the brutal

Ser Guerrique the Brutal of the Heavens' Ward. A formidable, highly decorated ex-Temple Knight, and a mighty warrior...well, when he's sober. ((Indie headcanon-filled RP sideblog. ))

[serguerrique]

hc; modern au

Name: Guerrique Montrohain

Age: 30s 

Nationality: French-American

Height: 6′0

Date of Birth: June 29th

Occupation: French professor (teaches French I and French II) and professional alcoholic, former military sergeant.

Guerrique is...kind of a mess? Not much is known about his past besides he was absolutely military -- he has friends in the ROTC on campus -- and that he was honorably discharged. Otherwise...well, there are guesses, considering he’s also the campus alcoholic professor and seems not to really give a shit about grading (that makes him well liked, if vaguely pitied).

The story -- which the faculty know if just to accommodate him -- is that his entire unit of men (including his wife) were killed in combat overseas, and he was the only survivor. He was discharged after he was released from the hospital, and the dean, who has connections everywhere, gave him a teaching position to keep him occupied. 

He’s generally fairly friendly! He’s talkative and knowledgeable about his subject, and grades for effort more than content, and is one of those classes he’s glad to admit is an easy A so long as you actually turn shit in and turn up. He holds parties in class for holidays and and will give you extra credit for smuggling him in extra booze or bringing proof you did something especially crazy-cool. He’s likable! But he’s also very sad.

He has a little sister-in-law, Aimielle, who goes to the college as an art major, and he dotes on her like a daughter.

[serguerrique]

janlenoux:

Janlenoux is surprised that Guerrique’s approaching him - enough so that he sits almost immediately when asked, and goes so far as to gently place a hand along the side of the now-wyvern’s face. “There you are,” he says, surprising himself by how relieved he is to hear understandable words coming from his brother. “I’d feared you’d never even attempt to speak again. You being silent is nearly as bad as seeing you sober,” he teases, but only lightly, and he’s quick to drop it to instead regard him with a serious expression.

“I can’t claim to understand why you chose this path,” he says, good eye focused firmly on the familiar gaze looking out from an alien face. “But I’ve never understood why you do anything, so it’s enough to know that you had reason - and you saved us through this act, so please stop apologizing unless you mean you’re sorry for not leaving us to lose our wills and become abominations working toward a madman’s goal.”

Guerrique may be older than he is, and slightly more experienced, but Janlenoux is an older brother to multiple siblings, so he knows how to deal with someone getting too wrapped up in his own troubles to function properly. “Did you think we’d abandoned you?” He asks, voice softer as he gives the head in his lap another fond pat. “Because I am sorry we could not help you sooner, if so. And if you think we will do so now, simply because you have changed forms, you’re wrong.” He pauses then, rolling his eyes as a thought crosses his mind. “And before you trouble yourself about your change of shape, I think you should know that two of our brothers appear to have been contemplating drinking dragons’ blood themselves, likely to open up more opportunities for brawling.”

He doesn’t name names. He doesn’t need to. 

Guerrique leans into Janlenoux’s hand, and he doesn’t feel the same sort of shame about it as he had a moment ago -- he’s too relieved. Things feel like they might be okay? He can talk, he has his voice, still. He can...he can communicate with his brothers, they can understand him. There’s no barriers that keep them from continuing to be brothers.

He manages a weak chuckle at that, though it sounds a bit echoing in his throat. “I was both for a while,” he says slowly. “And I’m still sober. It isn’t very fun.” But he’s sure Janlenoux knows that -- he isn’t one to drink, the boy, but he’s seen Guerrique sober and drunk both enough times to know the difference. 

He wants to apologize, but...Jan’s right. He did save them, so there isn’t really something to apologize for. “I...wanted to apologize for doin’ this. For...making you worry.” For turning himself into a dragon, for...he doesn’t regret it, but he knows it must have hurt them. He shifts to nuzzle closer to the boy absently, something deep within him he’s only now noticing whispering that brother means something a lot more now than it ever did. 

