Obscene Symphony

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

Happy for the long-awaited peace and quiet, Lienna lounged in the seat of the weapons cart, eyes closed and head lolled back on the backrest as she enjoyed every possible ray of the late midday sun. This certainly wasn’t a luxury she got back in Hima, and she made a mental note to find some time back at the Monastery to enjoy the sun when she could manage it. Hopefully it would be just as warm up there as it was down in this valley—iat the very least, it would be warmer than home.

Veronica felt the need to inform her that she was leaving, and Lienna cracked one eye open to check why; if she were to hazard a guess, she’d say she was off to find a spot to relieve herself. Ha; a future Queen, pissing in the woods. There was a sight. Lienna allowed herself a petty smirk, scattering light across herself and the carriage as she lazily turned the wand in her hands. It wasn’t usually like her to prod at people, but that exchange with Veronica had been oddly fun while it lasted. Who knew, maybe she was picking up on highborn life faster than she thought. And speaking of, that little piece of ‘advice’ she gave the princess would probably amuse her for the next few days, especially if she tried to decipher its meaning. She wouldn’t have much luck: it was just a line of gibberish. But, seeing as Veronica didn’t call her bluff on the spot, maybe the Imperial rose really did think it was a piece of lowborn wisdom in some distant old language only the peasants bothered to speak. Saints above, she hoped so. Maybe that would show that smug know-it-all that money and status didn’t teach you everything.

A warm breeze brushed over the valley, and Lienna took a deep breath, hoping to savour the sweet smells of golden fields and fresh air. However, what she got instead was the faint, acrid smell of smoke she’d been expecting from earlier, sweeping across the plain like a cloud of unwelcome pests. The smoke from the explosion must have finally made its way over. A glance in the direction of the village confirmed it; more smoke was rising now, too, in a few separate columns. Collateral damage, no doubt. Either that or the bandits had started to torch the place, as they so often did. Goddess, the scene on the ground there must have been destitute: houses burning, children separated from their mothers, townspeople scrambling for safety over bodies and debris—sometimes over each other. Lienna’s former scowl returned in full force, the girl narrowing her eyes at the black clouds in the distance. That was always how it went. They probably crowed their courage and virtue, only to trample each other in the race to safety. Prided themselves on their community, but turned their backs on anyone who dared upset the balance. Silently hoping they’d come back to a pile of ash, solving their problem for them.

Hmph. And then they expected help to come running.

Tearing her gaze away in disgust, something else caught Lienna’s attention: a few figures on the road, growing ever so slightly bigger. More riders? They were coming from the village too. But why would they send more people out? They’d gotten all the help they could expect from around here. Or maybe these people were just fleeing?

Lienna squinted down the road, peering carefully at the figures in the distance. No, it didn’t look like they were moving fast enough to be fleeing. In fact, they took an almost leisurely pace, a stark contrast to the plumes of smoke rising up from the village behind them. But who would ride past that without a hint of urgency in their step?

Before she even consciously realized it, her heart jumped into her throat, the girl flattening herself against the carriage seat. What if they weren’t panicked because they were the source of the fire? What if those were the bandits from the town? There was no way so few could have done so much damage, but maybe that was all that was left of them after the others charged in. Did that mean the others were dead?

“Fuck,” Lienna hissed, a forboding feeling gripping her stomach. As slowly as she could manage, she started carefully climbing over the back of the driver’s seat, eyes locked on the figures on the horizon. They were still tiny to her eyes, just a few vaguely horse- and human-sized blotches—with any luck, they’d yet to notice her. But the banners of the Knights of Seiros still flew from these carriages, they’d have to be fools to continue in this direction, right? That was the conclusion she came to earlier, but her former certainty was fading fast; if they were ready to pass brazenly by a Knights of Seiros caravan, they must have been certain of its occupants’ fates. Was she truly alone, then?

After an excruciating moment, she finally dropped into the back of the weapons’ cart, out of sight of the approaching bandits—for now. Would they just pass by? Would they try to steal the carriages? What would become of her if they found her?

A mass of gruesome images flashed through her head at the thought; charred bones and broken women left in the wake of Srengese raiders, confusing pictures of blood and chaos she couldn’t place—a whole mess of disturbing possibilities, harsh memory indistinguishable from cruel imagination. Pressed into a corner of the mostly-emptied cart, she squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head as she tried to dispel the gruesome imagery from her mind. Goddess damn this, she’d done so much, sacrificed so much, come so far to escape this fate! Had she only sealed it? Was she always destined to die young at the hands of brigands, helpless to save herself no matter how far she fled?!

The wet heat of tears on her cheeks snapped Lienna from her spiral, and she wiped one away with her finger, staring at it for a moment in awe. What was she doing? Cowering in a box, waiting for death to come claim her? What was she, livestock? A spike of anger pushed aside her fear, and she flicked the water from her hand, wiping her face angrily with the hem of her skirt. Like hell she was going to die curled up in a ball in a carriage. She’d done a lot of legwork to be able to die old and wrinkled in a feather bed, warm and comfortable in the castle of a Faerghian Count. No one was about to take that away from her without a fight, much less the quartet of village-torching assholes on their way to a nasty surprise.

