*/ FOR GLORY

[de-la-morte]

                           𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐃,   𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋;                                            𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐈 𝐀𝐌...  𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄.

                                                         rules  &  about

[h-i--s-a]

[weltenwellen]

Maya C. Popa, from “Les Neiges D'Antan”, Wound Is the Origin of Wonder

[nicostiel]

[b-erserk]

Guts stood motionless ‘pon the river’s cold embrace, his body half-submerged as if indifferent to the current’s force pushing by. His hand is yet outstretched, each finger grasping at air as if deluded that they’d had touched the hawk’s talon, as if fate by some miracle would grant him another chance at it. Despite it all, nothing reprieved that absence of satisfaction and the shock factor brought Griffith a window of opportunity.

He’s gone… ?

A breath hitched like an uncomfortable knot. His fierce gaze blinked, it took a good moment for him to realize that Griffith, an ethereal dream as any would’ve described, was leaving with his clothes. His only clothes.

❝ H - Hey! Knock it off, the hell do you think you’re doing?! ❞ Not an ounce of anger was laced in his words, only an unsavory discomfort surrounding the sheer thought of having no garments in the midst of nowhere. Powerful arms dripping in cold water easily anchor his muscular frame that emerges bare from the water’s veil. You really are something else…

In the company of a deliberate sigh, Guts brushes both hands against his hair in order to screen off any excess, after all, his vision had to be top-notch if he were to catch a bird. Thankfully there was no one else around, otherwise this would’ve panned fairly different.

❝ Fine, ❞ Guts finally says, letting his hands move to his side, preparing himself for comes next. ❝ If you think that’s all there is to it… you’re in for a surprise. ❞ Without a second thought and in the heat of things, Guts surges forward with indomitable speed, his cold feet slapped against the soil but none of those uncomfortable feelings registered in his mind; the distance between them — him and the angelic dream holding his clothes — was all that mattered, much so that he’d left his blade sheathed by the steed. It wouldn’t be long now.

[de-la-morte]

           𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏𝐒 follow them through  the  gorse & the scattered trees that eventually lead to an open clearing, where the sunlight slides through between the kaleidoscope of orange leaves to illuminate the ones on the ground. griffith slows down just then & turns in place, flashing that devilishly charming smile right back at guts, ❝ quite the show you are putting on, my friend! ❞ he exclaims with a stifled laugh, ❝ i feel much regret for not having the gold pouch on me! ❞ waving the garment back & forth once more, he waits for guts to catch up before moving away at the last second, his leather boots tip-toeing back across the blanket of leaves with a smooth, dance-like movement.

           ❝ even though this ought to be your punishment, i must admit, you are making it awfully difficult not to take... ❞ the white hawk pauses briefly & glances lower, ❝ ──── advantage. ❞ in that moment something stirs within the depths of those keen azure eyes, only for griffith to glance back up again & make a quick duck underneath guts' outstretched arm, hitting his naked ass with the braies. ❝ perhaps, i shall... ❞

[b-erserk]

Freedom is a weary currency in the age they inhabit, one that costs more than the weight of blood ties, more than the clinking of copper coins. It is a rare and fleeting luxury, a precious commodity so few ever truly grasp — yet here they stood, bathed in its fleeting glory if simply for a moment, tasting its liberation like the rarest of wines. Guts offers no reply, only a cocky smirk that speaks volumes as the great leader, ever the embodiment of beautiful refinement, delivers his lectures and questions.

❝ Griffith, ❞ Our warrior’s rough but steady voice calls out as water streams trail down his cocky expression. ❝ you talk too much, you know that? Why don’t you just feel the damn water. ❞ He raises a hand to wipe it across his hair, but it was a feint, a simple ruse to allow the frigid cold water that bit at his skin to be hurled as a carpet in Griffith’s direction. Just like good ol’ times, just like back then when they’ve tussled by the broken down well.

