lionheart

Row row row your boat; Gently down the stream; If you mention my dad's name; I'll be sure to scream

"I am angry," she can at least agree with that much, even if the reasons he assumes are vastly incorrect.

She thinks about it sometimes. What it might have been like had she grown up in Leonster alongside Leif with both of their parents. She'd have ridden a horse as a proper knight. The thought makes her scrunch up her nose. She'd have held her head high just like the rest of them and looked down at the people in the South. Hyenas. Barbarians. Scum. That's what she'd have been taught they were.

No, she is not angry about the absence of her birth father.

Eldigan tries to offer his sympathy and Altena rolls her eyes. "Spare me the apologies. I don't want to hear them."

There's a splash followed by laughter as one of the rowboats finally capsizes. Altena wonders if the noise will be enough to break up the tension that has now formed in the conversation. She doesn't know this man. She doesn't owe him an explanation for her life. But she hates thinking that he might assume she feels differently about the man who sired her than she does.

"I grew up better without his influence."

#thread: row row row your boat #support: altena #luminousrider #// eldie like 'i got to get outta here she gonna eat me'

The response isn't unexpected. His eyes fall shut for the briefest of moments as he lets out a long breath as Altena continues, and he can't begin to understand the perspective that she holds in this endeavor-- how could he? He had not borne witness to everything that unfolded, he could not speak to the caliber of Quan's parenting; all he can hold is that of assumptions, beneficial to none in the conversation. To even attempt to speak on a dynamic he held no part in would be an insult to both the girl before him and the man who no longer existed. "I know." The next time, quieter. "... I know." He cannot soothe her anger. Nor will he try to. Eldigan can only listen in silence, finally opening his eyes to watch one of the students floundering in the water who has seemingly accepted his fate as the loser in this battle. There's so much uncertainty in how to address the last statement she left him with-- and a sentiment far more loaded than he knows the details of. It seems as if their conversation has reached a standstill, though... and as a result, he turns slightly before motioning to the lake in front of them. "Perhaps a change of pace would do us both well. It seems to be quite the thrill, no?" A pleasant distraction, his frown now slowly shifting into something more akin to a disarming smile. Silently, he's thankful for the fact that they have an option to exit the tensions between them for the moment-- pushing the topic will do nothing good for either of them anymore. "I am no master of the lance, but I believe myself to be proficient enough. What say you to a challenge, Lady Altena?" "If a wager will make it more agreeable, then I vow to abide by the terms you set should you best me."

@luminousrider

lionscion

When the Mitosis Backfires AGAIN (But Worse) || Ares & Eldigan

lionscion

Mist-cloaked mornings like this were usually some of the most peaceful Garreg Mach could offer. Not even the bells had broken the silence yet, let alone the chatter of staff and students, and something about not being able to see beyond a few feet in front of you gave everything a dreamlike quality, especially when strolling its rocky outskirts.

But today, it was nothing more than an idyllic facade.

Ares' figure stirred behind its curtain, detectable only by quick footsteps that failed to fully conceal their agitation bleeding into the subtle swirls of delicate mist and tumbled stones. Silence persisted otherwise, but within his head, his questions were loud and plentiful.

"How?" Was the loudest of them all though, and the one he repeated the most as his narrow-eyed glare bore into the other man standing beyond his cover.

"How could a broken mirror's magic still persist?"

"How could a copy escape it?"

"How could it make one of someone who wasn't there to copy?"

Denial was obvious in each one, but none of them made the near-identical likeness any less clear -- or uncanny.

Ares already knew what had to come next, but when he was close enough to catch the chilling gleam of the eye fixed in the sword at the man's hip, any lingering patience evaporated in a loud hiss of metal.

"I don't know how you escaped that mirror, but you'll go no further, shade."

Powerful sword swings burst through the veil and flew straight for the doppel's neck with a ferocity that concealed the depth of urgency driving it. Anyone from Jugdral knew better than to call it a simple but vicious assault, and none moreso than the last living owner of Hodr's Major Blood.

Borne from the sureness of immediate death if this thing's draw was faster than Ares' strikes, this was desperation.

