#toalabyrinth2021

In the Sealed Forest, you fall into a deep sleep after a night staving off the boredom with alcohol and games. You didn’t question why Milo hadn’t been around at all that night, but you see his face in your dreams. Except it’s not really his face. The color has drained from it, his scleras have turned black, and his hair has faded to a pastel hue. He smiles and you wake with a start, in the middle of the woods with a handful - but not all - of your companions. A dense, white fog hangs over the place. You’re still in the forest, but why does it feel so... strange. And how did you get so far away from camp?

Ike does not dream often, nor dream in much clarity. So when he sees the face of Milo, he's met with a wave of revulsion, like the sanctity of his mind has been breached. Why dream of a slimy, smarmy guard, instead of his family? It's almost insulting. The corpse-like

He raises his hand to wave through the spectre, but as soon as his fingers brush against clammy skin, a sensation like a thunderclap jolts him awake-- breathing in the humid air of the forest.

Ike snaps to attention, rolling to a crouch, fingers hitched over the dagger under his thigh.

Something is terribly wrong.

They had not gone to a forest near the sea, nor to a forest that had wide, brimmed leaves, laden with dew and moisture. It was a dry, deciduous forest, and the air he breathes has weight, settling into his lungs like a wet film of paint.

Sure enough, he doesn't even need to squint to feel the strange coldness that hangs just in front of his vision, much like the vapor one would find in a swamp.

There's fog where there should be none, a grim chill prickling at his spine, and sure enough, starting to pool in great white sheets as he looks further, reducing visibility to a thin dome ahead of him. 

Without doubt-- it's Milo. Lucina had said as much that he'd have set up something, although he'd not have guessed the sheer scope of his preparations. He's truly regretting not simply punching him in the face to begin with.

A bitter sigh leaves his lips, and that's enough time for him to recognize that the clearing he’s in is obnoxiously empty, like he was the only one present. To his side--

His sister's bedroll is missing.

Horror jams in his throat like a bitter icicle. Mist's name and a curse lodges between his gritted teeth, and his utterance dies before it can leave his mouth, escaping as a forced hiss.

He has to calm himself down. As much as his heart screams with urgency, he has to force it down or he'll miss things. He'll miss clues-- that could put Mist in danger.

Soren isn't here now. He's the only one here-- and that means the responsibility to be rational falls onto him.

So Ike slams a fist into the dirt with a choked shout, and then breathes in, eyes screwed shut as he holds.

Exhale.

He won't lose her. Not again. Getting to his feet, he plucks Ettard from the rolls, slinging it across his back. He cups his hands to his face.  "Mist! Where are you?!" 

Registration for The Labyrinth 2021 event has begun!

You’ve been hearing strange rumors around the monastery lately. Something about new Relics. Some say they’ve been stolen from lesser known Fódlan nobility, others say that they were buried centuries ago and are finally being unearthed. 

You’re about to dismiss these rumors as simply that when the Archbishop at last makes a formal address to her students and Knights: she has deduced the location of four of these “Relics” and it’s now up to you to investigate and bring them back.

How This Works

The Labyrinth will be a month-long, team-based event beginning January 3rd. Initial signups will run from December 21st until December 31st, so that the mod team has time to sort and balance the teams.

Each team will be sent to one of four locations where a Relic is supposedly hidden. You will have a mission board unique to your location to provide prompts and ideas for interacting with your teammates. This event will be most similar to Arcadia, which ran for the month of December 2019. You will be allowed to freely explore your location for the first two weeks of the event, and then the event finale will be a team effort that takes place during the last two weeks. You may opt out of the finale, but be aware that your muse will not receive the prizes that will be awarded at the end.

If you are not sure if you want to sign up now, or are unsure if you can handle bringing more than one muse, you will be allowed to sign up again after January 4th, but before the finale. This will allow any newcomers to get in on the action as well.

The Finale

The story details of the event finale will be announced halfway through January. This will have many RNG-based features and include some combat. You will be working with your entire team, but threads will be broken down into smaller groups (3 or 4, depending on the number of people who sign up). If you are not in our Discord server, it is highly recommended that you join for this part of the event in order to coordinate with your teammates. Separate channels will be created for each team.

