Obscene Symphony

Of Blood and Magic

It was a mercy that no one in the room seemed to pay any attention to him, but only a small one; Count Benjamin’s quip and Count Victor’s little offering only primed Varis for another round, and it was all Aaron could do to keep his eyes off the floor as he continued to drag his reputation through the mud. He’d chastised him for his supposed pride before - Aaron could concede that he thought too highly of himself at the start of this perilous journey, but evidently the Sinnenodel definition of pride was to dare not to resent the accident of one’s birth as a mage rather than a vampire - but what really rankled him was that Varis applied the same judgement to his family. He wasn’t sure whether to be angry or ashamed; the Starags deserved their pride, they served as an example to all the mages of the realm and they carried forth Landar’s legacy. If his shortcomings really were a stain on their name, then…

Ugh, he couldn’t think about that right now.

Compared to all that, Varis’ offhand mention of breaking bones was hardly a threat; if anything, it would be a relief for Aaron to go back to the methods he was accustomed to. But he doubted there was any truth to it, and besides, he wouldn’t be surprised if his time with Varis had ruined him for his old ways. He’d probably be far too jumpy now, or too weak - Count Victor had a point, he’d lost some muscle since arriving at the Academy, and his new workout regimen had yet to recover all of it. So if the old ways wouldn’t work, and the new ways obviously weren’t, maybe he really was an impossible project. At this point, it wouldn’t be a shocking revelation.

Aaron straightened further when he was addressed, dipping his head in acknowledgement before turning to offer a deeper, more formal bow to Count Victor. “Please accept my humblest apologies, Count Victor,” he said evenly, “my transgression was merely a lapse in judgement, not intended to offend. It won’t happen again.”

He paused as long as was expected before straightening, gathering his tray of empty glasses and dropping them in the kitchen before making for the mages. He stepped into the living room quite a bit paler than he was when he left, and looking fairly worse for wear, formally cleared his throat. “If I may have your attention,” he announced to the room, “the sun will be up soon, and it’s time for tonight’s events to come to a close. Thank you all for coming; please follow me to the door and I will see you out.”

_{@ReusableSword, all of the mages}

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

_@Hero

Lienna nodded along with Professor Tomai’s reply, filing away the bit about black magic for later. Maybe she’d have more reason yet to seek him out than a sudden fascination with heretofore foreign science after all. After his last statement, though, she found it tough to meet his eye, a little embarrassed that he noticed her discomfort. It took a moment to face him again, but by the time she turned to offer him her thanks, he was gone.

She forced herself to straighten, noticing out of the corner of her eye that one student still lingered from class—the Imperial princess, if she recalled correctly, though she doubted she’d forget that bitchy expression anytime soon. Lienna gave the girl an unamused sidelong glance, but she rose without a word, leaving Lienna alone. She was tempted to follow whichever way Professor Tomai had left, but rolled her eyes at herself; she wasn’t sure how a feeble attempt to get out of a church service turned into a new and strange interest, but, she reminded herself, it was time to get back on track. She couldn’t hide from her Housemates forever.

Well, actually, maybe she should settle into her new dorm first.

~///~

The Ol’ Switcheroo

&

_{Collab with @Achronum}

Clarissa gave one last curtsy before she briskly took her leave, an extra bounce in her step at both the Archbishop and Auberon accepting her invitation. She hummed softly to herself as she left, committing the stunning architecture to memory as she left. She’d write a letter home tonight. Not only to let her family know she’d safely arrived but also to spill her delight to them as the day wound to a close. The classroom introductions had been mortifying but no more than she’d expected and thus far, the entire monastery felt like it’d fallen straight out of the fairy tales she’d read as a child. She paused on the bridge to gaze out beyond the mountains and take in the view.

In that moment, among the devout and the faithful, beneath the unerring gaze of the towering cathedral, enraptured in a world stretched out beyond the horizon, Clarissa felt a moment of peace. In that moment, the wind stole away her worries and her fears, all the burdens and expectations she’d placed on herself ebbed away, her tongue with all it’s sharp edges still and soft, she was only Clarissa, a girl who once dreamed of setting sail and never turning back to land again. She leaned on the edge of that bridge, eyes never moving from the horizon, and that little girl so long in the cave watched along with her.

The moment broke a moment later, a bright peal of laughter shocking her back into the present, and she cleared her head with a little shake. She gave the view one last look and continued on, changing course to head straight to the dorms. She’d take a trip around the grounds once she figured out where she’d be staying for the next year. She wove around other students, exchanging passing greetings as she did, as she took a cut through the gardens. There was a pleasant little spot with tables in one and she made a mental note to return here when she had lessons to complete. It’d make for a relaxing way to end a day.

Soon enough, she was at the dorms. She noticed a posting nearby with room assignments, although it seemed she wasn’t the only one with plans to get her room set up. Lienna Orhneaht stood at the board already, peering at it intensely. Perhaps she was figuring out where all her classmates were in relation to her. She stepped up to the board as well, frowning at what she saw. There was a clear division between the upper and lower levels, if she remembered everyone’s social class correctly, and it irked her greatly. Not to mention, she was trapped on the top floor when she’d have much preferred a bottom dorm. That way, she could just step out from her room and have immediate access to the grounds rather than having to navigate a hallway filled with whatever distractions the other students could offer and then making her way down a flight of stairs.

“What a bother.” Clarissa clicked her tongue irritably.

If Lienna were more skilled with black magic, the page might have burst into flames under her gaze, frustration mounting in her like a gathering storm as she struggled to decipher the damn thing. One would think something as simple as a chart with names on it would be a simple task to read, but apparently not; for instead of the neat, blocky letters she’d learned from scripture, this notice was written in an admittedly elegant, but excessively loopy hand, with all the letters attached to each other. Some of the letters she didn’t even recognize, and only a few of the first letters of the names even stood out as letters at all—and of course, not a single one was “L”.

She nearly jumped when a voice sounded next to her, not realizing how she’d coiled herself up until she suddenly straightened at the words. “Ugh, I’d say,” she couldn’t help but reply, tsking her own disapproval. She removed a hand from its place tightly crossed over her stomach to gesture derisively at the notice. “You’d think they let a baby write this, I can’t make out a word.”

Clarissa’s brow crinkled in confusion. The names were quite clear, the handwriting even, elegant, and clearly well practiced. She’d be envious if she hadn’t spent countless morning practicing on her own in probably a similar manner. She glanced at the board, tilted her head, and it dawned on her. It certainly could be confused for scribble rather than script by those unfamiliar with the letters. It seemed her earlier hunch was correct. The girl wasn’t born into this but she certainly was trying her best and that was an admirable feat in and of itself.

“Oh, this is a rather common writing style in these establishments. It’s quicker and more elegant than block letters because your quill never leaves the parchment until you’ve completed a word.” Clarissa explained. “It can take a little bit of getting used to and more than a little practice but it does make note taking much more efficient. Lienna, right? It seems you’re…” Clarissa tapped the room with Lienna’s name in it. “Oh lucky! When I saw how the dorms were laid out, I’d hoped to be on the bottom floor but it seems they’ve locked me away upstairs.”

