Achronum

Avengers Academy: Junior Year 💥

Danny Kingston

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Location: Framework, BG3
Skills: Pyrokinesis

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Danni blinked as Arcade suddenly changed his tune. How did Beanie know Cadie would wanna go on the straight and narrow so fast? It confused him for a second but he smacked himself in the head. Obviously, she read his mind. He felt a little bad, scaring him so badly. The fire must of really got to him; it was just supposed to be for the drama, but this was for the best he supposed. Danni shook his hand u til the fire sputtered out and he beamed.

“Well, all's well, t'at ends well! We just gotta figure out ‘ow ta turn ‘im in wit’ all t’e adults doin’ silly stuff like expectin’ us ta be in bed after curfew! Anyone gotta number we can call?” Danni asked the group as Diana spoke with Dee. He wasn't certain what was going on there but her need to kill ‘Cadie really just gave him the ick. “Cadie, if ya really wanna be a better person, you do gotta turn yourself in but don't worry! We can be pen pals while you're in jail so you won't be lonely!” Danni offered, ready to continue chattering at their not-prisoner but his attention snapped to April.

He skidded to his knees next to her. “You can breat- Wait, idea! Beanie, Beanie! Make her breath!” Danni waved Sabine over. “Or like, calm ‘er down enough ta let ‘er breath! T'is is a real bad place ta ‘ave t'e water burst.”

Avengers Academy: Junior Year 💥

Danny Kingston

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Location: Framework, BG3
Skills: Pyrokinesis

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Danni hit the floor and stumbled led as he got out of the tank, disoriented and dizzy. What a rollercoaster of a night. “Well, t'at was awful. Who's down for never goin’ in one of t'ese tanks for t’e foreseeable forever?” Danni groaned, rubbing at his eyes and stretching. He blinked as he saw everyone circling Arcade and skipped over to join in the fun.

“Aw come on, guys!! We're ‘eros and ‘eros don't kill ‘cause t'ey can, only when t'ey need. What kinda ‘eros are we if we stoop ta ‘is level? Terrible ones really. ‘Ow are peeps gunna trust us, want us ta come ‘elp t'em when shit ‘it's t'e fan?” Danni rallied behind Dorian, skipping right up next to their first villian and throwing his arm over Ed’s shoulders. “Look at ‘im. Shakin’ like a leaf, ‘e's so scared. ‘Ave some pity on somet'in’ as pat’etic as t'is.”

With a flick of the wrist closest to Ed's face, flames flickered to life in his palm. “Well, w'atcha t'ink Cadie? T'ink ya can behave til t'e coppers get ‘ere?” Danni asked cheerily, the fire a clear and present threat.

Avengers Academy: Junior Year 💥

Danny Kingston

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Location: Framework, BG3
Skills: Pyrokinesis

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“Well, dat just seems a little wierd, don't it? ‘ow did they cram poor little Zari in t'is tiny t'in’? I ‘ope she doesn't ‘ave clautir- claustrie- clausdri- t'at fear of small places, ‘owever you say it. Maybe t'at's why Arci put ‘rr in t'ere! We gotta get ‘er ta a quack like, right after all t'is ‘cause it can't be good for your noggin ta be squeezed into an itty, bitty living space. Ya thinking shas'as cosmic pow-”

Danni nearly vomited as overwhelming pain had him doubling over and crashing to his knees. Death wasn't a foreign concept to him. His papa could talk to the dead, his uncle was a ghost for years ‘til the rents brought him back to life, but he'd never faced it up close and personal, never experienced it. He couldn't tell if he was screaming, crying, or just gasping for breath, all he could think about was the pain. All he could think about was everything he couldn’t do, they couldn't do. Everyone was going to die.

The pain brought spots to his eyes, the edges already going, but still he could see the bright flickers of fire. His control was thin normally, down right gone in emotional situations, but he tried. God, he tried. Through the pain, he tried to grab everything but he could feel the fire slipping free.

Hopefully, he died before he exploded.

Roll Request

Pyrokenisis rolls to keep his fire from hurting as many people as he can

Avengers Academy: Junior Year 💥

Danny Kingston

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Location: Framework, BG3
Skills: Pyrokinesis

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“Well, damn Spicy, be t'at way. Just double down wit’ t'e Daniel shit why don'tcha.” Danni grumbled, pouting at Percy’s absolute refusal. “Come oooon. Diana, don'tcha t'ink ‘e should give me a nickname? ‘e's a smart kid he'e could probs t'ink of a good one! T'ough I guess I ‘aven't t'ought of one for you but t'at's cause we don't ‘ang out very much so I don't ‘ave a lot ta go on. And we don't wanna use t'e whole bow and arrow shtick, overused, underwhelmin’. Could we… maybe…” Danni snapped out of his thoughts as Mads took a nasty fireball again.

“I'm very glad t'at everyone ‘as big plans ta get out, but can we maybe put t'is into action? Manifest t'is t'rough more extreme violence maybe?” Danni suggested, his disappointment with Percy and need to nickname Diana forgotten as he whirled fire in his hands again and sent it hurtling at the cultist dead fucking set on killing Mads. “Also, again come on. It's not fair t'rowin’ fire at people who can't t’row it back. Come pick on someone wit’ your own skill set!” Danni stuck his tongue out at the dead cultist, only to go cross eyed as he tried to look at his tongue. Did dragons have normal tongues? Or did they have like, snake tongues? Or was it rough like a cat's?

Unfortunately, his futile attempts to figure that out would have to wait. Leah’s prying open a pod and Danni cheered in delight as a familiar voice popped up. “Mai? OMG Mai! You vanish off t'e face of t'e Earth and t'en you come ‘ere ta help us? Talk ‘bout mixed signals!” Danni as rambunctious as he was, still wasn’t able to get to her faster that Percy and he let out an audible gasp as Percy clocked her. “Wtf, Spicy?! It's Mai! Why'd- What- See, t'is is why it's a good nickname! T'is exact kinda bullshit is what I'd t'ink of when I heard someone was spicy. Did you kill ‘er? Is she dead? Wake up Mai!” Danni skidded to a halt next to her and dropped to his knees, flashbacks of a velvet jacket making him nervous to touch and so his hands just hovered nervously over her.

