evermore.

knight (unaffiliated) employed at the officer's academy

[sanktere]

not by the moon.

          titanium was only an appropriate substitute for silver when clasped in the palm of a damned believer. like it always has, it burns — a subtle numbing heat that nibbles at his skin and will blister if he keeps his hand there too long. so he mumbles the prayer under his breath quickly and lets go of the cross about his neck. even just a halfway facsimile, unblessed with holy water, still has its effects on him. what he wouldn’t give to carry a real one like the other priests, but then he would likely be nothing but ash before the hour.

          anxiety marks the quiet steps with which he leaves the fringes of the city behind. the dirty yellow glow of the streetlamp succumbs to the shadows of the trees within three strides, and he can open his eyes wider now to let the nightscape in. a groundhog darts through the underbrush out of his way, startled to find a trespasser in the forests at this hour; he looks kindly after the hollow of its burrow in apology, then deeper into the woods with a tight-lipped expression, where the worn paths made by those who enjoy the occasional nature walk narrow, fade, and then are overtaken by untrod wilderness.

          somewhere out in that wilderness is where he’s been asked to investigate.

          the feud between the church and the werewolves is longstanding and no secret. at least, not to the parties involved. for nearly five decades, the truce put down between his former excellency the hierophant and the leader of the werewolves has allowed a tenuous peace to settle over the area — or so he understands. and now, after nearly half a century of silence, the discovery of human remains, evidence of an undisputed werewolf attack on the mauled body, in a copse of trees some short miles from the city border, presents a clear challenge to both that peace and the illusion of normalcy the people of the city live under.

          he’s not certain what they hope for him to find there, since the body has already been recollected. he’s even less certain what they hope for him to do if he should find anything. his peculiar allergy to sunlight, they said, made him a unique and invaluable asset for getting to the bottom of this act of aggression. the wolves would not be expecting any movement from them by night, so he was more likely to go unnoticed.

          there was no excuse for him to refuse. and if his… circumstances made him an asset, rather than set him apart as it has for so many years, then he would do what was in his power.

          darkness is no haunting obstacle for him as for others; he sees just fine. but, as he picks his way further and further into the undergrowth, over roots and brush and fallen trunks, and the familiarity of cracked pavement and skyscraping buildings grows more and more distant, he can’t help but feel that there is something dark and deep about these woods, regardless.

      ✧   //    @basiliphis​

[basiliphis]

𝐏𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐬. 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 humanistic appearances during the day, they could never hope to blend in with the human society, not that they should want to either. Outside of the city where street turned to dirt lie the wolf territory. Since coming into conflict then resolving for some mutual truce, the humans and werewolves had been separated and lived their respective and unmixed lives.

          That was, until quite recently. Raven hadn't seen the attack for himself, only the aftermath of a lifeless body surrounded by his pack. A trespasser, he doesn't doubt and holds tight to his beliefs. Since then, he keeps a watch on the border of the woods for more that may come their way, as if one sacrifice wasn't message enough. Night after night it had been quiet, only small critters and rodents to disrupt the stillness of the night but even then, barely so.

          When a figure does come through, he is shaken from his near sleepy state. Golden eyes pierce the night as he watches the foreigner wander into the depth of the woods. Blond locks were hard to miss and Raven follows him, careful not to disrupt the leaves and branches along his path. The glint of silver beams even underneath a cloak of darkness and his muscles tense when he is able to make out just what it is around the stranger’s neck.

          So he was with the church. Instinctively, a low and threatening growl erupts from the pit of his stomach and settles in the back of his throat. Raven bares his teeth and imagines himself lunging out in full form. He imagines his teeth sinking into the stranger’s neck, hoisting him up by his collar like a dead squirrel, or pushing him against a tree and huffing in his face, ready to devour his prey.

          ( If the church wanted to throw around the word monster then a monster they would get. )

          None of these visions come to fruition, but he draws closer still, concealed behind foliage. And yet, the stranger doesn’t smell like normal, not like they did. Smoke and gunpowder were the usual culprits when ( and if ) he encountered the humans, the ones that dare venture outside the city anyway. The last one reeked of this.

          His ears press back against his head as he inches out warily from his hiding spot. “I suggest you turn around, there is no place for you here.” His voice is low but level despite the obvious threat that stood now in front of him.

[basiliphis]

what we make of miracles.

sanktere​:

          he thinks little of it. in fact, with his attention on the tree and on raven, he misses the conspiratorial glimmer in the girl’s eye entirely; by word alone, her suggestion is innocuous enough. it makes sense, he thinks — tying the ribbon to the bough with one’s own hands is a way of securing one’s hopes, a steadfast prayer to the heavens. and the view from higher up was likely to be wonderful.

          hm? why does raven look so flushed?

          ❝ … i would not mind, ❞ he acquiesces easily. whichever the other deemed most appropriate, whether going with him or staying here as he ventured up, would suit him. ❝ it’s a shame i don’t have a warp staff… ❞ not that lucius has doubts in the man’s ability to scale a tree given the physical feats he’s watched raven pull off. though he supposes, in any case, that wouldn’t do much for where he was concerned.

          tucking his ribbon in a pocket to free both his hands for the endeavor, he begins rolling up his sleeves to the elbows, eyeing up the trunk and lowest branches for the best footholds to begin the ascent. there isn’t much open space to work with — and, admittedly, he’s not very well-versed in tree-climbing — but it shouldn’t be too difficult. a nod to his companion ( still unaware of the broadening, sparkling expectant grin on the face of the young merchant behind his back ). ❝ you go first, lord raven. i’ll follow your lead. ❞

𝐎𝐡, 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝. 𝐇𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝?! 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐤𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐮𝐬, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 little merchant has her bright blue eyes wide and glimmering with excitement ( and trouble ). He gets down on one knee, ready to lift the other man onto his back so they may both scale the tree. In the end, no matter how much this may cause his cheeks to flush, it may be in his best interest to see it up the the tree safely. 

