closed starter for @princemordecai
location: in PRIVATE
note: uwu
Agron had been failing at quite a lot lately. He had failed in preventing Valerius' escape. He had failed in gaining Ankhuria's aid. He had failed in protecting Kuno. There was no person harder on Agron than himself. However, he knew that thinking the way that he was was not going to help the situation. It was not going to help them win any battle that may be thrown their way. All it would do was weaken him. A strong body meant nothing without a strong mind. And his mind had been quite rattled lately.
He waited for Leander to walk fully into the room before saying anything. "Still feels like he's in my head." There was a beat of silence before he fully continued. "You might have to interrogate me next." It came out as Agron attempting a joke, the only way of noticing being the small uptick of the corner of his mouth. He didn't let it sit for long though. "Have you found anything from anyone?"
This little display had gotten tired and while Alrik's arms were content to swing until they gave out, he wanted to win.
The mirth faded from Alrik's features as the hidden one's candor bubbled up to the surface. It lacked the humor and the performative leisure of the witch's typical facade as he swung his hammer in a wide arc, hitting one of the competitors with enough force to send their head ringing for days. Crushing their skulls would've been easy, but that wasn't in the spirit of good competition.
Alrik's markings crackled as his spirit threaded through each, weaving about them as the inherent magic he'd embedded from the pattern sang to life. Overhead the clouds darkened as, out of nowhere, the sky began to broil with contempt. When Alrik swung his hammer down next it brought with it a wrathful eruption of lightning, tearing apart the ground and leaving what was left of the opposing forces crying out in pain.
The runes dimmed as the ground smoldered while steam rose in tandem from the ground beneath them. In the end, the challenge wasn't much of one. "This guild is weak." It did nothing to quell his opinions of the soft-bellied Lysarans. He'd done this to test his skills but would've had a better challenge rounding up chickens.
Hammer stowed, he waited now to collect his reward.
Of course these Iskarans were always so quick to judge. These were...well, they weren't exactly Blademasters yet so Agron wouldn't really say that they should've made a better showing. Actually, yes, he would. It was almost pitiful how bad they had been at this, but he would only let his disappointment show the slightest amount by look alone. This was just practice. Sparring. The sparring didn't do anything but help him further confirm that he was the Queensguard for a reason, but it was still sparring nonetheless.
Heron-marked blade now stowed at his side, he tilted his head in thanks towards their opponents and then looked towards Alrik. "Your gold should be in the hall. I'll be sure to get you better opponents next time." He side-eyed the other guild members before taking his leave.
Leander thought about the last conversation that the two of them had when Akanis and Ingrid returned with the story of being chosen by a phoenix. Heroes. It'd be funny if it wasn't so downright sad but for a minute there Leander had glimpsed a future where all this fighting was behind him. He'd known enough heroes in his time to know how they ended up, six feet under or drowning in suits of armor in a muddle of mud. Whatever that made him feel, Leander just stuffed it down. The city was still in chaos, the darkspawn were emerging to the South, Aventia was lost, and Blight was steadily working its way across the country.
He didn't have time to mourn but by now Leander was sure that if he stopped to weigh every life he'd lost then it'd bury him so deep there'd be no climbing his way back out. Akanis, Dior, and Agron all lost their heads, but the Students couldn't save them all. His soul was too tired to reclaim,' one of the Sitters himself had tried and came back with nothing but a meek excuse. Agron had opened his eyes again and Leander hadn't needed to see him to know that wasn't enough.
Agron's thoughts were loud, while Leander couldn't know what was running through his lover's mind, he could feel them writhing around in there. Chaotic, disturbed, and sharp. Each one came with a row of tears and deep within the Tower, Agron was hemorrhaging.
"Thought I might find you here."
It had started before Leander had felt Agron begin to pass, there was discord then - something that Leander couldn't help with while the entire city was going to shit. Something had dug its claws into Agron though, the Red Knight might not have shown it but he'd been shaken, bad.
"You know I'm not good at this- I don't know what to say to you," Leander admitted, his hand finding Agron's shoulder and then his neck as he looked for the strigoi's eyes. "but I'm here for you whether you want to talk or not."
Talking was not what Agron did. He wasn't the type to sit around and tell people about his life if they so much as asked him how he was. The only reason he had done so with Leander was because...well, it was Leander. He had no other explanation than that. Talking required him to express just how conflicted he was about everything. It reached into his dead heart and pulled out something he was always trying to push down. It hurt more than he cared to admit.
