#disgracedvessel

[nagaficat]

"Mother." This follows three quick raps against the door. Julius knows where she has come to reside in this monastery just as she knows where he hides - the latter of which had been a substantially more unbelievable feat. Nearly a year sits between that moment and this one, but it had taken that long for him to wrestle with his guilt. Each day that he had glimpsed the back of her head around the monastery, and promptly turned the other way, had granted him the strength to grind and grind at that childish emotion until it was little more than dust under his heel. After several months he had come to reason that she was undoubtedly alive. So why was he to feel guilty?

"Mother," he calls again softly. The mask he has chosen to wear is one of a cherubic son, although for a split second a fissure opens up between his brows and he wonders if he had imagined her all along - that whoever shuffled around on the other side of the door would inevitably be some surprised stranger. The evening had worn down to the umber wick of sunset, after all, and Julius did not don the traditional uniform of the academy's students.

When she finally answers the door, he is half-relieved. The other half of him stands speechless for a moment at the sight of her, clinging to the vestiges of guilt and ghosts, until he regains his script with a charming flash of teeth. He presents to her a small box, within which sits a delicate silver chain decorated with little white beads melded into the bulbs of a lily of the valley.

"Are you surprised?" he asks with endearing devilishness. "It took a few days to acquire, but I have not forgotten your birthday."

In fact, he had. Although he had remembered it again like a bolt out of the blue as he stared up at the cracked, cobwebbed ceiling of his dorm down in Abyss, weaving together threadbare schemes as he had been doing nearly every night since his arrival. It had been an epiphany strong enough to shoot him to his feet.

Guilt was holding him back. Yes, that was the source of all of his problems.

Removing the necklace from its box, he holds it up for her to see.

"Do you like it, Mother?"

She is hearing things. Clearly has mistaken the name called out from the knocker at the door. Has mistaken the voice it belongs to. She is missing him, her son. Her birthday has come and gone. She had not expected to see him, of course, but that does not mean he was not in her thoughts. He is always in her thoughts.

The voice calls out again. She should answer the door. There is someone there. Soft footsteps carry her toward it and when she opens it, the sight before her takes her breath away.

Her son, her Julius. She reaches her hand up but stops before touching his cheek, afraid that he will disappear in a puff of smoke. If this is a dream, she does not want to wake from it.

"Oh Julius," she whispers and blinks away the tears threatening to spill from the corners of her eyes.

Are you surprised he asks. Of course she is. She had been trying to convince herself that knowing he was alive and well was enough. That the chance to see him grown was somehow as good as getting to hold him in her arms. She had resigned herself to the distance not expecting him to ever be the one to seek her out and yet here he was.

He pulls out a gift and she is sure she is dreaming.

He holds up the necklace and, with a shaky hand she dares to reach for it. It is solid, real. He is real. She removes the necklace she is wearing, the twin cameos featuring himself and his sister that his father gave her for the same occasion and casts it aside in favor of this one. It is delicate, small, nowhere near as ostentatious and elaborate as the one from his father but this necklace is far more priceless to her.

Do you like it he asks as if there was ever a chance she might not. "Oh Julius, it is beautiful. Perfect. I adore it." Finally she allows herself to wrap her arms around him. He is not a dream and he will not disappear from her grasp. "But my darling, you are the greatest gift I could receive. I love you, Julius, and I will wear it proudly."

And she does. Her shoulder brought back and her chin held a little higher she is happy to announce to anyone who might notice that it was her sweet son whose thoughtfulness and kindness provided her with such a beautiful gift.

#I get this ask and then bailey pronounces my name correctly instead of calling me teeka for the first time #like are you all trying to kill me with mom feelings #disgracedvessel

[viridescent-lance]

can we get a family therapist in here

starter for @nagaficat and @disgracedvessel

Forsyth has made a promise, and he intends on keeping it.

The aftermath of the mission leaves everyone shaken, and he knows recovery time is vital. But he remembers the worry and urgency in Deirdre’s eyes, her desire to see her son alive and unharmed. Thus on his first day back at Garreg Mach, he musters the strength to scout the Abyss for Julius’ whereabouts, and on the second he sets off with Deirdre to find him.

“Be careful. While there is unwarranted stigma towards the residents of the Abyss, there are still scoundrels lurking. If anyone tries to harm you, I am at your side.” The individuals who Forsyth had recruited the help of yesterday gave him a general area where Julius roams--nothing concrete, but it’s better than nothing and he doubts he’ll get as lucky as he did last time. “Your son has made a bit of a name for himself down here, but he seems to roam...”