          You go first... I’ll follow...

          The speed at which he stands back up and turns around could have made him topple over. It seems Lucius’ suggestion surprised more than just him as the merchant had no problem in displaying her disappointment visibly on her face. Raven wasn’t the strongest, but he had enough in him to climb the tree, even with someone else at his side, his retainer on the other hand was built like a wet noodle, for lack of better words. 

          He opens his mouth to protest, but no sound comes out. Was he judging too harshly? Had Lucius had some secret training regimen he didn’t know about? A thought crosses his mind—he was a grown man who could make his own decisions as much as Raven could. Raven’s jaw clenches slightly as he looks up at the tree then back to the blond. Though, maybe it would be better for Lucius to go first so that he may assist where he could.

          ...On the other hand, was one more preferable to the other? He didn’t need to have his hand on his a—

          “Alright,” he finally responds, not giving it another thought. Raven grabs a hold of on one of the tree’s limbs with a small grunt and is able to pull himself up onto it. Satin ribbons slick his footing, but he is able to, with cautious movements, move onto another adjacent branch and looks down in case he needed to lend his hand.

[basiliphis]

[ September Activity Check ]

Status: Pass / Fail / Hiatus

Skill Points:

Earned: 1

Previous: 4

Current: 5

Skill point(s) allocated to sword: C → C+ (1/2)

Completed threads:

None

[basiliphis]

✧  playlist  ✧

this is gospel

god damn

true will

eclipse

empty space

[basiliphis]

what we make of miracles.

sanktere​:

          when raven rises from his seat, lucius follows — and, as ever, falls into easy step beside him again. emerging from the shade, he squints faintly against the renewed brilliance of unobstructed sunlight, and amid passing individuals and pairs, they make their way back to the wishing tree and its cheerful guardian. at the mention of ‘ commemoration ’, he smiles and willingly extends a wrist for the simple red cord she pulls from her bag. just some superstition to sell the tourism, he can imagine the man beside him might say, but the reality was in the belief, so lucius likes to think. and though he hasn’t told lord raven this himself ( or perhaps he had — if so, it has to have been many years ago now, before they could have imagined what would happen to house cornwell ), he’s long trusted that the path that had placed him at his lord’s side was one set for him by the saint.

          ❝ i’ll remember this occasion, ❞ he says warmly to the young merchant, turning his wrist before his eyes to admire the thread, then looking back to her. ❝ thank you for doing this… it’s a wonderful idea. may the blessings of your goddess be upon you. ❞

          as she turns to raven next, lucius steps away towards the branches, head craned back to admire their strips upon strips of shell-pink taffeta rippling like streams in the breeze amid the greenery, offering flickering glimpses of their inked messages for gods and the onlookers. his eye catches cursorily on a couple of them, but these wishes aren’t for him to grant, and so neither for him to peruse. public though they may be, there’s nevertheless a quiet privacy about them to which curiosity seems disruptive.

          instead, he circles towards the tree’s other side, wedged closer to the fence and thus more sparsely decorated. still, even here, the lowest-hanging boughs are full to overlapping — lovely and heartening to behold, and certainly good for the merchant’s business, but something of a challenge where finding space for two more is concerned. perhaps further up…? —yes, plenty of space beckons among the higher branches, but… is he equipped to be scaling a tree…? well, and there’s also the matter of lord raven’s own ribbon. he glances past the trunk at the other man’s distant profile. best to simply wait for him…

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭.

          Is what Raven would normally think or if he was feeling bold enough, voice aloud. But when she’s tying the thread around his wrist and she’s talking his ear off about fate, his mind drifts elsewhere. 

          Was fate truly such an immutable thing? Surely, he had chosen the path to walk along the disgraced and forgotten on his own despite the pleas to abandon it. ( Did his parents meet their end because that’s what fate had in them or was it a matter of free will? ) If this is what the saint, goddess, or whoever, had planned, why did so many suffer before finding the light themselves? Was it also a ‘work of fate’? 

          And Lucius— Eh? Where’d he go?

          ...

          “Oh... My apologies! I didn’t realize the tree was this full! If only there was a way to get up there...” She looks to Raven, expectantly. “I’ll be down here in case anyone falls~ For safety measures of course.” 

          “I... suppose I could climb up there, but Lucius, maybe you should stay here to avoid injury.”

          If either were to look at the merchant, her cheeks had puffed up in a pout. If she could call them idiots, she probably would. Pushing it a step further, she adds, “Oh, but you should tie your own ribbon! It’ll ruin the meaning otherwise! Surely you could find a way to get both of you up there. Besides, you wouldn’t want to miss the view from up there!”

          Was she really suggesting—? His face turns redder than his hair and he’s speechless. This was definitely one of her ploys, none of this tradition or whatever she wanted to sell it off as! When he wrote what he did, he didn’t entirely mean it in a literal sense.

          Though, he couldn’t deny the gesture as much as he wanted to. Much to his chagrin ( and her delight ), he complies, managing to mutter a response just audible enough for both to hear. “...If you aren’t adverse to it, then I could manage to get us both up there.” 

[basiliphis]

dance dance kombat

neirsung​:

  Today treats Iuchar to a spectacle, and well, eager to see something beyond just damp, dreary underground tunnels, Iuchar’s made sure to come to the anticipated site early, netting him one of the front “seats” ( if they could be called as such even while standing ) so to speak. He lets a few people shorter than him shuffle in front despite his spent efforts, and for that, more voices get riled up whe the show begins proper, throngs of adoring fans squealing over not only the rugged dancing ( or is it graceful fighting? ) but also the handsome hunk helping lead the troupe.

Iuchar would be lying if he said the man hadn’t caught his eye in the advertisements leading up to the performance, but there’s a lingering darkness to him that keeps the axe wielder drawn in, always inevitably drawing his gaze back to the instructor even if it wasn’t him doing most of the work today.

