#macawbre

"Hey!!" Henry had to thank Frederick for leg day. Gotta keep up with this guy who is sooooo normal chasing after young girls like that. "What's got your wig in a bundle?? Why're you running??"

It takes a moment for Azama to realize this guy's talking to him,

and he is instantly indignant.

"Wig?! Excuse you, this is-" huff "-all natural! You don't know how many people have asked me for the, haa, secrets to my beautiful mane of hair!"

He can't hack it anymore and comes to a stop, bent over, hands on his knees and he desperately makes to catch his breath. He stands, then, casts a wistful glance to the crowd but, no,

she's long gone, isn't she?

Scowl alights.

"I was trying," he growls at Henry, "to catch up to my daughter."

The whole is punctuated with an irritated huff.

All three of them cawed, a cacophony of shrill notes played over his shoulders. "I didn't know we were allowed to bring 'em in! You sure are bold for that..."

"Or should I say, you're crow-ageous for that? Nya ha ha!"

"Wh—" With barely any warning, the man had summoned a trio of crows, all staring directly at him with almost uncanny intelligence in their eyes as they cawed. Andrei tenses, the (bad) joke doing little to ease the feeling of suddenly being outnumbered. The crows do seem to respond to the other's command, or at least his voice, as though they were trained.

Still, he'd best not take any chances. "I do hope they would not hurt a younger bird," he says warily, holding Cranberry in his hand and preparing to fend off an attack should it come, "I will admit I am uncertain of what a crow finds entertaining."

"Why are your vibes so rancid?"

"Nya ha ha, no offense, but it's kind of cool! In the very obviously not my friend, kind of way."

Grima allowed Henry to observe her and found a light amusement in his approach. She should have known there was no way to fool Henry. He had never been stupid nor easily swayed by nonsense. His playful response made Grima smile. The smile was polite and patient as she waited for him to finish. When he was done, she spoke.

"You think so?" She asked, ignoring his accusation for a moment. Henry wasn't like the average Plegian that Grima had come into contact with. Her people had changed over the millennia of her imprisonment and yet Henry reminded her very much of those who were there before it. There was no fear in him when he faced her. "You're the very same Henry that I remember."

She was watching his face with an uncomfortable intensity. She couldn't recall what his face looked like when he'd fallen in her own future. Perhaps he had been smiling just as he was now. That felt right even if the memory wasn't real. It was almost unnatural to imagine him limp and blank-faced.

"I'm still your friend, Henry. I could never stop considering you my friend at the very least after everything we'd been through. How's Olivia doing? It's been some time since I've seen her as well." Her pleasantries were almost too practiced. Unsettling in the way she smiled and spoke.

@yewfallen ; @macawbre ; @atypicalsenerio

The next round begins and carries with it a sense of finality. Once more, strange new spells are granted to her, a ring slid on her finger and a brief explanation of what she is capable of. Mitama spares it little mind. Her focus is already determined, eyes lingering on Henry even as the new enemies are summoned to face them.

Fix the mistake. Ensure they survive. Ensure that no one else suffers for your failings.

Her usual physic spell is not returned to her. Instead, a new spell is given, one that grabs her attention immediately. Fortify...

The go is given, and Mitama makes her move immediately. She takes a calming breath and focuses her energy, feels the spell dance within her as it gathers and, throwing her hands forward, casts.

Mitama rolls a 12. 4 Health! Henry, Soren, and Febail recover 4 health.

It does not fly as she is used to, does not seek out a target and fly to them specifically. Rather, the spell grows outwards from her, covers all allies to her team and, from what Mitama can tell, heals them all.

A stunned silence follows Mitama’s spell. All of them...perhaps she should study faith a little further than she already had when all of this had ended.

Team Six Arena Event starter for @yewfallen @verseandrhyme @macawbre

It was a shame such a training method wasn’t available year round at Garreg Mach. Best to take advantage of fighting projections and phantoms while they were here.

Mostly here.

Soren faced a troubadour and archer with his team beside him. He squinted, able to just barely see through their opaque forms. For many of them, this wasn’t a first time fighting illusions. There was no doubt the ghost’s weapons would feel as solid as any real combat.