The residents of the Abyss, for their part, give them a wide berth. Perhaps it is that they are specifically looking for Julius, perhaps it is because they are a princess and a Knight of Seiros. Regardless, Forsyth tries his best to be gracious to the residents, giving them apologetic smiles as he and Deirdre make their way further down.

“We should be nearing him...are you ready, Lady Deirdre?” Forsyth can’t say he isn’t nervous, what with his knowledge of their family past and the recent incidents in the dreamscape, but this is his duty. Hopefully seeing his mother alive will help Julius. “It is an honor to facilitate this, my dear friend.”

#[ ic ] #[ thread ] #[ thread: can we get a family therapist in here ] #nagaficat #disgracedvessel #//the long awaited #//forsyth has become jugdralian

[grimstalkr]

bird hunters - flood hunting team

When picked to go hunting Tharja truly hadn't expected Ephidel and Julius to be the ones picked alongside her. She knew little of either of them but she did know that the one time she'd met Julius he'd been rather hostile. Which made her even warier as they were picked to collect food for the others. Her boots were soaked and the ends of her skirt dragged as they traversed what little ground they could to where there were birds to hunt. The eerie silence was made worse by their strange surroundings. She figured speaking so early on in their hunt would just scare their prey away.

Once settled Tharja crouched to bide her time, letting the birds slowly get used to their collective presence. By the time the birds were settled Tharja was more than ready to strike. With a sudden burst of magic, Tharja managed to strike a bird down, watching as it dropped from the magical overload. She was quick to hurry over, snatching it up and looking toward her teammates. Tharja held it up, motioning toward the gull-sized bird she'd managed to down.

She hoped her teammates were doing alright. The water was frustrating to her beyond belief. If she slipped even a little bit she'd drown. She certainly hoped neither of them fell in. Could Ephidel swim? Could Julius?

@disgracedvessel @artificidel

#ic #KEflood2023 #disgracedvessel #artificidel #t. bird hunters #i hope this is good! i'm very excited and a little nervous LOL

[justices-blade]

"A week of clear skies and the gods decided today was the day to send a storm," Julius grumbles through the rivulets of rain that drip from his soaked bangs down his nose and cheeks. He hated the rain. He hated the cold, too, but the rain was worse. At least it would be easier to hide within the haze (and maybe those one wingback would find their plunges less than accurate this year... Julius hoped so, anyway). Still grumbling, he treks some distance from the rest of the Eagles with whom he has affiliated himself for the third year, seeking tree cover but knowing well enough by now that the sparse landscape of Gronder Field has little that isn't spindly and patchy.

A student adorned in gold crosses his path, unaware of him at first, so Julius decides to take advantage of the opening. Nothing wrong with dropping an enemy or two on his way to shelter. His cards his fingers through his hair to brush it out of his eyes and uses the other outstretched to feel for the boy's energy.

Light glows around his fingers.

Julius 5/5HP casts Nosferatu! Roll: 18 - 4 = 14, Hit! Damage: -1HP + -1HP [Fiendish Blow] = -2HP

edward cannot counterattack! 3/5 HP.

The light lashes out at him a touch faster than he can react, and for a second, Edward wonders if it's Micaiah on the other side of the cast — But once that sapping, draining light fades (it's Nosferatu, it's gotta be), he sees red, but no silver to accompany it. He stands against a student of the Black Eagles regardless, and intends to give this guy a serious fight.

The rush of battle's still as intoxicating as ever. He'll worry about that later. Edward grins against the wind and the rain and the light, still fading, brandishes his Killing Edge, and lunges —

edward attacks with killing edge (sunder)! roll: 20+4. crit! 4 damage!

#disgracedvessel #toaboel2023 #;answered #;e. battle of the eagle and lion || 2023 #clenches fist. that sunders gonna haunt me fr

[hosannan]

Freezeburn { Julius & Nanna

Dragging her heels, she finds the weight of a decent battle to prove invaluable. Of course, she knows better than to be frustrated—she shouldn't turn the coals in the pit of her stomach now that it is over. With the last of her lucidity, she forced every heavy step towards the medical tent in dignified silence, meeting plenty of friends along the way to the tent. Nanna ducked in, at the behest of a handful of clerics who ushered her towards the beds, and there were a few sagely words shared amongst healers who knew better. She insisted on tending to herself, as one would when there were others to care for, and took to a rolled gauze and herbal pulp readily.

