#razurite

          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.

Shigure has been dropped and is now available!

Byleth (M) has been reserved!

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Despite the scandal that colored her gasp, there was delight that flared in Mitama’s eyes as her friend rose both literally and emotionally to the figurative white glove she had thrown into the ring.

Truth be told, she had been uncertain that Shigure would bite the bait she dangled in front of their nose. The need to simply be left to their own ventures at times was something Mitama could relate to. She would not blame them in the slightest if they asked for peace or simply laughed her away for the time being. To have them accept her challenge was a delight.

“Mayhaps I would lose / but is your chance much better? / Talent high and low.” Mitama laughed with delight as she allowed Shigure to take some of the supplies from her arms. “Though singing is surely your title to take. Have I never told you that my caretakers pushed me to poetry to dissuade me from attempting tunes I have note the skill to carry?”

          tucked away and unassuming, the little oaken box sits nestled in a corner away from the soft light streaming through the cathedral nave, sequestered in a shadowed niche and tended only by a single monk the crowds easily pass by, as though he, too, had become a fixture of the corner as much as the stone carvings, or the small wooden table. how nice; there’s something charming and inviting about the simplicity of the layout, befitting of its simple use as an anonymous alcove for one’s worries to be shared without fear of shame or retribution. he can see how such a device would see ample use in a place like this, and considers whether it might prove equally as effective back home as he turns a half-leaf of parchment over and eyes the selection of writing quills.

          ❝ ... may i? ❞ he turns to look at the stationed monk, and the man seems surprised, as though unused to being spoken to, before hurrying to nod.

          ❝ yes, of course. i hope your prayer receives a satisfying answer. ❞

                                                                                a prayer...

                              the corners of his lips turn upward in a small smile of consideration.                               what a lovely way to think of it.

          as the monk turns respectfully away, kurthnaga leans his elbows onto the table to consider his words. an advice box, that would be seen by any who walked past, free for any to offer their thoughts and counsel. what concerns are there that he can share? what that don’t require a locked secrecy, burdens for him to contemplate alone, whose answers none can truly give? the dry quill tip traces aimless patterns on the paper, steeped in thought.

          at last, they touch with ink.

I understand that this is a military academy, made to prepare its students as future leaders of state. However, I do not condone the emphasis on war, and the excitement for battle. At times, I realize that the use of force is the only option left, but I abhor violence. Should there not be greater consideration for understanding and diplomacy?

          would he be seen as nothing more than a meddling outsider, giving his thoughts where they don’t belong? no, there were no names here; no faces. merely words on a wall. he will await whatever answer would come; and this too, to further his understanding of the lands beyond a longstanding isolation.

and here they are, at a classical stand-off. both parties stare at each other in silence, lips unmoving, eyes unfeeling. words fail to exchange between them yet the tension roars all the same. both wield pies as their weapons, one strawberry and the other apple. in a battle like this, there are no tricks to be had, no underhanded methods beneath their sleeves.

just pure, raw talent. 

[linhardt rolls to dodge: 8! barely hit!]

shigure launches their pie and linhardt tosses his own.

both projectiles whizz through the air…

[linhardt rolls to dodge: 15! success!]

… and collide. 

linhardt stares as the united mass drops to the floor, the sound of tin hitting against pavement reverberating in the empty courtyard.

He’s parted ways with Mist by now, and intends to boogie up a storm in the next song when he’s approached by... not a total stranger, but not quite an acquaintance either. Ewan’s heard of them before though - hard not to when their mum is the lovely lady helping him to improve his singing. The mage brightens considerably, and nods with no small enthusiasm at the other’s request.

“Of course! Sure thing!! I’d love to!!! Ah... It’s Shigure, right? I wonder... do you think I should show your mom too, later? It’s... Nah, Lady Azura is a lot more elegant than this silly nonsense, isn’t she?” He grins sheepishly, sighs, shrugs, and then finds his sunny demeanour anew. “Anyway. I’m Ewan! That dance back there was one I picked up whilst traveling Magvel with my mentor, Saleh.”

