#ventusanimae

Weekend Minigame 3 @ventusanimae @liegebound

Soren had grown to hate the old abandoned cabin, seeing it with a veneer of old blood from nightmares past over it. He liked following a strange being’s advice even less, but they had little choice.

Into the dungeon they go, lest they be swirled in deeper into the dream and the city, as she said.

Biting cold was the first sensation that overtook Soren as he opened a door. A blizzard worse than what the city usually had tore at any exposed skin he had and he ran ahead with Kent and Merric in tow to get out of the harsh cold.

Damage Roll: 1. Soren HP: 9/10

He was shivering but mostly unscathed when he happened upon the first area that offered shelter. Stubborn healing herbs grew between crags and rocks in a stone floor and he plucked what he could with half numb hands, glancing behind at his companions. “We can’t get too much healing components. Are you two alright?”

Herbs: 3!

Closed starter for @ventusanimae

Okay, so it wasn't like it was her fault, per see. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time! Practising fire magic! Seteth didn't need to scold her for that! He's just a big meanie face with bad hair. Kinu kicked the ground as she walked, grumbling under her breath. It wasn't like she caused any accidents to happen. But noooooo, she had to be "more mindful of her surroundings" and "go and be less chaotic." Stupid Seteth and his stupid rules.

With a lot of people away, Kinu thought it would be a good time to practice magic so that she could be better once they got back. But no, Seteth wanted her to learn under supervision. Well then. She knew where to go then! And Seteth couldn't complain about it! Ears pressed backwards to emphasise her pout, Kinu made her way to the offices. Heading over to the door she wanted, she pulled her best kicked kit look, watering eyes and all, and knocked.

"Excuse me, professor..." she called, the beginning strains of a little fox whine in her voice. "Could I ask for your help with something?"

Merric chuckles as he walks up to his liege, having finally found an opportunity for them to have a moment in private. Year after year, they become older and - as one would think, as the officials back home would no doubt hope - more mature, but there are things that never change, regardless of the passage of time, regardless of him becoming a Professor for Lord Marth's class, regardless of dreams or reality;

and that is how his brother-in-law's birthday stands forever among Merric's most cherished occasions.

"Though this does leave me without a gift for you that you could take with you to the waking world later," he adds, the sting of disappointment clear in his voice. Of course, it's not just about presents and he knows this, but - still. His expression does not however remain forlorn for long, his smile soon returning as he raises his arms to wrap Lord Marth in a warm embrace.

"So this once, we must be satisfied with this. Happy birthday, Lord Marth. I hope we may continue to share life and reality together, once we make it out of this place. Remember I will always stand by you."

                One would reckon a birthday spent in the minute pause between countless stressors, dangers, and uncertainties to be a pitiful one, indeed. For a king perhaps it was regular understanding that a grand itinerary should have lined the hours of the day- feasts, congratulations, and admiring faces in glorious surplus, so many that the man behind the crown was left without rest. However, that was not a role the lord had played for some weeks now. A soldier Marth was, and a soldier understood; greater, more necessary things lied at hand.

               Besides, such retrenchments hadn’t been uncommon during their past phases at war and it wasn’t by any means new. So much as the mage offered up disappointment toward today's lack of tradition the feeling is one he waives with a shaking head and an easy smile. “Nonsense, Merric. Your consideration for me alone is a gift beyond compare. I am happy merely to be thought of.”

               What can he be if not touched by such a loyal friend? Someone that might feel displeasure on his behalf without prompt or request? It spoke volumes of the care and love that Merric exercised in his stead, with gallons more to be expressed in the affectionate collapse of his arms around him. Tucking his head into the nook between neck and shoulder, he reveled in the warmth that bled between them through the cool and foggy layers that composed a sleeping world.

The monastery’s gardens were always one one of Elice’s favorite spots to frequent. Flowers blossomed from the ground, filling the space with life. Reds, blues, and purples glistened against the sunlight’s bright rays. She couldn’t have asked for a more perfect day. It’s as if the stars have aligned in anticipation for this very moment.

Proposing time together some days ago, she begins making preparations. Elice left her idea for none to hear but herself, hoping Merric would find joy out of her little secret endeavor. She arrives much earlier in the morning, draping the table with cloth borrowed from the kitchen staff. Her fingers smooth out any wrinkles, allowing the perfect space to place a tiny vase with an orange flower. She begins to set up the tea pot and cups adjacent to their corresponding chairs, letting a smile to grace her lips as the nearby wanderers give her a curious look. Still, she pays it no mind.

Once Merric arrives, she quickly moves towards his side and places a hand atop his own to obscure the view. “You made it just in time..! My surprise for you is nearly ready. The staff here was kind enough as to allow me use of their inventory. When I explained my intent, they thought it was a nice opportunity for us.”

With her hand intertwined with his, she led him towards the table⁠— The setup’s simplicity is part of its charm, she believes. The princess looks at him with a glisten to her eyes as she asks, “What do you think? Will you join me for tea?”