That is, before she felt the moon in her chest plummet, at the sight of his infamous crowd of scarlet locks. Ah. So this is why Lady Deidre fought the way a mother would, clinging to anything as she slipped over her own words. A mother's reconciliation, huh? The coals are a-cinder before she could count the stars running on the back of her eyelids. "You. Your mother speaks as though you've been saved."

She strided immediately towards him, taking on the form of a young woman who had not just gotten a shot of toxins through her veins. "Are you so unwise as to show your face around here? Julius." Nanna removed the title like it meant something. (She knows it means nothing from her.) And, with the roll of gauze still gripped in her hands, Nanna pointed at him derisively. The contempt on her face shifts her features to a freeze-burn. "In a tent full of the injured? I may very well lose my right to heal, after this."

@disgracedvessel

#{ nanna's ver of: i may be a healer but- #disgracedvessel #freezeburn #toaboel2023 #{ going to go for something shorter next time LOL had to get intro out first

[anankelotus]

Sir, You’re Not Allowed to Lick the Oil Paintings [Team 4 Steel Round]

His head swims at the scenery shifts around him, until a grand hall like arena seems to appear before them. It’s beautiful for sure, but he’s only filled with unease and worry as he stares at the strange painting like enemies that they are meant to face.

He does not seem to be able to attack with any sort of magic any more, nor those he feel the ability to use that warm faith magic coursing through him. Instead, he has been gifted a lance. It’s a beautiful weapon, if a weapon can be called beautiful. He stares at it and it seems to fill him with an intense longing for something, though he can’t quite place what. Perhaps it is the reminder of Cadros, a longing for a lover long past him, who used lances and... ah, so this is what his dreams had conjured for him, he thinks as he finally notices the mount that he sits atop. A pegasus, like those who had once flown in Valla’s bright blue skies. He feels like crying, but he can’t allow himself to get sidetracked by memories of someone who had been long gone.

Anankos gains 2 HP from Renewal! | Anankos HP= 6/10

He feels steadier suddenly. Ah, so he seemed to have some sort of self healing ability. Good. Then he would not have let himself hold back his allies. His grip against the lance is pale as his hands shake. He can do this. He tugs gently on the pegasi’s reins, guiding it quickly towards the enemies they are facing.

He tries to remember what it was like to watch Cadros fight with his lance atop his trusted steed. The memories are blurry, corroded from being far too long for anyone to properly and the insanity that had been suffered, but the image itself is clear. With a careful spin of the lance - he has never handle one before, and hopes dearly that he won’t end up stabbing himself - he stabs at one of the paintings that seems to resemble the emptiness of a mind that has been taken over by the darkest of plagues.

Anankos attacks using Wishblade! Roll 1d20+8= 19! Hit! | Portrait of the Void HP= 6.5/10

Just as swiftly, he manages to dodge out of the way of the painting’s counterattack. It seemed easy upon a pegasi, being able to dart and flee from attacks, compared to depending upon his own feet. Though, how was a painting supposed to attack you to begin with?

Portrait of the Void counterattacks with Prismatic Colour! Roll 1d20-16= -9! Miss! | Anankos HP= 6/10

With the speed of his mount, he feels as though he is able to get away with a second attack and jabs the lance towards the painting once again, sharp point ripping into the weak canvas.

Anankos follows up with Wishblade! Roll 1d20+8= 23! Hit! | Portrait of the Void HP= 3/10

He breathes a sigh of relief, and turns to his allies, shouting a nervous call of advice as he gestures at the painting he has just finished his small rampage on.

“If I may, this one seems to be on it’s last legs so you could say! I believe that one or two more attacks may finish it off! Sorry for ordering you, you absolutely do not have to follow my commands if you don’t wish, but I do not want to see anyone get hurt again! So please, everyone be careful...” He mutters the last part under his breath, barely loud enough for even himself to hear. He can’t bear seeing them get hurt, even if he hardly knows them outside of Julius. He simply wouldn’t be able to take it, and he is already close enough to breaking down. It would only take one more crack to break completely.