The other girl’s pause set Lienna on edge, only for her fears to be confirmed when she replied. Lienna had never taken a blush in her life, but in its place was a wormy feeling in the pit of her stomach, reminding her just how out of place she was.

Something of a scornful look set into her brow as the other girl explained, a few venomous thoughts of how people from Hima who worked for their living didn’t have the luxury to spend days and days practicing loopy letters crossing her mind, but as the other girl pointed out her dorm, she forced herself to stop. She’d always had a quick temper, and the lingering discomfort from her conversation on Crests didn’t help, but she had to remind herself that the rest of the world had run off without her; if she was going to get angry every time someone pointed that out, she’d never have time for anything else. Fortunately, the girl didn’t stop at her correction, providing a much needed subject change.

“Well, you can have it,” Lienna scoffed, a bit of offense still clinging to her voice as she peered at her spot on the chart. Bottom floor, like the other girl said. With the commoners, despite her position as a future Countess. “I could certainly do without the wind sneaking through the cracks in the door, and Goddess knows what sorts of characters skulking around outside it.” Ugh, like that raucous pair of boys from introductions. Who knew what time they’d be loudly schlepping back to bed, or in what condition. Or with whom.

“If you’re amenable to a switch, I’d be delighted to offer you the upstairs room. Immediate access to the grounds in the morning is far more important to me than a cozy hallway.” Clarissa offered eagerly. It did seem like she made a poor first impression however, if the lingering edge to her words were anything to go by. Though Clarissa doubted much wouldn’t have crossed her; she was a girl thrown into a world she clearly felt out of place in and probably considered anything an attack right now, like a feral cat. “And I’m comfortable enough with a sword to remind the things that go bump in the night that I bump back just as hard.”

“Though I guess I’d better find a few extra blankets. I find the cold disagreeable at best but if you think the cold is going to creep in, I’d better prepare accordingly.” Clarissa sighed. Home was rarely cold, only for a bit in the winter, thanks to the warm winds the currents brought from beyond the mountains. The cold always made her feel so sluggish and tired; while the downstairs room was still worth it, she might need to take extra precautions to ensure she woke up before the sun.

Lienna’s eyebrows shot up despite herself, and she turned with a start to properly look at the other girl for the first time, albeit a bit incredulously. She could have fit right in with the Gautiers with that fiery red hair, but there was no way this girl was from Faerghus; aside from herself being the only girl in their unit’s Blue Lions, there was no way someone from as far north as Gautier wouldn’t have thought of the cold before anything else. Her nobility was obvious, but Lienna would have to admit she didn’t remember her country of origin, or even her name. More puzzling, she was serious? That offer was sarcastic, she didn’t really mean-- well, actually, if this girl wanted to be on the ground floor that bad, Lienna wouldn’t mind taking her up on her… acceptance of her own offer, she supposed.

“Well, I know the wind would always find its way into my door, but maybe these ones are made of sturdier stuff,” she blurted out unexpectedly, before clearing her throat with a mental slap for letting herself stumble over what to say again. “But yes, if you really want to be on the ground floor, I’ll be happy to switch. Just don’t take it as a favour.”

She almost clapped her hand over her mouth at that, all but sewing her teeth shut in surprise. Why would she say that?? That’s what she always thought, obviously, but this was as clear an equal exchange as it could get, so why would she feel the need to add that? She wasn’t too overly concerned with what the highborn students thought of her—honestly a little scorn would be welcome if only to keep her from tripping over conversations like this—but that was rude no matter who you said it to, and it wouldn’t do to burn bridges this early.

Lienna shook her head, raising a hand. “Sorry, I…” she couldn’t think of an apology that wasn’t a lie, so she opted to move right along, peering at the other girl with a look of guarded curiosity. “... I didn’t catch your name earlier,” she tried to recover, straightening a touch.

“Don’t apologize. I did say I despise liars and you are certainly anything but!” Clarissa laughed, waving off the stumble. Lienna may be a little rough but she enjoyed how straight forward the other was. “Clarissa von Edmund, heiress to the Edmund Magravate, but please call me Clarissa. No need to stand on formalities while we’re learning together. I can let the Professors know about the room switch as soon as we’re settled in so it'll be all the more difficult to deny us. Not that I’m intending to take no as an answer but it’s always better to be prepared.”

Lienna wasn’t even sure what a Margravate was, so ‘not standing on formalities’ would work just fine for her. Clarissa was awfully forgiving, and while she was glad for it in this case, Lienna couldn’t help but wonder if that attitude ran deep enough to harm her. It was the same concern she’d taken with Kellen; maybe these noble types grew up so sheltered they didn’t realize just how vulnerable they could be when they left the nice high walls of their castles. Still, it worked in her favour, and Clarissa here hardly seemed as precarious as Kellen; she, at least, wasn’t pledging her unwavering loyalty for life after the first conversation.

At the comment about the professors, Lienna allowed herself an approving smirk. “Clever.” She’d give her that; the ‘won’t take no for an answer’ confidence spoke to Clarissa’s privileged upbringing, but still, Lienna had to respect the attitude.

Perching a hand on her hip, she looked back to the notice. “So which one is my new dorm?” she asked, more personable now that she’d seen a little more of Clarissa’s personality. The red-haired girl already knew she couldn’t read the script, so she might as well take advantage of the help before she had to reveal that little secret to anyone else. “Will that put me in the middle of the Deer, or aren’t they organized by House?”

“Your new one is here, right in between the rowdiest and quietest Deer.” Clarissa tapped her own name on the board where she was between Jorah and Isolde. An odd combination of wallmates. “But honestly, it doesn’t change much for you. Before you were next to an empty room and another colorful Deer. As for organization, it seems they tried to the best of their ability to keep us in-House but they ultimately separated us into noble and common blood. I suppose even Garreg Mach is beholden to lowly political pandering.” The disdain in her voice was clear as she explained that detail. Someone would think an exalted religious institution that preached love, fairness, and equality would keep themselves above such worldly perspectives but even they perpetuated the separation.

“However, I was just thinking the grounds almost feel like they’ve come out of a fairy tale. Have you had an opportunity to tour the grounds yet?” Clarissa asked. Again she was already deviating from the checklist she’d set for herself but Lienna was someone she wanted to get a hold of and she wasn’t ready to let her go just yet. Lienna seemed to be warming up a bit from before; maybe she could get her to come around the monastery and learn a little more about her.

Goodness, Clarissa sure used a lot of long words where short ones would do. Lienna almost raised her eyebrow at the comment on separation of noble and common blood, surprised that a noble would even notice such a thing, let alone talk about it like a sore subject. Of course, the notion of noble and common “blood” was almost a little funny itself, considering her own circumstances.

“Well, given my Crest I must have at least a drop of noble blood in me; maybe that will be enough to appease the Church,” Lienna commented, offering Clarissa a sly little smirk. That was more forward than she intended, but it would suffice; if not that, then maybe they’d be convinced by her noble fiancé, one of the little spies of which was skulking around Garreg Mach somewhere keeping an eye on her even as they spoke. Yes, maybe she’d take advantage of her new situation as well as a page from Clarissa’s book and start not taking ‘no’ for an answer.

