Scribe of Thoth

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

---

Slighted again. The Goddess truly did see fit to keep Auberon separated from his housemates until dinner. Probably for the best; if he had to repeat the exact same introduction to separate people over and over again any more today he'd likely consider throwing himself off the monastery wall. On the upside, Kellen rushing off with some student Auberon didn't recognize meant the boy was at least making friends, so perhaps he'd misjudged how much of a complete wreck the Fraldarius was. A weird phobia of public speaking was far more manageable than... whatever it's called when someone consistently sticks their foot in their mouth during every interaction.

With all of the other Lions unaccounted for, the boy had little else to do but wander. He'd seen most of Garreg Mach's facilities only in passing, and while quite a bit of it didn't particularly interest him, familiarity with the campus was essential. Especially since he was evidently an authority among the student body now, for whatever reason the Archbishop had in doing so. He really should've asked while he had His Holiness' attention. He had heard rumors of a sauna on the grounds, which was probably the closest thing to a guilty pleasure Auberon could see himself indulging in during his time at the school. The bathhouses in County Galatea were positively divine in the winter months, if only because soaking in one was the only opportunity he had to feel his toes for a bit. It might not have been that cold this far south, but they were still atop an impressive mountain and the monastery was hardly a sunlit shore in Brigid.

Auberon's tour of the grounds ended at the dorms, and he'd only just opened his first trunk when the dinner bell rang to interrupt him. Well, there went any hope of getting his things put away tonight. He'd probably get roped into attending the Leicesters' party, if only because social convention demands he make an appearance, and he definitely couldn't afford to blow through his dinner and quickly retreat back to his dorm now that he had a guarantee his housemates would finally be assembled outside the classroom for once. After all that, it would probably be time for bed, and then he'd have classes to contend with the next day. For a day full of what felt like nothing, he really was still behind. Such thoughts brought him petty pride and fear for Fódlan's future in equal measure, given that he was evidently one of the more responsible students in attendance. Oh well, Enbarr wasn't built in a day, as it were.

The dining hall certainly exceeded his expectations, even under the assumption the first day warranted a grand feast to welcome the incoming students. If they were going to eat like this every night, Auberon would have to consider pleading with Ioannis to let him join the clergy at Garreg Mach, should his claim to Countship ever be successfully contested. Fish seemed to be the theme of the night, which was hardly the boy's favorite - he considered it too much of a commoner's meat to enjoy on special occasions - but the aroma wafting off whatever sauce they'd covered one of the dishes in was too enticing to ignore.

Though, as famished as he was, the food wasn't truly his objective. The party would likely have some manner of snacks, provided Jorah and his partner in crime that proposed the event weren't already hated by the culinary staff, and stuffing his face would be a convenient excuse to not participate in any of their 'Leicester hospitality' that was doubtlessly asinine and embarrassing for all involved parties. Once Auberon had finished questioning the mystery sauce on his plate with his eyes - unfortunately, it revealed none of its tasty secrets to him at a glance - he turned his gaze across the room until he caught sight of the other Lions.

And what a sight they were; Kellen looked like he'd gotten his horribly-tailored sleeves confused for his napkin - Goddess above, the boy really needed to get that fixed soon. Lienna was using the wrong fork, and she hadn't thought to rearrange the other silverware to even attempt to cover up the glaring hole in her place setting. Then again, Auberon shouldn't have been surprised; from what he'd heard, peasants barely even used forks; when their hands failed them, they were content with wooden spoons and chopping meat using the same filthy daggers they cut everything else with of all things. For once, he was actually thankful for the Golden Deer's existence - they'd make his house look more refined by comparison.

"Lord Fraldarius. Miss Orhneaht. Derec." He greeted them each in turn with a nod of his head as he approached, opting for a more formal approach with the duo he hadn't properly acquainted himself with yet, "Might I say you are all very difficult people to get ahold of." Auberon lowered himself into a seat across from Lienna, unable to stop himself from eyeballing the hole where her dessert fork had been. He reached for his dinner fork in an exaggeratedly slow manner; hopefully she'd take the hint and he wouldn't have to start a degrading lecture on etiquette the next time they ate together.

The blond blinked a few times and refocused on the food in front of him. Nitpicking a serf on their eating habits would last him all night; it wasn't productive. "I hope you're all settling in well," Auberon added politely. He was eager to talk to them, but more pressingly, he was hungry, and it wouldn't do to constantly hold up the conversation while he was chewing. Lazy platitudes was the safest course to start with, even if he was evidently dining with a pack of animals.

---

@Obscene Symphony@Hero@ThatCharacter

Starweavers

Daniel Telem - And the Lord said unto Moses, Yet will I bring one plague more upon Pharaoh, and upon Egypt

❈ WHO AM I? ❈

》 𝖡𝖠𝖲𝖨𝖢𝖲: Daniel Telem || 20 || Mal'akh

---

"I'm running on a mixture of spite, erythropoietin, and clinical strength bronchodilators. So yeah, not doing so hot."

MEDICAL EXAMINER REPORT

Name: ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ Date of Birth: August 5, 2022 Age: 26 Race: Human (Caucasian) Sex: Male	Medical Examiner #: ■■-■■-■■■■ Date of Death: May 15, 2049 Time of Death (Estimated): 1830-2000 Hours Date of Exam: May 16, 2049 Time of Exam: 0800 Hours

FINAL DIAGNOSES AND FINDINGS

• Widespread rupturing of soft tissue abscesses.
  • Cutaneous abscesses present within exanthematous rash in repetitive patterns resembling known starmark.
  • Internal lesions apparent on upper and lower lobe of both lungs.
  • Large volumes of blood present in major bronchi upon examination.
• Evidence of rapid onset pulmonary sarcoidosis and extensive respiratory inflammation.
• Generalized pallor and evidence of exsanguination.
• No evidence of physical trauma or laceration despite extensive wounding.
• Serology returned no evidence of causative agent of infection.
• Notable lack of lymphatic swelling despite evidence of immune response.

