Poking the Plot

Fluff for characters in the LARP system Fools and Heroes. Current Character: Rabbit

[sereklanandcrowa]

BMI Noir 2, Electric Boogaloo

Valor hated the night calls. He huffed as he pulled his coat tighter around him and cradled his paper cup of what could be mistaken for tar instead of coffee closer.

He hated it when the blood was fresh enough it melted the snow as it landed.

He mostly just hated being awake at this gods forsaken hour.

However, the always energetic Tybolt had pulled him out of his internal grumbling with a hand clapping onto his shoulder.

"Looks like we've got another face stealing issue going on" the Merc mused, oddly chipper given the mess in front of them.

"What gave that away?" Valor sighed, gesturing to the body. A young woman, probably human, face bare of its skin, leaving a bloody, grinning mess behind. She didn't look that old, humans were easy to guess the age of. No grey in her hair, her hands were smooth not wrinkled, tall and lithe. The elf shivered at how she resembled his boss.

The physician on the scene, an outrageously ginger elf who was snapping off a pair of gloves, came over to the two investigators.

"Human, female, died within the last few hours. This was done with a physician's skill" he listed off, "It looks like your bloke is back out and about".

Tybolt nodded and scribbled this down in his handy dandy little notebook, which on many occasions Valor had thought to burn.

"Matches the other victims I suppose" he nods, the physician shrugging and heading to the body to keep poking around.

Valor stuck his hands into his pockets after crushing the now empty paper cup.

"It's too cold for me out here. I have a warm bed waiting for me, and Boss will get riled if I don't give her a report soon" he sighed.

Tybolt clapped a hand on his shoulder with a grin

"See you tomorrow, buddy, bright and early"

The elf groaned and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, shrugging off the Merc and heading into the night, past the jovial cheering from inside the Rosy Apple, when he was stopped by a voice.

"Hold up Darlin!"

Valor almost ignored it, groaning and looking over his shoulder, but his eyes widened in surprise at the vibrant elf in front of him.

"Varis? What are you doing in Newcroft?" He squints at the other elf. The Dual Kindred was usually found knocking around Barra, not Newcroft. He immediately shook away the thought he might be linked to this morning's murder. It was Varis, for Kharrach's sake.

"I came to find you! Tybolt told me you were working too hard" Varis beamed, opening his arms wide and beckoning for a hug. The priest begrudgingly put an arm around him, patting him on the back, and promptly squawks in surprise at the squeeze Varis gives him, scrabbling to keep his hood up.

"I, ah, am in the middle of a case, Varis, I'd very much like to get home and sleep" Valor sighs, brushing himself down when Varis finally let's go. The Dual Kindred gives him a nudge, a wink, and a wiggles eyebrow

"Bed, eh? Wanting some company on this cold cold night?" He grins teasingly. Valor rolls his eyes, but there's a boyish smile that he hides behind his scarf.

"/goodnight/ Mister Ivankiel" Valor chuckles, Varis sticking his tongue out, heading back inside as Valor disappears into the night.

[sereklanandcrowa]

New Money

(Well, I didn’t write anything for the entire time I was playing Crystal...oops. I’ll be playing her again in the future though, sooooo for now, have BMI Noir)

Newcroft was by no means a sleepy city. Even at night things lurked in the darkness and the hubbub of the social spots such as the Bigg Juggs and the Ruptured Skunk could be heard across the eve. 

Such noise rang through the half open window, through which a long pale hand holds a smoldering cigarette. The hand belonging to an equally pale elf, who sits with his feet propped up on the window sil, watching the mercenary in front of him. A cork-board with various photographs, newspaper clippings (The Newcroft Chronicle with its ever changing biases), and post-it notes pinned to it, connected by red twine, hangs on the wall beside the window, and the Merc mutters to himself as he sticks another post-it under the title ‘Cruikshanks’.

“Tybolt, while I love your enthusiasm, we have no new information, until the guards get back to us, we are sitting ducks” the elf sighs, taking a slow drag of his cigarette before tapping the ash out the window, smoke curling out from his mouth as he continues to speak, “Very colourful, target painted ducks”.

Tybolt looks to the smoking elf with an oddly charismatic smile. “Chin up, Valor, we can theorize, and if we keep an eye out for more clues in the meantime, something will come up”.

Valor scoffs and flicks the remains of his cigarette out the window, adjusting the hood that shadowed his profile, and stood, shutting the window against the biting cold of the bitter Springsdawn night. 

“How has that optimism survived adventuring? I know I have my light-hearted moments, much to the shock of anyone who thinks us priests are all broody, but Rolbor’s braided beard, man, its almost Planting, nobody should be this happy”. 

Tybolt smiles at the elf’s grumbling, and claps a hand firmly on his shoulder, making the priest jump.

“Maybe it’ll rub off on you Valor!”

“Ava paladhal, dahn’direlan”

The Mercernary laughs, looking back to the cork-board.

“While your words are a mystery to me, my friend, we have work to do!”

Valor rolls his eyes and picks his robes off the back of the chair he’d been sat on.

“You’re a mad bastard, Vheraan, it’s nearly morning. Best we go find our tree friend and have a drink. The bad men can wait a few more hours”

(I may add more to this...

“Ava paladhal, dahn’direlan” - eat a dick, idiot (LIT; eat cock, bee-puncher)

“Vheraan” - Lion)

[sereklanandcrowa]

Something is wrong.

Lockwood jolted awake in a cold sweat, heart jackrabbiting and mind full of cobwebs as he tried to catch his breath, one hand coming to grip tightly at his holy symbol, the other going to the cold side of the bed. He glanced to it, a lamenting look at just how empty the room felt without Max.