As for the grounds, Lienna sighed, opting to omit the fact that she’d seen only as much of the grounds as she passed on her way to empty her stomach in the bushes. “Not yet. I was speaking to the… I think he was the Eagles’ professor,” she said, suppressing a shiver. “And I still haven’t officially met with my Housemates, and now with moving… it might need to wait until tomorrow.” Honestly, she’d even skip meeting her Housemates if she thought she could get away with it, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Even if she wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed for what would hopefully be the first sound sleep she’d have had in days.

She looked to Clarissa, remembering something. “Or, actually, do you know how busy we’ll be tomorrow? Classes will begin, won’t they?”

Clarissa nodded along as Lienna detailed her afternoon plans, disappointed but she empathized. She had plenty to do herself and Lienna would benefit from a longer rest period than she would have given herself considering how strange all this must seem to her. “We’ll try again another day but I don’t actually know how busy we’ll be.. I imagine we’ll be quick to work with little time to adjust. We only have a year to learn as much as we can, after all. I wouldn’t count on much leisure time on most days honestly. It’s all so exciting; it feels almost surreal we’re here!”

Surreal was one way to put it. If Clarissa thought Garreg Mach was like a fairy tale, then to Lienna it was all an impossible dream. Surrounded by buildings that had stood for over a thousand years, wrapped in expensive clothes and rubbing elbows with the heirs to all of Fódlan, all on the coin of her Count fiancé… honestly, it was terrifying; not just the strangeness of it all, but because she half expected to wake up from that dream any moment now, shivering and alone in her shack back in Hima.

“Surreal indeed…” Lienna commented awkwardly, tapping her fingers on her arm for a moment as silences stretched between the two of them. Finally, though, she looked back up, gesturing to the board once more. “Well, we’d better get moving.”

~///~

Cursing the extravagances of the highborn class once again, Lienna threw down her last trunk with a huff, falling back against the door in exhaustion. What on earth was in those things? How much stuff did one person need? When Count Francis told her he’d have his staff pack her some luggage she didn’t think he was sending an entire keep’s worth of effects to Garreg Mach with her! No wonder that damn carriage was so slow.

Though her enthusiasm was somewhat dampened by having to lug all that up a staircase, she still had to admit, the room was amazing. She could have fit her whole house in Hima inside it, the door was sturdy, and there was even a window on the opposite wall, with curtains and everything. There was a large bed with a yellow blanket bearing the Golden Deer emblem—hmm, maybe Clarissa would want that back—a sturdy wardrobe, a desk, a shelf Lienna doubted she could ever fill, and even a polished mirror standing in the corner. The accommodations were comparable to her short time in the Count’s keep: simply overwhelming.

It took a few long moments of consideration, but at long last Lienna stood, turning on reflex to lower the crossbeam only for her hands to grasp open air. Brow raised, she stared at her fingers for a moment in muted surprise, opening and closing them a few times around nothing before she lowered her hands, taking a meek step backward. Right, this wasn’t home; there was no crossbeam that needed lowering, no string of broken pottery to tie to the handle, and no more grandmother to stop from wandering out into the night. She didn’t need to worry about that now. She could put those habits behind her.

Lienna let her melancholy strike her only for a moment before letting out a huff of frustration, straightening her back and turning on her heel with renewed purpose. No no, she wasn’t about to let the trappings of her former life get the better of her now. She wasn’t in Hima; was at Garreg Mach, betrothed, a future Countess—she might as well have been an entirely new person. A new person surrounded by people who never knew her. She could be anyone she wanted, anything she wanted, and the very last thing she wanted to be was a drained and frightened caretaker sleeping with one eye open. Not ever again.

She set her shoes aside at the door—she wasn’t about to tread dirt into a room this nice—and with new vigour set about unpacking, turning her mind away from questions on the necessity of so much stuff. She was going to be a Countess, she deserved it! So as she unpacked, she forced herself not to linger on what she pulled out, even if each garment, book, and trinket seemed finer than the last, and didn’t let herself stop until every last trunk had been emptied and every new belonging in its place.

With a satisfied sigh and a final appraisal of the place, Lienna nodded, moving to stow away the empty trunks. But of course, nothing could go quite so smoothly; with her arms full, she passed too close to the dresser, and stubbed her foot full-force into one of its legs.

CRACK!

“Agh!”

It felt like her toes exploded, and Lienna dropped the trunks she was holding and crumpled to the ground, a string of curses flowing uninterrupted from her until she had to take a long, slow breath. Clutching her throbbing foot, she glanced over at the dresser, only to groan; the leg she’d kicked was cracked almost all the way through, and by the sound of the wood creaking, it wouldn’t hold up for much longer. Dammit! That thing looked like it was carved from one big solid piece a thousand years ago, was it weakened by age or something?

Groaning once more, Lienna resisted the urge to fall back onto the floor, instead taking hold of the corner of the dresser to pull herself up. And, of course, as luck would have it, she was right; just as she put her weight on it, there was another loud crack! and a thump as the dresser leg fully gave out, the whole dresser falling lopsided where the leg had been.

“Ugh, that’s what you get,” she snapped at the dresser, hissing as she rose to her feet. Damn, that really hurt. Maybe she could track down that green-haired healer girl again so she wouldn’t have to limp around the monastery for the rest of the day. She’d have to keep the reason quiet, though; she knew Count Francis had a lackey crawling around here somewhere, apparently to make sure she didn’t take his tuition money and run off without upholding her side of the bargain, and she couldn’t help but think it wouldn’t go over great for him to hear he had to pay for a new dresser on her very first day at Garreg Mach. Just her luck.

“You can wait,” Lienna muttered to the trunks scattered across the floor, hopping over to collapse onto the bed. That was about as many mishaps as she’d like today; maybe between now and dinner she could recover some of the three nights of sleep she missed on that sickening carriage ride.

~///~

Lienna woke with a start at the tolling of a bell, on her feet in an instant and already searching around for her grandmother before she remembered where she was. Heart racing, she took a few long breaths, wincing as the pain in her now-swollen foot came back to her. Right, Monastery, new room, broken dresser. That ringing wasn’t the jingle of precautionary garland of broken pots and spoons, but… oh, probably the bell for dinner. And, as if on cue, Lienna’s stomach growled to match, three days’ worth of nibbling on nothing but bread on the way here finally coming back to haunt her now that her stomach had settled.

With her hunger to motivate her, Lienna slipped her key into her pocket and gingerly pulled her shoes on, and for the first time since arriving at Garreg Mach, she was actually a little bit excited. Sore foot and snubbed Housemates notwithstanding, there was bound to be food from all over Fódlan served here, and plenty of it; by the Goddess, the past few weeks had really spoiled her with full, hearty meals, and she was ready to indulge.

