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It'd be useful if we had a master list of which emotion is related to which specialization @Ariamis cause that way, when empath magic peeps head into a zone, the GM/person in charge of the scenario could just drop down which emotions are in the vicinity n all.

Also I dunno if Focus can be considered an emotion to begin with, but I guess it's not hard to find a synonym of the word that's more emotion-esque.
@Majoras EndYo, so what's Despair and Focus magic supposed to be? And where's she drawing it from? Also, has the band that Anaya brought in already began playing?


New tricks for old corpses, hm? As Amaryllis rebounded over and over, slicing bits of Billy off, the necromancer shed his wounds and regenerated just as quickly. Minuscule wounds such as the ones that she inflicted wouldn’t be sufficient at impacting his mana reserves, and without a ‘seed’ within him, her other moves wouldn’t take root either.

Worse though, was that the muscle-lich had taken ahold of Mariette during this exchange. With an ally taken hostage, it became even more difficult to score meaningful victories. In a normal, bleeding human being, a victory could be secured by slicing one centimeter deep, to cut open an artery, or by stabbing three centimeters deep, to pierce an organ. But against the unbleeding, regenerating monster before her? With his constant rotations, Amaryllis couldn’t get in fast enough to deal a lasting mark, and with Mariette in his grasp, she couldn’t go for a thrust either.

All she did was hold onto the portal-summoner’s plushie, latching it to her back with some chains, as she continued her flurry of shallow blows, weaving in and out of the range of the lich’s improvised weapons.

She would wait. Wait, and trust that Mariette had her own answer.

Turns out, she did.

A radiant eruption of energy seared through the cold, gray day, roaring out of the portal mage’s mirror into the lich’s arm. At the same time, Sophia had committed to her own angle of attack, wings splayed as she drove her heavy axe towards Billy’s shoulder, as if to cleave him in half diagonally. In the brilliance of those strikes, Amaryllis leapt in as well, rebounding off a silvered bud from the opposite side that Sophia had attacked. It was the same speed as every other one of her skirmishing slashes, the same distance too, so that the tip of her Sword would bite one centimeter deep into the flesh of the undead.

But her magic reminded her Sword of the great form it once held, when it feasted upon a Behemoth.

And oh, did it enjoy that sensation.

A moment before the silvered blade scraped the top of Billy’s skull, Amaryllis’s sword grew in size, the saber transforming to a zweihander fit for cleaving through bone and brain. Would such a brutish weapon still be suitably elegant?

Of course it’d be; the Knight of Rose could make any visceral spray artistic.


Nashiro City -- Hyakusawa Academy, First Floor
April 19th, 2019 | 3:35PM



Kazuki jumped when someone suddenly began shouting in the hallways. Whipping around, he looked frantically for the source of the aural explosion, but all he saw around him were two older students chatting about older student things. The windows then? Or maybe from another classroom? It was all very perplexing, and after wasting a good thirty seconds wondering if he was going to get inducted into some delinquent gang, the brunette decided that he was safe, and bolted off once more. Warm up, work out, grab the handouts from the teachers’ office, get those discount groceries, and then off to Fumio’s.

Easy peasy.



In another five minutes, Kazuki was amongst his lift buddies, the second and third year students that had muscles akin to a half-giant. With the mechanical certainty of hydraulic presses, they pushed and pulled and flexed and groaned, taking shots of ginseng protein shakes as the clanging of weights rang clearly throughout. The Bodily Health Maintenance Club was as aggressively positive as always, and their president was flexing at the mirror once more, isometric exercises boosting his self-esteem greatly. Impressive as always, Kazuki always felt a little bit impotent around him. If the president went full mache chad mode and said something like “Yeah, I fucked your girl. Whatcha gonna do about it?” Kazuki would probably end up just doing nothing.

Not that Everyone’s Muscle Bro™ was actually that sort of person, and not that Kazuki was going to get a girlfriend before the president graduated, but still…

“C’MON ZUKI-NI, PUT YOUR BACK INTO IT!”