If your character gets KO’d during this part of the event, they will be sent to an on-site infirmary and will no longer participate in the finale itself. But they will still be awarded the prizes at the end and can interact with other characters who have been KO’d.

Combat

Combat during the finale will be RNG-based. The system used for Teams Honesty, Justice, and Trust during Lock & Key 2020 will be used universally for all four teams during this event. To simplify combat, each muse will be allowed to bring only ONE weapon and TWO non-weapons (abilities, stat boosts, combat arts, etc.). For example, if Mod Bren signs up Claude, they can choose to have him bring Failnaught (weapon), Close Counter (ability), and - for some reason - a Golden Deer Bracelet (item with no combat properties), but Mod Bren CAN’T sign Claude up with Failnaught (weapon), a Brave Bow (another weapon), and a Golden Deer Bracelet (item).

More details about this are on the signup form, but if you have questions about your character’s stats, please ask a mod!

How to Sign Up

Please fill out a form for each muse with this signup sheet. 

ToaLabyrinth2021 Team Valley Event Thread Starter for @cruelsfate

One habit that was shared between teacher and medic was taking attendance.

Rhys spoke softly to himself, counting as he recited names, peering around for either the sight of his companions or to remember who was out on a mission. “Ylgr... Kris... Salem... Merric... Constance... Bernadetta... Kana... Serra... Celica... Marth... uh oh.” Rhys paused when he got to Marianne, brow furrowing. He didn’t recall her going on a mission, and more troubling, he didn’t know that he’d seen her all that day.

He kept his anxious feelings down, not yet willing to sound the alarm. There were strangers everywhere. Surely she was safe somewhere. Rhys folded his hands in front of him in his sleeves and strode around where they’d been staying, hiding his clasped, clammy, white knuckled hands out of sight.

Not only as his fellow combatant, but as a student too, he felt doubly responsible.

And thankfully, he spotted her within minutes, slightly out of sight. Rhys sighed with relief. Perhaps he’d overlooked her, his own eyes not catching her downcast ones. Her pale blue hair was a welcomed sight and he rushed to her, color returning to his face. Despite his relief, his voice was still soft. “Oh! Marianne! Ah, sorry to trouble you, I just wanted to make sure you’re alright.” Apart from the group, and with a posture that suggested she wished more to shrink from sight than be in the center of all the activity... was she alright? Perhaps the situation or environment were troubling. Perhaps it was something else.

He almost got cold feet. Almost waited until the last possible second, hand clenching and unclenching on the doorknob. Surely she’d be busy preparing right now? A visit from him would only be a distraction...

Inigo, don’t be an idiot.

Before he can quadruple-guess himself, Inigo bursts out of his room. Finds her door slightly ajar, and even with the open door policy they so favor, it’s rude to walk into a lady’s room unannounced. Knuckles rap softly on the wood.

“Lucina?” Dancer enters, face tinting pink.

“Um, I just came by to wish you well on the journey. I...” gods, he really should have rehearsed this in his head more.

Plasters on a smile. “I hope you don’t have too much fun without me! Promise you’ll come back, and I’ll take you out to tea so we can laugh about our trips...” cuts his rambling off with a slight cough.

Anxiety crashes over him like a wave. Inigo brings to retreat, whispering “come back to me, Lucina,” before leaving as quickly as he arrived .

--------------

✴ —— an air of eerie silence falls on both monarch, friend, and princess. it had fallen upon her even more than usual as she had been found; idly perusing the list and details of both the accompanier, an already curious fellow named ‘milo’ and . . a rather interesting situation with these ‘relics’ she’d yet to fully investigate. fingers that had idly perused with scarred tissue beneath her half-gloves the complete lack of any of her own. no morgan, no cynthia, she’s even heard word her own cousin was here, gods be good...and certainly no inigo, if his ashen expression as she finished perusing all too calmly the list without her people and friend’s names was absent.

absent in that her eyes would not be able to watch them, to lead them. absent in that she would not be there to step in front no matter the world, no matter the situation, and fight by their side if anything insidious emerged; and wisdom and unfathomable experience...told her it would. a clench that has been like a fist in her heart continues to grip and will not cease as inigo paces her room; watches the exalt who seems almost like a worn, solitary bright light of a statue in the room. . . 

