Toxic Love: The Exalt Oracle

[beleos]

NOTHING GOES OFF WITHOUT A HITCH

You feel it, the moment that the Exalt oracle opens its eyes, like something that rips through your body from head to toe, something that feel like fire, wild. It sears into your veins, like acid and fire, something that triggers something that makes you want to run, or perhaps turn and face something head on. Before you can find what sets you off – if you could find it. Bearers know what this sensation is, it is different but the same at its core. The emotions, the feelings it sparks are different – but in the end, you know it for what it is: An Oracle.

Kenos groans from the awakening, like a part of a whole sparks to life, and though you do not know what it is that they want yet, you understand and know their existence down to your core. That feeling to attack or defend, perhaps even flee, does not leave you, but instead it fills your veins, you feel it thrumming, pulsing, like the beat of a heart – if one has one. With the sense of awakening, bearers know the shape of what comes next, they will be asked to act, to do. You do not know how it will happen, or what the Exalt will ask of you, but the knowledge that it will happen is borne from experience, not from the Oracle itself.

As you begin to move, to… look, you are not long for this day, it clouds your mind, a hazy, drowsy feeling takes over, the encroaching dark that threatens to swarm, crowding from the sides, taking over your vision – until… it fully takes over, and Bearers are put into a deep slumber.

---

When bearers awaken, it’s difficult to make sense of what your sleepy eyes see. Structures begin to swim into view, and they like tall figures looking down upon you. It’s difficult to tell what they are at first, but as you wake up, you begin to see, they are not people, or creatures, but long spore-like stalks. Some have ribbed overgrowths that you can see, and some end in growths that ripple and hang over, but have no “cap”. They tower over the bearers, like towering spires and buildings, on all sides, as if they were trapped in a ring of them. As bearers look around them they will notice tall green spires around them as well, and it takes a moment for things to really settle in. Mushrooms. Blades of grass. The springy moss about them is almost as tall as they are, low to the ground. There are pebbles that appear as boulders, and the thunderous steps nearby indicate an insect or arachnid walking by, far larger than you. There is a stillness to this space, like a held breath, and as the bearers awake, and regard one another, and then to the center of the circle is – a small effigy in the center.

It is here, the Exalt Oracle, and you feel compelled to regard it, before you are given a pang down to your core. It compels you – pleads, asks, begs, and demands, all in one – for what it wishes for. Precious mementos and precious items that they are missing. They have been lost, and they are somewhere within the Liosachán. It beseeches the bearers to return its items, and begs they be returned here to the circle. There are no words, but there is a pleading sensation, a feeling that these items are treasured by this Oracle.

You feel at your sides, your pockets, and find one item on your person, a weapon, a companion, whatever it is you would bring with you to the conflict, shrunk down to a tiny size with you.

Stay steadfast, bearers, and capture the flag Oracle!

SURVIVAL OF THE SMALLEST ( DAYS 1 - 5 )

Unlike the still, stale apocalypse that had been the setting of the Iconoclast Oracle, the greenhouse is lush and vibrant with activity.

The Effigy present within yearns to be reunited with what belongs to it, fixated upon the five items lost within the greenhouse. The swell of its longing fills all Shardbearers, urging them to take action, claim the items and present all five to it to attain victory for that Faction.

Over a period of ten days, Shardbearers of both factions will have to navigate environmental dangers, and the normal procession of time, as the greenhouse is going about its daily routine. Workers plod around like towering goliaths, weeding and watering and pruning the greenhouse's contents. The Liosachán's native population of fae begin to take notice of the newcomers in their midst, emerging from grassy mounds hidden in the natural landscape to spy and pry about the newness surrounding them.

Naturally curious, and equally dangerous, the fae of the Liosachán are Highstorm natives. They range in cool coloration, from soft violet-greys to deep stormy blues, and wear clothes fashioned from of goods pilfered from the pockets of workers, dropped on the ground or handcrafted from the environment itself. Wielding bits of copper tightly wound into blades and spears, they are a ferocious and cunning little people who seek to trick, trap and toy with Shardbearers. Direct violence is anathema to them, but violence that happens as a result of falling to one of their ploys is a badge of honor.

DAY ONE - THREE. The Effigy initially urges Shardbearers to build bases of operation for defense and practicality, as surviving ten days without supporting one another is a surefire way to meet a grisly, tiny little end. Resources must be gathered: gather food and water, prepare shelter, establish unity and organization and prepare to set off into the wilds soon.

For Shardbearers demonstrating particular selflessness, favoring the protection and defense of another, the Effigy responds warmly from the third day onward — rewarding them with a sign of their dutiful nature towards others in the form of fairy wings, the form of which are unique to the Shardbearer themselves.

DAY FOUR. The sudden thunderous sound of a storm begins. No, not a storm, the tumble and crash of water pouring down upon the greenhouse — the workers of the Liosachán perform their routines faithfully, after all. In watering the garden, the danger of the environment threatens to overtake Shardbearers and their work alike. Drops of water fall, their size equal or larger than even the tallest of characters, and trickles of water muddy the ground in the form of raging rapids.

The security of Meridian and Zenith's camps is even called into question, because as simple as the act of watering a garden is, it is a nightmarish situation for such itty bitty Bearers to be in!