Avengers Academy: Junior Year 💥

Danny Kingston

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Location: Framework, BG3
Skills: Pyrokinesis

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“Oye, what t'e ‘eck is wit’ t'is Daniel nonsense? Who in t'is whole damn school calls me t'at? I'm Danni. Everybody calls me Danni, I introduce myself as Danni, I post Danni on everyt'in’. When ‘ave you ever ‘eard me use Daniel? It doesn't fit my vibe at all!” Danni complained. Only Pops used Daniel and that was when Danni knew he was in trouble. Or maybe…

“Wait, Spicy. Were you tryin’ ta give me a nickname? Aw, t’at's so sweet! You were a little off t’o. Like, I get t'e attempt, I go by Danni so Daniel is like a funny little reversal, but ‘oney, we gotta go in a different direction.” Danni flashed Diana a thumbs up as she turned down his offer. Her loss really. “You know, you gotta give me one t'at really sits well wit’ a major part of me, ya know? A defining feature. And please, please stop gettin’ ‘it. Dee's gunna kill me if ya lose- OMFG LEAH!”

Danni watched the knife sink into Leah, Leah's health plummet, and her eventual respawn trigger. He could already feel it. Months without running water. Product drying out. Acne flair ups from excessive junk food binges.

“Okay, new rule, new ru- Oye!” Danni ducked under a face full of fire where a cultist took advantage of his distraction. Danni conjured two fist fulls of his own. “I. Am. Talking.” Danni snapped, spiking both handfuls of fire into the cultists chest and sticking his tongue out as the copycat collapsed. “I do it better. Anyways, as I was saying, new rule: No more dyin' please. If Diana dies, Spicy is goin’ ta be upsetti spaghetti. If Leah dies, Princess is gunna be real sad and Beanie is gunna go on a war path and I don't know if I'll be safe from it. If Spicy dies, Dee is gunna murder me and t'en come find my ghost and cry about how sad ‘e is ‘is boyfriend died. If Mads dies, I'mma cry for months and I'm an ugly crier so please, let's just not get stabbed or burned anymore.”

held roll

Idk if I can do this as a reaction but if a cultist tries to use fireball again, I want to try and make it explode in their hand before they throw it with Pyrokenisis.

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

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Clarissa and Nate’s Wild Ride

Nathanael Gloucester

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“Thank you.” Clarissa led the way out of the classroom. She'd spied the verdant sitting areas off the Reception Hall though she hadn't the time to walk them yet and this would afford her two birds with one stone. Still, she paused and nearly reconsidered. The Archbishop stood watching the commotion as students poured out. Saints above, she wanted to talk with him. The opportunity to meet with the closest person to the Goddess and hear his thoughts on the affairs of the world was not afforded to everyone, but she had a goal and that was keeping their House stable, if not peaceful. Hopefully, The Archbishop would still be available after she concluded her business with Nathanael.

“Can we expect more muttered insults and daggers hidden in poignant pauses? I can't imagine you'll find that enjoyable a few weeks into the year.” Clarissa cut straight to the issue as they crossed from the classrooms into the Reception Hall, and then again out into the verdant open space on the other side. “Jorah is an unorthodox choice for his position, but that was out of his hands. I'm not certain what he's done to deserve your vitriol. Is there some shared history I'm unaware of?”

Brass tacks was the strategy, it seemed. It was not unsurprising, nor unwarranted. Nathanael kept his gaze trained ahead, face devoid of expression. He mulled over the possible ways to play this. A simple apology could suffice, or perhaps a deflection? The truth was too unremarkable to be a viable strategy. Unless…

“I slept poorly last evening.”

Nathanael’s expression shifted slightly. A small grin. The compulsion was still in effect. A rule was learned, though the method by which he was unable to lie remained unknown. Perhaps this was something he would have to deal with while on the school grounds. It would be an unfortunate curse to live with, but one that could be exploited. His face returned to its former, stoic expression, as he looked back to Clarissa. “I… have been stressed. Seeing the daughter of the man who killed my father has been taxing. And my harshness towards Jorah is a reflection of my disappointment in this institution. It’s faculty act with an immaturity that is disheartening, and their decision to name Jorah the leader of our House here, even if political, seems systemic of poor leadership at this academy at large.” He took a deep breath. The truth felt taxing, or was it any prolonged speech. He had not spoken this many words to a person in ages, often opting for efficiency. But, he delved to offer more. “I hope to be disproven. I do not want my time here to be a waste.”

“I will admit I am not fond of the decision to elevate Jorah to House Leader; I wanted the role and while I understand why they wouldn't choose me, a significant portion of my own irritation stems from the fact that Jorah doesn't like these positions. Everyone knows he prefers to follow his whimsy and drift with the tide, but we aren't here to settle back into our typical roles. We're here to learn and grow as people and leaders and relegating Jorah to class clown wouldn't have given him that opportunity, nor would it given the rest of us an opportunity to experience following an inexperienced leader. But Jorah has my full support and I hope that if you don't yet trust him, you will at least trust that I will be at his side when he needs a helping hand. The Leicester Alliance isn't a monarchy for a reason; we cherish our differences and find strength in supporting each other to be greater than the sum of our parts. We need only apply that founding principle here and rather than engaging in decisive action so that we rise above any challenge this year may throw our way.” Clarissa offered him a sympathetic smile afterwards.

“Of course, I would not ask you to forget or forgive the tragedy that took your father from you. It was awful that happened and you certainly didn't deserve to be bereft of him, but I simply ask for the tiniest smidgen of tolerance. Just enough to ignore Isolde if that's what you need; a school and a church are no place to aggravate the wounds of you and the girl who had no knowledge of her father’s horrific decision. However, if the sleeplessness or the stress of daily interaction becomes too much, I am always willing to offer you some respite with tea and a decent book, if you find yourself needing to hide away for a bit.”