Meanwhile our warrior moves with a peculiar quiet precision of a predator in spite of his size, his muscular silhouette rippling beneath the surface of the water as he swims closer towards the riverbank. His broad shoulders cut through any faint current effortlessly, each stroke deliberate, each motion almost practiced. To capitalize on someone’s unfortunate luck had long served him right, and should this work, Griffith would be feeling more than just a few sprinkles of cold nipping at his angelic skin.

[de-la-morte]

           𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 & 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐌, the older man barely bothers to lift his arms before allowing that thin veil of water to splash him, & it felt cold, as expected. a vivid scent of freshwater sticking to his now glistening skin & the wet white tunic like a perfume. this is perhaps what one gets for indulging another ──── & for not wearing at least a cloak ──── but ah, he digresses, griffith has felt much more unsavoury things in life. in fact, he preferers it. to be both pristine yet rough, noble & savage, not exactly how a future ruler should be in the eyes of many, no. but he wants to be all that, & more.

           to act without permission, to rule without question & take anything & everything as the heart pleases, such being a side only one man in his life ever saw. ❝ ah... so predictable. ❞ nonchalantly wiping the water droplets off own feminine face, griffith glances down at the other from beyond the web of his lithe fingers, muttering in that soft, melodic, yet unusually hushed tone, ❝ you never change... ❞ it's a grand compliment camouflaged as sarcasm. after all, he wouldn't have him any other way. ❝ but fine, fine. if you insist. ❞

           sighing ever so softly & pushing wet hair off the shoulders, griffith actually turns away from the river as he picks up guts' crumpled clothing & folds it neatly over own forearm, stealing a glance. ❝ i shall join you, though considering the matter of my unnecessarily soaked clothes, i think a small punishment is in order ──── no? ❞ the azure eyes sharpen as the once gentle smile curls further, slowly stretching into a grin. oh, how he loves this. how he craves to unwind. ❝ come now, guts, ❞ more. he needs more. ❝ get your things. ❞ suddenly turning 'pon heel, the white hawk makes a dart for it all the while waving guts' braies like a flag.

[griff-1th]

©momoYuk2

[b-erserk]

His eyes, those of a warrior easily led by bloodshed, now beheld nothing but the dazzling vibrancy of colors, shimmering with life he’d forgotten to appreciate. ❝ This is the big secret you’re afraid of tellin’ me? ❞ The arrogance is easily betrayed by the bemused smile curling at his lips, he paused, savoring the rare moment of peace—the distant murmur of the river, the wild fish darting through the water, the quiet enormity of normality.

With one fluid motion, Guts dismounted the strong steed, his boots hit the ground with a soft thud despite such large stature. He moved with practiced fluidity, the muscles in his back rippling against fabric as he shrugged off the weight of his armor. Leather straps that had bound his upper chest plate were pulled free with a flick of his wrist, samples of garments slid from his body like a second skin. One momentary chill kissed his skin, but the heat of the summer air and enchanted sound of the river’s call were enough to shake it all off.

His broad shoulders tensed, relaxed, and without a second thought he sprinted towards the water. ❝ The hell ya’ waiting for, hop in! ❞ With a playful grunt, he jumped in, vanishing beneath the glistening surface with brutish grace whilst creating a large whiplash.

The river closed around him, the world momentarily quieting as he sank into the cool embrace of the water and quickly emerged above its rippled surface. The great leader wouldn’t let him enjoy this by himself now, would he? Unless he was a coward, which our warrior would gladly pick on should enough time pass.

[de-la-morte]

           𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐆𝐔𝐓𝐒 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 & 𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐊, which nobody ever dared to neither dream nor imagine, has caused for a subtle crack to suddenly form on griffith's heart of ice. his typically busy mind has hushed entirely. his blue, blue eyes growing as wide as large azure gems. it's a very short & fleeting moment, but one where once beloved fall loses its meaning, & the white hawk & the straggler become two birds of a feather, much like a pair of unruly youths who've yet to carry their future burdens & dreams. so very careless, natural, &... free.

