#shrinethief

Mission Task Board: You stick out like a sore thumb in your school uniforms, and they’re not quite enough to keep you warm either. On your travels, you come across a ransacked village, scorched and trampled… it’s an opportunity to find more appropriate clothes, even if you’re mixed on the idea of becoming a second group of bandits. What’s more, the destruction seems fairly recent…  // @shrinethief

  “ Patty, don't go where I can't see you, ”  Febail calls out to her as they enter a village in their travels. Their destination is still quite a while away, so it would seem, but their travel party could hardly make it in the harsh winter that has raged unexpectedly early.

Not that he could either. He feels himself shiver as he tries to keep up with how his sister bounds ahead of him, unsure whether to blame it all on the weather or on the foreboding chill that the village gives off. Whilst the rest of their party sleeps, the two of them scavenge; desperate times call for desperate measures.

Keep your eyes on Patty, he tells himself, but his eyes can't help but drift over towards the mass devastation that has ravaged this place. Perhaps they had gotten themselves into grounds that were best left alone...

“ ACHOO!! ”  On second thought, he was going to die if he didn't find something soon to replace this uniform with. He looks around again, cursing himself as he realizes he's lost sight of Patty somehow already.

If asked, he'd say he hadn't paid much attention to it. Partially, it would be true: always busy, especially at dusk and later, he couldn't devote time to sky-watching, and it wasn't exactly his shtick either. The stars and the moon are the pleasant light and the guides of the night, but don't hold that much meaning to the laguz beyond that.

It always seemed weird to watch beorc fawn over the stars, like they're the pillars of beauty. Ranulf often wondered why, what was the reason of their infatuation with the shining specks surrounded by darkness, trying to make sense of it from various perspective. Perhaps, it was because beorc lived under the sun, while laguz preferred the comfort of shadows and night, and so, what seemed normal for some was fascinating for the other. Yet laguz didn't worship the burning ball of flame, disliking it quite much, in fact. He tried to connect it to navigation and how stars always help one find a way on the seas and on the land, but that wasn't quite it either. Navigators had other reasons to be fascinated with the sky than just looking for a path.

He pondered about it for long, until one day Mist told him a story. A story about a cunning warrior, one who knew mercy and ruthlessness and was not shy of either. Ranult couldn't recall the name for the life of him, but what he did recall.. is her place in the sky. "The brightest starin the purple is the diamond on her crown. From there, trace a line down south - her body - and note the shield to the left, with the sword to the right. That's Her. She has forever found a home in these skies".

Only then he grasped the truth. It was never the rational, no. It was the sentimentality of it all. There was a certain beauty in order and stability. In the sky always shifting yet remaining the same, always staying predictable in an everchanging world. The legend of the warrior has outlived many generations of beorc and no doubt a few of laguz, all owing to the sky and the stars. And the meaning the beorc put into them.

He takes a deeper inhale of breath just to make sure.  

“ So I'm, uh... ”  he starts again, examining the girl next to him in the hopes that staring at her long enough might jog his memory or give him something better to work with. What eventually comes out of him is the fruitless result of that.  “ I'm guessing you're not used to fighting like that? Well, actually, you seem to be handling it pretty okay if you can laugh like that after losing. ”

It is said with the desire to know more about her, beyond just being told to want that. He swings his legs over the side of the cot, wanting to face her better.

Free for all HCs ♡

        Hmmmm. L’Arachel isn’t that big on soft aesthetics, not flora nor fauna. I mean, she’s not going to start forest fires (on purpose) and promote pollution (or deny global warming in a modern setting). She appreciates the earth and the gifts its given, those bestowed by the goddess of course, but not taking much interest in it other than... simple acknowledgement tbh. 

        Gardening, flowers, etc. do not spark much joy nor interest for her haha... 

        Part of this is simply linked to her personality—grand, fanciful, materialistic things. Another part of it has to do with the background I HC for her. She was sheltered in Rausten for the majority of her life and grew up in as a noble, meaning with all the shiny perks. Also, Rausten being bordered by the volcano site, there probably isn’t much growing there anyway. 

Rhys’s small talent is singing prayer songs. He doesn’t think he can do much more than carry a tune, but the years of practice since childhood have given him a sweet, natural singing voice. Singing or humming hymns or other traditional songs as he works is soothing not only to himself, but listeners who like singing. Most of what he learned was sort of folk music from his village.

Without putting down roots anywhere, everywhere he goes brings about a new beginning. At the same time, it isn’t, as he’s still himself, the same mind, the same body. Nothing is truly new with the permanence of existence.

It’s a complex duality he ponders. His lifespan also affects his perspective, how much around him is new and everchanging while he himself appears not to change.

[[

~Despite his love of snow, the prince isn’t the biggest fan of rain- mainly in battle. Although his performance in snow is quite good, in a rainy battlefield his fighting takes a toll even more if it’s on muddy grounds. Lots of slipping, falling in whatever way without having time to adjust himself for a less painful fall, getting ungodly dirty and risking infections from injuries caused by soiled weapons are things Dimitri doesn’t look forward to at all.

But there’s one thing he enjoys from rain- petrichor. The smell of earth after a rainfall.

Of course, he can barely smell it nowadays. Having to focus immensely to catch on the tiniest whiff of the already subtle scent.

However, when he does smell petrichor, it brings good memories. Of walking on the castle grounds with Felix, both as tiny, bright eyed boys on a foggy afternoon. Poking mushrooms with sticks and jumping on puddles despite their fathers’ protesting.

]]

As someone who’s been in an orphanage most of her life and now is here, attending probably the most fancy place ever, you can do it! No matter where you start out, keep a smile on your face and bake, I guess. I mean, it’s great fun. Plus delicious.

Have a nice day :)

     Alfonse reads it over once, twice, taking note of the scrawl with which the words are written and the mentions of ‘an orphanage’ and ‘her’ as hints toward the writer’s identity. Of course, no one could know just how far his knowledge of his peers extends, but the clues provided narrow it down quite generously for him when weighed against the list of participants engaging in the campaign. Provided he is correct in his guess, his search will reach an end at least more swiftly than those currently struggling to parse theirs.

     Approaching a certain thief from the Golden Deer house, Alfonse holds up the letter to preface his cordial inquiry. “Patty, right? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe this note may be yours?”