Ahh... such fond memories.

“Okay, so, it goes like this...!”

The infirmary was far too crowded nowadays, and a classroom a few doors down from the usual room had to be converted into a makeshift add-on to handle the sheer number of injured students who returned from the battles with their respective beasts, all needing different salves to ensure the various bites and scratches and chemical burns heals properly, but the worst of the injuries came from Almyra. The tiger had been strong- stronger than reports had lead people to believe, and it surprised the armies preparing to fight it by jumping into the fort and starting it’s wild assault. The sheer number of injured from that fight was enough to make her stomach turn, but the worst of the injuries easily fell to Kana’s precious bluebird- Shigure. She didn’t know much about the student, other than Kana’s attachment to them, that they were a lion, and that Kana always called them them rather than him or her. It took her an embarrassingly long time to realize that little thing, but she’d finally picked up on it when Kana came to give Shigure yet another flower crown earlier that morning- the boy had made one every morning he’d been back, always running in before his classes to deposit his creations on Shigure’s head before running off- but only after kissing his cousin’s cheek.

She hums something from her childhood, a song she only half remembered the lyrics to as she moved about, tidying the room a tad before grabbing some gauze and walking over to Shigure’s bedside. “Shigure? Do you mind if I replace your bandages? It’s been some time, and I want to be certain everything is healing as it should be.” She paused, pressing her lips together before sighing and letting herself ask a soft, “Also, not to pry, but I noticed Kana always calls you ‘they’- why is that? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, I’m just...” A hand settles near her heart. “I... I have some... experience with n- with interacting with those who don’t necessarily follow standard gender expectations as determined by one’s sex.” She can’t say the full truth, not to someone she hardly knows, even if Kana adores them so- she knows better than that. It is always better to be cautious, she thinks, remembering the hands in her hair as a child, pulling and yelling about what she should be. It is safer to be cautious.

CHARACTER TAG ASKS | @razurite

SAVE ALL THE STARS IN HER EYES AND CHILDISH FAITH. look up your muse’s western zodiac sign. in what ways does your muse align with it and in what way do they not?

ooc » unfurls dissertation i’ve had this answer planned for months. jk jk i’m too lazy to write out the whole dissertation so here’s the like spark notes version…. probably. famous last words.

disclaimer that i know nothing about western astrology; all my fingers are in the chinese zodiac pot so like. this is based on a super rough understanding of western signs.

so felix is born on feb. 20, which puts him down as a pisces. and everyone’s thinking — wtf?? felix, a sensitive, artistic, highly emotional, intuitive, idealistic pisces???

yeah, it doesn’t all fit. HOWEVER. a lot of it actually does fit….. baby felix.

see, baby felix was almost all of these things, especially when it came to emotions. up until he was about 10 or 11 years of age, he was highly attuned to the emotions of others around him and extremely responsive to them; he was, in fact, incredibly empathetic and soft-hearted, to the point where he would cry if someone else was hurt, and was the first to whine if his friends got into a fight. he wasn’t ever timid ( cautious is the better word ), but he was very kindhearted, and always tried to make those around him feel better.

all of that changed when the fire nation attacked glenn died, but y’know.

so sensitive and emotional and intuitive kind of check off. in some ways, even idealism checks off. he’s never been prone to flights of fantasy or daydreaming, but he went through every faerghus kid’s phase of wanting to be a knight, wanting to fight off all the bad guys, imagining he was the hero come to save the day. he frequently took part in make-believe games with his friends and did have a lot of fun with them.

pisces is kind of the sign that’s locked away inside felix, or locked away in his past, rather. i don’t think he could ever go back to being who he was; his experiences have changed him too much, and he has no desire to go back to that other self. however, don’t underestimate his emotional capacity even now, despite how much he would like you to believe that he never feels a single thing. as he tells us in his dimitri A, he doesn’t go a day without still suffering the loss of his family and wrestling with guilt.