next: @disgracedvessel , @arcaeda , @amitieos , or @higaneion

#IC POSTS #IC: I WISH I COULD STAY WITH YOU AND PROTECT YOU FOREVER #THREAD- SIR YOU'RE NOT ALLOWED TO LICK THE OIL PAINTINGS #THREADING: KILL ME AGAIN AND AGAIN FOR ALL ETERNITY. I ONLY WANT FOR YOU TO BELIEVE ME #SUPPORTS: YOU NEED TO KNOW WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE LOVED #SUPPORT: JULIUS #SUPPORT: CAEDA #SUPPORT: ELINCIA #SUPPORT: LILINA #𝑷𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑪𝑬𝑺𝑺 𝑷𝑬𝑮𝑨𝑺𝑼𝑺 𝑲𝑵𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 | 𝑺𝑼𝑷𝑷𝑶𝑹𝑻: 𝑪𝑨𝑬𝑫𝑨 #𝑩𝑹𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 𝑩𝑳𝑼𝑬 𝑺𝑯𝑰𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑴𝑨𝑮𝑬 𝑲𝑵𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 | 𝑺𝑼𝑷𝑷𝑶𝑹𝑻: 𝑳𝑰𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑨 #𝑬𝑴𝑬𝑹𝑨𝑳𝑫 𝑷𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑪𝑬𝑺𝑺 𝑶𝑭 𝑳𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 | 𝑺𝑼𝑷𝑷𝑶𝑹𝑻: 𝑬𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑪𝑰𝑨 #𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑬 𝑨𝑹𝑬 𝑻𝑯𝑶𝑺𝑬 𝑾𝑯𝑶 𝑩𝑬𝑳𝑶𝑵𝑮 𝑻𝑶 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑯𝑨𝑫𝑶𝑾𝑺 | 𝑺𝑼𝑷𝑷𝑶𝑹𝑻: 𝑱𝑼𝑳𝑰����𝑺 #EVENTS: WITH LIGHT FROM THE LAND OF RAINBOWS #EVENT: WINTER ARENA 2022 #toaarena2022winter #DISGRACEDVESSEL #HIGANEION #ARCAEDA #AMITIEOS #ANANKROS

[deamare]

♡ ˚· @disgracedvessel asked:

Two years isn’t enough to make one accustomed to the damp and the dark. Abyss had been no more a home to Julius than a cave he might have found in the woods beyond the monastery’s walls, and he considered it nearly indistinguishable from the uncivilized wilds. But Ishtar is here now, and the shadows flee from her. It makes hell a little easier for Julius to stomach, and by now he’s made a habit of dragging her from one room to another as one might carry a lantern to fend off the dark, challenging every covetous and greedy look from the other rats in the sewer with the once-lost pride that had characterized his rule over the Grannvalean empire. It’s for the best, of course. By now, his savings have run out, and Abyss does not operate entirely on gold. Julius has pulled strings where he could to secure the tavern for a few hours one night, and it’s to this candlelit space that he leads Ishtar with his thin fingers over her eyes like a soft but frigid blindfold. The room has been cleared, each table but one shoved against the walls. Julius drops his hands away when they reach the centerpiece: a small, sturdy table covered in vibrant red cloth, with two chairs and a tarnished candelabra. “There are some people on the surface who still want you dead,” Julius explains, halfway apologetic, the rest a convenient lie. Truthfully, he does not know if Ishtar’s head is wanted the way his is, but to convince her that she must hide serves him in more ways than one. He smiles and steps away to pull her chair out for her. “So my gift to you this year must be restricted to this hateful place. You understand, I’m sure. I would be devastated if you were taken from me a second time.” He circles around to the other side and takes his own seat, lacing fingers together and resting his chin atop them. His eyes glint with the flickering candlelight, his smile is easy, charming, and still a little boyish. “What do you think, my dear? Privacy is the greatest gift here, I’ve found.” [[ // happy belated birthday from your broke ass king <3 ]

Twice now has this day passed in silence. It had never just been hers before, and now that it is, she has only known it as a day of mourning. Another year that she lives, another year that they do not.

She tells herself that she does not need to feel ashamed to let it be otherwise.

And, if she is rather honest, there is a joy in her veins now that has grown foreign in that time. It thrums with the promise of a future unlike the one she had been sentenced to, with the warmth of a love she had thought long lost. Her steps fall blindly, one after the other, never questioning the direction of the hands that guide her.

Because hands that love her could never lead her astray, and she knows better now than ever before that such is true.

Fingers fall away from her eyelids, though Ishtar is still slow to open them. It is dim here in the way that all of Abyss seems to be, devoid of color and drenched in shadow, but she sees none of that. To her, this is a room full of more light than she has seen since she was young.

"Oh, Julius..."

With the grace of a woman bred for it, Ishtar takes the offered seat. She watches her lover in the candlelight, eyes softened with affection and lips turned with a smile. Mother's voice still whispers instructions, coaches her in all of the ways she is meant to keep the prince's attention. She hopes she will be forgiven for where she forgets them now, where the goddess facade cracks to reveal nothing more than a girl in love.

"It is lovely."