He didn't know why, but he feared the worst. With his current trend of gut feelings being right, an icy cold fear gripped his heart, and he cast aside the covers of the bed, moving quickly yet quietly to get dressed and pack essentials. Pulling on his leathers and sheathing his dagger, Lockwood shirked his pack onto his shoulder and slipped out of the room, gliding through the house like a ghost to not wake Jeanne or gods forbid Annabelle.

He didn't have time to think of anything else. He needed to find Max. Something was wrong, and he needed to find him.

With a final look around the lower region of the house, Lockwood sighed and opened the cage of his messenger raven; the bird hopping onto his shoulder with a hushed burble, before the two skirted out the front door and into the twilight.

Something was wrong, and he needed to find Max.

(Sad to say that Lockwood has now been retired from play in FnH. Gladly, he is alive and well, as is Max, but for now, this chapter of their story is over.

On to the tales of Crystal O'Farrin, child of the void)

[sereklanandcrowa]

A Question from the Heart

Lockwood had been eerily silent since his return to Newcroft early Sunday morning, something that worried Max, but he was letting him work through; Lockwood being notoriously bad with words meant that asking him what was wrong was practically useless.

That is, until Market Day.

Early Market Day, Max was in the kitchen with Rupert, the large hound looking expectantly at the doorway as Lockwood shambled in from upstairs, the mercenary pushing the pink mess of hair out of his eyes and tapping Max on the shoulder, the Necromancer turning to face him and smiling.

"I...think I should perhaps explain what happened?"

Lockwood was still quiet, but he was at least talking, Max moving them to sit, Rupert occupying the space beside them on the couch. Lockwood rubbed absently at the burns across his arm and chest, before settling in a half slouch.

"I did not expect to see you in Arnick,"

He admitted sheepishly, Max raising an eyebrow.

"I didn't expect to see YOU at Arnick. You said you were going on a dangerous mission then up and left"

Lockwood sighed at this, rubbing the back of his neck.

"We...I only recieved word about it the morning before, I had to hightail it back here from Lirron.

But, the Spirit is safe now. Morviel is gone, finally"

Max smiled and clapped a hand on Lockwood's good shoulder

"See, I told you you could do it, Pot"

Lockwood gave a sheepish smile, before looking more serious again.

"Max...there's something I need to ask you, I think that mission...I need to ask this I suppose. It feels right"

Max looked confused, but nodded for Lockwood to go on.

"Do you remember when we went to the Tisa Vale with Draken?"

"Of course"

"I have a vague memory of you saying something about the...short life expectancy of adventurers".

Max chuckled at this

"We do have notoriously shorter lives than others"

"There was...a moment during this weekend's mission that made me realize this more than anything"

Lockwood looked pale, Max frowning, concerned.

"There was...a choice we had to make. When we got to the prison of Cobahrah. We could leave, and let whatever evil was within grow. Or we could enter, and never leave. Ever. We were cut off completely from the gods, and we had to choose to leave behind all we held dear.

It hurt, more than I am possibly willing to express. Thinking I'd never see you again...I don't want to even think about that again.

So I have something to ask you. Though I suppose I've of a sorts already asked this, but without words? You know I'm bad with words...

I think...I think what I'm trying to say is, will you marry me?"

Lockwood had been looking at his hands, but he looked up to Max at this, who look surprised. It seemed like his brain had just frozen, Lockwood going almost the same shade as his hair and laughing.

"Well...this isn't something that happens often..."

Max began, Lockwood giving a sly grin

"I'd bloody hope not"

Max gave a half laugh.

"You've, uh, actually caught me speechless"

Lockwood grinned wider

"Now that's a rare instance"

Max closed his eyes and chuckled, before looking to Lockwood with a smile.

"Well, if that's what you think you're trying to ask, then I suppose there's only one thing to do"

Lockwood raised his eyebrows at this, Max reaching for his bag, taking out the ring Lockwood had handed him a month or so ago, and slipping off the couch to rest on one knee and look to the mercenary.

"Well, Pot, will you marry me too?"

Lockwood laughed and took Max's hands in his.

"You know I will, Kettle"

He smiled, Max grinning and pulling the captain into a kiss, Rupert giving a confused whine when the two merrifully chuckled and practically skipped upstairs, still sort of in disbelief of what had just happened.

[sereklanandcrowa]

A new place to call Home

Lockwood muttered incoherently as he woke up, shifting his weight and stretching out like a cat from how he was laid on his stomach, spine cracking pleasingly before he settled back into how he'd been half draped over the necromancer next to him, who was so much warmer than him, and who made an incredible pillow. Max's arm around his waist pulled him a little closer, and the necromancer grumbled at the movement, draping an arm over his eyes and protesting at being woken up, Lockwood chuckling and sitting up, hair a mess flopped over his face as he yawned. Max cracked an eye open and smiled tiredly at the mercenary, reaching a hand up to trace the eye tattooed on the back of Lockwood's, Lockwood looking a little confused before realising. "I'm still not used to it being there. Happens every time." Lockwood smiled at Max's comment, putting his free hand over Max's "Remember that the next time you plan to come home looking like an old man" His tone was teasing, Max rolling his eyes and sticking his tongue out childishly, Lockwood grinning. "I jest. But please, leave that to natural aging instead of vitality fuckery" He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Max's forehead before reaching over the necromancer to grab his shirt, careful not to touch the holy symbol next to it as he sat back and pulled it on, covering a plethora of scar tissue and tattoos. Max pursed his lips and frowned. "You know you can get those scars healed, right?" "You know my reasons for keeping them" Lockwood gave Max a raised eyebrow. He knew Max was focused on the stitching across the front of Lockwood's shirt, covering the healing scar of the enchanted sword he'd taken to protect Max. Lockwood sighed and took Max's hand, placing it over his heart. "I'm fine Max, we are both fine." They spent a moment quietly, Lockwood running his thumb over the back of Max's knuckles, before Lockwood leaned and pressed a kiss to Max's forehead before getting up. "You have Mages to go chat to, and I need to go to Pendrake" Max groaned at this, but started to get himself dressed as well, Lockwood laughing at the reluctant mage, and giving him an embrace and a chaste kiss before tugging his cloak and boots on and departing, giving the house a once over look from the outside and grinning, before heading off.