@ljonsbluod

#thread: when the mitosis backfires again #support: ares #lionscion #// WHEW sorry for the delay #// his eyes are bugging out of his head

Though the mind may fade with time and space, the body does not so easily unlearn movements ingrained into its very bones. Eldigan is no exception to that law as the hiss of Ares's blade brings him out of the morning's serenity, golden brows furrowing as he immediately pivots on his heel to raise the blade that had been resting at his hip. He doesn't have the time to question the stranger's approach as the clang of metal on metal rings out in the clearing, and the force behind the blow is quite surprising to him-- Until golden eyes that are strikingly familiar glare at him... and it's as if every ounce of air leaves his lungs at once. Bewilderment is not something that frequently settles on his own features, and he makes no move to strike back, even as he grunts against the force levered in his direction. Were he unaware of the progression of time, perhaps he would believe to be staring into some kind of a mirror to see himself at a younger age... but a father cannot mistake his own flesh and blood, a fraction of his heart and soul imbued into another. There's only one name that he can attribute to that face, and judging by the fact that he can hold his own against the Lionheart's strength... "Wait!" Eldigan's voice would normally sound commanding and powerful, but this request nearly borders on a plea. He knows not of what the boy speaks of, yet there's little that he can do to remain convincing... other than to shove Ares's blade to the side and take a few steps back, lowering his own. It's only kept in his hand in the event that things continue to escalate, but he doubts he'll need it. There's no other that wields that blade, after all. He entrusted it to one, and one alone. "...Ares?" His throat constricts, and it's so much harder to swallow. But he straightens his back, steels his nerves, and that piercing gaze softens in ways that only his son could possibly evoke. This time, though, his question comes out little more than a whisper, as if he's afraid to speak too loud should it all come crumbling down. "Is... that you?"

@lionscion

Row row row your boat; Gently down the stream; If you mention my dad's name; I'll be sure to scream

"My father made sure to teach me well," she huffs, trying hard not to snap the words out. They speak of two different men. Quan may have sired her but he taught her nothing. A fact that she takes pride in and holds close to her heart.

She knows who he is. He has no need to introduce himself. She could mention her connection to Ares and Nanna. She doesn't.

She's already made up her mind about him. He doesn't need to speak to her for her to know he's going to be just like the rest. She's met enough of her birth father's old acquaintances to know they're all the same. Each of them lauding the man and speaking of him as though he's never done anything wrong. This Eldigan will be no different, she's sure.

"I'm not here for a vacation. I'm here to work." She has enjoyed herself. Sometimes she worries she's been enjoying it a little too much. It isn't fair that she's here, having fun, making friends, eating good food and her people are left trying to rebuild their home without her. She definitely does not tell him this.

There's a bite to her sentiments that causes him to glance down at her, the slightest hint of surprise evident in the way his lips part ever so subtly. He doesn't know any of what's happened in the wake of his own 'parting' from this world, and there's too many blanks for him to form any sort of assumption or answer to his own questions-- other than the fact that his friends are dead and gone, and have been for... a while. A part of him resents it, that they left this world when he believed in them more than anyone else; and another part of him mourns, failing to understand why he returned and the others did not. It's complicated. Survivor's guilt in a sense, but a lack of understanding that compiles on top of everything else. A sigh follows her words, knowing full well that this 'work' is a distraction-- after all, he's done the same thing in a way. "Don't worry. I never assumed such a thing." He speaks softly, trying his best to carefully navigate the topics at hand. Eldigan's never been good at this sort of thing, though there were times he wished that he was. "I don't doubt that you're a hard worker. You speak of him teaching you- there are many lessons that it is a father's duty to impart to their children." Something he never got to do, and he only assumes that Sigurd and Quan fell short in similar ways. "I... do not know the details of your father's fate, nor of what has happened in the several decades before my own return." "I can only hope that he had the opportunity, as every father should. Yet I also know well enough that it is not that easy, not in the world we live in." "Regardless, I am gladdened to know that you have grown. Many times had I feared for Ares's life; and it is precisely why I sent him and his mother away."

@luminousrider

She almost feels bad. Almost. His voice is soft. He doesn't rise to meet the growing distaste in her own tone. He talks about his own son with a pride that makes her think that maybe he might have seen Ares as more than just an heir or a weapon to be used.

Quan had been his friend and he doesn't know what happened to him.

She doesn't know if she's the right person to deliver that news.

"If you're trying to pry into Quan's fate, he..." Altena's brow furrows deeply just as Quan's might have in a similar moment. "He was killed when I was three. I was eighteen when Father, King Travant of Thracia, was killed." He deserves the truth in the same way she'd demand it for herself. There is no use hiding it when he will find out from someone else eventually. Perhaps someone else might be more gentle about it but it is relevant now and she will not keep things hidden should he ask.