Cause of Death: Exsanguination from extensive cutaneous and internal lesions across the body.
Manner of Death: Contact with Starweaver identified as Telem, Daniel.

》 𝖠𝖯𝖯𝖤𝖠𝖱𝖠𝖭𝖢𝖤: 175cm tall || 65 kg

---

Daniel is a diminutive, sickly boy with alabaster-pale skin and unpigmented hair that would drive a hairdresser to tears with how lifelessly it drapes over his head. His eyes are an unexpressive pale blue, contrasted starkly against the dark circles that always hang under them. The rest of his face is veiled near-constantly by a magitech gas mask to keep pollution and other irritants from his disease-weakened lungs, which only exacerbates his taciturn appearance. When he speaks, his voice is a flat monotone that rings with a subtle but haunting echo as enthralling as it is unsettling, partially from the mask's distortion and partially from his mal'akh heritage. Daniel's silhouette is slender and unimposing, though a glimpse of him unclothed would suggest his figure derives more from ill health than any lean musculature. He moves with a languid, ethereal grace, not one for animated movement unless he's in immediate danger. Despite this general malaise, Daniel has a habit of restlessly bouncing his leg when he's irritated or deep in thought.

His wings manifest as shadowy feathered appendages that appear opaque at the base but taper out into near-translucent tatters that resemble worn and ripped cloth at their distal ends. Even their substance grows more ephemeral away from the base, being wholly solid at first before growing akin to animated shadows that barely register as a feather-light tickle on contact. They're not particularly large; even unfurled in all their spectral glory, his wings would barely extend past his armspan, and the projections at the tips are easily malleable enough that the wings can be hidden under a heavy coat for convenience or to keep a low profile.

》 𝖯𝖤𝖱𝖲𝖮𝖭𝖠𝖫𝖨𝖳𝖸

---

Daniel is fairly inexpressive, and keeps his reactions neutral if not aloof. Not to say he's emotionless, but he isn't very outwardly emotive. This isn't helped by the mask covering the lower half of his face, which leaves onlookers with few visual cues beyond eye movement and body language as to what's on Daniel's mind. Even then, the external portrayal of most of his emotional extremes are muted and subtle, with abject horror perhaps expressing itself as wide-eyed surprise, or overbearing excitement presenting as a simple narrowing at the corners of his eyes. One of the few things that can reliably provoke an emotional response from the boy is people blatantly pitying him, though even his anger at that is a cold seething rather than hot and explosive rage. Despite his aloofness, Daniel doesn't actively avoid interaction, but he's quite used to being alone; no grade schoolers really wanted to be friends with the sick kid that was always in and out of school, after all. He's quite desensitized to death and the prospect of dying, which could be interpreted as fearlessness or foolhardiness, depending on one's outlook. This makes him open to risky actions, though he's not usually a proponent of them. Likewise, the mal'akh is typically agreeable and not one to defy orders from a superior or reject a consensus of his peers unless he finds the decision exceptionally misguided.

When it comes to his ability, he's hesitant to make use of it in any circumstance where he doesn't feel he's in explicit danger, but is fully willing to condemn entire swaths of people to death with perfect clinical detachment should he be forced into action. A subdued opponent appealing for mercy can generally tug enough of the apathetic boy's heartstrings to be granted a reprieve and Daniel is usually quite forgiving, but there's only so many life-threatening actions one can forgive a person for before it becomes simple stupidity.

》 𝖧𝖨𝖲𝖳𝖮𝖱𝖸

---

Daniel Telem was going to die. He was reminded of this in every hospital ceiling he stared up at, in every glimpse of his sunken cheeks in the mirror, in every pill bottle and every inhaler. As a child, it scared him. The novelty wore off in his teens. He did not want to die, but he knew it would happen eventually; that he'd staved it off longer than expected was a hollow victory in his eyes. The mal'akh boy had been sickly from a young age, cursed with failing lungs and chronic illness that left him in and out of hospitals throughout his entire childhood. Even when healing magic and medical magitech put his symptoms in remission and he found the strength to get out of bed long enough to function normally, Daniel was always ever-wary of triggering another horrible coughing fit that would land him back in the hospital. Naturally, with all the free time he possessed laying in bed, he took up magic as soon as he was able; if Daniel could barely walk on his own, he'd fly instead. If he had to slink back to the hospital for a healing spell, he'd make every attempt to cast it himself. It was the smallest bit of freedom he could grasp for.

Throughout his teenage years, his health showed marked improvement, but every period of much-sought freedom for the boy - though they grew longer and longer each time - would always end far too soon in potential suffocation or crippling exhaustion. He was eighteen when he was discharged from the hospital for the last time. Four hours later, he was cornered during a walk around town; a group of hoodlums had apparently decided the sick-looking kid was an easy mark. Such a cruel mistress fate was, trading one method of death for another. Well, maybe not; he didn't exactly have money, they might've just let him go. He never got to find out. Mere seconds after that, Daniel heard his own voice ringing in his ears, affectionately urging him to wake up like his mother would when she visited him in the hospital. Within a minute, Daniel's assailants had fled at the sight of the starmark igniting above his brow. By the end of the day, they'd all died agonizing deaths in a puddle of their own bodily fluids, along with a few of their friends that foolishly tried to help. The police helpfully provided pictures when Daniel didn't believe them.

He was under government contract by gentle coercion soon after, too dangerous to be left alone but too useful to be discreetly disposed of. He hadn't bothered to call their bluff; the terms were agreeable enough to him. Aside from occasional deployment on law enforcement's behalf - criminals were quick to turn themselves in when they were oozing blood from every orifice and were told their only salvation was peaceful surrender - Daniel was mostly left alone. Sure, the comfortable apartment in New York his employers had provided was definitely under regular survelliance and he was called in by lab coats to show off his ability in probably-not-legal-or-humane experiments more than he probably should've been comfortable with, but otherwise it seemed like he was being paid simply to not use his ability. He only needed to exist as an unspoken threat at the negotiating table to be of use, though such a status meant he was usually swamped with offers from other people looking to undercut America's new bargaining chip.