DAY FIVE. By day five, the fae of the Liosachán no longer lurk and linger in the corner of one's eye. They make themselves known, having prepared a banquet below one of the mushrooms, within sight of the Effigy. A table draped in spider-silk lace awaits any Bearer who comes near enough, the sagging piece of driftwood polished to a gleam with golden sap, leaving it waterproofed and pretty to behold. A handful of corks serve as seating, with most of the fae draping themselves across scraps of cotton as though they are simply at a picnic.

They invitingly wave to Shardbearers, chattering brightly in their foreign, lilting tongue, waving tiny sandwiches and little clay pots full of jams and honeys, brandishing sugared berries that they bite into with gusto, staining their arms and faces in swathes of blue and red. They clearly are welcoming to whomever comes upon them, urging them to avail themselves to the bounty they have prepared. Perhaps some characters know better than to eat the food of the fae, recalling legends and lore about the mystical properties and implicit bargains made in becoming a guest. Perhaps some have no idea, and are simply hungry enough to dig in!

UNWILLING TEN-ANTS ( DAYS SIX - EIGHT )

The scuttling, scrabbling feet of ants crawling over surfaces, winding their way through this grassy playground, has become normal. Their feet thunder as they go about their business, and it seems to be a normal cadence to life here in the underbrush, in the greenhouse. It is normal, and it is has become nothing to really concern oneself with. They are ants, after all, what do they do, but work? Endlessly, continuously.

That is, until the heavy, loud sounds of their feet draw closer to whatever place that the bearers have found to camp in. Whether solitary or as a group, these workers are no longer content to simply ignore the bearers, but they are a curiosity, perhaps even a bother. You have disrupted their lifestyle. The sleepy pattern of obtain food, return ot the hive, and back out again now has obstacles. Now there are not simply the fairies, who live their own lives and existences, a part of the ecosystem, but now there are these tiny bearers. Fighting, working together, arguing and disagreeing.

You are disruptive to their way of life.

The ants have come to collect on this due, and some bearers that are vulnerable, or perhaps merely caught, are taken away, your weight so light compared to the rest of their burdens that they carry. The strength of these ants is overwhelming, incredible at this size, and try as you might, if you are caught in their strong mandibles, you cannot escape. An ant, after all, carries 1000 times their weight with those powerful jaws. You, bearer, are nothing to them.

They squirrel away the bearers within their hill, a complicated network of tunnels, junctions, and large spaces. Down within, where the air becomes stifling, and stale. The ants guard their pray, and you get the distinct sense that they see you not as people, not even as enemies, but as prey. You will be food – perhaps to the eggs that are gathered within this room, where you can see the stirring of new life, just beneath the surface. You may not have very long to live, if these little larvae get their mouths on you.

Or perhaps, your friends will save you? Once it is discovered that bearers are missing, the trail of ant prints on the ground is apparent – they are not stealthy creatures – and the feet lead from the locations of several kidnapped bearers toward the grainy ant hill that lies not far away. The hill itself swarms with life, with worker ants all over the surface, scuttling about, looking for the next meal for te colony. Or perhaps for more bearers to bring back for their young.

It will be dangerous, bearers, to save your friends. Should you choose to do so, you will be kicking the anthill, and the ants will protect what is theirs. Even if they just took it. Those bearers belong to them, now! Rescuers will find not only your average worker ant, ready to defend, but winged male ants will attack from above, and deeper, within the nest, near where the bearers are kept, lies the strongest ant in the colony: The Queen. Staggeringly large, strong, and vicious, when her subjects begin dying. She will do everything in her power to protect her colony, and that includes killing bearers, if need be. Or trying, at least.

Good luck rescuing your friends, bearers!

IN SMALL PACKAGES ( DAYS NINE - TEN )

The day after the ant-pocalypse brings with it the brush of recognition — the Effigy has foreseen the likely victors, and calls to them to approach it once they have suitably recovered. It judges them the ones whom are most devoted to what binds them, loyal to memory and remembrance, and begins to clamor for them to restore to it what belongs rightfully. Thus begins a full day of resting, locating last-minute items, shoring up defenses and preparing for the sprint to the finish line.

Certainly your rivals will not allow you to simply walk to the Effigy unassailed and unchallenged.

Eat, rest, ensure your fellows are close and bolstered, for tomorrow begins the final rally.

On the morning of the tenth day, Meridian Shardbearers approach the Effigy with its five items in hand. In the midst of the mushroom ring, the Effigy stands as it had in the beginning — arms outstretched and back bowed skyward, gnarled fingers seeking contact with that which has been lost to it. It awaits, it strains, and even as it does, it requires one last test of ability. From the shadows of the towering mushrooms, the rasp of scale and soft hiss of a great beast descends upon the fae ring.

A gleaming garden snake, with glossy black and green stripes, blocks the way between approaching Shardbearers and the Effigy.

Between its bright eyes, pressed upon its brow is a scattering of brighter scales that appear to be in the shape of a delicate, three-leafed plant with spiraling patterns for leaves. It braces itself against the approach, and there is no doubt that to claim victory, the serpent must be subdued. Though Meridian approaches with victory in hand, they have not yet attained it — their rival faction and this beast remain in their way.

MISSING LINKS ( THROUGHOUT )

As the Effigy desires to be reunited with what belongs to it, the swell of its longing stirs something more within all present Shardbearers.

