#poweroverflowing

Hark! Julius,

It is I, your legendary companion, hero of an era and Chosen One of the stygian void: Oberon Dark. As word would have it, today is a special day. It marks the holy ascension of another figure of legend: you. Yes indeed! Your birthday is here, and what better cause to celebrate?

I wish you the gladdest of tidings and happiest of days. May all your adventures be prosperous on this day, for you shall be invincible until sunset! You just read that right: nothing can stop you this day. But don't just take my word for it.

Enclosed in this letter is a gift of unimaginable proportions. I know what you're thinking, and stay thine hand! Do not go searching for it just yet. It is a relic carved from the depths of the cosmos, plucked from Fate's ashy wings and bestowed with great strength. Though its powers are fleeting, they may overwhelm you if you mishandle them, so be cautious.

Now that you have had your warning, you may retrieve it. On first glance it may seem a simple crow feather, but hark! examine its form more closely. Within its fibrous material strength almighty is woven, and its coated sheen bears the mark of heroic blood. When you hold it close to your chest on this day, The Band of The Crow will unite in your heart--giving you the potential I write of.

So enjoy thine gift! and the rest of your day. May there be many more to come; may you live long and well.

Your friend,

Oberon Dark.

If he decides to read the entire thing and hunt around the letter for what Odin was talking about, he'd find the crow feather in question. It is, in reality, no different from the hundreds that cover the bird, but Odin seems to have placed an unfathomable amount of sentimental value in it.

Birthday (8/1) asks | not accepting

Julius pauses at the name at the end of the letter. It hadn’t been necessary to sign it, he thinks. No one else had ever spoken to him with such bombastic and overdramatic speech before (and, not to mention, Oberon had a penchant for saying - and writing - his own name in the middle of conversation). Still, there’s a smile tucked away at the corner of Julius’ mouth, perhaps unknown even to himself for now. He lets the door of his underground dwelling fall shut behind him and continues the rest of the way into the room with slow, thoughtful steps.

Was this what Oberon had meant by offering friendship instead of service? Julius hums to himself as he sinks down into the rickety old chair at the desk, eyes still skimming over the words.

A gift of unimaginable proportions. Yes, he had nearly forgotten in his bewilderment. He sets the letter aside and digs his hand to the bottom of the envelope (which bears, now, the faint outline of his boot next to the wax seal that had closed it) to retrieve the aforementioned crow feather. Perhaps colored by the introduction Oberon had made for it, it seems to glisten like obsidian in the flickering candlelight, and as Julius turns it slowly between his index finger and thumb, he thinks that it even appears to gleam with hues of sapphire. The back of the chair creaks when he leans against it and holds the feather up for a better look.

Though for all of its beauty, he can’t sense a heartbeat of magic. No hidden strength or spell. It was, as far as he could tell, just a feather. Julius twirls it again thoughtfully between his fingers. Perhaps Oberon had been swindled into believing this to be an artifact of heroic proportions, he thinks, in which case he would certainly need a friend to set him straight. Another twirl. Or perhaps it possessed a secret so arcane that not even he had encountered such a power before, and so it slumbered undetected within the quill of an ordinary feather. Julius sits up and resolutely tucks the feather into the front of his uniform, on the right side near his heart, and waits for the “strength almighty” detailed in the letter. Still nothing.

@exclted @teneguine @unsungblade @estians @asphuxia @toaedgeofeden

It happens like this in books and stories. The heroes end up in a situation that looks grim and dire. The reader worries what will happen to them and how they could possibly overcome such overwhelmingly bad odds stacked against them. But then, the writer steps in and provides an escape. Something is added to the story that gives them an advantage.

As Est turns into the alley Ethlyn is fleeing, she wonders if this is scripted. It seems too perfectly timed to truly be coincidental but she isn't about to complain. She greets her with a smile but is quick to point out the dangers Est has just stumbled into.

"Those two, with the white hair? They helped me escape. I'd like to do the same for them but I don't think they are going to let us go without a fight."

He greets the pink-haired charter with a smile, one hand waving while the other rests against a nearby wall, "Hoy there, goddess of swift foot and swifter pen! How have your recent endeavors fared? Anything of interest to report? Or do you require something--medical aid after a hard journey, or additional arms to keep thyself safe?"

Parchment sprawls out beneath ink - stained fingertips, pencil's tip set against the end of a near - perfect circle, two exclamation points marking the top of it. Terrain newly explored by — her? Though Est finds she cannot recall when, exactly, these excursions might have happened, her mind pushes forth a vague recollection of an abandoned outpost surrounded by sand.