Still, here he was on the floor as if being in here would fix the war inside of his own mind. He had been clawing at some sort of clarity as to how to fix it, but he was just left empty. There was no fixing what had transpired. There was no fixing his own mind. All he could do was keep moving on as if...could he really though? Could he really act as if nothing was wrong? His own blood on his hands proved otherwise.
Wiping at his face again, he stopped whatever had been falling from his eyes and looked up at Leander. The hand on his shoulder and then his neck brought him some sort of comfort that he hadn't realized he was missing at that very moment. The two of them were not talkers. Most of the time, it felt like they could communicate with their eyes alone. He feared this was not one of those moments. Agron was sure that the witch could assume what was wrong, but it would only take his own words to fully get the other to understand.
"He's in my head." It was like he could still hear Valerius now. The vampire was itching at the back of his brain and pulling out thoughts that Agron had left there long ago. Eyes closing, he shook his head. What he wanted to hear was not something he would ask for. Every part of him was screaming that Valerius was the only one that understood him and the only one that was not disappointed in him. That couldn't be true though. He just...couldn't ask for that to be said.
While he didn't like to admit, growing up without parents - without a father - left him feeling lost during times like this. Surely this mixture of pain and regret and disappointment was familiar to those with a family, but that was one of the many things he'd never had. How was he supposed to navigate a conversation he'd never been through before?
Orphans weren't uncommon in Lysara, but they all differed in how their loss had shaped them. Sometimes Kuno wished abandonment had made him heartless and unable to feel, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. It was because he'd been through the worst that he tried to see the best in people. It was because he had nothing that he wanted to give some people the world. And it was always those people that ended up leaving him, or betraying him, or dying. Maybe he was destined to be alone.
He'd been so consumed by his feeling of failure and inadequacy that he hadn't bothered to consider that Agron felt the same. It was hard to imagine the man failing anyone, let alone being worried over it. Kuno had apologized to Agron an immeasurable number of times over the smallest things - messing up a drill, speaking out of turn, putting an arrow through his chest during that strange vision. Now he knew what it felt like to be on the other side of those apologies, knowing they weren't necessary.
He didn't know what to say, so he sat down on the edge of Agron's cot, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists to keep them from shaking any further. The young man stared at the floor for a long moment as he weighed his response. "We made it out. And you being there wouldn't have changed the outcome of the mission, anyway. No offense." Kuno gulped as he looked to Agron finally, his eyes naturally flitting to the scar now wrapped around his neck. "H-how are you feeling?"
Of course he had expected Kuno to apologize. Honestly, he was surprised the bowman hadn't done it more than he had. Agron had expected about twenty apologies back to back and then maybe a tear or no direct eye contact for a half hour. That was how it normally went anyway. He had grown to know quite a lot about Kuno in the time they had known each other. He observed the other quite often because he simply wanted the best for him. It was what the human deserved. Honestly, Agron was happy that it had been him and not the other to get decapitated.
Then again, he was sure it was a traumatizing sight to see. Agron had seen much worse, done much worse, in his time as a strigoi. Kuno had not. Kuno was an innocent bystander, but he still survived. He still made it out and survived. It was more than he could say for himself. Maybe he would ask the other how it happened at some point, but he didn't want to open up a fresh wound so soon. There was a lot they needed to do and Agron was sure that he was not ready right now to get back into training the bowman quite yet.
"No offense taken." He patted the bed next to him for Kuno to sit down. Whether the other did or not was entirely up to him, but Agron started speaking anyway. "I'm fine." What else was he even supposed to say? He wasn't sure anything could really be said about the events that had occurred so he moved on to something else entirely. "Have you continued your training?"
with: @agrcn
when: a couple days after Agron is brought back
where: the Tower infirmary
notes: sorry not sorry
After Agron had been brought back to life, his body restored, Kuno stayed away. The Tower had plenty of work - far from the infirmary - to keep him busy, which he planned to use as an excuse if pushed. He hadn't handled Agron's death well in the moment and knew his mentor would be displeased with his emotional reaction, same as the rest of their group. And further, they'd failed to stop Orin, or save any of the missing individuals they'd come to free in the first place. They'd failed, all of them, but especially Kuno.
He passed Valerius's test, but that too felt like a mistake, despite how Agron tried to convince him otherwise. The notion of good people doing bad things to survive was of little consolation to the young man. Even if it was the image was fake, a mere illusion, pretending to be someone so malicious made his heart heavy and his stomach churn. And perhaps it had all been connected. Perhaps Agron's death had been his doing. If he'd been stronger, resisted the test and left Agron alive, he wouldn't have a jagged scar around his neck. That was what kept him away for so long, in the end.