With that foreign longing arrives knowledge: beyond the five items prized by the Effigy itself, there are other lost things within the greenhouse. Like a compass, each Shardbearer's mind points them in direction after direction, urging them to seek and explore. Implicitly, the thrum of comprehension fills your mind: these are things that do not belong to you, per se, but seek to have your hands ferry them home.

Amidst tangled brush, hidden under doffed acorn cap, tucked away in the belly of a fae's glittering den, lost in the depths of a puddle of spilled water that seems an insurmountable lake now, folded secretly into the petals of a towering, skyscraper-like flower, there are three additional items hidden within the tumultuous landscape that each Shardbearer feels a draw towards. Things that belong to someone else, eager to be reunited with them, but subject to whim.

Upon locating and retrieving one, the Shardbearer is filled with a sense of information — they know who this item belongs to, and they will know that they have a choice. Bonds are fragile things after all, and they exist to be enforced or abused, in order to advance a goal or to deepen a connection. How will you treat someone's precious bond? How will they treat yours?

NOTES

Here are some prompts to set the scene and foundation of the Exalt Oracle! — The theme of this Oracle is a loose edition of capture the flag, where the Effigy's items can pass through multiple hands within the ten day allotment.

— For additional ideas and fun, it is known that several Shardbearers have concluded their efforts to fulfill the Greenwood Yards' sidequest request.

— All details of the Exalt Oracle can be found here, and questions for the mods can be submitted here.

CODING

Comments

[warmare]

[The answer of course being… that Hayame was not alright.

Perhaps a human wouldn’t be able to pick up on it from a distance like a jinba would have been able to- the scent of sharp, acrid blood in the air. If not, no matter. The crimson proof of it marks the ground behind her, outlines the imprints of her hooves in the soft soil, splatters when she fumbles and nearly falls. The source… cuts, slashes, here and there across her body, both on human-looking skin and dun-coated hide, staining all alike with red. Yet despite the obvious pain she was in, the weak way her long legs quake and threaten to buckle at every step-

She manages to bring her bow half to bear at the sound of an approach. She nearly gets an arrow out of her quiver. But through the haze of bloodloss and the indignity of loss loss…

Is he an ally? Can he be trusted? Had he chosen a side to fight for in this Oracle? She opens her mouth, but-

Hayame’s hoof catches on a stone she should have been able to step high enough to avoid, sending a half ton of jinbaflesh stumbling and then plowing into the dirt.]

[wolfish]

Hayame—!

[ When Hayame falls, she falls hard. Yuri rushes to her side, brows knitted together as concern overtakes his usual forced composure. The severity of her wounds is glaringly apparent at close range, their number suggesting a pitched battle. He steals a glance around, wary of pursuers, but he finds none.

Ideally, they'd get out of the open, yet the trail of blood Hayame has left in her wake makes it clear that would be a tall order even with his camp near at hand. Yuri isn't weak, but he hardly has the strength necessary to carry her. He's no Blaiddyd, after all. So he shelves the thought...and stifles a sneeze with his arm.

Damned allergies. He could use a cleansing spell, but Hayame's the priority here. Before he does anything, however, he thinks to say— ]

Just hold on and stay still, alright? You've lost a lot of blood.

[ Having said that, he extends a hand toward her. The soft, shimmering glow of healing magic flickers into being in his palm. Last time he'd attempted to cast a spell, nothing had happened, but she'd guessed what he was attempting to do. This time, he hoped she recognized what he was doing. ]

[warmare]

[Blood fills her mouth, and for a moment Hayame fears that something has ruptured inside of her, something mortal and dreadfully slow… but it is just her tongue, bitten in the hard, unchecked fall. Her face had skid through the dirt and it streaks undignified and messy across her skin, displacing the large leather eyepatch down her cheek just enough that it provides a hint of what lay beneath. No scars, no burns… a perfect pair of eyelids and thick lashes that twitch and flutter like the other of the pair… but there is only emptiness behind them, the eyeball plucked clean out by a demon intent on taking and leaving her marked for weak.

She feels it now. Weak.

But she refuses to at the same time. Even though the man (Yuri? Yes, Yuri-) tells her not to move she tries to struggle up, to at least hail her human-looking half out of the dirt… and from there, to try and slap away his hand. … She misses, the movement nearly sends her back down against, but-]

I do not want… I do not want magic…

[She knows she needs it. If she’s going to be of any use the rest of this ordeal she will have to accept it, and yet…]

Get me a healer—

[But Meridian does not really have a healer, do they? At least, not the way she knows them.]

[wolfish]

...a medic.

[ Yuri doesn't budge, seeing as the hand that swiped for him clearly missed, and his voice is forcibly calm. Alarming as her present state is, between her insistence on her warrior status and her typically imposing stature, he knows the best thing he can do is maintain his composure.

That and his patience, he suspects. Doubtless he's not her idea of the ideal person for the job — who would even assume Yuri to be educated in this field, for that matter — but he's the one who's here. The entire reason he'd learned field medicine and faith magic was the possibility of being the only one there and unable to help.

Ultimately, it's the reason he grudgingly Harmonized, too. ]

I learned field medicine too, at the academy. [ It's a fact, simple and plain, idly said as he keeps his hand near the deepest of the gashes he sees. ] Is it that you want the scars, or would you want to be out of commission for the rest of this little scavenger hunt?

