peerlessscowl

[peerlessscowl]

He was forced to trust her, that she could take the opportunity given to her, while he handled the crowd that writhed around him. There was the push and pull, the current of emotion that broke over him from indignation to apprehension, some incredulity and some outright fear, the stuttering heartbeat of an oppressed peoples who had only ever known restraint in the face of brutal inequality. 

Well, better then to give them a target who wasn't going to hit them back. 

Not that hard, at least. 

The man before him skittered from the crowd, but his pain and the trail of blood seemed to attract several more in his place, more willing to reach for him and draw his blood – not more able, but more willing, certainly. 

So too, in those spaces, formed those equally opposed to the fighting – uncertain of their position in the institutionalized violence of the executions, many surged forward to protest that a fight had broken out, confused as to its origins and assuming that it must be directed at the scene before them. Briefly, Raven thanked the saints that this took much of the heat from him, and allowed him to slip out from some more dire situations, and to skirt the edges of the riot as it unfolded. 

He kept his eyes on the scaffold around the gallows, and on the gaolers, watching for movement, or for eyes that might have focused a little too closely. The scream tipped him off a moment too late, and he cursed under his breath, searching the crowd for whomever may have voiced their objections. 

Too busy, and worse than that, the knights had begun to move. 

Shit. 

Their erstwhile allies began to make a formation around the gallows, and that apprehension rippled through the crowd once more at the face of the armored force moving in on the lone hunched figure before one of the trembling accused. 

"Hold! Hold, my good men! We are the designated of the Goddess, and we will show some decorum – hold, I will not say it again!" The monk had pushed his way through once again, raising his voice sanctimonious above the rumble of the crowd, seemingly unaware of the roiling bloodlust barely ten meters at his back as he started to mount the steps once more to the gallows. 

"You there!" He brandished an accusing finger at the young lady, and raised his voice to what he must have assumed was an intimidating, sonorous pitch – more for the crowd than anything, huh? 

Raven didn't bother to listen to whatever admonishment spewed out of his mouth, crouching instead and scooping a heavy, flat stone into his palm. A quick breath – in, out, hadn't done this in a while... - and he reared back, imagining skipping the stone across the pond of heads before him to strike true before he let fly - 

And the stone landed soundly in the cuirass of one of the soldiers. 

As though that were the crack in a dam that needed prodding, another stone followed, then another, and the monk and his guard found themselves pelted in pebbles, shoes, fruit, whatever came to hand as the tide of discontent turned on its proper target. 

Raven skirted the crowd further, circling back to the gallows and vaulting up. The boy in the young lady's hands shivered at the sight of him, so abrupt during a moment of such high tension, but he tapped a knuckle on the boy's shoulder. 

"Do you need an invitation? Go on, then." 

His gaze shifted to the young woman's. "Might need to step it up, if we're to get out alive as well." 

The Easiest Way to Start a Riot Is to Shout "Hey Who Wants a Riot"

#in character #thread: easiest way to start a riot #interaction: deamare #why is this so long.

[peerlessscowl]

It was an easy nod, almost instinctive. "You may. And I have." 

Raven gestured to the area surrounding the square. "I've canvased a bit, and heard some stories. A lot of them line up with what we're hearing at the monastery – students going missing in the middle of the night, after a note is played. The more musically inclined say it's the same note every time, but what's more interesting to me is that it seems to come from a specific location." 

Kneeling, Raven drew a quick diagram in the dirt. "If the monastery is here," a tap against a larger square, "and the town centre, where we are, is here," a tap to a circle, "then most reports have the sounds coming from a radius of about a kilometer, around here." 

He drew another circle, wrapping around a section of town – some residential areas, he believed, but adjacent to some of the more well-to-do drinkeries, an avenue filled with coffee and tea and ale houses.  

Raven cocked his head, adjusted his weight to remain crouched. "I've heard that it's...a more trendy area, for younger people to spend their time after schooling, or after their jobs. Not rich, necessarily, that's on this side of town," a dismissive tap to the side katty-cornered to the town centre, "but near enough that there's some overlap. It's...unusual. Not the pattern this kind of thing usually follows." 

Um. Squeak Squeaker Squeakem. If You Even Care.

#in character #thread: squeak squeaker squeakem (sword +1) #interaction: phreaed

[peerlessscowl]

He canted his head in her direction, an acknowledgement that something he had said appeared to have struck true, and though he wouldn't pry as to the details of her melancholy, he would allow her the moment for herself. For reflection, for decision, whatever it might have been that she needed at the moment. 

"I think...at the end of the day, the reason comes second to the doing. I don't...I don't care about the flowers," he admitted, quietly, underbreath as though he didn't want any of the nursery attendants to hear him saying it, but leaned his head in the woman's direction so that she might hear him anyway. "Not really. They're rare, I suppose, and there are people that thinks that this makes them worthier of tending – but without having the conversation, it's impossible to know if it's for conservation, or for collection. 

