#liegebound

[enarmor]

“ Sain. ”  The greeting is as it perhaps always is, but there is something slightly different to Kent's mood today. It is a bit embarrassed, a bit more lenient, perhaps a bit more lax, as he announces his reason for looking for him today.  “ Today's the Winter Festival. I hope you are keeping yourself out of trouble lately? ”

Not that he ever needed a reason to see the man. His question is filler, a way to allow himself to figure out the motions of conversing because he trusts Sain to pick up his slack. Some things take time. Some things take experience.

This one takes Sain's kindness, and for as much as Kent might exasperate himself looking over his fellow cavalier, he thinks the other man is just as patient with him in his own way as he always has been.

“ Stay out of trouble, and I might very well keep getting you gifts for seasons like these. ”  A fib, for he would still do it regardless.  “ ...It's been a while since we've last celebrated a holiday together, hasn't it? ”

He hands the man his gift in a bid to cover up his waxing nostalgic, mourning that it was the truth at all.  “ You're free to open it now, if you wish. ”

Underneath wrapping paper is a sleek box and inside is a small pocketwatch, chain and all. Its outer face bears the design of roses.

“ I don't think I need to tell you why I gave you this. ”  It's an exercise in keeping the man on a leash, in trying to train him to be more punctual and responsible as per usual, but...  “ ...However, I suppose I can confess that there's more to it than whatever you're thinking. ”

It's at that point Kent pulls out a similar pocketwatch out of his own outfit, holding it up for his other half to see.

“ You seemed keen to match when you first arrived here. So I also... ”

The pocketwatch Kent holds is not exactly the same. Instead of roses, his bears a design of lilies, but it's undeniable from even just a spare glance that the two were twins made by the same craftsperson.

Just the thought of it makes the Shield grow a bit more crimson in the tips of his ears.

“ ...Nevermind. I need not explain myself! ”

And he puts away his matching item, lest his embarrassment make itself any louder...

"Kent!" answers the Lance, his hand shooting up to the back of his head in tandem with him turning around. Instantly he's on his feet, trying to cover up what he had been fiddling around with before Kent arrived. The man speaks of 'trouble', which seems to make him skittish. Could there have been something sinister brewing?

He isn't the least bit surprised by Kent's gift--and on the contrary, had come to expect it--but the delivery throws him off. His shoulders slump and a frown quivers on his lips. To imagine the two of them, them, missing a holiday together... It's almost pathetic. That they missed a few, that it's been a while, stings worse. Sain finds himself wishing he could shake his younger self before he resigned from Ostia, that he could slap his face in the direction of Kent and show him what he would lose.

But the Shield continues, sort of stumbling his way through conversation as he normally does. He mentions a gift, and Sain sticks out his hand to receive it. The wrapping peels off very slowly, betraying the rip-and-tear one might expect from the roguish cavalier. This was touched by his partner's hand, though, and that makes it special. Special enough to want to keep it intact until it begins to rot.

"Ah, Kent..."

Once the lid pops off and the watch enters his grasp, he is overcome with emotion. Sain, after a moment of quiet, starts drowning in his own tears. They only wet his eyes like a soft and damp rag touching dabbing them down, but they feel like so much more. A torrent against a ship's hull, a storm over garden roses, a tidal wave dragging starfish back to sea. And Sain, too, feels like he's being dragged back. Back into the past, back into memories of Kent. It's almost like he could turn back the hands of his clock and he'd be there, and he'd see Kent too.

He's hardly being realistic.

But maybe that's not the point. Looking at his watch, and then its sister, and then his soul and then Kent's soul, Sain thinks he understands. Their days tick by the same second's hand. They'll never live a moment out of sync. They watch the turn of the same hour's hand, so no more will there be any 'while's where they haven't done this or anything else. And when they call for one another, when one says "I'll meet you in five," those are five ticks of the same minute's hand. They'll know exactly what the other means to say.

Sort of like now, how Sain knows that Kent means to say he wants them operating on this same rhythm. "...You always were kind of awful with words, weren't you?" he laughs, wiping his tears away as his umbrella of a smile opens over his mouth.

