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@ninthcompanion
[ Home | Message | Muse | Guidelines | Open RPs ]
Independent RP blog for Kratos Aurion, Tales of Symphonia
Written by Wren, who is over 21 and has been lurking on rp tumblr for almost as long as Kratos has lived
OC, AU, Canon, Crossover and Multi-verse friendly
Always accepting ask memes, starters or responses to tagged open rps!
Note: following this Kratos will expose you to spoilers for Tales of Symphonia
((I have been really busy and disorganised these past couple of weeks. I am now having to track down a lot of things I may have lost...
Shame upon me. Shame upon the mun for 1000 years!
I have got to fix Kratos’ tagging system...))
[ @iirvings from here ]
No, no, no, no, no!
“Lloyd...”
Hushing his son, Kratos dropped to his knees. Now he was closer he could see that it was bad. Stomach wounds were always bad; there were just so many vital organs with such little to protect them. Worse was Lloyd’s voice, the tone of it - it was the voice of one who had already given themself up for dead.
There was no time.
“Hold still.”
Kratos ripped his cape off his shoulders and pressed it hard to Lloyd’s wound to staunch the bleeding. He tried not to focus on the heat of Lloyd’s life escaping beneath his hands. Calling forth his healing magic, he tried not to remember the last time he’d plugged a hole in someone’s gut, the last time his healing stream had trickled to nothing as somebody’s life drained through his fingers.
Lloyd’s luck was horrible. Martel had died in Kratos’ hands. He hadn’t been able to save her. Just like he hadn’t been able to save Anna. Just like he hadn’t been able to reach Lloyd and Noishe on that cliff’s edge.
Here he was on his knees at his son’s side like he’d fallen to his knees at Anna’s. Only there had been no life in that clearing. Too late, Anna’s life had already left her. He had taken it from her. Lloyd’s yet remained.
He released the spell, its incantation barely breathed, and prayed to the old gods he’d never quite believed in that he wasn’t too late.
[ @mithosofcruxis from here ]
“Have you hit your head?”
Forgive me, Kratos thought, looking into the unfocussed eyes of his former pupil and current leader as he swayed before him.
Such behaviour of this would not normally be considered acceptable. But there was nothing about about this current situation that was normal. So, ignoring the recent hesitance he had developed when interacting with Yggdrasill, Kratos held Mithos’ face with one hand and felt around the back of his head with the other for any sign of injury.
As he did so, he noted the alcohol on Mithos’ breath.
“What have you been doing?” The question was more to himself than the near-incapacitated person in front of him and quiet.
It was perhaps for the best that he not hear that last nonsensical question.
♀: What is an AU you really want to play with your muse?, ♪: Name three things that are absolutely mandatory for you to be able to roleplay!
[ @expatriots-wife | Munday-questions "How do you rp" edition | Accepting ]
♀: What is an AU you really want to play with your muse?
((Oh no.... This is a difficult question. Remember the dad and doritos meme? That is me for AUs. I love AUs. I love them so much. It is a solid 80% of my fanfic writing.
I love a good canon divergence but I'm also a huge fan of 'who would this character have been in this setting?'
I have some on the blog already that I would be more than happy to bust back out!))
♪: Name three things that are absolutely mandatory for you to be able to roleplay!
((Music! And it has to be the right music.
Time! I'm getting better at doing things instead of activating waiting mode (tm) but I do need a decent chunk of time if I'm going to produce quality replies.
A Regret Partner! Other rpers and friends are a) essential or I'd just be writing fanfic and b) bring me so much joy. I love talking about different ideas with people. Collaboration!))
☻ *
[ @broadswordandpistol | Munday-questions "How do you rp" edition | Accepting ]
☻: Which genres do you find the easiest to play? (angst, fluff, smut, etc.)
((Honestly? Crack. Short humour rps are easiest for me. Especially with Kratos (because of his slightly sarcastic sense of humour and chronic resting bitch face)
That said, I'm definitely a multi-paragraph, descriptive rper and I love longer plots too. I like variety!))