He’s so glad they’re here for him. He’s still guilty he couldn’t save them all, but realistically he probably couldn’t have. The thing the Archbishop became...it was a real miracle he’d been able to save as many of them as he had. And he’s glad they’re here. He’s glad they won’t leave him -- he’s glad they still want him. It’s not something he can put into words, but the rumbling in his throat takes on an almost musical quality, and it’s...rather joyous, whatever it is.

He blinks, though, and his eyeroll is quite a bit more impressive now that he’s a dragon. “Those two,” he mutters, amused. “Can’t they be satisfied with wrestling me?” He doesn’t want either of them to do it -- they don’t understand how different it makes you even when you’re the same, and they can’t understand the gravity of the choice until they make it. He’ll...probably have to talk to them.

[serguerrique]

janlenoux:

“There you are,” Janlenoux says, softspoken as he usually tends to be, and sets the tray down. “I’ve been… experimenting,” he adds, indicating the tray. “I found that most dragons have very different palates from what I’m used to, but I thought that perhaps you wouldn’t wish to accustom yourself to their table manners just yet.” And now he pauses. the tiniest grin on his face as he adds, “Such manners as you have, I should say - and have been trying to create something that appeals to both.”

It isn’t just for Guerrique’s sake, really - if they’re to repair a bond their own people shattered, they need to find or create common ground where possible. And food has always been an excellent area to begin, given how nothing sentient save for some seedkin can survive without a good meal of some kind.

“I thought… since I’ve no doubt you’re hungry, that you might like to test it for me?” There’s no getting around the fact that Guerrique is a dragon now…but Janlenoux is hoping he’s still Guerrique; still their brother, the same soul simply locked into another form.

He tries very hard not to stick his whole snout into the tray, instead staring at Janlenoux. His expression, being draconic, is unreadable, but his eyes are certainly still expressive. He’s...afraid. He has no regrets for any of the choices he made, but all the same he’s terrified that he’s not himself anymore, half convinced that he isn’t, and wallowing in that pain with all the masochism that he’d developed out of years of drinking.

But here Janlenoux is, talking to him like it’s any other day and he’s being teased for being a drunken mess, the blue-haired boy offering him some home-cooked food like he’s a fussy mother...

He’s absolutely not crying. He’s not. He doesn’t cry. But by the Fury, he’s sober and he hates it and-- there’s just something in his eye, that’s all. His big stupid dragon eye.

He is hungry, but...but right now, he ignores the tray to almost headbutt Janlenoux in the chest until he sits down and then puts his head in the younger man’s lap like a very persistent cat that wants to be cuddled. This is, in a way, ridiculously embarrassing, but so long as no one tells...his throat rumbles with something that’s halfway between a cat’s purr and a rather more draconic noise of sadness, and when he speaks -- and he does speak, something that startles even him (he thought he’d lost the ability to) -- his voice is rougher and has a strange, echoing quality to it, but still the same. “Blue,” he murmurs, as quiet as a dragon can be (which isn’t quite as quiet as a mortal). “’M sorry.”

[serguerrique]

janlenoux:

It’s hard to be out here, surrounded by dragons who, however kind and relatively patient they are toward their unusual guests, simply do not understand the need for high-quality, cooked food. Alright, so that’s hardly the main issue with the strange mess that their lives have become, but it is certainly the one thing Janlenoux finds the most vexing about their new situation. Even when stressed, he’s used to being able to help morale by feeding his comrades and brothers, but…

Their options out here are extremely limited, and though he does his best, the results just aren’t up to his standards. And then there’s Guerrique - if he truly still is their brother in mind. Janlenoux doesn’t know, as he’s not been among those frequently visiting the warrior-turned-wyvern. In fact, he’s only been the one to check in on him once, but he’d volunteered to do so this time.

The reason is simply because he’s been trying - and trying desperately hard - to find something he can prepare that will please both man and dragon, and he thinks he may finally have found something. Maybe. But though there are no few dragons willing to taste-test for him (including one overly-enthusiastic youth who seems determined to try every kind of cuisine in the world), they have no frame of reference. Guerrique might.

And perhaps, because he hasn’t been hovering or otherwise bothering his brother, maybe Guerrique will tolerate his company for a time.