"You don't need to explain anything to me."

He reads his partner's intent to swallow the humiliation of this encounter, but dredges it back out of him by pulling him into a tight hug. It constricts his back, presses his chest, and lingers a few seconds longer than it should. There's a slight tremble as he pulls away.

Once he's finished, he gives the other a pat on the shoulder and a damp smile, and focuses back on what he was doing before his Shield arrived.

"Good timing, though! I've got something for you." Scooping one of two bundles off the bar table, he hands it off. "From now on, we're writing to each other! No more losing contact, no matter the distance."

He waits for Kent's gift to be opened first, then tears the wrapping off his and holds their sets together. They are each a stack of calligraphy papers and matching pens: red for Kent, green for Sain. The parchment, in addition to its color, sports a floral scent. This is the gift of space, where Kent had given him time. Now that their hearts beat as one and time won't keep them apart, the space between them will prove to be trivial. No matter where in the world they wind up, their letters will arrive--kept on-schedule by their matching pocket watches.

"Happy Winter Festival, partner... Let's never miss another one again."

[allegreta]

heilmittel

[princessmacedon]

“ Ah! Lady Maria! It does me well to see you again, ”  Kent beams as he addresses the young redhead.  “ I actually have a present prepared for you for the Winter Festival, if you would be so willing to accept it. ”

A large wrapped box passes from his hands to hers. Upon unwrapping it, it would be revealed to be a huge set of various thread and ribbons all of different colors, full enough to complete the rainbow and then some.

“ Seeing as you seemed so pleased to do embroidery work multiple times in the past, I thought it a hobby of yours, so I wished to help procure you some supplies for it. I am sure you have a great many things you might wish to give or some fine work you would like to practice. I shall hope this shall suffice to give you the opportunity for either case then. ”

“Hello, Ser!” And she beams back as she replies in kind, eyes narrowed at him in happiness as she accepts the box without a second thought — truly without a second thought, for it is the beat after his words that her eyes drop down, blinking with a sort of awe as she realizes what it is.

Oh, but it is the excited sort — the sort that draws her eyes clear and round, that crinkles at their corners and shimmers at its center, that glitters with anticipation — all the ‘really truly’s and the ‘what could it possibly be’s!— and her mouth drops into a little ‘o’ before clacking shut, bared with pearly whites and laughter. Hoisting the box up higher, the little princess lays her cheek against its top, hugging the gift with affection.

“Wow…! Heehee… Thank you, Ser — I love it!” A statement honest and true for the simple fact of who gifted it, or that it exists at all.

Of course, she is delighted when she opens it, eyes all moon-roundness and new inspirations bright as the sun. Fingertips glide over spools of thread and colors beyond counting (or, well, countable but no less plentiful and delightful for it), and when she smiles yet again, there is a tautness to the corners of her mouth— appreciative… if also touched.

“Thank you…! I’m really, really happy, hee hee… Happy Winter Festival to you too, Ser!” At that, she presses a finger against her lips, a secret to cleave her grin in twain. “Something is a little late… so you’ll just have to look forward to it, okay? Heeheehee!”

(Some few days later she will stop by his office between classes, a package delivered with a smile and wave; if he is to open it, he will find a modest collection of tea blends with cards accompanying each tin — most notably, there is a blend from Macedon (complete with a happily-chattered story about wyverns and the sky) and another most carefully picked…)

(And, neatly folded in the corner, a white handkerchief trimmed with warm and sunny gold, the boughs of an apple tree embroidered into its southern corners.)

[brokenelm]

baklava - does your muse believe in true love? soulmates?

love headcanons || not accepting

True love? Soulmates??? Pitiful. Weak ideas that save no lives. True love didn't stop Askr and Embla from falling. Soulmates didn't stop Hel's army, nor did it prevent her deal with the goddess of death. Love is death. If true love had the power to pull off the miracles it supposedly did in stories, then why had it not helped her? Was she loveless? Did she have no soulmate?