Eventually, a stranger points him out, voicing what Iuchar had noticed too. He nods, leaning to whisper so as to be heard without overpowering the crowd around them:

“ Now that’s a man with secrets. I would not be surprised if it’s only added to his allure. ”  A perhaps too honest and unnecessary observation, but hey! What was the point of beauty if no one appreciated it?

The show concludes, and one of the younger performers announces in a bellowing voice how their troupe would be more than happy to spend a little time showing the ropes to some of their moves to any interested parties — a clear enough attempt to draw in some admirers up close and personal.

“ If you wish to enter the lion’s den, then the perfect time has just arrived, ”  Iuchar tells the man at his side before swaggering over towards the dancers himself, a big ol’ grin stretched across his face.

“ Might I take you up on your offer, Sir Knight? ”

“ I dunno… ”  The Bergliez knight pulls a face, glancing over towards his instructor.  “ How about it, Captain? You up for that? ”

𝐍𝐨𝐭... 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠. ( 𝐇𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐧. ) The show ends and the dancers take their bow. The troupe looking for volunteers nearly escaped his ears in favor of what the man beside him has to say.

          “Wait, I didn’t mean—” Raven hisses but it’s too late, the man at his side would not hear his protests and even if he did, it would surely be drowned out by the roar of the crowd. Shortly after, he follows if only for the nagging curiosity that sat in the pit of his stomach. 

          The instructor was surrounded by a few girls, fans ( or otherwise ) of his he assumes, giggling and acting rather coy. However, they disperse slow like snow melting, a bit bitter at the arrival of flowers, casting glares and mutters. The instructor didn’t seem too bothered by the loss of his fangirls as his expression shifts from a prideful one to one of confusion and returning to a relatively neutral one, waving them from his mind as if they were never there in the first place. 

          His gaze on them was unnerving to say the least, much different from the way he was talking with his other fans. It was almost hollow and soulless, but clearly focused, picking apart what he could from looks alone. 

          “Oh? How could I refuse dear fans?” His deep chuckle reverberates off the walls of the tunnels—something between suspicious and charming. He smiles at them, creases and curves well-practiced for show and a slight head tilt for added ( feigned ) innocence. “Right this way, gentlemen.”

          He turns his back to them and motions with his index and middle fingers. Raven looks to the man who incited this almost as if to try to talk him out of it one last time. He swallows doubt for now. With the Bergliez knights watching the outsiders closely, he supposed he had no choice but to go further into the depths of the tunnel. 

[basiliphis]

what we make of miracles.

sanktere​:

          it nests somewhere in lord raymond still, he likes to think: that path forward. otherwise, when the anger of the past had been sorted out with the marquess ostia and he had been offered a chance to return and remake the life they had both once cherished, he would not have so firmly refused and walked out of that chamber no loftier a man than he had entered. the decision had surprised even raven himself, perhaps, more than his attendant, who hadn’t raised a word to comment but simply fallen into step easily behind him again as though such was the natural course of events. even now, he thinks sometimes raven is bewildered still by his own choice, but to lucius, it seemed to be everything he already knew.

          perhaps that was an idyllic, simplistic view of things. perhaps it was more than that. but he does not believe himself entirely wrong to see within that decision the man who had always been known to grasp at his own life with both hands.

          even in his darkest hours, he had done so. he does not think he would lose that now.

          twining his own ribbon absently about his fingers, he lets contemplation sit with his lord for a while. they are in no rush, after all — a small but keenly-felt blessing after the events of the last year. the spring here is lovely in fódlan, balmy and sun-kissed through the shade. even nested in the heart of mountains, the monastery feels neither thin nor cold.

          then, at the soft question, his smile reappears, head half-turning back to the other man as his eyes trail a blackbird on its journey up the boughs. ❝ yes, i believe so. there is no harm in wishing for yourself. it is only natural. ❞ the bird plucks a twig in its beak, its little head tilting in curious and charming motion, as though to consider its prize, before it takes off — to add to the season of its budding nest, most likely — and is no more than a branch left bobbing in its wake. 

          whenever lord raven has finished putting his wish down in writing, he is ready to accompany him back to the tree.

With the changing of seasons, especially as they leaped into spring, And if that was possible, then perhaps he could change too, gradually

“Alright, then. I know what I wish to write,” and he pens it, black ink seeping into pink satin. It doesn’t take him long as it was short and simple: for Lucius to continue to stay by his side. 

It was no grand gesture working to solve a countrywide problem and not much in the way of a career path. Mercenary life could only last as long as his bones and muscles would allow him. Besides, his interests could steer elsewhere such as forging or even training the young and ambitious. ( The latter he wasn’t ready to admit, but a mix of tenderness and exhaustion ran through him when he considered it. ) It was at least a step in the direction of filling his life with purpose again, one that wasn’t fueled by hatred. 

They meet the merchant back at the tree and she greets them eager as ever. “Afternoon! Figured out what to write?” Before he has much time to respond, she claps her hands together, spins and grabs something out of her bag, and spins back. “I actually had a little something for you both, free of charge of course! To commemorate your time here, the goddess told me specifically to give these to you. Some like to call it red string of fate, anyhow... Please, think of this place when you look at it. If I may?” She gestures to Lucius with the braided red cord, offering to tie it for him first. 