Following the flux of other students, she arrived at the dining hall just as it was filling up, and even with so many people in the way, the place was spectacular. It was full of long tables and gleaming silverware and even rugs beneath the benches, and foreign, tantalizing scents wafted from an open kitchen on one end. Making her way to the lineup as quickly as could be done politely, Lienna loaded a plate with the most foreign dishes she could find; there were a few she recognized, upscale versions of fair from back home in Faerghus, but she was eager to try something, anything else. She ended up with a tart from the Empire that she was told contained fish and Noa fruit and a glass flute full of magically frozen peaches and custard, neither of which she’d ever even heard of in Hima, and looked around the dining hall for a place to sit.

Her eyes soon fell on a spot of red, and while at first she thought it was Clarissa, she realized quickly the person she spotted was a man, and a familiar-looking one at that. It took her a second, but she soon remembered that he’d been sitting with the other Blue Lions during introductions; he must have been… Derik? Something like that.

Fulfilling her promise to meet the Lions at dinner, Lienna wove through the crowd to an empty spot across from him, putting her dishes down and sliding onto the bench with a tight smile.

She wasn’t really sure how to go about small talk, so instead she chose first to focus on her meal. Her eyebrows raised a touch when she looked down to find more forks, spoons and knives than she knew what to do with, and chose the first fork she laid eyes on; if she didn’t hesitate, she’d look more confident in her choice. It was weird to eat with a utensil that could probably itself purchase a week’s worth of food back home, but Lienna was rather more concerned with the food, savouring how utterly different it was as she did her best not to devour it in seconds like she wanted to.

Of Blood and Magic

A few butterflies fluttered in Aaron’s stomach as he emerged to serve his own bottle, a little nervous anticipation sneaking in, not just about his little executive decision, but also about what the guests would think of his blood. His family were in part bred for their blood quality, and Varis seemed to like it, so it should be fine, but of course he was antsy all the same.

Much like his other rounds of serving that night, Aaron was largely deaf to the conversation in the room; or deaf, that was, until he caught Lilie’s name among the chatter, and coming from Countess Marivaldi no less. He couldn’t help but indulge, surprised to hear the Countess speak so familiarly of Lilie; he had no idea the two had ever even spoken, let alone gotten to know each other in the slightest. In fact, everything Aaron had seen had led him to believe Lilie was nervous around vampires, especially nobles. But the way Countess Amaris spoke, especially this odd business about wanting Count Benjamin to refer to her so informally—was that how she talked about her own mage at parties? It seemed a little overly familiar for the setting, but Marivaldis were known for their eccentricity—made it sound like they were on a first-name basis. He made a mental note to ask Lilie about it later, curious despite himself.

But that thought was wiped clean from his head as he moved to the next guest, and Varis started talking.

“He’d have to have any talents for me to squander them. He’s come to me even worse than your average house trained mage…"

Oh no. Varis was talking about him.

“And at the dinner that got your mage caught up in this Red Hand business, Count Astorio, the boy made an utter fool of himself in front of both the Queen and my Lady!”

No.

“I’ve had to take away his Noila toy sword for a whole month because he went behind my back on the matter of his schedule. At least it makes an excellent foot rest at the arena. Too bad I’ll probably have to have it melted down if he keeps misbehaving...”

No! Please!

Of course, inward pleading would do no good—nor would outward pleading, even if he tried. The stories just kept coming, Varis talking like he wasn’t even there, and it took everything Aaron had not to falter before he could step back from Varis and steady himself. He should have been used to it by now—good lord, how many times had Varis thrown these exact insults in his face over the past months?—but even still, every new point in Varis’ list was like a hammer blow to Aaron’s head, driving him down and down like a crooked nail until he was flush with the ground where he belonged. It was bad enough to hear it during bi-weekly lectures on the floor of the study, but now, dressed to the nines and serving representatives of every major noble power in the realm… it was worse than those awful public apologies Varis so kindly brought up, and that was a feat Aaron had previously thought impossible.

Not only that, but for every misdeed Varis listed, Aaron was reminded of a host of regrets. After all, for every harsh word he got from Varis for his stumbles, he’d given himself ten more; he’d beaten himself up over bringing Lilie to Varis’ attention, for just about every single word and action the night of that awful dinner with the Queen, for exposing himself to Lady Sinnenodel’s mind-peeping thugs—sun and stars, that whole debacle was the sole reason he “went behind Varis’ back” to learn mental magic in the first place! Good lord, he was painfully reminded of his every mistake every evening when he walked past those forsaken letters on his wall, which were now common knowledge to every single one of the most important people on this campus, and now those very people knew the reason he no longer carried Dawn, why there was no door on his bedroom when they passed it in the hallway, and probably, if they gave it any thought, why Princess Ryner cast him aside in the first place.

Sun and stars, when it was all laid out in a row like that, it was a wonder he was ever allowed to call himself a Starag in the first place.

A stone dropped in Aaron’s stomach, and he clutched the tray for a silent moment, feeling like he was going to be sick. It was all too much, too fast… everything had been going so well, what happened?! What did Count Victor say that sent Varis on this brutal tangent? Was it because he noticed the change in the bottle order? Was this his punishment for going off-script? Or was this just how Varis talked about him when he wasn’t in the room, if he was ever important enough to be brought up at all?

Aaron had to force his legs to move, force his knees not to give out under him, force himself to continue serving his own blood just so he’d have something to do other than crumple. His face was a pallid, emotionless mask; he served the rest of the room in a daze, hands working on autopilot as what passed for his life flashed before his eyes. It was bad enough when Varis did this in front of Ryner and the Queen; at least they knew he wasn’t that stupid, that he was better than that, they’d seen him succeed before and wouldn’t fall for Varis’ trick. But these people, the Counts and Countess, they didn’t know him, they didn’t know he’d ever gone a night without making a career-ending blunder like the ones Varis rattled off. His reputation would never recover. If these nobles were anything like the rest of aristocracy, news of the discarded Starag’s ineptitude would spread like wildfire, Aaron’s every hope for the future reduced to vapid small talk preceding any real conversation. Vampires of the highest social strata would raise their eyebrows, nod, comment their surprise that the line had declined to such an extent, and move on, all while Landar Starag’s perfect legacy was torn to pieces. And worst of all was that, after all this time with Varis, Aaron wasn’t so sure he didn’t deserve it.

Dipping his head to the last vampire he served, Aaron withdrew to the wall; there were no more bottles to prepare on this timeline, so he hadn’t even the reprieve of being able to go back to the kitchen. Instead, he had to wait for any final requests from guests, collect empty glasses, and see the guests out when they were finished, and in the meantime remain on full display, basking in his own shame. His ears and cheeks might usually burn when he was this embarrassed, but this time they were cold, like every drop of blood had drained out of his face and into the bottle on his tray. It was all he could do to keep his eyes forward, focused to a laser point on the opposite wall. The only thought in his mind was that he just had to make it until the guests left; he could finish having a crisis over his humiliation and dread whatever “proper Sinnenodel punishments” were after they were all gone, but he had to make it to that point first. He could only pray things wouldn’t get any worse in the meantime.

