herrings

[herrings]

loyaltestament​:

[Speed bane: 16 -> 18, no change | Armor boon: 2 -> 1.5 damage taken]

Linhardt jerks away from the attack at the last second and what was meant as a  finishing blow glances off of his shoulder instead. Too slow. Too telegraphed. He should have known better. It would take more effort than that to finish off an opponent so determined to win despite the situation. The near-miss puts Dedue just a hair off-balance. In the time it takes to steady himself and focus again on his opponent, Linhardt was readying another spell.

He feels no change in the air; the telltale heat of a fire spell or static of thunder magic are absent, as is the familiar rushing wind of Linhardt’s previous attacks. Not even the stinging chill of the ever rare ice magic can be found. Dedue’s mind races - was he about to cast a life-draining nosferatu spell and steal himself a second wind? Was this merely a trick to–

oh.

Dedue has always been a brawny figure, right from his childhood. Few people his own age have ever been able to push him around. The past few years, grown adults with thrice his combat experience struggled to unsteady him. So the sensation of being knocked - no, launched - right off of his feet and through the air is utterly foreign to him. He has a fraction of a second of recognition where he comprehends what exactly Linhardt has done, what magic he cast, before his entire body slams full-force into a tree trunk.

[Roll: 1! | Damage: 0]

His senses are knocked so thoroughly from his head that he can’t even begin to launch a counterattack.

So that’s what “seeing stars” meant. Fascinating…

There’s a triumphant smirk that flickers over Linhardt’s lips as Dedue is launched back. It’s appearance is brief, followed by a wince as the impact of the other’s body echoes throughout the clearing. That must’ve hurt, Linhardt thinks as he gives a weary glance to his opponent, and momentarily considers to branch out his concern. His damaged leg shuts him up, however, adrenaline coursing through his body growing weaker as the mage becomes more aware of his condition.

(linhardt hp: .5 / 4 HP remaining)

He should seek out another medic on the field. Linhardt’s breathing is labored, cold sweat sticking to his uniform as the ache in both his leg and shoulder flare in periodic bursts. There’s a persistent tremble in Linhardt’s fingers as he takes a moment to scan the field, searching for a teammate that could spare him a heal. No one’s there; the field is secluded, the remaining figures of the Golden Deer far off in a distance that his shouts couldn’t possibly reach. The medic tent is even further-- Linhardt’s leg buckles beneath him, forcing him to kneel back down on the grass. If he stays here, surely one of his teammates will eventually come with assistance, maybe. It’s a chance that Linhardt dares to take, even if it means to maintain his position on the battlefield.

(attack roll: 10+2 = 12! 1 damage incoming!)

It’s cruel, but he thrusts forth a gale of wind in Dedue’s direction, hoping to keep the other student pinned at the tree. If he gets Dedue equally as inquired, Linhardt thinks, perhaps they can both call-off the spar.

#loyaltestament #// BTW I LOVE HOW YOURE WRITING DEDUE. I LOVE SEEING THE INTROSPECTION ;; #TOABOEL2021

[herrings]

loyaltestament​:

[Speed bane: 8 -> 10, no change | Armor boon: 0.5 -> 0 damage taken]

His attack lands - if the sound Linhardt makes is any indication, it lands hard. In a spar this is the point that he would ordinarily lower his weapon and check on his partner’s condition. But the heat of battle is no time to show compassion for fellow students. Dedue’s face is as stony as the man himself, showing no changes whatsoever while he continues his advance upon the now-incapacitated mage. 

However, his opponent isn’t done yet: the Deer creates a vortex of wind around himself, whipping the day’s balmy air into a whirling frenzy. Rumors abound of Linhardt’s distaste for applying himself, but with this display he was putting on, they couldn’t possibly hold much merit, could they? Dedue pauses, unsure of how to tackle such an obstacle, and his opponent suddenly directs the wind towards him. With nothing to do but brace himself against the unexpected attack, Dedue plants his feet and readies his shield in a defensive technique he learned for facing enemies on horseback, just with a much smaller axe this time. A raging vortex of wind magic was sort of like a charging cavalryman.

[Roll: 10 | Damage: 0.5]

His shield takes the brunt of the wind’s strength, and what else remains does little to harm or even unsteady him. Such is the benefit of his stature. As the last of its energy dissipates and the air returns to its previous calm, Dedue raises his axe up and strikes downward with the pommel. A swift blow in the right spot could knock the breath right out of Linhardt and leave him winded, so to speak.

Pain branches through Linhardt’s leg, thrumming against his fibula as he forcefully bites down his discomfort. The vortex smashes against Dedue’s shield, its current splitting into two as the remains tousle alabaster locks. Linhardt is aware that it was foolish of him to wield wind against the brawniest of the Lions, the Duscur native practically unshaken despite the heaviest of his spells. However, Linhardt’s physical condition left no room to toy with more heinous incantations. Take the thunder spell for example, whose might may as well cause the mage to crumble from overexertion. The Hevring heir takes a deep breath, brows knotted and eyes concentrated.

(roll modification: +0.5DMG (Amr Bane) = 1 DMG dealt!) (linhardt hp: .5 / 4 HP remaining)

Dedue thrusts his battleaxe upwards, Linhardt sees the conviction in his fellow student’s eyes as sunlight catches upon the edge of his weapon and haloes his silhouette. Formidable, indeed, the Adrestian thinks as he readies himself. He ignores the agony that screeches through his leg as he swings himself sidewards, gasping as pommel bashes against his scapula. New plan. He swallows his pain as he holds his ground-- Dedue is right where he wants him, after all.

(attack roll: 14+2 = 16! 2 damage incoming!)

Linhardt forgoes his wind magic and sticks to what he knows best: light magic. A different sigil curls at the mage’s hands, patches of grass glowing yellow-white as he summons forth warp. Catching Dedue in his range, he gestures the spell’s activation. His hand signals to the right, where he hopes to hurl the taller student into the base of a tree.