It was in New York that Daniel encountered the fog. The day was otherwise mundane; a step outside a local restaurant sent him into a foggy haze where he'd been certain there was a sunny afternoon previously. Before any wild theories as to the cause entered his mind, the mal'akh was assaulted with emotion like a punch to the gut. A nostalgia for experiences he never had, places he'd never been, all coalesced into the painful clarity that his childhood was over and he'd wasted it in a hospital bed gasping for breath. Perhaps he was romanticizing things, perhaps his health really wouldn't have allowed him to live his life any differently, but Daniel couldn't shake the feeling he'd lost out on some cherished, idyllic time that he'd never get back. He was alone in another prison, about to spend his adulthood in the same lonely blur. The fog faded away moments after, but he barely noticed.

---

---

✣

☣ WAKE UP, STARWEAVER ☣

❖ 𝖬𝖠𝖦𝖨𝖢

---

CONTAGION

» 𝖲𝖳𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖦𝖳𝖧	» 𝖲𝖴𝖯𝖯𝖮𝖱𝖳	» 𝖣𝖤𝖷𝖳𝖤𝖱𝖨𝖳𝖸	» 𝖣𝖤𝖥𝖤𝖭𝖲𝖤	» 𝖲𝖳𝖠𝖬𝖨𝖭𝖠
★☆☆☆☆	★★★★☆	★★★★☆	★★☆☆☆	★★★☆☆

The fate of all things is to eventually wither and die; such decay is written in the stars when they too flicker out at last. Those who band together and seek comfort from this eventuality will learn but one inescapable truth: all end up alone in the cold embrace of the grave. This is the futility of mortal connection laid bare for all to see by Contagion's horrors. The ability begins as a sickly green mist that Daniel coalesces around himself in an ever-growing cloud. The cloud does little to reduce visibility despite its color, and the mist itself feels damp and slightly sticky. It cannot penetrate skin but mucous membranes and open wounds are both easily colonized once a victim makes contact with the cloud. No biological function can halt the disease's progression after infection, nor can survivors of the disease gain any degree of immunity to it should they be infected a second time. Contagion is a disease of the soul, the target's very life essence; it bypasses the host immune system entirely because it simply is not a physical pathogen. Even magical healing can only treat symptoms or stall until Contagion has run its course naturally, though this may put the healer themself at risk should they stray too close to the infected.

Upon initial infection, the target is immediately overcome with a sense of weakness and general feverishness. Respiratory distress soon follows, causing shortness of breath and a hacking cough that expels the same noxious mist that Daniel can generate himself, which clings to the infected and turns them into a walking biohazard. At this stage, the victim becomes capable of transmitting the disease to others. Rashes break out across the body, typically in the shape of Daniel's starmark wherever possible, which progress into pustulent boils that leak contagious mist and bleed profusely if and when they pop. The victim may also begin hacking up blood if they contracted Contagion through inhalation at this point. Eventually, the boils will form and burst so frequently that the skin simply flakes off and creates massive open wounds, staining grotesque crimson starmarks into whatever fabric the victim is fruitlessly using to stem the bleeding. If the poor bastard hasn't died from blood loss by the final stage of infection, widespread internal hemorrhaging eventually leads to mass organ failure and certain death as the last spark of life energy is siphoned from the victim's pitiful husk. After death, the mist gradually dissipates in about a minute, but will continue to cling to the corpse until then, barring a strong wind or other means of spread. The corpse itself retains no trace of Contagion and is no longer contagious after the mist fades.

As any infectious disease, Contagion flourishes in interaction and dies in isolation; a victim must remain within around forty meters of another infected person (or Daniel himself) for the disease to continue progressing, and this can include those the victim infected personally. Failing to meet this criteria will cause the symptoms to slowly recede at roughly the same rate they appeared. Wounds won't spontaneously close, but new boils will stop forming, coughing fits will become less frequent, etc. Only when the fever finally breaks and chills stop wracking the victim's body is it safe for them to approach others again. Conversely, being in the presence of larger numbers of infected people will cause symptoms to progress much faster than normal, with two people alone in a room perhaps taking hours to reach the final stage of infection while a tightly packed crowd might succumb to their fate in mere minutes.

While Contagion is an exceptionally deadly power, especially in populated areas, it cannot distinguish friend from foe; only Daniel himself is immune to its effects. He can dispel the disease with a touch as a last resort, though this does little good for victims who were infected outside his notice or those that had already sustained gruesome lesions or crippling organ damage before Daniel had a chance to cure them.

Though Daniel is as magically potent as any trained caster among the mal'akhim and a competent flyer (beats coughing up a lung after he tries running), he's physically pathetic even by his race's standards. A cocktail of performance-enhancing drugs and mal'akh restorative magic keeps him functional as a combatant, but he's still reliant on arcane means where his body fails him. As such, he tries to exert himself physically as little as possible during a fight, using his Starweaver ability to dissuade foes from getting close and his aerial dexterity to avoid anything at range.

❖ TELEGRAPH

---

Daniel's starmark is a swirling, vaguely circular sigil, with descending lines that break off in varying lengths that look as though the curves are bleeding. The mark burns with haunting red luminescence above the heads of the infected and Daniel himself, and the sigil can vaguely be glimpsed in the rolling currents of his virulent clouds if one stares at it long enough.

❖ 𝖬𝖴𝖲𝖨𝖢

---

❖ PLAYLIST	❖ SONG
OPENING THEME	Travis Scott - ASTROTHUNDER
CASUAL THEME	Persona 3 OST - Living With Determination -Iwatodai Station Arrange-
BATTLE THEME	JJBA Part 5 OST - Virus
ENDING THEME	Kanye West - Street Lights

---

---

♕

Starweavers

And the Lord said unto Moses, Yet will I bring one plague more upon Pharaoh, and upon Egypt

❈ WHO AM I? ❈

》 𝖡𝖠𝖲𝖨𝖢𝖲: Daniel Telem || 20 || Mal'akh

---

"I'm running on a mixture of spite, erythropoietin, and clinical strength bronchodilators. So yeah, not doing so hot."

