The Last True Darkmoon Blade @godsreprisal - Tumblr Blog

cursedandcarried‌:

The snowy wind whipping at his cloak no doubt makes Lothric seem larger than he actually is as he approaches the site of the battle, the embers embedded in his eyes and ashen flesh glinting in the gloom. Someone is waving. It’s the cleric, who’d either jumped or been knocked aside by the soul spear. Lothric waves back, his armor creaking. “Hello? Is it dead?”

It looked pretty dead. The battlefield is torn to shreds, mud and blood and ice mixing to create a black slurry that would swallow a regular-sized human up to their calves. The ground hisses wherever Lothric steps, the heat of him palpable even from meters away. For now he’s banished the greatsword back to the ether so he can use both arms to balance his absurdly lanky body, not wanting to slip on the mud. It seemed like that was something none of the tens of thousands of souls inside him had ever mastered.

“Salutations!” Lowering his good, he offered as sincere a grin as he could muster, though the grimace of pain didn’t quite escape his features. The pierce of biting cold in his torn flesh made him shiver, and he resisted the urge to curl in on himself. Hearing a slight hesitation in the stranger’s voice put him slightly at ease, though he did take a wavering step backwards in the vastness of his shadow, awed at the armored figure’s fantastic size. “Yes, I believe so.” He took a final glance over his shoulder at the limp form of the Corvian, half-buried in the snow for good measure. “I humbly thank you for your assistance, my friend. We were in sore need of it.” With his good arm, he made a brief, sweeping gesture at the remaining Corvians.

Moving aside, he stepped a few yards away to help one of the wingless bird-people who had become sucked down into a particularly deep trench in the mud. It made his toes numb and his gloved fingertips tingled with nerve sensitivity; he could hardly imagine how terribly cold it must have been to one with only the barest, fuzzy down to keep themself warm.”Though, I must apologize--” he said to the stranger. Grasping them by the middle, he gently lifted the Corvian out and set them on a dryer patch, where they continued their shambling escape. “-- for surely the means by which you’ve found yourself here have been most unpleasant. Yes?”

#cursedandcarried #cac2 #concord well kept #[ aaahh I'm sorry for the wait-- ]

wanderingpaladin

The Slightest Chance

godsreprisal

wanderingpaladin‌:

“Then perhaps you’d like to come visit my home city with me once my pilgrimage is over..?” And that, hopefully would be soon. He had spent ages in Drangleic -

Bradley glanced over towards the bridge leading into Harvest Valley. Soon…

The paladin’s thoughts trailed off. How was his father doing? The task of ruling a city, it was a duty that very few can prove themselves to be worthy of being up for the task. Then there was the entire fiasco with his brother. Oh dear lords, his brother Gotthard, he was an entire handful even with his uncle Aegon and his father on the side.

“Forgive me, I seem to have lost myself in thought for a second there.” He shook his head, focusing his gaze on the other man. “But I meant what I said by the way, if you so wish to come with me after all of this is over, to see my father’s library, I am certain he would not mind.”

He blanched, realizing the weight of offer before him. Manners indicating he should decline such an auspicious offer, having nothing of the like to return in kind, but his stomach twisted up at the idea of passing by such an opportunity. Jackdaw had yet to explore this kingdom top-to-bottom, and the promise of wonders outside of its borders called him ever louder still, like a voice that rose in chorus with the prospect of seeing lost miracles.

Swallowing, he managed a stiff nod at Sir Bradley’s reiteration. “I-- I would be honored,” he hurried out, tentatively taking a step closer. “I fear I have delayed your journey enough thus far, but if there was anything I could do to repay the kindness of the opportunity you’ve given me, please, do not hesitate to tell me.”

Tracking the others previous gaze, he leaned down a little to have a clearer view of the bridge through the scattered foliage. The valley was not far from here, if he recalled correctly, and inside it the very air was thick with poisons he, begrudgingly, had no sure way to counteract. Perhaps he should have asked for a moment longer to prepare while the two were still in Majula.

#wanderingpaladin #long forgotten #the slightest chance #[ dorks bond over shiny god stuff #more at 11 ]

cursedandcarried‌:

The wind carries sounds of a skirmish, metal clashing against metal. Maybe there was something alive in this place after all, besides the larvae and the mold. Lothric starts in that direction, stepping over corpses half-buried in snow. It’s hard to make out their features, but they look like birds to him. Baby birds, disproportionate and featherless, the size of an adult human. The kind that you’d sometimes find fallen from the nest, gray and covered in ants. He grimaces and moves on.

Ahead he can see a towering, cloaked creature and the smaller opponent dancing around it, trading blows as more of the bird-people feebly drag themselves away from the fight. It’s impossible to tell who is in the right, here, if anybody, but he feels like the corvian knight would probably give him more trouble by its size alone. While it’s occupied fighting the cleric, he raises his hand, summoning a spear of fiery crystal, and hurls it at the knight. It smashes into its chest with the force of a cannonball, sending it crashing into a snowbank. Lothric grins, flexing his fingers. It felt good to use magic again.

It was nothing but fight-or-flight instinct which spared his life, the crystalline projectile sailing clean past is ear, which only registered the oncoming whoosh of arcane arts at the last possible moment. The cleric rolled, coating his garb, and, more importantly, his bleeding wounds, in slush and filth, the scythe barred in front of himself again.

The opposing knight had crumpled into the snow some meters off, propelled clean off avian feet with the force of magicks the likes of which he had never seen. Rushing to the sides of the smaller Corvians, he looked about for the unknown assailant, shifting from foot to foot as he continuously glanced backward, as well, to ensure the knight stayed down. When a tall figure some distance away stood out against the barren landscape, he squinted.

They appeared roughly of similar size to the fallen knight, but their silhouette was not unlike anything he had thus far seen in the painted world-- and he had been exploring its depths for what felt now to be its own eternity. Cautiously, his goddess’ miracle still coursing through his body, his fingertips tingling with the holy energy, he raised one arm and waved for their attention, hoping to offer his gratitude if they were amicable to it. His shoulder stung with the strain of supporting his weapon one-handed, so he lowered his other hand to hold it once he was certain the other had seen him.

#cursedandcarried #cac2 #concord well kept #[ aaahh sorry for the wait;; ]