No, the only bond she had now, the only one she cared about, was Líf. If their bond could be called "love", Thrasir didn't care to think about. Was it "true love"? Absolutely not. It was a bond forged in blood. In being the sole "survivors."

Veronica might have once called that being "soulmates," a bond closer than any others, the wistful dreamer she pretended not to be.

[swiftscion]

hoist the flag! 

She had a feeling something would be waiting for her, all the way up, up, up the never-ending tower. 

The gentle breeze in her hair felt too... Calm. Too serene. Like it lacked the dangerous edge of battle--the whipping gale that had always blown her through the starry sky she calls life. When she sees Anankos fall and her foes manifest in the open airspace she smirks. Maybe now he’ll understand why they’ve gotta fight: he’d be left plummeting to his death if they didn’t. 

“Sparagmos!”

That word spurs her to action, giving rise to the insatiable urge to leap from the tower and soar with everything she’s got. It is as she always dreamed! She floats without difficulty, glides with stellar grace. She is finally a literal comet in orbit, lapping the general once, twice, thrice, as she finds an opening for an attack. Never have Larcei’s feet left the ground, but their trained agility make her a natural at maneuvering this warzone. Though they stop when the Agarthan raises her hand, and the tears begin to grow wide with murderous intent...! 

Agarthan General uses Quake! Roll 1d20+4 = 22, hit! -2 HP; Larcei 7/10 HP

Cracks in reality open and shoot toward Larcei like lightning, piercing through her arm and ripping apart some of the flesh as it dances between entering and exiting the dream. It hurts more than she can even fathom, but the pain is fleeting, for the attack reveals itself not to be aimed at her, but the tower. 

Forces collide, and the gargantuan stone structure shakes upon its foundations. Stairs snap under the shearing force, bricks come loose and fall an unlimited distance before hitting the ground. It trembles and quakes, rips and folds, until its stony vanguard gives in and it begins to topple. It is a symphony of destruction, and the orchestra still stands on its crumbling crown. 

Larcei watches in horror as their arena succumbs to being bulldozed, and she can think of only one thing to save them, “Jump now! If you wanna live!!”

And it falls. Her eyes squint shut during the closing act, praying to Shining Od or whatever god would hear her in this dream, that they would be alright. Edward and Anankos need to see her get revenge. Kent needs to be there to praise her for her efforts. Edain has promised to take care of her and Laslow... She hopes he got his leg caught. 

But there’s no time for words now, only action. Larcei whizzes around the general for the fourth and last time, her rage disallowing her from focusing on the other body. “You!” she spits, “You’re gonna regret that!” And in she goes, crossing her elbows over her face so she can dive at the woman like a falcon.

Larcei uses Steal! Roll 1d20+2 = 11, +1 Javelin of Light

When they collide, no weapon is drawn. Rather, Larcei sticks her hands into the ugly mug of her assailant, clawing at her nose and mouth, trying to stick her hands into her eyeballs. But as any militant would, the woman resists. She drops her guard to try to push Larcei off, and its during this struggle that she catches a glimpse of the weapon at her belt.

So she swipes it. In one fluid motion her right elbow comes crashing into the enemy’s jaw, and her left hand sticks to the piece of artillery hanging from her hip. How either of them manage to lift it is beyond explanation, but the simple fact remains that Larcei makes off with it, and it remains in her hands now--safe from those who would use it for harm. 

“Hope you’re watching, Ed. I managed to grab one this time.” 