Her first idea, of course, was the wand; however, when she pulled it from her waist, she thought better of it. Activating the spell might hide her from view, but the sudden appearance of a fog bank in an otherwise crystal clear field would be a dead giveaway to those bandits that someone was here. If they were going to come—and judging by the faint voices on the wind, they showed no signs of stopping—then Lienna wanted them to come as unprepared as possible.

Tucking the wand back into her sash, she surveyed the inside of the weapons’ cart. Her classmates had largely cleaned it out: all that remained were a set of iron gauntlets, a one-handed hammer, and a bow. The former two being useless to her, Lienna immediately went for the bow, pulling the corresponding quiver to the corner with her. Ha, she’d naively thought that once she secured her engagement and no longer needed to hunt her own food, she’d never have to touch one of these things again. But, while this bow wasn’t packed for her, she wasn’t confident enough in her black magic yet to trust it with her life. Besides, as much as she hated it, she was good enough at picking off rabbits; it might not do her as well in close quarters, but it was better than nothing.

As she prepared herself, though, the band of riders moved steadily nearer; where snippets of voices could be heard moments ago on the wind, they were now becoming clearer, bits of conversation audible between the clopping of horse’s hooves.

“...they’d leave it unguarded.”

“...you saw how many…”

“Worth a shot, if they…”

Hearing this, Lienna wedged herself back into the front corner of the carriage, realizing her time was up. If they were going to check it, they’d come around back and swing down the door there; she could catch at least one of them in the face from this distance, and… do something after that. It wasn’t the best plan, but she’d run out of time to think of a new one. All she could do was wait, straining her ears to hear the bandits’ approach over the pounding of her own heart.

Thump, thump, thump…

Shin Megami Tensei: Persona

_{April 10th—Afternoon}

---

Emi didn’t hear a word in class that day.

She was far, far too antsy to listen; if she had any use for pens and paper, her margins would probably be filled with William’s words from last night. “The previous denizen of the stage has made it to your world.” Everything else he’d said paled in comparison: that “denizen” was Mineri, Emi was sure of it! Could it really be that Mineri had returned to the real world? Did that mean her other friends were somehow trapped inside the mirror—the Reflected World, as William had finally called it—too?

The thought was at once thrilling and relieving. Though she’d felt so certain that her friends couldn’t possibly be dead, she supposed there’d always been some little voice in the back of her head telling her that she was just delusional, a grief-stricken girl in denial. But oh, to have something confirm what she so desperately wanted to be true! It felt like she’d spent the last five months clamped in a vise, and only today was she set free.

Of course, that made it all the more difficult to sit idly in a classroom all day when all she wanted was to be out searching for Mineri. But what was she going to do, run around Kyoto shouting a dead girl’s name? Getting scooped up by the police for some kind of psych evaluation wouldn’t help anybody. No, she needed a plan. And she had the makings of one, at least, and although she wasn’t too fond of simply waiting for another sign from the Reflected World to show itself, it seemed like her best course of action. After all, two nights in a row she’d gotten signs from William, who she assumed hailed from there; in fact, it seemed that Mineri herself used to be his “client”, if her understanding was correct. Additionally, the mirror still wouldn’t let her cross, so her only choice seemed to be to wait for… whatever decided to come out and find her.

But at least some threads were popping up, assuring her she wasn’t just entertaining some broad and complex fever dream. People around Hinotori were testier today than yesterday, there was no question about it. It was the same familiar, tense sort of agitation she recalled from a few other locales across town that she and the Torch Bearers had dealt with over the summer; the kind of tension that made you walk on eggshells, fearful that it could snap at any moment. Even the weather seemed angry, judging by the thunder in the distance and the static in the air. The Reflected World was stirring, there was no doubt about it.

In a weird, twisted way, it was almost fun to get back to sleuthing out the Shadows again.

Consumed by thought, Emi missed the toll of the day-end bell, and it wasn’t until a familiar voice sounded right in front of her that she deigned to pay any attention to the world around her.

“Ueno-san, I’m glad I could catch you. I just wanted to...apologize for yesterday. I didn’t mean to come off as insensitive. I was just throwing out potential options. I am grateful that you have taken up the mantle to try and work with the club members. If there’s anything I can do to assist, please let me know.”

Blinking, Emi straightened in her seat, chasing the fog from her head as she tried to absorb what Naomi was saying. “Oh, right,” she finally replied, moving to gather what few things she had on her desk. She took a deep breath, stalling a moment as she brought yesterday’s meeting back to mind. How insignificant it felt now, after learning that such much more important matters were at hand.

“I’m sorry, too, if I came off a little testy. I’m sure you can see that the clubs are a topic pretty close to my heart,” she said, standing. A knot threatened to form in her throat again, but it was less pushy than yesterday; maybe a newfound confirmation of hope was helping her to stay strong. “At the same time, though, I hope that jumping to cuts won’t become a trend on the Council this year. I know the new budget will be a challenge, but like I said yesterday, there’s almost always a way to make it work, as long as we don’t throw things away before trying to fix them. I think we can figure it out.”

Unfolding her cane, Emi hoisted her bag onto her shoulder, gesturing in the direction of the door. “We can discuss more on the way to the meeting, if you’d like,” she suggested, silently hoping that her suspicions would hold true and that the weather would deter the other members from attending. She’d go to save face, but she sincerely hoped she’d find an empty room and with it, an excuse to go looking for her friends without rousing suspicion.