KEBattlefield2023 starter for @ventusanimae

The cabin: A cabin filled with memories. A friend used to live here, but they lost their lives in this recent battle. Their family became your own, but no one could bear to stay in this house. To be here is to be imprisoned by grief and regret.

In this realm of dreams, this time in his past was bound to surface.

Like then, all sounds faded. No birds singing, no bustle of people out on the streets, nothing. Even the snow which fell in this enchanted place was silent, falling on the shell of a dimmed home.

That’s what it was, just a shell.

Soren barely noticed that he was stepping over dead bodies until he felt his foot catch on something, and then he realized it in full. Not Ike, not Ike, not Ike, he thought, just as he had then. He had no need to stoop down and examine them for currency or spare pieces of food. He was no longer the child from the woods who had to loot the dead for basic necessities. He knew, on some level, that if he bothered to touch them, his hand would catch on snow or earth, not flesh.

He hoped so, anyway.

His mind was exceptional at recalling every repulsive detail, cursed with an attentive memory he couldn’t cherrypick from. The smell of the dead was almost worse than the sight of them, and by the time he reached the cabin door which sat ajar in the clearing of past death, he was blankly in shock.

He’d seen battlefields, but those had been unarmed civilians. Those were families and killed by a beloved neighbor. As it turned out, one was even a wife murdered by a husband. A mother, whose warmth Soren had never known for himself, but whose effect he’d seen on Ike, Mist, and Greil.

Soren sank to the floor. He felt small, curled up on himself, staring at a cold hearth.

Footsteps behind him reminded him that he wasn’t alone. He knew they weren’t part of his memories, since no one else had been heard that day. They’d either been killed or fled. He’d been alone. Alone, for so many years. Now... he wasn’t. Should he be glad?

     (  🌈  ;  a memory about when they first fell in love  )

               Each and every battle they share there’s a bit of sorrow in his heart, a little bit of wonder, at the lance clenched so firmly in her delicate hand. Always that much bloodier than when he had seen it last. The hours more she spends cleaning her armor, longer than anyone else because white can’t hide the stains as well as silver or blue. Still. It could seize his attention for hours if it wasn’t a battle that demanded it more. Caeda’s beauty.

                The beautiful, inspirational, talented way Caeda puts a man on the other side to death so that one of theirs can live. If he hesitates to kill—to be the cause of sorrow for some imaginary brother, son, daughter, husband, wife—he need only gaze up at the sky and there flies the unwavering reminder of someone who doesn’t. She shows him the way every time he looks. Everything is for a world where light can live. Where Caeda can live. But gawking at girls isn’t suitable behavior for a Prince - much less for his battles - and the first time he’s caught could very well be his last:

     Watch out, Marth!!

               When he hears the whizz of her javelin by his ear, he also feels its weight sink into a different body, mere inches away. The clatter of the brigand’s sword spells his near damnation. It registers that the princess has cut down an unnoticed foe determined to bring Marth to an end. Embarrassed, he shoots her a quick nod of thanks, stricken by his own flaws, but never the ones they share.

HC prompt ☾ | accepting!

Minerva and magic travel on seperate binaries: it is true, she had fun in the arena, experimenting a way of battling that doesn't belong to her, but as a matter of fact, she is kind of repellent to magic.

It's not that she doesn't like it, but she simply cannot understand how it work and how she can actually use it. Yet, since she transferred at the Monastery, she grew fond of dark magic and she wants to learn more about it;it all started while she observed a lesson and after that moment, she felt fascinated and she understood that she could actually make a ood use of magic too.

After a few visits, bandages, healing spells and friendly chats for lifting spirits, the Altean's eyes land on a face well familiar. With a smile, he makes his way through. Though whatever injuries Lord Marth may have seem already taken care of, Merric will never neglect to greet his king and friend.

"Hello, sire. Some formidable opponents you had, huh? Yours truly, too, had to unfortunately excuse himself a bit early. Still, I do hope you found your match enriching and enjoyable."

The reunion with a cherished friend not through battlefield, but through infirmary, is a circumstance that is amusing as much as it is illuminating. Before Merric might even utter a word, Marth is already made acutely aware to the sage's defeat and to the subsequent reflection of their respective losses. This year's Battle of the Eagle and Lion has not been paved by their personal triumphs. The other confirms as much and the smiling king is quick to ready a place for him.

Quiet shuffling scoots him sideways on the cot to make room, several juice boxes at his elbow - one sipped and two unopened, reserves recently attained courtesy of Maria. He extends one such drink to the other, smoothly passing it to his hand in accordance with the traditional lack of decorum between them. "Hello, Merric. I see the same goes for yourself. You are a talented mage—the best I know—I could not envision your defeat to be anything less than close. Your opponents must have been very strong."

A comfortable silence shines in the brief intermission of slurping fruit juice. A bend in the Hero-King's straw occludes the passing of liquid and he adjusts it, fiddling with the angle for a few seconds in correction, before returning to the conversation at hand as if nothing had occurred.

Slurp. Sip. Sluuuuurp.