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somnianpcs:

a furrow creased his brow. tapping the side of his spoon against the edge of his stolen plate, he considered arkham’s words. failure meant giving up. had arkham given up ? ❛ well, ❜ håvard says, ❛ i suppose there’s a lot of that going around these days. ❜ it’s a small comfort, to speak like this. ❛ just last week bjorn came stomping into the guild knee deep covered in pig shit. you could smell his failure from here to the isles. ❜ his nose scrunches up at the rancid memory, but his smile can’t be wiped from his face. ❛ but, you wouldn’t have guessed it ––– next day he went right back out to try again, the mad bastard. ❜ this is said with more weight despite the shrug of a shoulder, the implication let go between them as if on a sigh.

A snort leaves him, exhale rough from his nose, at the mention of failure going around. He feels it all too keenly, though he hadn’t been there for bjorn’s unfortunate return. His nose crinkles at the thought of being covered to his knees in pig shit, but frankly, it wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to him. “He’s a stubborn bastard,” Arkham agrees, sullenness returning to him despite the quick uptick in his lips. His fingers curl around his drink, wishing the mead would cloud his head enough to not deal with it. He knows he can’t give up, but his legs feel like lead, and his breathing hasn’t felt right since the spider. “Somethin’s wrong with me this time, brother,” He confesses, lowering his voice for a semblance of privacy. “I don’t know what to do.”

#( havard lodbrok. )#( havard | npc. )#( thread. )#( plot drop: intermission. )#( ouch ! )

somnianpcs:

❛ your words, not mine, ❜ håvard says with a huff, taking the plate and fork in hand to scoop some of the leftovers into his mouth. when he sweeps his tongue over his lips to chase the flavor, he shrugs a shoulder. he’s certainly had worse. and he knows for a fact so has arkham. it worries him, to see his friend so––– pitiful ? it seems too harsh a word, but he knows nothing better for the wet – cat look of his brother. ❛ certainly sven’s cooking hasn’t made you so dismal. ❜ it’s an opening, a lifeline tossed to sea. he only hopes arkham takes hold of it.

“I’d have to have an appetite for sven’s cooking to make me lose it,” Arkham sighs, seeing the invitation for what it is. His thoughts shift to those he journeyed with, Aurelio, Dmitri. He’d come to see them as brothers too, ones he could trust for the most part, but it feels harder now that he’s home. If things had gone further awry he could’ve left the company, reputation be damned. But here? In front of his brother, who he helped train? His tongue presses to the roof of his mouth, the salt left behind from the meager portion he’d managed. “I failed Håvard. You would’ve been ashamed to see me out there.” He confesses. He cannot atone for a sin he’s not confessed, but his brother can’t grant him clemency, as much as he wants him to.

#( havard lodbrok. )#( havard | npc. )#( thread. )#( plot drop: intermission. )

@somnianpcs

Arkham thought he would be happier to arrive back in Caer Crye, but he wasn’t. He was coming home having failed his mission, nursing a weaker ankle than he cared to admit, and harboring too much guilt for one man to swallow. Still, it was better to be home than wandering aimlessly around the world, hoping to find clarity in what? Women? Hunting beasts? Mead? Nothing seemed favorable.

He slumped in the chair, the noise around him not giving him pause. It was a familiar hum of conversation and laughter that usually lifted his spirits, but it did no such thing today. He needed to honor Dmitri, but every time he tried to begin, it felt off. A month and a half back home and he’d still been utterly useless. His arms were steadier though, footwork better, from spending nearly every morning in the training yard beyond what was expected of him. His eyes flicked up, taking in the sight of his brother.

“If you’re here to accuse me of moping, you’re damn well right.” He sighed, pushing his fork around the slightly charred meat on his plate. His nose turned up at it, not because he was too good for charred meat, but because he’d lost his appetite altogether. He pushed the plate and fork toward Havard in slightly offering.

#( havard lodbrok. )#( havard | npc. )#( thread. )#( closed starter. )#( plot drop: intermission. )

aurelio-amoranth:

It is interesting, seeing the party’s various reaction to Arkham’s rash action. Aurelio’s feeling somewhat Zen about it – it happened, there were consequences, it’s time to deal with those consequences instead of looking back. He (mostly) understands why Arkham did it.