' free. '

           that is all that he can think about while watching guts remerge, throwing that very same daring smile his way, finally bringing out one of his own, but this time, without any pretences or hidden schemes. griffith smiles at him with a striking likeliness to an angel, slowly following the boot prints left in the grass to stop at the edge of the river, his long, white & wavy hair still dancing in the wind, the azure eyes once more half-lidded & sparkling in inherent charm. ❝ oh, guts, always plunging your head first without thinking... ❞

           despite his angelic face, griffith's gentle gaze is all but holy. a teasing spark starting to glisten as he continues on, almost, mockingly, ❝ while i did say that i wished to share this fine location with you, i don't believe i ever mentioned anything about swimming now, did i? ❞ the small smile ever so subtly widens, not even trying to hide the clear implications of guts just jumping into the cold river at this point.

[de-la-morte]

⊰  for  @b-erserk ⊱

[de-la-morte]

b-erserk​:

       ❝   𝖸𝗈𝗎 …  ❞   He became enthralled, frozen as if captured in a picture frame aside the greatest man alive. What is he meant to say ?  To share ?  Guts wishes to speak but any words meant to surface remained trapped in his throat, as if their worth could not match up against Griffith’s warm passion.

An embrace would be inappropriate, so would the idea of trying to fake it that he did not hear that.  ❝  I huh …  ❞   He looked aside, hand massaging the back of his stiff neck. Maybe one day the man capable of killing one-hundred would be able to be more honest, or perhaps something would coax him to share the same sentiment to the open world. For now, Guts kept looking away, as if embarrassed by the whole ordeal.

[maajenka]

“It is amazing how complete is the delusion that beauty is goodness”

[de-la-morte]

b-erserk​:

        ❝  Yeah, why not.  ❞  Guts amiably expressed, he is seemingly unaware of the flattering smile he gallantly carries. It has been awhile, yeah; how they fought that fateful day beneath a scorching sun, as memorable as the moment they now exchanged galloping across the empty meadows. He discovered someone to confine in: a friend, compatriot and …

        His hand leaned forth to bridge across the small distance, thumb and index pinched the succulent strawberry.  ❝  Still haven’t told me where we’re goin’ ?  ❞ His eyes sought to drown on Griffith’s image once again, to see how he almost glistened and glowed beneath the merciful warmth of the sun. He was going to achieve great heights, one day, and our captain would be there to lift him higher ────  a friend is a friend after all. 

         Guts eventually returned his attention to the land ahead. It was fairly verdant with a casual distant farmer herding their flock. On the far distance slept a maze of trees with untold disasters hidden within, all in all, no matter how hard he tried to guess ? He was clueless, it was far too strenuous to try and read Griffith’s brilliance. It is in that moment that it hit him; he was craving for another strawberry so his hand reached for one more.

            𝐀 𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐋𝐄 𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐄𝐒 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐓𝐇’𝐒 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒,  most  humbly  offering  the  last  strawberry  in  hand.    ❝    oh,  it’s  a  surprise,  guts...  one  mustn't  spoil  surprises.   ❞   hiding  away  the  now  empty  handkerchief,  they  continue  on  down  the  sandy  path  &  soon  enough  into  a  maw  of  the  great  maple  forest  ────  the  vast  acres  of  orange,  red,  &  yellow  trees  ────   as  well  as  the  most  beautiful  emerald  river.   griffith  halts  directly  by  its  flourishing  bank  &  peers  down  at  the  calm  glistening  waters.  there  are  many  wild  fish  to  be  found  there,  some  of  which  even  hop  out  of  the  stream  before  diving  right  back  in,  making  the  white  hawk  smile  ever  so  softly  in  turn.      ❝   here  we  are,   the  heart  of  the  wyndham  forest...  ❞    he  states  nobly,   ❝   one  of  many  hidden  secrets  which  i  was  lucky  enough  to  find,  &  wished  to  share.   ❞

            glancing  briefly  over  the  shoulder,  griffith  offers  his  companion  the  very  same  expression  before  sliding  off  his  steed  &  with  pale  fingers  brushing  down  its  marvellous  fur,  approach  the  edge  of  the  riverbank  where  the  warm  mid-summer  wind  suddenly  tussles  his  hair,  making  it  glisten  &  float  like  white  sails.    ❝    despite  the  many  brutal  wars  over  the  years...   this  place  always  reminds  me  that  there  is  still  beauty  awaiting  to  be  found  in  this  deeply  troubled  world,    ❞    he  continues  thoughtfully,  taking  the  whole  scenery  in,  however,  not  without  guts’s  own  opinion;    ❝   do  you...   like  it... ?   ❞