Nathanael’s expression remained stoic. “I understand your position, Clarissa. And I will do my best not to taint relations between my classmates any further.” He paused, his knuckles growing white at his side as he gripped his book tighter. “I believe there is some wisdom in your estimation of Jorah’s appointment. I have greater faith in you, and if you wish to fully support Jorah in his role, then I will follow suit.” His grip lessened. He did not like having to be so careful with his words.

“I do not necessarily agree with your understanding of the principles of the Alliance, though. There is strength in separating out territory and dividing it among autonomous rulers, and strength in an understanding of mutual protection as opposed to establishing a central authority through which all action and rule must divert from. But the Alliance is no stronger than the sum of its parts due to differences: that doesn’t make sense.” His voice was plain and boorish, akin to an auditory reading of a textbook rather than his own thoughts. He turned his gaze briefly towards Clarissa when he was finished.

“Thank you, Nathanael. I'll do right by your trust.” Clarissa offered him a sincere smile when he looked at her. “Perhaps difference is the wrong perspective, but rather it's diversity. Our government is a stage for success, but a stage doesn't do anything. Assembled in a market square, a stage is empty and barren. It's just needless clutter. But when the players take the stage, it becomes a limitless place where miracles and horrors beyond our imagination are possible. It's the same as the Alliance. Our treaties, structures, and laws are pointless without the people they are intended to serve. We exist to foster a nation where the hope and imagination of our people grow without obstacles, unfettered and free, and it is this hope that creates the spirit of the Alliance. It is that spirit in your soldiers who defend the southern border and your farmers who till the land sunrise to sunset, in the soldiers of the Goneril’s defeating wave after wave of Almyran invaders, in the master artisans we provide to others for their talents in architecture and defense, and it is in the coin and foreign goods brought in by Reigan ports which promote innovation from places unknown. It is this spirit which makes us greater than dusty history books or faded maps can capture, that makes us greater than the sum of our parts, and it is our duty to ensure we continue with progress rather than stamping it down beneath the demands of tradition.” She had stopped in their walk at one point, her focus entirely on Nathanael. She snapped her fingers at the end, excitement at a sudden realization.

“Oh! I can't expect you to understand without experiencing it! Would you care to come to Edmund after this year? You can come see the spirit of the Alliance up close and personal for a bit!” Clarissa offered eagerly, clapping him on the shoulder. “And I doubt all of my people know what you look like on sight, so we can simply introduce you as my friend if you were uncomfortable carrying your title in a different territory.”

Nate raised an eyebrow. Clarissa did have a gravitas to her that even he was not immune to. His mind wanted to poke holes in her logic, but the spirit of her words were enough to keep even him silent. Her offer, however, was rather shocking and confusing. He lifted his book to his chest, holding it close to guard himself. If she was under the same compulsions as him, then all of her words had to be true. There was room in her words for unsaid deceit, perhaps. She didn’t say she wasn’t luring him to her territory so she could gut him. It wasn’t in her nature, from what he had seen. No… no she was a more terrifying beast altogether: an optimist. He mulled over her words for a moment, before letting a sigh escape his lips. “I am interested in getting better clarity on what you mean. If a trip to Edmund would provide that clarity, then I suppose I can set aside my nerves for a time to see it done.”

“Excellent. I look forward to your visit when our time here is done.” Clarissa paused as their short walk brought them back around to the Reception Hall. “Now, I must beg for your leave. I spied the Archbishop on our way out and I cannot pass up this opportunity to speak with him while he has the time. It was an insightful conversation, Nathanael, and I hope we can make your time here worthwhile.” She offered him a courtesy and briskly walked back to the classrooms.

Clarissa halted halfway to the Archbishop. A frown and a sigh escaped as the bells rang. She’d spent too much time chatting with Nathanael and she missed her chance. Still, she permitted herself a moment to bask in the tolling of the bells. Hearing them was always a comfort, like a brief moment of sunshine on days the cold seeped wet and bitter deep into the bones. The sound drew her attention skywards. Her frown turned into a small smile, personal and warm. As a child, she always imagined the voice of the Goddess whispering in the bells of her church. It was a comforting belief and despite having put that away as a childish fantasy, the security and relief it provided still kept back in. Now, she heard it as the soul of the church, an extension of everything it stood to offer those who needed it most, a moment of respite in the chaos and confusion of the everyday.

She only lingered a moment though. The blond Professor shouting through the courtyard gave them their directions. Clarissa took a moment to consult the paper the Professor had left available for them and she barely resisted rolling her eyes. A significant portion of the future leaders of Fodlan were neatly crammed into one Unit. Whoever placed them together certainly wasn’t playing a subtle game; although, Clarissa agreed - the connections and bonds they forged here could only help raise Fodlan to greater heights. She just didn’t like being slammed together like dolls in the hands of a five year old. She spied Jorah heading into the correct classroom and briskly followed.

Clarissa listened to Lysander with rapt attention. She wasn’t off the mark. Lysander did want them to break tradition and connect more closely than they had in previous years. The solemnity he opened class with struck her and she could help mulling over what he meant. This impending discord and instability he believed they would face… Fodlan faced concerns at every corner, from the plots of vengeance and power grabs within the political landscape of every nation to plague or famine when the weather turned against them. What storm clouds had the Church seen darkening the horizon that they felt the need to point them out so vaguely? Still, she strongly agreed on one point: the time for tradition was over. As they entered a new era, they would have to adapt, grow, and shed the trappings of yesterday for the sake of the future. And if the Church believed something devastating was coming, then she would stand with their judgment.

Though, she wondered why the Archbishop felt the need to organize this Unit personally. If fostering unity between the nation was the Professor’s goal, it made sense to put anyone who would have even the slightest impact on national policy in the same Unit. Why did the Archbishop feel it necessary to involve himself in an easy task? The question bothered her but she’d put it aside for now. She’d ask Professor Roland after class.

