#support. edain

any skill starter for @ulirblood

        IT'S A LESS THAN CONVENTIONAL test of skill. The ones back in the empire usually deployed more traditional means of harm; a tome, usually. A lance or dagger, perhaps. Certainly not the random assortment of trinkets and other such littered on Lieutenant Lanton's table. But despite all the frippery, an unconventional test of skill is a test of skill nevertheless, and so Veronica regards it no less seriously.

        She finds she is a far better combatant than she is anything else, anyways. This whole endeavor is silly; it's stupid, oh yes. But it's not difficult at all.

        Veronica huffs as the Lieutenant hands her a weapon— a wooden brush, its oak smooth and burnished— and faces her opponent with a fierce focus. The woman before her looked gentle. Vaguely, she reminds her of the Askran queen. Doubtless she would be mortified at the thought of laying hands on a girl like Veronica.

        The Emblian grips her brush tight. That would make this all the easier, then.

        She attacks with no prior warning. Emblians are never opposed to striking from the shadows, after all; in fact, it was within the darkness that they always thrived. Alas, her hit is clumsy. So used are her hands to the range of magic that it forgets the proper hold of a hilt. What was meant to be an emulation of the stabbing of a knife looks more like child's play. Veronica grits her teeth as she misses the lunge forward.

faith starter for @ulirblood​

        SAFY IS NOT UNFAMILIAR WITH THE nefarious things people do to survive. The often harsh times people fell upon in her homeland of Thracia bred a hunger; a desperation to live. Thievery and banditry were as common as weeds amongst grass. So when she and a professor are ordered to investigate a charlatan, posing as the Church of Seiros' founder, she cannot help but think of that hunger. Sympathy seeps its way into her ever-bleeding heart. 

       "Professor Edain," she says quietly as they approach the market square— the space that had become this trickster's cathedral, "Must we really apprehend the woman? Perhaps I'm not in the place to suggest this, but… can't we try talking her out of it?"

       The Blue Lions professor seemed reasonable. In addition to being a fellow woman of cloth, there was this gentle, motherly air about her. Something told Safy that she would prefer a more merciful end to this as well. Perhaps their intentions would align.

       ( Strangely, she also puts her in the mind of Lady Eyvel— she thinks it's the hair, though she can't be certain. )

       They near the center of the plaza, whereupon "Seiros" preaches. She stands atop a makeshift stage, her gaze sharp as it sweeps across the crowd. She truly is as radiant as the rumors say— with her long blonde hair and her pristine looks, it's easy to see why people mistake her for a saint. The way the sunlight falls onto her certainly adds to the divine image.

       Her pure-white cape swishes behind her as she raises her arms to the sky. The people look up to her with widened eyes, some of their hands clasped in prayer. Safy makes her way into the sea of people, then turns and looks to Edain.