A well-timed, distant boom of thunder punctuated her statement, and she chuckled for good measure. “That is, if anyone bothers going.”

---

_@Entityx

Shin Megami Tensei: Persona

_{April 9th—Afternoon}

---

Emi took a seat in the chair Nakano pulled out, doing her best to push down the feeling of wrongness that it was Nakano and not Hanami-chan sitting next to her. That was uncalled for, and she had to learn to focus again. Fortunately, Nakano didn’t give her much time to stew, launching into a brief overview of the meeting agenda in short order.

At the mention of “a rise in delinquency”, though, Nakano got Emi’s full attention. It was only an offhand mention, but it struck the same chord inside her as the song from the dream had before. It was a posh way to put it, but a rise in agitation among the students was a cause for concern—though not in the way the Vice Principal probably thought. No, she and her friends had seen this before; agitation localized in such a specific area used to be how they would track down activity inside the mirror.

A spike of excitement struck her: could this be the same phenomenon? Another clue to lead her to her friends? She made a mental note to keep a proverbial eye out for any of the same signs they used to search for; agitation around school, needless confrontation, a buildup of anger—

Emi almost gasped, biting down hard on her tongue to stop herself. Was that the source of Ito’s little stunt? The girl said herself, there wasn’t much reasoning behind that message on the board. Could it have been Shadow activity that tipped her over? She’d have to keep a close eye on Ito going forward; she needed to make sure this really was an out-of-the-ordinary event, and not that she was just an angry girl who lashed out at authority or other such teenage nonsense. But even if it was Shadow activity riling everyone up, what could be done?

The thought deflated Emi, her moment of optimism fading into familiar discouragement. Shadows were nothing to be trifled with, and even as a full team, she and her friends had often had their hands full with them. What could she possibly hope to do alone? Her skills as a Navigator were important, but they were only useful with her friends’ firepower to back her up. Alone, she could only watch and struggle as Shadows closed in around her.

Alone, she was useless.

“This is only a thought as of right now, but if we were to get rid of a club to help with the budget, which would it be?”

Emi was torn from her thoughts by Naomi’s voice, accompanied by a very much unwelcome suggestion. Blinking, Emi turned in the direction of her voice, doing her best to aim a warning glare in her general direction.

“We will not be cutting any clubs,” she stated, leaving little room for discussion. Reaching for the as-yet neglected form Nakano apparently slid in front of her, Emi gave it a quick once-over with her fingers, chewing on her lip for a second in thought.

“There are always ways to stretch funds,” she continued, a little more measured than before. “Kinoshita-kun, I’ll need a meeting with as many of the club presidents as we can get at once. Preferably all of them. Once I have a more detailed understanding of what they need and when they need it, I can probably figure out a way to get the new budget to fit.”

Going over the braille form more carefully, Emi wasn’t entirely sure if her declaration was correct, but she’d stand by it nonetheless. If they started cutting clubs because of attendance, the Choir Club was as good as dead, and the Cooking Club not far behind, if memory served. Not to mention the Kendo Club, the basketball team… ugh, fine, she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t looking to preserve the former interests of her friends, but she wasn’t going to budge.

---

_{@Hero @Entityx}

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

"Jorah, you're going to have to find those two archers before they pick you guys off! Let's keep moving—"

Jorah would have rolled his eyes at the Lion professor’s command, but they were a little busy doing the exact thing he was yelling about. "What do you think I'm doing up here, a strip routine!?" he retorted, bristling. Duh, wrong time, wrong place! There wasn’t even a pole up here!

Though while he actually was focused on his archer-finding task thank you very much, he was having a hell of a time doing it. This was way harder than hunting—too much chaos, smoke stinging his eyes and blocking his vision, and plus, boars and bears didn’t usually shoot back. Throw in the fact that he’d already drawn on at least a half dozen fleeing villagers thinking they were bandits, while he’d never admit it, his confidence was starting to wane. By the time he could discern whether someone was holding a weapon, they could already have shot him, and if he shot without checking, he might—woah.

A large movement drew Jorah’s eye as he scanned the edges of the battlefield, only to watch Auberon all but cleave a shield-bearing bandit in half, only to finish him off with an upward thrust and brace for more. Goddess above, the man could have been Imogen with how loud his aura was screaming in that moment, and it was nothing but a wave of heavenly purpose and righteous fury. Well damn, call that a pick-me-up if Jorah’d ever felt one. Though, at this rate, the damn Lion leader was going to take the lead—by what metric, he didn't know, but it didn’t really matter—and he’d be damned if his Deer were going to lose to some storybook interpretation of a teenage Goneril with one axe haft in hand and the other wedged up his ass.

Newly motivated by the competition, Jorah became a little more liberal with his arrows, loosing a few at bandits on the ground as he searched for those damned archers. One bandit he spotted was nowhere near the melee, but instead taking a torch to the thatch of yet another village home. That one’s efforts earned him an arrow through his wrist, and when he paused to scream at that, another through the neck to finish the job. Honestly, who burns houses? Banditry, sure, but arson was just shitty.

That being said, the rumble from earlier had Jorah under the suspicion that burning the houses wasn’t the bandits’ only plan for this village, and the pillar of smoke they’d seen earlier all but confirmed it. Coupled with the fact he’d yet to see any one of these bastards making an escape with an armful of valuables, he was starting to question if they were even ‘bandits’ at all. But then, what were they?