"But it doesn't make too much of a difference, I think. To the flower," he added, as though the distinction were important. "And I don't think the flower cares why I'm here, or that I've had my hands dirtied with earth before. It needs the sun, needs water, and perhaps the soil could use a nudge from our little friends," he lifted a worm in his palm, gently tucking it into the depression he'd dug, before shrugging, "but any hands can provide these things. Mine just happen to be the ones here now." 

Raven cocked his head, and turned to face the woman more fully. "I don't believe in curses. Not necessarily. I think that if there's an issue, there's a cause, but..." Another shrug, as though he were loath to admit it, "I'm no mage, but the story tells me that maybe magic is involved somewhere." 

He couldn't bring himself to say, even silently in the back of his mind, that perhaps the magic involved was love, and that a spell had been broken with the hearts of the slain. Blood for blood seemed too on the nose, even for him. 

in purest white arraie

#in character #thread: in purest white arraie (faith +1) #interaction: deamare

[peerlessscowl]

Well. 

He had thought it was simple enough. 

With a sigh, Raven clicked his tongue, and steered the pegasus back in a circle, scouting the clouds for its partner in crime. He found it a few minutes later, going slowly, trotting a merry little dance on one of the high parapets of the cathedral, flexing its wings and whinnying in frustration. 

It took a few more minutes for him to calm it down enough to reach for the bridle, which he fastened to his own mount's halter, gently leading them back down into the courtyard to touch down nearby to where Altena remained. 

He could understand why she'd be so frustrated – wasn't she also a skilled sky combatant? That kind of blow to her pride must have smarted – so he resisted the urge to rub it in, instead gesturing for her to remount the pegasus. 

"If you're annoyed, I get the feeling it isn't going to like that. Calm your heart, at least long enough to take off. All right?" 

He didn't voice the moral support, but he neither made any move to remove the bridle from his mount's kit, and pressed a palm to her pegasus's nose. 

"If we can take them just into the mountains a bit, we can probably find a waterfall for them. They might like to play in it." He didn't mention that it required making it there first, but cocked his head in invitation for her to come. 

Babygirl Do Not Start Unpacking Those Daddy Issues, Put Them Back

#in character #thread: unpacking those daddy issues (flying +1) #interaction: luminousrider #i remember rolling for his animal handling but idr what the roll was and i can't find it #i was tempted to leave her behind wouldn't that have been funny #like sorry about your critical failure babygirl you can walk to the campsite

[peerlessscowl]

Yes, she wants to say, more than anything.

But she is silent, frozen, watching him as though waiting for something-- anything. An answer, an acknowledgement. When he looks at her then, there is a moment of hope so foreign that it burns where it blossoms in her chest.

And it dies a moment later, when she realizes that what is behind his eyes is not an answer. It is neither invitation or promise, it is ice, and she shivers as it settles over her.

I'm...sorry.

She has cried for so many things in this life, always silently in the safety of her room, where no one could see to scold her for it. For her mother, for her prince, for her father and her brother and that sweet girl, for the lives she should have stopped from being taken.

Tonight, standing before a closed door, Ishtar cries for herself.

This-- he-- is the closest she has come feeling something that was not taught to her. All of her has been directed by another's hand, spent at the end of a too-tight leash. That was love, she was told, meant to protect her. For her own good.

But this, whatever it is, feels a way that love never had. It does not hold her in place, does not scrape teeth along her throat or hold daggers to her heart. It does not take or demand.

With a stuttering exhale, she accepts it too into the graveyard of all that could have been. Another wilted flower, dead at the hands of a girl who had never been taught what it meant to care for one.

Her own door closes between them eventually, moments that feel like hours later. She does not sleep, cheek pressed against the cold glass of her window, watching in silence until watery daylight has begun to seep past the stars.

She hardly notices the tears on her cheeks any longer.

#in character #thread: for you i would ishtar mini #completed thread #reblogging for posterity #interaction: deamare #they make me so #thank you for such a gestures mini

[peerlessscowl]

The mask that she had donned to give herself the strength to stand up to him cracked, and with it he found himself cracking as well. Her confusion, her hurt - she said she didn't understand, that she didn't believe that it was he who had been cruel, but where else might that hurt have come from than by his actions, done deliberately?

"You want me to look at you..." Though it was a question, he kept his tone carefully flat, lest she answer, and truthfully. Where a moment ago he couldn't, his own frustration skittering about his mind in buzzing insect fashion, now Raven found that he didn't want to, now knowing what he would find.

As the pieces of the conversation obscured everything surrounding them, it became clear that if he turned to her he would see the face of someone that needed him.

No, worse. Someone that wanted him.

It was not necessarily foreign to him, the burden of obligation bound by chains of affection, but when it had just been he and Lucius there had been the history of understanding, their lives so intertwined that the separation had been more of an amputation, and with all of the chronic illness that came afterward, the phantom pains of the missing arms in the night to wrap or be wrapped in.

But where Lucius had been as constant with him as his own heartbeat, this was different, and he had not that constancy that might have allowed him to bear host to someone else's comfort, the safety of their heart.