#loyaltestament #// DEDUE TWINK SMASHER #// LINNY ON HIS LAST LEG. 😭 #TOABOEL2021

[herrings]

continued from here. @loyaltestament

[Speed bane: 5 -> 7, barely hit | Armor boon: 0.5 -> 0 damage taken]

Dedue’s charge ends with his axe passing through the space Linhardt’s torso had been just a moment before - using the recoil from a spell to dodge was quite the inventive technique, fitting for someone with a reputation for cleverness as the mage held. Another technique to research, and to overcome. While avoiding the attack wasn’t all Linhardt had planned, it would take more than one unexpected dodge to give him the upper hand. Dedue’s eyes still locked onto his opponent, he sees the second spell coming from a mile away.

A quick adjustment of his shield and the blast of wind dissipates against it, passing harmlessly over Dedue’s body as little more than a breeze to set his earrings spinning. In any other moment, the sensation might have been enjoyable - in the current one, it’s just a reminder of what the spell could have been if he was less prepared. Mages were not enemies to toy with; he needs to take Linhardt down as soon as possible.

[Roll: 19 | Damage: 2]

Wasting neither his time nor the advantage gained from his opponent’s position, Dedue aims a swipe with the back of his axe’s head at Linhardt’s legs. With any luck it should keep the mage on the back foot and unable to fire off any more magic.

Dedue isn’t one to be trifled with. Of course he isn’t, the Battle of the Eagle and Lion isn’t just an inconvenience to him as it was to Linhardt. The older male is treating this mock battle for what it is: a war simulation. There are no openings in Dedue’s defense as Linhardt’s spell pitfully grazes his shield; the Duscurian man stands on the field as an echo of what the Kingdom values. A stalwart knight, indestructible.

The sound of war cries and steel clashing ‘round Gronder Field tells Linhardt that his battle is one that he can’t forfeit. This skirmish is one of his own; a fight that he can’t carelessly hand off to a peer more inclined. It’s frustrating, truthfully Linhardt doesn’t want to be here,  but Dedue seems to treat him as a formidable opponent. The least he can do is show the same respect back, if only to honor Dedue’s effort.

(roll modification: +0.5DMG (Amr Bane) = 2.5 DMG dealt!) (linhardt hp: 1.5 / 4 HP remaining)

Dedue’s handle bashes just below Linhardt’s knee. Linhardt falters, collapsing down back onto grass with a cry as pain branches through his leg. This is why he despises participating in mock battles: the damage isn’t worth the experience. His injured leg trembles, the slightest movement evoking an excruciating sting to shoot through his veins. Dedue has him incapacitated-- Great.

(attack roll: 6+2 = 8! 0.5 damage incoming!)

He can’t move, but a mage’s efficiency doesn’t end at their mobility. It’s what makes magic great; the versatility of its medium allows for its user to become creative. Wind kicks up around Linhardt, its current spiraling ‘round his person as a makeshift barrier. Concentrating, the Hevring heir launches the cyclone, determined to throw Dedue some few feet back and away from him.

#loyaltestament #// CHANELS LIBERAL USE OF MAGIC PART. 3232 #// DEDUE OUT HERE SQUASHING LIN LIKE A BUG. #TOABOEL2021

[herrings]

minorindech​:​

“Yes you did!” Bernadetta yells back. If he has an argument to support that, she doesn’t have the patience to hear it. “There’s no one else here right now! Who else could you have been attacking than stupid, worthless Bernadetta?”

A part of her feels bad. That same part and a little more of her knows she’ll feel awful for this when she calms down. But for now, she doesn’t care. For now, she forces her way to sit on Linhardt as he squirms around like a panicked animal and does the first thing she can think of.

She grabs a handful of mud and mushes it into his face.

“You’re always like that! You’re always mean to Bernie, even when I don’t deserve it!” Always teasing and prodding and Bernadetta can’t place the exact memory, but there’s something that has always stung deep when she saw him, an insult long forgotten. “I’ve never done anything to you and you always just…just…”

Just as quickly as it came, the burst from Bernadetta’s crest withered away, and all at once she deflates. They’re both covered in mud and Bernadetta aches and her burns sting and Linhardt’s probably going to hate her after this and if his father tells her father then that’ll be the end of Bernie and…and…

And Bernadetta does what she always does. She starts crying. “I don’t know why you hate me so much!”

Bernadetta flares into an outburst, emphasized by the sludge that’s smacked against his cheek as she heaves herself upon him. His fellow Adrestian’s words take him aback. The spell had been a genuine mistake, a byproduct of high tension and the inevitable adrenaline wrought by combat. Linhardt’s guilt is sincere; he wouldn’t have striked if he had known her predicament.

Still, intentions mean nothing beyond the thoughts of the executioner. Bernadetta persists-- She speaks of her perspective, spills her feelings through the gaps of communication where Linhardt’s actions fail to fill. Pinned beneath her, the Hevring heir is stunned. For the first time, the disparity between them dawns.

Above, Bernadetta cries.

“I--” Linhardt fails to muster the appropriate words. He opens his gaze, forces himself to face his own consequences as his gaze steadies itself upon a heartwrenching sight. “Bernadetta.” His tone is soft, a gentle hand reaching from the mud to place itself on her knee. Linhardt’s eyebrows furrow, silence befalling between them as he pauses to evaluate the best course of action.  

“I was uninformed on the severity of my jests,” he confesses and that much is true: Like the girl before him, he lacks an understanding of social dynamics. His teases admittedly err on the side of impish, his humor heavily reliant on what reactions he could draw out of his subject. This is where they converge, for Linhardt grew alongside a companion who could handle his remarks. Bernadetta, on the contrary, possesses a delicacy he has yet to be accustomed to, a frailty to her personality that Linhardt shattered. “And I really ought to apologize for my ignorance.”

After all, for all the time he spent self-absorbed in his interest, he had neglected the chance to truly admire the intricacy of Bernadetta’s making.

“I certainly don’t hate you, however,” Linhardt continues, “and, frankly, I don’t see how I ever could.”

#minorindech

[herrings]

The battle rages on; His Highness is still safe, but the Lions are taking appreciable losses. Dedue needs to work fast and work hard if he's to ensure the Lions stay in the running. A crowd of bodies separates, and he suddenly finds himself opposite a green-haired competitor - Linhardt, of the Golden Deer. Their eyes meet, and Dedue readies his axe. "Let us make this quick." Without delay, he charges, and throws a quick strike Linhardt's way. [Roll: 2 | Damage: 0]

Golden banners soar proudly in the heart of Gronder Field, a vivid burst of color in an equally vicious sea of blue and dwindling crimson. The first trimester of the battle passes, numbers of the field now half-empty as each house presses onwards. In a battle of time and tradition before the formation of their land, a battle in which their namesake had been forgotten, the Golden Deer stubbornly persevered.