The whistle of a passing arrow broke Jorah’s train of thought, and he hit the roof of the carriage once more, scanning in the direction of the shot. Fair enough point; unraveling mysteries wasn’t really for him anyway. Turning asshole archers into unicorns, however…

Spotting movement behind a tree some distance away, Jorah propped up on one knee, nocking an arrow and taking aim until a shrill, childlike cry froze him solid.

No no no please no—

Unseen by Jorah, a small boy had fled the fires in their direction. Blocked off and spooked by the melee, he’d taken shelter underneath the carriage, crying and trembling as his world burned down around him. Jorah felt the same: so paralyzed with fear he couldn’t even loose his arrow, he was still as a statue on top of the carriage, blind and deaf to the chaos around him. All he knew was terror, and worse than that, the deep, crushing loneliness of a lost and terrified child with no one to run to and nothing but death all around.

He was torn from his horror-stricken trance by a familiar whistle in his ear and a very real sting on his cheek, the shock of which took his balance. Jorah fell over onto his side, prone on the carriage roof and sputtering as the air finally returned to his lungs. Wait, shit, was he shot? Was he dead?! No, he couldn’t be dead, the smoke still stung his eyes and the ringing of steel still echoed in his ears. Saints be good, he had to pull himself together!

A warm, wet sensation on his cheek told him he was bleeding, but there was no time to check. What was he doing? Archers! Right! Still rattled from that episode, muscle memory took over, and Jorah managed to haul himself to his knees fast enough to bury an arrow in that archer’s eye socket before she could get another shot off. This time, though, he didn’t stick around to watch her fall; a flash of light from behind him drew his eye, and the sight beyond it lit a new fire in his chest, this time all his own.

It was Clarissa, aiding the back line as he’d ordered—or, more likely, as she’d realized was pertinent herself—but that wasn’t what concerned him. No, what interested Jorah more was the bandit she was aiming at, and more importantly, the four others pressing in around the Prince, who was hacking at them like a mad homeless man with a table knife. Did they really close in that fast? The prince was back quite a bit farther than the rest of the line, so maybe… wait, did that idiot launch himself at them, just like that?

Jorah’s newfound determination quickly morphed into a wave of hot fury, his hands moving on their own to nock a new arrow and draw. Kieran was finally off the ground and dispatching an additional bandit, falling in line with the prince, so Jorah turned his sights on the other side of the clump, burying two arrows into the chest of another axe-wielding bandit and one through the neck of another carrying a sword.

The whistle of another arrow uncomfortably close to his side was the only thing that halted Jorah’s volley, the blond falling to the carriage roof once again and turning to scan for that last pesky archer. “Asshole!” he called over his shoulder at the prince, annoyed to have his attention torn from that shitshow. Yeah, just launch yourself into a crowd of bandits! What could go wrong? Who cares if the healer has to draw within lance range to save your powdered imperial ass? Goddess above, he should have just shot the prince in the back; way fewer arrows required, and no more need for Clarissa and the others to confront a whole horde of bandits at once to save him. Problem solved.

Of Blood and Magic

Listening carefully to Professor Daun’s explanation, Aaron didn’t judge the task too difficult—an estimate he made cautiously, of course, given his proven tendency to fall on his face through the simplest of tasks. Reasonable apprehension aside, though, he was feeling fairly confident; his performance in Professor Daun’s class had been generally impressive (or so he was told) and on top of that, Meredith seemed to adopt the tougher of the two parts of their task: shaping the light into the pyramid. All Aaron had to do was draw more light into the pyramid to maintain brightness, presumably at a rate matching Meredith’s so there wouldn’t be any spikes or dips. It was a clever first test: it built on an already well-developed skill, but challenged him with finer control at the same time.

Honestly, Aaron was really just excited to tackle a job he actually knew how to do.

Eyeing the pyramid for a moment, he raised his hands in front of him, taking a long, slow breath. As he exhaled, his ring began to glow; however, a moment’s hesitation dimmed it. The mention of encountering another’s magic sprang a memory to mind, one of his first Affinity Mastery class at the Academy. It seemed so long ago now, back in the brief window where he and Salem were on decent terms: they’d grown bored of the crystal exercise, and decided to have it out in what amounted to a magical arm-wrestle. It didn’t really occur to Aaron until now that that night, having his magic interact with someone else’s, was a much bigger step in his learning than he’d given it credit for.

Despite the fresh bitterness associated with Salem, Aaron couldn’t help but chuckle. “As a matter of fact, Professor, I’ve actually done it before.”

Back on task, his ring brightened once more as he focused on drawing light from his surroundings, his eyes glossing over in glowing gold to match. Blinking the sensation away—he’d have to get a handle on that eventually if he wanted any semblance of discretion when he practiced, but that was a job for another time—he took another breath, bracing himself for first contact with Meredith’s magic as he guided the light into the pyramid.

“Touching” Meredith’s magic was like a static shock, and Aaron’s light flickered in surprise before stabilizing again. It was a while ago, but he remembered his contact with Salem’s magic pretty well: not nearly as shocking, it was… earthy, he supposed, with the strange sensation of being both dynamic and rooted at the same time. Like an old tree, or a field of grass; changing, sure, but never budging. Salem had described his magic as a puppy, eager to please—he supposed that was a fair enough interpretation, if a little simplified.