The other professors proved an interesting collection. While she didn’t get much other than an obvious distaste for being here from Professor Malathice, she certainly agreed with his sentiments aboutProcessor Michail. Boisterous and sophomoric, she would prefer to impale herself on her own sword than have to deal with a second Jorah. She loved him to death, but he was a handful. Having another, who was in charge of her education and activities for the next year, already threatened a vengeful headache and a worse mood.

And when Jorah jumped onto the bench, she knew this was going to be a long year. It took everything in her not to slug him in the leg, but that would turn this into an even worse spectacle so she instead just seethed. He’d get the message, not that he'd care, but the second this was over, she was going to give him the talking to of his life. She sighed and stood, smoothing her skirt to collect her thoughts after Jorah’s circus act.

“Clarissa von Edmund, heiress to the Margravate of Edmund of the Leicester Alliance. I enjoy horseback riding, sailing, scripture reading, and engaging conversation over evening tea, but I loathe liars and the indecisive. Whatever distressed our Professor, the Goddess has put us all here for a reason. I am honored to have the opportunity to grow into those expectations with all of you and look forward to what greatness we can all achieve in the future.” Clarissa bowed her head and curtsied as she finished, settling back into her seat and subtly kicking Jorah in the shin for looking like the cat that got the cream.

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

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Clarissa commended herself for her restraint; the light in Jorah’s eyes as he realized Oskar was in attendance spelled trouble for the foreseeable future and made her want to introduce her face to the nearest solid object. Repeatedly. It would probably hurt less than the migraine she’d have by the end of the night and that was only if Joran and his accomplice were on best behavior. Goddess and Saints protect them. She would need all the help she could get.

“Authority isn’t a tool you typically deem necessary to make others accommodate your whimsies. You’d have tried to arrange this with or without it. And while I don’t think I appreciate the forum, I can’t find fault in the logic even if your maturity stayed stunted at 13.” Clarrisa sighed with a shake of her head. And of course, Jorah’s cavalier attitude won him the distaste of his peers within moments. Nathanael Gloucester was certainly making his position amongst the students very clear. Clarissa wondered if he planned to ostracize himself from the rest of the Deer so quickly. It was no secret Jorah and Oskar were partners in crime, that Jorah and Clarissa were practically siblings, and that Clarissa sympathized with the remnants of House Ordelia - Clarissa wouldn’t be accused of hiding her opinions on anything. Honesty was more important than the veiled politics of the older generation, and she wasn’t about to allow whatever that display from Nathanael was to disrupt the class any further. She came here to learn and the petty squabbles of their nation was not about to hinder her in her studies!

However… She scanned the room and her eyes stopped on the younger of the Daphnels in the room. Their rise to the Roundtable in the wake of House Ordelia’s collapse at the time made her dislike them immensely. Vultures, far too quick to feed on the carrion of a ruined House for her liking, but she grew out of that mindset. The Roundtable needed five Houses sitting on it for its precarious balance and leaving a void out of the sake of sympathy would have put the entire country in danger. Her opinion on the intensity of the punishment was another matter altogether, but with rumors scattering through the Alliance that Reiner may find himself in contest for the seat, it may behoove her interests to determine if he could really win it. House Edmund was already invested in the new Barony but if she could provide some direct assistance… Well, another thing to explore later. The consequences of that may prove the effort too costly.

Still, she needed a moment to collect herself. The sting of Jorah’s selection hadn’t soothed and she needed a moment away from the classroom to regain her composure over the situation. She could still feel the pressure in her chest and the irritation at the Professor for such a foolish choice, but she knew it would go poorly demanding immediately it be changed. So, it was time to deal with issue number one.

“Please don’t go overboard with whatever mischief you’re planning tonight Jorah, and maybe run it by the Professor so we aren’t in poor standing on night one. I’d like the other Houses to believe we have some decorum in the Deer. Though, I know you can only keep that facade up for so long so I won’t hold it against you after the first night.” Clarissa teased, patting him on the arm as a farewell and crossed the classroom.

“Nathanael, would you join me for a walk around the grounds? I haven't quite had the pleasure of exploring all of it and I haven’t had an opportunity to speak with you since last roundtable season. Plus, I have some concerns you are uniquely suited to assuage and would truly appreciate your assistance settling my mind.” Clarissa asked with a stiff edge to her smile.

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

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Journeying Up

“Oh Holly, love, oh Holly, the rout has now begun
And we must go a-marching to the beating of the drum
Come, dress yourself all in your best! And come along with me,
I’ll take you to the cruel wars in yonder Barony…”

The merry strumming of a lute accompanied a marching tune emanating from a caravan on the road, a string of heavy carriages and soaking up the Adrestian sun as they lumbered slowly up the road toward the Oghma Mountains.

“Oh Harry, dearest Harry, mind well what I do say:
My feet, they are so tender! Oh, I cannot march away.
Besides, my dearest Harry, I am with child by thee—
Not fitted for the cruel wars in yonder Barony…”

The music seemed to go unappreciated by the glittering mounted knights accompanying the caravan, but the source was utterly oblivious to their weary looks. It was a tan, smiling blond man riding alongside one of the carriages, having foregone his saddle in favour of lounging along the back of his horse like a couch, idly fingering a lute on his chest.

“I’ll buy you a horse my love, and on it you shall ride!
And all of my delight shall be walking at your side;
We’ll stop at every alehouse and drink when we are dry,
Stay true to one another, get married by and by.”

The song should have continued, but instead he let his voice peter out into melancholy, fingers playing gently on the lute until the sound almost faded into the clopping of hooves. Heaving a long, contented sigh, he finally opened his wine-coloured eyes, looking wistfully into the window of the carriage next to him.

“Clarissa, will you marry me?” Jorah asked casually, still picking quietly at the lute strings.