_{Having a small stroke thanks to @Achronum}

Obscene's Scratchpad

Ben
Irina
Lilie


fontmeme fifth century caps size 30 light sky blue

Irina WIP

_{You can run on for a long time // Run on for a long time…}

| Female | 319 | Vampire |

Name

Irina Albakova Astorio

Appearance

Tall, athletic, and with a gaze that could pierce steel, Irina cuts an imposing figure, standing around 5’10” (or, more often, a full 6’ in boots) with a weight of 150lbs. She is the very embodiment of “disciplined”, standing rigidly straight and moving with purpose. Her natural eye colour is gold, but her eyes appear red most of the time with thirst; similarly, while paleness is expected of vampires, Irina’s skin tends to take on a somewhat more deathly pallor. While still ethereally beautiful by nature, Irina stands out among her vampiric peers as looking just a little more dead than most.

A relic of brutal Astorio training, she keeps her shock-white hair cut short and dresses in clothes that hug the body, nothing sticking out to get grabbed; leather jackets, slim-fitting trousers, and heeled riding boots make up much of her everyday wardrobe. One ever-present accessory is a scabbard hanging from her right hip, home to a blade that she wears at all times. While quite spartan in most aspects, Irina does like to indulge in dark lipstick and eyeliner.

Personality

Irina’s personality is the product of a lifetime spent on guard: alert, adaptable, and brutally efficient. She wastes nothing, be it time, energy, or even breath; she has no skill or patience for chatter, and as such speaks bluntly and concisely, and only wants to hear you talk long enough to get what she needs. What little remains of her patience is usually spent managing her self-imposed thirst, and mercy isn’t a word in her vocabulary: clashes and corrections start and end swiftly and brutally, nothing drawn out longer than necessary. Order and discipline are everything to her, and she holds those close to her to the same rigid expectations she applies to herself.

An Astorio to the core, Irina sets a calculating eye on everything she sees, and will learn someone’s size, build, skills and handedness before ever bothering to learn their name. Much like her House contemporaries, she’s well acquainted with violence and revels in combat, though she will only allow herself to indulge long enough to get the job done. Accustomed to an uncertain future, any plans she makes are fluid and flexible, rarely extending more than a few years ahead; in fact, planning ahead is probably the only respect in which Irina could be considered “laid back,” her opportunistic nature lending itself well to adaptation.

Bio

Ask Irina about her life and she’ll reply that there isn’t much to tell; she was born to Count Adrian Astorio after her “twin” brother Mikhail and elder brother Dmitir, and knew her mother only as “Hawk” for the few short years before they were separated. She learned quickly that Dmitir was a softie and Mikhail was a shitheel, became her father’s favourite by being neither, and was quickly launched into 65 brutal years of training, a trial by Lord Pieron himself, and eventually usurped her father. By all accounts, it was a typical Astorio upbringing.

Of course, an Astorio upbringing is spent with one’s back against the wall, and Irina’s was no different. Her earliest memories consist of fear and bloodshed, of a time where anything and everything had to be fought for. Decades of swinging every weapon known to civilization, learning to embrace hunger, pain, and desperation, looking over her shoulder because nothing and nowhere was safe, all to be honed into a ruthless killing machine—to her, it was… unremarkable.

But it was anything but in her father’s eyes, especially when compared to her companions on that journey: her brothers, Dmitir and Mikhail. Count Adrian had his work cut out for him with Dmitir: his first child by about a century, Dmitir was meek and soft-hearted from the first, possessing a merciful streak that rarely bade well for Astorio children. By some miracle he survived his training, but his father’s varied attempts to thicken his skin never hit their mark, teaching Dmitir only to keep his anguish to himself. When, at long last, he ventured into the woods for his final trial with Lord Pieron, he never returned, either dead or alive, and has never been seen or heard from since.

Of course, news of Dmitir’s supposed treachery spread quickly through the family, and with his line thrown into disrepute, it fell to Count Adrian’s other two offspring, only children at the time of Dmitir’s disappearance, to restore his honour. As such, he pushed his “twins” even harder than he had Dmitir, though he would not escape his challenges just yet.

While his second son, Mikhail, was more promising, he was still far from the paragon Adrian needed to restore his reputation. Unlike his brother, Mikhail didn’t have a merciful bone in his body; in fact, he took pleasure in suffering of all sorts that bordered on sick even by Astorio standards. Physically weak but quick, he avoided direct confrontation as much as he could, preferring to deceive, trap, ambush, and backstab his opponents into submission. This cloak-and-dagger methodology combined with a silver tongue and a talent for subterfuge cut him out better for the Sinnenodels than the Astorios, and despite the fact that he managed to pass all of his training, it was soon clear that his dishonourable nature would only reinforce popular opinion of Adrian’s line as cowardly.

As such, the Count’s last hope lay in his daughter, and fortunately, she did not disappoint. From the very first, Irina outpaced both of her brothers in intensity; every little thing she did, from schoolwork to play-fighting to feeding, she did with unmatched vigour, a whirlwind of nigh-uncontrollable energy. She craved direction and approached everything with single-minded purpose; in other words, she was the perfect clay to be moulded into Count Adrian’s saving grace.

Easily his favourite of his children, Irina was the one he pushed hardest of all, desperate to turn her into something any good Astorio would be proud of. And the harder he pushed, the better Irina responded, thriving under the pressure. Her father’s discipline allowed her to channel her as-yet aimless energy into a force to be reckoned with, easily destroying any task she was pointed at. The more she struggled, the more she hurt, the more her determination grew, egging her on to demolish every new obstacle in her way until there were none left to conquer.

When she finally surpassed her father and took his title, Count Adrian died with a smile on his face, secure in the knowledge that Dmitir’s transgressions had been atoned for.

These nights, Irina’s goals are somewhat less clear. Having amassed not only her father’s holds, but those of some other minor players in House Astorio, her material future is secure—assuming she can hold them. Titles and property in House Astorio change hands overnight, and the uncertain nature of Astorio life has turned her into quite the opportunist, accustomed to taking whatever chance happens to float by, and that’s largely how she’s been living since her rise to Countess.

Of course, even Astorio ears aren’t deaf to rumours of upcoming discord. Perhaps now would be a good time for a change...

Likes

Order / discipline / straightforwardness / cleanliness / dogs / combat / cold weather / motorcycles / challenges / dark lipstick

Dislikes

Other nobles / doublespeak / complaining / negotiation / dishonourable behaviour / poorly-trained mages / bottled blood / her brother Mikhail

Habits

• Fasting
• Using her enhanced senses for everyday purposes
• Clicking her boots
• Referring to mages as animals (ex. “kitty”)
• Keeping eerily still
• Cleaning

Other

• Irina’s sword is a heavy cavalry sabre, forged more heavy-duty than those designed for human use. A human would find it too unwieldy to use, but as a vampire, the extra weight is negligible to her.
• Irina is a skilled equestrian and a talented driver, and has trained in horseback and vehicle-mounted combat both on- and off-road. Her ride of choice is a motorcycle.
• She might not admit that she loves dogs, but Irina certainly has great respect for them, and her favourite breed is the Doberman Pinscher. She’s had a Doberman all her life; her current dog is a male named Hugo.
• Along with her sabre, Irina keeps two things on her person at all times: a flask of mage blood (changed out every week) and a silver pocket watch, preset to a three-minute timer.