“Is cruelty the most accurate word for it?” he hums thoughtfully, keeping his eyes on the road. “I would have said… resigned, perhaps.”

Arkham frowns, nostrils flaring at the question. “Cruelty is accurate. Did you see the fucking spiders, or was I the only one privy to that special brand of hell?” He snaps, before wincing some. Aurelio is not his enemy, if anything, he’s been one that has been most understanding the entire time. His eyes shift downward, shame filling him. Aurelio is his brother in arms now, as true as any man of the Guild. “Resigned to what, though? What does he hope to achieve, splitting the world in two?”

#( aurelio amoranth. )#( aurelio | two. )#( thread. )#( plot drop: dream or nightmare? )

Arkham’s jaw twitches, noting the book drifting past him out of the corner of his eyes. He knows the others are angry with him, that his rash decision has led to this, but he does not regret stabbing the son of a bitch, and given the opportunity, he’d do it again. His arms cross over his chest, steps cautious, not wanting to fall. “He would’ve done this anyway,” Arkham insists, frowning, “Look around, think about the spiders,” he winces, the image of the spiders spiraling toward his face rushing to the forefront of his mind before he lifts one hand, wiping over his eyes to try to shake it, “He’s cruel, he would’ve done this anyway.”

#( open to anyone ! i thought we could use a short open ! )#( plot drop: dream or nightmare? )#somnia.start

@archerlangley

Guilt gnawed at Arkham’s stomach, no matter how he tried to squash it down with the food in his bowl or the mead sloshing around his cup. Cursing under his breath, he shoved the dishes aside, murmuring his gratitude to the gentleman housing him. He ducked out of the house, heading the short distance to the lodgings where Archer was recovering. He knew full well that his companion wouldn’t be pleased with him, to put it mildly, but until he at least attempted to address his guilt, he’d be riddled with it.

He ducked into the house, hesitating before he pulled a wooden stool up, scraping it across the floorboards before plopping down onto it. Archer looked like shit, but he imagined that would be true for anyone. He had looked like shit after the spider, after all. Swallowing, he began, voice low and rumbly, “I shouldn’t have been so angry, or so useless. I’m sorry you were bitten by the basilisk.” He confessed, shame filling him, rounding his posture. His eyes were dark underneath, sleeplessness plaguing him. Too many ghosts.

#( closed starter. )#( archer langley. )#( archer | four. )#( thread. )#( plot drop: into the unknown. )

@marlixblacklore

It had been some time since he had checked in with Marli, and he felt bad. When they’d last truly talked, they’d been in the garden, and she’d been upset. He’d done fuck all to make it better though. Arkham approached, eyes softening around the edges. “Hey, you don’t look ready to kill anyone today,” he began, lips twitching upward into an unsure smile. “You’re not mad at me?” He asked, hoping she wouldn’t be. He hadn’t exactly been the warmest friend lately, and he’d come to recognize Marli needed a more gentle friendship than what he could normally offer.

#( marli blacklore. )#( marli | three. )#( plot drop: the road to nowhere. )#( closed starter. )#( thread. )

@hirakotak

The idea of going searching for Grayson is intimidating, for the sheer fact that he doesn’t know where the hell to start. If Resh lost his trail, then what hope did they have? And yet, Arkham knew he’d couldn’t pick going after the damned book over Grayson. He had some experience in tracking, just born from necessity with his work, but he’d never tracked anyone in the wastes like this. Time was ticking, though, and he’d only needed to take one look at Archer to recognize they needed to make the right decision, or Archer would make it for them. On his own, if need be. He could respect that, even if he found himself avoiding the older Langley brother.

Crossing their impromptu camp, he sought out Hira instead. Hira had kept them together before, maybe he had some brilliant bullshit to spew now. A man could hope, right? “I wanna make my vote clear. We’re wasting time, we should go after Grayson, before there’s no hope at all of picking up a trail again.” Not that he was convinced that chance wasn’t already gone, but details were the devil and he still felt they needed to get moving.

