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@falteringknightgervais
Where should you be kissed?
Tagged by @fulgurantfirstborn
knuckles
it feels as though you have fought every day of your life. sometimes, you cannot even tell how much of the blood on your hands is your own... and how much comes from those who've tried to hurt those you defend. you deserve the gentleness of a kiss to your bruised knuckles and broken skin, a reminder that you are not only made of violence.
Interested in knowing exactly what is meant by ’tame the accursed blood’!
We know that ‘accursed blood’ refers to Omen blood (in this case specifically Mohg’s blood). One explanation is that Mohg needed surgeons (white masks) to help him tame /his own blood/. Maybe he was ill or cursed or out of control in some way after contact with the Formless Mother, and enlisted white masks to help find a cure. Of these, only Varre was able to find that cure.
As another explanation, however, I think it’s implied strongly enough that the bloody finger ritual of becoming a knight of the Mohgwyn Dynasty is literally injecting Tarnished with Mohg’s blood. Upon giving your Tarnished the Bloody Finger, Varre says, “This noble blood will be an immutable badge of honor, once it settles. Inside of you. Never forget that feeling of agony. For it is what binds you, to Luminary Mohg, to all of us.” With this in mind I have the idea that ‘tame the accursed blood’ refers to Varre being able to cope with carrying Mohg’s blood in some way that other white masks/tarnished weren’t. Maybe that means Varre is able to receive power from the Formless Mother in the same way Mohg does; via Mohg’s blood that now flows through him.
Would love to hear the takes of fellow Mohgwyn Dynasty enjoyers! 👀
in the japanese description, the verb used is 受け容れる, “to accept/receive” - so no one besides varre was able to accept/receive the cursed blood - in case that is of interest to anyone!
♡ [Fiddle & Gerv pease?]
Gervais fires a bow and hits, but sighs with melancholy.
Fiddle: what, you hit it?
Gerv: this bow... there is no pullstrength.
Fiddle: ... you said that about the last three you tried!
Gerv: and I was correct every time. Did my lord take all the good bowyers with him??
Fiddle: should we get you a greatbow or something??
Gerv: we shouldst finde me a longbow with some proper damned wood!
when you told me gervais' er lore it lit up every segment of my brain, it was so wonderfully presented and well thought out, and i love when people lean into the medieval fantasy of it all - we love a loyal knight who fell in service to the kingdom and now has to venture back. frankly obsessed and i think about it every day.
Aaaaa you're so sweet! I really look forward to the chaos he and Merri will be having!
astoran-exemplar:
His heart sinks for a moment as he hears the distinctive clang- death never came without cost to those branded by the Darksign, after all, but Fordroy’s speech afterward calmed his nerves. The path was traversable if one was both patient and cautious… but the excitability that Gervais had displayed was certainly palpable- as if he were dancing with the possibility of disaster.
The thought troubled him- especially when he saw some form of recklessness from a man who would normally preach caution.
With a heavy exhale, the Astoran rose to his feet- ignoring the soreness and pain lancing through his muscles. Like his compatriot before him, he counted the intervals between the swing of each blade, darting forward when the opportunity presented itself.
Unlike Gervais, however, Aven maintained a ponderous approach, advancing at a steady pace rather than risk possible injury. Many floors in the stone finger known as Sen’s Fortress yet remained- and they would need every ounce of strength they could muster for the trials ahead.
When he’d cleared the last blade, the knight let forth a deep exhale, before leaning against a nearby wall.
“It’s rare that I see you so spirited, Fordroy. Something about death-traps excite you?” He observed, before chuckling dryly.
...
The brat gets another scolding for worrying a friend with these immature antics. Honestly. Seeing Aven’s face on the other side of the gorge was quite enough evidence of why we Did Not Do Things Like That.
He puts on his blank mask, and fishes his shield from his back and straps it back to his arm. Worn as it’s crest might be, it still made the best barrier between him and the challenges to come, after all.
He takes some time to look around his surroundings, for the sight of any other hidden snakepeople, but it seems like they got them. The rest of the time is spent watching his compatriot makes his slow and careful progress between the blades. The far more sensible approach, honestly.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He lies his shame away, from behind his stone mask, as Aven finally joins him on safer ground. “But you never knew if there might be more archers hidden as you progressed.