“I’ve brought you some things,” he says quietly, not bothering to look up from where he was walking - it won’t do to trip over an upraised stone and lose the contents of the makeshift tray he’s carrying. “If you wish to try them.” He knows that whatever else has happened, Guerrique isn’t doing well, and dragon or man it goes against everything that makes him him to keep letting his brother waste away like this. If the best he can do is try to make something tolerable enough for them all to share a meal together again, then he’ll do so. No matter how much effort it takes.

...Janlenoux?

Huh. The boy hasn’t...he’s never really  been the one to visit before. Maybe once? He can’t really recall...he knows Zephirin comes to talk to him a lot, and Grinnaux, the daft sod, has tried to get him to wrestle a few times to ‘cheer him up’, but...not this one.

He shifts slightly, lifting his head to peer with one orange-gold eye at the blue-haired boy and the food he brought. Food? He tries to ignore the rumble of his stomach -- he hasn’t eaten in...not since he was human, he thinks, maybe. He’s afraid to. One of many, many things he doesn’t want to do, doesn’t want to acknowledge, doesn’t want to do it and lose himself. 

He almost wants to be angry, actually, that Janlenoux dares to pretend things are normal when he’s here a scaly beast that can’t ever be and won’t ever be and isn’t-- he wants to smack that damned tray out of the man’s hands, but even he can’t bear to hurt the child’s feelings like that. 

He wonders what they see when they look in his eyes. Is he still in there? Is he just deluding himself, pretending Guerrique still exists when he’s only a dragon with the same memories? Do they care, still, is he one of their brothers still? Is this just pity?

His head goes in a thousand places at once and he wants to scream, but nothing but a quiet rumble escapes him. He’s too weak to really throw a tantrum and he knows it -- mostly healed he may be but he’s refused to move from this spot in who knew how long, and that’s not good even for a dragon. He knows that, but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s almost...wallowing in this bleak depression and almost masochistically enjoying it, isn’t he? Thinking he deserves the pain, no matter how little he regrets doing this.

All the same, the food smells absolutely fucking delicious, and he reluctantly heaves himself up, fifteen-fulm long body unfolding itself to creep over to the man like a scolded child -- he’s quite a sight, a wyvern white as snow, with streaks of steel grey shooting across him and an underbelly a soft yellowy cream. His body is as smooth and streamlined as it is large, and his spines are short and needle-thin. And his eyes, orange-gold as they are, still hold some semblance of intelligence, of humanity in them, even if he fears differently.

[serguerrique]

@janlenoux

He isn’t exactly sure how long it’s been. The days and nights have all blurred together into one long...existence, and he isn’t sure if it’s because of how shaken and confused he is or because of-- because of what he is now. He doesn’t regret this choice. He can’t regret it, because he can’t take it back. He knew what he was doing the moment the heretic in his hooded robe handed him the vial of blood. At least he saved some of his brothers.

But...he isn’t human anymore. Every time he moves his new body shifts, and he remembers anew that he has a tail, that his arms have become wings with vestigial claws, that he has fangs and teeth and that he is everything he used to hate. It doesn’t scare him as much as he thought it would. But he’s sober, he’s bone-achingly sober, and being unable to hide in the blessed haze of inebriation is...

He hasn’t spoken to anyone, in either tongue he now knows, since he and the brothers he’d saved arrived here, and he’s slept more than he’s been awake -- in part because that’s how dragons heal, but in part because he doesn’t have to deal with the ramifications of his actions if he’s asleep.

But...he can’t pretend to be asleep right now, not when he’s being visited -- for the eightieth time -- by one of his brothers. They come to see him often, trying to see if he’s still the man they know, trying to get him to say anything, to look at them, to see if Guerrique de Montrohain still lives behind these eyes...it hurts. Normally he ignores it but this time...this time he wasn’t able to keep from moving when he heard footsteps, so whichever one it is knows he’s awake. 

His exhale is audible, but he doesn’t turn or look up. Just...acknowledges the other is there. Gods, he hopes it isn’t Zephirin again.

[serguerrique]

headcanon; return

(Copied partially from my Grinnaux @thebullofishgard)

Given that the Heavens’ Ward became partial primals, or beings connected to the primal Thordan, their return to the Lifestream was hindered by what they had done to their own aether; it was unable to completely dissolve them into itself, and so spat them back out.

