You have turned your back on justice and joined the Dragon and his coterie of imposters… or so he thinks. A threatening “offer you can’t refuse” becomes the opportunity of a lifetime when he bribes you for information and cooperation, opening up a chance for you to feed false information and get some insight into how the group operates. That said, the enigmatic “Al” is said to be an intelligent and calculating man in his own right. Be warned, this may be one of his traps… [Grants Any Weapon +1]

Jaw set and eyes hard, Stahl strode down the corridor. He offered a curt nod to those he passed but quickly moved on. Had he lingered, they may have noticed the bead of sweat forming on his temple, despite the cool interior of the headquarters. He felt it like a blazing sign on his forehead reading "Imposter!". But fortunately, every member of the ring was too engrossed in their own tasks assigned to fulfil Al's wishes that they didn't notice the discrepancy.

With a furtive glance over his shoulder to confirm that no wandering eyes followed his path, he entered the room they had agreed to meet in and pressed the door shut behind him. The quiet click of the lock coincided with his sigh of relief and a visible relaxation of the tension on his shoulders.

He turned to the professor awaiting him. "I don't know how much longer I can pull this off," he said by way of greeting.

Friendship bracelets are making a resurgence, but this time, lance wielders are tying them to the shafts of their weapons to show off their popularity. Join the cool kids and decorate your lance with some sick new threads. [Grants Lance +1]

Autumn was falling around Garreg Mach Monastery -- as much was obvious from the rain pummelling the tall windows, casting a hazy grey light throughout the halls. Hilda had hardly been able to concentrate in her last class through the noise! She heaved a sigh as she left the training grounds and headed back towards her dormitory. The miserable weather gave her very little else to do than to finally open one of those library books taking up space on her desk. She was already exhausted at the thought of it.  

As she passed through the Reception Hall, her gaze was drawn to the large groups of students occupying the tables. This was usually a relatively quiet part of the Academy, so she wandered over for a closer look. Her approach revealed what her eyes had initially missed from a distance: bundles of colourful thread and tubs of beads haphazardly littering the tables. Hilda’s interest piqued. Heads down, students were braiding, weaving and twisting, with some holding up their completed projects triumphantly -- friendship bracelets! 

Some sat in pairs, others in larger groups, but her eye caught on a girl sat alone at the end of a row. Her blonde head was bowed as she fingered the spools in front of her. As she watched, the girl reached for one, before hesitating and pulling her hand back again. Almost subconsciously, it seemed, her other hand reached out to rest on the lance propped up on the table beside her. 

This was definitely one -- the only? -- area Hilda considered herself an expert in, and there was somebody in need! The library books would just have to wait another day... Sliding onto the bench on the other side of the table, she faced the blonde and offered a smile. 

“You look like you could use some help!” 

Friendship bracelets are making a resurgence, but this time, lance wielders are tying them to the shafts of their weapons to show off their popularity. Join the cool kids and decorate your lance with some sick new threads. [Grants Lance +1]

She sits, cross legged, at a table in the reception hall. Alone. Her body was still battered and bruised from last month’s ‘mission’ but physical wounds healed far easier than emotional ones. Rhedrise had burned itself in her vision - the chaos, stench of blood and screaming still rang in her ears. Then there was Melanthios and the dread he struck in her heart...

Mercedes had to tell herself it wasn’t real. Focus her attentions on something physical, constant and light. So she weaves colourful threads around one another, the sixth one now. She isn’t sure who to give them to once she’s finished.

He walks past. A familiar figure, stirring up an old ache anew. An image in her mind of a young girl, ashen blonde hair gathered into a french braid. The child’s hands guide another, smaller pair. Violet eyes beg her for aid, to help untangle the mess of embroidery floss the youngest had entangled herself in. Another child drifts to sleep and green eyes watch her every move from afar. Cautious and challenging.

What a lonely little memory. One to bury deeper this time, so it’s jagged edges cannot catch against delicate hands ever again.

“Care to join me, Hubert? For old times’ sake.”