[sereklanandcrowa]

A Cry for Help

Lockwood jolted awake in a cold sweat, sitting up quickly gasping for breath. He drew his knees up and dropped his head into his hands, feeling his throat tighten up painfully. There was a tired noise from beside him, and the arm around his waist tightened a little in its sleep, Lockwood taking a moment to peek out from under his hands at Max. The necromancer was still sound asleep, thank the Seven, but Lockwood felt like there was a weight around himself, and he quietly got up, carefully to ensure he didn't jostle the sleeping man awake. He pulled on a shirt as he made his way into the main office room, and over to the desk, pulling a clean piece of paper out of his little pile from the corner of the desk, and wrote a short note, addressing Max on one side and the note on the other. It simply read 'If I make it through this vampire bullshit, I'll be asking for one of these back'. He then took the chain from around his neck and looked hesitantly at the two rings hanging from it, before folding the paper around them and setting it down on the middle of the desk. Heading to the door, he tugged on his boots and travelling cloak, before slipping out of the room, closing the door softly, and heading out of the Mages Tower. He made his way to the Newcroft Kharrachian Shrine, nodding to his sister as he passed her, who gave him a stink eye as always, and going and kneeling at the shrine. It took him a moment of thinking before he closed his eyes and bowed his head, murmuring quietly his prayer. "Lord Kharrach, If dying as a result of actions brought by this infection is the plan you have for me, I cannot deviate from your plan. But I find myself scared to die. I have been adventuring for almost a year, and have not once been scared to die when the opportunity has presented itself. But this one, I do not know why, is different. I am terrified. I please, Lord, that you hear this prayer, and grant me the strength to accept the end if it comes, if not for my own sake, then for those I must be strong for. For Max, for Ivers, Jürgen, Mordrid, Laura..for them all In your name I plea, Praises unto the Lord" The dark part of his mind reared its ugly head, bringing thoughts of the pointlessness of such a prayer. If this infection took hold, he'd be an abomination to the gods. Why would they help him? He bristled at the thought, and bowed lowly to the shrine. He wouldn't let such a thought fester. He took the morning to visit each shrine and make similar prayers to each of the light gods, despite that thought of it being hopeless still lingering even through his best efforts to forget it. He was hesitant to return to Max's office, after seeing the day before how terrified Max was of the situation. He'd barely been able to control his shaking, a mix of anger at the vampire, at himself, and the terror for Lockwood's sake. Lockwood hesitated, and changed his course. The Rosy Apple seemed like a good idea.

[sereklanandcrowa]

An Old ‘Friend’

Lockwood had by no means expected HIM of all people to turn up in his nightmares all over again. Sure, the scare of someone like him being around stirred up bad thoughts, but that was over a month ago, and he’d forgotten all about it. Yet, here he was.

The dream, or nightmare - he had yet to decide which it was - started with Lockwood in the Huntsman’s Rest. Which was odd already, he hadn’t been back to Lirron yet, but some of his dreams took place in the Rest, so it wasn’t too out of the ordinary. 

He sat up and looked around. He was in the usual room that he inhabited when in the Rest, having been laying on the bed, and things seemed normal. His sword in the corner, his books on the desk, the red eyes by the window...

Wait...

Lockwood reached for the dagger he kept under his pillow, but cursed when his hand just met the top of the furs on the bed. He’d stopped sleeping with a dagger there after the scare with Max.

There was a chuckle from the window, the red eyes narrowing as if who they belonged to was smiling. Lockwood bristled, looking between the eyes and his sword .

“You know that’s useless when unenchanted”

Lockwood froze, eyes wide staring at the red ones.

“No...you’re dead...”

The dark elf stepped out of the shadows with a fanged grin, Lockwood scrambling to his feet, and backing up slightly. The vampire pouted sarcastically.

“What, not happy to see me anymore? After all we’ve been thr-”

He was cut off by a tankard connecting with his face.

“Get out of my head you bastard! For once I want to be able to rest and not have some psycho in here with me!”

Lockwood was seething, arm extended forward as the finish of a throw. Morviel rubbed his cheek from where the tankard had hit him, pouting more genuinely.

“That wasn’t nice. Who ruffled your feathers?”

“Get out of my head!”

Morviel ducked a swing from the merc with a tut, swiping his feet out from under him casually, Lockwood hitting the ground with a hiss. Morviel used his foot to turn the merc over to face him with a casually shallow smirk, crouching next to the merc, and fangedly grinning.

“If this is your dream, then I’m only here because you want me to be”

The vampire chuckled lowly, Lockwood bristling and grabbing him by the scruff of his robes and bodily flipping the two of them over so Morviel had his back against the wood of the floor and Lockwood’s knee was pressed into the vamp’s throat, making the vampire smile so much wider at the Mercenary’s fury.