There’s no time to rest. Linhardt, alert, trails after the assemblage of his peers as they burst into Lion terrain. It comes to no surprise that an encounter swiftly meets him, the evergreen and ever critical eyes of the Lion’s second-in-command, Dedue Molinaro locking upon his own. The Hevring heir’s expression tightens. Of all the students he had prayed not to cross, Dedue was second to the top (just falling short behind His Highness himself.)

(miss!) (linhardt hp: 4/4 HP remaining)

Linhardt compresses wind in the palm of his hands as Dedue charges. Close range combat is his bane and his weak constitution makes him a pitiful challenger against someone of Dedue’s size; he needs to manipulate his magic to make up for where he lacks. As Dedue slams his axe downwards, Linhardt lets his spell burst from his hold, going against the momentum of the retainer’s swing. He dives sidewards as his spell gives him a momentary allowance to dodge, grass staining the obsidian fabric of his uniform pants as he grunts.

(attack roll: 3+2 = 5! miss!)

Knee on the ground, dodging Dedue’s onslaught puts him at a severe disadvantage. Linhardt grits his teeth, not wasting a single minute as he launches a gale. The angle is odd, positioned to cut at an extreme diagonal, but it’s the most that he can afford. Hoping that the spell distracts his opponent, Linhardt attempts to rise back into a defensive position.

#// DEDUE NO STWEBBY... #// lin can't KO dedue bc he's not a child 😔 #loyaltestament

[herrings]

"Ug, Linhardt, you're never going to guess what happened," Hilda groaned, unceremoniously dragging her axe through the grass behind her. She knew he, at least, would sympathize with her plight. She felt sorry that he was still stuck out here as well. "I tried so hard to throw my fight and get out. I kept missing on purpose! But nooo stupid Celica just had to go and make me kick her ass! I should be relaxing on a cot with a refreshing beverage right now. It's so not fair!"

INTERMISSION: BOEL

The sun whose rays once gleamed weakly has now peaked in full, the incoming chill trademarked by the Horsebow Moon disasperates into heat near sweltering levels as the mock battle continues. There is an ache in Linhardt’s arms, a tingling in his fingertips as he now idles to the sidelines, brow creased and hair disarray. He’s hot, muddy, and fatigued-- his weary body yearns to lay itself on what remains of Gronder Field’s soft grass for a slumber, though the unspoken threat of being set ablaze (or, worse, trampled) keeps the mage on his toes. Linhardt yawns, eyes bleary as he blinks away sleep. A familiar voice reaches his ears and aegean eyes drift to the side, meeting the visage of a girl equally as done with the mock battle as he.

“Celica made you kick her ass?” He repeats with mild astonishment. He knows the tale must be exaggerated by Hilda and her perpetual need to undersell her strength, but to think that her might could even surpass Celica…! “I’ve heard rumors of Celica being quite the acclaimed mage… Perhaps she was having an off day, if she were to lose a battle that you were purposely attempting to forfeit?” Still, that was Hilda Valentine Goneril for you, Linhardt thinks. Feminine, yet possessing the might of Leicester’s finest warrior.

The Hevring heir gives a light laugh, “Anyway, that makes you and I both, eh? Seems like we’re doomed to see this battle to the bitter end…” Instinctively, his eyes scan his teammate for any injuries during their brief moment of respite. Then, with a lazy wave of his hand, he casts her a healing spell.

#// CELICA MADE HER KICK HER ASS I'M HOWLING HILDA. #// when ur both lazy but made it to the 2nd inning 😔 #flowerofgoneril

[herrings]

continued from here.

Oh, was she out? Realization dawns a bit too late to Linhardt as sparks of magic fade at his fingertips, he’s left to stare with wide eyes as Bernadetta is caught in his assault. In his defense, Bernadetta is always crying. Not to mention, she’s also on Golden Deer territory; If he weren’t the one to have attacked her, then surely someone else would have.

His fellow Adrestian falls, though Linhardt keeps his ground. The Battle of Eagle and Lion is still going and he’s an unfortunate position of having to stay alert for his team. “Are you okay?” He inquires once the wind settles, his tone simple as if he hadn’t just kicked his friend while she was down. A bow is launched at him, landing some pitiful distance away. Really, Linhardt thinks as he casts the fallen weapon a glance, Bernadetta’s precision truly ought to be better than that.

“You know, Bernadetta--” He speaks in tandem with her as he watches her rise, “I believe--” There are no words further said as something foreign flickers in the other noble’s eyes. A look that Linhardt overlooks, then regrets to ignore as Bernadetta practically throws herself onto him.

“Ugh!” His back slams against the mood with a disgusting ‘schlop!’ hair a mess as he instinctively thrashes back. “Bernadetta, wait!” His hair drags through sludge as he attempts to lift one long limb, desperately attempting to push back as his uniform becomes soiled. “I didn’t mean it!”

Well, that was a bit of a lie. He fully meant for his attack. But he didn’t know that she had been in retreat! @minorindech​

#minorindech #//FUCK EM SHORTIES. #// HE HAD IT COMING X 2

[herrings]

glimmeringsylgr​:

Roll Modification: + 0.5HP (Amr Bane) - 0.5/4HP Left

Was it already the weakness from the first storm, or perhaps Linhardt was just a strong sort? Either way, the next breeze than came blowing by kept her back from her attacker, throwing his pleas and her stability away. At least it wasn’t as strong as the former, so there’s still hope. Badly bruised, but not giving up. That was what she aspired to be. 

Once again, she clasped ahold of her weapon, lunging forth another mighty attack in the goal of winning for the Blue Lions.

Roll: D20 - 9 +0.5HP - 1HP Dealt Theoretically

Pleas are disregarded in the height of battle. The request is ignored as his spell slams against the young girl, her response to him being a raised weapon. Linhardt’s words were, naturally, a jejune thought at best. After all, why stand on a battlefield if you were not to give it your all?