MEDICAL EXAMINER REPORT

Name: ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ Date of Birth: August 5, 2022 Age: 26 Race: Human (Caucasian) Sex: Male	Medical Examiner #: ■■-■■-■■■■ Date of Death: May 15, 2049 Time of Death (Estimated): 1830-2000 Hours Date of Exam: May 16, 2049 Time of Exam: 0800 Hours

FINAL DIAGNOSES AND FINDINGS

• Widespread rupturing of soft tissue abscesses.
  • Cutaneous abscesses present within exanthematous rash in repetitive patterns resembling known starmark.
  • Internal lesions apparent on upper and lower lobe of both lungs.
  • Large volumes of blood present in major bronchi upon examination.
• Evidence of rapid onset pulmonary sarcoidosis and extensive respiratory inflammation.
• Generalized pallor and evidence of exsanguination.
• No evidence of physical trauma or laceration despite extensive wounding.
• Serology returned no evidence of causative agent of infection.
• Notable lack of lymphatic swelling despite evidence of immune response.

Cause of Death: Exsanguination from extensive cutaneous and internal lesions across the body.
Manner of Death: Contact with Starweaver identified as Telem, Daniel.

》 𝖠𝖯𝖯𝖤𝖠𝖱𝖠𝖭𝖢𝖤: 175cm tall || 65 kg

---

Daniel is a diminutive, sickly boy with alabaster-pale skin and unpigmented hair that would drive a hairdresser to tears with how lifelessly it drapes over his head. His eyes are an unexpressive pale blue, contrasted starkly against the dark circles that always hang under them. The rest of his face is veiled near-constantly by a magitech gas mask to keep pollution and other irritants from his disease-weakened lungs, which only exacerbates his taciturn appearance. When he speaks, his voice is a flat monotone that rings with a subtle but haunting echo as enthralling as it is unsettling, partially from the mask's distortion and partially from his mal'akh heritage. Daniel's silhouette is slender and unimposing, though a glimpse of him unclothed would suggest his figure derives more from ill health than any lean musculature. He moves with a languid, ethereal grace, not one for animated movement unless he's in immediate danger. Despite this general malaise, Daniel has a habit of restlessly bouncing his leg when he's irritated or deep in thought.

His wings manifest as shadowy feathered appendages that appear opaque at the base but taper out into near-translucent tatters that resemble worn and ripped cloth at their distal ends. Even their substance grows more ephemeral away from the base, being wholly solid at first before growing akin to animated shadows that barely register as a feather-light tickle on contact. They're not particularly large; even unfurled in all their spectral glory, his wings would barely extend past his armspan, and the projections at the tips are easily malleable enough that the wings can be hidden under a heavy coat for convenience or to keep a low profile.

》 𝖯𝖤𝖱𝖲𝖮𝖭𝖠𝖫𝖨𝖳𝖸

---

Daniel is fairly inexpressive, and keeps his reactions neutral if not aloof. Not to say he's emotionless, but he isn't very outwardly emotive. This isn't helped by the mask covering the lower half of his face, which leaves onlookers with few visual cues beyond eye movement and body language as to what's on Daniel's mind. Even then, the external portrayal of most of his emotional extremes are muted and subtle, with abject horror perhaps expressing itself as wide-eyed surprise, or overbearing excitement presenting as a simple narrowing at the corners of his eyes. One of the few things that can reliably provoke an emotional response from the boy is people blatantly pitying him, though even his anger at that is a cold seething rather than hot and explosive rage. Despite his aloofness, Daniel doesn't actively avoid interaction, but he's quite used to being alone; no grade schoolers really wanted to be friends with the sick kid that was always in and out of school, after all. He's quite desensitized to death and the prospect of dying, which could be interpreted as fearlessness or foolhardiness, depending on one's outlook. This makes him open to risky actions, though he's not usually a proponent of them. Likewise, the mal'akh is typically agreeable and not one to defy orders from a superior or reject a consensus of his peers unless he finds the decision exceptionally misguided.

When it comes to his ability, he's hesitant to make use of it in any circumstance where he doesn't feel he's in explicit danger, but is fully willing to condemn entire swaths of people to death with perfect clinical detachment should he be forced into action. A subdued opponent appealing for mercy can generally tug enough of the apathetic boy's heartstrings to be granted a reprieve and Daniel is usually quite forgiving, but there's only so many life-threatening actions one can forgive a person for before it becomes simple stupidity.

》 𝖧𝖨𝖲𝖳𝖮𝖱𝖸

---

Daniel Telem was going to die. He was reminded of this in every hospital ceiling he stared up at, in every glimpse of his sunken cheeks in the mirror, in every pill bottle and every inhaler. As a child, it scared him. The novelty wore off in his teens. He did not want to die, but he knew it would happen eventually; that he'd staved it off longer than expected was a hollow victory in his eyes. The mal'akh boy had been sickly from a young age, cursed with failing lungs and chronic illness that left him in and out of hospitals throughout his entire childhood. Even when healing magic and medical magitech put his symptoms in remission and he found the strength to get out of bed long enough to function normally, Daniel was always ever-wary of triggering another horrible coughing fit that would land him back in the hospital. Naturally, with all the free time he possessed laying in bed, he took up magic as soon as he was able; if Daniel could barely walk on his own, he'd fly instead. If he had to slink back to the hospital for a healing spell, he'd make every attempt to cast it himself. It was the smallest bit of freedom he could grasp for.