Has the shock worn off? Do you need a moment?” He brushes away the improvised reasoning with concern next, giving his fellow a critical look for evidence of lingering static.
we have lingered in the chambers of the sea, by sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown, ‘til human voices wake us, ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ and we drown.
independent roleplay blog for an original character based on fromsoftware’s bloodborne: the old hunters. | promo base
Been working some more on some of the other characters I was gonna introduce for Gerv’s plot. I was starting to set up blogs for them and stuff before I ended up leaving instead.
With everyone moved on to Elden Ring, I wonder if they’re worth reviving, where I only have vague ideas for them.
How many people are still around that’re still interested in the ds1 setting?
❝ hinder me? thou fool. no living man may hinder me! ❞ then merry heard of all sounds in that hour the strangest. it seemed that they laughed, and the clear voice was like the ring of steel: – but no living man am i!
an independent, selective roleplaying blog for a tarnished oc from g.r.r. martin and fromsoftwares’ elden ring. | promo base credit | psd credit
Dividing the Hunting Grounds (closed starter for wanderer-among-undead)
@wanderer-among-undead
Bones and feathers for arrows. Furs for trading. Lots and lots of meat for drying and cooking, and hopefully, trading some for a larger variety of supplies.
The knight tallies the spoils of the hunt up, sitting by his small, improvised campfire. At least his muscles remembered more than his head - the blurry memory of hunting parties still felt like trying to grab sand from the ocean floor. But once the first arrows flew, the rest went easier. Birds fell from the sky. Sticks fell into place. The fire roared to life, though it took some tries to figure out what angle he was supposed to hit the rocks again. Thin slivers of meat were lines up and baking besides on washed rocks to dry up for road provisions. One de-feathers bird on a stick cooking over the fire for the night.
He even remembered leaving entrails and the like he wouldn’t need for the wolves skulking about the hills keep them at bay. No need to risk approaching something dangerous like a human for food, when it was just freely lying around, a bit ways away, down the wind current where his scent wouldn’t travel far. There was still some ways to the Mistwood, but he would reach it tomorrow for certain. If he was lucky, there would be a trader in the area. For now, he’s made camp under an outcropping, in case those clouds decided they were going to rain overnight. They certainly looked like the type to do that.
The memory of how to properly skin an animal, or cook it, however, was still murky. Did he not do that himself back in the day? Or was it the long time buried still holding his brain in that hard of a death grip? He could scarcely remember what plants to collect to go with the meat, so the bird for tonight would be pitifully unseasoned.
He runs an un-gloved hand through his messy curls, with a tired huff. Wouldn’t be long before sundown, but this exhaustion still didn’t feel right in his body. His brain expected to go a while longer but his body was starting to feel the strain. Suppose the road back to his old stamina would be a long and arduous one...
Lots of people are reblogging that armour gif again saying they’re happy to know the names of the various parts, so here’s a few more diagrams. Naturally, some styles of armour have extra or different parts and there are specially made suits for jousting and such.
A really important thing to note is that not every soldier/warrior of the time had plate armour. Chainmail was much more common. For as cheap and available as it was, it did a great job against most bladed weapons. It was only when swords made for stabbing and advancements in arrows came about that could break through the links that plate armour started to really get going. But it’s expensive and has to be custom made for each warrior, unlike the one-size-fits-all chainmail tunics.
The main thing to keep in mind when designing armour is what purpose you want it to serve. Does your character need maximum mobility? How do they fight? Do they come from a background where they could get their hands on a fitting suit? And if they are wearing a full suit of armour, make bloody well sure they can move in it! Fantasy armour is more often than not, impractical and does not “meld” together. Ever play a video game and your character’s armour will clip through their own body? Yeah, don’t do that. You’ll feel like a master if you come up with armour that fits well.
♡ banter about knighthood.
♡ — my muse and yours
Gervais: That is... That is not how you holde that.
Merri: It's the better way to hold it!
Gervais: Only if thy wish is to cutte up thy legs. Seize.
Merri: I'm not taking this from you, rusty, I'm the better knight here!
Gervais, visibly hating his continued existence: praytell how thou'st arrived at such a conclution.
Merri: I haven't seen You give any flowers to ANY lovely maidens. I'VE given at least THREE.
Gervais: ... Golden Grace grant me Strength...
♧ (sorry had to send this in when I thought about it- Gerv's feelings about how you need a consort to be Elden Lord or whatever)
♧ — my muse about a specific event
Dos't thee hear? Apparently whomstever becomes Elden Lord woulde still be counted as Queen Marika's consort.
