. And it doesn't make any noise, so if you're taking a nap or something, it won't bother you."

They gingerly place it in his hands. "I've nicknamed it Duro. Means durable or hard." A small smile at Fáfnir. "But call it whatever you want. It can be your companion whenever you're alone"

Of course wherever the Askr brats went, so too did their odd little tactician, so it should not have surprised Fáfnir so to hear his name called - or rather, sung by the only person fearless enough to address him in such a way. He turns on them with a scowl, though it is one borne of exasperation instead of malice. It seemed that everyone from his past had shown up at this academy he had believed to be at the end of the world, and they all wished or expected to find him dead. But Kiran was truly an oddity. They are more concerned now with forcing a gift upon him for his birthday than exacting revenge for their companions' homeland, and the gesture is enough to thaw Fáfnir's frigid demeanor. Even if only a little.

He lets Kiran place the toy into his hand, and interest lights briefly in his eyes as the tactician explains what it does.

"Do you take me for a child?" he asks sharply. "I can bathe and sleep without need of a companion, especially some frivolous bauble. But--" He sighs and turns the gift over to better examine the mechanics that allow water to give it life.

+1 Any Skill starter for @kirablik

A sharp bump in the road jolts you awake from your slumber–immediately, you can tell that something isn’t right. When you fell asleep, it was on solid ground, under white tents of the Church of Seiros. But now you find yourself sitting in some kind of wooden cage, rocking back and forth as you travel on an ill-maintained road. You hear horses nickering, people speaking in a strange language, the steady creaking of wheels beneath the floor… and the rattling of the chains that bind your feet to the person next to you, a fellow abductee. If you want any chance of escaping from here, you better hope it’s someone you like! [ Grants Any Skill +1] 

Rhys got into trouble in his sleep, apparently.

What had he been doing the night before? It was a trip out to help the knights with a project, and he’d come along as healer, that’s right. He woke with half of his vision taken up by the inside of his white hood, and the other half blurry with sleep. A sharp jostle woke him up properly and he groaned, body feeling bruised at every point that it made contact with the floor- no, cage under him.

He tried to shift around but his hands were bound and a tug on his ankles pulled against another person with a rattle of shackles and he winced once he realized he’d tugged their leg.

“Sorry- sorry...”

Panic silently seized his chest as he heard a commotion outside- or rather, what was an ongoing commotion of horses and voices in a language he didn’t know. Their captors, no doubt. Unable to do much with his hands, he shook his hood back to get a better look at their bleak situation. At a glance, he couldn’t find his staff or tomes anywhere around them.

“This is bad.” He looked over to his fellow prisoner- Kiran, if memory served him right. “Hey,” he whispered, color drained from his face. “You got any ideas?” He wiggled his wrists in the ropes, wondering if he was slim enough to slip out of them. “I think they took all our things elsewhere. I... don’t have much to offer. Um, I’ve never even cast without tomes before.”

Were this any regular ol’ mission, Matthew would have preferred to go this alone. Any ol’ mission, he’d have had the chance to case the place days, weeks, or even months in advance, make himself a plan, and slip himself into the shadows. Become one with his environment. Slot himself in as one of the residents if need be, as someone who belonged.

Thinking of the three he had with him, he felt less than relaxed. But thinking of the plans the whole of the monastery group had come up with made the hairs at the nape of his neck stand on edge. There was always an element of danger to this kind of thing, and in truth, he’d not have it any other way but...

With so many kiddos running around, the stakes felt a smidge higher.

Stood in the shipping room, Matthew pondered the what ifs.

What if there were people with those zap sticks on the other side of the mirrors? Would they be able to grab their things in time and fight back?

What if their weapons had already been moved right under their noses?

What if they failed to grab the keys? The bulk of this motley crew’s plans hinged on retrieval of their effects.

None of these what ifs would matter however, in the end. Que sera, sera.

“What’s shakin’, friends?” he inquired, oh so casually, grunting as he removed one bin full of rocks and placed another at the mouth of the chute. This, before he turned back to humming himself a jaunty little tune~

Magic isn’t real and anyone stupid enough to think it is is just another sheeple, so says a group of naysayers protesting outside of the church. All black magic? Fake. All white magic? The work of a charlatan. All the Reason teachers have had enough. See if you can get rid of them, but with discretion. [Grants Reason +1] 

“You’re joking.”