Set aside like an afterthought and nearly lost beneath the many maps that litter her desk, Est plucks at a sheet of paper as it falls t the ground. It's no map — too small to be one anyway — merely a set of notes hastily scribbled down.

Running out of bandages

New weapon? Lance is too obvious for covert ops

Desert outpost — abandoned. Empire's? Talk to the boss about a new base

It's quiet, here — as quiet as Est would assume a rebel base can get anyway — and her ears are trained to pick up on any unusual noises. Hearing the twang of a bowstring or the whistle of an arrow was the difference between life and death on the battlefield. She's turning in her seat before he appears in her doorway, smile already alight upon her face before he speaks.

“Goddess of swift foot and swifter pen? Hee hee, I like the sound of that!” comes her reply after the expectant pause, a lull in the conversation that she is used to filling. “I'm fine, don't worry!” Her body aches a little, actually, the way it does after a grueling day of training, but that's nothing a little rest won't fix. “It's always a bit tricky to get around the desert on foot, but you'll never guess what I found!”

She picks the map from her desk, sending a few fluttering off the edge as she hops toward him. It doesn't seem like whoever occupied this room before her cared much for its cleanliness, but she moves to another table shoved up against the wall and less crowded with things to set the map down. “See here?” The top of the pencil taps against the circle she'd drawn. “I was so sure there wouldn't be much else to find except for a lot of sand, but it's an outpost! I took a little look around and it was empty as far as my eye could see. I mean, it had the wears and tears of something that hasn't been lived in for a while, but I think we could make it pretty comfortable.”

poweroverflowing asked:

"Lucina, a moment?"

Footsteps on steel-plated floors echo throughout the base's long halls, marking the approach of the resistance's leader. They ring with authority, something one might not expect from Owain. Really, everything about his air in this world is different. It's serious, almost stern. He's been doing what he can to fill the role he'd been given, and putting on the façade of a leader is a big part of that.

He stops once he fully enters the cargo bay, patting a nearby crate--likely stocked with weapons and ammunition--before making his point. "First of all, it's great to see you here! There are few I'd trust more than you."

When he speaks, however, Lucina can take relief that he's still himself at heart. His voice has that dramatic lilt it's known for, a few decibels louder than normal conversing tones so that he might sound more heroic. "More importantly, I understand you're in charge of weapons. As team leader and chosen one of the rebellion, I have a request--nay, an order--for you."

"When you hand out weapons to the soldiers, make sure to give them cool names! You've surely heard the story by now, but a name imbues an artifact with power. It gives it soul! Our forces would benefit greatly from wielding regal arms like Neva-Miss Beam Blaster or Imperial Cutter of a Thousand Folds!"

Inventory. Routine. Lucina frowns down at a list, names and numbers blurring together. It is signed with her name, a testament to her work in having written it, but trying to remember when she had done so makes her head throb.

Fingers flip open a crate, labeled with 12B-2 in red. Her eyes flit from list to ammunition, counting, frowning when the numbers misalign. The list is forgotten in favor of reaching in to the crate and procuring a container, flipping it every which way in search of a label.

The hard plastic is brought to her nose -- empire made, she knows by the feel alone -- and Lucina squints even harder. An engraving catches her eye, and fingers fumble for that list once more to figure exactly which item she is counting.

A voice startles her, the call of her name shooting her head upwards and nearly sacrificing the objects in her hands as eyes land upon her cousin.

Their leader. Why did it have to be him?

She does not greet him with his name, unsure of exactly which he is using, and instead opts for a curt nod as he makes his approach. Cerulean watches as he brushes the top of a neighboring crate, and then his face as he begins to speak.

Few I'd trust more than you. Her gaze drops, turning instantly back to the task at hand as she listens to his order. It is wholly unsurprising, and a bit of the tension in her shoulders loosens as his speech loses its formality and becomes so familiarly Owain.

"Of course," a glance to him and something like a smile before it returns to the crate. The container in her hand is set back in its place, and silently she counts. Fifty six. Lucina reaches to scribble a check mark beside that name on her list.

self indulgent prompts — ( always accepting ! ) ( au ; fates / deeprealm )

ACADEMICS ARE SET ASIDE when the caretaker next door blows out the candlelight from the desk.  ophelia bites back the whine that they almost let out when the room loses its artificial lighting.  it means that their studying has passed its last hour.  it means that they must succumb to the icky feeling of forcing themselves to sleep.  they know it will not last long, their insomnia has been clingier these past few days.

still, all in all, the light is out and ophelia must at least try tonight.  again and again; indeed, trying gets tiring after a while.  they have only slept well when in the arms of their father.  they know that he will not be back soon.