T'is a curious thing. There seemst little indication that Marika actually intends to returne, so t'is certainly no matter of practical arrangement. Of course, the titular importance remains.
I suppose t'is the nature of politics. All structures within the lands can falle but the titles willst fall last. Perhaps t'is a matter of invoking a certain sense of status, or perhaps the Elden Lord is meant to inspire hope that the Queen shalt return one day.
I thinke one greater question woulde be; what were the next Elden Lord to do, if they took the title thinking is purely figurative, and Queen Marika really didst returne from where she may be?
Aven and Gerv in threads:
Aven and Gerv everywhere else:
♡ (Right back atcha old friend)
Send one for party banter from: ♡ — my muse and yours
Aven: Could you stop?
Gervais: Stop what?
Aven: You are fully aware of what you're doing. Seize.
Gervais: What do you mean.
Aven: Every time I throw a dagger, you hit them with an arrow. Every time. I saw you switch weapons to do it at one point.
Gervais: Projectiles aren't as likely to kill an enemy as a direct hit from a blade.
Aven: That one -points- had it's neck sliced open.
Gervais: All I'm saying is, it's a LOT of metal for a simple projectile-
astoran-exemplar:
Although he would not vocalize it, the Astoran was fairly grateful for the momentary reprieve. The Estus flasks healed immediate injuries, and had saved his life in many a scuffle… but they did not excel at handling subtler forms of damage to Undead physiology. Poisons, extreme cold, petrification… and yes, depending on the intensity, the crackling, residual energy of lightning could prove problematic.
He felt less like an individual and more like a single, tensed muscle- a cramped bit of sinew whose reflexes were impaired.
“Watch your step, Sir.” He muttered, sidling aside to provide his compatriot room for the run ahead. The pattern of the scythe’s movements were, indeed, exceedingly predictable- but it was best to leave the advance to the fresher individual.
“…Let me know if you ever get cold feet, though.” The knight stated, half-joking. Gervais was like iron- a man who’d break before he could bend. Perhaps that strange excitement in his tone denoted… an eagerness to prove himself?
Gervais gives his compatriot a mildly sarcastic eyebrow raise as reply to his taunt, before turning his attention to the trap ahead. Cold feet? If only cold feet was the demon he had to toggle in situations like this. Might have saved him a few of those scars in his lifetime.
He transfers the bow to his back, sliding it below where the shield was positioned, to make his kit as slim as possible in the face of the coming challenge. The protection wouldn't be much needed, if instead it snagged on one of the blades and sent him tumbling down.
He starts counting the rhythm of the swings again. This time vocally, for the sake of his compatriot. The melody makes the action flow, and being able to vocalize it would be a helping hand to flow with it.
"Du-dun. Dun. Du-Dun. Du-Dun. Dun. Du-Dun. Du-Dun-" He mutters, following the swing of the first blades with his eyes. His stance adjusts, making ready for take-off. In his stomach, a small child was celebrating. He was too busy to silence him now.
"Du-dun. Dun. Now. Du-Dun. Du-Dun. Dun. Now. Du-Dun. Du-Dun-"
Like sprung from a trap, the knight flies forward. Eyes on the path ahead, force forward, ready to take down anything in his path on the other side down with him. Fly like an arrow.
Perhaps it'd be wiser to take it in slow stops, but at this point, the giggling beast in his stomach had the reigns and were whipping them like a toddler on their first cane-ride. Blood pumping, adrenaline rushing like lightning through his body. He barely registers the sharp clang on the final clear, as his foot is smacked by one of the swinging obstacles, sending his landing on the other side into a sharp spin and throwing off his balance.
Metal scrapes abrasively against stone as Gervais instinctively slams his feet down for better holding, and braces the incoming floor with an armored hand before he comes to a stop on the other side, almost all the way partly turned back towards his electrified colleague, partially obscured by brown curls torn loose from his final landing and making their way in every which direction.
Ah- The cold shame sets in some, as his stomach brat receives an immediate reprimand on common sense and proper knightly behavior. An indescretion mostly hidden to him and him alone, but definitely highlighted by the poor landing on the other side.
"... You can't quite make it in one go." He reports back with a huff of breath, trying to shake his internal turmoil off. "But there are stops in between the blades!"
Send one for party banter from:
♡ — my muse and yours ♢ — my muse and another character ( asker’s choice ) ♤ — my muse in a specific location ( asker’s choice ) ♧ — my muse about a specific event ( asker’s choice )
If you’re sending characters only, you can specify a topic.