“One-hundred percent serious, guy.”

It was a small-enough, rag-tag group of people that denied the mere existence of magic, but with their cacophonous protesting and crudely-drawn signs, they drew quite a crowd. Morgan was not immune to propaganda and couldn’t help but to add to the chaos; it was one thing to insult an art, but it was another to insult his craft.

“You’re calling this,” a small flame flickers to life in his palm, “fake?”

“There’s flint and steel in your hand, obviously,” the protester replies, nonplussed.

“There’s not! My hand is empty!”

“So’s your brain if you think that stuff is real.”

When the reason professors spoke up and requested that the students do their best to rid the monastery grounds of these naysayers, Morgan thought it would be easy. All they had to do was prove the idiots wrong, right? But he didn’t expect that they would blatantly deny the truth even when it was sitting right in front of them.

“And all the miracles performed by healers—what’s that, then?”

“Modern medicine. Nothing to do with magic.”

“So your modern medicine can stitch up a soldier on the brink of death in seconds. And it clearly isn’t the work of a powerful healing spell.”

“Oh, hey, you’re getting it!”

Mage throws up his hands in disbelief. Fingers come to tangle in his hair, palms pressing over his eyes, as a long groan escapes his lips.

“Unbelievable. Unbelievable!” Morgan turns to Kiran, incredulous. “Do you hear this guy?!”

mine time @hungrymage @kirablik

Rion had appeared, keyring in hand, before Robin and Micaiah could finish coming up with a plan to escape. The plan most likely would have involved magic and, well, looking at Constance behind her in the processing line she saw evidence of what might have happened to any of the woman in her own cell. At least... at least they were still all alive.

The processing itself was demeaning, but manageable. Micaiah could see at once with her eyes what Leanne had mentioned of the wrong settled in these peoples’ hearts and tried not to dwell on it as she got dressed in the clothes she was given and begrudgingly held out her left arm so that she might also wear one of the bracelets they all seemed to have.

Was their listlessness simply what the place did to people?

Micaiah shook herself out of such thoughts and did her best to pay attention when they were all united again and given a quick tour by Rion. He at least seemed like a person one could communicate with, but even as she thought that he was already splitting their group up into smaller ones once more and she had missed her chance.

She, Ilyana, and the mage Kiran were chosen to work in the mines. For that task they were given only a pair of boots and gloves. Micaiah slipped hers on embarrassingly quickly and only wondered after if she should not have seemed so eager. The others down here certainly didn’t seem to be paying the three of them any attention at least.

Hic Sunt Dracones - or, in layman’s terms: Here Be Dragons. But where the warning inscribed on the monument at the center of town typically indicates dangerous or unexplored territories, it would appear in this case to prove literal. The creature swoops into town, spewing foul breath and roaring defiance. The Knight steps forth ere weapons can be brought to bear, pleading for the townspeople not to hurt it. But will you listen, or stand your ground? Either way, whether you defeat it, drive it out, or something else entirely, you find yourself at the beginning of the story all over again...

     “Don’t hurt him!”

     Lucius couldn’t ignore the knight’s plea, turning to her with concern on his face even as he tried to keep an eye on whether the creature was close to harming any civilians. Sensing his willingness to listen, the other elaborated, stumbling over her words in her haste, “Really, he’s n-never done this before! We— we’re friends, he’d never try to— to eat people or anything like that! You have to believe me!”

     “I—” Torn, Lucius looked between the armored lady and the advancing dragon. Every breath it exuded was hot and putrid, filling the air around them and fueling the terrified screams of the townspeople, and as he watched, the dragon raised a scaled forelimb and smashed it repeatedly against the ground as though in frustration, reducing cobblestone to dust in a single moment. “If he is your friend, then it’s even more important we make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone,” he said to the other, “Can you try to stop him?”