“This is no dream, this is a bloody nightmare!”

The merc snapped, digging his knee into Morviel’s trachea harder. Morviel simply raised an eyebrow.

“You are dead, Vampire, I was there when you were reduced to dust. This is just...old wounds. Yeah. Like Eli said,”

Lockwood screwed his eyes shut, standing and backing away from the vampire and steadying his breath, fists clenched by his side and shaking. He clenched his jaw until it hurt, just focusing on that.

He felt hands on his shoulders and his eyes snapped open, ready to deck the damn vampire, but his eyes were met with blue instead of red, and the concerned gaze of Max. Lockwood breathed a sigh of relief and let his head drop back onto the bed.

“You okay, Aiden?”

“Just a bad dream”

[sereklanandcrowa]

Questionable Morals

Lockwood used the sleeve of his shirt to try and scrub off the now dry blood that coated one side of his head, to not much success, as he trudged up the stairs to Max’s Office. He’d gotten an interestingly worried look from the mage at the ground floor who’d asked him his business, but another had assured the worried apprentice that Lockwood was a regular visitor to the tower and that he was perfectly fine, plus he wasn’t wearing armour or weapons, so they needn’t worry. 

Lockwood just gave them a half salute and a wry grin before heading up to Max’s office, brushing his shirt and robes a bit more, trying not to make the healing wound on his leg and neck obvious by wrapping his scarf a little tighter and adjusting the fall of his robes, before knocking and entering the office.

Max looked up from his desk with a polite smile, which became warmer when he saw it was Lockwood, before his brows dropped into a frown at the blood. The Necromancer met Lockwood halfway as the merc shut the door and moved over towards the desk.

“Please tell me this isn’t yours, Lockwood”

Max raised an eyebrow at the Merc’s sheepish grin. 

“Not entirely?”

Max grabbed the end of Lockwood’s scarf and unlooped it from around the Merc’s neck, to Lockwood’s protest. Max sighed at the bandage haphazardly tied around, Lockwood going sheepish again.

“At least it was me and not Regent Bastion?”

Max sighed at Lockwood, taking him by the arm and sitting him down in front of him on the chair Lockwood had left to one side of the desk last time he’d been in the office. Lockwood waved him off with assurances that he was fine, but Max didn’t seem put at ease.

“What happened, Aiden?”

Lockwood pursed his lips and shrugged nonchalanly.

“We have, for now, prevented war with a foulspawn army that has amassed near Carlech”

Max looked surprised, whilst Lockwood simply took his needle and thread from his pouch, and beginning to fuss the wound on his neck.

“You sound oddly calm about that”

“Well we are adventurers, we start, stop, and fight in wars eventually. Guess I’ve finally come to accept the fact that we have to do what others wont”

Max frowned at this.

“What do you mean?”

“We let fouspawn slaughter a man. Thus for now preventing a war. If we hadn’t have done so, he’d have killed more, and the army of foulspawn camping near Carlech would have attacked”

Lockwood snapped the end of the thread and stood, putting the needle away before clapping a hand down on Max’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry bout it, Max, we’re going to be fine”

[sereklanandcrowa]

The Nightmare

He thought that particular one had stopped. Max had assured him it’d never happen, and Lockwood had no reason not to believe him. It was different now, but it still felt like a knife to the heart.

It was the beginning of the month of Budding. Lockwood was finally returning to Newcroft for good, having finished his training with the Raven, and he was glad of it. He was looking forward to being able to relax with Max, provided the necromancer had no work that required his immediate attention, but as far as his most recent letter had lead Lockwood to believe, Max was virtually free for the next couple of days.

The first sign something was wrong was the lack of guards outside the Mage’s Tower. Usually Lockwood encountered a couple of them. It was odd, but sure, Guards were moved all the time. There was probably a reasonable explaination. Right?

He continued on into the tower, checking in on the sort of communal area that he usually talked to Sekhemut in, and usually there were apprentices milling around, but none today. Perhaps there was some event that he hadn’t heard about? Mages often did things in groups, right? Lockwood felt a little uneasy about this. Hopefully Max was still in his office.

The stairs seemed darker than normal, and the closer he got to Max’s office, the more he began to notice dark spots on the floor. Crouching beside a larger patch, Lockwood pulled on his gloves and dipped his fingers into it, holding them up to inspect them near one of the faint sconces on the wall, eyes widening when we saw the substance wasn’t black like he initially thought, but a very dark red. Looking along the floor, the patches got larger in the direction of Max’s office. This made the blood drain from Lockwood’s face, and he broke into a run.

Slamming open the door to the office, Lockwood looked around the main room worriedly. 

“Max? Max?!” 

The desk caught his eye. The melted candle was lower, and Lockwood’s corner of papers was still there, but the chair was toppled on its side, and there was more of the red substance - Lockwood refused to even consider it being blood - on the wood of the desk, looking like someone had dragged a hand across it. 

The Merc hesitated, but rounded the desk, and his heart leapt up into his throat, he immediately moving over and dropping to his knees beside the Necromancer who was slumped against the desk with a dagger protruding from his chest. Lockwood’s hands were shaking as he reached to cradle Max’s head in his hands, in a vain attempt to see if there was even the slim chance the Necro still had time. He was ice cold to the touch, making Lockwood’s breath catch, eyes moving to the wound. 