[ Despite the words, his flippancy lacks any real bite. He can understand having a preference, certainly has them himself, but field medicine is often less efficient. It relies far more heavily on the body's natural faculties for recovery, and stabilizing someone in poor condition is far more of an endeavor.

Somehow, Yuri doubts Hayame is willing to sit on the sidelines any longer than her body forces her to. ]

[warmare]

[A medic, a healer, a doctor... Whatever the word was, she wanted- She wanted the world to be like she was used to. She wanted her medical care to come with bandages and salves and prayers and teas, not the strange magics that invaded her body and forced it to reknit itself at an unnatural rate. Already once this excursion she had made herself submit to those spells, unable to do anything with a broken leg gained in her attempt to claim the Bell except do that or slit her own belly open, and now...

Again... ? Again...

But what Yuri says stabs straight into her hearts, where someone else has already obviously tried to do the same. She did not desire scars. She did not desire to fail, to be unable to help secure a victory for Meridian. She did not want... She had promised Set, Liem, Claude that she would survive, even though so many parts of her cried out to die, and she-]

Not here...

[She had left a bloody trail behind her. They were vulnerable here. They were exposed. So despite her wounds, the way movement makes blood well up in the large gash his hand hovers over... Hayame struggles to try and pull herself up, her eyepatch still askew and her clothing stained with dirt over the red. Her forelegs tremble with the shock beginning to set in, but despite that, despite all of it-]

Help me up.

[Her weight was too great to be supported by a human properly, but at least as a brace, an anchor--]

[wolfish]

[ In a moment like this, Yuri almost wishes that he had such great strength as Dimitri. Relocating Hayame then would be no trouble at all then, but Yuri has a lifetime of experience working with what means he has available to him. He stands without delay, pointing out his fairly well-hidden campsite shared with Byleth. ]

I've got a place over there.

[ From her vantage point, Hayame may see the flicker of a small fire beyond a fence of scavenged brambles, evidence enough of a shelter there. Whatever his allegiances might be, that puts him some distance outside of Meridian's camp proper. Yuri will have to clear her path once they near their destination, but in the interim, there remains the matter of getting her there. ]

So where do you want me?

[ He may make for a small support, only as tall as Byleth or Claude with his boots on, but...for once, he can tell himself that the muscle he'd lamented putting on in his mercenary work might just avail him a little here. ]

[warmare]

[She cannot see well where Yuri points, her vision dimming at the edges and already compromised, but… She has to trust in it because there is nothing else. She thinks she sees a flicker of flame.]

Here—

[After missing once, she manages to grab hold of his arm and jerkingly guide him into place, to her other side that had grown weaker than the other. Using him as an anchor for her upper body, smearing blood onto him in the process (sorry Yuri’s clothing), she proceeds to attempt to stand.

It seems like she might make it, gritting her teeth and biting back a pained cry, but the first attempt ends in failure, a foreleg buckling and bringing her down before she can get her back legs under her properly. The second attempt is doomed from the start. But the third, throwing her upper weight into Yuri’s support and levering herself forward, manages to see her back to shaky hooves.

Hooves that turn in the direction of where he had pointed, single-minded driving herself forward until they reach a point that he says she may safely collapse.]

[wolfish]

[ The false starts only serve to fuel his mounting concern, but Yuri bites his tongue. Coming from a land where a warrior will sooner give up his life than his cause and his honor, Yuri can understand Hayame's determination. More than that, he must admit to himself that she is correct — they are in a vulnerable position, should any predators or militant Zenites happen upon them.

Later, he tells himself, he'll need to mask the angry red trail that marks Hayame's path. With his criminal background, it will be a simple endeavor. Whether hoofprints, blood, or anything else, evading capture was just one of a variety of skills he'd picked up early in order to survive. He mentally files away this task for later, when Hayame is more stable, and perhaps when Byleth is present to keep an eye on her.

Much as he knows a warrior's strength and pride, he also knows they feel as much pain as any other. ]

You're a tough one, I'll give you that. [ It's a statement meant to fill the tense air, though something they both already know in the moment. His true focus is trained on their surroundings, wary of any sign of Hayame's attacker...or attackers, as the case might be. All is still but for the two of them, but that doesn't necessarily mean it will remain that way. ] I'd ask what the hell got you, but your energy's got better uses.

[ Such as making it to shelter. A pity Dimitri isn't present to simply heft her up, but then again, her injuries might well make that a poor option too. The best Yuri can do is remain close at hand and provide whatever support his relatively small stature might grant her, sweeping aside the brambles with the toss of a weak wind spell. These, too, he can clean up later. ]

[warmare]

[Perhaps Hayame would admire the ethos of his land. All her life she had dedicated her life to the path of the warrior, because that was the only path that might save her from being sold as a mount or a broodmare, but now... Still...

She does not respond in words to what he says to her, even though the praise might normally warrant more than just a grunt. Not because she is insulted or dismissive of it, she was tough, she had to be tough, but to do so right now took... most of her willpower and focus. Once she is up she is up, she removes the bit of weight she had put on him and uses him primarily for balance, but it still takes time to bridge the distance, to pass through the tunnel through the brambles, but once they have...