     “I’ve tried!” The knight cried, “I don’t know what’s gotten into him, but he w-won’t listen to me at all today...” The dragon roared again, closing in on the fountain at the center of the town, stopping at nearly every step to smash the ground beneath its limbs.

     Magic sparked in Lucius’ palm for a moment as he pondered his options. He didn’t want to harm the dragon unnecessarily any more than the knight did, but if a weakened attack can manage to repel or at least lure it away from the town, it might be worth trying.

     It was only when he was closing the distance towards the dragon that Lucius noticed an unfamiliar figure standing in the square. A civilian? “It’s not safe here!” he called over, “Please, you need to escape for now...!”

It's a relief the non-seasonal version of him is alive, but they've seen enough of Hel's bullshit to question dead people that aren't revived by their summoning.

Muffled, they cover their mouth partially when they ask, "I gotta tell you, I'm used to your bikini body, man. You're kinda photogenic."

"So, like—" They swallow. "What're you doing here? Better yet, how are you alive? Why did I think I was Alfonse? And your sister is dead, right? No offense. She tried to kill me." And him, kind of.

Ah, yes, Askr’s summoner. It is, admittedly, a surprise to see them here at Garreg Mach Monastery; for what reason would the Order of Heroes allow their main tactician to come to this far-off continent? (He has... also seen Alfonse and Sharena here as well, though he hasn’t dared approach them yet. They believe him to be dead, at the very least, and they are most likely the ones who succeeded in killing Freyja themselves. It would be quite the awkward and difficult interaction between the three of them, no doubt. However, that does not answer the question of why they are all at the Officer’s Academy... perhaps all three of them left Askr in a moment of peacetime and can afford to pursue studies here.)

The first words out of Kiran’s mouth, however, are frankly perplexing. “My... what?” Is this a term from the World of Steel? And even should he deign to don swimwear attire, the chance that his body would look good, attractive even, is rather low in his opinion. “I... thank you, I suppose?” Not to mention showing so much skin is... well, perhaps his robes speak for themselves.

The summoner brings up an excellent point, however. Freyr furrows his brow as he considers their questions. “I am... uncertain as to the reasons for my survival, but I do have a working theory as to how that came to be. But first, your other questions. It is possible you subconsciously desired to experience the benefits that come with being Prince Alfonse and thus your dreams responded appropriately to your wishes. In Álfheimr, the sky is, as you might say, the limit; dreams are constricted only by one’s own imagination.” He offers them a small, pained smile. “I do not take offense to you killing my sister. I sensed her death, so I believe she truly is dead... I cannot see it as anything other than a failure on my behalf however. Had I intervened much, much sooner, it is entirely likely she might have lived to the present. She needed to be stopped, her unhealthy ambitions would have brought ruin to Askr and the other countries of Zenith.

One of the discoveries the Faerghus elite are most excited about is the site of an old stronghold lain in ruins. The main problem, when it comes to excavating, is the fact the better part of the place is submerged. And yet, at a closer glance, it appears that this is perhaps no coincidence. Having stumbled across a set of strange metallic armours covered in algae and connected to the surface by long tubes, it’s been determined these could be used to delve into the under… [Grants Heavy Armor +1]

Elincia sits by the side of the ruined fort, alongside some local volunteers and staff from the church. Wiry sponge in hand, she sighs as she tries to scrub the clear pane at the helm of this strange armour clean. It’s such a bizarre contraption, attached in place by long tubes. She supposes they’re long enough to allow manoeuvrability in the area but surely they’d become entangled? What use would they be if an army had to move?

It takes a while but she can finally see clear through the glass. Job well done, she sets her work aside and takes a short break. Standing upright, she stretches her back and wanders around the area, coming across a familiar face. 

“Kiran! How lovely it is to see you again,” and under much better circumstances than their escapades in Leicester. Elincia approaches them with a wide smile, grateful for the company. "How have you been holding up?”

The pair slip into easy, casual conversation on the outskirts of the stronghold’s skeleton. It’s easy to almost forget the task at hand, the reason they’d been called forth by the nobility of Faerghus. She has to wonder to herself what it is they’re attempting to excavate here, what history this area holds hidden. It’s then that they’re approached by a member of the clergy, a robed figure in white.