@ninthcompanion
The world was spinning.
The world, surprisingly, always did that. But it was doing it on two axis today. One to the north going south, and one going on some unknown y axis that made Yggdrasill's eyes have trouble tracking the crumbling cobbles of the pillars around him. Having pillars installed that were susceptible to crumbling had been a poor decision on his part.
"My pillars are sand," he screamed, the voice echoing through the vast purple expanse and down the halls.
Yggdrasill lifted the glass of amber liquid to his lips, startled at the cold sensation of the ice he didn't remember putting in there, and then continued to drink. He had put his intellect to good use this time, having taken off his crystal. It took significantly less whisky to get drunk this time.
It also tasted significantly worse, but the more the liquid line in the bottle went down, the taste improved. The unknown side effect, even to the lord, was that he'd reverted to his younger form.
If Martel were able to walk into the room, she'd be livid. This was, perhaps, the one time Yggdrasill was glad his sister was asleep.
"I grow bored," he stated angrily under his breath. Yggdrasill let loose his wings, taking careful heed to stay upright, and floated delicately to Kratos' Chambers.
"I demand a game of 21 questions!" He bellowed into the room as he caught his shoulder on the doorframe and nose-dived for the floor.
With heightened senses and years of dangerous experiences, it was usually difficult to surprise Kratos. He would hear any would-be attackers coming long before he needed to be concerned about it. Of course, experience could only help so much when your hearing had been dialed down to one.
Whatever Mithos had been doing or having done earlier, Kratos had wanted no part in. It had been loud. So he had given himself peace.
However, this meant that he was very much surprised when the door was flung open. And even more surprised when it was Mithos. And honestly, surprised enough that were he an old man in body as well as in years, his heart would frankly have ceased to beat when Mithos collided with his doorframe and careened towards the ground.
"Mithos!" he cried out, starting forwards. It was a slip of the tongue but it was indeed Mithos' form on his floor.
He dropped to one knee by the side of the fallen seraph and touched his shoulder with thoughts of checking on him and then righting him - and louder, more urgent thoughts of:
"What?"
Munday-questions "How do you rp" edition
Send me a symbol for a question to the mun:
◊: Do you binge-reply or prefer reply-queueing? ●: Which time of the day do you rp best? ☺: Do you prefer memes or plots? ☻: Which genres do you find the easiest to play? (angst, fluff, smut, etc.) ☼: Which tropes do you find overused/boring? ♀: What is an AU you really want to play with your muse? ♂: Is there any kind of music you hear while writing? What kind of music? ♠: How many muses do you have? ♣: Can you play more than one muse at the same time or do you divide your rp-time between your muses? ♥: Are you selective; if yes, what makes you selective? ♦: What can ‘kill’ your muse/your inspiration? ♪: Name three things that are absolutely mandatory for you to be able to roleplay! ♫: Is there any kind of muse you cannot play? ♯: Is there any kind of muse you would like to play but don’t dare? Why?
lightning-of-kharlan:
Sylph’s tailfeathers. This was not a thing. This was not a thing. Kratos was not going to turn this into a thing.
…this was a thing.
To Kratos’ credit, he made a valiant attempt to not laugh. But the facade cracked and Kratos smiled. And Yuan was not at all sure what to do.
“Sh-shut up!” he hissed, looking pointedly away. The dusty path was not all that interesting, but it was better than making eye contact. It was better than admitting that Kratos was right. And that he didn’t know what to do about it.
His memories of the fever were scrambled, at best. He remembered Kratos’ and Martel’s voices being a constant presence, constant reassurance through the fever dreams. Whether he was in a hospital or a laboratory or the slums of Asgard, they were there with him. Even when the fever had broken, his memories felt fuzzy. He remembered the sound of rain on the schoolhouse roof, the distant roll of thunder. He remembered Martel leaning over him, and the way she smiled as she welcomed him back to the waking world.