But finally, after two sleepless nights, he dragged himself to the infirmary, his mentor's heron-marked blade in tow. It seemed the vision of Agron dying and Kuno claiming his sword had almost come true, after all, but the weapon didn't sit well in his hands. He wasn't worthy of such a blade. Just like Orin said, he was simply a boy who couldn't fight cultists or his own demons. He could barely keep his legs from shaking as he approached Agron's room.
He opened the door, eye glued to the floor. He inched forward slowly, step by step, until he stood beside his mentor's bed. Whether Agron was thrilled to see him or not, Kuno couldn't tell, for he refused to look at the strigoi's face. He grabbed the sword in two hands and held it out before him, arms trembling the same as his lips. He spoke quietly, his voice wavering, "Your sword. I saved it for you. It's the least I could do."
When he had taken on this mission, he hadn't really expected to have Kuno there, too. The bowman was a warrior just like the rest of them, but he had been concerned. Agron had never known what to do with concern like that because he had never really worried about anyone like that. From the moment they had even tried to gain information, he had the thought in his head. What if Kuno wasn't ready? What if he failed and the strigoi had to pick up the pieces? He would, but he didn't want to see that sad puppy look on the other's face if it came to that.
Unfortunately, he already had seen it. He saw it as soon as that stupid little test was over. An arrow to the heart. Agron had told Kuno that it was just a test. He had told him that whatever needed to happen would happen. One could not be clouded by emotion when there was a task to be accomplished. That was how he had always thought with every single task he was given. If emotion was attached to it, then it could lead to fatal consequences. Perhaps that was why Agron had ended up the way he had once they were down there. He had shown too much sentiment towards the kid and it had caused him to meet death a second time.
Agron hadn't expected Kuno to be able to get over that on the spot. It wasn't in the human's nature. As much as he told the other to not let himself be clouded by emotion, he knew it was like talking to a brick wall. The bowman didn't want to disappoint his wife. Agron wasn't sure if he could ever say that it was impossible for that to happen enough for Kuno to actually listen.
Nevertheless, when he had awoken, he had only hoped that the kid had actually made it back. His sword was gone and it felt like a part of his limb was gone, but here he was thinking about if Kuno fucking survived. A sentiment that he shouldn't have been thinking about right now. It would've been easier, too, if the other didn't come to visit him. As soon as he saw the other's face, he could have let out a sigh, but it was always unnecessary when he didn't need to breathe.
His gaze immediately fell to the sword in the bowman's hand. Then he looked up to Kuno's face. "Stop." He grabbed the sword from the human's shaking hands, his own running across the blade as if it was a part of him that was missing for the few days he had been awake. He looked at Kuno again. "I was supposed to be there. I'm sorry I..." His brows furrowed as he looked away. "I'm sorry I failed you."
closed starter for @princemordecai
location: the lab where valerius was hahahahahaha
note: uwu but make it sad
It felt like all he could hear was Valerius' voice in his head. From the moment he had stepped foot in that dreaded place, it had been consistent. Agron had always been reckless. He had placed his hands within that skull without a second thought because it was what was needed. Everything he ever did was because he thought it was necessary. How often was he putting his life on the line because it was something he thought he needed to do? That was why he was the Queensguard. He didn't mind dying if it meant he was protecting someone. But doing what he did that day felt like it had so much of a lasting impact on him that he couldn't shake it.
Valerius had escaped. Valerius was in his head. The vampire was his sire and, unfortunately for Agron, he had no choice but to feel indebted to the man he had once looked up to as a father. Maybe he still did to an extent. He couldn't quit thinking about how he was lucky. Akanis hadn't been as fortunate. He'd failed at protecting his fellow Queensguard. He would fail as a Queensguard. He would fail at being a mentor. He would fail at being a husband. He would just...fail. That was what he would have to come to terms with. What he couldn't figure out was if that was his own thoughts or Valerius in his mind hoping to get a grasp on him. Was Valerius the only person he could depend on?
How he had gotten to this lab was a blur to him. Valerius had been right there just a few weeks ago. Agron had seen him. He hadn't spoken to him, but he had seen him. Sword dragging behind him, he stopped in the middle of the room. 'Come to me, my Red Knight.'