However at least, the fact that he had consumed so much dragon’s blood (and the innate essence of Ratatoskr within him, as in all Ishgardians) confused the aether while it was reforming into him, and so he is partially draconic in nature as of his return.

This manifests mainly in his ability to speak and understand Dravanian, as well as altered eyes (the pupils slit like a dragon’s), enhanced senses and strength, dreams of being a dragon (flying, memories of the past he should not know of, etc), and the fact that he can hear the Dragonsong.

It is not very pleasant, but he has enough of his wits about him once recovered from the initial shock to maintain control over the stronger symptoms and ignore the Song – though his usual copious drinking helps as well, so it’s not likely he’s put off alcohol (it’s actually harder for him to get drunk now, which is annoying).

(And the fact hat he is part dragon also curbs cravings for more dragon blood (since he no longer needs it, technically), which helps.)

It is unknown if the other Ward are back, or if they are suffering the same effects – though it is very likely they are if they have returned.

When he woke up in the Western Highlands a little bit after 3.0, Guerrique managed to find his way to Tailfeather. He’s been there since, alternating between being blackout drunk and helping the hunters, though he tries to avoid Dravanians as much as possible. He goes under the name Lichaurd, his father’s name, as a disguise.

[serguerrique]

hc;

[serguerrique]

serguerrique:

New canon full name – Guerrique de Montrohain! 

And the man is 27.

And nothing in his bio contradicts my own headcanons, so just a summary here:

Former commander in the Temple Knights, served under Zephirin. Blah blah took down a wyvern with a blow to the head that completely shattered its skull, we knew that.

Hype as fuck to test his strength with anyone who would accept his challenges, the little shit, would challenge anyone and everyone to arm wrestling when he was shit-faced.

Once when he beat Grinnaux in a sparring match, he celebrated so hard that Grin decked him hard enough to leave him dazed for days. And another time, Hermenost pretty much electrified his hand so he paralyzed Guerrique’s when they went to arm wrestle.

That’s all that was said, so I am keeping the rest of my headcanons the same!

Guerrique had a fiancee, Cirianne de Laiticard, who was also in the Temple Knights with him. She and most of his unit were killed in the battle that earned him the title of the Brutal/Cleaver. 

He drinks a lot to dull the pain of her loss and because PTSD is a bitch. Before the loss he was basically the same guy sober as he is now when he’s drunk – drinking basically lets him be Himself again rather than withdraw into himself. So he drinks a lot so no one will worry about him, because he’s TOTALLY FINE SHUT UP.

[serguerrique]

;ooc

Quick FYI, since I haven’t been on this blog in ages, I’m rebooting him plot-wise! Wheeee.

[serguerrique]

au; dragonheart

In this AU, the Heavens’ Ward were somehow -- possibly through the intervention of the Warrior of Light -- able to learn the truth of the Dragonsong War before they were tempered by Thordan.

Guerrique...did not take it well. With his hatred of betrayal coupled with the reality that their entire lives and every death (including that of his beloved Cirianne) was because their ancestors murdered someone’s sister...he had to be forcibly restrained and knocked unconscious to keep him from going after the Archbishop on the spot.

When he woke, he pretended to have calmed down, but -- without the Ward knowing, he slipped from the barracks in disguise. He went down to the Brume, and coin changed hands with unsavory characters...

And then, during that fateful meeting, when Thordan bade his knights kneel...Guerrique did not. Guerrique, driven by grief and fury and a desire for vengeance he knew now full well mirrored that of the wyrm that so hounded their city, pulled from his armor a vial of dragon’s blood, and drank it down in one swallow.

Thus was the knight transformed into a wyvern -- a double of the one that had slaughtered his men and his lover -- and it was through that distraction and the chaos it caused that half the Ward were spared from tempering.

Injured in the fight that followed, Guerrique was imprisoned by the tempered Ward members, only to be freed by his unharmed comrades and the Scions during their rescue of Aymeric from the Vault. After that, the WArd members who had escaped the fate of their brothers accompanied him by Alphinaud’s suggestion to Anyx Trine, where Guerrique would recover in both mind and body.