[basiliphis]

what we make of miracles.

sanktere​:

          watching that brow crease a little and a little until at last the admission comes in the softness of a disgruntled grumble. lucius listens patiently… until a smile takes gentle place on his features, making brief half-moons of his eyes. he suppresses a fond chuckle at raven’s expense, lest it seem as though he’s making light of the other’s dilemma. ❝ it gladdens my heart to hear you want for nothing, ❞ he muses. ❝ to see this peace for you… is a blessing for me as well. ❞ the raven of scant years before would doubtlessly have penned his wishes in blind vengeance, and even the lord raymond of halcyon days had surely wanted. what a changed man who sat beside him now beneath these familiar gestures and expressions, that same voice and face.

          he looks down to his own ribbon and its single, ambitious fantasy — a world where not one child is neglected. ❝ i also had trouble thinking of something to wish for… ❞ and then, back to raven, interested in a thread he had mentioned. ❝ though, i believe what you said may be a good place to start: what do you fight for? a wish needn’t be something you want, but perhaps… a prayer for the kind of future you hope to see. ❞

          and that is something of lord raymond’s that he’d be curious to know. so much of the recent years have been spent looking immediately ahead out of necessity — after the fall of house cornwell, without a coin left to raven’s name, to their survival, their livelihoods, their next meal and roof. guided by his lord’s dogged maelstrom of pain and anger, they hadn’t had the means to imagine brazenly of the future.

          he loathes to think of the picture he had once suspected before, that raven had even one-time resigned himself to none.

          perhaps, he thinks, that is why he had wanted to bring him here to begin with, at the cusp of their own new and arduous chapter in this land. what he hoped to see — lord raymond, that your heart still knows how to dream.

𝐑𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞. To support a desire of nothing, that didn’t sound like the man that sat next to him. How could he be glad for nothing? Guided by an empty and meaningless— Listen first, react second. He was still working on that. He settles, jaw unclenched and mouth sealed tight, swallowing whatever argument he had building up. He took a more passive stance resting back on his palms. He still had much to learn from the man beside him.

          “A future I want to see huh?” he muses. A glance over at what Lucius wrote, out of curiosity, tempts a hint of a smile, but even if not outwardly, his heart still stirs. A lofty dream, but not entirely wishful.

          He looks skyward, as if the sun streaming through patchy tree cover could fill his ears too with soft whispers of what to do. What kind of future did he want to see for himself? For so long, he had been focused on a singular goal, and maybe that was his problem. 

          What was a mercenary but someone trying to make coin, living from paycheck to paycheck? And yet, the life of a noble wasn’t entirely enticing either. Whether out of foolish stubbornness, when the opportunity practically ( and too generously ) fell into his lap he refused, insisting that he take his sword and cut a way for himself. And where was that?

          Not too far away, the sound of leaves rustling snatches him out of his thoughts as a large black bird soars away into never-ending blue. 

          “...Are wishes allowed to be selfish?” he asks, finally, voice softer than usual not in volume but intent.

[basiliphis]

Olympian Aesthetic 

Bold where applicable, italicize where situationally relevant

APHRODITE. (0) laughter-loving, sweet smiles, dressed in silk and satin, flower in their hair, thrives on attention, sees the world as a runway, unapologetically sexual, the sea washing their ankles, in love with love, stirrer of passion, cunning concealed by painted lips, secret daggers, doves, revolution in their kiss, delighting in the waves, flirtatious winks, strolling along the beach, staring wistfully from a balcony, this is how to be a heartbreaker, your girlfriend thinks they’re attractive, wants to be adored, turned on by danger.

APOLLO. (3) glitz and glamour, art galleries, turning the volume up, being made of gold, neatly-organized music sheets, notebooks filled with poetry, bathing in the sunlight, the powerful urge to create, collecting vinyl records, beautiful cover of wonderwall, playing multiple instruments, tasting like sunshine, healing touch, speaking in prophecies, smile mingled wrath, shunning lies, sporting shades, hanging out at music festivals with their friends, sleeping naked, arrow to the heart, paint brushes.

ARES. (4) armed for battle, wants to raise a dog with their significant other, soft spot for children, gives piggyback rides, scarred body, blood on their hands and face, willing to fight the world for the ones they love, fights against injustice, warm hugs, well-worn combat boots, boxing gloves, bandages wrapped around bruised knuckles, fist raised in protest, ignites revolutions, fear is a prison, more sensitive than what their tough shell will make you think, exhausted, damaged goods, force to be reckoned with, red roses, curses under their breath.

ARTEMIS. (3.5) keen sense of a hunter, freckles like constellations on their skin, piercing eyes, disheveled braid, moonlight peeking through the shadows, the calm of the forest at night, lying on the grass and staring at the stars, mother doe and her fawn, protecting their kin, the moon shimmering on a still lake, quiver full of arrows resting against the bark of a tree, running with wolves, bonding while circled around a campfire, not being much of a people person, arrow hitting a target, popping egos, patience on 3%, touches heaven and returns howling.

ATHENA. (2) discerning gaze, unreadable face, the patience of a lifelong teacher, quiet museums, owl perched on their finger, armor that intimidates, eye for architecture, studied the blade while everyone else was busy getting laid, big fan of logic, loves brain teasers, go-getter, balls of wool displayed on shelves, ancient buildings, sweaters in neutrals and cool colors, hair done up, can kill you with their brain, heads to the library often to research, sharpened pencils, abs that can cut steel, stoic statues, pottery classes.

DEMETER. (2) soil-covered hands, smile that can bloom flowers, skin loved by the sun, being the mom-friend, flowers kept in the pockets of overalls, takes pride in their beautiful garden, speaks to their plants (elementals), leaves rustling in the wind, stalks of wheat, picking fruit, greenhouses, heart as strong as a mountain, values simplicity, daisies dotted across a collarbone, curls crowned with flowers, folded pile of sweaters in warm hues, pulling out fresh-baked bread out of the oven and the smell wafting through the air.

DIONYSUS. (.5) drunk shitposter, on their sixth glass of wine before you’ve even finished your second, seductive smirks, untamed curls, rich fabrics on dark skin, sleek-furred panthers, theater masks, stage productions, receiving a standing ovation, rose caught between their teeth, being the baby of the bunch, wild parties that last from sundown to sunup, creeping vines, inspiring loyalty, grand opera houses, masquerade balls, rolls of film, shattered chandeliers with broken glass scattered across the floor, pouring champagne into flutes, lives for the applause.