#( hira kotak. )#( thread. )#( hira | two. )#( closed starter. )#( plot drop: get the hell out of dodge. )

graysonlangley‌:

@arkhamryder

It’s easy enough to get Arkham alone.

Walking through no man’s land, they’re not clumped together too tight. Some of them have paired off to idly chat as they walk, some hovering together for mutual support. All Grayson had to do was wait until Arkham was a little bit behind everyone, and wait. As much as he wants to, he doesn’t immediately start swinging.

“Talk,” Reshdva tells him, a low snarl in her voice that’s reflected on Grayson’s expression.

It’s probably good that she made the opening statement. Grayson’s version would have included more cursing.

“You killed Dubois,” Grayson fills in. “And you, what, figured you’d let the nearest sucker take the fall? Or did you pick me to frame?” He doesn’t know which option makes him angrier. And what’s worse? He’d liked this guy. He’d found him interesting. Reliable. Trustworthy. And Grayson Langley doesn’t fucking trust easy.

He knew it was coming. Of course he did. That doesn’t stop the shame from glossing over his eyes, the guilt revolting in his stomach. He can taste bile on his tongue, has to swallow to force it back as he sets his teeth together, willing the frustrations to fade. Grayson has every right to be angry, but he doesn’t understand, he doesn’t know the truth of it all.

Not that the truth is any prettier than the half-truths he’s been sharing. “No.” He grumbles, frowning. “I didn’t pick anyone. Lady Dubois arranged her husband’s murder because she’s a petty and manipulative bitch. I trusted her and I should not have.” He confesses, that part easier than the rest of the story. He looks over at him, risking a glance, before looking straight ahead again. “To my knowledge at the time, Lord Dubois was a cruel and challenging husband, evil, corrupt, and abusive. I had wanted to help.” He continues, not finding it at all easy to talk about this. He doesn’t want to.

“I never meant for anyone to be arrested, I didn’t even know who you were. I only meant to leave, before I could get arrested myself. I–––” he pauses, the lump in his throat growing, his voice quieter. “I did not wish to die. But then I learned the truth, and it was too late.” It wasn’t, not fully, he knew that. He should have come forward, but he was a coward, and still is. “I let you take the blame, because I could not face the consequences of my failure. I cannot say more. I will not apologize, it will not set right what has happened.” He adds, not meaning that he does not feel guilty, but rather that he doesn’t feel he can apologize for something so severe.

#( grayson langley. )#( grayson | three. )#( thread. )#( plot drop: the road to nowhere. )

dmiitris‌:

it was all too easy to connect the dots. the nature of mankind cannot hide away for too long, and dmitri wonders if arkham’s valiant efforts to keep the company safe will outgrow the betrayal grayson must feel for nearly being killed because of the man.

it’s all very dramatic, and dmitri supposes that it helps both of them that he was the one in the room with them and lady dubois.

maybe, maybe not.

the safety of anything in dmitri’s hands is always uncertain. dmitri knows that everyone is capable of truly ugly things. he doesn’t hide from it. he is acquainted with that darkness, and pretending to be shocked by it like the rest of society is human hypocrisy at its best display.

that darkness comes as much from within him as it was absorbed from outside sources when he was a child. some would say he had no choice, but dmitri knows that he has a choice now. if he didn’t, he’d still be frothing at the mouth for that kind of control.

still, “ are you going be brooding behind for the rest of the trip ? ” dmitri’s best trait is also his worst trait: his opinion of arkham has barely changed, so he’ll still find it within himself to provide some level of normalcy. in dmitri’s case— which is unfortunate for arkham— all he knows is how to be a prick. @arkhamryder

brooding. arkham hardly thinks he’s brooding, yet he cannot deny that he’s been more sullen than normal since that horrid night with lady dubois. it wasn’t just the betrayal she spoke of against grayson that troubled him. he had loved her once, deeply, unconditionally, and now the sight of her made his stomach turn sour. he presses his lips together, tongue pressing to the roof of his mouth just behind his teeth as he listens to dmitri. he doesn’t know if he can trust him, or anyone, to keep quiet, though grayson really has no reason to keep it to himself, but he is grateful for dmitri’s knowledge over archer’s.

not that he’s particularly happy with either brother, at the moment. “are you going to be a prick for the rest of the trip?” he huffs at last, the come back lame at best. “i’ve got more on my mind than bullshit stirred up from the past. i don’t need your commentary, dmitri.” he sighs, pressing ever onward, the idea of venturing to no man’s land particularly frightening. he doesn’t want to die. his mind screams it at him, won’t let him have a moment’s rest away from it. he doesn’t want to die.