Better to cut it out at the root, before the flower rots. Isn't that what had happened, in the nursery those months ago? He couldn't remember, at this point that day merely pinpricks in his mind of her fingers against his.

His fingers twitched.

He narrowed his eyes, and he turned, drawing to his full height, forcing the cracks in his mask back together as he turned to look her in the eye for a moment before turning back to his door.

"Perhaps it's as you say. I'm just tired." A pause. "It was...a long journey. We should rest. I'm...sorry."

The door closed in between them slowly, and with the final click of the latch as their goodnight, he found his weight too much to bear, and Raven allowed himself to lean back and slide to the floor.

Every time she thinks that she knows what he will do, what he will think, Ishtar is proven hopelessly wrong. She waits for his anger, for that unfamiliar cold to dismiss her once again. Neither come, and she realizes then that she has misunderstood, but what?

Her head shakes once. "I don't... I don't understand."

It would have been easier if she had been right, if he had met her with the hatred she deserves. It has been a precarious game that she has played, letting those moments shared linger longer each time, knowing that each one would make her guilt easier to forget, the truth harder to tell. For him she had forgotten her guard, and in her fear that he had finally stepped past it, she has cornered herself.

Though he does not look at her, Ishtar finds she cannot look away from him. This feeling she remembers well, the rush of trying to set something to memory before it is gone. She wonders if he will haunt her too, once he has discarded their time together in favor of better things. Of women raised to be gentle, who are not chained to ghosts.

Ghosts whose fingers have crept under her chin, have tightened impossibly around her neck and pressed against her lips. Ghosts who do not want her to have this, who seek to silence her in death just as they had in life.

"You won't look at me."

Her voice wavers, catching on her every emotion. She wants him to-- terribly, hopelessly-- as if there is even a chance that he may see something there that is not wretched.

"You say I have done nothing, that it is you who has been cruel, but I..." the hold on her throat does not relent, hard enough now that warmth begins to prick behind her eyes. "I cannot pretend to believe you."

#in character #thread: for you i would ishtar mini #interaction: deamare #getting this out before i have to be away from my computer all day #teehee catch #raven can have a little unreliable narrator as a treat

[peerlessscowl]

Her flinch struck him as roundly as a blow to the face, and he took it with the same stoic exhalation. This was not what he wanted, the prickling burn against his cheek as her fear and dread began to seep into his, curling vines about his throat that made it harder to keep his breathing even.

His eyes squeezed shut, only for a moment, and when he opened them again she had moved back - and, as if on a string connected to hers, his curled fist on the doorjamb dropped and reached to stop her.

The motion was truncated, halted by his own hesitance and the firmness of her offense - at his behavior, at the dark cloud that he had dragged into full view and still refused to call it by its name.

The crack in her voice shattered in his ears like the glass of a stained window, and he felt a burst of bitter acid spit into his throat, furious now with himself for something that he knew of her only in abstract, but had sworn to himself that he would never have a part in - how many times had he seen her drawn into herself, the crushing doubt of this yet unnamed ghost, and how many times had Raven sworn that his hands would only have guided her from that abyss and into light?

"I-"

You are within your right. I have deceived you.

It might have been a heavier admission if he had not already guessed from the first that something was amiss - of course there had to have been, and there was too with he. It was why those silences, those empty spaces, had never been so overbearing with expectation. Like had called to like, even if, it seemed he had gotten there late.

"I was cruel. You don't..."

He hadn't moved, his feet rooted to the spot, unwilling, undeserving, perhaps, for what was he but another ghost waiting in queue? to take the step forward and bridge the gap that he had created, that she had cemented, though there was the draw, the pull toward her such that he felt the world tilt.

Raven still found that he could not meet her eyes, and his voice left him in a breath, nearly inaudible. "Your secrets are yours. You don't...have to get away with anything. I'm..."

He was the intruder here, wasn't he? Not this mysterious figure whose mark remained indelible on her. Who was he but the barest flicker of a candle in a dark moment. What right had he to be anything further?

Eyes dart up to his face as he speaks, startled by his tone. It is a direct contrast to the words themselves, and so foreign on his voice that she flinches. There is no doubt that he is lying, and yet he insists.

They have drifted-- are drifting-- further now than they had been hours ago. Like sand the moment slips through her fingers, taking with it all that she had become so comfortable in knowing of him. The understanding of one another, the comfort in the other's company; with every stilted breath between them it grows more and more difficult to remember.

He's looking away from her now, standing before her as though he would rather be anywhere else. He is ashamed to look upon her, perhaps, and something within her crumbles. With him it had become so easy to forget that she was someone worth despising, that the crimson trail behind her was still hers. That void between them seems to crush her then.

The next breath she draws seems to stutter in her chest, her shoulders draw inward and she takes a slow step backwards. It would be only fair that things end this way, a fitting punishment for a fool who dared believe herself deserving of salvation.

Hands draw upwards, arms folding over her chest and nails digging into the tender skin of her arms.

"You needn't treat me so... forbearingly. I am not fragile."