The woman in question paused her reading, the question blindsiding her. A whirlwind of emotions ran through her in that brief second before she closed her book and shifted so that she could face Jorah properly. She rolled her eyes at his lackadaisical riding habits, but couldn't help smiling fondly at her friend.

“If you were a different man and I a different woman, perhaps. But I certainly would not do you the disservice of denying your heart its horizons and I certainly would not permit myself accept a proposal so languidly delivered.” Clarissa chuckled at the question, putting her book aside on the cushion in favor of Jorah's strangeness. It was starting to grate on her anyways and Jorah, as frustrating as he could be, was always a welcome source of entertainment. “Why are you suddenly entertaining the idea of marriage, let alone with me?”

Jorah made a little hurt noise, clutching his heart and letting his lute dangle off the side of his horse as if he’d been shot in the chest. The horse, fortunately, was a patient beast accustomed to his antics, so it paid him no mind and plodded dutifully along.

“You wound me,” he complained, sitting up at last. Of course, he was sitting backwards, but it was a start. “I thought it was perfect. A long journey, music… and the chance to solve both of our problems!”

He leaned over into the carriage window, propping himself up on the windowsill with his free arm. He looked much more like a snake oil salesman than a lovesick fool proposing to his beloved. “Just think! We get married, I make you Archduchess, you get to lead the Roundtable and the duchy of Riegan to glorious prosperity, and I never have to hear my father complain about the future of the family ever again!” He beamed at her, proud of himself. “It’s the perfect plan. Marry me.”

Clarissa covered her mouth as she laughed, shoulders shaking. “Firstly, your father will be with the Goddess and he'll still find a way to complain about the future of your family. You're not giving the man enough credit; I'd not be surprised to get a letter from you after he appeared to you in a nightmare. Secondly, you know full well any suitor I entertain will need to come to Edmund, rather than expecting me to attend him. I doubt that would bode well for relations between our people should that happen.” Clarissa settled back, pulling her red hair back away from her face.

“Thirdly, I'm not one of those blushing maidens you sneak out to entertain when you're bored. I won't let you get away with whatever you wish just because you play a pretty song and smile in my direction.” She flicked his nose to emphasize her point. “Though, I suppose you'd make a good distraction for escaping some of the less engaging conversations I find myself in at state functions. If I could get you to willingly attend, that is. But the answer is still no, lover boy. You'll have to find some other poor damsel to keep on your arm, though you're always welcome to come hide at my home If you need a break from everything.”

“So you admit my songs are pretty,” Jorah replied, smiling wide as he pulled himself out the window and righted himself on his horse. He gave Clarissa an easy shrug. “I’ll take that as a maybe, then. Door’s always open if you change your mind!”

Taking the reins at last, Jorah strapped his lute to his back, gazing out at the Oghma mountain range steadily rising before them. It was an unfortunate reminder of the purpose of their trip, but he wouldn’t let it get him down. Instead, he closed his eyes for a moment, drinking in the crisp springtime air, the Adrestian sun on his face, and the uplifting drumbeat of hooves - all hallmarks of adventure. It was kind of a shitty adventure, under close watch by his retinue as they marched him off to a new prison for the next year, but after years stuck in Derdriu, anything beat staring at the same old city walls.

“We’ll probably get there in a day or so,” he commented after a long pause, opening his eyes. He glanced over to Clarissa, holding his chin in pantomime thought. “How long do you think it’ll take for me to get out of there..?”

“We'll, let's see. Comparing your decade of escape artistry to Garreg Mach's centuries of experience and taking into account your pigheaded determination… A year, give or take. I couldn't imagine my childhood friend abandoning me to the cold, frigid mountains or have you found another to be taken with so quickly.” Clariss teased. She couldn't help the delighted bubbly feeling in her chest at the thought they’d be at Garreg Mach in a day. It was a dream of hers - studying in the shadow of the holiest place in the world, standing amongst the headquarters of the Central Church and basking in the divinity she imagined radiated from every statue, every stone.

“Though, perhaps you'll find yourself enjoying your time at the Academy. If not for the studies, at least for the people. You have the perfect chance to meet a melting pot of Fódlan's finest, brightest, and, in some cases, wealthiest.” Clarissa offered excitedly, a bright smile pointed his way as she took his place leaning on the windowsill. “Meeting new people and experiencing a new place is exactly what you like, even if you do have to suffer through school work. There are still be plenty of practical lessons for you to work your energy out on.”

Clarissa’s excitement was infectious, bubbling out of her and into Jorah like an overflowing spring. Jorah felt her giddiness as his own, his chest starting to flutter even though the prospect of a year of supervision and school excited him none.

“You know, you really make it hard for me to maintain my resentment when you get like that,” he teased, unable to help the giddy grin that broke over his face.

She had some good points, though. Despite all the bitterness that accompanied his trip, he was so elated to get out of Derdriu at long last that he never really convinced himself to be angry about it. Realistically, he and his father both knew how this would end: he'd be a miserable failure at Garreg Mach, his father would disown him at last, Delia would take over the family (as she should have all along), and Jorah could sail off into the sunset without having to worry about his father’s disapproval ever again. How Duke Riegan thought this was a good idea was beyond him; he dangled disownment over his son’s head like a threat, but the prospect of a broke and nameless life of wandering intrigued Jorah much more than it frightened him.

“But I suppose you're right,” he admitted, shrugging. From the corner of his eye, he gave Clarissa a sly look. “I hear some of the prettiest girls in Fòdlan live around Garreg Mach. Granted, a lot of them are in the convent, but I’m sure we can work something out.”

Her eye twitched.

“Jorah von Riegan, you will absolutely not work something out. You will leave those poor women alone and maybe, just maybe, consider settling in before permitting your provocative intent demand center stage.” Clarissa snapped, meeting his look with an unimpressed glare. “I doubt you’ll have much freedom to explore any such dalliances anyways; Garreg Mach is known to put their students through their paces thoroughly so even you may find yourself too worn… No, what am I saying? You delight in the chaos you sow and you’ll find that as relaxing as I find a quiet evening with a book. I pray they know what they signed up for.” Clarissa sighed, a shake of her head as she conjured up images of the trouble Jorah was bound to get in.