#( dmitri isak bastald. )#( dmitri | two. )#( thread. )#( plot drop: the road to nowhere. )

marlixblacklore‌:

while marli had been happy to remove the mask from her face, it now left her tear-streaked face open for arkham to see. although it seemed little use to lie to him when he seemed very aware of how she was feeling. “i am afraid you won’t want to confront who it is if i tell you.” she said wiping the tears away with her hands. maybe all of this would seem frivolous to someone like arkham, she had no idea. “and i fear you will think it is stupid or foolish or something. and i cannot handle you thinking that way of me right now.”

arkham’s frown grew, suspicion rising in his chest at her comment. why wouldn’t he want to confront whoever had made her cry? it meant he wouldn’t be happy about whoever it was. “i won’t think that, if somethin’ is hurtin’ you marli, that’s not stupid or foolish.” he insisted, moving to sit down beside her, seeing the tear tracks on her cheeks. he wanted to help, but he didn’t know her well enough, and he’d never been particularly great at it even with his younger sisters. “c’mon, talk to me, i won’t say a word, i’ll just listen.” he offered, hoping that might be better.

#( marli | two. )#( marli blacklore. )#( plot: up above. )#( thread. )

@marlixblacklore

He hadn’t born witness to what caused the tears, but Arkham had surely seen them, glistening on Marli’s cheeks, hastily hidden, as the young heiress fled the room. Concern etched across his brows, obscured just slightly by the plain black mask resting on his cheekbones. He excused himself at once, hurrying toward the door, the fresh night air cooling, soothing him in a way he hadn’t realized he needed. “Marli?” He called, frowning, steps quickening. “Marli? What happened? Who do I need to confront?” He demanded, protective and angry that someone could have hurt her.

#( marli blacklore. )#( marli | two. )#( plot: up above. )#( thread. )#( closed starter. )

lynessaspyre‌:

𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐄 a rock in a sea of swirling colour, gaudy dresses & garish masks twirling past ahead as they dance, smiles looking more like bared teeth than anything friendly. her own dress clings to her skin, uncomfortable in the way it highlights areas of her body she’s never cared to accentuate before. it made her feel VULNERABLE, her only saving grace the raven dagger tied tightly around thigh & secreted beneath fabric’s waves ; she may have had to have ( reluctantly ) parted from her belongings for the duration of the ball, but she would not be leaving her only weapon behind.

observing from the sidelines, ness watches from beneath lace mask, a flute inlaid with gold held in one hand more for decoration than the pleasure of drinking. the night had just begun, & she wanted to be anywhere else.

there was something to be cherished about the quiet. there was very little to be found in the palace halls, the music encouraging continued dancing and celebration, the buzz of conversation, no doubt trades in gossip and rumor, compliments given without any regard for sincerity, and the constant interruption of a gasp or squeal or too-loud laughter, did little to provide arkham with what he desired. he moved toward the edges, hoping removing himself from the center of the chaos would help, his eyes scanning the room for both ghosts and opportunities to fulfill this mission and be done with it.

he looked for threats, too.

something ugly and long forgotten welled inside his chest, reminding him of the last time he stood in this forsaken city. his lips downturned further, refusing once more to look to the corners, to follow the flashes of red he was certain he had caught in the corner of his eyes. he refused to acknowledge the scent wafting through the palace, certain it was nothing more than another trick of his apparitions. distracted, he almost glanced over the woman standing alone, but the glint of gold, caught in the light, illuminated her lace mask, and drew arkham toward her. she was even less familiar to him than aurelio, but he sought to change that. “you look upset,” he commented, frown never leaving his lips as he settled beside her, arms crossing over his chest, hating the way his sleeves tightened in the process. these were not clothes suited to flexibility and free range.