“WAIT, NO, DON’T DO THAT! ENGAGE YOUR QUADS AND GLUTES MORE INSTEAD!”

“YEAH, BACK INJURIES ARE NO JOKE. AND LET’S SEE THAT SMILE, BRUDDA!”


Kazuki sorta wanted to die, but it was also nice not to think about anything other than dying from muscle fatigue. As the only first year in the club, everyone was nice to him, so it was always pleasant. Lifting up twenty pounds of weight with one hand, he sucked in a deep breath, imagined all his power welling up, and LIFTED!

Or, well, he tried to.

The reality of it was that he stayed in place, shaking and concentrating and not actually being able to lift up that weight after all. Who knew one’s muscles could be so rebellious when in the face of strain and effort? Kazuki knew. He experienced it every day.



Skipping the shower meant that Kazuki was a smelly boy by the time the bell rang for the end of afterschool activities, and skipping the shower also meant that Ms. Yamaguchi gave him a weird look when she handed Fumio’s handouts over to him, but his body odours meant that all the housewives in the grocery store he frequented kept themselves at a respectable distance. Enoki mushrooms, get! Instant dashi, get! Assorted greens, get! Cheap beef? Hell yeah! And can’t forget tomorrow’s lunch of today’s dinner bentos, either! Yay! With the efficiency of someone who had shopped way too many times at the same place, buying the same things, Kazuki breezed through everything, got bottlenecked at the cash register, and burst free, ready to do his final chore for the day. His schedule was shot to pieces, of course; he was half an hour behind everything.

But Fumio lived close by, in a two story apartment, with a mom who worked night shifts downtown. Kazuki turned the corner, entered the gates, bowed at the chainsmoking landlord, ran up the steps, regretted running up because his sore calves doth protest at such abuse, an-

“Oh, hey, Fumio, heading out after all?”

A blond youth, his dark roots showing on the crown of his head, turned towards Kazuki. His eyes were bagged again, his gaze listless. Lips were cracked. Had he not been eating? Still in slacks too. “Mm,” was his response.

Kazuki grinned. “Glad you see you feeling better then.” Wanna come over for dinner? He wasn’t going to say that.

“Naw.” A slow shake. He smelled of something oily, sticky. “Still shit.”

“Hope you, uh, get better soon.”

A blank stare, then a nod.

“So, am I blocking you?”

“Not really.”


Kazuki raised a brow. “You’re heading out though?”

Fumio remained unaffected. “I’ve headed out.” The pajama-clad youth took in a deep breath, eyes reflecting a rosy, golden suburb. “And now I’m done.”

“Oh. Kay.”
Kazuki blinked twice, before quickly rummaging through his pack. “Right, your handouts. There’s readings to do for next week, but it’s still fairly chill so far.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“I’ll go now.”
Fumio stepped in and closed the door. A moment later, there was a click as the bolt locked in, and a moment later, the chain rattled as well, slid into its own slot.

Kazuki blinked a third time. He took in a deep breath as well, but only drew in the residual oiliness that tracked Fumio. That was gross. The boy shook his head, rubbed his nose, and headed back home.

He didn’t have time for this.
Depending on how things unfold, I may join.


"Wow. How extra."

The treant may have been Level 17, and it may have been boasting a Strength score almost double their own, but that wasn't all that impressive anyways, not when no one here actually specialized in strength. So what was that, 70 or so? May as well be nothing. Its backstory or whatever, its role as the protector and avenger of the Baby Blues, its threatening atmosphere and the boss music that Cecilia heard in her mind also didn't matter. The Treant was just food, and she was going to enjoy this little break in monotony. River's Chitter strikes did literally no damage, while his Lightning, once their greatest form of magical artillery, had practically been cut to a third of its efficacy against the tough bark of the oaken monstrosity. If they didn't have a proper tank, Cecilia may have actually suggested a retreat if the fight went on too long.