There it was again. Maybe he was just hearing it now or maybe it was actually the vampire in his head. Either way, he wanted it gone. If he could find Valerius himself, then this would go away. He wasn't sure when he had closed his eyes, but he blinked them open and looked around. "You want me to find you. You..." He wiped at his eyes, blood staining his fingers. It was a sight he was all too familiar with. So much for being the hero that Leander had said people would call him. How could he ever be that when he didn't trust himself?
"Leander." He whispered the name as if it was some sort of prayer that would save him right now, but all he really wanted was for the man to find him. There needed to be a different voice in his head right now and he only hoped it was the one he needed the most.
Mentions: @princemordecai & @casimirnoctis & @kunokye
Trigger Warning(s): Death
The first time he had died, he had asked for death. Valerius had offered him a solution to his one and only problem. To anyone that would listen to him, his motivation for joining the Warrior’s Guild had been to prove himself, to prove that he wasn’t worthless. The Tower had told him that he was. The more he had used his magic after that, the more he had been convinced that it was true. But then he had picked up a sword and shield. It was his saving grace, the one good thing. Anger had still permeated his every thought, but he could forget about it for a moment or two when he sparred with the other warriors in the Guild.
But then there was Valerius. There was always Valerius. He’d found him at his best and worst, shown him a path that he hadn’t even thought possible. Why would he have ever said no to an offer like that? Valerius had shown himself to be nothing but proud of him. There were his tests, but every mentor had a test. Really, Agron had been eager to prove himself. He always had been.
Blood had been dropped into the basin. Then again. And again. And again. Over and over, Agron was tested. Loyalty to a man he considered a father was easy to give. He had been so damn eager. Strike down those Valerius asked him to and he would be worthy. He would be proud of him. Who else could say that? Who else could say that Valerius Noctis actually treasured them? That was what Agron thought at least. Valerius had never told him any different. If he didn’t want Agron there, it would be easy to dispose of him. It would have all been fine that night if he had just stayed at the vampire’s side. Instead, he had run into a dhampir.
Casimir. The heron mark on his blade had been placed there after years and years of hard work. Agron had put his blood, sweat and tears into his craft every single day. Valerius had noticed it with a single look. Agron had asked for death. He had wanted to become a strigoi. He had wanted to get his revenge on the Tower for all of the anger that they had placed within his heart, all of the hate. But then Casimir had to go and say that he was desecrating that heron mark. Everything he had worked so hard to accomplish, everything he had worked so hard to prove, could be gone. Instead of looking at him with respect, they would look at him with fear.
It was that thought that stayed with him that night. It was that thought that stayed with him as Valerius was captured before his eyes and then himself. Damodred had offered him a way out. She had offered him a new path.
Redemption.
It was easy for him to drop his blood into that basin again because he knew what to expect. He knew what Valerius wanted and he knew that only he could get it done. The first thought he had as the basin lapped up his blood and grabbed a hold of him was a simple one. If he died here, would Leander care? Would Kuno?
A test of faith was all this was though. As he had expected, he had accomplished what needed to be done. All he needed to do was find Valerius and put a stop to this all. But could he? Would he be able to strike when the moment came? This was his sire. He was indebted to the vampire. If Agron could breathe, he felt like he would have needed to take a single breath. His body felt lighter than ever, but his lungs felt empty.
The first time he had died, he asked for death. This time though? He hadn’t. It was his fault. He had trusted that they were not amongst anyone that would go against them. He hadn’t expected this and he should have. It had happened so fast. Kuno was right there. He had been right there. Agron had felt it happen before he could react. It almost felt painless. Was this what it had felt like before?
He hadn’t even told Leander that he loved him.
Then there was nothing. It was quiet. His soul had felt like it was slipping away.
Would Kuno feel like this was his fault? It wasn’t. He had done everything right. This was Agron’s fault. He was always reckless. He fought like he had nothing to lose. Except now he had everything to lose and Valerius had more of a hold on him than ever. He almost didn’t want to wake up. He didn’t want to…
The Tower was in shambles. They were all running around as if everything that could have gone wrong did. Wasn’t that what had happened though? Valerius had escaped. Agron’s eyes widened as he looked around.
He had died.
He had failed.
The Tower had been right. Agron, the Queensguard. Agron, the Red Knight of Lysara.
He had failed. The Tower would call him useless.
He had failed. The Warriors Guild would call him useless.
He had failed. Leander would call him useless.
He had failed. Kuno would call him useless.
He had failed.
'Come home to me, my Red Knight.'
Valerius didn't think he was useless. He never had.