And she means it-- with all of her bandaged hope, with her heart that has spent a lifetime aching. For there is hope and a heart left at all, and with their entirety she is certain that this is a start of something better.

"After all this time, you still spoil me so." A hand settles above her heart. "Thank you... There is no gift greater than to be here, at your side once more."

#♡. — 𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 #♡ ˚· ( julius ). #disgracedvessel #THANKS REE (CHOKING NOISE) #i know he's still a little bitch but ishtar doesnt #letting her be happy with him is like letting a kid put a plastic bag on their head #but like she's having fun who am i to stop her

[amitieos]

nanomachines, son | team 4 iron round

The world shifts rapidly, flashing before her eyes in a blur. It’s disorienting, enough to leave one nauseous, and as her vision swims and blurs, Elincia wonders if it will ever end.

Then it halts, abruptly. Her head jerks forward as she tries to steady herself. Their surroundings haven’t changed at all, strangely. Yet her garb has and so has that of her comrades. She breathes a sigh of relief. Thank Ashunera that Julius’ accursed hat is a thing of the past. Their foes have changed too, multiplied as well unfortunately.

Lilina is standing once more, at least. Or more accurately, flying, of which Elincia is admittedly rather jealous. Being grounded on the battlefield frustrates her to no end.

“Caeda, be careful! We don’t know how dangerous these things are,” Queen Crimea calls out, dashing over as fast as the hem of her robes will allow her. Whilst used to wearing long skirts, it really is an impediment during battle. She skids over, next to the airborne pegasus knight and feels yet another pang of jealousy. If she has to be trapped in such a terrible situation, she could at least have her beloved steed by her side. “Ah, I miss the skies already. Here, let me patch you up before you fly off into battle. We’re all a little sore after the last battle.”

Elincia casts Recover on Caeda. Roll d20: 2! 5 HP recovered Caeda has 7.5/10 HP remaining.

The mental block she felt earlier still lingers, but the spell she casts now is more powerful. It helps make up the difference, reinvigorating the marine haired woman to fight another round.

“Good luck! I believe in us, as a team!”

@childofvalla, @arcaeda, @disgracedvessel & @higaneion

#t:nanomachines son #s:caeda #arcaeda #s:anankos #childofvalla #s:julius #disgracedvessel #s:lilina #higaneion

[poweroverflowing]

Making the Mother of All Omelets - Steel Round (Team 5)

The scene changes, and like the few times prior, Odin waits out the awkward reshuffling of realities. It takes a second, but when the spell’s work is finished, it proves to be well worth the wait. 

The first two rounds were simple enough: a pack of phantoms armed with weaponry similar to Odin’s team, which he fought in gladiatorial combat. This time, however, he finds himself looking up at a great, flying foe. Emphasis on up, since the arena that encases them now is more akin to a birdcage than a coliseum. It is tall to allow the enemy to spread its gargantuan wings--barred to prevent escape. It’s likely an intentional touch, though this fact makes it no less fearsome.

Odin gulps, swallowing a lump in his throat. He’d never be the type to run from a challenge, but with the state he’s currently in, he feels like he’d become birdfeed in a matter of moments. Instead of engaging the enemy, he focuses on himself. Looking down at his hands reveals they are clad in a set of magical Aura Knuckles, imbued with shimmering, golden light.

He holds them up to his face, shuts his eyes, and allows himself to tap into them for a moment. “Twins of Desolation: Hummingbird the Wise and Nomad the Vicious.” The weapons are named, and the instant Odin pronounces them, they respond to his determination. A faint, yellow spark peeks from his chest, before expanding and covering his body in a radiant flair.

Odin uses Healing Focus! | Odin HP = 10/10

All evidence of his previous battle is erased from his mortal form. No longer does his shoulder bear the widened hole that ate away from him, and no more does he feel residual pain. He looks to his allies, beaming. The joyous smile on his lips is all they would need to know he’s alright.

But this moment of solitude does not last long. It’s abruptly cut off by the ear-piercing scream of the Haukritos. Odin is reminded that he’s in another fight, and holds his fists up in a guard. He’d have to brace himself for this one.

UP NEXT: @disgracedvessel

#IC #EVENT THREAD (MAKING THE MOTHER OF ALL OMELETS) #DISGRACEDVESSEL #ULIRCURSED #CHILDOFVALLA #toaarena2022

[artificidel]

blood tea and red string // julius & ephidel

Reason and Faith band together to put on this month’s special seminar: the history of tasseomancy! You will be learning the “magic” behind divination and how the old masters used the remains of tea leaves and coffee grounds to predict future events. Just in time for the moon of love, you will all be divining your romantic futures from a delicious cup of white rose tea. [Grants Reason or Faith +1]

@disgracedvessel

Precognition and divination are real; Ephidel knows this well. He was advised of as much when he was to capture the dragon children. ‘They may sense you coming,’ Lord Nergal explained, ‘but do not allow them to slip through your grasp.’