Throughout his teenage years, his health showed marked improvement, but every period of much-sought freedom for the boy - though they grew longer and longer each time - would always end far too soon in potential suffocation or crippling exhaustion. He was eighteen when he was discharged from the hospital for the last time. Four hours later, he was cornered during a walk around town; a group of hoodlums had apparently decided the sick-looking kid was an easy mark. Such a cruel mistress fate was, trading one method of death for another. Well, maybe not; he didn't exactly have money, they might've just let him go. He never got to find out. Mere seconds after that, Daniel heard his own voice ringing in his ears, affectionately urging him to wake up like his mother would when she visited him in the hospital. Within a minute, Daniel's assailants had fled at the sight of the starmark igniting above his brow. By the end of the day, they'd all died agonizing deaths in a puddle of their own bodily fluids, along with a few of their friends that foolishly tried to help. The police helpfully provided pictures when Daniel didn't believe them.

He was under government contract by gentle coercion soon after, too dangerous to be left alone but too useful to be discreetly disposed of. He hadn't bothered to call their bluff; the terms were agreeable enough to him. Aside from occasional deployment on law enforcement's behalf - criminals were quick to turn themselves in when they were oozing blood from every orifice and were told their only salvation was peaceful surrender - Daniel was mostly left alone. Sure, the comfortable apartment in New York his employers had provided was definitely under regular survelliance and he was called in by lab coats to show off his ability in probably-not-legal-or-humane experiments more than he probably should've been comfortable with, but otherwise it seemed like he was being paid simply to not use his ability. He only needed to exist as an unspoken threat at the negotiating table to be of use, though such a status meant he was usually swamped with offers from other people looking to undercut America's new bargaining chip.

It was in New York that Daniel encountered the fog. The day was otherwise mundane; a step outside a local restaurant sent him into a foggy haze where he'd been certain there was a sunny afternoon previously. Before any wild theories as to the cause entered his mind, the mal'akh was assaulted with emotion like a punch to the gut. A nostalgia for experiences he never had, places he'd never been, all coalesced into the painful clarity that his childhood was over and he'd wasted it in a hospital bed gasping for breath. Perhaps he was romanticizing things, perhaps his health really wouldn't have allowed him to live his life any differently, but Daniel couldn't shake the feeling he'd lost out on some cherished, idyllic time that he'd never get back. He was alone in another prison, about to spend his adulthood in the same lonely blur. The fog faded away moments after, but he barely noticed.

---

---

✣

❅ WAKE UP, STARWEAVER ❅

❖ 𝖬𝖠𝖦𝖨𝖢

---

CONTAGION

» 𝖲𝖳𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖦𝖳𝖧	» 𝖲𝖴𝖯𝖯𝖮𝖱𝖳	» 𝖣𝖤𝖷𝖳𝖤𝖱𝖨𝖳𝖸	» 𝖣𝖤𝖥𝖤𝖭𝖲𝖤	» 𝖲𝖳𝖠𝖬𝖨𝖭𝖠
★☆☆☆☆	★★★★☆	★★★★☆	★★☆☆☆	★★★☆☆

The fate of all things is to eventually wither and die; such decay is written in the stars when they too flicker out at last. Those who band together and seek comfort from this eventuality will learn but one inescapable truth: all end up alone in the cold embrace of the grave. This is the futility of mortal connection laid bare for all to see by Contagion's horrors. The ability begins as a sickly green mist that Daniel coalesces around himself in an ever-growing cloud. The cloud does little to reduce visibility despite its color, and the mist itself feels damp and slightly sticky. It cannot penetrate skin but mucous membranes and open wounds are both easily colonized once a victim makes contact with the cloud. No biological function can halt the disease's progression after infection, nor can survivors of the disease gain any degree of immunity to it should they be infected a second time. Contagion is a disease of the soul, the target's very life essence; it bypasses the host immune system entirely because it simply is not a physical pathogen. Even magical healing can only treat symptoms or stall until Contagion has run its course naturally, though this may put the healer themself at risk should they stray too close to the infected.

Upon initial infection, the target is immediately overcome with a sense of weakness and general feverishness. Respiratory distress soon follows, causing shortness of breath and a hacking cough that expels the same noxious mist that Daniel can generate himself, which clings to the infected and turns them into a walking biohazard. At this stage, the victim becomes capable of transmitting the disease to others. Rashes break out across the body, typically in the shape of Daniel's starmark wherever possible, which progress into pustulent boils that leak contagious mist and bleed profusely if and when they pop. The victim may also begin hacking up blood if they contracted Contagion through inhalation at this point. Eventually, the boils will form and burst so frequently that the skin simply flakes off and creates massive open wounds, staining grotesque crimson starmarks into whatever fabric the victim is fruitlessly using to stem the bleeding. If the poor bastard hasn't died from blood loss by the final stage of infection, widespread internal hemorrhaging eventually leads to mass organ failure and certain death as the last spark of life energy is siphoned from the victim's pitiful husk. After death, the mist gradually dissipates in about a minute, but will continue to cling to the corpse until then, barring a strong wind or other means of spread. The corpse itself retains no trace of Contagion and is no longer contagious after the mist fades.

As any infectious disease, Contagion flourishes in interaction and dies in isolation; a victim must remain within around forty meters of another infected person (or Daniel himself) for the disease to continue progressing, and this can include those the victim infected personally. Failing to meet this criteria will cause the symptoms to slowly recede at roughly the same rate they appeared. Wounds won't spontaneously close, but new boils will stop forming, coughing fits will become less frequent, etc. Only when the fever finally breaks and chills stop wracking the victim's body is it safe for them to approach others again. Conversely, being in the presence of larger numbers of infected people will cause symptoms to progress much faster than normal, with two people alone in a room perhaps taking hours to reach the final stage of infection while a tightly packed crowd might succumb to their fate in mere minutes.

While Contagion is an exceptionally deadly power, especially in populated areas, it cannot distinguish friend from foe; only Daniel himself is immune to its effects. He can dispel the disease with a touch as a last resort, though this does little good for victims who were infected outside his notice or those that had already sustained gruesome lesions or crippling organ damage before Daniel had a chance to cure them.