Around the Hevring heir, the Battle of Eagle and Lion claims its first wave of defeats. He hears the thud of exhausted bodies around him as his opponent lunges, seeing in his peripheral vision that his own comrades are falling. Linhardt makes an attempt to maneuver himself away from the girl’s weapon–

(roll modification: +0.5DMG (Amr Bane) = 1.5 DMG dealt!) (linhardt hp: 1/4 HP remaining)

THWACK! Again, the weapon strikes his side once more, igniting hot pain through the mage’s side as he falters. One step, then another to regain his balance— He needs distance and fast.  Linhardt jumps back, wincing as his side protests. Truly, he’d love to take a rest, but the Golden Deer’s numbers aren’t looking too good.

“My apologies,” he speaks again, though the gesture begins and ends as words and not as an earnest regret. A child, yes, but this girl is relentless. Linhardt murmurs an incantation, sigil curling at his wrists as his brow dips in concentration. “But I might as well end this.” Arms thrust out as his unleashes his attack, magic crackling at his fingertips as the wind picks up. The spell surges with ferocity as wind blades shoot out, kicking up grass and dirt from the field.

(attack roll: 17+2 = 19! incoming attack:2DMG)

Silence is shattered as the sound of a horn resonates throughout Gronder Field. Linhardt sighs as the site erupts into chaos, his peers taking charge as they raise weapons alike. ‘Might as well help,’ he somberly thinks as he half-heartedly follows in step, knowing well that his participation was inevitable. A shock of alabaster hair takes his attention, certainly not someone from the Golden Deer. Towards his newfound opponent, Linhardt sends his strongest gale. (attack roll: 17 + 2 = 19!)

Roll Modification:  +0.5HP (Amr Bane) - 1.5/4HP Left

The winds howled around her, hard to combat and sending her skidding across the grounds. Ylgr lifted her arms up in defense, only barely being able to see the shape of Linhardt casting his spell towards her. As the winds calmed slightly, she began panting. If that was the worst thing that could occur… she didn’t even stand a chance!

Alas, now was not the time to be paniced about wind. She reached for her weapon and readied it at her side. Feet began pounding against the ground as she tried to draw the distance between her and the opponent, slashing her weapon at him in desperation.

Roll: D20 - 10 + 0.5HP = 1HP Dealt Theoretically

#glimmeringsylgr #// GOOD GAME CON. #// LINHARDT VON FUCK THEM KIDS HEVRING STRIKES AGAIN. #TOABOEL2021

[herrings]

Wait, did he just hit a child? Linhardt freezes, mortified if only for a moment. Now, anyone who stands on the battlefield knows well enough of the consequences, but the Hevring heir was not so much of a fiend to disregard morality. In his brief moment of moral contemplation, however, the girl advances.

(roll modification: +0.5DMG (Amr Bane) = 1.5 DMG dealt!) (linhardt hp: 2.5/4 HP remaining)

A weapon is whacked to his flank before he’s able to retaliate, and the wind is knocked out of Linhardt as his opponent basically confirms: Yes, this child can fight.

“Let’s not get too eager with the fighting, please,” Linhardt wheezes as he finds air in his lungs again, disregarding the monumental power of his previous spell as he holds his side. The wind picks up as he motions his next attack. Pain ripples in his side as he casts another attack, botching the spell’s summoning as the blade of wind is sent on shaky foundation.

(attack roll: 5+2 = 7! incoming attack: 0.5DMG)

Silence is shattered as the sound of a horn resonates throughout Gronder Field. Linhardt sighs as the site erupts into chaos, his peers taking charge as they raise weapons alike. ‘Might as well help,’ he somberly thinks as he half-heartedly follows in step, knowing well that his participation was inevitable. A shock of alabaster hair takes his attention, certainly not someone from the Golden Deer. Towards his newfound opponent, Linhardt sends his strongest gale. (attack roll: 17 + 2 = 19!)

Roll Modification:  +0.5HP (Amr Bane) - 1.5/4HP Left

The winds howled around her, hard to combat and sending her skidding across the grounds. Ylgr lifted her arms up in defense, only barely being able to see the shape of Linhardt casting his spell towards her. As the winds calmed slightly, she began panting. If that was the worst thing that could occur... she didn’t even stand a chance!

Alas, now was not the time to be paniced about wind. She reached for her weapon and readied it at her side. Feet began pounding against the ground as she tried to draw the distance between her and the opponent, slashing her weapon at him in desperation.

Roll: D20 - 10 + 0.5HP = 1HP Dealt Theoretically

#glimmeringsylgr #// CAFFEINE LASTED ONLY FOR A MOMENT. 😔 #// lin a child: fuck i hit a child thats more child than me #TOABOEL2021

[herrings]

green haired fishing gang REPRESENT

#━━ ˟ ⊰ ✰ VISUAL ⋮ pleasures of a sweet nirvana out of reach. #ooc / #I WILL. GET TO MY REPLIES LATER THIS WEEK

[herrings]

quick doodle for a sleepy boy birthday!!

#━━ ˟ ⊰ ✰ VISUAL ⋮ pleasures of a sweet nirvana out of reach. #ooc /

[herrings]

the day of devotion falls flat upon linhardt’s interest. he just doesn’t get it: why does there need to be a designated day to show one’s admiration for another? the day of devotion is not unlike any other typical day of the year to him and, whilst the hevring heir certainly wasn’t a romantic of any kind, he had at least enough sense to acknowledge that proclamations of love were not an act of gratitude to be reserved for one day in particular. perhaps it was the bitter youthful side of him that was speaking on behalf of the topic, though linhardt would care to argue that he had enough life experience to uphold opinions on the matter.

nevertheless, the day of devotion was simply another day for linhardt von single-and-secluded-since-birth hevring. love was certainly in the air today with monastery couples engaging in excessive pda, inescapable even since every inch of limestone corridors seemed to be swarmed with them. linhardt paid no mind. after all, he wasn’t seteth. the young mage beelined from his class, to the dining hall, and was about to make his usual trek to the library when he realized something.

he forgot to give his analysis to professor pent. (this would make it four days passed since the original deadline.)

