#maesterofmagic

on the third night of their plight, there’s fireflies. away from the banks, they drift in minimal presence. a lone luminescence amidst the dreary night, a lone guidance— drifting. their presence tonight is profound, linhardt thinks. for, somewhere in a book he had read, they were symbolic for the spirits of the fallen. he may not have known the bodies that had plagued the banks personally but, as a firefly rests upon his shoulder and dimly glows, he cannot help but be appreciative. by an odd chance, perhaps the soldiers’ spirits have carried to these adrift lights. a good conclusion, linhardt thinks as he watches the beetle, an ending to which they are cleansed the horrific, final moments of war.

he’s about done with his business in the foliage when a violent rustle catches the heir’s attention. it startles him, heart leaping to the flat of his tongue as he freezes, alert. it’s silent— then, he hears it again, louder, paired with a harsh howl of wind. it is only when the rustling comes closer that linhardt springs to his feet, the firefly on his shoulder immediately taking off as the heir stumbles back. when a snap is heard near him, linhardt’s breath hitches, then he twists and jets off into the direction back to camp.

“dimitri—!” he calls breathless once he makes it back to familiarity, where a figure sits by the campside flame. the heir scrambles about until he plops himself by his schoolmate, skin pallid. “dimitri, i—!” no, he can’t talk— he’s wasting breath-- he needs a moment to collect himself— linhardt topples over, hands clawing at his chest as he desperately tries to calm his breath.

“dimitri, there’s-- there’s something over there..!” linhardt points to where he came, “and it tried to chase me...!” no, he definitely wasn’t overacting and he definitely wasn’t influenced by mercedes’ ghost story earlier. he was being rational. completely rational and very much justified about an unknown source in the forests. 

Mae has been dropped and is now available!

Tana has been reserved!

You have one week (8/23) to submit your blog and application to the Masterlist. Thank you for your reserve!

Flayn blinks once. Then twice. Then heaves a deep sigh.

"I cannot believe I am saying this," she begins, rubbing her temples, "but you are more terrible than Alois!"

All her years she never thought she'd encounter a worse joker than the knight, but it seems this game had made Mae a strong contender. Hands hesitate to grab the quill offered to them, but in the end, Flayn relents; it took a great deal of courage to be this unfunny. She may as well pay that bravery forward.

"If it is any consolation, I do find myself a bit charmed by your attempt."

She says, taking the student's forearm and marking it with a tiny, scribbled out signature. The young girl hands her back the quill with a small pat on the back.

He agrees. In fact, he was already nodding in approval. Minerva is extremely huggable, but... again, no other winner must be picked lest he suffer from more tears.

starter for: @maesterofmagic 

“These poor people must be terrified if the reports are true.” Tethys speaks to Mae in confidence as they make their way towards the town nearest to Garreg Mach. To think she just visited this very town weeks ago in their own time... it looked so different, so defeated. The winter has been harsh even back then considering the bandit attacks and the food shortage, but this was in a while new level. People were disheartened and in constant fear for their own safety... and the one place that served as a symbol of neutrality was now nothing but ruins.

They were here to learn more and there was more than one way to go about it compared to simply exploring the ruins. There was always someone that knew more than them, and the common folk always had eyes and ears everywhere. They need only keep their own open...

Munday | not accepting

I initially picked up Leonie because I wanted to do her justice. I think she’s a very cute character and the way the fandom portrays her sometimes as someone who only has Jeralt on her mind 24/7 annoys me. I also think the game did her really dirty in that sense. Yes, Jeralt was and continues to be a very important figure in her life, but there’s more to her than just being a Jeralt stan.

I wanted to explore why she idolized Jeralt so much in the first place. I owe it partially to the fact that she must have been a pretty lonely kid and Jeralt came in literally as a knight in shining armour in her eyes. I also eventually want to explore her femininity and what she defines as feminine. Because she only grew up with her dad I doubt she had any significant female role model in her life, hence why she is as brash as she is compared to some of the other characters in the game. 

It’s all about that interaction, baby ;)

No no, really. Before I got into roleplaying, I primarily just wrote fic. I still do, though nowhere near as much. Someone else earlier said that writing fic is a lonely experience, and that really vibed with me, especially considering that I don’t really share my fics.

And while I do like to have ooc communication with my roleplaying partners, most of the joy it brings me comes from not knowing exactly what the other party is going to do. When I write fic, I’m in control of all of the pieces, I know what character B is going to think of what character A says. I know when character C is going to jump in and drop a bombshell on character D that turns their world upside down.

I don’t have any of that knowledge in roleplay, or I may have limited knowledge. It means I can really focus in on the character I’m writing for, delve into their feelings of the situation, and bring it forth in a way that may also be a surprise for the other mun.

Result: Barely hit! Roll again to determine your fate.

Result: You survived!

From the instant he’d caught wind of the chaos unleashed throughout the monastery, Lloyd’s intention was to stay out of sight. He had no desire to be caught up in what was effectively a war with pastries as the weapons of choice, but it’s never that simple, is it?

A girl with pink hair in twintails—thank the Saint it’s not that cleric from Ostia, he thinks in the moment—springs out from behind a wall with deadly dessert in hand, shouting “Eat this, pal!” as she hurls it at him. Lovely. Quick reflexes save him from taking it dead-on, though it comes dangerously close even as he swiftly sidesteps the projectile. Could almost swear the edge of it brushes his arm—leaving his favorite (and only) jacket in his room this morning was clearly the right decision to make.