Damn the spirits. Kratos was right, his face was hot.
“Shut up,” he repeated, for lack of anything more profound to say, and pulled out his own canteen. “My water situation is fine, thank you for your concern. Don’t say that loud enough to worry her.”
He didn’t deny it and that was confirmation enough. That and the fact that the blush on his face was rapidly deepening to the shade of Kratos’ least favourite fruit.
He could choose to let it go. He could walk away. He could end the conversation and not bring it back up.
However... it turned out that it was in fact quite enjoyable, this ‘banter’ thing.
“Are you sure? Hmm... your face is rather warm, Yuan. Why, you appear as flushed as back in Ozette. Perhaps I should call her over.”
Although he had been speaking to Yuan quietly enough to respect his wishes, Kratos drew an exaggerated breath, deliberately cupping one hand around the side of his mouth as though he was about to call out to her.
lightning-of-kharlan:
Yuan swore again, this time for Kratos’ sake more than his own. He hadn’t meant to draw blood.
“You alright?” he asked, quickly bringing his sword up in hopes blocking the incoming blade without opening himself to the other. That was easier said than done–Kratos’ left blade had knocked his at a difficult angle. Which was, of course, the idea.
It would have hit. Deadly sharp, the tip of his blade could have pierced Yuan’s shoulder, slicing upwards before its removal as Kratos jumped back to avoid retaliation. Or worse. Kratos could’ve thrown his weight behind it, forced it through.
But-
“You alright?”
- he pulled it. Made it touch and held it there, bringing his left blade between Yuan’s and his right.
Stopped.
“Do you have time for such needless concern?” The tone was a little too clipped, the anger not entirely unwarranted.
What business did Yuan have distracting himself so? What point was there to combat if one was scared to cause minor harm to an opponent? Did Yuan not know that his distraction could have caused Kratos to drive his blade into his shoulder?
Oh.
iniquitousideals:
Though Mithos didn’t quite see it, there was certainly a pattern here, people always telling him about how he could make things better through helping others in the present. It wouldn’t resolve the issue, their actions would never simply cease to exist, but through helping others, they would show they had changed – that was it, right? That’s what everyone was trying to say, wasn’t it? They had to do good now, they had to right what wrongs they could. It may not be much, but it was something. Slowly, with clear hesitation, Mithos nods his head, “I think I understand.”
“Well, Kratos… I have to admit, the way you say that is almost convincing; I may not agree or understand completely, but…
I think I can try.”
Because even if he didn’t understand, it was clear that someone or something out there wanted him to be different. As strange as it seemed for someone who didn’t believe in fate or any kind of deity, he had to have been brought back here for a reason, right?
“You seem to have a lot of faith in me, despite everything I’ve done. What is it that makes you think I’m so capable of change?”
He had even said himself, that if given the choice again, he would follow that same path, he would always end up in the same place. To an extent, he still believed that. He wasn’t as good, as innocent, as everyone seemed to think. It’s not like someone made him do everything he had, it was his choice. Whether or not he was given great power to abuse, power that should have been divided among them in some way, that was still the truth.
“Though… you may be right about that. It was a mistake, but if it means anything, I…”
The words felt heavy, strange on his tongue, but he forced them, and they stumbled out rather unnaturally.
“I… forgive …you… Yuan, and Martel, too. It wasn’t any of your faults… for trusting me. After all, you should believe and trust in those you care about, right? You should wish the best for them. You would have never believed that they were capable of…”
“…well, you know the rest.”
The smile that came to Kratos’ face was small and tinged with the kind of sadness that could only come from the long lives the pair of them led. But it was real. It reached his eyes. Only when Mithos continued talking did it begin to waver, when faith turned to forgiveness.
It was the one thing he couldn’t accept. Nothing said for a long time had left him feeling so like an exposed wound. Forgiveness from Mithos was one thing he was not prepared to receive.