Not even foresight was able to stop the morph in his mission, so when he heard of a seminar to learn the art, he couldn’t help but be curious. Could he claim this skill for his own ends? He had to be sure, but as the lesson went on, Ephidel had his doubts.

The instructor insisted sipping the white rose tea was pertinent to synchronizing with the diviner, and while the morph could store it in his hollow and expel it later, he opted instead to watering the nearby bushes. Next was the swirling and identification of the loose leaf forms. They appeared to be nothing more than damp clusters of used flora. If Ephidel had to interpret their shapes, he might say they resembled a bloodied battlefield, gore and viscera strewn about the plains and creating a wellspring of quintessence.

‘My, that looks almost like a field of flowers, Lord Deacon.’ The instructor hummed over Ephidel’s shoulder. His attention snapped up to her immediately. ‘If I were to interpret it, I would say as long as you keep your heart open, love and good fortune is in your future.’

This seminar was definitely a farce.

A hand is placed upon his shoulder, and the instructor smiles widely at him. ‘You never know, the love of your life could be right behind you!’

#ephidel the istj #thread: blood tea and red string #disgracedvessel #julius support

[nagargent]

[ Dance ] At first glance, Julius mistakes the silvery hair for that of his mother and turns sharply on his heel to pass in the opposite direction. Yet something compels him to look again, and he finds the face to be younger, the hair straighter, the features familiar to his own reflection. He stops to watch her, certain that she is indeed his sister but hoping that, by some chance, she wasn’t. An old envy begins to rise from the pit in which he had long-buried it. Here, he had the opportunity to be the favored child, and its with this realization that regret, too, surges, but a pair of students passing by bump him back to the ballroom before his mind can sink its claws into a new fixation.

Julia is suddenly alone. Confident, resolute steps carry Julius to her. He grabs one of her hands and pulls her into a closed-position dance.

“Enjoying yourself?” he hums as the photo-artifex flashes.

She feels his presence long before she catches sight of him.

It sends a shudder down her spine, one she tries her best to suppress. Her breath catches in her throat as she’s overwhelmed by a myriad of emotions. Joy and fear, relief and revulsion; peace and confusion - all crash against her like waves against the shore and for a brief moment, Julia feels as if she’ll drift away with the sea.

Poised and assured, he takes her hand and pulls her in to pose for the camera. If she wasn’t certain before, the moment their hands touch she knows it to be true. The brother she thought to be long gone is right in front of her, hidden just beneath the mask.

He is not the sweet, kind little boy she once knew. Nor is he the pawn of Loptous anymore, that much she can tell just from standing next to him. It doesn’t make her want to run the way it used to. She isn’t really sure how to handle this stranger whose hand held hers when they first entered this chaotic world. Words are difficult to come by, no matter how familiar he feels there’s a loneliness that separates both of them.

“Quite well, thank you,” Julia mumbles, staring at her feet. He must think her a coward, pathetic in the way she still cowers before him, trying not to step on landmines. There’s something she needs to say though, has to impress upon him before he leaves her to find his fun elsewhere. “It’s very kind of you to ask.”

“Julius,” she whispers his name, so only the two of them can hear it. He still draws breath and that alone gives her heart reason to rejoice. Even if there is no room for her in his life, she will always hold love for him softly and quietly in her heart. “I’m glad you’re here. I hope you have a lovely evening.”

#s:julius #toaball2022 #disgracedvessel #((ree had my through a loop with that like i'm the one feeling every single emotion possible too haha))

[avemaera]

Julius can do nothing but stare for some time. His father's presence around the monastery has ceased to surprise him, and indeed he had expected to find him in the ballroom at some point. He had imagined, too, that he would be wearing one of the suits he had been painted in for his portraits around the palace, and he would grace the hall with the regality and poise Julius had always admired in those very paintings. What he finds instead baffles him to the point of transfixion - the revered Emperor whose face he had grown accustomed to seeing, now bruised and bloodied, resembled the broken man he had despised.

He retreats deeper into the crowd as the man stalks past his hiding place, eyes still following, uncertain of what to do with or how to name the tumult that's started in his chest. He can smell the metallic tang of blood on the breeze, and his feet make his decision for him: he pursues it.