But Meredith’s was nothing like Salem’s. Where his had a sense of stability, Meredith’s was all over the place, buzzing with excitement—much like its master, Aaron supposed. His own magic got a little overwhelmed at first, but stayed surprisingly stable. There was no explosion of magic or fearful fizzling out, just a moment of adjustment for his magic to learn the new rhythm before it melded cooperatively with Meredith’s, blending Aaron’s supplemental light into her pyramid.

“There, not so bad,” Aaron muttered, focus still on the pyramid as he checked that the flow of light within was even, with no bright or dark spots.

_@Achronum

Shin Megami Tensei: Persona

_{April 9th—Afternoon}

---

Emi inwardly scoffed at Ito’s sudden sincerity, rolling her eyes as she slung her bag over her shoulder. As expected, she didn’t seem to take any of what she said seriously. Emi didn’t know if Ito was trying to cover her tracks or make herself out to be innocent or what, but she didn’t buy it. Didn’t forget ‘those that died’, huh? Ito never knew them to begin with, she had no place commenting on them in any respect. That last little quip was the icing on the cake, and Emi made an inward promise that she’d be bringing all hell to bear on Ito if she ever heard her utter a word about her missing friends again.

Ito’s little parting remarks were beneath contempt; all the more frustrating, then, that they still brought a fresh tear to Emi’s eye, a pit in her stomach over that tasteless remark about Reiji-san. Ha, she thought bitterly, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue, shows how much you know.

Shaking her head, Emi finally straightened, insisting to herself that she pull herself together. She’d had more than enough time for grieving, and it was all the less appropriate now, given the new evidence she’d uncovered. Her friends wouldn’t want her moping while there was still work to be done in saving them!

Of course, she had responsibilities to take care of before she could dive into that—and that was assuming she even knew where to start. Ugh. Two taps of a button on the side of her phone made it read out the time; great, she was already late for her council meeting. She touched her eyes gently, noting how warm and puffy they felt; great, it would be clear to everyone on the council as soon as she walked in that she’d been crying. She wasn’t sure what they expected for her first day back to a place loaded with so many memories of her missing friends, but still, it wouldn’t do to show up to her first meeting looking like a wreck.

Taking a deep breath, Emi brandished her cane and took off out of the classroom, making her way to the bathroom—fortunately it seemed all the rooms were in the same places as before—to splash some cold water on her face before making a beeline to the student council room. She didn’t know if that would be enough to erase the evidence of her little breakdown, but it was going to have to do—either way, she’d have a few choice words ready for anyone who felt the need to comment on it.

A fresh new braille nameplate next to the door told her she’d found the right room, and after one last breath to steel herself, Emi pushed inside, painting an apologetic smile on her face as she entered.

“Hi, sorry I’m late! The renovations have me all turned around,” she greeted, recycling her former excuse before anyone had the chance to call her out on it. She scanned the room with her leftover Persona knack as she spoke, trying to figure out just how many people she’d embarrassed herself in front of. Seemed like three: Naomi-san, Nakano-san—crap, it wasn’t a good look to arrive after the President—and a third person she didn’t recognize. Inching forward, she found a few desks situated near the middle of the room; hopefully they were reusing the square formation from before.

“Is there a specific seat for me, or should I just choose one?” she asked the room, folding up her cane. Tucking it into her bag, she added cheerfully, “And who’s our new member?”

---

_{@Hero @Entityx}

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

_{@Achronum @Eleven @POOHEAD189}

When her anger finally subsided, Clarissa became uneasy, and then very focused—Jorah’d felt her get that way before, and knew from experience that she must have been praying. She always felt so stable when she got that way, like a stout building standing against a storm; though her initial fiery determination was what had jolted Jorah out of his frightened reverie, that serene stillness of hers was what he clung to in the carriage, steeping himself in her pious calm as they rocked and bumped their way to battle. He could never be sure if it was the coming trial that had him taking things so seriously or if it was Clarissa’s influence sharpening his mind, but it didn’t matter much to him; if he stopped concentrating on her aura, the soup of mixed emotions coming from the rest of the carriage’s occupants would probably have him clawing at the doors for escape.

Professor Michail’s orders echoed in his ears from far away; he vaguely registered that he’d be taking the center position, but didn’t pay too much mind to where anyone else was going. Except Clarissa, of course. She was in the middle with him, and he breathed a sigh of relief that she wouldn’t be far if his resolve started to buckle in the chaos.

Jorah was jolted from his secondhand meditation when the carriage finally lurched to a halt, and as he saw Clarissa move to leave the carriage, an unfamiliar urgency took hold of him. Without thinking, he snatched her hand before she could get out, gripping it firmly. Making sure she met his gaze, his wine-coloured eyes bored into her green ones, expression uncharacteristically serious. “Don't stray too far from me, okay?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Jorah.” She promised, laying her hand over his and squeezing briefly, much to Jorah’s relief. “And if all this gets to be too much, tell me. Don’t try to play the hero.”

Ha. he almost could have laughed at the thought if a storm of concerns hadn’t clouded his mind, though the tiniest of smirks did find its way to his lips. “Hero, wouldn't Duke Riegan love that,” he answered quietly, a hint of bitter sarcasm in his voice. He did grin, though; somehow Clarissa’s seriousness always had a way of melting away his own, as if she took on the burden of responsibility for the both of them.