#( lynessa spyre. )#( lynessa | one. )#( thread. )#( plot: up above. )

aurelio-amoranth‌:

Aurelio’s not familiar with the death rites of Caer Crye, but it’s enough to know that Vardan was laid to rest in a respectful manner, whatever manner that may be. He doesn’t ascribe to any particular belief system.

“Of course I named them. I hardly could have referred to them by number,” he says dryly, an edge of wistfulness in his tone. “Vardan was the best runner in the pack. Your ritual honored him as he deserved.”

The question makes him blink, quirking an eyebrow upward. Apparently he doesn’t look quite as feral as he feels, if Arkham thinks there’s a possibility of him ever having been in a place like this. “No. I’ve never been anywhere close to it. Not even Below. You have?”

Arkham’s lip twitches in amusement, and subsequently, approval, at Aurelio’s response. Of course he named them. He should have seen that coming, but it serves to heighten the respect he holds for Aurelio, even if he is not yet sure of the newcomer to the company. Speaking of the death rites, of traditions of Caer Crye, makes his chest tighten once more, reminding him that he’s left home again after staying for such a short time. The smile fades as quickly as it appeared. “I promise you that,” he agrees, “My people honor the dead. It does not fill me with joy to take lives, but sometimes it is a necessity. I hope you can understand.” he adds, not wishing to anger Aurelio, who clearly took a liking to Vardan.

At the bemusement, he laughs, “Aye, for work.” he explains, “I’ve escorted nobility, though frankly most of the time the monsters they were frightened of on the journey were waiting for them in the halls.” he sighs, fighting to keep his eyes from flicking to the corner of the room, where a glimpse of red has caught his eyes. Ghosts. That’s all they were. He wets his lips, “You know those woods well. Were you born there?”

#( aurelio amoranth. )#( aurelio | one. )#( thread. )#( plot: up above. )

aurelio-amoranth‌:

@arkhamryder

There are precisely three people in this party that Aurelio likes. Marli, because of her clear skill at hunting. Zelda, because she seems smarter than the rest of them. And Arkham.

He doesn’t know much about the man, but he knows all he needs to – everything Arkham had shown in his treatment of the wolves. Though Aurelio doesn’t know exactly what Arkham had done with the one he had carried away, he feels safe in assuming the wolf was treated with the highest respect. And that tells him everything he needs to know about Arkham.

“I wanted to thank you.” It’s like Aurelio appears from fucking nowhere, popping into existence at Arkham’s left shoulder. “I didn’t get the chance before now. What did you do with Vardan’s body?” He should probably clarify, of course Arkham won’t know what he’d named the wolves. “The wolf you carried.”

Arkham turns, his blinking the only indication that he is startle by Aurelio’s sudden appearance. He wets his lip, eyes flicking over his frame as he waits, listens for the reason behind the gratitude because frankly Arkham hasn’t a clue what Aurelio would be thanking him for. He’d been largely useless in the situation with the wolves, and though they’d been successful in earning Master Casey’s promise, he doesn’t feel his contributions were enough.

The clarification softens him, eyes less sharp, creasing around the edges to reveal his age. “You named them,” he comments, finding he’s not surprised. “Vardan was taken back to the edges of Caer Crye. I laid him to rest, committing his soul from life to death, as is the way of my people.” He explains, having followed the Guild’s code for such things. “I would have liked to carry all the wolves, but I spoke blessings to them at the same time as I spoke to Vardan.” He adds. “It is the right thing to do, no gratitude is necessary.” His words are barely his own, though he believes them, they were taught to him a hundredfold by elder members of the Guild in his youth. No gratitude is necessary, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t appreciated. “It is odd to be back in a place like this.” He sighs, shifting, playing with the cuffs at his wrists. “Have you been Above before, Aurelio?”