"You can't outrun the future," Julius says coldly as he approaches his father from behind, certain that it wouldn't take him much guesswork to realize who he is behind the gilded mask. Disappointment spills out faster than anything else trapped inside. "But at least defend yourself."

With all eyes on him, Arvis had tried to remain relatively composed, but storming away from the scene now only elicited a push and pull in his soul.

His nights were regularly wracked with guilt and nightmares, but it seemed that for the first time in a long, long while, Arvis felt as though there was hope in his future. That he wasn't on the edge of isolation once again.

But ghosts of future and past found him again and again in this land. Demands for atonement were no longer limited to his nightly hours. They found him in the light of day, and under ballroom lights.

His steps wavered between slow paces and quickened stomps before a call draws his attention from behind.

A demon, of sorts. At first he almost seems like an echo of his own thoughts. But the boy's stature, his voice, his hair; the same shade of his own, the same shade he had passed down.

Behind that mask is the brand Arvis had also passed down. The very reason he began down this path in the beginning.

The embers in his heart that sparked as Seliph struck him burn to life. Blazing with a white hot heat they had not since Belhalla. He had done this for every fate branded by oppression. Who would he be if he walked away from that?

If the traitors wished to call him enemy so badly, he would wear the title with pride.

Arvis stands tall, his anemic spirit resolute once more.

"I don't intend to stand down from my ideals any longer."

#disgracedvessel #julius support #toaball2022 #evil again

[atypicalsenerio]

[ 🙏 ] what does your muse need? this can be something material or something abstract.

If asked, Soren would say nothing, or at least a means to put food on the table. Something practical.

What he truly needs and may not know how to say himself is to be around people he trusts. Letting his guard down and just being. Ike is at the top of his list for who he can rely on in everything, but he’s slowly, grudgingly admitting that a few other people in the world are alright to relax around too.

#ooc #ask #disgracedvessel

[grimstalkr]

❰❰ THREAT ❱❱ sender holds a weapon up to receiver as a threat [// dark mage vs dark mage]

Julius's bold threat struck Tharja as sudden and almost frightening. Though her face and composure gave away nothing. She knew she shouldn't have been sneaking around the Abyss alone again. It was her fault entirely that Julius had found her and had deemed her a trespasser. She responded in kind by squeezing her tome to her chest and raising a hand in warning, gathering energy from her tome to focus on her hand.

"Is this truly what you want? To lose your life in Abyss?" Tharja said, her voice just barely above her usual speaking tone. She had no intention of acting on her threat, the tension in the air as taunt as the string of a bow. If Julius were to strike her she would strike in return. She had confidence in her ability but in experience, she had no idea how much he had on her.

"Lower your weapon."

#ic #disgracedvessel #ask #OHHYEAH

[ulircursed]

It didn't take long to see him returned to the underground city after his wounds had been treated in the monastery's infirmary. For once, Julius didn't fight it. The sooner he disappeared back into the dark, the better his chances were to avoid either of his parents. Wrapped head to waist in bandages - already speckled with red again though newly cleaned - the forgotten sewers of Abyss could at least hide his shameful defeat in the last battle.

At least he hadn't died, he supposes. A tarnished silver lining.

His ally in the gauntlet - an archer whose name he never quite caught - is among those shadow-shrouded residents to which the Abyss lends her cover.

"Hmph. I thought so," Julius says when he finds him. He recognized the disgrace that hung over him the moment they had met, but the disdain in his features now serves as a wedge to pry a greater distance between them. The man had tried to save him, and perhaps what meager healing he managed to conjure from that holy lance had indeed been what spared Julius from a worse fate in the flames of his own magic, but vulnerability was a dangerous thing. Even more so in the festering world of opportunists and criminals.

There is a part of him, buried deep, that is relieved to find that his ally had escaped from the book in one piece as well. A decision comes to him in a beat of silence, and for a split second the disdain falls away.

"For your allegiance in those battles, you have my gratitude." Judgment comes right back though. "But I would advise that you stick to archery in the real world."

     Andrei himself hadn’t escaped the gauntlet unscathed, though his own wounds were lighter than those of the others involved in the mission, mostly consisting of burns and bruises from the titanus’ power radiating throughout their final battle. The fact that he’d been fully healed by the lance’s mysterious power likely helped in that regard.

     (For all his fear, in the end, he was the only one of them to have completely escaped the shadowed sword’s assault this time.)

     How ironic. How weak. Avoiding the gaze of the unfamiliar healer as he was being treated, Andrei left the tent as soon as he was given the clear.