He does not know if he will ever be the man he was -- perhaps never, perhaps for the rest of his days he will be clad in scales, perhaps slowly he’ll forget the knight he once was -- but he has to learn anew how to live. He is a dragon now, and struggles to keep his humanity -- but he doesn’t regret the choice he made, especially because it saved at least some of his comrades.

[unbreakable-stonespear]

I was considering Vellguine’s relationship with the present members of the Ward and I figured this sketch pretty much summarized him and Ser Guerrique.

[serguerrique]

janlenoux:

thebullofishgard:

The girl – Aimielle, right, he needs to remember that – had said she knew about other Ward members, knew about some of their brothers. That there were more alive, and she’d sneak them in. Whether to stay, or whether to get him and Jan out, he didn’t know. But either way, it’s….there’s a feeling that surprises him in its intensity. Relief, pain, gratitude…

He’d never expected it. He’d never liked some of the other Ward members. Paule, yes. Jan and Adel, sure. Guerrique, maybe, and Zephirin had his grudging respect. But the others? Not so much. Now, though? Now he thinks he’d cry if the girl brought him Charibert or Vellguine.

He hears the key in the lock and stands, motioning to Janlenoux. “She’s here,” he says. He knows Jan’s awake; both of them hadn’t been able to sleep since they knew the others were coming.

Jalenoux doesn’t want to hope - no, that is an improper way to word it. He wants to hope, but he doesn’t dare to do so. If the brothers of the Ward Aimielle is bringing do not include Adelphel among their number, he doesn’t want to shatter.

…Though honestly, he suspects that he might regardless, and hopes Grinnaux and whoever will arrive won’t hold it against him. He loves all of his brothers, certainly, moreso with the strange effects of their restoration, but Adelphel… Adelphel is more than that, and he wants him back, and back now. He’d been passing the time until this point by cooking, and their little room is filled with the smells of cooling pastry fish. Whoever their guests are, they’ll at least be eating well. He’s going to make certain of that.

He’s in the process of taking another set of two fish out of the small oven he’d been given to work with when Grin starts talking, and tries not to drop them. “Is - is she?”

Aimielle clicks the door open and pushes it forward, and Guerrique knows at least one of the brothers within as soon as he smells baking bread. Jan. He remembers the kid loves to cook, and he smiles to himself. Though it falters slightly when he realizes they won’t be bringing him little Sparkles...gods, that’s going to ruin his day, isn’t it? The two were inseparable. He can’t imagine how much it’s hurt to be away from him, especially with his new senses and the bond they’ve got now.

He steps in, a little nervous, glancing around the barracks the Temple Knights seem to have re-purposed for their odd guests/prisoners. Yes, there’s Janlenoux, with-- with a tail, apparently, that’s...that’s new. And who else is--? Oh. Oh, Fury. At least someone will be happy, tonight.

He enters and steps aside for Aimielle and Paulecrain to enter, smiling at Grinnaux and sliding over to Janlenoux while the two Dzemael troublemakers get reacquainted. Someone’s going to have to comfort the guy, and...well, that’s going to be his job. Maybe Khei can help; she’s good at that kind of thing, at least. 

[serguerrique]

@thecoldfireofishgard He still can't really believe that this is happening; it had been a near miracle that he'd found Paulecrain, and more of one that he's made progress in recovering his humanity. But to find out that Ishgard has found not one but two more of their blood brothers? Fury, it was like She decided to take pity on them at last. And not only that, but Paulecrain's girl Elie knew his little Aimielle, his beloved's sister. And she, in turn, had been recruited to care for the other two. Probably due to her relationship with him. But still.... Still, it's thanks to that that he and Paulecrain are following Aimi down the hall in the small hours of the morning and hovering cautiously as she opens the heavy door for them. She hasn't said who's there, so...Guerrique -- Khei tucked into his satchel -- supposes he'll find out soon enough.

[serguerrique]

hc; ward weapon names

Because I was bored, and I had the lorebook at hand, I figured out who’s weapons are whose. I’m sure more devoted Ward fans have already done his -- if not figured them out on sight -- but I wanted a reference for myself and anyone who needs it!