HEPHAESTUS. (3.5) the calloused hands of someone who knows labor, sweaty brow, flame burning in their eyes, inventive mind, broad shoulders, steampunk goggles, nuts and bolts stored away in little boxes, ashes, striking a match, blueprints for future projects, fixing up a busted up car and giving it cool upgrades, wrestles with bitterness, work boots have seen better years, wrinkled plaid shirts, iron melted in blazing fire, huge jackets, crafting masterpieces, greased-stained overalls, fascination with robotics, pain is fuel, stack of weaponry.

HERA. (4.5) resting bitch face, dressed to the nines, cows grazing on a pasture, cool rain, loving and hating fiercely, hand clutching a string of pearls, large chandelier with glittering crystals, plays the sims for the sole purpose of killing off their sims, romance to realism, pictures of the sky while flying on a plane, downs glasses of wine as they relax with a scented bubble bath, like their selfie or you’re grounded, knows 57 convenient ways to murder a man, dark eyes that penetrate your soul, marble and gold.

HERMES. (0) devil-may-care smile, ink-stained hands, always up-to-date on the latest technology, does it for the vine, shitposter, puts googly eyes on everything, meme hoarder, long drives on the highway, ma and pop diners, spontaneous road trips, folded maps, fingers dancing across the keyboard of a laptop, shooting hoops on the basketball court, chatting up strangers as you all journey to your own destinations, goes jogging in the morning, mixes redbull with coffee, menace on april fool’s, hoodies and sneakers.

POSEIDON. (2) storm with skin, colorful coral reefs, waves crashing against the shore, the sea casting its spell, stroking the soft fur of a cat, their heart pounding as their horse’s gentle trot speeds into a gallop, tousled locks, clothes smeared with paint, owns several sketchbooks yet always yearns for more, leather jackets, fondness for diy projects, handwriting that flows across the page, nimble fingers playing the strings of a violin, velvety singing voice that haunts your dreams, mood as ever-changing as the sea, the roar of a motorcycle, compass with a spinning arrow.

ZEUS. (3) thunder in their heart, running on coffee, flash of lightning, natural charisma, eloquence, badass in a nice suit, aficionado of history, force of nature, pretends they don’t have feelings but they do, nightmare-filled nights, proud arm around their lover’s waist, high-rise buildings, planes soaring through a cloudless sky, technician on the piano, maintains order, strong handshake, juggling multiple events on their busy schedule with ease, most likely to be voted class president out of their peers, expensive watch.

[sanktere]

what we make of miracles.

basiliphis​:

𝐎𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐭. 𝐇𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞, 𝐬𝐨 Raven does and says nothing to object, but watches as the two converse. She was asking for too much for a piece of ribbon they could probably grab somewhere in the monastery or hell, anywhere else in Fódlan. Besides that, she couldn’t be lacking in funds judging from all the ribbons tied on the tree. No hesitation on the cleric’s part to cough over the money she asked for and by the surprised ( and greedy if you asked him ) look on her face, it was more than what she was asking. Don’t you need to save coin for your orphanage? To support yourself? 

          Raven can only scoff in response until he is now faced with the scrap to write whatever he pleased on it. Lucius retires to a corner and the merchant wanders off to pass along her message to some other saps. Wishes, hopes, desires, what were those to him after Black Fang had been dissolved, peace mostly restored, false accusations revealed? He stuffs the ribbon in his pocket for now and follows where the blond sat. 

          “Ah, hm. Lucius?” When he gains the other’s attention, he hesitates as gentle blue eyes turn him shades of pink. He hated being wrong, and even worse, confronting that he was. That and another pair of blue eyes were on him. Averting his gaze to the nosy little merchant, she had been watching them from afar, eyes wide and expectant. When they lock eyes however, she jumps, startled, and turns away, pretending to busy herself with her comically large sack.

          Raven takes a seat next to him. “I’m sorry for doubting you earlier. Maybe I ought to listen to you more, eh?” His head tilts back and a half-amused scoff leaves his lips. “I guess some things never change. I just… I don’t know.”

          For such a flimsy and lightweight thing, the ribbon stuffed in his pocket weighed heavy on his mind. 

           a shadow falls over him as he finishes, and he looks up to his name in its most oft-spoken cadence. is it just a trick of the light, or is there something uncomfortable in raven’s expression? ah, he isn’t going to tell him this is silly again, is he? they’d already spoken of this earlier before he’d agreed to come…

          —no? instead, lucius tilts to follow raven’s attention out past the shade to the merchantress beyond, where she starts and hurriedly turns away, he assumes upon receiving one of the man’s scathing glares. lord raymond, you shouldn’t frighten her so, takes the shape of chastisement on his tongue, but peters out in favor of curiosity when the redhead moves to take a seat beside him with the air of someone with something to say.

          over the years of his service, he’s seen the other in many varying shades — knows each intonation and posture, and the heart beneath both, and all its contours and potentials. but, even so, a plainspoken apology still comes as a surprise. not an unpleasant one, though, and certainly not when light comes into his eyes so. a smile requites that image of peace, his heart assuaged; such a small disagreement hardly warrants this, he thinks as the other trails off, but he is grateful nevertheless — not so much for the recognition, but what it meant for raven to have spoken it. ❝ you needn’t apologize, ❞ he returns softly, letting their years in concert speak for themselves. ❝ i am sorry for being cross with you. ❞

          but passing windwhispers fade to a new hush, and he sets his quill down to read the new look on that upturned face, half-shadowed and pensive beneath the boughs. so often fearlessly outspoken, it’s uncommon for the other man to hesitate. ❝ is there something on your mind? ❞ comes the gentle prompt when the seconds pass with nothing more said, patient expectation making the springtime sky of an inquisitive gaze.