     It was back in the underground city when he was met with a familiar face — or not so familiar now, given the dressings that covered the other’s injuries. Still, the rush of relief upon seeing the other on his feet again was a surprise. He hadn’t seen either of his allies since the final battle, their ejection from the book followed immediately by a rush of medical attention separating the wounded, but concern for the other’s wellbeing had lingered in his mind longer than he’d expected.

     Surprising, too, was the other’s oddly formal expression of gratitude, and for a short moment he felt almost as though he were speaking with a fellow member of nobility. Allegiance, he’d said. Like a superior, even. In close quarters it was clear to see that he was the younger of the two, but having a background in nobility would explain his attitude in battle.

     (Neither did it stop him — either of them — from their fate now.)

     Then the other’s next words came, and Andrei gave a mirthless laugh. That seemed more like it.

     “...I intend to,” he replied, drily.

     For since when had he begun to delude himself into thinking there was any other path available to him, but that which his blood bade?

     Your worth and that of Yngvi’s can never be the same. Don’t presume to compare them.

     Of course, he knew that. Had always known that. It was better not to let himself forget so easily. Andrei shook his head.

     “I don’t believe we’ve had the chance to be acquainted,” he said to the redheaded mage — if indeed he was one in the real world — “My name is Andrei. As you can see,” he indicated the unstrung bow at his back, “I am an archer.”

     The nudge of ‘Bow Knight’ was there, still, but Andrei was able to disregard it with nothing but a slight pause. Wasn’t that merely a facet of his old life that had discarded him he’d discarded here?

#disgracedvessel #sobs i had plans ok #that maybe once he reconciled w edain he'd have less distain towards faith magic #and i hc'd he once had a very very fledgling interest in fire magic when he was little so i was like maybe............ #and then arena basically said haha nah stay in ur lane man #thanks for perpetuating his unhealthy self-worth dm :pensive: #➵ julius 01

[verseandrhyme]

“Come here.” Julius grabs Mitama by the wrist as she passes by, neither waiting for an answer nor heeding her protests until he’s dragged her into the odd little box behind him. The “artifex-box,” or whatever the projectionist had called it. It’s brighter on the inside than he had expected it to be, and he drops his cumbersome mask at his feet as he settles down on the hard bench - at first in the center, before remembering Mitama and shifting into the corner to give her what little space was left. His fingers are still coiled around her wrist, apparently forgotten as he leans forward to examine the strange contraption that makes up the front panel of the box.

“It’s supposed to produce more of those instant portraits…” he mutters half to himself, brow furrowed. He hadn’t considered asking the projectionist for help, of course; the demonstration that had piqued his interest had been enough. Gloved fingers poke and prod until—

“Oh!” The box lights up with a flash. Julius blinks away the stars in his eyes, then turns a grin on Mitama.

“Pose, now. I can’t have you making me look bad. It’s the least you can do for the privilege of being hand-selected by yours truly.”

Mitama yelps as she suddenly comes to a lurching stop. The hand around her wrist does not relent, tugging her the opposite direction she had been walking in to pull her along towards the strange box. Did no one at this function have any sense of manners? Twice now she had been abruptly grabbed and stopped...Mitama huffs with annoyance.

"Will you-" The familiar red prompts an idea of exactly who it is, but Mitama bites her tongue. The ridiculous mask he wears, for once, seems opposite his usual desire to grab attention.

Only upon entering the box is the gaudy masked removed. Mitama huffs as she tugs the curtain shut behind her. Julius seems to realize the lack of space he has left her before she need fix him with a look, and Mitama flops into the seat ungracefully.

He is still holding her wrist.

Mitama glares at his hand while he fiddles with the magic necessary to make the device work. "You could have just asked if you wished for a photograph." She grumbles. She does not bother trying to yank her hand free. There is not enough space to put up a proper fight, and she does not want to hear whatever deluded remarks he might make when he realizes.

There is a sudden flash that causes Mitama to wince and lean back. She blinks rapidly as she tries to clear her vision. Her stars remain, of course.

"You are so obnoxiously demanding for someone who had to quiet literally drag me in here." She complains. Still, she straightens her posture and scoots better into the box's framing as she poses for the photo. "It is hardly my fault that I am in high demand."

Another flash, and just like that the picture is taken. Mitama quickly snatches up the outputted photo before he can take it and leans out of his reach as she inspects it. She looks good, if only slightly ruffled from the rough treatment. Good. "Well look at that, you actually look presentable."

#ic #julius support #disgracedvessel #toaball2022