Though Daniel is as magically potent as any trained caster among the mal'akhim and a competent flyer (beats coughing up a lung after he tries running), he's physically pathetic even by his race's standards. A cocktail of performance-enhancing drugs and mal'akh restorative magic keeps him functional as a combatant, but he's still reliant on arcane means where his body fails him. As such, he tries to exert himself physically as little as possible during a fight, using his Starweaver ability to dissuade foes from getting close and his aerial dexterity to avoid anything at range.

❖ TELEGRAPH

---

Daniel's starmark is a swirling, vaguely circular sigil, with descending lines that break off in varying lengths that look as though the curves are bleeding. The mark burns with haunting red luminescence above the heads of the infected and Daniel himself, and the sigil can vaguely be glimpsed in the rolling currents of his virulent clouds if one stares at it long enough.

❖ 𝖬𝖴𝖲𝖨𝖢

---

❖ PLAYLIST	❖ SONG
OPENING THEME	ARTIST = "SONG TITLE"
CASUAL THEME	ARTIST = "SONG TITLE"
BATTLE THEME	Obligatory
ENDING THEME	ARTIST = "SONG TITLE"

---

---

♕

This is the corniest edgelord crap I've written in a hot minute. Let me know if you want anything editted or elaborated on.

Of Blood and Magic

---

It was a good thing Aaron left the room when he did, if Max had to watch him and Lilie make fuck-me eyes at each other any longer he might've had to leave himself. As if he needed another reason to avoid that stupid fucking party, they'd probably be all over each other the moment they got drunk and thrown in a room with no vampires together. Then who was he supposed to talk to? He was already not a fan of this Madison girl and he doubted her friend Cannoli was any better, especially if they were all mutual buddies with the Retriever. He had to admit, though, he was surprised anyone could pull women by playing the cello of all things; what a fruity instrument.

Maddie turning the conversation on him and Salem barely registered until the plant mage started his anxious word vomit. The invitation seemed more aimed at the lovebird and her loyal pooch, and Max had never felt pressured to attend something in his life that didn't involve someone explicitly forcing him to go. He rolled his eyes rather blatantly; the fact that he was even expected to dignify that with a response was almost insulting. Maybe new girl wasn't familiar with his mannerisms well enough yet, but Salem should know better.

"Yeah, I'll pass. Don't know anyone there and definitely don't wanna end up roped into some obligatory gift basket crap," Max vocalized plainly. Why Salem was so eager to throw tea leaves at a party he wasn't even attending was beyond him; maybe he thought he had to bribe her to leave him out of it. Who the hell even drinks tea at a party, anyway? Max fully intended to spend Moon's Mirror the same way he spent every night, unless Eris had the gall to drag him off to some asinine event to show off. He was certain the actor had plans, though if everyone else's mage was off for the night, Max might get away with dodging a role as show puppy altogether.

Speaking of Eris, the level of irritating in this parlor was starting to exceed Max's patience, which meant sunrise must surely be soon. Cinnamon wasn't stupid enough to plan his event so poorly that his guests would have to be escorted out in wheeled boxes to keep the light away, so hopefully Aaron lingering like a tool meant the leeches were about to be dismissed. It was a good sign that he was taking longer than he did with the last few tastings, unless the good count decided he needed a spontaneous shoe shine. Quite frankly, he wanted to rip this tie off and not have to deal with one again for a solid few months.

---

Modern Fantasy With Lots of Explosions

I'm like tentatively interested. Sick design btw.

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

---

Clarissa evidently wasn't kidding in her introduction, her words were decisive and without undue subtext; apparently his qualms about her laying verbal traps were unfounded. If the Deer had any merits, it's that he doubted such rowdy individuals had the tact to weave daggers inbetween their words, and little motivation to do so even if they did. While the Edmund heiress herself may not follow that trend exactly, Auberon was thankful to avoid any politicking. He had enough of that at home.

"I appreciate the offer, but I mean it in the nicest way possible when I say that I hope I won't have to take you up on it," Auberon responded with a grateful nod of his head. Having a leash to put Jorah on when he needed it was undoubtedly helpful, though needing to rely on it was basically admitting defeat in the diplomatic sphere. It hardly reflected well on his leadership abilities if one uncouth colleague could stymie him completely; he still had naysayers in his own Houses to contend with, both Blue Lion and Galatea. Letting foreign nobles trounce all over him was just disgraceful.

The Archbishop's words, on the other hand, were a surprise. Auberon might've even called them troubling, were he not otherwise certain the situation was well in hand. Not the message about unity; such mediation and encouragement of peace was expected from the Church, even if he personally would've preferred the more competitive flavor of years prior. Nor the bit about them being of great character - of course he was, he bore the Crest of Daphnel and enjoyed the favor of the Goddess that accompanied it. Even the tone sounded far less grave than whatever Professor Roland had been hinting at back in the classroom. But the troubling part was the sheer insubordination of it all; Ioannis had been chosen as Archbishop and ordained under the eyes of the Goddess Herself. Unless the Garreg Mach steeple had been sundered by lightning and the Blue Sea Star had descended from the heavens to reduce Ioannis to ashes for his blasphemy without Auberon's knowledge, he was fairly convinced the boy's appointment garnered no disapproval from on high. He was a child, yes, but a child that spoke with wisdom beyond his years and the Goddess' blessing in every word. The Galatea heir assumed men of faith would have a little more, well, faith.

"I'm sorry to hear about your troubles, Your Holiness. I'm sure the clergy's misgivings are in good faith and come from a place of wariness that will be assuaged soon. At least, I'd hope the most holy men in the land are above petty scheming," Auberon confessed. Trying to take the Archbishop functionally out of the Church hierarchy stank of power plays and sedition to him, though his own experiences with established figures whispering in a child's ear admittedly might've been biasing him. "I'd like to second Clarissa's offer, for what little it's worth. If there's anything the Blue Lions or I can aid you with, please don't hesitate to ask." He nodded with determination, then turned back to Clarissa to see her off.