RALLY: @liegebound @anankelotus @maligknightsthorns @ulirblood @sacaeblade @virtuoustyrfing

[ephemeralove]

eclair - do they want to one day be married?

honestly, katarina's never really considered that she could get married DSHHSDGHSD it just seems to her a foregone conclusion that she won't. she generally considers herself unremarkable at best and lacking in most regards, so the idea someone would choose her-- choose her-- seems foreign, almost laughable.

not to mention at this point in her life she can't imagine herself committing to someone, especially someone who isn't from archanea. the current form of her atonement is not only serving marth, but serving his ideals as well (should the worst scenario come to pass, but in general she hopes to die well before he does) -- therefore, she can't leave archanea permanently, and she would never dare to ask someone to come with her... which leaves it up to any hypothetical non-archanean partners to volunteer to leave their whole life behind for her. that's unfair, isn't it?

what's more is that her atonement doesn't exactly have an 'ending,' or should she measure the value of every life she took in years? every sin? she places herself below her own penitence, and she also... doesn't have a lot of experience with strong bonds? she's not sure she'll make the right choices where it matters, the selfish ones where she can and should -- doesn't know if she can make someone happy and doesn't think she has any business worrying over this when it's not going to happen. she'd rather focus on improving herself as a tool at marth's disposal

...but, if we're being totally honest, then marriage-- as the idea of committing herself to someone and being with them, belonging with that someone-- really does appeal to her. she would like it; she just thinks it's out of reach and nothing to do with her

[nabataprophet]

“ Good day, Priestess Sophia!”  the Crimson Shield calls out to her with a small salute. His hands bear several band-aids wrapped around his fingertips, a fact she would be able to notice as he offers her a gift for the holiday season.  “ And this is for you for the Winter Festival. ”

It turns out to be a small hand-sewn protection charm. It is a bit crudely made, lacking any artistic sense, but it is still put together and complete if nothing else, not at risk of falling apart anytime soon.

“ ... As is probably obvious, I made that myself. I thought it would be best to put my best foot forward in exchange for the work you put towards your community and the talisman you gave me some time ago now, but my talents... are decidedly not in this area. But nonetheless, I have finished it and tried my best! ”  Perhaps it is bizarre to see a grown man appeal to a younger looking girl this way, but Kent does not speak with shame for that reason. No, if he holds any shame, it is solely in his incompetence for the more delicate crafts in life.  “ I chose the image of a fox given that they are cunning. There are many physical dangers in this life that could be prevented with a bit of foresight and careful planning after all! ”

She hears Kent far before she registers the shock of orange hair standing before her. He salutes her, to which she responds with a stilted nod.

"Professor. Happy... Winter Festival."

She accepts the gift without fuss. From that time twenty-some odd years ago until now, they had exchanged charms and talismans several times now, so another one is easy to accept.

The one in her hands now is... charmingly homemade. It looks a bit like something Fae would have made for her, but much more securely stitched. From the way it is put together and his apology, she gets the sense that his sensibilities lie more in the utilitarian.

Had he not verbally described the decoration as a fox, she honestly isn't sure she would have guessed it. His craftsmanship (or lack thereof) isn't entirely at fault, though, because she isn't entirely sure she has ever actually seen a fox in real life. They probably... look something like this. No, seeing his hands in such a state, they definitely must look something like this. He must have given it his all trying to recreate the beast to the best of his ability.

Violet eyes glance down at the orange embroidery and then back up at Kent's orange hair.

He must be fond of the color, she supposes.

"...Thank you. It's very cute."

[making-dough]

“ Good day, Farina! I've been looking for you, ”  Kent greets her, jogging up to her before giving her a prim little bow.  “ Happy birthday. It's not much, as I can't say I knew what to give you on short notice, but... If it's not against your tastes, here you are then. ”

He hands her a good bottle of spirits wrapped up in a basket. Alongside it are a few treats for Murphy.

“ Same for your pegasus... I figured based on my previous experiences with him, he might feel left out. Regardless, I won't be on your case today. Do enjoy yourself. And if you're amenable to it... ”  This next part comes out a bit more awkwardly.  “ I should like to better learn what your preferences are some day. If for nothing else but to be better at giving you a gift like this... ” 

He clears his throat.

“ That is all! ” 

♠ - Birthdays for Farina did tend to be a bit of a lonesome affair. Relatively speaking, anyway. Which, in fairness, was partly her fault. She was the one who had a temper tantrum and made herself address-unknown, after all. Not that she'd ever admit to that, though. Which why her birthdays tended to be spent undeclared, in crowded pubs and with a lot of booze. It certainly beat sad, lonely and hugging her pegasus.