It looked like the dagger had missed Max’s heart by an inch, the once white shirt now a heartwrenching shade of red. Lockwood shakily gripped the protruding dagger, and pulled in free from the Longstorian’s chest, a new stream of blood trickling from the wound. The merc tossed the dagger away from him, and got into a crouch, slipping his arms under Max’s knees and around his back, then stood, lifting the necromancer carefully and moved him into the side room, and putting him down on the bed.

Looking down at his own hands, Lockwood found them stained with Max’s blood, as was his shirt, making him buckle down onto his knees, just staring at the blood. There was white noise in his head, and he felt full body numb, his vision swimming slightly, dropping backwards as if to fall back, before snaping upright.

Looking around, he realised he was sat up in a bed, and was shaking in a cold sweat. Stood next to the bed with a hand on his shoulder was Betty, the dwarf looking worried for the merc.

“You alrite hon? You were shakin’ something awful in yer sleep”

Lockwood ran his hands down his face, finding his cheeks wet and his hands clammy.

“I, uh, think I’m going to need a strong drink”

[sereklanandcrowa]

Character writing prompt

Whilst trawling our usual sources for writing ideas, we found a prompt of questions about things you should know about your character. So we thought it would be fun to do it for Lockwood.

-What would completely break your character?

Max’s death, specifically if it was Lockwood who was the cause.

-What was the best thing in your character’s life?

His first ever adventure. He wasn’t really useful, an apprentice merc with nothing against automatons, but the people didn’t mind. It was a day of sport in the Ithronian sunshine; and it was when he first met the oddly charming Longstorian Necromancer.

-What was the worst thing in your character’s life?

The change in his nightmares. After being magically put into them, it made him terrified to sleep next to Max, in fear of hurting him. He no longer sleeps with a dagger under his pillow.

-What seemingly insignificant memories stuck with your character?

The Lirronese rabbits

-Does your character work so that they can support their hobbies or use their hobbies as a way of filling up the time they aren’t working?

Lockwood spends most of his time doing some form of work, but his hobbies usually aid his work, like the Treewalker Bestiary.

-What is your character reluctant to tell people?

You’d have to specify people. For example; Lockwood is reluctant to tell his fried some of his more dangerous ideas. He’s reluctant to tell Ivers some things as she can’t lie; he’s reluctant to tell Max some things because he doesn’t want him to worry.

-How does your character feel about sex?

Lockwood used to be rather debaucherous, whilst trying to figure himself out after losing most of his memories. It’s only in more recent months that he stopped visiting Newcroft’s various ladies of the night, due to his deepset and loyal infatuation with Max. Where Lockwood has never typically been shy about sex, the thought of that sort of intimacy with Max has him very bashful.

-How many friends does your character have?

Lockwood has a fair few people he considers friends; Max, Ivers, Jurgen, Draken, Hitoshi, Liza, Locke, Laura, Mordrid, Elias, Conchobar, Pirran. There are people he gets on with, but doesn’t consider them friends, such as Twist and Willoughby, Sir Bastion, and McTavish. They’ve always expressed positivity to talking to and seeing Lockwood, and he does not hate their company.

-How many friends does your character want?

He isn’t against having more friends, he enjoys meeting new people, but he is content with those he has, it’s easier to protect fewer.

-What would your character make a scene in public about?

Knowing Lockwood, pretty much anything should he feel the situation calls for it.

-What would your character give their life for?

Contrary to popular belief, Lockwood would gladly trade his life for any of the adventurers of Berykshire, if it meant they’d be able to live on.

-What are your character’s major flaws?

Lockwood is impulsive. He has good intentions, and sees a way to get a benefit out of a situation, but a lot of the time he is blind to the dangers of what he’s doing, or is so secretive about what he knows about a situation that others interpret it differently to him.

-What does your character pretend or try to care about?

Politics. Despite currently being actively involved in a political game of pointing the finger, Lockwood despises how petty nobles can get, and how insensitive some nobles can be.

-How does the image your character tries to project differ from the image they actually project?

Lockwood has no one image he tries to project nor that he does actually project. He is perceived differently by each person he meets, and tries to adapt his approach to fit who he is talking to.

-What is your character afraid of?

This was answered here

[sereklanandcrowa]

In the week

Lockwood shuffled along to Max’s office, stretching out his arms to crack his shoulders as he entered the office, pausing in the doorway when he saw Max in a disheveled state with his feet in a bucket of hot water.

“…do I want to know?”

Max looked up from where his head was lolling back from how he was lounged in his chair, giving a half hearted wave to Lockwood.

“Hi Lockwood”

The Merc rolled his eyes and stepped over the bucket and Max’s legs to stick his boots out of the way. Max had his robes, waistcoat, and cravat discarded, leaving him in a half unbuttoned shirt with the sleeves pushed up to show the healing wounds on his upper arms, and his trousers rolled up to the knees.

“Alright, what happened to you?”

Lockwood asked this while taking his scarf and travelling cloak off, hanging them up on an unlit wall sconce.

“Exceedingly Violent Jack”

“Where is he now?”

Max raised an eyebrow at Lockwood.

“He’s being tried for his crimes”

“Damn…”

Max rolled his eyes at the Merc, who took the spare chair from the corner and brought it over so he was sat facing the back of the chair, looking at Max with his arms folded across the top of the chair. The necromancer gave him a tired smile.

“So how did your weekend go?”

“Well, we blew up a dam and flooded half of Sigmundside”

Max blinked owlishly at Lockwood, and sat up a little.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Demons”

“Ah”

Lockwood took the time to explain what happened in Sigmundside, discussing the current plan with Max. Lockwood, near the end of the conversation, began to absentmindedly run his fingers through the greyed sides of Max’s hair, looking a little forlorn.