"Have a good day, it was an unexpected pleasure speaking with you. Tea sounds lovely, though I'll admit it wasn't an activity I've partaken in with any regularity," His etiquette was impeccable, of course, but Auberon couldn't say he was otherwise particularly practiced in the art. Tea in his household was reserved for the rare midday meeting with visiting figures of import, not a common occurance to pass the time. Though, Auberon supposed it would be both with the Archbishop present. "Still, do let me know when you're free after we've all settled in."

Finally, he bowed rigidly toward Ioannis. "By your leave, Archbishop, I should be going as well. I lost track of Kellen on the way over here and I'd been meaning to talk to him since this morning." The fact that Auberon had been more social with the commoners of his House than a fellow nobleman almost sounded like an insult to the Fraldarius. He was also tempted to hunt down one of his classmates that attended to fight to hear what happened, but Auberon had a responsibility to the Lions first and foremost; he could pick up a summary of the day's spectacle at dinner at worst. He had no doubt Jorah would be delighted to regale him with an account of Valerian's folly while he insistently violated the Auberon's personal space. No, that was probably asking for trouble, perhaps he should ask Kayden first.

---

@Achronum@Hero

Of Blood and Magic

---

The Retriever had gotten a little better at clapping back, for what little that was worth. If wanted to shut Max up, accusing him of being too heavily invested in a leech's well-being was certainly one viable method. Too little, too late, though. He'd already said enough to get everyone else curious; even the most decisive method of ending the discussion there would only veil Varis' involvement at best. Too bad he'd already committed to not playing word games tonight, that was almost tempting enough to bite on.

Oh well, that didn't mean he couldn't put his foot in his mouth just to say something.

He gave Aaron a subdued grin, as if he were politely flattered by the compliment - that was a compliment by talkative footstool standards, right? The other mages were wisely choosing to not get involved and try to divert the conversation from the verbal timebomb waiting to go off, but Max certainly wasn't going to just let that stand. He had a reputation, damn it. Besides, he could confidently say that he learned absolutely nothing about Eris there that he didn't know already, and the only mended fences between them were the ones that made a fucking vampire of all people more desirable as an ally than Sellout Starag.

"Yep, you know us," Max muttered humorlessly as he raised a hand and interwound two fingers, "Wells and Eric against the world." He punctuated his statement with a sarcastic chortle. "Hardly. Mister Samael tells me what to do and who to talk to and I do it to shut him up. If there was any proactivity involved I'd probably have tangible information right now instead of a nebulous idea that Her Royal Highness is a lying bitch. By the way, you can unclench your buttcheeks, I haven't been sent on any sketchy errands in a while so I think Eric got over whatever weird tantrum he was having with Count Sinnenodel." Not technically untrue. He had no idea what Eris' plans were going forward, and the leech certainly hadn't given any indictation recently that he was still mad at the count, but it was a bit of a stretch to think he'd dropped the issue entirely. Probably just focused on the Marivaldis for the time being, or wary of dancing to Ryner's tune too well. She clearly had an angle here in order to fuck up this royally - pun not intended - even if the test was a blatant mistake. Then again, her coverup of the murderer was pretty lazy too, maybe she was just getting complacent in her old age.

"Consider that little morsel your payment for the clock," The mage finished with a dismissive wave of his hand. Naturally, Aaron's paranoia and desire to please wouldn't let him accept that Eris dropped the issue, but Varis had no way of knowing about the mark. He could sweep every misdeed, every faux pas, every time he accidentally tripped and thought no one was around to see under the rug; they'd still have a lead and the Retriever would look like an idiot for barking up the wrong trees.

As for the life mage's invitation, he wanted to give it a hard pass. Parties around here were always a fucking disaster - case in point - even without hordes of other idiots he didn't know crowding around him and asking prodding questions. At best he'd run into a senior with his affinity whose brain he could pick for ideas, but given the bullshit nature of his magic, he doubted even that would be fruitful. Hell, he'd rather ask Feliks at that point anyway.

---

Of Blood and Magic

---

Most of the illusions sounded like the same inane teambuilding bullshit as the stupid constellation drawing exercise that he and Eris had been stuck into, but Lilie's description managed to catch Max's attention. Normally famous personages appearing wouldn't have been much of an interest to him - it was at the Crown's academy, after all - but that was precisely why the recollection stood out to him. What kind of state-sponsored illusion portrays Sybil Sinnenodel making old man Geoffrey her bitch? For an Eve, no less; it would've been a different matter entirely if it had happened in Varis' test to butter him up. If her leech sounded peeved about it though, it could've been a jab that Max was missing rather than some grand conspiracy that linked back to the Greta angle. Still, food for thought. Maybe he'd ask her about it when there weren't canine ears present.

He was surprised Maybelline or whatever her name was seemed like the only one interested in the conspiracy angle, though that wasn't too outlandish upon further consideration. Sure, she was probably a good little pawn, but she was on a first name basis with her leech. Flower Boy probably knew better than to stick his fingers into pies he didn't know the flavor of by now, and Lilie was airheaded enough she might not've even noticed Max said anything abnormal. The metal mage gave Aaron a delightful little grin, the type some shitheaded little brat gives another kid when he's about to tattle on them to the teacher.

Oh, how tempting it was to simply air out Varis' dirty laundry in front of everyone. The obvious reward was that Fido would probably faint on the spot, but beyond that, Varis would have a much harder time managing four different vampires that could be prying into his business than simply appeasing an overrated actor and dodging the detective work of his unenthusiastic lackey. The downside was, of course, that such a hamfisted approach would definitely bring extra trouble upon Max in retribution, and it wasn't like he'd discovered anything concrete enough to seriously hurt the leech yet. He'd have to settle for giving blondie a minor heart attack while he considered how to answer.