Of Blood and Magic

Aaron allowed himself an amused hum at Max’s distaste, crossing his arms as he listened. Honestly, he couldn’t tell if Max was trying to help him or hurt him. From that shit-eating grin earlier (not to mention Aaron had assumed the latter, but if Max started the whole conversation with a lie just to throw him off some scent, then he must have been mistaken about how much Varis cared about the whole debacle; if he was trying to help, then why not just wait until they could speak privately? Aaron wanted to believe Max meant it when he said he wanted to be genuine once in a while, but things like these could blow up in both of their faces if they got picked up by the wrong people.

Ugh, but Aaron wasn’t sure why he even tried to understand. While the very idea tempted his mind to start chasing its tail again, the only way he’d stop the looping until he could get a second opinion was to remind himself that he was probably overthinking things again. He was adding layers where there were none; Max was probably just as new and clueless at all this chicanery garbage as he was, and if he was trying for some slick move, he was kinda sucking at it. Either way, nothing to worry about for the moment.

“Thanks,” he replied simply, effectively disengaging from that conversation. Fortunately, Maddie was still trying to steer the room away from sketchy topics, and landed on one to which Aaron could actually contribute.

“I didn’t realize you knew Kanalie,” he commented absently, leaning on the back of the couch. He didn’t know her either, only that she was Lilie’s senior friend, but apparently she was a friend of Alexander’s. That whole morning after the practical was still a bizarre haze in his head, truth be told; sometimes he forgot it actually happened. If he had to guess, he’d say it was probably the blue-haired water mage—Diego?—passing on that eloquent message, and he couldn’t resist a grin. As weird and foreign and weird as it had been to hang out with that bunch, he couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy it—he even peeked into their group chat from time to time. The message sounded a little ominous, but given what he knew about the Mental program so far, it was probably true. His next semester was supposed to be brutal, and his schedule was set to be packed even tighter than it already was; maybe a “break” before the break was warranted.

Still, he had to shake his head at “Firefly”; it was one of his better nicknames, to be sure, but it was still a nickname, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Sunny, Starag, Firefly, boy—who would believe that of all the people he saw on a nightly basis, Max was the one who most often used his real name? Aaron chose to find it funny, if only to stop himself from finding it sad, though when Lilie spoke up, he was reminded that there was one nickname he’d be happy to hear more often.

"Firefly? I think I prefer Maestro, they'd definitely agree with me if they ever saw him play."

If the name alone wasn’t enough to turn his ears red, the look he caught from Lilie after would definitely do the trick. Honestly, what a mess he was; one word and one shy little look and he was melting for her all over again. Her words in the kitchen were all but forgotten, replaced by memories of a beautiful calm night on the property wall, listening to her sing along with his cello, practically glowing under the moonlight… It was a memory he kept close at hand on his toughest nights, and he was a little shocked to learn that she remembered it as well as he did.

“I’d… be happy to go, if I can get leave,” Aaron finally tore his eyes back to Madalyn, pausing mid-sentence only to stop himself from stammering. Like hell he’d miss a chance to spend another morning with Lilie; sneaking off to the beach during Revel would have been up there with the top ten nights of his life if not for the fact that the whole affair was rudely overshadowed by a murder, and reciprocated feelings or not, he wouldn’t miss an opportunity to try and repeat it.

A gentle buzz on his wrist tore him out of his reverie, and a quick glance at his watch had Aaron jumping to his feet. It was time to serve the next bottle! But, wait, how was it already so late? There were two bottles left, but definitely not enough time to serve them both. Shit! He shouldn't have gotten carried away, his watch would have alerted him, so did Varis calculate wrong? No, no, he must have spent too much time serving over the course of the evening - and Eris' little interlude certainly didn't help!

“Please, excuse me,” he told the room before heading back into the kitchen, racking his brain over what to do. He couldn't very well close off Varis' party with someone else's mage's blood, and certainly not Count Victor's; Varis thought low enough of the "headhunting brute" not to even bother with messing with him at his own party. Skipping Salem's bottle would mean going off-script, but Aaron was pretty sure that his own blood being served last was more important than Salem's being served precisely second-last.

It was nerve-racking to go against Varis' predetermined menu, but for once Aaron forced himself to make an executive decision, switching Salem's bottle for his own on the next outgoing tray. He'd hear about it when the guests were gone, he knew, but he'd hear about it no matter which choice he made; at least this way, Varis couldn't accuse him of blindly following direction.

_{@Scribe of Thoth @Achronum @Hero}

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

_@Hero

If Professor Tomai thought he was talking too much, Lienna didn’t share his opinion, drinking in every word. She watched with rapt attention as he drew a matrix of symbols on the board, approaching when he finished to examine each in detail. But as she looked, fiddling with the buttons on her sleeves behind her back and counting each Crest, a puzzled look came across her face. Twenty-one, just like the professor said—but that didn’t sound right. What few brief lessons on Crests she’d received from the priest in Hima felt like a lifetime ago, but she hadn’t forgotten that Crests all originated from figures in scripture; the Ten Elites, the Four Saints, Four Apostles, and of course, Seiros and Nemesis themselves. This was the first she’d heard of any crest being passed down from Nemesis, but even adding him didn’t account for every symbol. Lienna wasn’t very good with numbers, but even she could count to twenty. With her back turned to Professor Tomai, she squinted at the board, not familiar enough with the Crest symbols to tell which one didn’t belong. Maybe this mysterious extra Crest was a product of the Professor’s research—or maybe there was something her priest had neglected to tell her.

She might have asked, but Tomai’s explanation continued without pause, and she was loath to miss a moment of it—especially since each new phrase sounded more outlandish than the last. Lienna turned as he spoke, reeling at the idea that despite apparently having been around for centuries, news of these superhuman Crest bearers had never made it to Hima. Many of the townsfolk—Oma included—thought them cursed, but that was merely out of fear that Crest-bearing children would be whisked away by greedy nobility; in fact, Lienna herself had never really understood why Crests were so valuable that nobles would disown their own children for lack of them, but if what Tomai said about Crest bearers demonstrating supernatural powers was true, then maybe there was some method to the madness.

Well, sometimes demonstrating powers, she reminded herself. She didn’t need a Crest researcher to tell her she bore no such thing; if she could turn invisible or pull trees out of the ground with her bare hands, she could have made a fair bit more money as a teenager, and could probably have arranged herself with someone higher born than a Count.

But she was exceedingly lucky to have even that, she reminded herself starkly. Just by existing, her Crest, and the noble avarice that followed it, had become her deliverance; that alone was a superpower to her.