unfortunate, really, seeing as though tomorrow will be ophelia’s birthday.  the girl they share a room with says that it’s been years since she’s seen her mother.   (   you are not sure if that was to comfort or shame your loneliness.  pull it out and title it as impatience.  she has yet to see her mother and here you are crying over a father that showed up months ago.   )   it is a surprise when ophelia hears it but they simply nod and bury themselves beneath blankets of wool.

it is quiet when they manage to fall asleep.  even quieter when they wake up.  the silence is enough reason for ophelia to prepare an incantation beneath their tongue and slowly peek their head out from beneath the blanket.  they yelp when hands press against their face.  a noise that stutters and slips into a fit of laughter at the kisses repeated pressed repeatedly over their face.  it is enough to muffle the shock that clings to their heart at the presence.

(   he is your hero.  you cannot doubt the appearance of someone who has never let you down.   )

a final kiss is placed on her forehead and ophelia takes the moment of opportunity to wrap her arms around odin’s neck and swing her legs around his torso.  the opportunity is reciprocated when odin simply lifts her out of bed and holds her up.

“   ophelia’s awake!   ”   a voice calls out from the doorway, easily recognize as her roommate’s.   “   good morning, mr. dark.  breakfast is downstairs,   ”

ophelia kicks her feet a little and lets go of odin’s neck only to cup her hands over her mouth, leaning to the side to whisper into his ear.   “   hi papa,   ”   she whispers, giggling when he gasps dramatically and holds a hand up to her ear in a returned mutter.  a whisper of greeting and a happy birthday, yes.  truly, ophelia hears more than what is said but she laughs and mumbles a small thank you, fumbling with the strings of his cloak.

Starter for @poweroverflowing @ulircursed

They had hardly made a dent against their last foes. The myrmidon had given Julius’ allies far too much trouble to finish off than he had liked, and the one with the staff could have sneered in their faces if it had a face to begin with. Yet they had managed to trigger whatever it was that made the realms shift and change, and they find themselves in a plane of nothingness - empty save for themselves, a glowing, pulsing orb, and two titanic golems. Julius glances toward his teammates - they have each been given mounts now, perhaps to better cross the vast field of the void the find themselves in now - but he notices that one, the hooded one, is missing.

Perhaps a sacrifice to bring them to this point. Julius shrugs off the thought. If that was also what was at stake, then he’d simply ensure that the book could not drag him to a similar fate.

The abyssal mare stamps her hooves and shakes her head impatiently. There is no time to wait then.

“The giants seem slow,” Julius assesses thoughtfully, more to himself than his allies. “I’m certain I can weave in between them.”

He gives his horse a sharp kick in the sides and she charges off, galloping at a speed far faster than that of the meandering dragon he had commandeered in the battle before. But this, at least, he had learned before. The royal stables of Belhalla’s castle seemed a lifetime away by now, but he allows himself a moment to marvel at how quickly his muscles seem to recall the way to hold the reins, how to brace himself in the saddle. He leans forward, wind whipping his hair as the horse picks up greater speed, and ducks under a swipe from the blade of one of the titans - as slow-moving as he had predicted it would be. The glowing heart is right in front of him now.

Julius hits the Void Heart with Forblaze (Roll: 14, -5HP) Void Heart’s HP: 11/16

The heat in his veins is just as familiar as the darkness he had commanded in the last battles, but more obedient. With one sweep of his arm, he calls forth flames to erupt violently beneath the orb, which responds just as explosively. A flash of light blinds Julius and his mount, and sends him off course.

Void Heart uses Ultimate Defense! Julius is inflicted with -6 Dex until Round 2

Navigating by the sound of creaking metal now, Julius only narrowly misses a second swing from the sword-wielding titan. Black spots still swim across his vision when he turns to call out for Oberon.

“That’s an opening!”

Galeforce: Julius uses Rally Magic and Rally Resistance on Odin Odin receives +2 Mag and +4 Res until Round 2

“Now!”

"Odin!"

That explosion was massive, and enemy soldiers flocked right towards the epicenter, right where a certain, stupid blonde mage would be. Hearing his battle cry in the distance, there's no time to wait for these Nohrian's to pick up the pace.

Rushing straight into the ground zero, the dust hasn't even settled. Gods there were so many of them. Thankfully, she gets the jump on the first enemy she encounters. Shoving her blade directly into their back, snapping their spine. Quickly, the blade is unsheathed from the body, and it's onto the next, though now, the enemies have an idea of where she is... She must've killed at least 10 soldiers, allowing time for other allies of hers to arrive and offer their own assistance.

Once again, a charge is led, only to spot three enemies, unaware of her advance on them.