"Ares, I'm sure, is glad you are here." She tries to give just a little. She does still feel the tiniest bit bad. And maybe encourage him to go find his own child to bother.

#thread: row row row your boat #support: altena #luminousrider #// let’s see if he gets smacked for this

Father? A different address from Quan? It certainly piques his curiosity, but…. even with years between the events, there is no amount of time that soothes the ache of loss. Eldigan’s lips thin into a line at the revelation— his friend never had the chance to be much of a father, much in the same way he had. Despite her age, he can see nothing but a girl hardened by the circumstances of life; yet that girl had persevered through everything. He doesn’t know the details; he doesn’t have to to know it’s been hard. Lonely.

The mention of Ares draws a fond sigh and a small smile, a shake of his head accompanying it. “There is much we have to discuss. Were he to resent me for my absence… I could not fault him. It was my duty— as well as Quan’s— to advocate for our children. To raise them, to love them.”

His eyes turn to the rippling waters of the lake, but it doesn’t seem that he’s focusing on much of anything. The smile fades and is instead replaced with a blank, emotionless facade as his voice dips. “We failed in that. Our children have every right to be angry.”

“There is no forgiveness to be had for our neglect, though the circumstances were far out of our control. I can only begin to hope that I am able to make the most of these days and all to come, to provide even a fraction of what I wished I had been able to.”

A pause, before he glances to her. “I cannot apologize on Quan’s behalf. It would ring hollow, and I dare not speak for another. But I can say for myself— I am sorry that you, as well as others, had to experience any of this.”

@luminousrider

Row row row your boat; Gently down the stream; If you mention my dad's name; I'll be sure to scream

She knows who he is. He has no need to introduce himself. She could mention her connection to Ares and Nanna. She doesn't.

#thread: row row row your boat #support: altena #luminousrider #// ITS OK GIRL YOU HAVE EVERY REASON TO BE MAD

@luminousrider

Row row row your boat; Gently down the stream; If you mention my dad's name; I'll be sure to scream

A popular new leisure activity has sprung up, involving paddling small single-person canoes on the pond. Alongside this activity has sprung up a new, now-banned competition: canoe jousting. Knock your opponents into the water with your superior oar handling, and prove yourself as the best paddler in the Academy! [Grants Lance +1]

@ljonsbluod

She can't say she's ever rowed a boat before. There's never been a need when she's been able to just take to the skies whenever she needs to travel a shorter distance. A ship had taken her here to Fódlan from Thracia to begin with but that was vastly different. It was far larger and she had nothing to do with the sailing of it. The same could be said about the ship to Elibe though that had been little more than a dream.

A small rowboat is different and she is wary, watching a handful of students laughing as they attack each other with oars. She is content to watch for now and simply ponder whether or not her prowess with a lance might be enough to overpower her lack of skill maneuvering a boat.

A man approaches and appears to do the same. It is only for a second that she mistakes him for his son. But years of searching for familial resemblance in her own face and longing for a sense of belonging have taught her to pick up on the differences quickly. This man's eyes are not quite the same as Ares's and his posture is different too.

Altena looks away, back to the rowers, and hopes he doesn't search her face to find how closely she resembles her own father.

#thread: row row row your boat #support: altena #luminousrider

It's... awkward. Perhaps not on her part, but certainly on his- to sit in silence with a woman he would recognize as Quan's daughter in any capacity; there's far more similarities between them than most would recognize, though he neglects to voice it. He doesn't dare make the assumption that Altena would ever be as easy to approach as her father was, but there's little other information for Eldigan to function off of. Determined eyes may be focused on the jousters that square off in the makeshift canoes, but his mind is wholly encompassed by the girl beside him, for better or for worse. "I believe it takes quite an amount of skill to properly engage in this... unique jousting," Eldigan broaches the silence between them carefully, arms crossed over his chest as he glances at her out of the corner of his eye. "Yet it seems to be excellent practice. Are you proficient in the art of the lance...?" Like your father once was, he keeps to himself. "Ah, my manners. Perhaps Lord Quan has mentioned it before, or perhaps he has not: but I am Eldigan of Nordion. It is a pleasure to meet you here-- Lady Altena." A fond smile and a slight bow of his head, eyes crinkling at the corners. "He spoke of you quite often. It would be impossible to forget your name."