Zephirin -- Shattered Heart

Vellguine -- The Destroyer’s Stead

Charibert -- Widowbreaker

Grinnaux -- Stampede

Adelphel -- Radiance

Paulecrain --Winter

Haumeric -- Worm of the Dell

Guerrique -- Bloody Anne

Hermenost -- Greycloud

Noudenet -- Imagination

Janlenoux -- Ultimum

Ignasse -- Hordebane

[serguerrique]

(He named his axe in honor of his dead wife....? ;A; )

[[ APPARENTLY??????? I’M CRYING. 

Though she wasn’t his wife yet, she was his fiancee, but still. STILL. I’M IN PAIN.

[thefirstpromise-zoraalja]

;____; *sniff*

[the-righteous-heart]

Me too!

[serguerrique]

thecoldfireofishgard:

He doesn’t understand why Guerrique has brought him to a den and then left him there, but the little dragonet doesn’t seem to want him to leave, so Paulecrain settles into the blanket nest, almost immediately dropping into an exhausted sort of doze, one that he snaps out of when Guerrique enters the den-place again. 

Mismatched eyes dart around as a snarl escapes him - a frightened one, that eases into relief and even pleasure when he recognizes the new arrival. “Guerrique! Safe,” he says again, and then, more hesitantly…. “Food?” That sounds right, and he inspects the dish curiously - before snatching up pieces of meat in his fingers and beginning to devour it, growling fiercely at any sign of someone trying to take it.

He’s not going to leave a hatchling to starve, however, so he offers a bite to the dragonet, to see if she will eat any. The drive to protect the small one won’t let him do otherwise. Guerrique, however, though he is brother…. he doesn’t get to share. He can get more, apparently at any time, so if he tries to reach for Paulecrain’s meal he’s going to be bitten, and not the teasing nip of earlier.

“Mine!”

“Food,” he agrees with a laugh, leaning against the bedpost to watch Paulecrain eat. “Gods, you’ve all but forgotten the very concept of table manners, haven’t you?” He says to himself and sighs. “Don’t worry, though...we’ll fix this.”

He watches, and Khei skitters over to wrap herself around one of his arms, resting her head on his lap. After this, what will he do? He ponders this as Paulecrain eats, and then when he’s done, he decides.

He stands and goes to his things, finding first aid supplies and potions and returning, kneeling down. “Let me tend your wounds, brother,” he says gently. “It will hurt, but only for a moment.”

That said, he starts to fuss, treating the scratches and burns as gently as possible, trying his best to find them all. There’s a lot, but he’ll make sure he’s okay.

[serguerrique]

thecoldfireofishgard:

Paulecrain doesn’t understand why they would forgo an easy meal lying right in front of them, but he’s content enough to follow Guerrique’s lead for now. He’s hungry, yes, but he’s also tired, and if his brother says there is more somewhere, then there is more.

He tenses when the dragonet moves to his shoulder, but she rests on the uninjured one, so he doesn’t mind her presence. While she doesn’t feel quite the same as Guerrique - there’s less immediacy to her presence, less innate trust and closeness, she is nonetheless very young, and his fractured mind is trying to tell him she is young of his kind, if not his brood, and therefore needs protecting.

“Guerrique,” he says again, because he can and it feels right to speak words, few and fragmented as they are. “Safe. Brother.” 

“Yes,” he agrees. “Guerrique. Safe. You are safe, brother.” Gods, does it hurt to see his friend, his blood brother, reduced to this. But he’ll be alright, he’ll make certain of it. Even if it takes weeks, or moons, he’ll bring him back entirely. Of course this means he’ll have to stay sober, but...for once, a price he’ll pay gladly.

He leads Paulecrain back to Tailfeather, and for a blessing the hunters don’t question -- there’s been stranger, and neither of them were the first confused soul wandering around the Forelands.

He manages to lead him into his room and get him situated in a blanket nest, humming a dragonsong of comfort and reassurance. “Stay here,” he says. “I will be back quickly.”

He leaves Khei with Paulecrain to keep him company and keep him from sneaking off, and returns a few minutes later with a large dish of roasted loaghtan meat. He puts it down in front of the other man and sits cross-legged in front of it. “Here,” he says. “Food. Good food, more where this came from.” It’s smaller than the bandersnatch, of course, but it’s better-tasting by far (and also not raw, which is good).