“ remember everything you’ve learned and known and use it. “ it’s calm, but quiet, in response to what he says. there’s a desperation beneath the surface that is well hidden, well placed. a terror and rising bile in her throat at the idea that she will not be there to shield him this time. that even now she cannot even wield falchion, a companion in hell, a companion in heart and comfort of soul.

“ remember everything as painful as it is, i know, and...use that wisdom to aid those here that will never know what we know. 

use it for your survival because this by no means will be your greatest challenge, but it remains that. a challenge. make sure....you also talk to everyone else. i have to leave early, you see...and i’d like you check on them. please.” finally she glances at him; mismatched in color and branded in the left are her eyes; eerily glittering pale blue and royal sapphire in a somewhat fitting tandem. as if her very brand glows like a keen star that has ever led and guided the way. not this time. 

her mouth is not smiling. not the calmly gentle; ever benevolent look that he would know, that many of her friends would know in few but impactful moments. it’s a firm, pained line. the way inigo stammers is so similar to when they were children; arms full of flowers for her. how his voice ached with something she feels she is nearing the end of discovery towards; and also its beginning, but there is no time for that now. 

or perhaps she knows, and finds herself only able to be this because the prospect is yet another thing she feels undeserving of. a leader first, king, exalt, princess, commander, whatever phrasing, prioritizing his life over her own, as ever . a shepherd like her father, inigo a lethal, but all the same sheep eternally curled in her heart. perhaps deeper than she will let herself open her eyes at last to.

carefully she treads towards the room; walking purposefully towards him and halting his escape route with a firm but ever unsettling quiet for lucina, in her voice.

 “inigo. don’t...don’t worry about me. as ever i’m thankful for you staying by our side, my side, but...you are in a place, you are all in a place i cannot be there for, you realize? even if you say i no longer need feel so, i will all my remaining life. please...try to understand my silence. 

it is ... i’m frustrated. i have utmost faith in all of you in this endeavor. i know you are more seasoned than all in this academy, after all who can say what you all have endured? none. not that i ever wished it for you. “ her heart is racing like a galloping pegasi in grief; tumult; a quiet defiance of the list for how dare it keep her from her people, her own, her friends, her family, though no temper burns; only that all consuming, white-hot light to protect and once more defy her circumstances. 

“....i will return.” keen senses and nights ever awake with watchful eye over her flock as the shepherd held falchion’s holy hilt against her side do aid her in hearing his whispered voice. her own voice considerably softer, yet strong where he trembles. she must be. if both crumble nothing good will come. she must let him know that she endures; she has always endured; for ylisse, for them, for the world. she will do so again.

but he must as well. 

“ .... tell everyone you see that’s one of ours to take a breath, unless of course, you’re cynthia who i imagine will, “ hitched voice; but fond, no tears, only grief in her voice, “be most earnest. still i worry for her always. my brother, of course. my cousin? let him know...” i will not say tell him i love him, because he will be alright, she thinks though the phrase is clearly unspoken. every name uttered from the second generation of ylisse’s shepherds are laced in lucina’s love for them. her protective light. 

when she finally smiles; as ever, it seems laced in that quiet, faint sorrow that never leaves. that fully kind smile with a hint of sadness. her suggestions made clear, the crown softens its might in gold. “and if it’s just you, try not to flirt overmuch, yes? what will i do if you come back and we are unable to have tea since you’ve once again done something silly and unlike your real self? something like have another woman there already? i’ll think you’re jesting once again! oh, and by the way...

you can’t flirt with the enemy. now i try to jest. there may and likely will be one. it all seems very contrived. but you know me, i am far too wary, or perhaps this is wisdom in the harshest sense...” oh to be old and wise and nineteen. who would ever want it once you had it?

her hand gently clasps both his arms before he can flee. he can see the battered, torn tissue of lucina’s hands and fingers; flesh that has borne sacred steel and scar tissue from facing armies both together and alone. of the devil himself, of fate and time and trial again and again until the soft hands he once held as a child laughing innocently as a fair princess are but distant memories. they are now battered and worn beyond recognition. a small price, for hope, she thinks. i never really minded if they were beautiful.