As if in direct contradiction, her voice cracks on the word. She, perhaps, is not. But this-- this precious thing that dangles between them, the first breath of something other than fear or guilt since she fled her home-- most certainly is.

"You are within your right. I have deceived you." Admittance tastes like ash on her tongue, like a thousand lives taken by her hands. "But, please, do not lie. Spare me the torture of believing for another moment that I have gotten away with it."

#in character #thread: for you i would ishtar mini #interaction: deamare #wuh oh chat #the rammies of the ghosts of girlfriends past are rearing their heads

[peerlessscowl]

No, he hadn't slept, not really - the same quick catnaps here and there to keep himself sharp, but not the deep rest that came from letting his guard down and keeping it there, not the deep sleep that inevitably also came with facing the judgemental stare that awaited him whenever he closed his eyes.

Who would be waiting for him in the dark? A ghost of his? Or hers?

She was a deer in sights before him, and it shocked him how much her timidity boiled the blood in his veins, the way her eyes turning from his face set his teeth on edge. His hand curled white-knuckled on the doorjamb, and he clenched his jaw at the accusation so hard that black spots dotted his vision.

He didn't reply for a moment after she trailed off, letting the silence expand in the space between them, buoyant and growing until he thought he could hear the concert of her heartbeat mingling with his, pattering a rain-steady beat against her ribcage. His eyes caught the flutter of her pulse in her throat, and though she felt so faraway, he knew that if he just reached out, he could brush his fingertips against that fear, could calm it with a breath.

"Well." The word came out clipped, a harsh, brusque syllable entirely unlike the low tones he usually used with her. "You have my apologies. If you thought that I was upset."

There was nothing to be upset over.

There was tug in his chest, building gently since they had been on the road, more insistent the moment he had dismounted from his horse and had not waited to assist her with hers, that pulled at him sharply, painfully for the first time in some years, and he found that he could not bear to look down on her in that moment, could not shoulder the burden of her shame.

His eyes narrowed, almost a wince, and he looked away.

Ishtar stands unmoving, frozen in place as though even the slightest action might startle him away from her. There is a fear heavy in her stomach that she cannot place. Never once has she been afraid of the man that stands opposite her, and she does not now.

So what, then, is there to fear?

Only once the door has opened does she breathe again. There is a relief in seeing him again, in hearing him speak as though they stood face to face and not miles apart.

"You have not slept either," she replies, more a statement than an argument. He's right, and he has dismissed both her and her concern in all of three sentences. She should listen to him.

But she does not move. Perhaps he might close the door on her first, it would not be new for her. The life before this one was lived to be diminished, to be spent with her every thought written off as the whim of a silly girl. She should be used to it-- she is-- and yet the idea that such an action might come from him...

She is surprised by how much it could hurt.

Fingers curl in the fabric of her skirt, unsure of what to do with themselves. There is nothing more to be said. Why hasn't she moved?

The whispers at her back coax her to; the disappointed voice of a mother, the haunting sorrow of a lover, each burying clawed hands into her wrists. She thinks they must drag her back eventually, the same way they always used to, but nothing happens.

"You were upset," another statement, her eyes dropping lamely to the ground, "if you say it is not because of me, I have no choice than to believe you. But..."

Her voice trails off. She does not believe him, and she will not if he insists, but to be so brave as to suggest what it may be is beyond her. To do so would require first admitting to herself that she has an idea and, worse yet, that she hopes it is the right one.

#in character #thread: for you i would ishtar mini #interaction: deamare #how much emotion can one man repress before he snaps #we are finding out chat

[peerlessscowl]

He was reading when he heard the knock.

More accurately, he held a sheaf of parchment in his hands - letter, accounts, briefings - none of which his eyes moved over, instead boring into on singular a in the center of the sheet, and he had heard every movement of hers from the time she had crossed the threshold into the inn, tentative footsteps following his into their hall to their rooms, heard the creak of her door as she had closed it behind her.

Heard the silence and the stillness as she waited, mirrored by the tension in his body as he waited in turn.

What was he even waiting for? For morning to break the chilly silence that now began to form violent hoarfrost in between them, gathering black ice and deep crevasses in the chasm between them?

Or was he waiting for the knock that made him shiver - not a jump, not unexpected, not unwelcome, but dreaded all the same.

It was the softness of her voice more than its contents that drew the reaction from him then, the immediate crush of the parchment in his hand as though he had been burned but could not scream.

For reasons he could not understand, even once he forced his grip to release, to gently, tremulously place the papers on the small table, Raven rose from his seat and approached the door, reaching hesitantly for the brass of the latch before passing over it entirely, dragging a ghost of a line with his fingertips along the woodgrain of the door.

His palm hovered, flat, against the plane of the door, as though he were frightened that it would burst if he touched it.

The offense done was his, he wanted to say but didn't, couldn't force the words out, his throat hitching each time he attempted to make a sound.

After a moment, two, would she wait? would she wait for him, the same way that she waited for the hand that curled around her like a cage? Raven sighed.

Tugged the door open.