Either way, that side of her life was never really the sort of thing that it had felt right sharing with her co-workers. Much less for a certain red-head to catch wind of it. So imagine her surprise when Kent comes up to her with a birthday wish and a bottle of spirits. "I, uh, I don't know what to say.", Farina muttered, awkwardly scratching her cheek. "But thanks?" It was less a question of tastes but trying to figure out what his ulterior motives for the gift might have been...and honestly, she couldn't really find one. Well, none that made any sense, anyway.

... Maybe she really is just too guarded from those nobles. It's not like he really needed to buy her loyalty or anything. Even less with him being less on her case 'today'. Was she going to need to expect some extra hen-pecking tomorrow? Nah, that's too cynical, even for her. She waved her hands in receipt of the gift. Well, as much as she could while holding a bottle of wine, anyway. "Nah. This will do. I, uh, wasn't really expecting a gift." Not even on her birthday. Which was pretty pitifully lonesome, even for her. Well, he did ask for her preferences so...starting herself on fixing that would be a start? "Well, if you're asking...", she grinned teasingly. "You can come with me down to the stables and help me feed Murph. Oh, and I can help you feed your Helena too." Were the stables for the regular horses fairly close by? They must be, right? It's not like the dietary or stabling needs between horses and pegasi were that much different, right? Well, aside from pegasi being that much more 'nobler' and needing to account for the wings, anyway.

[nagaficat]

“ Lady Deirdre, a very merry Winter Festival to you. ”  He bows in greeting to her upon the day before he pulls out a decently-sized wrapped gift box for her.  “ If I may be so bold, I have prepared you a gift for the season. I do hope it is to your taste. ”

And from his hands into her hands it goes. Upon opening it, Deirdre would discover it to be a collection of various floral cutting tools.

“ I had assumed based on your own gift to me for my birthday last year that you had a penchant for arranging bouquets for others. I hadn't realized how much equipment goes into it, however... ”  From branch cutters to ribbon shears to floral scissors, he could barely remember how to identify which tool was which, unused to the craft even now.  “ I've been told that they all have their specialized uses however to make the art of floral arrangement all the easier and more elegant. I do hope this can be applied to your own pursuits then. ”

"A gift for me, Sir Kent?" It is a happy surprise to receive something from the knight. Deirdre has regarded him dear in her heart but she had not realized how much he cared for her in return. It does not matter what is in the box she accepts from him. The fact that he thought of her at all is more than enough to brighten the twinkle in her eyes.

"You are quite correct, I adore giving flowers as gifts!" She opens the box and her heart soars when she sees what is inside. Everything she could possibly want for turning the flowers she tends into gifts for those she loves. He claims he had not realized how many different tools were needed for the craft and she realizes what this means. He did research into something she cares about.

"Oh, Sir Kent, this is so thoughtful! The greenhouse here has many of these available but not nearly of such a high quality or variety." She sets down the box so she can take his hands and smile up at him. "Yours will be the very first bouquet I put together using them."

She can picture it already. Hydrangeas, chrysanthemums, daisies...flowers to show her gratitude and thanks.

[amiterum]

‧ ₊˚  @liegebound asked:

“ It was not too long ago that I had seen you for your birthday. Do pardon me for preparing you a gift for the Winter Festival too then... ”  Perhaps it was a bit excessive, but while he was preparing gifts for everyone else, it felt unfair to exclude Lady Priscilla merely because her birthday landed so close to the holiday season. No, that wouldn't do! So here he was again, present box in hand, larger than the last.   “ Here you are, ”  he hands it to her, and upon unwrapping the box, she'd find a set of different piping bag tips in there, each creating different shapes with which to pipe with. “ This time I wished to give you something with which you could use. You seemed to put great care into the decorations of the confection you gave me last time, so I sought something that could increase your repertoire. I do hope you find them useful in your baking endeavours consequently. And, ah, before I forget: a happy holiday to you, Lady Priscilla! ”

This time, she's prepared.