Somehow, the Queen had taken the news better than Leander had thought. He'd wanted something small, a ceremony between himself and Agron with maybe one other person to stand witness. Ikaros was about as close to a friend that Leander had managed, others fell by the wayside or were victims of Leander's very particular candor. Most didn't enjoy it, the prince's resting bitch face matched his. Agron was the only one that Leander had failed to chase away, not that he'd ever want to, it was nice to just- yeah, it was nice. She was his mother, but Leander still had a hard time reading Arethusa: accepting or dismissive, most sons knew immediately when their mother approved or didn't approve of the match.
Apparently, Leander was staring at Agron again, he couldn't help it if he liked the way the back of his head looked though. It was a smart move getting the Queensguard to go to the same barber as him. "What look?" There was a look but he was always looking at Agron like that.
Perhaps Leander had been lost in his own thoughts as well. Arethusa was difficult to read at times. Then again, he wasn't going to say he was surprised by that fact. Leander was always difficult to read. No matter how much time they spent around each other, there had never been a time where Agron was absolutely sure that he had guessed correctly about what was going on in the witch's head. Perhaps it was the same for him though. The strigoi wasn't all that forthcoming with expressing himself. Or talking at all. Honestly, he preferred when he could let his actions speak as opposed to actually having to converse with someone. Actions like marrying the crowned Prince of Lysara. Which was why he was sitting here contemplating all of his life choices in the first place. He was definitely not filled with regret, but he was definitely curious as to why there was absolutely no pushback. Surely he hadn’t made that much of an impact in the lives of the Mordecai family for them to forgive him for anything and everything.
He guessed that was why he was drawn to Leander in the first place though. There was much less of a royal presence from the witch. Instead, he was just a man that wanted to prove something to those that thought that a prince was all he was. Agron even remembered now how Leander had damn near begged him not to call him ‘Prince’. Well, he thought it sounded like begging at least. It had really just been a request. Anyway, he sucked his teeth at the witch’s response and rolled his eyes. “You always give me a look. There’s two of them. One usually leads to less talking and the other is your resting face, but specifically the one around me. I won’t explain further what that means, but you’re doing the latter when I would prefer the former.” It would distract him, that was for damn sure.
who?: @agrcn
where?: the dream realm
when?: post hestia's cove
The dreamscape is simple, a place familiar to both of them. Except this version of the Tower was not current. The arrangement of the books and the various adornments match the way the Tower was a little over a century ago. Fharzai remembered it well but didn't weave this dream from his own memories. Agron studied here long ago back when he could count himself among the living. The strigoi had the opportunity to walk the aisles alone for a bit until Fharzai suddenly appeared beside him in step, looking around with wide eyes as if taking it all in for the first time.
"Have I ever said a kind word to you? I can't recall, though I know I've never said a kind word about you. You never caught my attention as a witch, so by the time I did notice you, there was much to mistrust," he shares aimlessly, making no real point quite yet. "I never took a balanced approach with you, Agron. I let my emotions get the better of me because your betrayal was an emotional ordeal, but that wasn't fair to you. I never took the time to consider your feelings, or why you felt you had to go to extremes. For that, I am truly, deeply sorry." Fharzai meant every word because he'd suffer a penalty if he didn’t. When it came to Agron, there was no choice but to reconsider his previous rejections of the other. Munin showed him as much. "Queen Damodred was one of my best friends, but the one thing we never saw eye to eye on was the subject of you. I never understood her intent in pardoning you, but I'm beginning to now. She didn't do it for you, she did it for us. And Lysara of course." It took Fharzai a long time to see it, but he got it now. He didn't possess his current level of wisdom back then, but now he was a fully realized Dunedain who accepted he'd spend the rest of his life returning the Wheel to its true state. That meant every wrong that came from Munin's interference needed to be corrected, including Fharzai's own. "Your penance didn't begin when you bent the knee before her, it'll begin now. In this Tower, with me."
Death would have been kinder. A second death. When he fell asleep, it seemed much easier to get away from everything that he hated about the place he was in. Which wasn’t much, but there was one person specifically that he couldn’t stand to be around. Fharzai had been a thorn in his side for longer than he could truly care to think about. He didn’t have to prove anything to the druid nor was he going to try. The people that mattered trusted him. Damodred. Arethusa. Leander. The Mordecai family had always trusted him from the moment each of them had met them. The latter moreso than the others. It would’ve been nicer to see Leander in his dreams than Fharzai, that was for damn sure.