There's so many questions, so many thoughts. He wants to ask about Quan himself, though he knows better than to do so-- but he wants to ask about Ares, to know if his son has done a good job at forming friendships with the others. It's hard to tell, with... the gaps in his memory and his life. "Are you enjoying your time at the monastery?"

@luminousrider

forward unto dawn

[Riding +1] w/ @virtuoustyrfing

virtuoustyrfing

A glimpse of gold enters Seliph's peripheral vision. If an unfamiliar voice hadn't called him Sigurd, he would have almost mistaken the stranger for Ares. Tilting his head back slightly, he notices those striking similarities between this man and his friend. Yet, he can tell the two aren't perfect mirrors of each other.

It doesn't take too long for Seliph to understand the situation. He reasons that it can't be a coincidence that the man first mistook him for Sigurd specifically, or that he looks so much like Ares.

Perhaps it is more accurate to say that Ares resembles him.

"That would be my father," Seliph corrects him. A quiet sort of wonder enters his tone. "I am—"

A loud neigh from behind him abruptly reminds him that this conversation is distracting him from a different but no less important matter at hand. His usually mild-tempered mount stomps on the ground, tail swishing left and right.

"Shh, girl," he soothes, but that attempt does very little to alleviate Tirna's current state. She has been like this all morning—anxious and decidedly unwilling to take a single step out of her stall.

Something is causing her distress, and Seliph doesn't know what it is.

"I don't know what has gotten into her today," Seliph shakes his head as he turns back to the older man. "Or the other horses, for that matter." From what he saw and heard, other riders, even as experienced as Seliph himself, have had similar experiences all day.

"But as I was about to say, my name is Seliph."

#thread: forward unto dawn #support: seliph #virtuoustyrfing #// ohhhhhhhhhhhh the realization THE PRIDEEEE #// not even his son but hes grown into a Fine Man

‘That would be my father.’ He’s missed an entire lifetime of events, hasn’t he? To see Seliph standing here before him, a nigh spitting image of one of his closest friends— were he a man of lesser composure, perhaps it would’ve brought him to tears; all he can remember is stories of the young man as a mere infant, Sigurd and Deirdre’s pride palpable in the manner that they spoke of him. Now… A clearing of the throat is enough to steady himself, hand placed over his chest as those words echo throughout his mind. It’s almost as if he’s forgotten why, exactly, he’s here— but the steed next to Seliph is kind enough to remind him. Eldigan can do nothing but shake his head fondly, a light chuckle rumbling in his chest as his voice struggles to find itself before he speaks. “Seliph… Ah. It makes sense now,” He sounds nearly nostalgic, those piercing amber eyes settling on the young man’s face. It’s strange, how he can nearly pinpoint which features were that of Sigurd’s and which leaned more towards Deirdre; it’s impossible to keep himself from feeling the fondness welling in his heart. Had Ares met him? Were the two of them friends, just like their fathers had been? What of Quan’s….? “A pleasure to properly meet you, Lord Seliph. We have before, but I’m quite certain you don’t remember it. After all, you had barely set foot into this world.” That does draw a smile from him, finally turning his gaze on Tirna. “I am Eldigan, a long standing friend of Lord Sigurd’s. Forgive me for being a bit shocked— it’s… certainly eye-opening to see you grown.” Now’s not the time for his dive into fond memories, though; not when all of their horses seem to be more than eager to stay exactly where they are when tasks require them to cooperate. Eldigan extends a hand towards Tirna’s nose, but it seems to have no effect, only encouraging her to seemingly ignore him. Hm. “Oh? Perhaps bribery is in order. Not something I would normally advocate for, but these are quite dire circumstances. Then again… that likely may be what they want.” An arch of his brow as he glances back down at Seliph, eyes sparkling with the slightest hint of mirth. “I assume you spend many an hour here. Every animal has its preferences— and these are certainly no different. What does she like?”

@virtuoustyrfing

soulprompts

REASONS TO CARRY SOMEONE. ( A PROMPT LIST! )

listen, i'm back home now, i'm thinking about things, and i saw the maxton hall gifset floating around and i was like. yk what. carrying people is elite content, and gdi y'all deserve elite content! as always, DO NOT ADD OR EDIT THIS LIST! and there's a lil spicy addition under the readmore, but i left it there just in case people prefer to have a not-so-spicy version.