"How generous..." Her eyes glitter as she accepts the box, but she makes no move to open it just yet. Instead she tucks it beneath one arm, freeing a hand to rummage around in the basket draped over the other. From it, Priscilla produces a package not unlike the last she had given him. This time it is wrapped in a much more festive crimson, an outlier amongst her other parcels of glittering gold and silver. "For the holiday and my gratitude both."

And within it rest three tarts; one topped with carefully drizzled with honey, another in a fine dusting of powdered sugar, and the third with pale pink petals. The prettiest of the season's batch, hand selected for none other than him.

Only once her offering has changed hands does Priscilla begin the work of opening her own gift. It's a delicate process, handled with the utmost care so as not to tear even a corner of its wrappings. And once they have fallen away, she cannot suppress her smile.

"I will most certainly make good use of these." Already, she can imagine a hundred ways to do so-- Kent will certainly be among the first to find a sampling of her newest experiments. "Thank you, Sir Kent... Happy holidays."

[renaisguy]

“ Ah! There you are. ”  Kent approaches the man, carrying with him a veritable amount of presents. From his stash he pulls out not a gift box but instead a small key attached to a chain and hands it off to him.  “ Consider this both as a present for the holiday season and as thanks for helping me sort out that business with the graverobber. In the kitchens, there's a lockbox with a tub of ice cream I had left behind for you. It's been spelled to allow it to remain cold. ”

In the need to ration out the food, it wasn't nearly as much as he would have liked to set out as a reward for someone, but... It would have to do.

“ My apologies for not being able to get you something quite the same as the rumors... but I can say I vouch personally for the quality of the ice cream I fetched you! ”  He almost seems... proud of this? His grin is far brighter than anything he wore prior in any case.  “ I hope it suffices as recompense. Feel free to leave the key with the box or in my mailbox once you are done, unless you are keen on making me chase you down myself... ”

He'd hope it wouldn't come to that however.

"Sir Kent!" When he first sees the knight, he's worried he'll be called out on some mission. To his relief (and delight), a gift! "Happy holidays! I'm sorry I don't have anything to give in return."

He takes the key and puts it in his pocket. "I'm sure I'll enjoy it, thank you! Anything would be better than..." he shudders thinking of that man's ice cream. "Well, as long as it's stayed away from any dead bodies, that's a step up." He laughs nervously at his own joke, though it hasn't really landed.

"I'll return the key as soon as I can." He says quickly to change the topic. "Unless... I give it back as your gift next year."

"I'm joking of course."

[enarmor]

✢⁎. goodbyes left unsaid

A pair of clouds cover Kent’s eyes: only, they are not clouds. They are hands, and they smell so strongly of flowers.

“Aha! I knew I felt the presence of a frown!” That’s a familiar voice to him. It chimes like a bell, soaring high above the throat and landing in a way that would make a heart-shaped crater. It is assertive and loud, yet sings of romance and passion. It hitches on green winds, flowing always into the ears of women...

Sain removes his hands. He’s now standing in front of his crimson partner, face lit aflame with excitement. “What a chance encounter that we’d meet again, old friend.” He has orchestrated more of this reunion than he lets on. Hearing of Sir Kent’s departure was the first time Sain felt truly alone in life. Without him or Lady Lyndis or the rest of the legion, he was a wandering scoundrel left to his own devices. He is something Sain has sought out, traveled across the land and sea to finally reunite with. When the newly dubbed knight scoured the list of monastery staff he didn’t just pay attention to the women. He read each and every male name, hoping to find one in particular: Kent. 

And he’s a professor now! Truly something his older and wiser companion ought to applaud him for. But Sain saved the revelry for when he’d find him in person. Knowing how he likes to prepare sooner rather than later, he expected Kent to be out shopping for the effects he’d bring to the Ethereal Ball. The rest didn’t take long: walk ‘till you see a head of amber hair, listen for his voice amongst the crowd. Visit any shop that boasts a reputation for selling ‘safe’ products, and ask if he had stopped by. It was only a matter of time until they met, but Sain’s delighted look would have you believe it was fate or destiny. 