“And if they don’t, I’m sure they’ll find out soon enough. You’ll be the reason some of those professors will leave with more gray than they started.” She huffed a little laugh despite the annoyances her future held. “At least I won’t be bored. Not that standing in the holiest of holies and learning in the shadow of the Central Church would be boring by any means, but our future classmates and rivals leave plenty to be imagined. I haven’t quite had the time to dig into who all is attending, even from the Alliance, so it’s still all an exciting surprise!”

Studying at Garreg Mach had been a dream of hers for the past five years, one she finally seized the opportunity to realize. And now, staring up at the looming mountains they marched inexorably towards, she felt a twinge of nervousness. The Alliance was familiar ground. She knew the paths to tread, her footing sure and steady, and she knew where to go and… She didn’t keep her Crest quiet, but she certainly didn’t declare it in every passing conversation. She’d found meaning and purpose in the burden in her blood and every step she took was a testament to her dedication to the Goddess’s calling. Yet now she carried this curse to the heaven’s themselves. Was this a mockery of the Goddess’s will? Her eagerness too forward? Perhaps she should be penitent or fearful.

“I’m glad you're attending with me, Jorah.” Clarissa spoke it softly, eyes on the mountains ahead. “I’m going to miss going to our waterfall though. We’ll need to find a new hideaway.”

Jorah couldn’t suppress the startled laugh that bubbled out of him as Clarissa’s mood suddenly shifted, giggling at the rush of indignance that filled his chest and subsided just as quickly. Honestly, after so many years, he was surprised he could still get such a rise out of her! But he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

But he wasn’t blind to the hint of anxiety that crept in as she spoke, either. That was another unfortunate habit of hers: anytime she thought too long about something, she found something to worry about. That was why Jorah, as he’d often recommended to her, simply chose not to think about things much at all. Life was so much breezier that way!

“A place as old as Garreg Mach is bound to have some secrets,” he mused, stroking the short stubble of his traveling beard. Clarissa had a point; he knew every stone in the walls of Derdriu, but nothing about Garreg Mach. The prospect of probing such an old and storied place for nooks and crannies got his mind racing even now, his eyes searching the distant peaks for hidden valleys even at this distance. “Surely mountains have waterfalls, right? And they’ll have good strong horses to… borrow. I’m sure we’ll find someplace suitable.”

“But honestly, I’ll be surprised if you even remember my name once we get there,” he teased, taking on a dramatic tone. “You’ll surely see the storied halls of Garreg Mach, delve into their bottomless stores of ancient knowledge, and swiftly forget the charming, handsome boy from the dalliances of your youth. Sad, but inevitable. Such is the way of star-crossed romances.”

“Jorah, I would never! Even if I wanted to, you wouldn't let me forget you. I have no doubt that if we didn't meet in a day here, I'd find you picking the lock to my door or playing as ridiculously as you could in the middle of the night just to irritate me into seeing you.” Clarissa laughed at his dramatics. “We will need to find time to explore the monastery because I agree it must have some ancient history tucked away, and I want to know it. Thankfully, I have a charming, handsome boy from my youth who so happens to enjoy more than his fair share of mischief as my friend. Garreg Mach won’t keep its secrets from us!”

Jorah chuckled, the smile on his face growing much more sincere. “No ma’am!” he declared, throwing his arm forward like an officer declaring a charge. “Garreg Mach won’t know what hit it!”

Beaming in the afternoon sun, Jorah suddenly remembered that he hadn’t finished his song. It being bad luck to leave a marching song incomplete, he whipped his lute back into his lap, strumming the same tune with a vigor to it that the prior lilting melody lacked.

“Oh, cursed be the cruel wars, that ever they should rise!
And out of every county press many a man likewise;
They took her Harry from her, likewise her brothers three,
And sent them to the cruel wars
In yonder Barony…”

Crossing through the storied gates of Garreg Mach found her equal parts awed and homesick, the surge of adoration the hallowed grounds elicited undercut with a bittersweet tang. It was difficult to say why; she’d hand picked the officials handling her current obligations and she’d promised letters home regularly. The journey wasn’t particularly hard on her either. Between her familiarity traveling and Jorah’s reassuring, but equally provocative, companionship, she found no issues nor did they encounter anything unsettling. Clarissa shook her head and took a steadying breath when it hit her.

She couldn’t smell the sea.

The mountain air was crisp and refreshing, but the lack of the salt sweet scent that pervaded home left her missing it dearly. It was a constant in her life, even in Diedru, and it almost felt like she was missing something. Clarissa laughed at herself. Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine the air of all things would make her homesick.

Thoughts of home quickly disappeared as her excitement consumed anything else, and walking the halls of the monastery only served to fortify it even further. The air of serenity pervading every nook and cranny and she basked in it. A content smile spread across her face. She basked beneath the watchful eyes of the saints, in the presence of the Goddess that echoed in every footstep and laugh, and a sense of rightness settled on her shoulders. This was where she was meant to be, exactly as the Goddess wanted it. The smile wouldn’t leave her fave knowing the bishop was right, and she beamed at the end of the Archbishop’s speech. The Goddess truly did bless every one of them.

The classroom was a more familiar affair and he listened to their Professor eagerly. She appreciated Professor Kalonic’s direct approach and brisk handling of affairs. Clarissa had little patience for people who circled around conversations and drew them out simply for the sake of obfuscation. Especially when they repeated themself. The idea of mixing the houses together certainly piqued her curiosity and she found herself looking forward to the opportunity to meet the others they would be in class with. An excellent opportunity to grow, network, and get a glimpse of matters in the other nations that an outsider's view simply didn’t provide. Just one more step towards her final goal.

