#petrykos

Once more, Petra finds herself in the middle of the courtyard watching as others get paired and find their anonymous sender. The hint she had received hadn't been much more helpful than the first. Ferdinand, she thinks at first, but she had seen him earlier with a tall woman. A good majority of participants seemed to be noble as well.

By chance, she approaches a blond man from behind. She studies the note and looks back up at him. Well, he sort of looked like the… hoity toity type. Noble… She supposed there was still time to figure out who it was if this were wrong as well.

"Excuse me, do you have recognition?" She asks, taking a moment to look at the note once more before presenting it before him.

WHAT MAKES YOU A GREAT DATE TO THE ETHEREAL BALL? "I'm hoity toity and stuck up so I've been to balls before." WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING FOR IN A DATE? “Someone as obsessed with nobility as I am.”

     After the odd beast-eared girl approached him, Andrei made a valiant effort to put the entire 'blind date' affair from his mind entirely. Whatever Ethlyn had written, it was possible that its receiver (rightfully) passed it off as a jest of poor taste, and gave up the matter.

     This hopeful train of thought only lasted until a voice behind him halted his walk through the courtyard, and a series of two questions and answers shown to him. While he obviously hadn't seen what had been written for him beforehand, he did recognize the handwriting as that of the younger Chalphy's, which irked him almost as much as the words themselves. How predictable these answers were, for someone like her to come up with.

     "...Unfortunately," Andrei ground out, crushing the paper in his hand without a second thought and hoping its contents will soon be forgotten by the other. At the earliest opportunity, he'd have to give Ethlyn another piece of his mind.

     For the moment, he turned his attention back to his designated partner. It would be poor etiquette to take out his anger on some random stranger who had done him no wrong, and thus, somehow, he managed to refrain from glaring.

     Still, he felt the need to clarify an important matter. "I did not write those answers, in case you couldn't tell," he said pointedly, "The only piece of truth contained within them is that I do have experience with events as these." Perhaps he even would've shown up of his own accord, even if he hadn't intended for the presence of a date.

"Excuse me, but are you recognizing this note?" She asks and holds the paper out to him.

WHAT MAKES YOU A GREAT DATE TO THE ETHEREAL BALL? I'm hoity toity and stuck up so I've been to balls before.

Kempf’s excitement at a potential date turned to confusion when reading the hint Petra provided.

Is this some sort of insult? How could she possibly think of me as “hoity toity” or stuck up? Is she just guessing at complete random? Or perhaps she was desperately hoping to be matched with me to the point where she’s ignoring the hints entirely! In that case, too bad.

“I must unfortunately let you know that I am not the person who wrote this. I would also like to let you know that this sounds nothing like me at all. Please don’t be too disappointed! While the real writer of this does seem to be a bit…. odd, I’m sure they’re just not used to this whole dating profile thing. In fact, I actually have a hint for you that should help narrow down who this mysterious fellow is.”

WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING FOR IN A DATE? “Someone as obsessed with nobility as I am”

“Wow. Uh, sounds like a real winner. Best of luck?”

But the staff were here to assist and help their students grow. All was fair during this mock battle. Petra lets go of hesitation and launches her first arrow his way.

[ Roll d20+2: 13 / Dmg -2 ] [ Petra HP: 6 ]

For her first shot, it wasn't too poor. Training and preparation does yield results.

Rhys nervously waved to Petra across the battlefield. He attempted a shy smile, unsure if she could see it.

By the arrow that struck him, she could see him just fine.

“Ah-!” Rhys clutched his bolganone tome. Here went nothing. It was just training, although he knew how rough training could be. He reached out and cast his counter.

Roll: 18, total of -2.5 damage

And then he had a chance to fully attack, eyes wide as he found his mark again with the shifting fiery earth.

Roll: 17, -2.5 damage. Petra HP: 1/6

The latest trend in sports has come to Garreg Mach. Presenting: Dodgebow! The boundaries are set up in the woods about the monastery with differing sizes depending on whether you’re playing one-on-one versus in teams of two or larger. Using blunted and foam-covered arrows, one must track and hunt their opponent, preferably before being found out first! Already, some parties have been flavouring their own play experience with new rules. [Grants Bow +1]

News tends to spread quickly around Garreg Mach- There’s the whispers of students as their words envelope the monastery like a song drawing its audience in. This time, she happens to hear of a grand sport catching the attention of many around her. Dodgebow, so they say. She may not be as much of an expert on bows and arrows as some of her other classmates, but in a game like this, the playing field seems relatively simple.

Whether it be out of pure curiosity or for the thrill of trying something new, she finds herself on the outskirts of the woods- The soft breeze and atmosphere of the woods in itself was rather distinct compared to the bustling company of the monastery, but Dorothea didn’t particularly mind. In fact, the quiet was quite nice.

Holding a bow in one hand, she picks up a stray arrow next to her boots and brings it closer to her view. It’s soft and made of foam- She’s at least glad to see it isn’t anything harmful. If it was, that would be a whole different avenue.

When she sees Petra walking in her direction, Dorothea waves and gestures for her attention: “Petra! Why, am I glad to see you. I’ve been hearing rumors here and there about this dodgebow everyone seems so eager to attempt. I haven’t seen excitement like that since my days in the opera.” Letting out a giggle, she adds, “Anyways.. I wanted to give it a try, but I don’t have an opponent. If you’re looking for a little friendly competition, what if you and I give it a go?”

Hilda is surprised. Not that she was invited to a party. Of course she was. Take one look at her and it's obvious that she's fun and enjoyable to be around. It would be a surprise if she wasn't immediately invited to hang out with the cool kids. She just really hadn't expected there to be any cool kids there to begin with. Lorenz Helman Gloucester is the best frame of reference she has for a School of Sorcery student, after all.