[ SLUMBER ]: sender picks up and carries the receiver because they're so sound asleep that they won't easily wake up.

[ INTERCEPT ]: sender picks up and carries the receiver out of the room because they're angry and on the brink of engaging in a fight with someone.

[ ASSIST ]: sender picks up and carries the receiver away for medical attention because they've been injured and can't walk easily.

[ HELP ]: sender picks up and carries the badly wounded receiver as fast as possible to the nearest hospital or the nearest place to administer urgent first-aid.

[ ELATION ]: sender scoops up the receiver and carries them away after a mutual victory, or having just received very good news (or maybe they're both just very happy for some reason!)

[ HOME ]: sender picks up the receiver to carry them over the threshold of their new home.

[ AID ]: sender finds the receiver too weak to move, and scoops them up to carry them to get some help.

[ UP ]: sender finds the receiver and picks them up to carry them a distance after learning they're unable to get up.

[ BAREFOOT ]: the sender picks up the receiver and carries them inside because they're not wearing any shoes.

[ WEARY ]: sender notices the receiver about to fall asleep during a task, and picks them up to carry them to bed so that they can actually sleep properly for once.

[ TWIRL ]: sender catches the receiver in their arms and spins them in a neat twirl just because they want to.

[ HERO ]: sender notices the receiver about to fall from a height, and manages to intervene just in time, catching them before they get hurt.

[ FLASH ]: the sender and receiver are part of a photoshoot, and in order to finish the last of the photos, the sender scoops up the receiver in their arms for the final pose.

[ TRAIN ]: during a training session (for a fight or a performance, dealer's choice!) the sender ends up holding the receiver in their arms during their session together.

[ URGENCY ]: sender carries the receiver away from danger after the receiver is revealed to be unable to move, either due to panic or injury.

[ OUT ]: sender grabs the receiver and lifts them into their arms after noticing them swaying and beginning to lose consciousness.

[ SCREAM ]: sender spots the receiver in a terrified or considerably panicked state, and picks them up to carry them to a less terrifying place to calm down.

[ LAZY ]: sender concedes to receiver's requests for a piggy-back ride home because they don't want to walk anymore, and carries them the rest of the distance home.

[ CAREFUL ]: sender gently lifts the receiver out of their seat and carries them carefully to bed after noticing they fell asleep and not wanting to waken them.

[ HASTE ]: in urgent need of getting to safety as fast as possible, the sender scoops up the receiver and starts running because it's quicker and easier to just carry them than expect them to keep pace.

#;meme #// doing this for some quick and easy practice!#// none of these will be done in a romantic context and I would rather not do the last one on this list #// otherwise free game!

trying to remember the color of the sky back home

@ljonsbluod, cont from here

Launching herself towards him, book forgotten and fallen on the floor once more, was of such visceral instinct that she could not entirely feel her body, as though floating until the grounding crash against the familiar chest. It had seemed like not so terribly long ago when in all of his regalia, her arms could not fit entirely around him, but now they stood here fitted together like the two parts of a missing whole.

"I'm alive?" Her voice bubbled out of her throat in a hiccough, a tight squeezing cough that burst forth, breathy and disbelieving as she drew back and smack a fist against his chest before burying her face into that same spot.

Her mouth opened and closed, twice, again, not wanting to tell him about the stains his blood left on her soles, how she carried them with her like a cloak when she closed her eyes, the hair shirt of their last conversation wrapping tight about her.

She had sent him back, to seek out Chagall's reasonable side, when they both knew that none such existed.

The temptation to relay that he had squealed like a pig in death was a strong one, but her throat tightened further and she could only tighten her hold.

After a moment, after a lifetime, she spoke again, her voice scant above a whisper, muffled against the cloth of his tunic, "Eldie what are you doing here...?"