Back in the present, the Professor’s lecture grew more puzzling by the moment, launching into catastrophes, divine revelations and impossible Crests. Even the tone with which he delivered his outlandish hypotheses contradicted what she knew; she’d been taught Crests as blessings from the Goddess, but Tomai talked about them like living things, interacting with each other and evolving independent of divine will. As far as she knew, the link between Crests and the Goddess was indisputable, but Tomai sounded unenthused—perhaps even unconvinced. That tone was what drew her in most of all, the confidence with which he contradicted the teachings of the Church fascinating her. Lienna had no history of interest or opportunity for academic endeavours, but if his research was convincing enough to make him question truths that had apparently been accepted since the beginning of time, she wanted to know more about it.

A million questions swirled in her mind when Tomai was done, more than she could reasonably occupy him with, but one unexpectedly stood out.

“If most Crest bearers are no different from anyone else, then how can you study them?” She asked thoughtfully, almost by accident. Sure, the ones with powers would be easy enough to observe, probably, but surely they must have studied people whose Crests didn’t affect them in order to know that at all, right? Those contraptions—Hanneman machines—could detect a Crest even in someone like her with nothing abnormal about them, but how? What were they looking for, and how did they find it in the first place?

Experiments? The thought came out of nowhere, but it instantly put a stone in her stomach. She’d heard about how doctors would carve up dead bodies to learn about people’s insides, or feed poison to animals to see what it did; did they have to experiment on Crest bearers to learn about them, too? The very idea conjured up horrible images of children strapped to tables, being poked and cut into, or frightened people pitted up against all manner of beasts to see if their Crests would respond—it was the stuff of nightmares, and too awful even to think about. She had to turn away, taking a deep breath and a moment to let her head stop spinning.

When she’d recovered, she turned back, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be asking you for an entire lesson,” she excused herself, waving the question away. “Thank you for telling me so much. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

Of Blood and Magic

Still a little on edge from Max’s little gem, Aaron did his best to listen to the others, though now that Max had awakened that stupid analytical part of his brain, it was hard to turn off. Lilie’s story in particular was irritating it, the symbolism of the statues she mentioned a little too pertinent for his liking. There was no way it was an accident—not with all the other pieces of history woven into the practical—but if not, why target an Eve? Unless… well, Lilie did say she and Count Benjamin failed a few challenges, so perhaps they’d stumbled onto a puzzle that wasn’t meant for them? But still, the only student something like that should have had any effect on was Varis, and even then it seemed unlikely given his and Ryner’s particular dynamic. So what then?

Maybe Max was right. Maybe someone on the Mental magic side of things did fuck up—or had motives of their own.

Aaron only came out of his pondering in time to hear something from Lilie about a kiss between a vampire and mage, and was so shocked he almost interrupted Salem. He managed to keep his comments to himself, but for the millionth time he had to wonder what on earth Ryner was thinking! Having a vampire and mage kiss to complete a course objective—that should have gone against everything she stood for! And how utterly unnatural and strange—it’d be like forcing him to kiss one of the horses in a riding lesson, so wide was the gap between them. And what if some poor mage with a cruel master stumbled on that challenge? What sort of precedent was she trying to set? He had half a mind to march to her office and demand some reasoning, if only to reconcile it with every contradictory Council motion she’d put forward in living memory.

Perhaps fortunately, his inner reeling skimmed over most of what Salem said; maybe he should have paid more attention, but it had been a while since Varis inquired about him and he’d be lying if he said he cared. Besides, by Maddie’s brief summary it didn’t sound like he missed much; Salem saw some examples of plant magic, big whoop. It almost brought a smirk to his face to think of how gigantic of a learning opportunity had been right under Salem’s nose for two weeks at Noila Castle, only to go completely unnoticed. He almost wanted to tell him just to see how he’d react when he found out.

But when Max’s weird little grin caught his eye, Aaron pushed the thought away, inwardly priming for whatever fire he’d have to put out next. This prick was doing this on purpose, and Aaron couldn’t even rise above it; Max’s information was more valuable than he’d prefer, and even on the chance that it was fabricated, he still had to bite. Max knew it, too. Bastard.

He shot Max a piercing look as he listened, but listen he did; it seemed Eris and Varis each had the same idea, speaking to Ryner and having their mages poke around behind the scenes. Although, it surprised Aaron that Eris went to such greater lengths than Varis did; he’d have expected the shrewd and merciless heir of House Sinnenodel to go after any possible conspiracy like a dog on a bone, but it was cavalier playboy Eris who seemed the most concerned about it. What did it mean to him, then? Lovers or not—or whatever that relationship was now, he tried not to think too hard on it—Aaron sincerely doubted an illusion of a confused Varis could shake Eris so deeply. Clearly something happened in that trial he didn’t know about.

Hm, maybe Max’s little flex was more valuable than the metal mage bargained on; his story about Mental professors would be far less interesting to Varis than the implication that Eris was so deeply interested in the matter. Surprisingly satisfied, he shot Max another look, equal to his in smugness but a bit less overt.

“Mr. Samael must be pleased that you’ve been so proactive,” he commented smoothly, every bit the perfect gentleman who’d gotten what he wanted. “Even I wouldn’t be too keen on seeing the Mental faculty, and I’m supposed to be joining them. And there you are diving right into the hornet’s nest.” He offered Max a knowing smile. “If the practical was meant to mend some fences between the two of you, I’d say it must have done its job.”

_{@Hero @Scribe of Thoth}

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

_@Eleven

That Imogen’s enthusiasm matched his own was no surprise given her exuberant aura, but it delighted Jorah just the same; she emanated a childlike joy that reminded him of the endless entertainment his baby sisters gave him, amplified by ten. Jorah was sure that kind of energy would be infectious even to those with no sensitivity to others’ emotions, and as for him, it made him feel like he’d been struck by lightning—and he wanted more.

He scarcely had the chance to reply to Imogen with more than some laughs and a joyful smile by the time Raimund swung around, as always injecting some charm at the perfect time. “If you thought that was entertainment, Momo, wait until you see this man bring out his mandolin.” Raimund put a hand on Jorah’s shoulder, slipping him a sly wink. “Would you honour us this evening?”

Jorah's face lit up even brighter at the mention, but he quickly returned Raimund's sly look with his own. “After all this time, my friend, you'd struggle to stop me!" He assured him, already vibrating with anticipation for a real, proper party. Sneaking off to the waterfront for a good time had its charms, sure, but the idea of making merry under his real name for once had Jorah all aflutter with excitement—not to mention fingers itching to make use of the mandolin he’d painstakingly hidden from his father in the weeks leading up to his departure. Raimund was sure to be surprised, and with any luck, a little jealous; in their years apart, he’d been practicing.

Imogen was kind to reach out to Isolde, but it was clear enough from the mortified look on the poor girl’s face—not to mention the stormcloud perpetually perched over her, judging by the tumult in her aura—that she probably wasn’t interested. It really was a pity; under all that gloom she looked to be a pretty girl, but Jorah could imagine the obstacles she faced in her father’s wake were beyond his expertise to deal with. Besides, if Imogen’s aura wasn’t so deafening, he was sure Isolde’s would suffocate him. Hopefully she’d find some solace soon so he could have some hope of talking to her.