"No offense done. You need to sleep. We still have a ways to travel."

♡ ˚·  @peerlessscowl asked:

[ 𝐰𝐡𝐲 by way of 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞 ] : sender has just asked receiver "why don't you love me"; sender is getting frustrated with their repressed affection and asks receiver to leave them alone. It took him a long time to notice the ghost in between them, if only because it was not his own. So used to the distance that he had put around himself from those who might approach him, Raven scarcely considered the tug of his footsteps in her direction might be met with the similar chill, the rift and the call from the other side of the veil haunting each of her footsteps away from him. It was in the small things, the gestures that he performed not by rote but by instinct, the hand not meant to be taken as they dismounted stairs or a carriage ride into the surrounding cities, the glimpses in one another's direction during a conversation with a third party, the tacit understanding they had begun to develop. And yet always, the invisible barrier that he had not until that moment noticed was the grip of fingers, at her elbow, at her hip, around her heart. She was no more distant with him than ever, but now that he saw the figure lurking in the background, she felt as faraway as if leagues of black ocean lay between them. "We'll stop in town," he said, at first softly, breaking the easy silence that had settled upon them during the ride, nudging his horse in that direction, and then said no more until they had stabled at the inn. "I'll go ahead and pay for two rooms." His tone terse, hardened and chilled, his boots hitting heavily against the rushes of the floor until he reached the door, jerking it open and stalking inside, allowing it to slam behind him in the cool night air.

Inexplicably, something between them shifts.

It is foreign and familiar all the same; the way that everything with him seems to be. There is a security to his company, an understanding that Ishtar has grown to quietly covet, that she has begun to notice when she is without.

As she adjusts her hold on leather reins and moves to follow without question, she can convince herself that the chill seeping in to the space between them is nothing but her imagination. It would not be the first time that love's ghost has tightened his hold on the threadbare rope once woven around her throat, pulling her away every time she dares step too close.

Only as she watches his back disappear behind a door does she dare to think it may have been otherwise.

So she lets him go without chase-- stepping within the building only well after he had, disappearing into the room he had secured for her without inquiring after which might be his. That is what he had wanted of her, surely, and yet she spends the next hour watching the door as though expecting him appear through it.

He does not.

Before she can think to stop herself, Ishtar steps out into the hallway. By this hour the inn has quieted, lights beneath doors extinguished. All but one, situated not even a full stride across from her own. She swallows hard against the hand that has returned to its place around her neck and steps forward, knocking against the frame once.

"If I have done something to offend you," her voice is quiet, suddenly timid, "please allow me to apologize..."

#in character #thread: for you i would ishtar mini #interaction: deamare #SHAKING THEM IN MY TEETH #what is wrnog with them (affectionate)

[peerlessscowl]

Oh? Had he struck a nerve? 

It was no comfort that the brute's emotions could be so predictable, stung at his skin if he took the time to dwell on it – who was Hector to harp indignant about the harm done to his loved ones? If he were the type, Raven might have laughed, but there was no loose muscle within his body to do so, each line sharpened and hardened and taut to snapping. He had been accused of such before, but an outsider might scarce have seen it, so practiced his movements and demeanor as to have seemed natural, but it was in full display here, coiled and tense, and prepared to lunge forward with all his power. 

The last of his restraint bit at him, and a muscle in his jaw ticked. "Shut my mouth, will you? That sounds the Ostian way, doesn't it? Pretty promises of diplomacy, and you lash at the first thing you hear that you don't like. This must be a scene from a book, to have repeated itself over and over so often – do you think your brother listened before my family's blood dyed his lips?" 

There had been more than enough evidence of an audience, on that day as he had returned home – what a convenient errand, he only had the hindsight to understand much later, that had sent him from Tintagel and kept him away. Raven didn't even think that he could have recalled what it was, the befores of that day curtained by such a dense fog that memories only came to him piecemeal, and with great effort. 

"Well," he murmured, and his voice began to tremble once more, edging closer into a snarl with each word that passed his lips, "I am not the soft man my father was." 

A kind man, a giving man – values that had been attempted to been instilled in him from a young age by tutors, stewards, by Lucius even. But in the end it was that same kindness that had killed Marquess Cornwell, as surely as it was House Ostia, as surely as it was the Marquess's own hand. 

But Raven was ever his mother's son. 

"And you are not so impressive even as Uther." 

The words were scarce out of his mouth before he dove, hefting the weight of the axe in both hands above his head and heaving down with all his might. His vision pulsed red again, and his breath seemed to come easier. 

Achilles at the Gates

#in character #thread: achilles at the gates #interaction: braveryinblue #i wanted to reply again last night as soon as you posted but alas it was like 2

[peerlessscowl]

Listening. Insolent to the last.

A pulse of red streaked Raven's vision, dotting in and out with the light of the sun and the beat of his heart, and though his jaw clenched with enough force that he tasted copper and the heat of his fury surely rolled from him in waves, his expression remained stony.