“Damodred was my best friend, my only friend. Your thought that I must prove anything to you died when she did.” And he had never even thought he needed to do anything to gain acceptance from anyone else. The Queen had made her decision and it was up to her to decide who she let change her mind on the matter. If Fharzai couldn’t do it back then, he certainly couldn’t do it now. Now this damn druid was in his dreams, menacing him from where he couldn’t escape unless he woke up. “If you’ve nothing else to say, I can do without sleep today.”
Though Casimir was a dhampir and that lent itself to a sore lacking of true human emotions, the Shade genuinely blinked at Agron's question, then blinked some more. Of course, secretly, he was rooting for Agron, but Casimir was a touch surprised that he'd had the ability to truly go all the way and tether himself to someone in such way. Truly, Agron may as well have been born a dhampir with his horrid range of emotion, but it was apart of why Casimir was fond of him, despite, well, breaking out of whatever sire bond he'd had with Casimir's uncle, anyhow. "This is something I'm far more invested in," sorry Aventia; though Casimir's own skirmish with is mother had allowed him to find his own internal Voice, he wasn't going to simply defend any Lysaran city in need. "I've never been one at all, though I'd be honored to try," Striga was much like their mother and though she had married several times over the hundreds of years, his eldest sister wasn't one to have ever concocted a ceremony for it. Also, Casimir didn't really have many friends outside of those who were either traumatized by Veilcrest or simply traumatized in general, so Agron was really the only one who'd been granted the ideal of getting hitched.
Blinks. That was all that Casimir had given him in response. Agron almost debated if he should have told the dhampir at all. The only reason he had was because he was sure that the other would stay tight-lipped about it. How many friends did Casimir even have? If they hadn’t known each other in Veilcrest, he was sure that the two of them would’ve never even given each other a second glance. But they had. And now? Well, Agron had a lot to thank Casimir for. A man that had been blinded by hate had heard a few choice words from a man that had so much expected of him. That was all it had taken for Agron to look at the man differently. Casimir wasn’t just a normal friend for Agron. He was a brother, a cousin. Whatever they wanted to call it, they were family. “Good. If you had rejected it, I wouldn’t have spoken to you again.” Not that the strigoi even wanted anything traditional in the first place. A wedding seemed like…so much that he wanted no part of. It had to be quick and painless. The last thing he wanted was to stand there and tell Leander how he felt about him. It was disgusting. “Now tell me what’s going on with you.”
"I've never heard of you." Alrik had but the other's pride was more fun to play with. There was his sword, his ego, then not much else as far as the witch could tell. A deft swing of his hammer, another well-aimed blow, and another went down. Honestly, he'd expected the Guild to put on a better showing than this. Still, more rushed forward and Alrik met them with increased vigor.
His blood pumped through his veins as the witch's inherent rage fueled one blow after another. A breath in through gritted teeth, then out through his nostrils, calling out to the geezer again, "It takes quite a lot to become a blademaster in Iskaldrik," he thought about Alder and Jon, the former was a real hero - one that commanded both Alrik's respect and admiration. "are you still the warrior you once were?" The blademaster did indeed have an immense skill, but Alrik had a dislike for the undead and Lysara in general. Well, save perhaps for two particular druids.
“Everyone has heard of me.” It was hard not to. Agron had accomplished quite a bit, but he also had a reputation. He had nothing but time to gain accolades. However, that meant he had nothing but time to gain rumors about his character. Of course said rumors were warranted given his circumstances. He’d been given a second chance that didn’t need to be given to him. If Alrik had heard those instead of the accolades, he really wouldn’t have cared. They didn’t need to even have conversation about it, but he did know that the witch would’ve had to hear about him at some point whether he wanted to or not. The Red Knight of Lysara wasn’t a name that people just skipped on by without wondering about.
Nevertheless, they were here for a reason. As more of his guild members rolled in, he knocked them down over and over again. If Alrik wanted to pretend that he had never heard of him, then Agron would show him why he was given his name. Of course without any bloodshed. It would’ve had more of an impact if he was able to kill these men, but he didn’t really need to do all of that right now. “It takes quite a lot to become a blademaster anywhere.” He thought back on his own battle to get his heron mark. Agron could have ruined his standing that night with Valerius, but here he still stood.
He dodged a swing at him and then an arrow that flew past his head. With his shield, he pulled one of their opponents towards him before bashing them in the face. “Are you a warrior at all?” Iskarans were all talk most of the time. Whether Alrik fought well here made no difference if he wasn’t useful in a real fight with stakes. They’d never need to fight together again though. Maybe. If they did, at least he’d be able to work well with the other. “You talk too much, kid.”
stormborns
germansingergirl