#thread: trying to remember the color of the sky back home #support: lachesis #landsbluod #// explodes

In every aspect of his life, Eldigan has always been stalwart and unyielding. On the battlefield, off of it-- to bend the knee in the face of adversity was something that simply didn't run in his blood; on the honor of his blade and nation, to back down was to fail. A proud knight, through and through, standing firm in the face of opposition to his ideals that he sought to uphold at any cost. None of that matters, not right now. Where he would not normally budge, as always, he immediately bends for Lachesis's sake; a step backwards, as a means of allowing her to fall against him instead of potentially hurting herself by slamming against his front. Clutching at her with trembling fingers that are steady under any other circumstance, gloved hand sliding up to the back of her neck in order to cradle her against him-- and the sharp breath he inhales fills his senses with a scent he thought he'd never experience again. It's easy, to sway her slightly from side to side, his face buried into the soft blonde locks at the top of her head. If she could feel it, his heart raced faster than it had in a long, long time; and the laugh that bubbles forth from him is nearly incredulous, as if he can't believe that any of this isn't a dream. But the way her fist pounds against his chest, and the way she feels so warm in his embrace... there's certain things Eldigan could never mistake. Sure, maybe people on the outside may believe it's a hug. But to him, it's a homecoming that he missed so, so dearly-- Nordion once housed them both, but now, his heart belongs wherever his family resides. Where the brighter reflection of himself stays. Lachesis is, of course, the one to break the silence. And though she expects him to speak, he makes no movement to peel himself away from her. "... I have yet to make full sense of it myself. Imagine my surprise when I heard Agustria's throne was vacant-- with enough digging and enough prying, I found enough information to discern that the man who intended to ascend said throne.... was none other than Ares." A winded laugh of disbelief that comes out more as a huff, arms instinctively squeezing her that much closer. There's no man or god that could take him from her, not in this moment. "I don't know much else in the way of details. I searched high and low for you both; until I had enough rumors that pointed me in the right direction." His voice dropped low there, and it wavers for the briefest of moments. Perhaps it's reminiscent of the way he sounded as a boy, unsure of himself and frightened by the world around him-- but the only one who would know is her. "... I was afraid I might not find either of you at the end of all this." @landsbluod

encantresse

[ ♫ ] ─ * 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐮𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐞

anniversary 2025 | gauntlet +1

encantresse

"restaurant" proves to be a rather generous term for this place—it might as well be a tavern. really, with the rowdiness that greets them upon entering, all that’s missing are the swaying drunkards and the stench of ale and sickness.

despite the commotion, dorothea can’t help but steal glances at her companion now and then, staring in quiet bewilderment at the striking resemblance to one of her former teammates—no, an uncanny likeness, at that. they are nearly spitting images in every sense of the word. had their meeting not come right on the heels of the mission she’d just returned from, she might’ve even found some humor in it.

it’s a shame for the man, she thinks, that he’d been assigned to her of all people. where she might once have been charming, eager to make conversation—something she’d all but mastered—now, only a shade of jadedness remains. that, and a lingering disbelief that she finds herself in sunlight again after what felt like an eternity in the shadowed underground.

oh, well. a job is a job. she trusts he understands that much.

the songstress watches quietly at first, posted near the doorway as she scans the room. already, blows are being exchanged—the dull thuds of fists flying in a distant corner, chairs lifted and brought crashing down, splintering with each strike.

a grimace follows. then, a scowl, when one of the stools goes soaring over their own heads and explodes into a shower of wood.

@ljonsbluod whats the nordian word for deja vu

#thread: all of us or none #support: dorothea #encantresse #// eldie will kill him dont worry dorothea #// throwing his ass through a window