"You're listening, are you? Awake, are you?" He could not help the jab, for it seemed as though the whelp had remained asleep this past year - had it been so long, had he been so lax that he could have suffered the final Ostian to continue drawing breath at his leisure while the puppet Raymond cavorted about, playacting at the noble life that had been stolen from him?

Well, he supposed, they were both awake now, their eyes open and alert to each movement of the other.

That the whelp had responded to his call with a calm stroll forward had not escaped his notice. Hector would not run from him - for all his other faults, he wasn't a coward.

"Well, since you're listening," Raven bit out, guiding Beathe closer to the ground, touching down gently though she shrieked, tail lashing, "perhaps you'll indulge me a tale. It may even have been one you've heard before.

"It may surprise you to know that I'm familiar with your family - it's true, and what Lycian noble wouldn't know the heavy weight of the Ostians bearing down upon them?" Raven cocked his head, pausing briefly to collect himself - a tremor had developed in his timbre, the warble of so many moments he had swallowed down, had allowed to curdle into his gut as he counted the seconds down to this very moment, threatening to spew incomprehensibly over this brat.

A waste of an opportunity, if Hector did not even know why he was about to die.

The apple of his throat bobbed, and he continued; "Not all of us are so pleased to scamper at your heels like that puppy Pherae - and we do get punished for it, don't we? For not coming to heel when called, for straining against the leash. You won't see my name decorating the halls of the League, nor my father's, not any longer."

Another swallow, harsh, acrid in the air and his esophagus, and he inhaled once, heavily, through his nose. "But we haven't gotten there yet, have we? No, you've asked me what I want - I'm getting to that. I haven't forgotten. I don't, you see. Forget."

His heels nudged Beathe's sides and she began to rise once more as he spoke. "I met your brother once, years back. You were gone, weren't you. Scarpering about, having your grand adventure." His eyes hardened. "You didn’t get to see how pathetic he was, at the last - great Uther, wasted away to nothing. I didn't get what I'd gone for, hadn't the chance, even the opportunity to see the light fade from his eyes was taken from me."

His axe suddenly buoyant in his hand, Raven lifted it, gaze fixed upon Hector's down the haft. "But there's one final head owed me. And I'll have it."

Achilles at the Gates

#in character #thread: achilles at the gates #interaction: braveryinblue #sorry to bap this right back to you but raven really took the wheel #longest speech he's made since he's been here by a significant margin

[peerlessscowl]

Well, she was an excitable sort, wasn't she? Partly amused, Raven trailed off after her, allowing her to take the lead in whichever direction she may. Didn't seem much a hunter - a hobbyist? The picture that was beginning to form in his mind sharpened with each word from her mouth, each step they took down a winding street before turning back whence they had come.

So far: noble girl, student of the academy looking for some quick cash. Excited by the prospect of meeting famous bandits in combat. Possibly looking for a boost to her reputation.

Or perhaps she was simply bored.

The prim bearing continued as she took him in, and he let her assess him, letting out a small huffed laugh through his nose. "Doesn't matter too much, in the end. Job gets done, regardless of weapon."

Though he suspected the swordbelt at his waist would do the speaking for him, especially once the blade was in his hand.

But then, abruptly, like the rock of electricity from standing too long in a thunderstorm, her bearing changed - that diction slipped, no longer the façade of a noble girl with too much time on her hands, and Raven's mind stuttered to slot in the new information of the rumble of her threat.

His eyes narrowed, and his guard rose - he knew she was supposed to be an ally, but his skin prickled before he forced himself to calm.

"…Right. Preference is that they can walk on their own. Easier to collect the bounty," he added.

they never get the nose right

Mission Board: Recovery

#in character #thread: they never get the nose right #interaction: atefirom

[peerlessscowl]

Ailell, the Valley of Torment, is said to have once been used as a training grounds for monks as well as a place for the Goddess to burn corrupt maidens with her heavenly light, but few nowadays can attest to the veracity of such claims seeing as how almost nobody who treasures their own life dares to step foot anywhere near Ailell. However, new magical developments from House Daphnel have created a spell that allows a person to withstand even the hottest of flames so long as it’s casted regularly! Brave souls are encouraged to see the miraculous effects of such magic themselves and trek into these once terrifying lands. With any luck, you might even run into one of these fabled, hardened monks yourself! Or perhaps you might be able to save a beautiful, wayward maiden from being burned from the Goddess’ judgment? [Grants Faith +1] (starter for @serenegaldr)

It seemed that no matter where a man went the gods were cruel, at their core. There may have been grace and light behind their acts of creation, but if one looked for long enough they might have seen the wanton destruction that blazed just beneath.

Raven's boots scuffed the earth, glowing with heat and char, as he stepped into the expanse of Aillel for the first time. If he'd been of a scholarly mind, he might have wondered at the magic that crackled along his skin, amazed at being able to see the heat more than feel it - but he was not, and all he saw was the promise of death that lay in the scripture of Seiros.

It was not at the church's behest that he was making his way into this valley - indeed, he suspected that they might have objected to his finding the remains of these so-called corrupt maidens, at giving them a proper rest as was their due. Regardless, he had found a companion of a most unusual sort - familiar, in no small part, due to the wings that came from her back, but also in the calming manner she diffused into the air, as if it were effortless.