He chose his words as carefully as always, looking out at a world both old and new, finally united. It was not yet the world they had initially set out to achieve. Kratos was not so naive as to believe that this would be the end of Aselia’s challenges. But it was the closest they had ever been.
“I meant what I said, Mithos. ‘The rest’ as you put it is not solely yours to take blame for. As your companions, Yuan and I must take our share of responsibility - as we failed to back then.”
“We are all capable of change. It has taken me some time find my way back to that belief but all things change, as they must. That includes us - you, Yuan and I.”
lightning-of-kharlan:
Martel had suspected as much–in his distraction, Kratos had not, in fact, done a thorough job of washing his hands. She pulled the water bowl over to her, and reached for the soap, and set to work. No sense in drawing attention to it.
“Of course,” she said. “You’re very welcome.“ She decided not to add next time, try not to argue so, because she knew that it was a moot point.
She considered the agenda in thoughtful silence. Water was, of course, a necessity–for both the workshop and the hospital. Her stock of fandalia flowers would need to be replenished before long, but it was not imperative at this moment. And that was a job that Mithos could do, if it came to it.
“Water is probably the most pressing concern–for the hospital, the two and a half buckets I have here will keep me for a while,” she said. “After that, I may need more fandalia flowers. But…” She glanced over at Yuan, trying to decide if she should say what she was thinking.
The thoughtful pause was too long. She had to follow that ‘but’ with something, or Kratos would worry more. She rinsed his hands once more, then–satisfied they were actually clean now–picked up her staff.
“Please check in between errands, whatever you’re doing,” she said. “He seems worried about you, I think it will do him good to see you.”
That was not untrue. But what she hadn’t said was that she worried about Yuan’s fever, and what would happen if the fever dreams became violent and he started to toss and turn. Putting the bale of straw on top of the table as it was made perfect sense, but it would make for quite a tall bed. If Yuan became in danger of falling…Martel was not exactly the delicate flower that Mithos thought she was, but catching and restraining Yuan was well beyond her.
“There,” she said, running her thumb over the newly-healed skin of Kratos’ palms. “That’s better. I’ll make room on the bench for Yuan, if you can carry him over?”
She washed his hands. Though he thought it wholly unnecessary and did not want to suffer the strange feeling of it in the least, he did not pull them away. Instead, he looked away as though if he did not look, he need not be aware of what was transpiring.
At her mention of the hospital, he grimaced, the motion coinciding perfectly with water washing soap from what he refused to acknowledge as his wounds. Guilt settled in the pit of stomach, in the place of the hospital soup he had not consumed.
He’d threatened the healers to withold necessary supplies. He’d threatened to withold vital care from those who needed it. His gaze settled on Yuan across the room. They had withheld their care from him.
“Martel, I-” he began.
The healing commenced and took the words from his mouth. Soothing and strange and not at all the way that other magic felt to him. It took but a moment, too short a process to dwell upon.
Then she was running her thumb over his healed hands and the moment passed. He’d his duty to attend to.
“Of course,” he replied, pausing to eye the bale he had brought and its size. Would it be best on the ground instead? They had been sleeping on these in the barn.
No, it was too low. It wouldn’t be easy to monitor Yuan from there and if they were to sit with him, they would have to sit on the floor. Kratos would not mind that, but Martel would likely spend long hours tending him and her comfort was of great importance.
So was Yuan’s. Kratos knelt at what would soon be his bedside. His friend’s hair was once again stuck to the side of his face. Kratos called out to him softly as he brushed it back, tucking it behind his ear in the hope it would bring some small comfort.
“Yuan, we are making a bed up for you. I am just going to move you a little, alright?”
He waited to see if he would receive any acknowledgement before beginning to gather his friend into his arms.
lightning-of-kharlan:
It was very much like the moment that Yuan knew he was going to get the answers he’d sought earlier in the evening. He listened, to words and tones and any other signal he thought he could read. It was heavy. It was solemn. It was the kind of thing that blood vows were sworn over, and he wondered if he would need his knife by the time they were finished here.