the hevring heir had an inner debate with himself. should he just accept the academic defeat and let his grades take the plunge? It’s not like he cares if professor pent gives him a disappointing look… but that would mean his admittedly hardwork in actually completing the assignment would go to waste. linhardt ponders before duty gets the better of himself. he makes way to professor pent’s office…

...and of course it’s closed.

uniform boots tap against polished floors, a sigh escaping linhardt’s lips. he should have known better than to commit to something that was futile from the start. after slipping his papers through the bottom of the door (so professor pent can't tell him that he forgot again), something catches the corner of linhardt’s eyes. chocolates.

aegean hues dart about the empty hallway, not a single soul currently in sight. he comes close to the bowl and takes out a handkerchief before mischievous eyes scan the perimeters once more. first, he takes a single caramel chocolate. the sign on the seat says to take one and linhardt finds himself chuckling. as if anyone pays attention to signages, he thinks as he takes another piece of caramel chocolate. he doesn’t stop there, either. the hevring heir continues to pluck out every delicacy of the same flavor until there’s ten in his handkerchief, until he’s certain that there’s no more caramel chocolates to be found in the mix. then, content with himself, linhardt neatly folds his stuffed handkerchief. he hums, moving away from the bowl as he makes way back to his dormitory room. professor pent and the goddess may be upset with him for this but, then again, when are they not?

It comes after the ‘Day of Devotion’.

Outside of Pent’s office, a plain bar stool holds up a bowl of mixed sweets and left-over chocolates from the day before. (It seemed like a lot of them, Pent thought. More than usual… But there had been a significant source of commotion then, with the Campaign of Encouragement devolving into something akin to a manhunt in some cases.) There must have been those who found themselves without any festivity at all. 

The sign tacked to the seat reads:

“Take One”

#( JUST HAD TO BLURT THIS OUT REAL QUICK.) #(i'm sorry lin took all the caramel chocolates like the heathen he is ) #(hopefully this makes sense is just heaved this out in one go )

[herrings]

There is but a short moment of quiet in the group. With his lungs freed, Morgan can finally air his thanks to his dear friend. “Linhardt,” he starts softly, the hand not clutching his loose seashells reaching out to grip the other’s sleeve. “You saved my life. Twice. I can’t… I can’t thank you enough for that.” He pauses a moment, finding the courage to shift his gaze from Linhardt’s sleeve up to meet his eyes. “I’ll repay you, somehow. I won’t let any harm come your way—I couldn’t bear it.”

silence befalls the group of four as they make way back to the sunken craft. linhardt’s mind swarms with newfound information of their whereabouts as the cleaner shrimp gets comfortable on his shoulder. he blinks lethargically as he tails behind dimitri, daydreaming of how wonderful it would be to go back into his dormitory— his bed.

preoccupied with his mind, the tug on his sleeve almost goes unnoticed. linhardt nearly ignores it until a familiar voice fills his ears, calling for his attention. head tilts to the side, obsidian hairs and youthful features come into view. morgan swims behind him, timid. linhardt comes to a halt as he listens to his friend’s gratitude, brows knitting before he shakes his head.

“there’s no need to thank me, morgan. i only did what i had to do.”  he responds. he may not play the part with dedication, but he was the team’s designated healer. even beyond that, however… warmth fills linhardt’s features as if to reassure. a hand reaches out to clasp morgan’s shoulder as his fellow mage had did back then, when they had first encountered their cleaner shrimp companion.

“i mean, we’re friends, aren’t we?” which means they need to have each other’s backs, especially through dire times. linhardt may not be a committed person, he may be lethargic at times, but his loyalty was genuine. “you did the same before for me, i think.” recallings are blurry, but it comes often to him in speckled dreams. morgan’s concerned features and excruciating pain, gentle arms holding him close as he hears reassurances through warbled ears. “at least, it feels that way for some strange reason.”

so he doesn’t mind risking it all for morgan.

“you don’t need to repay me, so don’t go running along thinking that i’ll suddenly start throwing myself out towards danger.” since that’s the last thing linhardt would ever do— both of them know that. “though, if you’re that adamant about being indebted to me…” he trails off, a devilish smile surfacing on his features, “i don’t mind having your serving of sweet buns for a week.”

#// WILL EDIT MISTAKES LATER #amnesiac-pawn #toalabyrinth2021 #LabyrinthSea2021

[herrings]

bleary eyes stare ahead as uniform boots scrape against sand and cobblestone. linhardt curses his noble heritage, his unfortunate status as hevring’s one and only heir as lord ascalon rounds him up with hubert and sets them off on an impromptu tour. he knew being assigned to the brigid squadron had been a mistake. now, linhardt cares little about past conflicts but one couldn’t deny the uncomfortable awkwardness of the situation at hand. lord ascalon displays his colonization of brigid with pride, flaunts lavish adrestian architecture that looks pitiful against the beauty of brigid’s distinctive style. linhardt scrunches his nose and focuses on the sweltering sun beating down on his skin, on the dull throb of his head that weeps for shade and cries for a nap.

he needs to find an out from this.

as ascalon’s voice continues to drone in his head and as hubert politely draws on the conversation, linhardt gives a deep inhale. he needs to leave before his eyes roll out of their sockets completely. fingers twitch at the heir’s side, his gaze drifts about for a sign-- an opportunity-- to leave. ascalon is focused on hubert, the vassal of the imperial princess eons more interesting than some lackadaisical heir, and linhardt quietly inches away as the two bodies focus on the reception hall. aegean hues dart about palm trees and tapestry, around tanned bodies and imperial armor. he makes it a foot or two away from ascalon and hubert when he turns on the balls of his feet--

---and makes a run for it.

there’s not much that prompts linhardt to break out into physical effort. in fact, he couldn’t even be damned enough to jog during some drills back at the officer’s academy. but, goddess above, having to stay an hour or two longer with lord ascalon as he rambled about his personal accomplishments and the political affair with adrestia and brigid? linhardt would gladly choose to run a mile twice before having to endure that torture.

viridian hair bobs with each flighty step that linhardt takes. he whips his head to the side to see if anyone is on his trail, then groans as he spots hubert’s brooding figure following after him. of course hubert von vestra won’t let him have one thing for himself! suffer by yourself, the heir hisses in his mind, scowling as he makes a sharp turn. eyes bounce around for a hiding spot or even an attraction to make himself seem busy with when familiar twintails come into view.