Familiar facial features. He tried to convince himself that he wasn't merely being biased, but the wings were rather a tip-off, weren't they?

"Ah…" He cleared his throat to get her attention, having discovered along their journey here that she did not speak the language of Fodlan particularly well - if at all? Reticent, if so - and certainly none of the languages of Elibe. He jerked his head in the direction of their destination, and inclined his head.

Ready?

whenever heaven's doors are shut

#in character #thread: whenever heaven's doors are shut (faith +1) #interaction: serenegaldr

[peerlessscowl]

under an expanse of stars

swordmaster mastery; word count 811

It was as though a vacuum had formed in the town square, the simultaneous draw and repel of whispers swirling around a single point. 

'What is he doing here? Doesn't he know that his kind isn't welcome here?' 

'Don't be unkind, those people don't have many civilized places that they can go nowadays.' 

'Well it doesn't mean we want him here. See that blade on his hip? That one's a mercenary, making dirty money no doubt.' 

Raymond peered around his mother's broad shoulders, leaning back to see – he was almost grown, almost the same height as she but not nearly eclipsing her just yet, but if he craned his neck he could just barely see the flick of long, dark hair and the edge of a robe, patterned and embroidered at the edges, somehow at once vibrant and drab. 

'Don't stare, Raymond.' 

He stiffened, snapping straighter at the chastisement in spite of his curiosity. It was not every day that one saw an Eastern swordsman in the markets of central Lycia, and rarer still that Raymond would have had the opportunity to lay eyes on one, sequestered in the halls of Tintagel and the surrounding villages as he was. 

Their myth preceded them, even in the most unkind lights – the flash of a blade in the dark, the speed of their strikes trampling the stoutest foe like so many hoofbeats before they wandered off into the setting sun. That was how he'd heard it told, anyhow, and to see one in the flesh was exciting, despite that the landed gentry of his father's march did not seem to favor them as much as he did. 

It did not occur to him until much later – far too late for it to matter, he supposed – why it had been so inappropriate, even in his curiosity, to watch the swordsman in the market. Even with the dark whispers that he might have been a mercenary, there was something further lingering, and it didn't strike him until his service to the Lady Caelin, a Sacaean herself, and a legend made flesh, the prodigal star in Marquess Hausen's dimming sky. 

There were rumors, rumblings and whispers around every corner, at how she had rounded up her own band of mercenaries, how she had stormed the castle to seize it from its rightful owner, but the girl before him scarcely seemed the type, too forthright to brook the underhandedness that came with being a Lycian noble. 

They were alike in that way – more alike than she surrounded by these courtiers, more alike than he surrounded by the rough men who merely sought the coin they thought Caelin might have had. 

It was merely a matter of time before they crossed blades, before he got to see the spirit of Sacae in full form before him – she tore through sparring partners as a hot knife through butter with her skill, her technique, and that foreign blade of hers. 

"I guess I just consider it an extension of my arm," Lady Caelin had said thoughtfully once, with a grin and an unself-conscious laugh as she held out her hand, palm out, as though inspecting it. 

He could not say that he agreed, necessarily. A sword was a tool, no more a part of him than the armor he clipped on in the morning and stripped off in the evening, and to consider his weapon an extension of himself threatened to leave him in a precarious position. It was easier for Lady Caelin, he supposed, to have a blade that called for its other half in her soul, but he could not afford to be so sentimental. 

But there were times when she moved, the spins around him that forced him to jerk the scabbard from his belt to hard block, to parry, then drive her back with his greater bulk – that he could see it. He could see the flow of movement, not merely from the points of force in her arm, but with the turn and bend of her entire body, and he could see the ripple and flash of her blade that followed, as easily as she breathed. 

It wasn't envy that he felt – if he watched for long enough, clashed blades with her over and over, it was something he could emulate, if not embody the spirit of. 

He saw more of Lady Caelin's ilk as he traveled, allegiance shifting from company to company, the same dark hair and embroidered robe he had seen all those years ago, though it didn't occur to him to ask if it had been the same swordsman, didn't think that it would have made a difference. 

Gravitated toward him in the end all the same, his greeting merely a nod, and an extended hand. 

"Come on. Let's spar. I don't think these idiots could match you if you were asleep." 

#in character #drabble: under an expanse of stars #mastery: swordmaster #this one goes out to lyn my bestie lyn

[peerlessscowl]

House Riegan has long benefitted from holding lands and seas alike blessed with plenty and its manufacturers and traders are the cream of the crop when it comes to the Alliance. Its only weakness lies in its lack of mineral resources but no more! Recent sightings unearth a mine never before excavated. Quickly, the duchy moves to investigate it for if there might be anything of worth to fully cement it as unbeatable compared to all the other Alliance territories. However, it proves to be in a dangerous spot, leaving all curious onlookers to be unable to even get close as the company in charge of searching it blocks off all parties not hired for the mission. Perhaps the promise of something new and exciting tantalizes you to try and sneak past them anyhow, or could it be that you are concerned for the miners’ sakes? Could this sudden mine be too good to be true? Only one way to find out… [Grants Axe +1]  (starter for @justicefanged)

Raven couldn't believe this shit. 