[basiliphis]

𝐇𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐝, 𝐲𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭. He doesn’t mind because it’s Lucius. A soft and kind-hearted man who had been through things he could not begin to understand and still bestowed light out of himself so that someone else may see. An apology was the least he could give for someone else who gave so much.

          On account of the man’s own apology, he didn’t need to, Raven had rightfully deserved it being as stubbornly wrong as he was. Not just in this instance either. Though they had spent more than half their lives together, there were times when they wouldn’t see eye-to-eye. Occasional conflict didn’t mean constant dissonance. And he’d tell him this had it not been for the silence that befalls them. 

          No, he wants to say, it’s nothing. Nothing worthy of troubling Lucius over. Though if their shared history of nearly two decades worth told him anything, it was he’d be troubling him more if he kept his worries to himself. “I don’t know what to write. I don’t know what it is that I want. Hell, even after the whole... mm...” he waves his hand around, grimace crossing his face but leaving as soon as it came, “Ostia thing, what have I been fighting for?” What has he been living for? Is it selfish or undeserving even to wish upon a tree?

          Raven pulls out the now crumpled and still blank ribbon from his pocket. “This is all so silly, right? To be thinking about this so hard.” An exhale leaves him in the form of a half laugh of disbelief. For such a foolish and gimmicky tourist spot he dismissed at first, it had done a decent job of picking and twisting his thoughts.

[basiliphis]

❰❰ PIN ❱❱ She flips the sword in her grip with a grin, moving the tip of the blade away from his face. For such a master at swordplay, he sure had been easy to trounce. Never mind the fact he beat her in their first round. "So. Best two outta three?"

𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 to that of one. Over the years, he had honed his own style—a combination of what he learned as a noble and what he learned whilst traveling on the road. Every move with intended purpose, quick slashes, and nothing too brash. 

          His partner on the other hand moved sloppily in his eyes. Not clumsily, but there was a certain roughness and edge to her swordsmanship. While he couldn’t adopt it into his own technique ( and no intention to ), he couldn’t completely dismiss it either. There lacked a grace from other nobles he may have trained with in the past, but it wasn’t to say she was swinging recklessly either. 

          In fact, she manages to knock his own weapon out of his hands and he stumbles to the ground with the sword tip he swore he was watching the whole time aimed at his face. She grins tauntingly, but he’d give credit where it was due, even if he found fault in her form. 

          He helps himself back up with a grunt. So they were evenly matched, until the third round she so boldly offered up. He hadn’t the need to prove himself, but wouldn’t back down from just one more round, with conditions. 

          “Hmph, you’re on. Loser buys drinks, open tab for the rest of the night.”

[basiliphis]

❰❰ GAZE ❱❱ if two people stare at each other, they must fight :D

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧, 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡-𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 matches, and most things in between. Had it been the way he carries himself? Had it been the expression he always wore? Raven hadn’t been actively looking for fights, he wouldn’t provoke it unless he was being threatened, and as of late he had been on the receiving end of being provoked. 

          Today it seemed, was no exception. 

          It was a nice spring day outside by the pond and he was looking to get some fresh air as well as weapon maintenance. In this location, he has convenient access to the market as well as the cats that littered the monastery grounds for lax company. 

          It had been nothing more than an absent-minded gaze that just so happened to land on this girl. Lost in thought about what he should plan for dinner, he held his sword in both hands while hunched over on the bench and brows furrowed. 

          Pitter patter of footsteps nears him and forces his gaze to travel up to sable locks charging at him. 

          Wait, why was she coming this way? And why was she brandishing her weapon?

[basiliphis]

❰❰ HURT ❱❱ sender is hurt protecting receiver

Elincia knows she's here to aid the knights. Provide support - an extra pair of healing hands and nothing more. She had every intention of sticking to her task - improving her skills with faith magic and keeping their warriors in tip-top shape.

It simply isn't in her nature to stand by and watch others get hurt though.

Her actions are foolish, truly foolish. The man she dives in front of is surely better placed to take a hit than she is. It's instinctive though - Elincia vowed to herself never to sit back and let someone else die needlessly in front of her. To fight, although in this case she merely clutches a staff feebly to her chest.

The wound splits open and aches as she bleeds into the soil below. It's not too deep, she'll live. She can't deny it aches though, but more than that her pride is bruised. What was she thinking? Charging into battle without a sword in hand? How pathetic, how stupid. How desperate.

𝐀 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐛𝐚𝐭. 𝐇𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞 in his years of experience and the money for it was nothing to turn his nose up at either. However, this particular group seemed to be stocked with vulneraries and tricks all up their dirty sleeves. The church had only sent out a handful of knights and a couple healers to handle it, but it seemed the bandits had reinforcements in mind. 

          As Raven busies himself with one axe wielder, another charges at him while he’s preoccupied forcing him to gain a scratch or two in his shoulder at least.

          Or so he thought.

          A green-haired girl, one of the faculty he vaguely recalls, jumps out in front of him. With nothing but a staff in hand. His sword had been lodged in his previous enemy’s chest in haste to prepare for the oncoming attack, but now he must watch out for someone else.

          He’d feel worse about her aching state if it weren’t for her impetuous decision. There was no way he could let her lay there to perish either, no matter if she needlessly put her own life on the line. 

          Grumbling and muttering curses and something about Saint Elimine under his breath, he shoves her out of the way. His action is a little more forceful than intended, but it’s the heat of the moment before the enemy can unleash another heavy slash down on her that really might end her. 

          “Don’t be so reckless,” he hisses while the blade of his sword clashes with the enemy’s. He works up enough force to push back his foe and stunt them for a moment.

          “Go on and do what you must, I’ve got it from here.”