“Still without a woman in your arms, though... Don’t tell me, have my lessons truly been for naught?” Reaching to scratch his neck, he makes an anguished cry with his gaping mouth and closed eyelids, but Sain doesn’t mean that. He’s just joking around, trying to turn back the clock with someone he holds dear. He misses Kent so badly that he doesn’t have the time to lament how long they’d been apart; Sain needs their old friendship back, and he needs it now. 

But he doesn’t have to open his eyes to know his joke won’t land. “I jest, I jest!” he hollers, waving across the space between them, “Truly, it’s great to see you again.” 

“What say you to doing a little shopping with your partner? The village girls have been telling me all about this Ethereal Ball coming up, so I thought we ought to pick some matching outfits!” 

Caelin’s knights are infamous for their poor taste in fashion, but surely, by putting their two heads together Sain and Kent can conquer anything; two wrongs most certainly will make a right!

//starter for @liegebound

[carefreemonk]

♡ azama curveball

[ kiddo meme // still accepting across all 3 ]

A daddy's girl to both her dads--

and that's because when she's being mischievous, she's not getting caught. Not quite so rude and crude as Azama, nor quite so uptight as Kent (sorry kent) --

Probably asked to learn the lance specifically from Uncle Sain to tease them both.

Probably could've gone on to become a real good shrine maiden but left that to Mitama. She'd much rather hit things with a stick instead. Things like bee's nests, or people.

All in all a good kid though. Free-spirited but doesn't hold herself above the law. Has a way with horses.

[damegalantea]

deja nue / team 1 gold round

When she would play saints & elites with her brothers, and then later with the ever competitive heirs to houses Gautier, Fraldalius, and Blaiddyd there was always a tussle over who would be Seiros.

She remembers her oldest brother swinging around a shield, proudly declaring that Ingrid would just have to take on the role of Ceathleann if she was unable to unarm him. The real Seiros could disarm a soldier with naught but her gaze. The real Seiros shone as bright and pure as her gold hair was said to be, and no one cared that she was a warrior but not a man for she was more than that, she was divine.

Garbed in white armor, holding a spell book in one hand and a staff in another Ingrid remembers those days, on how enraptured she had felt the one time she had managed to slip away to see the Opera troupe from Enbarr and heard Seiros speak for the first time, remembers how she had copied the actress’s stance and stage swordplay for weeks on end afterward until her instructor had told her how terribly unrealistic, and unbecoming it all was in reality.

Reality or not, Ingrid finds herself facing the Nue once more and there in the center of battle - the center of the stage - she feels right at home, as if the Goddess herself has placed her here.

“Again, we meet,” Ingrid calls up to the chimera: “have you stopped running? Know by now you cannot win this chase.”

Ingrid peers around her at the comrades she’s come to trust - Leonardo, Kent, Hector, and Sakura, and finds herself grinning. Again and again, they have knit themselves back together - compared to that the Nue’s miracle seems nothing but a parlor trick.

It stares blankly back at her, but Ingrid does not flinch; flips through the unknown spellbook until she feels the Faith strum through her fingers and then flings it the Nue’s way.

Ingrid attacks Nue with Luce. 1d4 roll: 3. Illusion does not proc!

For a moment the Nue shimmers like a heat mirage but then the spell hits with a blast of divine light and pinned there in the air Ingrid feels the magic strike true.

1d20: 8. Hit! (-2HP) Nue’s HP: 48/50. 1d4 roll: 3. Nue reflects all physical damage! Ingrid remains unaffected.

“Now is our chance!” Ingrid calls, excitedly, breaking character for the moment to shout to the others and in that moment the Nue howls: nearly causing Ingrid to drop her book, though she stays upright by leaning on her staff.

Nue counters with Omen. 1d20 roll: 14. Hit! (-2.5HP) Ingrid’s HP: 7.5/10.  Ingrid is inflicted with Void! 