“How did this happen?”

His tone was soft and worried, Max giving him a guilty half smile.

“Long story short I went to Elysium”

Lockwood blanched immediately and gave Max a concerned look

“I don’t think I want to know”

“It is temporary, I believe”

Lockwood pursed his lips

“I hope so….it doesn’t suit you”

Max huffed and pouted at the Merc

“Does that mean when we are old and grey, you’ll up and leave me?”

Lockwood rolled his eyes but gave a small smile

“You know I wouldn’t”

He mused, and tugged the necromancer down into a chaste kiss, smiling as he did so.

“You’re, what, two years older than me? You look old enough to be my father”

Max huffed at this

“I’m 27, thank you very much”

Lockwood looked surprised

“Wait, so you’re 7 years older than me?”

Max’s eyes widened, and he looked genuinely shocked

“You’re…?”

“I don’t exactly look 40, Max”

“… true”

Lockwood rolled his eyes and stood, kissing Max on the crown of his head as he walked past. They chatted a while, until Max brought up Elias the faerie.

“I’m just glad he can’t get into here”

Max huffed, straightening his sleeves. Lockwood gave him a guilty look.

“Actually….he can”

“What?!”

“You weren’t here! You’ve been gone, what, nearly three weeks? What was I supposed to do? I needed magical assistance”

Max didn’t look angry, more concerned.

“What for?”

“I needed to access the Fae realm of dreams. The fact my mind is fine shows can trust him!”

Max sighed, running a hand through his hair and giving Lockwood a heartfelt look.

“If you trust him….then I trust him”

Lockwood gave a relieved smile, and pressed a kiss to Max’s forehead.

“Thank you”

[sereklanandcrowa]

Max’s Return

When Max returned to his office, bloody and sore from the night's roughness against Exceedingly Violent Jack, he was greeted with the familiar sight of Lockwood sat at his desk, flat out cold. The Merc was slumped forward, using his arms as a pillow, and had obviously been writing one of his various reports before falling asleep.

Max took the care to be as quiet as he could when shutting the door, before moving over to give the mercenary a short but firm hug, and stumbling off over to his bed, simply collapsing onto it, practically asleep before his head hit the pillow.

It was surprising to Max that he woke before Lockwood; the mercenary usually didn't sleep for too long. The Necro just smiled fondly at the sight of the Mercenary, before getting up and taking off his robes, huffing at the new holes in the sleeves. He moved to put them to one side, passing Lockwood on his way, but felt his arm get grabbed as he was spun around and suddenly had the wall at his back and an arm pressed firmly against his throat.

He was greeted with the sight of Lockwood again, but the Merc was foggy eyed, obviously still half asleep. He had a half sneer half scowl on his face, and didn't seem to recognise Max straight away.

"Lockwood! Aiden! It's me!"

Max tried to pry the arm away from his throat, but the fogginess melted out of Lockwood's eyes as he blinked for a few moments, and his eyes widened once clear.

"Max?"

The arm dropped from his throat to instead be wrapped around him with the other in a tight hug, Lockwood murmuring into Max's shoulder.

"I am so sorry, I didn't think you'd be back yet"

When Lockwood held him a little too tightly, Max winced with a sharp inhale, which made the Merc immediately put Max at arm's length, holding him by the shoulders and looking him over, eyes widening at the sight of the massive blood stain across the front of Max's shirt.

"Lockwood..."

Lockwood ignored Max's attempt to shrug it off, immediately crouching to inspect the wound.

"I leave you alone for just over a week"

The chiding from the Merc was teasing, but the worry was evident in his voice. Standing back up properly, Lockwood finally looked at Max properly and frowned, one hand coming up to cup Max's jaw, the thumb running across the darker shade that was now there.

"What...happened to you? You look....older...actually no. Don't tell me. I have a feeling I don't want to know".

Lockwood held both sides of Max's face, pulling his head down to press a firm kiss to Max's forehead.

"I trust whatever you did, you did it for the right reasons".

He looked back over to the desk, then groaned and dropped his head onto Max's shoulder.

"Why do I write these damn reports?"

This drew a soft chuckle from Max, Lockwood smiling into his shoulder.

"Come on, let's get you patched up"

[sereklanandcrowa]

In the Juggs

Lockwood groaned and dropped his head onto the table. He was tired, and didn't want to continue writing the report he was working on, and his headache was just getting worse. He was sure Locke had done something to his drinks when he'd been in the Rest.

He was currently in the Bigg Juggs, wanting a rest before he headed to his office in the Barracks, unsure if Max had returned from Norham yet. He'd started writing a report up for Mordrid, but couldn't quite focus. He'd had a terrible night's sleep, his talk with Betty having stirred up worries he'd been pushing down.

"Something on your mind?"

Lockwood jumped, sitting up and blinking owlishly at the Fae sat across from him, who was grinning at the startled Merc.

"Elias?! When'd you get there?!"

Lockwood looked bewildered at the appearance of Elias, who merely folded his arms on the table and grinned wider.

"Just now. You seem worried about something".

Lockwood pursed his lips and sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"I'm just tired, that's all"

He scrubbed his hands over his eyes, missing the raised eyebrow the faerie gave him.

"It's more than that, you're as subtle as a severed hand through a window"

This drew a chuckle out of Lockwood, who dropped his hands. Elias cocked his head and turned to try and read the rhonnish that ran across the pages in front of Lockwood.