should he risk it?

there’s only a few seconds to make his decision. hubert von vestra or cynthia amélie delmirev? both are two poisons of the same kind: one a mental torture and the other physical. linhardt gives a sharp inhale, then storms over to where his fellow golden deer stands. cynthia may be remorseless with her antics, but at least suffering goes by quick with her. yes, she often knocks him out or he ends up with a few bruises on his body, but it’s better than hearing hubert’s monotonous voice and having to deal with his severe personality. after all, with cynthia, at least he ends up unconscious half-way through her schemes one way or another.

linhardt stops some distance away from cynthia and tethra before he walks over, trying not to seem as exhausted as he felt after running. “good afternoon,” he greets before feigning interest, wiggling to the right side of tethra if only to seem engaged within the conversation. “the two of you seem quite busy today.” he motions towards empty baskets and the armor that cynthia is wearing, “are you heading somewhere?” as he asks this, he takes a moment to look back and see where hubert had gone.

up next: @cynthero

Flowers Over Politics

event starter for @cynthero & @herrings

“And this is the newly built reception hall.” Lord Ascalon sweeps his arms in a proud arc before the eyesore of a cement block at the center of a semi-circle of painted huts and wooden houses, each only a fourth of its height. It sucks all the life and color out of everything around it, like some sort of drab vacuum, but Hubert nods polite approval nonetheless. His crossed arms tell a different story, however.

“It isn’t yet furnished, but rest assured that it will be for His Majesty’s visit,” Lord Ascalon continues and turns to the two representatives of the mainland with a smile curling the corners of his wide mouth. Stars seem to glitter in his distant gaze, and the subtle smile that comes to Hubert’s lips is born from the thought of breaking the news that His Majesty has no plans to visit.

“Very good,” he says instead to dismiss the topic. “However, we haven’t come here to observe your accomplishments. Our mission is for the Church.”

“Yes, of course.” Ascalon clears his throat and resets his expression to dutiful seriousness. “Then I shall offer you a tour of the city. Surely you will find my knowledge of the area invaluable.”

Another excuse to show off, Hubert thinks, but he sighs with resignation. “Very well. Linhardt–” He glances to the empty space on his left. Brow furrows, then his frown deepens as he catches just a glimpse of green slipping into the crowd leading deeper into the city.

“Do excuse me for a moment, Lord Ascalon.” Hubert offers a polite bow.

“Oh, yes. Go on. It would be a shame for the heir to House Hevring to miss this tour.”

“Your understanding is appreciated.”

Linhardt wouldn’t get away so easily.

#━━ ˟ ⊰ ✰ THREAD ⋮ flowers over politics. #[ this WAS CARELESSLY WRITTEN OUT SRRY I NEED 10 ] #vonvestra #cynthero #LabyrinthSea2021 #toalabyrinth2021

[herrings]

chance oppor-tuna-ties.

cynthero​:

☆ —       well, she could do without the sass. it could have happened to anyone. pushing her bangs back and settling her hands on the side of the boat, cynthia rolls her eyes. makes a point to extra roll her eyes, actually, so he knows she’s extra annoyed. “it’s cold!” she shouts back giggling as she reaches for his hand, stopping short only when she realizes that tana’s gone ahead and jumped into the water along with her. well, no sense in getting out now, huh? pegasus knight pulls her hand away from innes to splash tana instead, grinning from ear to ear as innes eventually makes his way into the water and watches, waiting for linhardt to climb into the water.

      aaaaaand, he doesn’t.

      brows knit together with frustration, cynthia huffing with quiet exasperation. she doesn’t know what she expected. she’d worried that he might fall asleep while they were diving, but maybe she should'a thought about the possibility of him just falling asleep all together before he got into the water in the first place. watching as tethra eases into the water themself, cynthia reaches for her harpoon and tilts the tip of it away from the others. see? careful. her free arm, secured at the side of the boat, shifts as she makes her way over to linhardt’s side. at first, she just stares. makes no attempt to tell the others what she’s planning. water drips.

      then, she takes in a deep breath.

      “lin, you’ve got five seconds to get in the water before i spit on you.” she announces, not even waiting for the poor adrestian noble to respond. “one!” she makes no move. “two! three? four!” so, he has chosen death. cynthia dunks her head beneath the water and takes in a mouthful of seawater, pegasus knight emerging once again with bangs plastered to her face. ew, it’s salty. and briny! “mMphhpHIVE!” oh, there it goes. grosser, it comes shooting out of her nose when she can’t help but laugh.

@herrings

,

@gallucis

!

of course, innes always has something to say. linhardt’s expression sours as he faces his fellow viridian-haired schoolmate, nose scrunched up only momentarily before he gives a wave and a nod: “i’ll be fine.” how hard could watching some fish be? granted, the hevring heir predominantly casts back any of his catches when it comes to the monastery’s pond, but he’s consumed more than enough tomes on the topic of fishing and ichthyology that he’s practically a seasoned professional. innes and tethra descend into the ocean next and there’s a wave of relief within linhardt. peace and quiet, he thinks, as all things should be.

then cynthia appears besides him.

he turns, stomach dropping at the sight of chestnut curls. linhardt’s ready to scramble to the other side of the boat, away from the menace who he knows will ruin his afternoon entirely, but then cynthia speaks.

“you wouldn’t,” he responds with narrowed eyes, attempting to look the slightest bit menacing, “cynthia, i’ll have you know that—” she’s not listening, she’s counting and the pegasus knight makes way onto count four before she disappears into azure waters. linhardt tries to leave, tries to get to the other side of the boat when cynthia bursts out and shoots her shot—

through her nose.

linhardt shrieks.

he shrieks because the water’s gotten all over his face and it’s warm and filled with cynthia’s germs and he twists, trying to get out of the line of fire when the bottom of his boot slips. his hip hits the side of the ship and, before linhardt knows it, he falls over the edge with a thunderous splash.

“aeeUUUUGH!!” he breaks from the water with another shout, shoulders bundled up like a drenched feline. strands of thick hair sticks to alabaster skin, linhardt flails. “cynthia!” vexed for once, he tries to slam water towards the brunette’s direction… only to hit someone else entirely.

up next: @gallucis​ !