But they did have a tank, and not just any tank, but a Paladin with Radiating Challenge. If Aura did her job, Cecilia could do hers. Kicking her steel spear into her hand with a flourish, the Lancer dropped low, breathing deeply as the earth quaked. Just a touch taller than a one floor building, hm? There were actual trees nearby that were taller than this angry sapling. "Y'know what they say 'bout lightning and trees," Cecilia grinned, her golden eyes flickering towards the others. "They get smote!"

And then she launched off, meeting the Treat's charge. Pole jumping upwards, she twisted her body and slammed the rim of her shield into its face, before her virtual mana veins surged outwards. Cecilia blazed like a star within the shadows of the canopy, and like a star, she fell as well, streaking down into the base of the Treant with meteoric force. A veritable wave of dirt burst outwards from the epicenter of her dynamic landing and the monster was sent flying by the concussive strike.

Flying, right on top of her Mythic Spear.

Was it heroic might, or simply the programmed mechanics of the game? As the steel shaft creaked, Cecilia drove her polearm deep into the monster's trunk and raised it up, a trophy to her instance of evisceration.
Ettamri, Renauld, Argen, Oscar – Breaking the Fast
Renauld, Oscar, and Argen’s quest for food and/or adventure eventually brought them to the mess hall, an orderly room lit up by a small fire. Unlike the comfort of their bedroom, the mess hall was a good bit chillier, a draft coming in every time a guard left and every time a guard entered. Many of the guards present were chattering quietly to themselves, wrapped up in furred cloaks. They dipped their portions of bread in some sort of root soup, and though a couple of them looked at the three as they entered, they soon turned away. A Guard assigned to the protection of Fort Stalwart was a good deal above the vagrants-turned-monster-hunters that the soldiers of the Silver Moon Army were, after all. From the howling of the wind and the condition of those guards who came in for their lunch break, it was snowing again, the entrance to the outside wet with melted flakes. Torches illuminated the mess hall and glinted off the motley armor of Ettamri, their companion, but she neither greeted nor even turned in their direction.

At the opposite end of the room, an aproned woman, short and well-endowed, spooned out bowls of soup and thwacked the hands of those who wanted a second serving of bread. It didn’t look as if the guards lining up for the meal had to pay for it, but then again, they were guards. A graying man chewed on a stick as he worked the fire and the dough, pulling out baked loaves that still crackled from the heat of the oven. On one particularly crowded table, half-finished bowls of soup competed with a large checkered board and a small army of tokens. Periodically the guards there would roll dice, before moving or removing the tokens, accompanied by chin-stroking and appreciative grumbling.

It wasn’t lively, and there didn’t look to be any alcohol, but when the weather was this bad, expending energy being rowdy was simply a waste.

Katya, Siwon – Chamberpots and Maidenly Business
Katya, under her covers, waited, her blue eye peeking out from her blanket. How long had she been awake at this point? She no longer knew, but she could hardly hold it in any longer. There was Ettamri. Then Renauld. Oscar. Argen. She already knew that Muu was somewhere else. But why was Siwon still asleep? Geez, how could he be so tired, when even the mage was up and moving? Her inner thighs tightened again, the child’s expression twisting into one of agony and concentration. Stupid Fort people, putting everyone in the same room. At the very least, it was common sense to separate the boys from the girls, right?

“Siwon…pssssst, Siwon…” Katya whispered towards the Fiend Knight, but there was no response. “Siwon? Siwon? Siwon!” Still no response. Was he dead? Katya hopped off her bed, pulling stray straws out of her clothes, and padded towards him. It looked like he was breathing at least, but then, why wasn’t he waking up? With one of those straws, the priest began to tickle his face…to no response. Then she stuck a straw up his stupid nose…still no response. Maybe if she whacked him on the head…no, that’s just dangerous.

Her bladder protested once more, and Katya’s face screwed up even further. Fine! If he wasn’t going to wake up now, he probably won’t wake up soon! Groping around with her feet, she eventually touched the chamberpot in the dark room, pulled it out to a more open space, popped off the wooden lid, and did what needed to be done in the safety of darkness.

Yup, nothing better than an unused pot.

Muu – Hospitalized Once More
“Not gonna wanna do that, lady.”