Kratos was right. He was a military man. He did know when it was time to make difficult decisions. Did that mean that he always made the “right” choice? No, absolutely not. But that was the difference between the military and their band of wanderers. He closed his eyes for a moment.
It wasn’t that long ago, all things considered. They had been spotted, and subsequently pursued by more men than they could confidently fight off. A traitor knight, an enemy general. A woman and a child. …A traitor knight with an arrow in his leg, and a freely-bleeding wound besides.
In the military, the general would have thrown his bleeding comrade over his shoulder and run. It would have slowed him down, and the blood loss would have almost certainly taken his comrade’s life. One or both of them might have died, but the others would be able to escape. It would have been the “wrong” answer, to the military. The right answer was that any who fell behind were left behind.
But Yuan had not thrown Kratos over his shoulder and run. Swallow was a crowd-control weapon, a bodyguard weapon, and Yuan put himself and his double-blade between them and their pursuers. It was idealistic and reckless, it could have been catastrophic. But Kratos hadn’t left him to stumble blindly across a river and drown partway there–Yuan wouldn’t leave Kratos to the tender mercies of the Tethe’allan army…he opened his eyes.
Yuan wouldn’t leave Kratos to the tender mercies of the Tethe’allan army.
“You don’t need to ask,” he said quietly. “I will keep your secret. If the plans fail, and it becomes too much…I won’t condemn you to suffer. I’ll make the call and do what needs to be done.”
If worse came to worst, if the plans failed and Yuan was unable to come up with another answer…Kratos would be taken suddenly and severely ill. He would die with his friends near. Yuan could at least make certain of that much. Watching Kratos die could not be worse than watching his dad die. At least it would be closure. At least he would not be haunted by wondering. At least Martel and Mithos wouldn’t be left wondering.
But by the Spirits, he was going to try. He thought again about knives and blood vows. He’d be damned if he let Kratos burn.
“That-” Kratos began, hoarsely. His voice died in his throat and with it, the rest of what he had been going to say.
That is why I did not ask. That is not what I want. Not for you.
Yuan’s voice made what needed to be done sound reverent, like a mercy, like he would not be put to the blade the way that Kratos foresaw. And Kratos did not know what to do with that.
Yuan was close. Before Kratos had shattered the hopeful silence, their shoulders had touched. It had been deliberate on Yuan’s part, a gesture. Now, through this solemn, heavy one, Kratos allowed himself to lean against his friend. For a moment, they touched again.
It was too much. He’d leaned on Yuan enough this evening, and his nerves were too raw. Yuan’s shoulder did not feel warm; it felt cold to his warmer body, an echo of the very nature of what they discussed.
“Thank you,” he said, a mere breath.
With its release, something broke. Something ran out. Something ended. He didn’t remember the last time nothing in his body had ached from overuse, the last time he hadn’t woken already exhausted from the days and nights before. But a different kind of tiredness now descended on him. The kind that actually inspired rest.
Kratos too descended. He allowed himself to slide off the wall and onto the ground, the back of his head resting against the stone by Yuan’s knee.
Above the house, a sea of stars illuminated the sky and he took a moment to watch them. Some seemed to blink, some dim, others bright. All paled to the radiance of the moon and Kratos wondered for a moment whether this might be representative of what Yuan had been trying to explain to him, or whether it was something more. They, Mithos, Martel and Yuan, were the moon, near eternal in its reflection of the sun’s light, and he a star, his light dimly flickering beside theirs.
“We ought to rest,” he said softly, eyes still to the sky. “This night has been a long one, and you’ve the boy and his family to instruct in the morning.”
Tomatoes? Lloyd, flee.
(No, Anna, he had nothing to do with your son’s dislike of tomatoes. No encouragement here, not at all...)
lightning-of-kharlan:
Martel resisted the urge to sigh, but she dearly wished to. Boys. She loved them, all three of them, she truly did. But they could be frustratingly stubborn at times. This was one of those times.