"You're writing about undead? Would have thought you'd have Maximilian here for that"

He gave Lockwood a sly grin, which was met with a returning raised eyebrow.

"I have only just gotten back to Newcroft, I'm fairly sure Mr Thorpe is still in Norham. And anyways, this is a report of what I myself know".

"Psh, reports are boring. How have your dreams been?"

Elias picked up the pages, to Lockwood's protest, and took Lockwood's pack using his feet, stuffing the pages inside and dropping the pack, giving Lockwood a look. The Merc huffed and flagged down a passing server girl, asking for two of his usual before turning back to the faerie.

"Fine. The nightmares have been less frequent while I've been up in Lirron, but I've not had anymore dreams of black hands. That last one was....bizarre. They were here, yet they were not"

Elias nodded at Lockwood's description.

"You said you had the dream the night we tried to magically bring one on, yes?"

"Aye, it was that night. I am confused about it, it's almost like they're trying to reach me, but can't."

Elias thought for a moment before leaning forward a little

"Distance almost certainly plays a part, the dreams may not be strong enough to reach you during your forays into the north. Winter is stronger there and different lords hold sway".

"Ugh, Fae jargon"

"I can bring you closer to a gate, though the way is shut for now. It'll be open in a few days".

Lockwood waited while the serving girl place a drink down across from each of the two and left, before slamming his hand down on the table.

"Absolutely not! Various amounts of people will have my head if I go messing around with weird Fae bullshit!"

"I will choose to not take offence at that statement"

Lockwood rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out.

"oh please, as if I could offend you with calling you Fae Bullshit. And I haven't messed around with you"

"'Messed around' can be taken so many different ways...and so can people"

Lockwood smacked Elias around the head with a startled laugh, the Faerie giving him a shit eating grin. Their conversation fluctuated between teasing innuendos and Lockwood's firm denials of anything even slightly debaucherous, until Elias looked through the doors to see the darkening sky, bidding the Merc farewell.

Lockwood stayed in the Juggs a little while longer, but with the pleasant buzz from the drinks he and Elias had shared, he packed up his things and headed for the Mages Tower.

[sereklanandcrowa]

Thinking of Home

Night was soon to fall, but Lockwood took the time before reaching the Huntsman’s Rest to think

He sat on one of the walls bordering a field on the road to the Rest, setting his pack down beside him and digging out a cheese-cloth bundle. Crossing his legs under him, he opened to bundle; it was some of the jerky that he’d gotten from Ivers when he’d visited Newcroft on the way back up from the Tisa Vale.

He looked out over the field as he chewed on some, watching the sky catch fire with the colours of the sunset, and the swarm of starlings swooping overhead. Holding his current piece of jerky between his teeth, he wrapped the rest back up and put it back in the pack, bringing out his newer notebook and pencil.

Flicking through, there were only a couple of sketches in this one, drawings of the Raven’s home, of Max, and the slightly drunken doodle he’d done of Conchobar. He smiled looking through them, then flipped to a blank page, and looked into the field for inspiration, spying a pair of rabbits poking their heads up out of the grass to look at him curiously.

He took his time putting pencil to paper, at least until the rabbits left, at which he packed his things away, the sun having sunk past the horizon; the near full moon beginning her journey up. He slung his pack back over his shoulder and hopped off the wall, dusting himself off and hopping up and down a bit to get feeling back into his legs, before continuing on to the Rest.

He passed the occasional other person, giving a polite smile and small nod to them as he passed, keeping his cloak over his weaponry. His usual adventuring gear was in Newcroft, but he kept a sword and a dagger with him for his journey down, having been training with gear from the Barracks more local to the Raven. 

He thought back on some of the times he’s been on walks like this with those close to him. Journeying to Prudha’s Ford with Jurgen, a nighttime walk he’d goaded Max on coming on, the tavern crawl he’d done with Draken and Ivers. He smiled fondly at the memories, but the smile faltered and dropped when he thought about more recent events. How Ivers had been when Nancy had been at the danger of Morviel, the betrayal in Judith’s voice when they’d last talked, the thought of losing Max to Wychandus. He shook his head, as if physically doing so would shake away the thoughts, and sighed, looking back up to the moon.

He wondered if any of his friends were looking at the same moon.

[sereklanandcrowa]

In Max’s Office

Lockwood often thinks back to the night he and Max returned from the Tisa Vale.

They'd returned to Max's Office tired from the day's beatings, Max having to stop Lockwood from sticking a finger into the sword wound from morbid curiousity.

"It won't heal properly if you keep messing around with it"

Max's chastising was met with a lopsided grin from the pink haired Merc.

"It'll be fine, Max, I've had worse."

As if to prove his point, Lockwood shirked off his shirt, showing the lumps missing from his right arm, and the various criss-crossed scars across his torso, and the now no longer bleeding gash across his mid torso from the day.

"That's not how that works and you know it"

Max rolls his eyes, but is smiling fondly. Lockwood moves over to where Max is sat at the desk and ruffles his hair.

"I'll be fine, Max"

Lockwood looks bone tired, as per the norm from having alchemy repeatedly shoved down one's throat. He smooths his hand across the frankly untamed curls of Max's longer than usual hair, and presses a firm kiss against his brow, before standing properly and shambling to where he could crash and sleep.

Max joined him fairly shortly after changing out of his robes into his nightwear, finding the mercenary writing up notes in his notebook, sat on the bed cross-legged.

Lockwood looked up with a guilty smile as Max took the notebook and pencil off of him and put them on the nightstand

"No work for tonight, you need to rest. Come dawn, I can patch you up, but until then, let's just sleep, yeah?"