“go, i’ll be fine, you fool. worry about you. you know me. i’ll be alright. just come back safely and well, is all i ask. and use your kindness to comfort those who are not as brave nor experienced as you. it has served me far often greater even than your blade. it always will. “ lucina knows her insides for being unrattled bone and steel are pulsing with the memories of their bodies battered on battlefields, again and again -- her broken cries unheard in her heart, ‘when will we rest, when can we rest?’.

oh. this feeling...she knows it. it is anguish.

“ .... or if you come back first, set the table. i’ll...be very glad to have that tea.” gripping his arms assuringly, not too harsh nor too firm now, but gentle and ever protective, his exalt and friend finally lets go. 

“ safe travels, inigo. i will see you when i return.. i know you will. all of you. “ 

she swallows the ingrained sentence she’s spoken so many times in the past years: 

starter for @perfectionist-prince​

That she should find the son of her not-retainer Xander in the academy is somewhat humorous for her. That they should find themselves in the Sealed Forest, alone save for an academy-sent guard is even more amusing. 

"Prince Siegbert of Nohr… that's you, isn't it?"

Veronica regards him curiously—— naught a hint of the usual venom in her voice to be found. Crimson meets crimson, half-lidded hues of scarlet bathing him in scrutiny as the Emblian sizes him up. The student certainly looked like Xander;; whether he would treat her the same was to be determined.

        ( strange, veronica finds herself almost missing her princely companion… perhaps it is only fitting, then, that she seek out his scion… )

"So, you're Xander's son…" she muses, a hand on her chin, "I've encountered him before… he was a good man;; one of the very few who stuck by my side. I guess you can say Xander was kind of a father figure to me too…"

Her voice trails off, growing quieter and quieter until it comes to a full stop. Veronica feels almost embarrassed at the admission— as though it were a secret she had lay bare, a humiliating rumor she had just confirmed to be true. At that, her gaze shifts, tearing itself from the Nohrian prince and flitting to the surrounding trees and stones, and then, travelling even further still, landing on their mission chaperone, Milo. What little humor housed in her expression quickly fades, switching to a more fitting look of disgust.

She cared not for the knight nor did she know much of him, aside from the fact that he knew something— something he refused to say. Something that needed to be forced out of his mouth.

With shiny knights and aristocratic brats being the talk of the town, Nessie brings the attention to herself again with a mud-wrestling tournament to welcome you all with. No prizes, of course, but what’s a broke girl to do about that? Sidebets are already abound, and muscle-bound, charismatic Nessie is the favorite to beat. Make your own bets if you have the cash, or get down and dirty with the rest of them.

♠  ~ The shouts of the crowd echoed all around, excitement clear in their roars. No doubt they were there for the spectacle that being, of course, Nessie’s Grand Pennywell mud-wrestling competition. In particular, its latest match, starring yours truly, the most well-paid mercenary in all Elibe. Though, to be fair, she quite understood them. If she wasn’t in the ring herself, Farina would have been right out amidst the crowd, trading bets and making jokes. It wasn’t as though there were much other spectacles in this muddy, swampside town. 

So, while she was here, she may as well give them a show, as befitting of any arena across Elibe. With a light spin on her heel, Farina paused for a brief moment, turning to blow a kiss into the air and a flirty wink to the crowd. The shouts only grew louder. The mercenary only laughed heartily and turned to face forwards once more, enjoying the cool, squishy feeling of mud between her toes.