This is not a place that he would normally frequent. The raucous laughter, the brutish figures that jab and poke at anyone who stares at them too long, the discarded mugs of who-knows-what that litter both the counters and the various tables... It causes him to scrunch his nose up slightly, and though he is unfamiliar with the woman next to him, he sidles a bit closer while still maintaining a fully respectful distance between the two of them. Consider it an instinct to defend, and a preparation for how this rowdy crowd may act. He's seen it enough in his travels. Where unsavory men will pick their victim and bay at them as if they were desperate dogs. Eldigan knows all too well how they won't quit unless someone steps up to the plate, and amber eyes glance down at the girl for a brief moment as the commotion around them only grows louder. And then, without warning, a stool flies over their heads-- and Eldigan immediately brings his arm up and over Dorothea to prevent any shards of wood from landing on her person. A growl under his breath is followed by a murmured apology to her, his expression shifting into something more apologetic. "Are you alright?" His tone remains low, a means of seeking to present himself in a neutral manner-- to be surrounded by these barbarians is unnerving enough. "I apologize. I have not yet had a chance to introduce myself with these... fools running amok. I am Eldigan, a Kn--" "Fools, huh? What's your problem, pretty boy? Tryin' to impress someone?" Oh, great. There's a searing scowl thrown over his shoulder in the direction of a mercenary that seems far too drunk to stand on his own two feet, swaying as he jabs a half-empty mug in Eldigan's direction. Without hesitation, the Lionheart wedges himself between Dorothea and this unknown dumbass that decides to start some sort of altercation between the two of them. Also, wait. Pretty boy? "Should you wish to start a fight, do so when you can keep yourself upright." A dismissive wave of his hand follows, which only seems to piss the other guy off even more. "Begone. I have no desire to engage in a brawl. You're disturbing us both." "Ohhh, I see how it is. You wanna keep the little lady all to yourself, huh?" A dry laugh that's chimed in with two others that sit at a table nearby, seemingly egging their companion on. "Alright, sweetheart. Lemme show you how a real man does it-- not some little princess like him!" Little lady? That causes him to bristle slightly, gaze flickering between Dorothea and the man that takes a few more steps forward. Eldigan's eyes narrow as he focuses on the assailant, lip curling slightly as his frown deepens. "I lament that this has to be our first meeting. Were it up to me, I would prefer us to speak under better circumstances. For now, though... Let us do away with this rabble."

@encantresse

they yassified arvis

[Axe +1] w/ @finalfullmoon

#thread: they yassified arvis #support: julius #finalfullmoon #// HATE MYSELF FOR THIS TITLE IM SO SORRY ANNIE #// GKDFJKDJFGJFG

In all the time spent at Belhalla’s Military Academy, he had learned how to use all sorts of weapons. Axes, swords, bows, even lances— of course, the sword had been his preferred choice… but it didn’t mean that Eldigan was unable to make do with the others. This festival, though, has opened his eyes to something completely foreign: the use of a weapon in the culinary arts. The speed at which these masters swing their mallets, along with the coordination required to deftly roll the mochi between each hit— truly a marvel, and a test of reflexes for both parties involved. It makes sense, he supposes. At least, in theory. Should you become accustomed enough to another’s movements, it’s merely second nature to adjust to them without having to speak. The last time Eldigan ever experienced cooperation like that had been with Quan and Sigurd at his side, or when deploying with the Cross Knights. After their demonstration, though… one of the larger men holds up the mallet into the air before motioning to the crowd. “Does anyone think they have the guts to do it? Come on, give it a try! We aren’t responsible for broken fingers, though…!” Well, with a challenge like that, how could he say no? A Nordion never backs down from a statement that tests their mettle. A quick step forward and a hand raised, Eldigan distances himself from the crowd before reaching for the mallet’s long handle. “Should you extend a provocation of that manner, I will not decline. Very well. Who will accompany me, then?” A quick once-over of the crowd, there’s several people that cower under his gaze. Obviously candidates that wouldn’t function for the purpose of this collaboration… but eventually, his eyes stop on someone that bears a striking resemblance to a figure of his past— and his brows furrow into a conflicted expression. That’s certainly not Arvis, that much is obvious, but…. With his free hand, he points in the man’s direction, vibrant red hair standing out from everyone else around him. “You, young man. Might I ask you to assist me here?”

@finalfullmoon

this ain't my first rodeo

[Riding +1] w/ @helswathed

#thread: this ain't my first rodeo #support: lex #helswathed

He misses Nordion Castle. He misses home. Not for any reason like nostalgia or a desire to return to the past, no. Eldigan misses the fact that his quarters had usually been rather quiet, aside from the occasional presence of visitors or servants that found it necessary to approach— otherwise, it was easy to relax for a few moments in the serenity of his chambers. Here, however, his head throbs with the commotion that his oh-so-wonderful assigned partner is creating. A man he’s familiar enough with, a man that’s quite the expert on drawing Eldigan’s expression into a scowl of annoyance rather than his usual mild demeanor. Every noise, every exclamation… a horse whinnies and rears back in Lex’s direction, almost as if it intends to charge him. Honestly? Eldigan wouldn’t stop it. The man has caused enough problems in the stables here, making their job that much harder. A gloved hand rises to rub at the bridge of his nose before he opens his mouth to speak, words coming out more stiff than they normally would. “Lex… Is it truly necessary to be so….” Ah, hells. What word would he even use here? “….Loud? If the horses are scared, you'll only add to their stress with such a tone.” Not that there’s anything that’s helping the situation otherwise, though. “I believe we’ve run out of options. It seems that the entire stable is disrupted— yet I’ve found no trace of predators in the nearby area.” A pause follows, before he finally graces Lex with a proper look. "Any suggestions?" @helswathed