"I make no promises, but I will try, for you"

Max gave a tired smile and got into bed next to the Merc, while Lockwood put out the candle he'd been using for light for writing his notes. The necromancer fell asleep rather quickly, but woke a couple of hours later, noting that Lockwood was still awake, judging by his breathing, as the Merc was laying on his side with his back to Max.

"Are you still awake?"

"...aye"

Max thinks for a few moments, before wordlessly turning and wrapping his arms around Lockwood's midriff. The Merc tensed up for a second, before slowly relaxing against the necromancer, his breathing evening out as he managed to drift off in Max's arms.

Lockwood's raven managed to get into the office again, a note attached to it's leg, and it opened its beak to caw for attention, but cocked its head at the sight of its master and the necromancer, and instead chose to rest it's eyes and hunker down on Max's desk.

[sereklanandcrowa]

Lockwood’s Nightmares

The one that always comes first is the field.

 The field of bodies. He doesn’t recognise the field, nor the sky above it. The grass is black, and the sky is red. Normally those colours bring him pride. They’re the colours he wears, the colours he’s known for. But here…here they freeze his blood. He can’t move, but he can look around. He doesn’t want to, but he can’t close his eyes.

All around him are bodies. Ivers, Jurgen, Draken, Conchobar, even Judith. Hells, he can even see Bastion and Elias. Deep down he knows he could have stopped this. He can feel it in his heart, which feels like it has stopped. He can never tell how they died, whenever he looks close enough, the scene changes.

The next one can be one of two scenarios. One is the Barracks. All present have their backs to him, he’s crossed the line this time, and none have faith in him anymore. He’s lost the trust of everyone, they would simply have him ‘cry wolf’.

The other is of the sky. Black clouds rolling in over the tops of trees, snow drifting down in slow motion. He can feel the cold against his back, but he can only look at the sky. Sound is foggy, but he can sort of make out someone talking near him. He can’t move. It would be peaceful if everything didn’t hurt. A sharp, almost numbing pain. He can’t pick a location to determine the source, everything is just pain. For so long, just pain.

But the last one is always the same, always the most vivid, always has him waking up in a cold sweat and with pure fear in his heart. It’s so recognisable as Max’s office, he knows it far too well not to know it. However it’s dark, the candle on the desk isn’t lit. The only light is an eerie pale blue, like moonlight. The room is tidy as always, with Lockwood’s typical pile of paper with his ink on the corner of the desk.  One of the children’s story books that Lockwood seems to be able to sneak silly phrases into sits on the desk too, with a bottle of Iver’s Templar wine. Slumped against the leg of the desk, the leg with various knocks in it from the teasing dagger thwacks into it to stop Lockwood jack-knifing his letters to the desk, is Max. He looks like he’s asleep. Apart from the dagger through his heart. A very recognisable dagger. Lockwood’s dagger. Approaching Max in a cold panic, as soon as he raises his hands to hold him, he sees they’re stained red. He doesn’t need to have seen it happen to know it’s Max’s blood. The thought of it is enough to break him, his heart feels as if it’s the one with a dagger through it. Max is ice cold to the touch, he’s too pale. Far too pale.

It’s when his eyes open and they are blood red is when Lockwood wakes up.

[sereklanandcrowa]

Monday 26th Springsdawn

The snow was gone in Newcroft, but there was still a nipping frost to the wind, felt by those who went outside. It did not much bother most of the people, this was Newcroft, who wasn’t used to a bit of cold? Any other day, and Lockwood himself would have felt it rather strongly. However recently his days had deviated from the norm.

His breath clouded out in front of him like dragon-smoke in irregular puffs, and his pink hair stuck to his forehead with perspiration. His shirt lay off to the side, having been discarded a while ago, and his arms had been wrapped up to the elbow, but the knuckles were stained red, as was the training dummy he was letting his frustration out on. A couple of apprentices looked on apprehensively, but none bothered the Captain while he was busy, not while he was like this. He’d been at this for a while, and showed no sign of letting up, until the sun was past its highest point, when he looked ready to collapse. His knuckles were bruised and bleeding, but he simply wiped the blood away on his leathers and grabbed his shirt to wipe down his face. Looking around, Lockwood sighed to himself. The Barracks had been his home for the last nine months, and it yet it felt weird to be back. It would only be for a day or so, but having spent so much time recently in the Juggs, Max’s Office and Pendrake, plus the moving up to Lirron temporarily to train with the Raven, he’d almost forgotten what it was like to be here, to watch the apprentices train, to sit at his own desk, to have time to do nothing.

Running a hand through his hair, he moved off to a nearby bench to observe the six pennies training. His conversation with Conchobar last night came to mind as he watched.

“Adventurers’ lives are too short to be wasted on a sense of propriety. You’re wasting your younger years not having fun, you need to enjoy it while you can”.

They had been in the Bigg Juggs, Lockwood in a particularly sour mood, and Conchobar had taken it upon himself to wax philosophical, and cheer the pink haired merc up. With a few drinks and stupid comments, he had succeeded, but some of the things he’d said had struck true. He’d left Lockwood with the thought of what he needs to do next.

Looking up from where his gaze had dropped to the floor, he noticed the six pennies mucking about, one with another in a headlock, both laughing in a banterous way, scrapping like pups. Lockwood couldn’t help a half grin. When he’d joined the guild, that’d been what it was about; the rough and tough of being a mercenary, being able to scrap with the apprentices, go out and fight monsters, and getting paid. When had that changed?

It made him pause and think. What was being a Mercenary to him now?