#━━ ˟ ⊰ ✰ THREAD ⋮ chance opportunaties #cynthero #gallucis #freliaes #LabyrinthSea2021 #toalabyrinth2021

[herrings]

Soggy Pancakes || Sea ~ Team B

amnesiac-pawn​:

Innes and Linhardt flanked the poor drowning mage soon after he managed to pick up just one of his shells. Linhardt’s little jape didn’t hurt, but Morgan still squinted at him as the beads were dropped into his hand. The moment the final shell hit his palm, air surged into his lungs. Just like before, he fell to the whims of a coughing fit before his ability to function normally returned. 

[ Morgan regains his shell necklace and is no longer drowning. ]

"Thank you,” he says in earnest, voice hoarse. The shells didn’t appear damaged in any way, but something about them felt different now that they were disconnected from his choker. “I know I haven’t been much help. I’ll fix that soon, I promise.”

Innes receives a grateful nod while Linhardt gets a gentle squeeze to his shoulder.  (Inwardly, he notes that he owes these two, as well as Dimitri, his life. He’s been nothing but a burden this time around—he will change that.)

The attention quickly moves away from the useless mage. Clutching desperately at the shells trapped in his fist, Morgan swims after Innes, whose curiosity was piqued by a column of colorful coral surrounded by numerous species of fish.

And the shrimp speaks.

And Innes willingly argues with it.

Eyes flit between the two. Mere moments ago, Morgan was drowning, and yet that somehow wasn’t the worst part of his day. The shrimp’s voice was grating—probably one of the worst sounds the mage had ever heard in his entire life. And then Dimitri begins his questioning. Shrimp’s voice raises in pitch as its incredulity grew—more annoying by the second.

Morgan finds himself speaking before rational thought can stop him. “Woah, woah, woah,” he interjects, “hold up. Gods? Are we talking about the same gods here? Like, human gods, or are you talking about your little shrimpy fish gods?”

The shrimp turns to him, little beady eyes piercing.

“You think I’d know? You think that’s relevant? What do your gods look like?”

A short pause. “Well, I’d think you would, if you have apparent codes and permissions you can’t break.” Morgan sighs, arms crossing over his chest as he allows defeat to ring in his voice. 

“You can’t help us at all, can you? Trust me, we want to get out of here just as much as you want us gone, but without any direction…” he trails off.

The shrimp swims over to Morgan’s hands, resting on one of his fingers. Despite his poor eyesight, Morgan could see its small white eyes flashing as it considers the question. He tried to ignore the disgust that built in his stomach from feeling tiny shrimp legs dancing on his fingers as it spoke again.

“You were sent away before you were able to find something interesting, huh? I have a memory, of the back wall of the ship breaking. There was something there, and some weird static—I didn’t know what the heck it was! When I tried to think what it was, all that I could access was 7. 2. 6. 5. 6. C. 6. 9. 6. 3.

"That’s all I get, and an error that I did not have permission to ‘perceive’ what was there. Not allowed to perceive! Can you believe it? Your monkey eyes can see all they want–I’m still shocked that you asked me where you are….”

Morgan could only turn towards the others in his group with a helpless expression. What on earth was a series of random numbers and one letter supposed to mean?

@herrings

a kind squeeze to his shoulder, linhardt returns ambicality with a nod and a tender half-smile. truthfully, repayment is the last concern to riddle his mind. the hevring heir has had plenty of instances being the weaker link on his teams before; he’s merely relieved that morgan has been kept alive and, for the most part, unharmed.

passive: caduceus staff adds +1 hp to linhardt’s health!

warmth pulses through his veins as he adjusts his grip on the caduceus staff, nerves tingling as the mild thrum against his temple comes to a gradual cease. linhardt tails after morgan as the team regroups, all four individuals crowding ‘round… a shrimp? azure eyes narrow at the tiny crustacean’s inconspicuous act, untrusting. hesitancy is inevitable: their last run-in left a scar far too fresh, far too deep for them to lay their guards down. as his teammates interrogate the poor creature, linhardt keeps quiet and listens. truthfully, the conversation isn’t the most interesting to him and he’d much prefer to take the time to doze off and regain his energy before another conflict inevitably stirs, but alas. his likelihood was at stake, which meant he begrudgingly had to commit to the cause.

the shrimp speaks of codes and permissions sent by its ruler, a figure akin to the goddess. the conversation is all fluff to linhardt for the most part until the small crustaceans brings up their previous destination: the abandoned ship. it speaks of a code and a denial to access, something that makes linhardt’s head quirk to the side in curiosity.

“what do you mean that an ‘error’ appeared?” the mage inquires with a creased brow. was there a magical device hidden in the depths of abandoned wreckage? he could easily imagine that said barrier would have written codes on it if it were a spell, but that would mean they would need to head back to the ship to make sense of their new companion’s words. linhardt shivers at the thought— what if there were more enemies lurking beneath?

"error 403. forbidden! how rude, right? i suppose you monkeys wouldn't know what it's like to come across one big error, being organic and all.” the shrimp says and linhardt’s thoughts come to a halt. he eyes the tiny crustacean as it calls them organic, looking for any telltale sign of any oddities within its build. were shrimps not natural life as well? the one before them certainly wasn’t a golem. “that you could see it and not me... ooooh! It makes my blood boil!”

“we can head back to the wreckage and analyze the back wall of the ship, where the barrier should be.” the hevring heir thinks aloud, eyes flickering back to his teammates and then to their tiny companion. “and you can come if you’d like. with morgan and i, i’m quite confident we can override the barrier with our magic. that should be able to give you access, no? then, should all go well, your insight would be most useful to lead us back… home.” a hesitancy on his last words, if only because he isn’t sure whether it’s true brigid was submerged or not.

nevertheless, the cleaner shrimp demands to join the party. linhardt looks at his team inquisitively, if only to see whether or not everyone was on board with the newfound plan.

next up: @freliaes or @elegiac-boar​

#━━ ˟ ⊰ ✰ THREAD ⋮ soggy pancakes. #freliaes #elegiac boar #amnesiac pawn #( amnesiac prawn he he ) #LabyrinthSea2021 #toalabyrinth2021

[herrings]

Soggy Pancakes || Sea ~ Team B

amnesiac-pawn​:

“Got you.”