Playing center stage certainly seemed to have its draw backs as well, but nothing she couldn’t handle. “I’m alright,” Ingrid assures, “just, ah, unused to this new toolkit. But, please, let us not falter! Surely this is the last stand!”

> @gentlenekomata@liegebound @braveryinblue @freedomarrow</

[braveryinblue]

Things were perhaps… a bit awkward between him and Lord Hector, but it's undeniable that Lord Hector has taken good care of him, both in battle and in Ostia, and so Kent feels as if it were only right that he prepare a gift for the man this holiday season.

Though Kent didn't know how hosting the Winter Festival Wonder event was going to turn out, it did help him in a very unexpected way: Lord Hector had written down exactly what he wanted for Kent to be able to check and read. He had no way of knowing, however, if his gift might overlap with the person assigned the man… so relying on the responses was tricky business if he did indeed wish to go down that route.

The violently scratched out portions of the Ostian's answers still nags at Kent's brain, but he can't make out the letters no matter how hard he tries. He wishes he could.

In the end, Kent chooses what he thinks to be a safer answer if not an unsatisfactory one, and on the morning of the holiday itself, he leaves behind a wrapped present in front of Hector's dorm room.

A note in Kent's handwriting is included inside the box alongside a deep red bathrobe and matching, comfy house slippers. The note reads:

Happy holidays, Lord Hector. Gifts prepared for the chance you get to have that 'R&R' sometime. If you need a few days off from your classes, I can see what I can arrange with some of your professors to manage it.

It's the least Kent owed the man.

Please enjoy your holiday.

"What the..."

It was in the midst of tidying his room that Hector stumbled across the box, followed by the letter.

" 'Happy holidays' . . ."

Just how old was this, and how in the world had he managed to lose track of it like this? Ignoring the pit of guilt in his gut, Hector turned to the remainder of the letter.

It's...

Thoughtful. Even an oaf like Hector can see that.

"Happy holidays," he mumbles aloud, still stuck on the train of thought. That means... It would have been some time after that shared dream, right? Rusalka, a and the arena, and.

And the bitter ends, plural.

He couldn't afford time off from classes, though the thought was surely kind in intent. If anything, between then and now, all Hector had learned was that he had yet to grow strong enough. Smart enough. Good enough.

Just... enough, for what Ostia required of its keeper.

Fingers reached for the gift itself, the bathrobe and slippers. Red was more Eliwood's colour than his own, he'd always said, usually accompanied by a laugh. But for this... Hector would make an exception.

(The monastery's sauna was the perfect place to put them to use, too -- perhaps especially with all the rumoured scraps taking place there of late.

Ah, he couldn't wait!)

... He'd have to thank the knight-turned-profressor somehow, no matter how belatedly.

[lionsword]

Demon Slayer [Kent, Dimitri, Maria, and Roy]

Unscripted starter for @liegebound @blaydiud @princessmacedon

The forest loomed before them, eerily quiet. Perhaps the tamer wildlife and songbirds had been scared off by whatever lurked within, the concepts of demons shapeless and unsettling in Roy’s mind.

Roll: 3, B12-B15

Roll: 1, no demons

He walked at Sveinn’s side, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. So far, there was nothing but their own footsteps. It almost would have been better if something had leapt out, but they continued on high alert, barely pausing in a clearing to scope out the area and then moving on.

Roy glanced behind him at Lord Kent, Dimitri, and Maria. He gave what he hoped was an encouraging smile, genuinely happy to be with them. This Hunt was to protect them all and the country’s people. It was not just an honor, but a necessity to drive back whatever hoard lurked deeper within.

He turned his attention to Sveinn and Lady Meaghan. He yearned to think the best of her, yet her role as villainess and the sensations of coughing up blood and cold hands small than his resting in his own lingered, souring her jauntiness in their memories together.

Who else could it have been, though? Hm.

Were it not for the tension in the air, it would have been a serene walk thus far.

Roy simply hoped they’d all be walking back out too.