She doesn't really know what to expect when she enters the party space (late, of course, but fashionably so) but it definitely was not this. It's surprisingly boppin. A few musicians are playing some upbeat tunes, there's food and drink, and even some folks engaged in party games. It's impressive and pretty easy to forget that there are students turned popsicles in the infirmary.

It's better that way. It might not have been her first though when she immediately agreed to show up at the party but it is probably one of their best chances to get some authentic gossip from the students.

Bottle of expensive liquor in hand (it's nice to be polite after all), Hilda heads over to the food and drink table to add her contribution to the collection of refreshments.

With a spear, he has a natural advantage. A swordsman always wants to be close; they don’t need to strike hard as long as they strike fast, taking advantages where they find them. It’s rarely about whittling an opponent down as much as it is slipping in close enough to press steel into their flesh, one mistake, one pivot, one body left behind.

It’s harder against a spear because it becomes more a game of the mind than of the body. The length of the weapon keeps a swordsman at bay—and right now, that’s exactly where Sylvain wants her. It doesn’t matter how graceful the arc of her blade is, or how quickly she parries, or how smoothly she transitions from swing to pivot to lunge to block; as long as Sylvain keeps her far beyond an arm’s length, he’s well on his way to earning a victory.

...Or at least, he should.

Sylvain’s no stranger to sparring against swordsmen. Everyone attending the Officer’s Academy is recommended to learn the basics, and growing up with Felix had ensured that he learn the intricate ins and outs of what it’s like to face someone so dedicated to the blade that he is found more often with a sword in hand than aught else. But Felix fights the way Faerghans do, adapted to fit his own preferences; it’s a bit of traditional Fraldarius techniques and Glenn’s flair and his own sharp edge.

Petra, though—Petra fights like nothing and no one that he’s ever seen before. It’s the way Brigid must train their fighters. Spending too long marveling at how different it is and how gracefully she executes each move has knocked him on his rear twice already; now, for their third match, he’s a little better prepared.

...Still awed, though.

“You know,” he laughs, breathless with effort as he parries another swing, “Normally, I’m the one sweeping beautiful girls off their feet. If I’d known sooner that it’d hurt—” a pivot, a thrust, narrowly missing her by a hair, “—to have the same done to me...” literally, “I would’ve been a bit better about it!”

starter for @petrykos | bow +1

“What is this?”

A wooden stand housing painted targets - that much Salem could see. But why was perhaps the better question. The targets were too close and the bow exchanged for a gold piece was half the size it should have been. A child pulled back the string and fired a blunted arrow, which bounced uselessly off the back wall between the targets and clattered to the ground. The attendant with hands clasped and gracious smile shrugged his shoulders with such a display of disappointment that Salem nearly believed him, were it not for the glint in his eye at the sight of a second gold piece. The child tried again, and just as the first had missed its mark, so too did the second, but for a display of true disappointment from the attendant, her mother ushered her away. Salem looked to his guide for the evening. Petra was another foreign student - that much he had gotten to know about her rather quickly when they ran into one another in the library several days earlier. She had pointed out a flaw in the encyclopedia he had picked up, and a carefully worded question about her homeland saw her open up with great excitement about the distant island of Brigid. (Brigid, Salem had thought, like the renowned marksman of Yngvi?). It had been easy to talk to her, and she must have thought the same. The trip to the festival in Garreg Mach had been her idea.

“Surely it is not for training.” He probably knew the answer to that already. A quick sweep of the brightly lit, crowded street revealed half a dozen stalls of similar designs. Each attended by a merchant wearing his best smile. At another booth some feet away, a student walked away with a large stuffed cat and a proud grin.

“You there! Sir!” Salem glanced back to the archery stand, startled to find the attendant now waving to him. “Yes, you!” he called, and beckoned him closer. With another questioning look toward Petra, he made his way cautiously over. “Instead of just standing there, why don’t you and your daughter come give my game a shot?”

Salem furrowed his brow and his cheeks flushed. “She is not my—“

Since when did Gods have time to watch over silly festivals celebrated in their name? Emotionally, he wasn't really so attached to the Gods of this land (or any, if he could be remiss), but he suuuure did love the holidays! It meant everyone—children, students, adults, the like— could loosen up a little and fasten a blighting smile on their faces just for a giant statue and some fancy oral history hoo-dah. Being new here meant he was as savvy about the Saints as he was about flower fortunes, which wasn't much at all if he had to be honest. Luckily for him, he was prepared for the... uhhh... play (?) that the staff and all the students mentioned in passing. No one particularly informed him when, or where, but he had been reading up on some of the key players and thought to prepare in a manner suitable to the event. With all the gusto of a criminal, ahaha~! Heck, the guy even had Nemesis in his name! They were really on-the-nose about that one, if Henry was one for explicit implications (what a pretty oxymoron, that was.) Without warning, a child in flourish white sheets and gilded accessories arrived by the lakeside, brandishing her wooden sword at his chest. If she knew where his heart was, maybe she could carve it out! He'd let her take a shot~  

“You’ll be Nemesis!” she said. “Oh, and invite your evil friends.”

"Nya ha ha! I mean-- Feeble creature, prepare to die! I need not evil friends, but you may need an army to take me down." Concealing his hand behind his cape, he summoned a dark sigil that enraptured his body in a shadow — it spewed a pitch black gas that just SCREAMED evil villain. He began to glow ominously, adopting a sort of wickedness that smoldered and radiated off his features. Whirling his finger in a playful circle, he pointedly indicated towards a girl with violet locks that matched midnight. "You. Perhaps you desire to assist poor Saint Seiros? It's not every day you get to fight a king of kings."