Hayame slides into a (partly) controlled collapse back to the ground, her eyepatch nearly slipping the entire way down her face in the jerky, heavy process. She catches herself on her palms to at least remain on one belly, not two, but it was shameful nonetheless. Almost as shameful as needing to ask between pants for breath,]

Conceal the... the blood...

[Like some... some weakling hiding in the bushes... But she is hiding in the godsamned bushes, and right now... She is weak. While he was concentrating on healing, he would be weak. And against Zenith, many of whom would shamelessly attack in such circumstances...]

[wolfish]

[ With Hayame successfully relocated, Yuri's first inclination is to resume tending to her wounds. It comes as no surprise however when she immediately brings up the trail of blood in her wake, easy as it would be for anyone to follow that path straight to her. He frowns with a given unease, but he reluctantly nods, all but certain that she won't be able to relax if she's awaiting an ambush at any moment. ]

Worry not, it's something of a strong suit of mine.

[ The words are terribly casual, despite all that they might suggest. Yuri has long and involved experiences by virtue of so much wet work, and the earth here is much simpler to dispense with than pavement would be. He begins to turn, only to freeze in place, debate evident on his features.

Then slowly, so that she may track the progression of his hands, Yuri reaches over and rights her eyepatch. He remembers full well how, even in the mineral baths at the spa, Dimitri had kept his own right where it was on his face. Granted, Yuri knows his reasons have more to do with what lies beneath it than what does not, but surely Hayame would rather that socket were covered.

Then, he unclasps his cloak and bundles it up, placing it over the deepest wound he can see. ]

Press down on this if you're able. The one I got to earlier was worse, but this'll slow the bleeding until I return.

[ With that done, he turns to hurry out of the shelter, collecting a little bundle of twigs along the way. Between his wind spells and some well-placed sweeping, he could obscure both the blood and tracks that came with it. He'll just have to make quick work of it, so he can get back to the far more pressing matter of Hayame's injuries. ]

cw: eye gore

[warmare]

[... Good. He had sense. She has no extra space in her mind, now, to contemplate what it means that he claims to be experienced in hiding trails. It could mean anything, and now everything hurts, she's so tired, and cold-

And then he is moving towards her. Towards her face. She looks towards him sharply, revealing more clearly what she had been hiding. Where an eye was supposed to be... there was simply nothing but a gaping absence. Her eyelids are perfectly formed, the hole is framed by lush, black lashes. There is not a single trace of scar or burn or deformation... because the demon who had reached in, severed the optic nerve, and plucked out her eyeball had been so skilled and so fast that he'd left her perfect except for the mark of humiliation and loss. She would snap and snarl if she had the energy... but she doesn't, and her flinch away is too slow.

... He just put the eyepatch back. Sharp teeth dig into her bottom lip, and she swallows insults and defensive barks to instead simply take the cloak. She had some measure of sense, too, beneath the passion and the determination- enough to obey and weakly press down on the fabric as it begins to soak up crimson.

But though Yuri is not gone long... Hayame has grown worse in his absence. Large bodies, equine bodies, were more susceptible to shock, and though she had tried to fight through it to get this far... she is paler than when he'd left. The cloak is brighter and wetter. The upper body she'd fought to keep off the ground is on it, though her hands at least still vainly press. She'd found herself hoping for him to return faster, to use that accursed magic on her no matter the disgrace, but if... if it did not work-]

Tell...

[Hayame swallows heavily once she hears boots coming closer. It had to be him, she just can't see yet-]

If I dissipate, tell-

[There's blood in her mouth, and it muddles what she's trying to say. (Though a keen listener might at least get out a hard "C-")]

[wolfish]

[ Despite his expertise, Yuri had nevertheless worked hastily. No one could find Hayame's path without a bloodhound, he's certain of this, but it was impossible to simply go through the motions when clearing that trail is a stark reminder of how much blood Hayame must have lost. How much she may yet be losing.

By the time he returns, the signs that Hayame has suffered in his absence are clear. He's quick to kneel beside her, eyebrows pinched together as he tries to make sense of her words — dissipate — but the broken framework around it is clue enough. A healing spell flickers to life in his palm and he reaches toward the worst of the wounds he sees.

If only their supplies had joined them in this strange venture. He'd have that water from Byleth then. Yet the reality of their circumstances is what it is; all he can do is work quickly. ]

Your birthday-someone, right? [ His voice is soft, focus bent on pouring as much as he can into hauling her back from this precipice she's wavering on. He's done it before. The battlefield is an ugly, brutal place, but Hayame is built differently from his people. Is her body much like a horse's in its workings? If only Marianne were here. ] You'll tell them yourself... I'll see that you do.

[ Whether he's discerned who that person is, who can say? But his determination rings true, and he feels she needs someone to believe that she can pull through this, when it's clear that she can't tell herself it will be so. Pale as she is, it's no wonder. ]

[warmare]

[Yuri approaches closer, he finally enters her limited and blurring field of vision... but Hayame doesn't move. She just lays there, still pressing the wet cloak to her wound... until the magic begins to worm its way into her body.

She has never understood how so many people can be fine with these magics being used on them. Did they not feel it, that creeping, violating feel of someone else's energy overtaking their bodies? Did they not feel disgust, when their body was forced to do unnatural things like heal the work of weeks and months in seconds? Finally she does move... but only to grind her teeth and jerk her equine legs in tight to her belly, fighting with her own discomfort with magic against the knowledge that she needed it, that without it... she would be useless for the rest of this Oracle fight.