"Don't you fucking touch him!" Voice strained, she shrieks as loud as possible, before she charges straight in. Her sword sinks deep into the enemies chest, narrowly evading their jab with a spear. She can't seem to dislodge this strike from the warm body, so instead, she forces the enemy down, opting to seize their weapon. It wasn't like they'd need it, after all.

She steps away, slamming the elongated blade right into the stomach of another enemy with such force that they're lifted off the ground for a moment, before being dropped. A gnarly gnash is left as the serrated edge drags across their stomach. Suddenly, a sharp pain is left in her shoulder, feeling an axe cleave right into her.

Adrenaline so high, it hardly phases her, quickly turning around to deliver a swift blow right to the enemy. "Fuck. You!" She yells as her blade meets his neck, separating their head right from the rest of them. Tossing the spear down though, there's something more important.

"Owain..." she's forgotten all about their aliases. Falling to her knees, she presses her ear to his chest, practically collapsing once his gentle, thumping heart is heard. She couldn't thank the gods enough for that one. But, that doesn't mean she's done with him yet.

"You idiot. We're supposed to make it outta here together! You can't be doing shit like this, you dolt!" Arms gently enrapture the larger man, and a sharp inhale reveals that she can feel the pain. Gently gripping the fabrics of his outfit, she hides herself in his chest. This kind of attitude was the exact reason she worried.

He was always so willing to show off just how damn special he was without the repercussions for his actions. It was admirable, but dangerous. A tear slips down her cheek, meeting his bare chest.

Silver Round starter for @childofvalla, @poweroverflowing, @ulircursed

The winged beast falls to the ground, and the quake of its impact tears the realm apart as well. It takes all of Julius’ strength and willpower to keep himself standing, though were it not for Oberon’s first aid, he would probably have been knocked flat by now. The rumbling lasts for hardly more than a second or two, despite the way it feels, and in the blink of an eye, stillness and quiet comes to settle over this space between worlds again.

The silence is startling and vast, weaving between the galaxies and celestial bodies that have come to encircle the realm like cold spectators of a gladiator’s match. Stars blink in and out of the swath of endless indigo that has come to replace the solid bars of the bird cage in which they had been trapped just moments ago, and Julius marvels at the sensation of infinite freedom mingling with that of eternal imprisonment. They can go anywhere and nowhere all at once.

Some distance away stands a tall sage cloaked in the mantle of a galaxy, face shrouded in shadow. At his feet, two myrmidons await their orders. A lion-faced shield has come to manifest in Julius’ own hands - perhaps the storybook’s answer to his past performance - and he tests its weight on his arm. The barons of his homeland who would sling spells from their fortresses come to mind first, and how even the sharpest blades often couldn’t touch them. A smirk crawls across his lips.

He’d be the valiant, battle-scarred king this time then; the one that books and songs were written about, whose feet would be kissed by the common people everywhere he went. Like that of the Scion of Light. And-- his eyes sweep over the other three to assess their new weapons-- Oberon would be his subject.

“Keep up with me!” he calls to his party and charges ahead. He can already feel power surging through his shield arm, reinvigorating the rest of his body.

Julius recovers +1HP with Ochain Shield, 10/10HP

Their enemies make note of his charge immediately, so he dashes off to the left to catch the bow-wielding myrmidon’s attention.

“Do your worst!” he sneers, for no response. “Your pitiful arrows will not be able to leave even a scratch on me!”

Darkness coalesces around Julius, the buzzing of hundreds of insects filling the expansive silence as the swarm manifests.

Julius misses Myrmidon B 66/66HP with Swarm! [Roll: 10 - 5 = 5, -0HP]

But the myrmidon is faster than the meandering insects and rolls nimbly out of the way, nocking an arrow all in one swift motion.

Myrmidon B counters with Magic Bow! [Roll: 16, -3HP - 2Res = -1HP] Julius’ HP: 9/10

A star shoots through the air in a dazzling arc and cuts past Julius’ exposed shoulder. He hadn’t counted on the weapon being magic and frowns sharply. The arrow, too, leaves him feeling enervated, as if it had put the magic in his veins to sleep.

Julius is inflicted with Seal Magic, -2 Magic until Round 2 Player Phase

Well, he couldn’t possibly be useless this time.

“I have tricks of my own, too.”

Holding his shield in front of him, Julius lunges forward and tackles the myrmidon to the ground, foregoing his own defenses to wrestle the weapon out of its hands. The phantom seems caught off guard by this unexpected turn of events and doesn’t even manage to struggle.

Myrmidon B is inflicted with Seal Defense, Seal Movement, and Seal Magic, -4 Defense, -2 Magic, and cannot attack anyone but Julius until Round 2 Player Phase