He didn’t have his usual tomes this fight. Instead, with the help of a borrowed Dark Seal and the fact that this wasn’t reality, he was dipping his toes into what he wouldn’t dare back home.

Soren Roll: 11, Mire hits Troubadour for -.5 HP.

Troubadour: 9.5/10, takes -.5 if the next attack hits or better. Cannot counter attack Soren.

Anima magic felt like he was bending the world around him, calling to spirits to meld elements to the will of himself and a tome. The violet darkness that shot forth from his palm felt as though it wanted to come from him, but the seal kept it from doing anything permanent to his spirit.

The hit was weak, but the mist and what seemed like corporeal slime were distracting enough to the troubadour that they weren’t able to counter.

@ignatzlandscape @sheerloyalty @macawbre

When Rhea had first suspected Faolán she had assumed it was information the cardinal thought improper to share with Rhea at that moment not this (whatever this was). That spell Faolán had used, and her words “the will of Saint Seiros” - indeed, she thought wryly, if she had not so recently seen her own blood she may have been tempted to check if it was still there.

(It’s there, she thinks. But is it, can it, change?)

Still, whatever name she goes by, whatever banner she flies, Rhea was made for war. Her students know this reality as well and so when they are so rudely warped out of the catacombs and into the gray backdrop of Garreg Mach’s outer defenses it takes them little time to form teams once more and strike back against the invaders.

Rhea would determine who and what these invaders were at a later time, right now all that mattered was that her sword struck true and that she was here to defend and lead. Four shadowy figures - different from the phantoms of before - face she and her students and Rhea runs ahead to strike at the one in a mockery of bishop robes. The strike lands but not deep enough for her to keep her opponent where she would like and when she pulls her sword back she is encumbered by the magical and physical blows of a sage and wyvern rider respectively.

Deirdre has always had a way with small animals. Well, at least that's what she assumes. She can't remember much, but since she's started regaining them, little creatures have enjoyed being in her presence. Squirrels, bunnies, birds, Deirdre loves all of their company.

Much to the princess's delight, a crow lands on a ledge just next to her as she takes a walk along the monastery grounds one morning. "Oh! Hello there little friend!" She stops humming a little song to greet the bird. "And how are you this fine morning?"

@gricencchos @macawbre

Well, that certainly was a thing that happened.

That is the best description Tibarn has for everything that just transpired - including both the chaotic and rather rough battle against the sentry golem, and whatever the hell that was that Faolán pulled off to end it.

He has little doubt that she likely saved their sorry hides, but it does seem as though the experience left her in a rather rough shape. Shaking, she turns to them, only to then look away, as though upset and unsure what to do.

The Hawk sighs, before reverting forms and landing near her - though keeping some distance so as to try and not disturb her personal space too much.

"Hey, are you okay over here?” He isn’t sure if that’s the optimal thing to say right now, but that’s the best idea he quickly came up with, so he sticks with it. “That looked rough, are you hurt?"

Faolán shakily turns to Tibarn. She raises a finger, as though to speak… only to turn away, barely holding back a sob. Her hands wipe at her face under the hood. “I... I don’t understand,” she whimpers. "Why would we be attacked? And the golem said you were... blighted? Have we been forsaken by the goddess? What’s... what’s happening?!"

... Right, he should have figured out that one of the Church would be upset by these things. The laguz winces; this is not an area where he is well capable of understanding or relating to what she’s going through. And above all else, doubt does not help them move forward...

"Look, I'm not gonna claim to know much about all that, because I don't,” he responds, a bit more quietly, shaking his head. “But crying isn't going to help our situation here. We're gonna have to keep going to try to discover more about what's going on, and we're gonna need your help for that, so hang in there, okay?"

It’s kind of rough words for him to speak at a time like this. He knows that. But then again, he has never been the one to avoid saying things others may not want to hear. Luckily, it seems as though she understands that; Faolán sniffles a bit more before lowering her hands. “No... you’re right, you’re absolutely right... This isn’t the time to cry. Besides, I’m an adult, and a cardinal at that... how does it reflect on me, to cry and force the youth to comfort me?" Faolán laughs, more nerves than humor. "I mean, you’re all so much younger..."