Of course, what goes up must come down and indeed it did. Her good mood shattered as Jorah was announced the House Leader. They chose Jorah over her? The heir who didn’t want his position, who spent so much time running away from his responsibilities the Duke locked him in the capital, who couldn’t face anything serious without a joke and a dismissive laugh if he couldn’t blatantly ignore it? She’d spent years developing her leadership skills, establishing herself as a rising power, and putting her House and her people in the forefront of change and growth and they chose him? She cared for him as much as she cared for her own brother but even he’d admit he wasn’t suited―Jorah probably wouldn’t even want it anyways!―handling the responsibilities. She had half a mind to go after the Professor and demand she reconsider.

Clarissa deflated quickly though. Those thoughts were entirely inappropriate and rude. Jorah could step up to the responsibilities just fine; he was adaptable and knew when he needed to focus on a goal. She shouldn’t be surprised. She’d wanted the position terribly but as usual, she had that irritating little complication that always kept her one step behind. Of course the Church wouldn’t want someone with the Crest of the Beast leading their students. Willingly put the blood of a betrayer in leadership? What a joke. She should probably count herself lucky they even accepted her then. Clarissa gave a tiny shake of her head, trying to clear out the resentment and resignation that settled over her like a blanket, and focused instead on the challenge. The Goddess gave her the opportunity to prove herself and like every time before that, she would rise to the challenge before her. She made a mental note to spend some time in the cathedral before they turned in for the evening.

“With time for ourselves, it’d be best if we made formal introductions. I am Clarissa von Edmund, heiress to the Margravate of Edmund.” Clarissa offered their classmates a curtsied, her only adjustment to the uniform a longer skirt than normal. The mountains held a chill all year round and she was quick averse to the idea of being half frozen for the year. “It is an honor to work together with such a diverse group and I hope that, true to Alliance philosophy, we find a way to meld our differences together in a way to make all of us stronger.”

Avengers Academy: Junior Year 💥

Danny Kingston

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Location: Framework, BG3
Skills: Pyrokinesis

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Danni looked around at the new chamber, face scrunching up as Mads explained more. “Wait, we ‘ave cthullu babies in our faces? T'at's so fuckin’ gross! ‘ow do we get it out?” Danni patted his face, trying to find a bump or anything that told him where it was. “I'm too fuckin’ cute ta be an Illthiad or whatever t'ey are. I am not stayin’ stuck I'm t'is stuff forever. Mads, can't you magic t'is stuff out? Game over, and we win in time ta beat up Arcade, save our friends, and get ‘ome in time for dinner!”

Of Course, nothing could be easy for them “Okay, Pod girl is friend, everyone else it's on sight. Got you, got you…” Danni trailed off as the Cultists came undone and Diana immediately went into attack mode. “Ya know, I feel like you'd like some fire arrows. You want me ta like, set t’e tip of your next arrow on fire? See t'at helps anything at all? As Danni was asking Diana, he whirled his hands together, collecting a ball of fire in them, and then hurled it straight into the other cultists chest.

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

Clarissa von Edmund | Major Crest of the Beast

_{Height: 5'4" || Eye Color: Green}

_{We don't have all day!}

Name

Clarissa von Edmund

Age

18 _{Born the 21st day of the Great Tree Moon, 1477}

Country of Origin

Leicester Alliance

Social Standing

Noble: House Edmund

Crest

Crest of Maurice (Crest of the Beast)
_{Unbeknownst to her, Clarissa's Crest passively compels honesty from both those she speaks with and herself.}

Starting Class

Monk

Weapon of Choice

White Magic (Sword secondary)

Strengths

Faith and Authority

Weaknesses

Lance and Axe

Starting Spells

Heal
Nosferatu

Personality

Bold and impulsive, Clarissa Edmund is an aggressively outspoken proponent of her beliefs. The first to disregard the pretense of deliberation, Clarissa refuses empty flattery and circular arguing in favor of constructive criticism advancing her agenda. Her stance on issues is rarely unknown and she operates without the veneer of secrecy her political peers are so well known for. It’s her opinion that transparency is the fundamental value of trust and that only those with ill intention gain anything from secrecy. As such, she throws herself entirely into whatever she considers worthwhile, sure in her steps and steadfast in her convictions, and rarely double guesses her decisions.

Unlike her mother who draws on the serenity of Seiros, Clarissa’s faith only fans the flames of her passion. She speaks glowingly of the establishment anytime the subject comes up, fully committed to the Church’s message of peace, forgiveness, and charity, and is quick to turn against those who speak ill of it. The Alliance’s neutrality with the Church has always bothered her—after all, Fodlan only stayed together thanks to the guidance of Archbishop Rhea—and she fully plans to support an expansion of the Church's influence in the Alliance.

History

The first born daughter of Beaufort and Odette Edmund, Clarissa Edmund seemed destined to be cut from the same cloth as her father: energetic, loud, and brash even as a baby. She spent her life proving everyone right. She spent her early years at her father’s knee, adopting his love for horseback riding, sailing, and swordplay during their outings and picking up the nuances of Edmund oration in the process. Each evening after lessons, the pair would slip away to Clarissa’s favorite spot in the family estate that overlooked the harbor and would talk about her studies and the world at large over a pot of mint tea.

Her mother however, maintained an incredibly strict lifestyle for Clarissa when she wasn’t with her father. Born with a minor Crest of the Beast, Odette wept when she learned Clarissa inherited a Major Crest. Marianne Edmund’s adoption tainted the family line with the cursed Crest and her influence still shaped how the family handled the Crest three hundred years later. Odette limited her interaction with anyone outside of the core staff and immediate family and immersed Clarissa in Church activity. She believed that only faith and piety could combat the Crest’s malignant effects. She kept the truth of the Crest away from Clarissa as long as she could and it worked for a while.