A firm, large hand pressed against Muu’s head and forced her back down. As her senses focused around her, the Bladedancer could tell that she was in a wide infirmary, white light spilling from the gaps of the wooden window slats. Around her, there were perhaps another dozen people infirmed, coughing or cursing or groaning or snoring. Her bed felt comfortable beneath her; was it wool that she was resting on? Before she could dwell on it, the upper half of her bed folded upwards, a thick thump sounding as it rested upon a new post. She was sitting up now, even as her head swam from the sudden shifting of her blood flow. Then, a rough hand wrapped around her lower jaw, forcing her mouth open, and a vial of some strange, spicy liquid was shoved in, its contents spilling down her throat.
Thankfully, she didn’t choke on it, swallowing the concoction instead.

“Good, you drink fast.” The hand around her jaw released its grip, and as she traced that hand to its owner, Muu was greeted by the face of…a crow? No, it had to be a mask. A man with a crow’s mask, the black beak inches away from swatting her on the face, as opaque lenses peered inquisitively towards her. The rest of the man, thankfully, looked normal, a coat over his white robes as he pulled out a set of tongs from a tray beside him.

Wait, white robes in an infirmary?

This man wasn’t a healer at all!
Aelious wasn’t tired, nor was he bored, but he was certainly exasperated. Shouldering through another set of heavy doors, the bespectacled man stomped his way up two flights of stairs, stacks of strung-up documents leaning against his chest. With a swift kick, he knocked open the final door to the study, before unceremoniously dumping the stacks upon the floor. Dreadful work, manual labour was. A satisfying crick from his hips and back later, and he marvelled at all the lifting he had done. 123 proposals exactly, made by various branches across Croania. He never really understood his brother’s fascination with having things in weird numbers, but then again, that was just stress management, wasn’t it? He ran a gloved hand through his hair, before casting his gaze upon the Lord of House Aureolin himself, the ice-haired inheritor of all that their father and more. Althein Aureolin, the now second youngest Lord in the Croanian Empire, what with the succession of Lord Immolis. Of course, considering how deceptively youthful some other Lords were, it was probably hard to believe, huh?

Said Lord was currently humming a cheerful little ditty about Harrow’s ‘Tower’ as he pored over documents with print so fine that it’d make any normal person’s eyes bleed, and said Lord was also chewing happily on the blackened dough that his Second Wife, the Lady of the Iron Chapel, claimed were cookies. Pale bastard he may be, but Althein certainly compensated for his agoraphobic nature with his self-flagellating tendencies. Aelious watched him work in silence for a moment, before turning away.

“Hey, Aeli,” Althein called from behind, turning his eyes towards his older brother. Those irises were cerulean, blue as a winter sky.

Aelious stopped. “Hm?”

“Thanks.”

“For?”

“Bringing them up.”
A pale hand, adorned by a single silver ring, gestured towards the documents. “Heavy, right?”

Aelious laughed. “Naw, ain’t shit.”

“Then can you bring them to my desk?”

“Huh?”

“Bring them to my desk.”

“Really now.”
The Heir snorted. “Delivering them from the estate wasn’t enough?”

“I mean, now that you’re so close…”

“Payment?”

“How ‘bout this?”
He waved one of the blackened lumps back and forth, a half-grin on his face. “They’re pretty interesting.”

Aelious gave him a look, before hefting up the stacks of paper once more, taking the last five steps across a lovely carpet and dumping it atop the oak table. “Maybe once Lady Edelwane leaves this sorta work to her cooks.”

“Find her efforts charming myself.”
Althein popped it into his mouth, crunching away. “Very savoury.”

“Right…that all?”

“So eager to leave? Got a lady friend waiting for you?”


He shook his head, cutting string bindings with a penknife. “Naw, gotta tend to my boy.”

“You do like your wyverns, huh.” Althein leaned back, rubbing the bridge of his nose, before ending another man’s whole career with a quick signature. “Well, go on then. Trust you’re ready for tomorrow’s conference?”