Though Kratos did make a valid point. It was very possible that Yuan would not, as he said, ‘suffer the motions well.’ She hoped that wouldn’t be the case–if he couldn’t keep the medicine down…
No sense borrowing trouble. She’d just have to be prepared for the worst, and hope for the best. She smoothed his hair again, and smiled at how that stubborn stray lock was simply determined to always be in his eyes.
“Very well,” she relented at last. She put a fresh compress on Yuan’s forehead, grabbed her staff from where it was leaning against a desk, and took a seat on the bench that she kept directing Kratos to. Perhaps he would take the hint. “Your hands first, though.”
Kratos followed her to the bench, trying not to allow his eyes to linger on the other bench before he went. She sat, staff in hand and Kratos stood before her, holding his hands out to her, palms upwards as he awaited the familiar warm tingle of her healing magic.
He had always held a certain reverence for the process of healing. Initially, it had been fascination with the unknown. The process of watching a skin knit together under the influence of a healer’s touch was as strange as it was incredible. It was easy to be awed by the apparent ease with which Martel tackled such small injuries that might have, had they been left to the body’s own methods, taken a week or more to fade.
It was rare that she healed him outside of battle. He was adept at hiding - barely noticing - minor injuries and major ones were most often tackled there and then, when blood pumped hard in his veins and in mind was on getting back in the fight.
He never really thought about it, yet, as he held his stinging palms in front of her face, it occurred to Kratos: somehow, no matter how raw or painful the skin she touched was, Martel’s healing magic was always soothing.
“Thank you.”
For accepting his terms. For the healing. For caring so much about each of them. For that feeling, the tiny spark of hope that now Yuan was under Martel’s care, there was not a chance that he wouldn’t be just fine.
But it was never good to get complacent.
“After we’ve set up the bed, I will collect the remaining water. Are there any other errands I should run?”
" Kratos why does geometry exist? Why must art be explained like this?? I just want to explain how to draw a person... "
For a moment, Kratos could not follow the complaint.
"You wish to explain how to draw a person from the basic shapes that create the form?"
He paused. The correct response here would be commiseration, allowing Lloyd to unload his woes with a simple acknowledgement. However, the statement was just unusual enough that he wanted to know.
"For what purpose?"
lightning-of-kharlan:
Yuan was already fast. The smaller movements he made allowed them to come quicker. Yuan was fast. But so was Kratos.
The comparative slowness of his left hand was made up for by his footwork. Yuan hoped to push him off balance. Kratos allowed his sparring partner to push him backwards, swift steps. Then quickly, he pivoted, catching Yuan’s shield on the crossguard of his right sword to raise it and aiming a blow at his side underneath with the left.
Yuan was fast. Even as he struck, his feet were poised to leap back out of range of Yuan’s answering blade.
Yuan swore softly, the shield batted out of the way from an angle he should have expected. The blade tapped his side, just enough to feel without cutting. It was always his sides, dammit. There were so many scars there that in places, it was impossible to determine which ones were from which wounds save by the angles they connected at.
The answering blade came at Kratos’ leg, in the very space he was ready to step back into.
Touch.
It wasn’t hard enough for a proper hit, thankfully failing to pierce the flesh.
First touch to him.
A touch of steel to his thigh. Yuan had read him.
Kratos dropped, bending his knees to get low. It wasn’t graceful but following the motion of the blade prevented it from slicing through the top of his thigh. There wasn’t time for forethought. Kratos retracted his left blade, twisting it downwards, parry octave, and beating Yuan’s blade away.
Off-balance, vibrations from the beat ran up his left arm as blood began to run down his leg. Reeling from the blow, he couldn’t step back immediately and if he did, Yuan would only follow with another strike.
So he threw his momentum into a right-handed strike upwards to Yuan’s right shoulder.