However, the birth of her younger brother afforded her an opportunity to escape her mother’s limitations. With Beaufort as her ally, Clarissa won independent outings to the Church for a weekly social gathering of children her age with the condition that a trusted family friend, Bishop Jehan, would act as her chaperone. The man had the patience of Saint Cethleann herself and handled her million questions with ease. Her social group consisted mostly of the children of wealthy merchants and she quickly established her reputation as a leader, taking responsibility for the group and their activities. She molded the group in the image of Odette’s charity work and focused primarily on assisting those without money by fixing garments and blankets for free. While she didn’t particularly care for the work, it was something she hadn’t been allowed to do before and she quite liked having friends.

She was content with her life and limited interactions until her 11th year, after the disastrous mock battle between House Gloucester and House Ordelia. Her father explained why the House had lost their seat: The House was on its last legs and survived solely on the support from others in the Alliance. As unfortunate as it was, a House needed to be powerful in its own right to sit at the table. The unease at the decision still festered inside her and unable to find the words to express why, she lashed out at her family, at her father for a horrible decision and at her mother for her absurd restrictions.

A screaming match with her mother revealed the true nature of her Crest. Clarissa fled after that, running to the only place she considered safe anymore and broke down in tears in front of Jehan. It took several long, awkward, and emotional conversations with the Bishop but eventually she found what had been unsettling her about the issue. The curse her family supposedly bore was a punishment for those who had no hand, no voice, in the decision their ancestor made, just like Duke Ordiela’s family had no choice in his decision to murder a fellow Lord. Her questions bordered on heretical, demanding why the Goddess would punish innocents for the acts of others. The bishop came up with an elegant solution: a Major Crest manifesting in her must mean the Goddess has given her the chance to redeem her bloodline. Clarissa clung desperately to that and shortly before her 13th birthday, she stepped out of her turmoil a new person.

Gone was the girl who would quietly accept her fate. Instead, Clarissa Edmund walked out as the heiress apparent of the Margravate of Edmund and she made sure it was known. It caused friction with her mother but Clarissa swept past that with her new found confidence. She reclaimed her social group that had been abandoned at the revelation of her curse, grew it, and began doubling down on her lessons. She accompanied her father to the Roundtable and took notes and developed questions for them to discuss later at their nightly meetings. She even attended a recent Roundtable on her own when he fell ill; she established her reputation quickly when one of them tried to exploit her age and she flew into an impassioned speech on the importance of change and progress and warned against letting hard fought wisdom turn to stagnation. After that she knew her next course of action clearly: Leading the Leicester Alliance. Her father supported her aspirations and enrolled her in Garrag Mach’s Officers Academy with the goal to strengthen the support she’d need to make the claim.

Trivia

House Info

Since it’s invitation to join the Roundtable of the Alliance after House Daphnel’s tragic inner conflict depriving them of their historic strength, House Edmund capitalized on and expanded its fair and equal trade policies that cemented the region’s economic success and bolstered the House’s influential voice. The growth of these policies demanded a rigorous focus on industrial growth and the development of skilled artisans and as such, House Edmund’s armed forces are significantly smaller than most of the other Houses of the alliances. Their contributions to the Alliance revolve heavily around the House’s financial resources, including funding the maintenance and improvement of Fodlan’s Locket, and levying the economic well being of the maritime routes connecting the Alliance to the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. Their economic strength and stability are the result of an aggressive continuation of the fair trade policies they adapted early on in the Alliance’s days.Their policies focus on growing the means of production; ranging from incentivizing apprenticeships to both increase the labor pool and reduce poverty to subsidizing the cost to gather raw product.

Stemming from their economic progressivism (not to mention their lack of military might), the Margrave Edmund is always known as a skilled orator and the current one is no exception. Beaufort Edmund is a passionate voice at the Roundtables, often the first to push for the expansion of their own trade policies into other parts of the Alliance, and emphasizes the importance that the other Houses follow in House Edmund’s footsteps to expand the Alliance’s economic influence in the Empire. His passion for the well being of the citizens of the Alliance is apparent every time he brings a new social issue to the table, from the stagnation of the lower class to the archaic view that nobles are somehow purer or better than those who support them, and he is quick to rise against House Gloucester’s self absorbed, entitled, and snobbish beliefs.

His wife, Odette Edmund, is almost the complete opposite of her husband. She holds herself well and often comes off as aloof and cool but in reality is just introverted and quiet. Odette is a devoted member of the Eastern Church of Seiros, regularly using Edmund resources to promote its teachings through charity and community enhancement. The Church was an important ally to the House Edmund ever since the adoption of Marianne Edmund but Odette has greatly improved their relationship and the House is a regular contributor to the Eastern Church. The Margrave dotes on her whenever they are together and it isn’t uncommon to see them laughing quietly together as they walk the grounds of their home.

House Relations

• House Riegan: With shared trade routes and a monopoly on the northern coast of the Alliance, House Riegan and House Edmund have been close allies for centuries. What benefits one usual benefits both so the Dukes of both Houses have strived to remain on good terms through the years. Beaufort counts Rodolph among his closest friends.
• House Goneril: House Edmund has historically supported the Gonerills because of their involvement in defending the borders of the Alliance against Almyrian invasion. However, the recent Duke Gonerill has lost some of their faith as he takes and tosses wives aside like trinkets. They stopped accepting his wedding invitations four wives ago. House Edmund is currently evaluating which side House has a suitable successor and will plan to support their claim if the current Duke fails to produce a suitable heir.
• House Daphnel: As the newest member of the Roundtable, House Edmund certainly has an interest in House Daphnel’s business. Their desire to change the status quo certainly makes them an attractive investment opportunity and Beaufort is reaching out to see how House Edmund can… help.
• House Gloucester: House Edmund acknowledges that the current Archduke has managed to stabilize the Alliance and those efforts are commendable. However, they have serious doubts that he’s able to take the Alliance further than what it was and are afraid that if the Gloucesters are permitted to maintain power much longer, the Alliance will see a reverse in social and economic progress.

Favorite Food: Two-fish Sauté

Clarissa's Crest power doesn't force people to tell her things. It only keeps them, and her, from lying in a conversation. If a character doesn't want to talk about something, they don't have to or they can tell her that they don't want to talk about it if it does come up.