“Nah, dinners with Duke Edmund will get mighty awkward if he hears I let his daughter get shot,” he added wryly, finally releasing her.

He got out not far behind her, only to be nearly knocked off his feet by the scene outside the carriage. The smoke, fire, fleeing villagers and raiders—the visual spectacle of destruction was all secondary to the noise, a discordant chorus of fear, bloodlust, panic and anger that only Jorah could hear. If a usual gathering of people’s emotions was like voices in a crowd, then this was an outright riot, a desperate scramble of emotional screams and cries and crazy shrieking, friend indistinguishable from foe. He didn’t know which feelings were villagers’ or raiders’; even Imogen’s aura, typically a trumpet among whispers, was drowned in the mire. Jorah had never in his life been so overwhelmed; he would have cursed his Crest had he the breath, but his lungs were frozen, his feet bolted to the ground.

A familiar voice crying out from close behind him was the slap in the face Jorah needed to move again, and Auberon’s instructions seemed to hit him on a delay, fully snapping him out of his torpor. Only then did he remember the bow in his hands, clutched to his chest in a white-knuckled grip, and Auberon’s suggestion fully sank in: get on top of the carriage, good idea. He might have thought of it himself if he’d been conscious. One of his ears rang as the nearby clash of steel shot through him, but above it he could hear Clarissa, speaking in the language of scriptures and invoking the Goddess to turn the bandits away from their sin.

Jorah took a breath, the last vapours clearing from his clouded mind. Latching on to Clarissa’s aura, he allowed her righteous indignation to flow through him, urging his steps as he climbed deftly on top of the carriage in record time. She wanted the bandits to repent and beg for mercy, but it was the first part of her speech that spoke to him more; judgement and reckoning, those were the ideas that would get him through this without buckling at the knees.

Working on touch alone, he pulled an arrow from the quiver at his hip and nocked it, scanning the village around them for targets. The hunter in him, honed well from countless hunts for deer and boar and bear over the years, was already beginning to surface, and as long as he kept Clarissa’s aura in mind, the chaos began to fade, giving way to wind direction and obstacles and angles. Unlike a hunt, however, there was movement everywhere, villagers fleeing and raiders looting and burning. Unlike a hunt, what concerned him most now were the targets that would likely be still: archers.

Movement from the corner of his eye caught Jorah’s attention, and without waiting to register what it was, he threw his legs out from under him, landing prone on the roof of the carriage; a good choice, in retrospect, as he heard the whistle of an arrow flying over him. Rising to one knee, his fingers found his bowstring again, but hesitated.

One, two—

Then, with unpredictable speed, Jorah whirled to the left, drawing and shooting in one smooth motion. His two seconds of hesitation gave the archer enough time to think himself safe and take aim once more, but not enough to draw; by the distant thump and the body crumpled over the short wall of a nearby well, Jorah reckoned he’d made the right call.

“Not the most cover up here, though…” he murmured to himself, staying on one knee and crouching low to the roof of the carriage. He was a prime target for archers up here, but it couldn’t be helped; with all the chaos and all the damn tall students around him, he’d be useless spotting from the ground.

A guttural cry from the back right had him whirling again, met with the sight of Imogen and Kevin covered in blood, with two more (angry) raiders looking on. The one who screamed seemed to hesitate, face twisted with anger and anguish alike, before charging; Jorah dispatched him with an arrow to the chest, and directed another at the ground before the other raider’s feet as a warning not to make the same mistake.

“Clarissa! Check on the back line!” Jorah shouted, unsure from this distance whether either Imogen or Keenan was hurt.

“Kayden! Maybe watch what your line-mates are doing?” He called pointedly, catching the Prince standing proudly over his single assailant with his back to his fellows as Jorah swept the back for archers. “And Imogen!” he added sharply, making sure she saw him, “Stop… clumping!”

Honestly, could these guys not coordinate themselves? Jorah was no military mind, but he knew clumping up and not watching your fellow hunters during a boar hunt was a good way to get three people gored at once, and he had other things to pay attention to. “Come on guys, I can’t watch for archers and your backs at the same time!”

Shin Megami Tensei: Persona

_{April 9th—Afternoon}

---

Ito seemed to hesitate a second before replying, but when she finally did, Emi’s eyebrows rose in mild surprise. Wow, edgy on all fronts, wasn’t she? Emi didn’t exactly go out of her way to take advantage of the certain… leeway her disability gave her, but it was a rare thing indeed for a stranger to outright refuse to help her if she asked, and so rudely at that. She had to wonder what was behind that; did she recognize her, and expect some backlash for her writing on the board? Maybe. Or maybe she was just an equal-opportunity asshole—it didn’t matter much to Emi.

After a second’s hesitation, Emi offered a soft smile in the other girl’s direction, chuckling quietly as she unfolded her cane. “That’s fair enough I suppose,” she replied sweetly, counting the clicks of her cane until she knew it was fully extended. “I suppose I shouldn’t assume, I can see why a non-member wouldn’t be familiar with the student council room. I’m sorry to bother you. I do have one more question though, before you go.”

Without warning, Emi jabbed the tip of her cane into the door frame with a satisfying clack, barring Ito from leaving. Friendly expression evaporating, she narrowed her eyes in the other girl’s direction, her sightless gaze carrying with it an uncharacteristic coldness.