[basiliphis]

my wittwe pegasus uwu

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 from children, couples, and friends alike. Had he not been dragged along by Lucius, he would find much better entertainment back at the training grounds or somewhere where it wasn’t so loud and rambunctious. He had now lost said healer, however, which left him to wander around to arrive at one of many booths.

          The game itself held none of his interest, but it was difficult to miss the large, white, and fluffy pegasus plush that hung on the booth’s backboard. Maybe he could send Priscilla it, something to keep her company at night. Did he really have to play the game though? All these workers wanted was money so… 

          “How much for the pegasus?”

          “Oho! You must win it good sir!” Much to the chagrin of Raven, the attendant explains. “It seems the pegasus plush is in high demand and for good reason—it’s the last one! You do have some competition though heh.”

          And he gestures to the green-haired man beside him. Raven levels him with a narrow-eyed glare then turns to the booth attendant. “…Alright, I’ll bite.” From his pocket, he fishes two gold coins and slaps them on the table. Turning back to the green-haired mullet man, he leaves him with one final comment, “Sorry, but I’m going to win that thing.”

@freliaes​ | [Grants bow +1]

[freliaes]

     “Confident, are we? Careful that ego doesn’t come crashing down on you once I win.” Innes had no intention on speaking with the other, focused as he was on the game before him. But the man’s boneless remark can only be met with one harsh truth—the prince wouldn’t allow his opponent any illusions of grandeur. Only one person would be winning the pegasus doll this day, and that was Innes. It wasn’t everyday he found such an ideal gift for Tana… this man didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in Neleras.

     Sensing the growing tension between the two men, the attendant chuckles awkwardly, sliding Raven’s gold coins across the tabletop and slipping them into his pocket. “Alright fellas, let’s have a clean fight… rules are simple: the one with the most points out of three rounds wins the prize. Whaddaya say?”

     Innes nocks his toy arrow, “Acceptable terms.”

     The attendant grins, “Nice, nice. Oh, but… I will need a little more payment. Y’know, in advance? Since you both will be playing three games.” He opens his palm, fingers waving greedily, and Innes quirks a brow. He knows an opportunist when he sees one, but in the moment, he doesn’t care. He needed that pegasus.

     Ten gold coins—and definitely way more money than was necessary—are slammed onto the table, and the prince reassumes his position. “There. May we proceed now?”

     Whistling, the attendant slips the coins into his pocket, “Yep! Once your buddy here pays up, of course~”

[basiliphis]

“𝐖𝐞’𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬,” 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐬, 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐧 realization hits. “Pay up? What do you think I’m made of, money?”

          “Oh, then I guess your buddy here will get the pegasus after all hehe!”

          More coins are slammed on the table, a couple spin on their sides for a few rotations before falling unceremoniously. With a scheming smirk, the attendant slips them into his pocket. Had he more reason in his bones, he would see through the obvious scheme, but that plush was the perfect gift for his sister and he didn’t care what for what reason his competitor wanted it. Still, he slips it into his conversation in case this man had any sympathy in his bones. 

          “When I win,” he says so confidently, “my sister will be overjoyed as she should be, she is most deserving of it.” It had been so long since he’d seen a smile upon her face or tears in her eyes. She had grown so somber and he lays some of the blame on himself. 

          The attendant hums, not paying any mind to Raven’s words. He spins once and raises his arms above his head. “I’ll be choosing who goes first at random. Let’s see... Eeenie meanie minie... you!” He points at mullet man. “Need I explain how to use that thing? It’s quite simple and won’t take but a minute!”

[basiliphis]

what we make of miracles.

sanktere​:

          she’d get ‘ one ’ today? one what? there isn’t much time to wonder, and it seems as though he isn’t supposed to ask. the enthusiastic merchantress continues with her selling script, and lucius glances down, accepting the pair of ribbons and passing one to raven. regardless of the veritas of it all, the spirit is a commendable one. whether heard or actualized in the end, spelling out one’s pleas for the future is an act of release and fulfillment, something true to the human heart since the very beginning. he smiles as he looks again to the tree, full with longings and aspirations. may their goddess here smile down upon them, he thinks, and see all their joys through.

          ❝ it wouldn’t hurt to try it. ❞ cornflower blues turn back to his taciturn liegelord briefly, then the merchant again with her sunny smile. ❝ how much is the fee? ❞ already he’s sorting through the small pouch of coin he carries and, at the chirruped number, presses that and a little extra into her hands. for lightening the hearts of so many on this day, it seems to say. as for a good word with a fated goddess of love? it’s a kind sentiment, but one, he thinks, he feels little need for when his soul is already content.

          it’s when he goes, quill in hand in a quiet corner of the courtyard, to consider what to write, however, that he finds himself at something of an impasse. a wish of his own? … it’s been a long time since particularly plaintive desires have crossed his mind. feather tine twirls in his fingers, brushing across his lips in thought. long-fervent prayers for lord raymond’s peace have already been answered, and he almost has a mind to inscribe his continued gratitude for it if this weren’t a wishing tree and not a thanksgiving one.

          ah, wait. there’s an idea — the image of the dream he’s set himself upon takes hazy shape in his mind. yes, that will do. the ribbon settles in his lap, and a promising, ambrosial breeze washes gently through the bushels overhead as he lays down his prayer in cotton and ink.

𝐎𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐭. 𝐇𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞, 𝐬𝐨 Raven does and says nothing to object, but watches as the two converse. She was asking for too much for a piece of ribbon they could probably grab somewhere in the monastery or hell, anywhere else in Fódlan. Besides that, she couldn’t be lacking in funds judging from all the ribbons tied on the tree. No hesitation on the cleric’s part to cough over the money she asked for and by the surprised ( and greedy if you asked him ) look on her face, it was more than what she was asking. Don’t you need to save coin for your orphanage? To support yourself? 