And the Iconoclast Oracle had taught her she would never be able to rely on the rest of Meridian to get the job done.

But her mind is still glazed by the pain even as it begins to ease, the spell buffering her organs from shock and lost blood, reknitting flesh and torn muscle...]

My birthday...

["Someone". She'd said the name, right?, as shameful as it was to admit, so thinking he'd already heard it she... weakly rubs her face into the dirt, blood dribbling from her lip and down her chin. Not new blood, at least. It had already been in her mouth. The birthday advice...]

How foolish... blowing out candles... so inauspicious for... celebrating age...

[wolfish]

[ Hayame's distaste for magic isn't easily forgotten, but in her present state, closing her wounds and stemming the bleeding takes precedence over personal preference. Having been exposed to both field medicine and magic at an early age, having sought out skill in both, Yuri considers the two complementary rather than conflicting. He doesn't know what background might result in a knee-jerk revulsion such as hers, but he doesn't question it.

His attention stays trained on her wounds as she speaks, the glow of his spell reflecting in his eyes. In contrast to other healers, Yuri's methods differed ever so slightly. He'd learned, as a matter of survival, to avoid leaving scars. Many healers where he hailed from prioritized closing up injuries, and it wasn't wrong, but in their haste they often left their mark.

For someone who relied on his looks as one of his most effective weapons, such blemishes weren't an acceptable result. His skill came too late to do any good for the scars that littered his back, nor those that crept over his shoulders — not even the one that marred his face from an incident with gardening shears.

The last, at least, he'd tended well enough that it was hardly visible to anyone but him. With makeup on, the world was none the wiser. But Yuri knows it's there. He can see it, and that is enough.

He'll leave not one mark on Hayame. ]

Isn't it though? I never did have that, as a kid. [ A beat, as he considers. He'd only marked his birthday with a game via communion, actually. It didn't strike him as worth mention. ] Well, I suppose that's unchanged, I guess.

[ He shrugs and shuffles to one side, to better reach the next succession of lacerations. Betting man that he is, he'd wager that Hayame got into a fight with a swordsman. So the wounds would suggest, anyway. ]

But how'd it go with that birthday you were preparing for?

[ It's as good a subject as any to focus on. Hayame needs to remain conscious, so she can tell him if anything worsens as he works. Fódlan lacks many of the advancements he's read about in the library, but he knows there are other dangers associated with someone passing out from the extent of their injuries. ]

[warmare]

I don't... have one, either...

[A birthday. Not one she'd ever been told, or anyone had ever bothered to remember, anyway. It's not sad, it's not regrettable, it's just how things were. She can't imagine... wanting people to celebrate her, standing awkwardly while people sing, getting gifts... But her "birthday someone" was used to it. He... had a birthday.

... Wait. Had she not told this man that, over Communion, when they'd first discussed it? She thinks she had... but she doesn't quite remember. Honestly, she doesn't quite remember why they were talking about birthdays in the first place. But... perhaps a part of her also realized that she needed to keep talking. Keep conscious. Keep moving, even if it was just her mouth, grown loose and careless with pain and now, the strange, invasive sense of relief coursing slowly through her body.

How did it go... ? How did it go...]

Well...

[She would... need to send gratitude gifts to those who advice had been useful. She should ask Set for those plant growing powers of his... the persimmon tree... Hayame's stiff, trembling position is gradually softening as the pain eases, growing a bit more limp on the ground.]

I bought... a cake... I made... a gift...

[Like he'd recommended.]

[wolfish]

[ She doesn't know her birthday. Yuri considers that as he listens to the rest of what she has to say. It's no wonder that she finds such celebrations foreign. He doesn't know if this is because she's Jinba, though it may well be so, considering what little he knows of how her people are treated where she hails from.

A shame, he feels, when he's come to think she could use more bright moments in this warrior life of hers. ]

You may not know yours, but that just means you get to decide. Byleth gauges his age by how tall he was at the time — safe bet he doesn't know his either.

[ In that case, however, Yuri suspects he does. Between his unfortunate dealings with Aelfric and Byleth's own account of what he knew of his mother, the year had to be the one recorded on her grave. As for the date...certain records would suggest some time before there was a fire at the monastery. It isn't something Yuri has mentioned as of yet, because if he did, he'd have to mention the mad churchman. This place is rife with enough stress as it stands.

In Hayame's case, Yuri has no such knowledge to draw upon. So far as he knows, Fódlan is bereft of her kind. Harsh as his world can be, he considers hers worse off without question. But there's a certain freedom in not knowing, if one wants to stay positive. She could choose a day of her liking. Maybe he'll suggest it when she's got energy enough to scoff at him.

For now, he sets the thought aside, moving his damp cloak out of the way to continue his work. ]

Those are both fine choices. Were your gestures received well?

[ He distinctly recalls how concerned she was about somehow failing, though he has no doubt someone close enough to warrant Hayame inquiring publicly via communion would be happy with anything she chose. The thought truly does matter, after all. ]

[warmare]

[Plenty of people had told her silly platitudes about deciding her own birthday when she’d disgraced herself enough to make that call on communion… that much she remembers. It happened so many times she can’t forget.

