they say that, centuries ago, this ground had been watered with historic blood. forced to march alongside the rest of the camp ( but are they soldiers or prisoners? or sacrifices? what is their place in this strange war they’d been thrust into without context or the chance to regain their bearings? ), she’s given just enough time to mull over what might await them and take in the daunting unknown that lay as interminable and inevitable as the endless stretch of deceptively picturesque fields. since they’d woken up on this foreign ground, it’s been nothing but struggle after struggle — first the inexplicable illness that had gripped half their lot and vanished with equally little explanation, then to be rounded up and walked into the encampment as ‘ guests ’, though she knew better than that. the skirmish that had suddenly broken out, the lives that had been taken — and restored?

          now this: the solemn line of demoralized yellow marching in grim silence; she’s been in an army before, but it wasn’t anything like this. ( she’d been among comrades, at least friendly faces. ) why are they here to fight an empire none of them have a quarrel with? if, as the shared dreams imply, they had been sent here for a reason, then why isn’t anything coming together at all?

                                maybe her biggest fear in all of this,                        is that they’ll just die here, for a cause none of them agreed to,                                                  and everything— it’ll all be for nothing.

          now this: a disturbance in the ranks near the front; she grabs her naginata on instinct, anticipating an ambush. already? men shout; shouts turn to screams; the formation dismantles and soldiers start to break away; she catches one’s panicked face as he shoves her aside to escape. are they so weak-willed—

          now this: no, not weak-willed, because the sight that greets them isn’t the sea of adrestian and armor-clad red that they’d expected to be waiting for them, but something grotesque: a swelling mass that gurgles and snarls as it rapidly grows. one of their own? she spots the last tatters of gold and black before they are swallowed into a pattern of camouflage hide as would be found on the coat of a hind. it’s familiar dark curls, then, that twist and harden and elongate into ten, twelve, twenty point antlers of branching, macabre black, when she realizes the chilling truth;

                                       now this: ❝ ... claude? ❞

          it takes shape before all of their eyes: a monstrously large stag ( just like the visions! ) that would be only that if not for when it turns its face towards them to reveal a nightmarish chimera of human and cervid and rows of demonic teeth. but it’s the gleeful malice frozen in bloodshot eyes that she thinks she’ll never forget.

          teeth chattering, she wills herself to push past the shock, to pull her weapon from her back and into her hands. don’t shake. shigure and a few others she knows are nearby; they'd faced horror together before. and they’d made it out then. ❝ if the others won’t fight— ❞ palms cinch firm around polished wood, ❝ —then we’ll have to. ❞ more and more of the so-called alliance army scatters around them; is this what that prophetic voice had been leading them to? are they the only ones willing to stand their ground in the end?

          the stag rears — ❝ don’t let it escape! ❞ — and she charges;

caeldori misses! ( 4 )

          blade raised and legs crouched, ready to leap and bring a first shattering blow down on the distortion’s broad shoulders and give her allies an opening. but she never gets off the ground, doesn’t expect magic,

cervid husk attacks! ( 14 )

          for forelegs to gash at the air and a burst of wind to knock her solidly backwards, eyes squeezed shut and tumbling painfully through the grass, only years of training keeping her from losing her weapon in the process. when she slows, a sharp twinge from her torso suggests she’d bruised or torn something, maybe, in that poorly timed attempt. ugh, embarrassing. she’s supposed to be better than this. butt of the pole to the ground, she pushes to her feet, steadies herself. a monster that big would be tough to fight on foot. just her luck, to end up in a clash like this for her life without a pegasus.

（ @prodigiosusmagus ）

     No matter where you are, some things remain the same. An unsettling constant in a sea of change. War always survives and finds its way back in people’s lives. The victors of yesterday can fall to their demise come the next. Victory will always be short lived and war will never truly end.

     Cordelia realized this long ago, aware peace is always temporary. Even in a separate timeline, she knows this is an accurate possibility that could be in store for her (should she stay in Fodlan). When the call to arms has been raised come the ambush of the Imperial army, Cordelia fights on, lance by her side, and a loud cry let out as she joins the Alliance.

     Their numbers were overwhelming, and they had very little time to prepare. Still, she will not flee and delay the inevitable. It’s either she power through this, or she falls. ❝ HAA! ❞ She pierces through one of the soldiers clad in crimson, no remorse, the thought of survival the only thing left in her mind. The loose robe indicate they were a mage, and Cordelia fails to move back when the mage conjures up fire from thin air, shoving it towards Cordelia. 

Ricken and Saleh have been dropped and are now available!

send a beach ask! ( accepting ) | @prodigiosusmagus

          Olivia had inspired the Shepherds many times, both on and off the battlefield. Today, after seeing the gorgeous sand castle she constructed, Sumia thought… hey! Why not give making one a try, too? She managed to find a pail and a shovel scattered along the beach. After settling in a spot that seemed safe from the sea, Sumia took to filling her mold with damp sand. 

          It wouldn’t look close to something fancy or intricate, of course. But there wasn’t anything wrong with humble beginnings! Even the Exalt’s palace started with with a single stone. After she finished packing, Sumia flipped the pail over and tapped it on all sides to loosen the sand. Carefully, very, VERY carefully, she lifted it upwards. If this managed to stand, Sumia would have her base. 

          “...Oh, pegasus plop.” 

          And there it went. To her credit, it didn’t fall apart completely. It was only the top and one side that crumbed. The real issues started when she tried using her hands. That’s when the shape went from not-exactly held together to just a giant mound. Sumia let out a sigh. Well, this was a failure. She looked toward the beach, wondering if maybe, like most things, sand castles simply weren’t her calling.

          That’s when she spotted him. 

          “Ricken!” Sumia called, waving her friend over. “It’s so good to see you! You’re just who I need for this!” Her dream seemed to be conjuring up just about everything she wanted so far. It made perfect sense for Ricken to show up in this situation. “Do you have any spells that could sculpt sand?” To demonstrate her point, Sumia scooped up a handful and let the grains fall through her fingers. 

“E-excuse me!” Myrrh peeked out of the hole she had dug, only the top of her head being able to be seen otherwise. Her hands appeared over the side as she pushed up. “Could you had me that bucket?”

She had never heard of a ‘sand castle’ before now, but the idea of it was very exciting! She also thought there was something very poignant about a non-permanent sort-of palace.  But every good castle needed a moat right? Her hands were gritty and sandy but she dug down, down, down and there was a massive hole in the sand now.