Oh, she’d kicked her boots off ages ago. Didn’t seem like the sort of the thing that’d seemed quite right in the ring. Actually, she’d stripped herself of everything but smallclothes. Besides, the swampy air felt a ton more comfortable on her bare skin. Though, no doubt Fiora would have something to say about her current lack of attire but, eh, Fi wasn’t even around. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

Proud, confident (and squelchy) steps brings the blue-haired mercenary closer to the centre of the makeshift arena, a ring of villagers and some flimsy ropes forming a loose circle around them. She soon finds her latest opponent, a certain black-haired girl with chocolate brown eyes. A smug, playful smirk spreads its way across her lips. May as well give the crowd some pre-match trash talking while she was at it. “Well, hello there, darling! The name’s Farina! Welcome to the arena! Now, tell me. Ya ready ta eat dirt?” Well, admittedly, it was a little uncreative but it worked. 

Slim fingers lock themselves and pull forwards into a lazy stretch. In fact, she was feeling so confident that she was willing to let the other girl make the first move. Well, why not? She was pretty sure she could take whatever the other girl could dish out.

>> Labyrinth: The Caledonia Plateau [open event thread!]

The creature shambled through the muck, dragging its feet like they were lead. T’was a strange beast that made for the Mosquito’s Perch, full of reeds and leaves and mud and grime and saint-knew-what-else. (Didn’t want to think about it.)

Single-minded in its pursuit, it ambled onward. Didn’t stop to think what had brought it to this point, no. Certainly not. (Saint. Had there been more people on the boat? What had happened to the boat?) Didn’t stop to think about what it might look like on the other side, wandering forth looking such a mess, no. (It’d probably take weeks to scrub everything away. Uuugh.)

Moaning his discomfort, Matthew reached shore at long last,

starter for @cashandaxes

Reptilian creatures bursting with crest energy, long necked and ancient, lurking in the darkest depths of Fodlan— why, Flayn feels almost homesick! Strange it may be to see this 4′11 maiden march through marshes and swim through swamps, but the resolve housed in the emerald flames of her gaze says all;; she was not here to play around.

Her skirt tied up to her knees and her boots thoroughly flooded, she wades through the slushy, muddy waters eagerly, whispering the nothings of a long dead language as she readies herself for what might be the closest thing to a family reunion she’s had in centuries.

( yet as she treads, her heart cannot help but sink ; she knows, does she not? that they are gone. truly, truly gone. and that this scaled beast of boggy terrors is nothing more than an image of what they could have been. of nostalgic wants and desires never to be fulfilled again...... )

A hiss interrupts her rampant thoughts, followed by the sharp SNAP of jaw and carcass bone in marriage.

Flayn gasps, muddied hands clasping over her mouth.

“It has been so long,” she whispers, her voice trembling;; tender as she could be for one waist-deep in marshland, “but I am here now, my fellow scaled soul...”

Slit-sharp pupils greet her, yellow scleras boring holes through her. The beast is larger than she expects, but perhaps it came from a further down branch of the family tree. In its wide, bloodied maw sits its last meal— a reptile of smaller size, whose corpse had been decimated to near non-recognition. It stares at her, unblinkingly, as a creature without eyelids would. She smiles.

“How does it feel to be take up such a form, I wonder?” Flayn asks, looking up to it, eager for conversation.

The beast snaps at her, a hiss erupting from the deep cavern of its throat. The nabatean only laughs.

“Is that really so? It must be lots more fun. I must admit, I find myself missing the space I used to take up...”

In an ideal world, Flayn and the beast would have simply sat there, exchanging noises of varying degrees of coherence. However, the world is not perfect, and this reptilian friend is more fiend to others, and so it is only inevitable that someone come hunting it down anyways.

It comes out of nowhere— one moment she’s sat down on a rock, chatting away with Great Funkle Gator ( she’s taken the liberty of bestowing a name upon it ), and the next—— CRRRACK!

“GODDESS ABOVE!”

Flayn screams as a flying flash surges forward, landing what is unmistakably a fierce-fisted punch right smack down on his nostrils. Great Funkle Gator throws its head backwards, a terrifying ROAR splitting the still air in twain. The saint blinks— right, she hadn’t come here alone. She should have considered the possibility that someone from her party would follow her...

Still, she’s not the time for such considerations at the moment, any and all logic tossed aside in favor for filial fear. Flayn looks upon the scene with great horror, her mouth hanging agape and her eyes wide as the full moon.