And she’d answered so many times that she doesn’t want to do it again, even in this damaged state where she’s somewhat numbly replying to anything just to focus on it. Byleth had told her his situation. She didn’t need a birthday.

She winces and curls in pathetically when Yuri peels the cloak away from the deepest remaining wound, unable to speak for a moment as her teeth grind and a pitiful whimper of pain is smothered in her taut throat before it can breathe air past her lips. Both sets of lungs, upper and lower, heave a bit unevenly, her tail quivers… but that pain begins to ease, too, and she can remember-]

Y… es…

[When she’d handed over that gift… His smile had been so… Her fingers curl uselessly with nothing to hold, tight and empty. If he were here… or another of her “friends”… even if it meant seeing her this weakened, perhaps… just perhaps…]

He said… He loved it…

[If she’d stopped there perhaps it would have simply been a sweet sentiment, but-]

I did not fail…

[wolfish]

[ Perhaps she doesn't believe she has need of it, but sometimes birthdays are more for others than oneself. Yuri generally only acknowledges his because of and for his mother, and as the only family he has in the world, he'd do anything for her safety and happiness. This fellow Hayame worked so hard to decide on birthday arrangements for might want to return the favor, or so Yuri would assume.

None of which he'll say in the moment, and may not occasion to say later. It's difficult to say, really. In the present, all that matfers is mending Hayame's injuries and making sure her next needs are met so she can regain her strength. The worst of her remaining wounds knits itself together more sluggishly under the pale glow of healing magic, but it does so just the same. ]

Better than not failing... That sounds like a rousing success.

[ His voice remains gentle, doing his best not to betray any particular emotion regarding the subject — but he is pleased for her. It was obvious she cared greatly for this fellow, going as far as she did to acknowledge his birthday properly, and he thinks it's rather sweet. Doubtless, Hayame would dismiss such a comment outright.

He thinks for a few moments of what to say next, hesitant to pry too much and very aware he should keep her talking still yet. ]

What did you wind up making? I recall you had concerns about what a warrior's hands could do.

[warmare]

[The worst of the pain is fading away, and in its wake is just the lingering fog of shock and bloodloss. A far better state than actively bleeding out... but still not one Hayame ever wanted to be seen in. For now, he is spared her ire because for ire one requires awareness, and until then...

His voice is gentle. His touch is soothing. Her initial rejection of his magic has waned in the face of her body's desperate need for it. Her wounds are closing, without even leaving scars. Her eyepatch is back properly on her face. Both sets of lungs are inhaling slower and more evenly, both hearts pounding less harshly.

It's almost tempting to let herself lapse into unconsciousness right there in the dirt. It was comfortable enough... she's slept on harder surfaces...

What did she make... ?]

I used... an arrow...

[Her quiver has been bloodied by her wounds, but the arrows were still there. Most of them were the same, made with a purple plumage from a bird that frequented Alenroux's fields, but just a few are of a finer make, fletched with strong, large sea eagle feathers.]

One of the arrows... my brother made for me...

[Something that meant much to her, that hailed from her world, and yet... something that a warrior could work with. Even she could remove an arrowhead and string it as a pendant on a sinew string.]

[wolfish]

Something personal then...those are always the most meaningful gifts, I'd say.

[ Further comment has to wait as Yuri leans around Hayame to check for further wounds. Slumped over as she is, her body might be obscuring more on one side, but he doesn't see fresh blood there. He's careful not to touch her directly, instead only reaching over to pass his magic along one more angry line when he spots it.

That should, he hopes, take care of the bleeding and pain that came with those wounds. He sits back once this is done, only to pause and consider the scrapes Hayame took in her fall. ]

...I know as a warrior you may not be concerned with them, but scrapes can get infected too, so I'll take care of those. [ He holds a hand up, as though he's taking an oath. ] You have my word I won't touch your face unless I must.

[ As had been the case with her eyepatch. That was something she simply needed. Yuri shuffled closer to her human torso, passing his healing magic over the scrapes and cuts he found there. Now that the greatest dangers have been addressed, these are simpler, quicker work. They must hurt just the same, and he has no doubt heavy bruising would form if untended. ]

So you have a brother...what's that like?

[ He does his best to keep her talking. Next, he knows, she needs warmth and when possible, more fluids to help her recover from what she's lost. ]

[warmare]

[She would have protested, had she been more present. Why waste the magic on scrapes when she can bathe and hope for the best? Surely it was some sort of finite resource. But thankfully? for both him and her, she isn't all there... and she doesn't tell him he can't keep working. The pull of sleep, or maybe unconsciousness, is growing heavier and more tempting, the efforts she'd put into getting this far this injured catching up now that the pain isn't spurring her onward, but...

Just a bit longer. She can hold on, she's sure (less sure)-]

Yubari...

[Her brother. She meant to say something about Yubari. Even though she had admitted to those who guessed it in that game that her statement about having twelve half-siblings had been a lie, that she was actually aware of thirteen (or more), there was only one by the same dam, only one she considered her true sibling...

But what it's like? She knows her answer won't be right. It won't do it justice. It will just admit that she had treated the brother that believed in her poorly because she'd had to, she couldn't show weakness-

So the rest of the words, when they come out in just an unintelligible mumble... She doesn't try hard to say them clearer, trailing off into silence instead.