[maajenka]

“As such, there is no other path for me to follow”

[de-la-morte]

b-erserk​:

       Admirable, wasn’t it ?  To carry not one but many dreams, yet able to smile as if tomorrow’s crack of dawn brimmed with hope. He fights for something, for someone, unlike me. Who am I fighting for, is it for him, for them or myself? And so our young captain thinks, sharing a smile in reflection of his guiding star’s vivacious determination.  ❝  Yeah, yeah. I heard ya’, I’ll go ahead for once.  ❞  Quick on making a decision, his towering frame came ever so closer, allowing his brutish hand to give a firm tap on the falcon’s shoulder.

       Fresh summer breezes brought a curtain between them, a veil of blushing leaves and faint scent of salt from the nearby ocean. Guts descended a set of cobblestone stairs spiraling down into the city below, and his focused attention to ‘obeying’ began to surface. Guess if I can’t find a reason to fight for myself, then I will fight for him. The ocean glistened brightly from where he stood, filled with unknown promise. Would they ever travel beyond the vast expanse ? Keep embarking on and on ‘till fate deemed them too old for it ? Whichever, Guts ensured to prepare a rucksack with essentials and made his way to the kingdom’s front gates, where his trusty steed kept him company whilst waiting.

                𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑,   the  young  commander  arrives  ‘pon  his  very  own  white  steed,   albeit  without  the  usual  suit  of  armour  to  match  the  rather  imperial-looking  creature.  it’s  not  needed  today,  it  seems.    ❝    so  i  see  you’re  ready,   that’s  good.   ❞    smiling  gently,  griffith  approaches  him  &  slowly  circles  around  within  a  wide  arch,  allowing  for  the  cool  ocean  breeze  to  sway  his  long,  wavy  locks.  a  truly  beautiful  weather,  he  thinks.   it’s  exactly  what  they  needed....    ────  no,  what  they  craved  ────   a  little  getaway  from  the  cruelties  of  this  wretched  world.      ❝   onward  then,  let’s  depart  before  the  sunset  catches  up  to  us.   ~    ❞

                  gently  kicking  heels  against  the  horse’s  sides,  griffith  goes  ahead  &  leads  guts  away  from  the  city,   nonchalantly  galloping  along  the  long  sandy  road  surrounded  by  flourishing  trees   &   thick  strawberry  bushes.    ❝   hm...   now  that  i  think  about  it...   it’s  been  a  while  since  you  &  i  had  spent  time  together  like  this....   ❞     widening  the  once  small  smile,  the  white  hawk  suddenly  leans  off  to  the  side   &   snaps  a  couple  of  mature  strawberries  along  the  way,  holding  them  out  to  guts  within  a  white  handkerchief  just  as  he  straightens;    ❝   ────  a  small  snack,  perhaps?   ❞

[de-la-morte]

knightshonour​:

As far as he could wager, this was far uncharted territory. The world seemed familiar to him, but clearly something was amiss about him being here. As neat as it would be to figure out just how he wound up in this specific place at this specific time, there was little reason to stress over it.

As it was anyway, the time here seemed to be just as distorted, and there most certainly happened to be a cross between the normal plane all mortals wander, and the realm in which more fantastical entities reside. At least, if that magnificent light that haloed this figure was anything to go by.

“I’ve stopped here on my path.” A familiar, unpleasant sensation coated his words. Something seemed to be burning at his core. Rowan was keenly aware of the presence of less-than-savory entities, ones that he dedicated his life to hunt. “I was following the trail of a demon that seems to be hiding in wait..” The appearance of such a rough and obviously skilled warrior lent credence to such claims, at the very least if not that weapon’s profile were to be believed.