#( aurelio amoranth. )#( aurelio | one. )#( thread. )#( plot: up above. )

adri-isuelt‌:

“thank you.” the magician meant the words. it was at least nice to know that he did not take her for a complete liar or evil or whatever nonsense that saying seemed to spread about her.

“i mean no disrespect to you or master casey but a decision that is made without giving much of an explanation can be hard to swallow. especially when i am given no chance to even prove myself.” sighing she shook her head, “suppose no point in talking about it further since like you said nothing can be done.” still a sense of bitterness or at least unpleasantness was still lingering within, but she wished not to argue anymore.

i’ve not abandoned you. the words stung at a part deep in the back of her mind. a worry or fear she had not thought about in a long time. thoughts that brought back up memories of watching the horses her parents rode disappearing into the horizon. “i do not like to be abandoned.” her words were simple but she hoped the meaning behind them could reach him. could explain some of how she felt to be left outside a building, watching the doors close in her face knowing the rest of the group was right there.

a slight hint of a smile was on her face for only a moment as he moved the food closer towards her. picking up a piece of bread from the bunch she broke it in half to share. “well then we will eat and drink and enjoy ourselves before we go and face whatever it is in those woods.

arkham’s frown never left, even as he took the bread offered to him, chewing it slowly. he swallowed it down with a shrug, eyes downcast. he didn’t like that she was upset, but what could be done about it? his focus needed to be on the woods, on the task at hand, but there was a part of him, a small, childish part, that wasn’t ready for the next day. he wasn’t ready to leave caer crye again, not so soon.

–––––––– time jump: post event ––––––––

his arm, still tender, was covered largely by the sleeve of a fresh shirt. he’d lugged the wolf corpse back to caer crye, to the edge of the forest, where he laid it to rest, but still arkham felt as if his tasks were yet unfinished. he’d been returned his mare, had been gracious to master casey, but he couldn’t help but feel a lack of pride at his part in the journey to the wood. he didn’t yet know what to make of aurelio, but even that wasn’t the height of his thoughts.

no, instead his focus was on the mage. she’d healed him, and his brother in arms. his stomach, laden with guilt once more, continued to churn. at first, upon seeing her, he thought to go the other way, to avoid her altogether, but he couldn’t continue the cowardice, when he owed her further gratitude. he approached, tail between his legs, appalled mentally at how he’d not managed to slay the wolf, or help his companions further. “adri,” he greeted, tongue sweeping over his lips to wet them. “are you well?” he askedd, hoping she was.

#( uhh it won't let me add a gif?? im sorry???? )#( adri isuelt. )#( adri | one. )#( thread. )#( plot drop: shadow of the mountain )

graysonlangley‌:

Sometimes, Grayson wonders what his and Archer’s life would have been like if they’d grown up like Arkham had – with people, an extended loyal family. And he can’t imagine it, really. The concept is just so different than what they’d had, he can’t even even begin to picture him and Archer in that situation.

One thing was for sure: if they had, Grayson probably wouldn’t be walking around with a piece of his soul outside of his body.

He takes the blade offered, studying it. Grayson’s no expert with weapons, but even he can tell it’s well made, light and balanced. “Kind of? When we were kids, Archer and I played darts sometimes, but, uh. I was never that good at it. As you can probably tell.” Grayson takes the blade by the handle, squints in fierce concentration (and a muttered please hit the target, please hit the target) and lets it fly.

It hits the very outside edge of the target, and miraculously, stays there. “Oh shit,” Reshdva exclaims, enthused. “We did it! We’re not hopeless!”

Loud, hearty laughter leaves Arkham the moment the blade sticks on the edge of the target, and Reshdva speaks his very thoughts. “Not hopeless at all,” he agrees, lips twitching upward into a broad smile. For a moment, he’s able to forget the guilt that weighs him down every time he speaks to Grayson. It’s comfortable, watching him throw. “There’s work to be done, improvements to be made, but I think I can work with you,” he teases, coming over to offer a second blade, “how were you aiming?” he prompts, “with your feet, or your eyes?” he adds, for clarification.

#( grayson langley. )#( grayson | two. )#( plot drop: shadow of the mountain )#( thread. )

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