"I got one of the mental magic professors to outright admit it, if that wasn't a lie too. There were some... oddities, even considering the already odd nature of the test. Apparently Eric thought it was important enough to go to Ryner about it, and her cover story had more holes in it than the wall of an Astorio's training room," He explained grumpily, more for Aaron's benefit than anyone else in the room. If he looked too invested, it'd be suspicious. He needed to play the part of the unwilling slave that halfassed his job and glossed over crucial details, not an actual investigative threat that demanded attention. "For some reason, he thought I would be his best bet at uncovering... whatever she's hiding. I think he's just lazy. Anyway, I talked to the mage in charge, she fed me a load of crap that didn't even line up with Ryner's load of crap, and I couldn't even press her on it because she was under some spell that prevented her from talking further. Understandable, since I doubt vampires like having their minds read without some guarantee of privacy, but I just hate bad liars treating me like an idiot."

There, if he pinned all his anger on Ryner, he might get lucky enough to convince Aaron that he'd dropped Varis as the main source of investigation. That might at least stop the count from employing any active countermeasures against his digging, though he doubted it would do much to convince the man to drop his guard around whatever skeletons were lounging in the Sinnenodel closets.

---

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

---

The situation was surreal, to say the least. Auberon knew the Archbishop would be present at the monastery, but he figured they would've only interacted in the context of a far off authority speaking to the gathered masses. To see His Holiness descending from the dais to speak with students personally was even more humbling than standing in the cathedral proper. For one instructed his whole life to hold his head high, it was very strange.

"Your sermon was just what I needed, Archbishop. I'll admit, I've had quite a few surprises thrown at me today, and any amount of guidance from on high is appreciated," He replied a bit sheepishly, though he recovered his confidence quickly. Clarissa paying him a compliment caught him by surprise, if only because his House Leader duties had him internally floundering for the first time in years. She seemed to have a good head on her shoulders, at least compared to the rest of her countrymen; if she thought he was doing a good job, he couldn't have been performing terribly. She also had a good enough head on her shoulders that he wasn't sure how loaded her question actually was. It could very well have been innocent conversation, but she could also be baiting him into saying something unpleasant about the Deer. Which, in fairness, he had quite a bit to say on that front.

"Frankly, I assumed I'd be the least prepared," Auberon admitted, "But it's good to know I'm not making a fool of myself unintentionally. The Lions seem like good people, though I've only had a chance to speak with Derec so far. Honestly, I can't tell if Lienna is avoiding us or if she's just a very driven person and hasn't had a chance to rest yet." Better not to bring Kellen up at all. Though loathe to admit it, Auberon didn't really have anything nice to say about the boy yet and his nerves seemed evident enough that the blond figured he shouldn't have to reiterate.

Come to think of it, had Kellen even caught up with him? He hadn't been paying attention during the service, as enraptured by the Archbishop's perfomance as he was. Maybe the Fraldarius was off vomiting, that's what anxious people did, right? What a miserable experience the lack of confidence must be. But he was getting distracted; and worse, might be coming off as rude to Clarissa.

Auberon made a show of considering his next point before continuing. "Working with the Crown Prince is less daunting than I would've assumed; claims he has a 'military mind' and carries himself accordingly, rather than what I'd've expected from royalty. Maybe I just like the competitive aspect he brings to the table." The blond shrugged nonchalantly. Now, how to address her final question? Tactless denouncement was hardly an appropriate topic in the presence of the Archbishop, nor was it constructive to building a functional relationship with Jorah, should word get back to him about what was said. On the other hand, it wasn't like Auberon could stand there and lie in the highest cathedral in Fodlan.

"Jorah is... Jorah. He's certainly friendly enough." And that was about the only merit Auberon could attribute to him so far, even if the irreverence that said 'friendliness' inspired was a bit unfamiliar to his noble sensibilities. "Though if I've misjudged him, please do let me know. The Deer conduct themselves a bit differently than I'm used to." At least, that was the only explanation he could think of as to why Clarissa was the only Leicester noble that acted like an actual noble.

As for the question she posed to the Archbishop, Auberon had to admit he was curious as well. He didn't really need to know the answer - he trusted in the Goddess and the inspired wisdom She granted to the Archbishop - but a conscious servant of the Goddess must surely be of more use than an unknowing instrument of Her will. Unless... whatever fate She had in store was contingent on them not knowing. Trying to keep up with the thought process of a deity was exhausting.

---

@Achronum@Hero

Of Blood and Magic

---

Max always forgot he was talking to a bunch of fucking weirdos. If Lilie thought the most eccentric part of her professor was going by her first name and not that she was evidently talking to her students with her coochie hanging out, her small hometown must've been more akin to a smelly hippie commune. That's not an eccentricity, that's a felony. Then again, he could say the same about Manuel trying to spear him, but at least the apparent danger was probably fabricated considering what the old man did to the furniture after he finished with their little exercise.

He gave Aaron a flat look after Lilie's comment. "That answer your question? They probably gave you the three professors that behave because you're high grade meat." His face quickly progressed from unamused to outright tired when the practical was brought up. Glad to hear he wasn't the only one that had a weird fucking experience, but he had the strangest feeling that he still got the shit end of the stick there. At least Maddie's illusions sounded consistent and didn't involve vampiric conspiracy, even if they were fucking terrifying.

"I got stuck on an illusionary stage with an evil clone of Eric as my director. And no, he can't fucking direct," Max grumbled, "And now I'm half-convinced I'm wrapped up in Ryner's political bullshit as a consequence. That test was such a shitshow that I'm surprised it was sponsored by the school at all, from what I gleaned from the mental magic professors' half-truths and nonanswers. Definitely hiding something, in any case. Somebody fucked up." He would've loved to elaborate and see if they knew anything, but with Aaron in the room he'd probably be losing more than he gained. Plus, this new girl and Aaron had clearly been acquainted beforehand, and probably had the same ugly views on leeches, which meant she was probably a snitch. Pale Girl had the right ideas but her baser instincts toward the local lapdog made her a poor confidant, and calling Flower Boy a trusted ally pained his soul. It didn't help that Max had no clue what Count Astronomy's game was yet, either. Managing Eris' weird thing for Varis wasn't worth shit if he let a different vampire fuck him over beneath his notice.

Still, talking shit on the school's competence was too good of a discussion to pass up. Especially those mental mage fucks. Fuck them.

---