“I’ve not navigated this land before, but it seems all too familiar to me..” His stance only slightly eased, the clear foreigner of the two not completely giving up on his blade, but at the very least signaling that he wouldn’t attack unprovoked. It’d need a slight bit more trust before he’d lower (or even stow away) his blade. The unfamiliar inscriptions on Rowan’s surcoat, as well as his armor gave him away as a knight, but not as one of any recognizable land near here.

                ❝   ...  𝐀  𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍?   ❞    he  quotes  the  other  in  a  gentle  tone,    ❝   that  is  indeed  troubling  news...   ❞    if  what  the  stranger  says  is  true,  then  they  must  dispose  of  it  quickly  before  any  possible  ill  happens,  however,  not  before  testing  the  sheer  value  of  those  words.  after  all,  the  man  could  very  well  be  a  spy.  one  out  of  many  more  waiting  in  darkness  of  night.    ❝   if  i  may  ask,  ❞    so  he  begins,  taking  but  a  single  step  forward,     ❝    from  where  do  you  hail  from  exactly,  my  friend... ?   as  you  say  yourself,  these  lands  are  unfamiliar  to  you   &   judging  by  the  gear  you  carry,  i  reckon  that  you  must  be  a  knight...   or  perhaps,  once  were.    ❞  

                he  purposely  omits  the  fact  that  the  said  gear  could  have  belonged  to  another,  for  as  much  as  one  may  be  confident  in  their  own  fighting  skills,  it’d  still  be  wise  to  avoid  any  conflict  for  the  sheer  sake  of  valuable  information.  alas,  staring  directly  at  his  visor,  the  white  falcon  questions  the  flow  of  his  narrative  with  masterful  poise;  ❝   did  someone  send  you  to  hunt  it  down ?   ❞

[de-la-morte]

“What the hell was that thing back there?!”

                𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄,  there’s  no  time  to  waste.  every  second  counts.  every  move  must  be  sharp  &  swift.  as  such,  the  white  falcon  draws  his  sword  &  cuts  through  the  very  next  enemy  ────   manoeuvring  in  grace,  slicing  the  cur’s  head  right  off   ────   only  to  bury  his  bloodied  blade  deep  into  the  back  of  the  man  who  foolishly  attempted  to  catch  casca  off-guard.   it’s  pathetic.   no  challenge  whatsoever.  still,  the  sound  &  feel  of  organs  being  spilled,   the  very  downpour  blood....    it’s  all  just  so  invigorating.   it  feels  good  to  let  out  some  steam.    ❝   hmph.... ~  ❞

              nonchalantly  stepping  down  ‘pon  the  corpse,  the  white  falcon  once  more  drags  out  his  blade  &   slowly  peers  across  the  battlefield,   azure  eyes  scanning  each  &  every  individual  silhouette  with  surgical  precision  until  they  land  ‘pon  none  other  than  guts.   he  appears  to  be  saying  something,  but  what?  ‘tis  impossible  tell.  the  noise  of  the  battlefield  drowns  out  the  swordsman  in  a  sea  of  screams  &  clashing  metal,  but  just  before  one  can  possibly  ask,   griffith’s  eyes  suddenly  widen  within  the  shadow  of  his  silver  helm;   a  nefarious  beast,  as  big  &  tall  as  a  sturdy  gate,  is  rushing  directly  towards  him.   no,  griffith  thinks.     ❝   ────   GUTS!   ❞  

            without  hesitation,  he  rushes  through  the  masses.  he  doesn’t  even  look  at  anyone  else  before  leaping  high  into  the  air  &  using  someone  else’s  shoulder  as  further  leverage,  strikes  the  monster  right  in  the  neck.   ❝    you  shall  not  have  him ....  ❞    he  mutters,  looking  almost  like  an  actual  falcon  with  the  large  white  cloak  flattering  wildly,   ❝   he’s  mine...  ❞   thus  twisting  the  blade  even  further &  forcing  the  beast  to  topple.

[zamasu]