If Yubari were here...]

[wolfish]

[ Not the best subject, it seems. For Yuri, his only family is his mother, and providing for her is a driving motivation. Her health is poor, yet he knows no other person in the world — in any world — possessed of her surpassing kindness and warmth. Yuri doesn't know how Hayame feels about her brother, but he suspects it's too complicated in her present state.

Chances are, she'll have no interest in later discussion, but that's to be expected. None of them are entitled to the particulars of each others' lives back home. Some matters are too personal or loaded to touch, for that matter. ]

We'll see our people again.

[ Yuri's voice is just as quiet and calm as before, but there's a firmness of belief there, one that comes of having faith. He doubts they've been told the truth. More than that, he suspects that those in charge are deceiving them. Even so, he has every intention of returning to those who depend on him — to the Abyssians, to his mother, and to the commoners who need a hand up in their harsh world.

Once the war is behind them, surely then... ]

Just got to get through this, yeah?

[ Yuri hasn't bothered telling anyone he harmonized with Meridian. Were it not for his use of magic, perhaps no one would even know the difference. He still doesn't remark upon it, even as he clears away the last of her scrapes and cuts with his healing magic. Once he finishes at last, the light glimmers away into nothing, and Yuri picks up his cloak. ]

You know, Byleth's about as able as me with healing, but I'd wager I'm more creative... A cleansing spell's got all kinds of handy applications.

[ He waits until he catches her eye before casting the spell, a small burst of glittering light that drains the blood from his cloak as though it were never there at all. Yuri scrutinizes it afterward, turning it about in his hands while his painted lips are drawn into a thoughtful frown. Then, once satisfied, he nods to himself. ]

See? Good as new.

[ With that said, he drapes the cloak back over her again. ]

Think you can get some water down?

[warmare]

[Hayame wants to believe that. She has to believe that, that they will return to their worlds an be reunited with those they had left... because if not, there was no point to the life she had already promised to sacrifice. She doesn't want to say anything about it, does not want to speak it and curse the outcome with her record of failures at everything she'd ever truly cared about...

So she just listens. She watches, through blurry, tired vision. This man had Harmonized, that much was obvious... she assumes with Meridian, because he is helping her, and what Zenith would when they are in the midst of a battle for the Oracle and she would have been an easy kill? Only a fool.

It's like a magic trick, his cloak. The blood that had stained it vanishes... good as new, and she is silent still, too weak to stop him from caring for her or push off the warm fabric he drapes over her form. She thinks... she will take the water, she will, she nods slowly...

But by the time he returns with it, she has lapsed into an exhausted sleep near the edge of unconsciousness, her body completely drained from healing so much so fast.

It won't be until hours later that she begins to stir again, hooves twitching slightly and facial expression scrunching together as if struggling to wake from a dream.]

[wolfish]

[ It came as no surprise to Yuri that, upon returning to her side, Hayame was no longer awake. After checking her vitals, as best he could with his limited knowledge of Jinba physiology — which is to say, none at all — he wanted to believe she was stable at least. He wished Byleth were around to keep an eye on her, but there was nothing for it.

During the time he had, he busied himself with preparations for when she woke. After a hasty application of a cleansing spell to remove the blood from her clothing, Yuri hunted down what provisions he could. Ideally, she'd need foods that would help her to recover the blood she'd lost, for this was one thing spells simply couldn't provide for.

Well, perhaps blood magic could in theory, but experts in that field were scarce. It could be that none existed in Kenos.

So the next best measure would be meat. That too was out of the question, given their diminuitive size. For that matter, he had no idea whether Hayame ate meat. She'd mentioned rice and some bitter vegetable before... It was just as well that he knew alternatives.

Dandelion greens were, despite the disdain of nobles from the south, both edible and good for health. A few well-placed Cutting Gales were sufficient to gather a large amount of dandelion leaves, enough that he needed to make a return trip for these alone. Next was the greater challenge. Finding a fallen nut was easy, but cracking it...that required more explosive magic and gathering up the nut meat that littered the surrounding area thereafter.

By the time Hayame is coming to, Yuri has managed to bring everything back to the little hidden camp, stoke the fire, clean the foodstuffs he'd gathered, and is well underway with cooking bits of what he takes for walnut on a heated stone while he chops up greens. They may not have everything he'd like to have handy in this situation, but it should do. ]

...You back with us, Hayame? [ A beat. ] Turn of phrase. It's just me until Byleth's back from his patrols.

[warmare]

[She needed the rest.

Hayame drifts between unconsciousness and sleep, but finally nestles into the exhausted sleep of a woman (no, a warrior) who has not let herself rest since the Oracle had given them the conditions for victory. Injury after injury, strain after strain... but they could not lose thrice. She could not bear it.

But now she stirs. Hooves twitch and leave little curved furrows in the dirt, her fingers clench and seize as if grabbing for something, trying to hold it. Her nose wrinkles. Like this... she almost looks her age. A mere two decades or so of life, a young woman and not a cold soldier with an intense gaze and an unforgiving judgement. Her return to wakefulness is not sudden, she is too tired for it to be sudden even if she wished it to be...

Yet she wakes, finally. Just enough to try and tense, to look around and make sure she is still safe, still mostly alone, before she blearily murmurs,]

... You are cooking?

[Something smells good...]