Morgan never thought the mere act of holding someone’s hand would bring him to tears. Elegant fingers entwine with his own and air rushes into his lungs; for a few desperate moments, mage can only cough, quickly burrowing his face into the crook of his free arm so as to not disparage Linhardt’s face with grossness. After a few gasped moments, he finally relaxes and offers a shaky nod in response.

“I can—! I— I’m okay. I’m okay.”

[ Linhardt shares his necklace with Morgan, allowing him to breathe. ]

His hand squeezes Linhardt’s, shells clasped tightly between them. It wasn’t as easy to breathe as it was before; it felt as though there was a weight on his chest and the air was thin, lacking purity. The strain on the shells of spreading its magic to two parties instead of just one was no doubt the answer. Still, something was better than nothing. ( Quietly, Morgan promises to never take such a gift for granted again. )

Only moments after composing himself, mage is assaulted once more. Electricity rips through the water and into his veins, forcing a mangled cry from his lips.

[ Morgan is shocked from a familiar source and takes 1 damage. 7.5/10 HP remaining. ]

He’d know that shock anywhere. Though he couldn’t see her—dimly does he note that his vision has readjusted to the dark depths thanks to the shells’ power, but like his ability to breathe, it wasn’t where it was at before—Morgan knows that it no doubt came from his Ilyana. Despite the lingering hiss in his fingertips and the clear pain on his allies’ faces, he grins at the sight of their final enemy bursting into bubbles.

( Thanks, thunder girl. )

No sooner do the last bubbles fade does another force settle upon them. Like a homeowner slamming the door in the face of an overly-persistent salesman, the team was propelled at unimaginable speeds from the depths of the ship. In the chaos, Morgan finds his chest tightening, vision darkening—

[ The forceful ejection from the boat causes Morgan’s hand to slip from Linhardt’s. Morgan is back to drowning. ]

—and Linhardt’s shells returned to their sole owner. Tumbling through the water, now-empty hand flexes as though reaching for something, something, but his green-haired friend is far away from him, now. Too far.

Round two can’t be so bad. At least, now he knows what to expect. This time around, the initial panic is maintained; not too much air is wasted in bubbles that float to the surface. Hands pressed over his mouth, his gaze darts around for something, something.

Now that they’re out in the open, it’s a little bit easier to see. Morgan manages to lock eyes on Innes shortly after Dimitri calls a command (if it could be called that). Relief begins to build in his chest when the Frelian scoops up one of the four lost shells, but there are still more to find.

Finally, his gaze settles on one sinking lower, lower. The shells couldn’t float, of course, but they descended slowly in the water despite their appearances and weight. Even with his inexperience with proper swim techniques and wild kicking of his legs, Morgan was able to eventually close the distance to the shell closest to him and capture it in a tight fist.

[ Morgan rolls to retrieve his shells: 3, 3, 3, 3. Morgan retrieves one shell (#3). Two shells (#1, #2) remain. ]

And… nothing.

Perhaps he was spoiled by Linhardt’s quick-thinking, but Morgan thought that something would happen when he grabbed the shell. Maybe not regaining his ability to breathe, but a (literal) weight off his chest or a spark in his veins or something.

Instead, all he gets is another choking sound that he can’t suppress, a little more saltwater invading his lungs. Free hand slaps over his mouth to keep anymore from entering his body.

[ Morgan takes .5 damage from drowning. 7/10 HP remaining. ]

(Vaguely, he wonders, if I swallow the shells, will they still work? Then I wouldn’t have to worry about losing them…)

@herrings

air rushes through morgan’s lungs and, although the older mage sputters, a sense of relief washes through linhardt. he gives a gentle smile and waits for morgan to rebalance, grip tightening as he idly sways with the oceans currents. it’s a short-lived bout of respite as the hevring heir breathes through calculated breaths, acutely aware that his and morgan’s survival were now acutely entangled. he’s ready to relocate as morgan finally stabilizes, aware that it could very well be the end of them both should the sea creatures select them as upcoming targets, but a flash of lightning brings the idea to an end.

linhardt is shocked by ilyana! hp remaining: 9/10

hot pain sears through linhardt’s muscles, he chokes back a scream as he convulses. fingers wrap tighter around morgan, nails accidentally scratching against his companion’s hand as the heir coughs: “ugh!” electricity fizzes away as sparks dance off his free hand, linhardt groans with a grimace. what idiot uses thunder magic in the ocean?

there’s no time to recuperate as it seems as if everything and anything bursts out at once. newcomers barrage through another cavity in the sunken ship (among them, linhardt notices, is the dreaded *hubert von vestra*) and, with their arrival, another spar. dim-lit interior comes to life with a flurry of bubbles and shattering gems-- there’s shouting and mayhem, all occurring too fast for the heir to comprehend. there’s not much linhardt is able to comprehend, all he acknowledges is that he must keep a solid grip on morgan, but even that becomes disturbed as new chaos is unleashed. the currents shift before something snaps, a new rupture in the ship heinously flings linhardt out. morgan slips from his hold as the current engulfs him and nearly linhardt’s bracelet, too, if nimble fingers hadn’t managed to get a successful hold.

all linhardt hears is the roar of water as he’s throttled about and spat out into a new clearing, tumbling until momentum calms. aegan eyes snap open as dimitri’s command reaches in his ear, the mage lets out a whine.

“i--” he coughs from strained lungs, before confessing: “i can hardly keep up with what’s going on…! i need a break.” though, it seems as though his gripes would fall upon deaf ears as greater matters are at hand. morgan is drowning, again.

linhardt rolls to retrieve morgan’s shells (2)! [1, 2] all shells are collected!

head snaps to search the area around him. a flash of yellow glistens at the corner of linhardt’s vision. he looks downwards and sees two scallions sinking, one soon entangled in strands of seaweed. the heir descends, plucking out one shell before snatching up the other. “i’ve got the remaining ones,” he calls out before coming back upwards. he swims to morgan’s side and places the shell in his friend’s hold. “looks like i’m saving you again.”

up next: @elegiac-boar​

#━━ ˟ ⊰ ✰ THREAD ⋮ soggy pancakes. #elegiac boar #amnesiac pawn #freliaes #LabyrinthSea2021 #toalabyrinth2021