She isn’t sure why she bother’s asking. Expects a rejection, from the man who even at eight years old had better things to do with his time than something so frivolous. Mercedes supposes it’s the company she seeks. Her own thoughts alone are haunting but she finds herself avoiding the warmth of her friends. They treat her like porcelain, which serves only to remind her that something is very wrong. Something about her has changed, perhaps irrevocably. She certainly feels broken and tarnished.

“Please?”

Scouts returning from afield have been returning with reports equally conflicting and strange: some say there’s a beast of a man running about with an axe for an arm, and that he is seen only by day, and only from a distance, as though he knows to evade pursuers. Others say that no, the large bipedal beast appears only at night and wields a stick, alongside all manner of crude tools that seem to suggest the intelligence to set small traps. In the name of research, authorities want the beast captured, preferably alive, but if it starts to become a nuisance… [ Grants Lance +1 ]

Ares prepares to leave camp, amidst wild rumours of strange beasts stalking the forest. Hunting upon human flesh. There were reports the creature, or creatures, possessing almost human intelligence. He’s not sure he believes them.

Monsters are so rarely cryptid’s and beasts. They’re people in all their twisted glory.

Fundamentally though, it’s irrelevant. Whilst he’s no longer a mercenary by trade, over a decade on the battlefield have taught him never to flinch at any foe. Ares supposes if they can bring back something interesting for studies, the researchers will be pleased. The threat posed to nearby villagers however, is a more pressing concern. The lance in his hand is weighted, a comfort that grounds him. Mystletainn hangs upon his hip and a bow and quiver are slung across his shoulder. It never hurt to prepare thoroughly, especially against threats unknown.

A familiar shock of navy blue enters his vision. His posture relaxes somewhat, Felix was one of his few classmates who didn’t force him to engage in mindless conversation. Something he was a little embarrassed to be so relieved about but he had been trained to wield Mystletainn with impunity, not make sycophantic small talk with noblemen.

“Are you ready to go?” Ares asks, already making his way to the path extending from the camps clearning. He looks back, making sure Felix is at least following. The younger swordsman’s prowess left no need for concern, unlike some of their greener classmates. There was however, only one map between them.

It takes some time and a little help from the more covert members of the Knights, but you finally get a lead into who is organizing this ring. This information takes you to Arianrhod, where you will meet a priestly “Dragon” holding auditions for a Leif to add in their crew of characters. They don’t particularly care what you look like, but two things are non-negotiable: a boyish attitude and proficiency in a variety of weapons. This could be the chance you need to infiltrate the group, if you manage to impress him. [Grants Any Weapon +1]

"Aha!" Stahl strode back towards his mission partner, a broad smile on his face. Behind him, a hooded knight skulked away, their face hidden in a shadow that protected their identity.

Since arriving at the Academy relatively recently, he had quickly found friends in the Knights, having served in battle himself with the Shepherds. It gave them common ground. With the rumours flying around about an underground imposter ring, he had, of course, volunteered to track them down. And he recalled a couple of the more, ah, surreptitious Knights previously having hinted to a clandestine members-only club that seemed to fit the description. A furtive conversation, a favour traded, and before long, he had gleaned enough useful information to set them on their way.

"And so they intend to hold auditions tonight," he finished his recount. "For Leif." His lips downturned in a slight frown. "They require a boyish attitude and skill with a range of weapons." He had some competency with a lance and sword, but he wasn't sure that constituted variety. And could his attitude be called boyish?

"I suppose I could give it a go... What do you think?"

Some of the upperclassmen were fooling around and seeing how high they could throw their lances and get them stuck in the wall of the training hall, but now they’re too high to get down. Your best course of action is to throw even more lances up at them in an attempt to knock them loose. Just don’t let them hit you on the way down. [Grants Lance +1]

Mercedes frowns ever so slightly. She would never normally have any complaints about cleaning up the training grounds. Looking above her, she sees lances and spears stuck at the top of the wall and wonders what possessed the upperclassmen to throw them up there in the first place. More importantly, why they left them there for someone else to get clear up.