“Just exactly what the hell is your problem?” She snapped, her tone sharper than even she herself was used to. An unfamiliar spike of adrenaline coursed through her—she never used to be this confrontational, but the words flowed out of her like water, and in her mood, she was content to go with the flow.

“Listen, I don’t care if you’re jealous or if you chafe under authority or whatever the fuck your problem is, but you will not blacken my friends’ memory with your disgusting lies,” Emi continued, her tone low and full of venom. She jabbed a finger at Ito, brandishing it like a knife. “And if you must spread filth to make it through the day, try educating yourself a little first. Nakano-san’s brother was one of the casualties of those fires. Her own goddamn house was one of the ones that burned down. Reiji-san was my friend; so were the rest of them. Do you even know their names? Or does smearing their memory mean so little to you that you didn’t even bother to learn them?!”

Emi’s voice broke at the end, her moment of courage giving way to a much more familiar wave of sorrow. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she finally stopped holding Ito at finger-point to cover her mouth before it twisted into an ugly frown. Dammit, why now?! She never used to get this emotional, she thought she’d come to terms with things at least enough to say her friends’ names without breaking into tears!

“Leave the dead out of your petty jealous schemes,” Emi warned, voice a little quieter, but still sharp enough to get her point across. She let her cane drop, leveling Ito’s direction with her best glare before turning to gather the rest of her things so she could get the hell out of this girl’s disgusting aura already.

---

_@psych0pomp

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

_@Hero

One by one, the other students made their choices, and like lemmings, all but Lienna and that stuck-up Imperial girl loaded into the carriage to their probable deaths. Most were either more considerate or less concerned than Kellen and that showboating Prince, talking among themselves or not at all, rather than feeling the need to make some patronizing parting word or gesture to the ones they were leaving behind. That was, of course, all but Derec.

"Hey, um… Don't worry too much about those two, I'll make sure to keep them safe. Be sure to take care of yourself while we're gone, okay?"

Lienna wasn’t sure if Derec felt some kind of weird camaraderie with her as the only other Blue Lion commoner, or if he was just like this with everyone, but she was starting to wonder if their brief cooperation at dinner on the first day had given him the wrong idea. Did he think she’d be sitting here, biting her nails in nervous anticipation as they fought like idiots, desperately hoping they’d all return in one piece? He vastly overestimated her investment in her fellow students. Sure, it might be a shame if Kellen got his heart run through, having probably only gone out of fear of Auberon’s disapproval if he stayed, but their just and glorious House Leader himself? He probably roamed the streets in his spare time looking for any chance to be a hero; this was right up his alley. Lienna doubted he’d need protecting, and if he did, he most definitely didn’t deserve it after pressuring his peers into risking their lives alongside him.

“Worry about yourself a bit more and you might just come back in one piece,” she muttered sharply as he left, more to herself than anyone else.

She watched the river with mild disinterest as the last of the students loaded into the carriage, though the shadow of a man on a horse passing over her alerted her to one last unwelcome visitor. Realizing he wouldn’t pass her by until she acknowledged him, she reluctantly turned her attention to Michail, impatiently listening to his spiel.

"I'm leaving the two carriages to you," He stated, motioning to the nearly empty weapon carriage and the one the professors had previously occupied. "Remember what I said: don't assume you're safe here. We don't know what their objective is or what they're looking for. Stay on your guard and watch each other's backs."

Digging around in his satchel, he pulled out a small, silver wand adorned with a white crystal on top. "If trouble comes looking for you, concentrate into it, it'll release a minor cloaking spell in the form of a fog. You can use it to run to us, or hide, or whatever you'd like."

Hm, at least this visit held something of interest. Taking the proffered wand, Lienna ignored the whistle and the wannabe-Princess’ retort, examining the silver. Once more, she was struck by the value of the thing; not only were the lavish materials expensive enough, but an actual magical item? It must have been worth a fortune. It was no ruse, either—Lienna could feel the faint pulse of life in the wand, a spark distinguishing it from any old inanimate object. A cloaking spell, eh? She really did doubt they’d have occasion to use it, but it would be good to have on hand nonetheless. As the others finally pulled away, she tucked the wand into her scarf at her waist, watching the forms of the horses and carriage shrink into the distance.

Only when they were long gone did Lienna finally approach the other two carriages, as if afraid if she got too close, someone would snatch her and force her to come along. They’d have lost a hand if they tried, but that was a minor detail. With the others gone and the commotion settled down—save the enduring smoke in the distance, which Lienna chose not to acknowledge—it was strangely peaceful by the road, with the sun and a gentle, warm breeze on her face and the faint gurgling of the water at the river’s edge. It was poetic, in a way. Not so far away people were probably fighting for their lives, and here, things were a picture of calm.

Lienna thought it was fitting.

With no horses left to spook by her very presence, she regarded the carriages for a moment before climbing up onto the weapons’ cart, clamoring her way onto the only spot that looked even remotely comfortable: the driver’s seat. It was facing the village, and by extension that noxious smoke on the horizon, which was unfortunate, though a small voice in the back of her head told her it might be smart to keep an eye out for anyone approaching from that direction.