forward unto dawn

[Riding +1] w/ @virtuoustyrfing

#thread: forward unto dawn #support: seliph #virtuoustyrfing

It’s been a long, long time since he’s been unable to keep his balance on a horse— and if anything, Eldigan almost thinks that he’s begun to get rusty once his back his the hard ground and all of his breath leaves him. This isn’t the same horse he had decades ago, no… but he’s always felt as if he had a good understanding of the animals in general, and there’s something that causes the stallion to maintain a wild look in its eyes as its head swivels from side to side in search of whatever threat is causing the panic. Rolling onto his side, he can’t help but the mumble a curse under his breath before pushing himself to his feet; hands on his hips, Eldigan can do nothing but watch as the horse hurries off to nowhere in particular, clearly done with attempting to put up with its handler’s attempts at soothing it. This isn’t the only one that’s been like this, though. This is the third time he’s tried, with a different horse every time, and they all show the same signs of fear. Yet even a precursory glance around the stables reveals nothing… and so it warrants a closer look. There’s another commotion not far from him that comes from one of the stalls— evidently, someone else is having the same issue… and perhaps it would be in his best interest to garner a bit more information before setting out in search of a solution. So the Lionheart sets out, clearing his throat and calling out before poking his head around the corner to peer into one of the stalls. “Pardon my intrusion, I— …. Sigurd?” The name comes out as a near wheeze, that familiar shade of blue hair causing his eyes to widen and his heart to stop. It’s second nature for his hand to raise, and Eldigan can barely stop himself from reaching for who he believes to be his dear friend— because that dream comes crashing down in the moments he realizes that he wasn’t correct. No matter how similar the two of them may look. That does beg the question, though….? “… Who are you?” Surely…. not… The resemblances are so uncanny that he can’t help but frown, a distant name lingering on the tip of his tongue. One he won’t speak into existence, not yet.

@virtuoustyrfing

which came first: the pigeon or the egg?

[Flying +1] w/ @lalamines

trefoil du lion

Everyone remembers playing with that awesome stick they found as a kid, pretending to be a knight or a hero and swinging it around with the best of them. What if you could relive that now, with higher stakes? Participants in this oh-so-serious competition are released into the wild to seek and obtain the Perfect Stick, and to wield it to victory in mock battle! Winner gets…to keep their stick! Isn’t it grand? [Grants Sword +1] (starter for @ljonsbluod)

It was not a competition that she by necessity found herself attending, no knight nor professor nor student, nor with anyone to cheer on in this silliest of sincere melee. It wasn't even curiosity, for she saw enough of the way these people of Garreg Mach fought without abandon in the training hall.

Nostalgia washed over her warmly as the sun, her face peering out behind the clouds that dotted the spring sky, and she paced about the makeshift arena, hearing the grunts of effort and the cries of victory and defeat over the telltale clack of wood on wood. Better than the drumming of hoofbeats, better than the screams of man made effigy -

Lachesis paused, toe nudged against the haft of a stick discarded - perhaps it was too long, or too knobby - and softly, she smiled, knelt down to wrap her fingers around the base of it.

She would not enter, she told herself. This game was not for her.

She could not claim it to be practice, but rather her heart's guidance that told her the sheen of gold ahead of her was not her nephew - there were tells for those who knew to look, but Lachesis would have known the two of them if her eyes were closed.

"Come to surveille? The troops are progressing mightily, aren't they, brother?" she teased. It was odd to see him, grown as a man, in any other situation than one of authority, of supervision, the proud and tall overseer of chivalry and justice that this world so sorely needed.

The grip she held on the stick suddenly felt comfortable, and she twirled her wrist in a swift motion to move it to ready, tilting her head in fond contemplation. She wasn't a child anymore, and though she would always look upward, the face she saw now was somehow younger and older than she remembered.

Lachesis exhaled, a little hmming sound that was almost a laugh, and stepped away on two light, almost hopping steps, raising the crooked end of her sword to her eyeline, squaring her shoulders, her hips.

"It's nice, isn't it?" she asked, softly. "The chance to be a child again…Eldie?"