With a brief sigh, she had to admit that the issue wasn’t so much that she was cleaning other people’s messes. That had never bothered her before - other people were often busy or forgetful. It’s the fact she has no idea how to tackle this. 

“Dimitri?” Mercedes asks in surprise as the doors to the the training hall part to reveal her house leader. She shoots him a quick, friendly smile before realising he might be the solution to her problem. “Good afternoon, what brings you here at this time?” Probably training, he can often be found here at all sorts of hours be it early morning, midday or in the dead of night. She sincerely hopes he isn’t overdoing it today. Her eyes dart to the wall of spears and she decides it’s best just to come out and ask him for aid rather than beat about the bush. He’s not the type to get angry about it, even if he doesn’t have the time to help her out.

“I’m supposed to be cleaning up in here but I have no idea how to get those lances out of the wall,” she says, glancing at the floor. It’s so much easier for her to offer help rather than ask for it and she feels a sting of guilt with her words. Dimitri worked himself to the bone after all. “Do you think you could help me reach them or bring them down? I just don’t know what to do.”

A fishing expedition off the coast of Brigid offered the perfect chance to get away from the Academy and relax a little… Enjoy the sea breeze and take in the sun… If it weren’t for the crest beast circling under the fishing vessel. The crew is skilled, but an extra pair of hands never hurt; you load the harpoon. [Grants Lance +1]

Ares regretted everything that led him to this point. Well, almost everything.

Flayn’s smile was brighter than jewels so things aren’t all terrible. Just most things, optimism!. He groaned, leaning his head back only to be assaulted by the sun’s cruel rays. For over a fortnight he’d been losing sleep, strange visions of lights plaguing his dreams He had thought a fishing trip off the coast of the island nation of Brigid would cure him of his ails. It... hadn’t cured a thing.

He also remembered how terribly seasick he was. His stomach lurched with the waves, churning uncomfortably and he clutched his painful, swollen abdomen. Why had he done this to himself?

The pair floated in the fishing boat quietly for a while. Ares didn’t speak and Flayn, despite her usual chattiness, seemed to notice how he was struggling not lose his breakfast and had graciously allowed him to suffer in silence. Occasionally she’d squeal with joy and hold up a fine specimen to show him. He’d give her a thumbs up before going back to hating his life.

Until the boat rocked a little too violently. Both students and crew were nearly flung into the briny depths of the ocean that surrounded them. Gods, Ares didn’t even know how to swim. On shaking legs, he crossed over to the crew who seemed to be loading the harpoon.

“A crest beast!? Out here?” his question didn’t really require an answer. Looking over the boats edge he could see the damned thing. He really couldn’t catch a break.

Friendship bracelets are making a resurgence, but this time, lance wielders are tying them to the shafts of their weapons to show off their popularity. Join the cool kids and decorate your lance with some sick new threads. [Grants Lance +1]

It’s in Forrest’s nature to stay on trend.

Not that either of them tend to carry lances about. A bag filled with embroidery floss sits between the pair of them - Forrest’s personal selection. Something they don’t share with just anyone. Ophelia has never, ever been ‘just anyone’ though.

“Perhaps we could use them as bookmarks?” Forrest suggests idly, pulling out a handful of strings to decide on a colour palette. No, that green was definitely too garish. They turn their attention to Ophelia without a word, weighing up shades of yellow. Wheat, like blonde hair that grows wild, proud and beautiful? A lovely colour no doubt, but Forrest finds themselves drawn to a warm, sunshine yellow in quite the same way they are drawn to Ophelia. “Everyone else seems to be adorning their weapons rather than their wrists.”

“I don’t mind what you do with yours. It is a gift, after all. Just like your time is precious to me.”

They lean their head against Ophelia’s shoulder as their breathing falls into a steady, synchronised rhythm. Forrest weaves pastel pink alongside yellow, a perfect representation of the pair of them. Casting their gaze skyward, Forrest thinks they’d like to capture this gentle moment for life. Wispy clouds drift above on an azure canvas and Forrest searches for sky blue and ivory threads.

“Hmm, Ophelia. That cloud looks like a star, shooting across the sky. Maybe we should make a wish?”