Even as she thought it, though, she shook the idea off. “I doubt anyone’s coming,” she said to the air, justifying her nonchalance to no one in particular. Not that there was anyone around—save Princess Whoever, anyway. She crossed her legs, absently scanning the horizon. “They’ll have their hands full at the village, and besides, they don’t know what we’ve got in these carriages. They’d have to be simple to attack a Knights of Seiros caravan out in the open like this.”

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

_@Achronum

The riders didn’t halt their approach as Jorah waited—fairly impatiently—for the Prince and Imogen to clear out of the road, but the much more immediate threat was the approaching Professor Michail, thwacking him on the back of the head with a rolled up map.

“Hey!—” he exclaimed in protest, scrunching his shoulders up defensively. He watched as Michail metered out the same punishment to both Kayden and Isolde, pouting. Honestly, why the violence? For once, Jorah wasn’t the one causing trouble—he’d only gone to arm himself like the good upstanding noble heir his father wished he was and tried to get tweedle dee and tweedle Prince out of the road!

“For the record, if we’re going to play this game then I’d prefer my assailant to be Euphemia in the dungeon with the riding crop!” he called after the Knight, though unfortunately his taunt went unheard as the much-awaited riders finally galloped past, coming to a stop in front of the professors. A wave of fear and panic followed them, so potent that even Jorah lost all semblance of levity, struck pin-straight with sudden terror as goosebumps crawled across his body. Sheesh, they really were fleeing from something, weren’t they?

“Yikes…” he murmured, trying to loosen the vice on his chest as he watched from his spot by the weapons’ cart as the riders explained their situation. More than once, Jorah’s eye wandered to the first man’s arm, his hand stained red from a few cuts, and his stomach quivered. He could only hear bits and pieces from the conversation, but he didn’t need the details to understand the gist; the thundering heart, the swell of panic, the dreaded uncertainty of what lay ahead or behind—it all washed off the man in waves even from this distance, and Jorah felt it all as if it was his home he’d been fleeing, his fellow villagers whose lives hung in the balance. It was a sick feeling, and he took a cautious step back, unconsciously trying to create some distance from the veritable storm of fear raging within the horsemen, only for his back to hit the weapons’ cart, further feeding the tumult within.

The distant explosion confirmed the men’s story, and a sick sense of worry compounded on the fear and dread, enough to threaten Jorah’s knees to buckle. He could scarcely tear his eyes from the billows of black smoke on the horizon, clutching his bow like a lifeline on a raging sea.

No sooner had the riders galloped off than Michail raised his voice to the whole group, offering them a choice: stay on the road alone, or go with him to defend a village under attack. By all accounts, it was the stuff of storybooks; a blooming hero in the right place at the right time, cementing their place in the annals of history through a selfless and noble deed. This was what tavern bards sang songs about. By all accounts, it was right up Jorah’s alley—but even though the departure of the riders freed him of the stone that had settled on his chest, it was hard to slip the cold fingers of mortal fear in a mere moment. Shamefully, Jorah was locked in fearful indecision, his feet rooted to the ground.

Fortunately, he could always rely on his old friend Clarissa to bring him back to his senses when he needed her most.

“I swear to the Goddess, I love you, I really do, but if I have to hear about the absolute depravity that goes through your empty head once more, I will personally separate both your heads from your body, do you understand? Get in the carriage before I drag you there by your ear.”

A painful, garbled noise escaped Jorah as Clarissa yanked him down by his ear, his former apprehension fleeing in favour of righteous indignation as he was forced to bend awkwardly—and painfully!—to Clarissa’s level. “Saint’s taint, woman, I’m not even that much taller than you!”

Escaping her grip, Jorah rotated out of Clarissa’s reach, noting that a certain sort of fire had taken up residence in his chest where crippling fear had just been. Right, this was Clarissa; she was raring to go, and the sheer volume of her soul had a special way of pushing away any lingering gloom except her own. But she had a point, in her unconscious way: this was right up Jorah’s alley, wasn’t it? He was an excellent marksman if he did say so himself, and fear? Ha! If anything, he didn’t have enough of it—hence his mother’s prayers for her son to grow some sense throughout his wall-climbing, animal-chasing childhood. Yes, exactly! It wasn’t him cowering by the weapons’ cart, it was the lingering fear he’d borrowed from those riders. They were the ones scared out of their skins, not him.

“And anyway, no need to threaten violence. If you want attention from either of my heads, you know you only need to ask,” Jorah teased, considerably more himself than before. “Jealousy is unbecoming of a woman of your stature, you know.”

It took everything in Clarissa’s power not to knee her friend right in the groin. He was so frustratingly aggravating that she didn’t know how in the Goddess’ grace she managed to survive his friendship this long. She settled for a punch to the arm. “You disgust me. If you never suggest that again, it will be too soon.” She snapped, grabbing a sword from the supplies and scowled. “If you could focus on the upcoming battle, it’d be greatly appreciated you damned louse.” She huffed as she made her way to the carriage.

Jorah could help himself, a self-satisfied grin cracking through his mock-serious expression even as he rubbed the burning spot on his arm, boyish giggles worming their way out of his throat. She was so mad! He could feel her anger and disgust poking at the edges of her resolve, but that only made it funnier. After so many years, he’d have thought she’d grown numb to his teasing, but she was as receptive as ever. It would be heartwarming if it wasn’t so damn funny.

“Such cruel words to send a man to his likely death,” he lamented, feet lighter and still grinning as he skipped to the carriage on her heels.