“Are you ready?” Aelious grinned, snapping his penknife into his inner pockets again. “Not gonna run off partway through to vomit in the toilet?”

Althein smiled back, his other tendencies showing. “Not till I see the Immolis-Solaris family reunion, at least.”

“Don’t get too excited, yeah? I’m sure both of them aren’t inept enough to forget their manners in the middle of a Lords’ meeting.”

“Eh, I’ve got high hopes for Drakus.” Althein said, settling his attention wholly upon the books. “Fellow’s making some fun waves, that’s for sure.”

Aelious strode out, waving behind him. “So long as those waves don’t start a war.”

“Not interested in glory upon the battlefield?”

"Naw, I'll just fly over to Nolore.


Being the artery of trade that it was, Harrow’s Keep featured one of the larger outposts that House Aureolin owned, a three-story building on the western side of town, with a stable large enough to fit an excess of fifty wyverns at once. Having arrived at Harrow’s Keep last night, the Aureolin Lord and Heir had naturally lodged themselves on their own property, and their wyverns and escort similarly took advantage of the outpost’s spacious accommodations. It wasn’t particularly luxurious, but House Aureolin wasn’t one for down bedding and silk sheets. They had been nomadic herders before they had ascended to the continent-spanning communications baron they were now, and really, the hustle and bustle of the outpost was much more to Aelious’s tastes than the rigidity of the estate. Couriers of all ranks rushed in and out of the building with their orders, and gray-scaled wyverns bearing loads of letters burst out from the pits to fly across the mountain ranges. On one side of the staircase that Aelious descended, rows of landline operators flicked switches and plugged cords, directing calls all around the Empire, while on the other side, artisans carved out print molds for illustrations, already preparing for tomorrow’s edition. If he had waited another hour or two, he’d probably hear some pretty colorful language between editors and reporters too…but that was Althein’s headache.

Aelious had his boy to take care of.

The wyvern stables had been formed from digging into the ground itself, with a set of elevators made to allow humans to easily ascend and descend. A pungent stench was infused into the air itself, powerful enough to knock out the unprepared, but Aelious had long become accustomed to the smell of the scaled beasts. Generations of attempts at removing the odor of wyvern shit had ended in failure, and after those decades of prideful folly and wasted effort, it was deemed easier for humans to plug their noses than to make shit not smell like shit. At least it was quiet in the pits; unlike chickens, the wyvern’s genetic cousin, wyverns didn’t find any particular reason to be inanely clucking all the time.

Descending from the lift, Aelious nodded at a couple of the stable lads as he circled the stables, his mismatched eyes flickering from one pen to the other. Straw was dry, the caves were spacious, and he could smell the tang of fresh blood too. Good. It wasn’t indicative of long term treatment, but at least the employees at Harrow’s Keep were impeccable while Lord Aureolin was here. His hand traced the side of the cobbled wall, before he stopped at the pen of his own beloved beast. Freecloud, the proud member of the fastest subspecies amongst the Aureolin mixed-breeds. More angular than his natural cousins, his smooth scales shone a ghostly white within the comforting darkness of the stables. Crimson flecks marred the purity of its lower jaw, and Aelious laughed, using the hem of his dark cloak to clean Freecloud off. He’ll give the stable lads a tip later. Nothing better than seeing his boy be fed well.

“Might even be spoiling you, huh?”

The white wyvern rubbed his head against Aelious’s own, steamy breath tickling his hair. He flexed his wings tentatively, but even the capacity of the Harrow’s Keep pens were insufficient to contend with Freecloud’s wingspan. The Heir grinned at this, before gesturing towards the wyvern.

“How ‘bout we do some sightseeing, partner?”

Aelious had a full day before he was going to be locked up in the battle arena with fourteen other Lords and Heirs. May as well enjoy the last day of peace they may all have, cause tomorrow…tomorrow may be war.

A steely gaze burned in his mismatched eyes as he stared up at the skies, a silent prayer for peace.

Then he broke off into laughter.

“Definitely gonna stop reading penny fiction.”
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