As they had ridden into Leicester territory, he had lapsed into stony silence, but his mind churned with frustration at the situation. He had been willing to take the commission, of course he had, and had consented to tagging along on the monastery's behest with one of the Golden Deer professors to lend the job some credence and a friendly face. 

Too friendly for his liking. Even after everything that happened, after all of their strange relationship's ups and downs, it still baffled him wholly that here he was, less than a week after the Battle of Eagle and Lion, and he and Linus Reed were once more primed to enter into a mine together. 

At least this time they weren't small. It was the only grace the saints had allowed him. That, and he still had his weapon. 

Their guides led them through the quarry, long thought depleted of resources, and to the mouth of the mine before wishing them the best of luck. Raven dismounted the horse he'd been given for the trip, and cautiously approached the entrance, a yawning hole of black gaping at him innocently from the earth. Gently, he toed a stone into the void, and listened at the clacks it made on the way down before the final clatter at the bottom. 

"Too steep to simply climb. We'll have to rappel." Raven hesitated, turning back to the Reed with a hand on his hip. "Seems a larger space this time. Will you be all right?" 

Welcome Back to the Reed Torment Nexus Idiot

#in character #thread: welcome back to the reed torment nexus idiot (axe +1) #interaction: justicefanged #if raven had a nickel for every time he was trapped in a mine with linus during an april board for an axe point #he'd have two nickels

[peerlessscowl]

The rat orchestra from last year’s Ethereal ball is apparently back and looking for work again. That’s the only explanation you can think of, anyway, when you start hearing rumors about rodents gathering in some out-of-the-way alley in town to play music on instruments stolen from the monastery. At the same time, a second rumor has started up: students have reported hearing a long C-sharp before going to bed at night, only to discover the next morning that one of their classmates has gone missing! That’s three in the span of a week so far. Are these things related? The Knights won’t get involved and the monastery staff appears unbothered, so you decide to take these matters into your own hands. [Grants Sword +1]  (starter for @pheraed)

There was a part of him that hoped that the humiliating events of last year's Ethereal Ball had all been just another in the long line of bizarre dreams that this place seemed to subject him to. Shared dreams, to be sure, but dreams nevertheless, baseless in reality, and something that could – if he put the effort in – be forgotten. 

But upon hearing of the stolen instruments, the backalley performances, and the missing students, Raven understood that the gods cared little for his wishes. 

To be clear, he remembered the rat-and-bug band, but he was not investigating on rumors of them alone. Nor could he admit he cared in particular about the instruments taken from the monastery – would the rats have been able to lift even the smallest flute on their own? No, he was more interested in the missing people, for he knew where the priorities lay. 

He was able to gather intel from a list of those close to the missing, and to track their last known whereabouts to the centre of town, called by mundane errands or romantic rendez-vous alike – it was almost comfortable, how normal the job was, once he forced himself to dismiss the rat band. 

"Ah." His eyes found, even in the dark, that flaming head of hair. Cocking his head he approached, and after a pause, extended his hand to shake in greeting. "Pherae. Of course you're looking for the missing as well, aren't you." 

Um. Squeak Squeaker Squeakem. If You Even Care.

#in character #thread: squeak squeaker squeakem (sword +1) #interaction: phreaed

[peerlessscowl]

—  CUPCAKE DECORATING  ╱  

Altena frowns as she heaps another glob of icing on top of her cupcake. She had been trying to make it look nice but she might have gone a little overboard with her indecision on what to put on it. Pretzels, candies, sprinkles, a little bit of everything available. And now it's kind of a hot mess.

"It looks terrible." She holds it up for Raven to see with a laugh. "But I guess what matters is that it tastes good, right?" She takes a bite and her face instantly scrunches up in her displeasure. "Nope. Way too sweet."

It was rare to see Altena laugh, Raven realized as she turned to present the fruits of her labor. He hadn't seen her do so in the dollhouse where they'd been kept captive, nor during their training exercise, nor when they exercised the pegasi from the stables after the snow, nor during battle.

It occurred to him that perhaps the only time had been the moments he'd seen her with that idiot Linus.

Somehow the realization brought a prickling sensation to his chest, a strange comfort that he hadn't felt in such a long time that he almost didn't realize what it was.

He hesitated before his gaze softened, and he reached for his own cupcake, pausing with some deliberation before making his own decorative decisions: a smile pipe of meringue, a dash of crystal sprinkles, and a few choice raspberries.

"You might have used too many. Maybe if - "

He took a hesitant bite. The flavor was good, but ultimately...

A sigh. "I suppose the nature of desserts is that they're sweet."

#in character #toaboel2024 #gdpride2024 #interaction: luminousrider #sorry this got emotional i guess raven's just feeling A Way lately