          Raven can only scoff in response until he is now faced with the scrap to write whatever he pleased on it. Lucius retires to a corner and the merchant wanders off to pass along her message to some other saps. Wishes, hopes, desires, what were those to him after Black Fang had been dissolved, peace mostly restored, false accusations revealed? He stuffs the ribbon in his pocket for now and follows where the blond sat. 

          “Ah, hm. Lucius?” When he gains the other’s attention, he hesitates as gentle blue eyes turn him shades of pink. He hated being wrong, and even worse, confronting that he was. That and another pair of blue eyes were on him. Averting his gaze to the nosy little merchant, she had been watching them from afar, eyes wide and expectant. When they lock eyes however, she jumps, startled, and turns away, pretending to busy herself with her comically large sack.

          Raven takes a seat next to him. “I’m sorry for doubting you earlier. Maybe I ought to listen to you more, eh?” His head tilts back and a half-amused scoff leaves his lips. “I guess some things never change. I just... I don’t know.”

          For such a flimsy and lightweight thing, the ribbon stuffed in his pocket weighed heavy on his mind. 

[sanktere]

what we make of miracles.

          failing patience and a confluence of reason and plaintive entreaty, there remained only one final, less desirable option.

          the courtyards beside the greenhouse flourished with spring: grass and flora plump and reaching for a clear sky, rush of the pond waterfall crystalline and full. an array of scattered and milling crowds basked beneath the morning, some with textbooks sprawled open upon the lawn, some hastening to the day’s first classes with breakfasts in hand — all prosperity. he had never had the opportunity to witness the renowned academies of aquleia for himself, but he imagines they must look something like this.

          yes, on a day like this, even the contrary obstinance of the man he walked ever beside wouldn’t flag his good spirits. fingers closing again about raven’s sleeve cuff, he tugs him gently, insistently, further along. ❝ you see, lord raven? it was this way after all. ❞ one final, less desirable option. he wasn’t fond of resorting to pulling anyone anywhere, however — but closing into two decades of service has molded down the contours of their partnership; like old, comfortable robes, there is a range only visible here.

          ‘ it ’ sharpens into view far over the heads of passersby, laden branches swaying mild in the breeze, half its arms laden with rippling pink dressage. word of the ‘ wishing tree ’ had reached him through the after-class conversation of passing students, the thought of so heartwarming a start to the year bringing a pleasant light to his face. seeing the gathered dreams and prayers of the young and hopeful — it does his own heart good. and would do raven’s as well, he thinks. given that he would simply listen when assured that another knew their directions.

        ✧   //    @basiliphis

[basiliphis]

𝐑𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 they had made a wrong turn along the way somewhere. Still, he allows himself to be pulled where Lucius may take him, a stubborn scowl still resting on his features. It was difficult to be truly angry with him, especially something as petty as this, but his hardened pride insisted on being difficult about it. "Alright, but when you're wrong you—"

          A strong breeze passes through promptly to sweep the hair obscuring his vision ( now, maybe he would be less resilient to the opinions of others ) and to cut his words short. In sight now is a large tree with branches that reach and twist all different directions, greatly expansive in width and height. Other than the petals, it was coiled in pink ribbons that swayed in the breeze so carefree like it was always a part of the tree.

          A petite girl emerges from seemingly nowhere, nearly toppling over from the sack resting on her back. "See? I told you I'd get one today! Big Fox owes me a whole wagon full of snacks," she exclaims to the black cat resting by her feet, who languidly blinks up at her.

          He raises a brow at her spectacle. She realizes they could see her, right?

          She meets their gazes again, grin as bright as the spring sun and claps her hands together. "So fellas, came to make a wish on the tree? You're in luck, I just so happen to be in good standing with the fated goddess of love and ( for a small fee of course ! ) I can put in a good word for you!" She reaches behind herself and pulls out a couple of pastel pink ribbons, thrusting it toward the pair. "People write their wishes on these and tie it to the tree, praying for it to come true. My past customers can testify it works!"

          "Woah... slow down. I don't know about all that, kid." The whole fate thing, her rather bold assumption that they— He looks to Lucius then huffs, closing his eyes and crossing his arms again. "But it's not really my call to make."

[basiliphis]

dance dance kombat

𝐎𝐧𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐰𝐨. 𝐎𝐧𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐰𝐨. 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐱, 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜, 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝. His instructor would tell him. Nobles need to dance on the floor like water, fluid and smooth, not like a boulder, stiff and clumsy. His skills ( or lack thereof ) were an envisagement of becoming a mercenary. His dancing left much to be desired and honestly had little chance of improving. At least it was as useful to him now as a whetstone to a cleric; all he was concerned about was where the end of his blade landed.

          Yet, Raven still finds himself in the middle of an anticipating crowd gathered for a dance performance. Being in large crowds was never quite his scene and he wouldn't have bothered attending had it not been for the talk of the monastery for the past week. Just because he couldn't dance himself didn't mean he couldn't appreciate it from afar. What's more these performers had quite the unique accessory sitting on the cuffs of their sleeves—gauntlets.

          The dancers were less fluid and more sharp with their movements. Limbs moved with purpose similar to what time spent sparring or training would look like. Occasionally there would be a flashy move or two that would send the crowd in an uproar of cheer. Despite being elbow to elbow, Raven begins to shuffle closer to the front. It's difficult to determine if he could adopt any techniques in his own style to be more lithe and nimble, but there was no harm in wanting a closer look. He stops beside someone he may have seen in the monastery, but makes no big note of it until the leader on stage had caught his eye.

          "He seems... suspicious," he comments offhandedly within earshot of the person he stopped beside.

          It was more than admiration the crowd held for the performers and this whole operation. There were murmurs that surrounded him throughout the crowd about how *handsome* the instructor was and showering him in compliments he may not have earned. He was easy on the eyes, but something about how his smile didn't quite reach his eyes and his hands kept behind his back set him on alert.

@neirsung | [Grants Gauntlet +1]