Before he knew it, though, Jorah’s thoughts were ripped back to the arena as Imogen all but dragged him out of the classroom. He kept her pace readily, happy to leave behind somber thoughts and lose himself in her symphony again, snickering all the way to the arena.

The place was expectedly spartan, really just a rectangular room with an opening in the ceiling to light a pit of sand in the middle, but from the few people milling around Jorah could tell it could probably hold more spectators than it appeared. He wasn’t sure if the arena would hold much particular interest for him throughout the year—not for any moral objection per se, but he was pretty sure there were other endroits in the monastery which would better capture his fleeting attention—but only a fool would turn down the chance to see a colt of an Adrestian noble’s challenge to an actual Knight of Seiros play out.

And play out it did, much to Jorah’s delight. From his and Imogen’s spot on the edge of the sand, they had a great view of the whole fight—which, to Jorah’s surprise, lasted longer than the ten seconds he’d allotted the cocky Aegir boy. Why, he’d almost made it to twenty! He’d have to drive a celebratory drink into Valerian later.

“Bravo!” he called at the battle’s conclusion, clapping loudly. He supposed he couldn’t mock the kid too harshly; he had the brass balls to challenge Michail in the first place, and didn’t crumble the second he stepped onto the sand. Jorah doubted he himself could do much better, but then, maybe it wasn’t a fair comparison. He didn’t have any melee training to speak of, though he’d be interested to see how a Knight of Seiros would fare in a hunting competition. An avenue for later exploration, perhaps.

“And look at that, the Black Eagles stay whole today,” he commented to Imogen, nudging her gently. “What did you think? Wait—is pulling out a thunderstorm even legal in duels? What about lightning? That'd pose a problem to an armoured knight, don't you think?”

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

_@Hero

Lienna had hardly expected any response at all from icy Professor Tomai, let alone a positive one, but it seemed she’d chosen the right topic given his enthused response. Truth be told, she didn’t even know Crests were a subject of research at all; having been told it was something she was born with, she’d always assumed a Crest was like an arm or a leg, hardly a subject of mystery that needed untangling. But of course, the last few days had shown her there was much and more she didn’t know, and more and more she felt like over all those years sequestered away in Hima she’d fallen behind the rest of the world.

More than just curiosity at the idea of a previously unknown field of study, though, was the Professor himself. Even if the topic itself had just been an excuse to start a conversation, the way Professor Tomai talked about it drew her in. Though he used simple terms, they spoke to a much deeper understanding; it was clear they came from a vast wellspring of knowledge, his expertise apparent even just from his ease of explanation, and that alone was enough to pique Lienna’s curiosity. She recognized that sort of knowledge and passion from long ago, gleaming in her priest’s eyes when she asked him to tell her about the Ten Elites and the Four Saints, back when she had time to be delving into the stories of things long dead.

Back when things weren’t so complicated.

“New possibilities?” She interrupted that dark train of thought with a question, latching onto something that had caught in her mind. “I didn’t know that… I didn’t realize there was so much left to learn.” She caught herself before she made it too clear that she was some north country bumpkin who’d never heard of Crest research, smoothing it over with something more vague.

She noticed the book in Tomai’s hands, with a large, unfamiliar symbol on an open page surrounded by writing so small that the very idea of trying to read it made her head spin. The adjacent page was thankfully written in larger print, and while most of the words there were still hard to make out, one jumped out at her: Gautier. Oh, that must have been the symbol of the Crest of Gautier; if she recalled correctly, it would have flashed from that device in the church all those years ago, and she knew all the Crests had symbols from their appearance in artwork in the church. Her gaze lingered on the page for a moment longer before she looked up; she’d never paid much mind to the specific symbol of Gautier, but she made a point to memorize it now. Unlike years ago where the mere mention of her Crest would send her grandmother into a panic, she had more than a hunch that it would become important now.

“What could have come along to turn something like Crest research on its head?” she finally continued, ignoring the Professor’s question in favour of her newfound curiosity. “I was under the impression that Crests hadn’t changed since the days of the Ten Elites. How could something so old and important suddenly become a mystery all over again?”

Of Blood and Magic

Lilie’s professor did what?! Aaron’s brow shot up at the very mention, shock written all over his face. How did one forget their clothes, exactly? Max’s professor attacked him, Lilie’s was a nudist, Maddie’s had her singing like a toddler—where on earth did Ryner find these people? Was this another one of her ways of having fun at her students’ expense? Good lord, maybe there was some credence to Max’s little jab; Ryner of all people would know that his upbringing didn’t lend itself well to dealing with… whatever flavour of unprofessionalism every other professor seemed to practice.

Oh, and speaking of Ryner having fun at her students’ expense, Aaron supposed he should have known it was only a matter of time until the matter of the practical came up. He nearly groaned; the whole thing was an exhausting web of nonsense he’d been chasing his tail over far longer than he’d like to admit, and while it was some comfort to hear he and Max weren’t the only groups to have a harrowing time with it, it was a topic he would very much have preferred to avoid.

Fate would not be so kind, however, and any semblance of comfort was dashed when Max opened his mouth. He’d been to see one of the Mental professors about the practical, then? Well, either Eris’ little fact-finding mission hadn’t ended with him or Max had been just as dishonest as he was at their little meeting. The thought was almost comforting, if only to ease his conscience a touch about lying to Max’s face about keeping his own mouth shut, but the timeline didn’t favour it; even with his connections, Aaron himself could scarcely expect to organize and conclude a meeting with a participating member of the Mental faculty within less than a night of the practical.

Besides, comforting himself with the hope that everyone else was as scummy as he was was tangential to the task at hand: Eris was digging again, and Varis would definitely want to hear about it. As far from amused as he was about Max just casually throwing that out there—he sure seemed to have loosened his lips a bit since they last spoke on the issue—Aaron snapped up every word, filing it all away to report later. He wasn’t sure why Max even offered that much, but until Varis told him they could write the whole thing off and move past it, every little scrap of information was important.

“Yes, Her Highness certainly has an eclectic idea of teamwork,” Aaron added pointedly, shooting Max a subtle look from behind his pleasant facade. As much as the metal mage seemed to neglect the fact that blabbing things like that all over the place was a risk to more than just himself, Aaron knew better to think that he could get much more out of him with an audience. Frankly, the practical was a garbled mess he was tired of thinking about, but his better judgement told him it would be smart to get some information on the other groups’ experiences, and unfortunately that meant offering something of his own.

“My version had me fighting Max. The illusions they implemented were incredible, weren’t they?” he offered more cheerfully, mostly to Maddie. He definitely also had a “strange” time in the practical, but unlike Max he wasn’t keen on drawing attention to it. “I don’t know how they did it, but my Master and I did another one that turned me completely intangible as we searched for a token. I fell right through a tree.” He punctuated the remark with a well-placed chuckle, artfully omitting the amusing details of Varis shrieking in terror as he tried to dig a medallion out of a hole as it tried to buck him off into the abyss.

_{@Achronum @Scribe of Thoth but yknow basically everyone}