#askdemons

[lucius-of-cornwell]

@kidlightnings / @askdemons, I heard someone likes cute and fluffy.

Also that Rally Defense has saved me in Grand Conquests XD

[crysteelheart]

askdemons:

Karel would love to have dodged - normally would have, but in such a groggy state, he takes it full to the face.

A face that is extremely cross with this turn of events. And yet- “If you so much as think about laying a hand on Lucius or one of the kids,” echoed in his head. How did this categorize?

Not as a hand.

He was very fast, and had a very full bucket. Two boys were about to get very soaked.

Karel also had good enough aim that at least one of those shots should hit!

@lucius-of-cornwell​ (for reasons)

“Waaah -- !” Lugh shrieked as the first missile landed, splattering his backside as he skidded through the kitchen door. Raigh had had enough sense to use the butcher’s block for cover, though it made little difference as the watery onslaught continued. He popped his small head over it, lobbed another balloon in Master Karel’s direction, then skedaddled as fast as his brother in the same direction, sliding on the water Lugh had left behind. It did him little good as Master Karel’s next shot landed squarely on his shoulder, and he yelped in cold surprise.

“Water balloons belong outside, boys!” came a voice from the study, as they raced past, tossing balloons over their shoulders with laughter-spoiled aim.

“Yes, Father!” they chorused in unison, and tumbled out the back door, searching for cover.

[fifthfang]

Tehuano

(drabble inspired by and for @lucius-of-cornwell and @askdemons)

Tehuano (n:): a violent, mountain-gap wind, most common from October through February, accelerated by cold-air damming. It can reach gale, storm, and hurricane force.

A drunken shout of war on a drizzly late afternoon was the first time that rumor had trickled out in Legault’s direction. He leaned on the table, lashes lowered, fingertips cradling the rim of his mug. Rumors like that were best taken carefully, their tellers often prone to exaggeration or misunderstanding.

Even so, if half of them were true, Bulgar’s streets were running red instead of gold, and the forces that had swept through there were poised to turn their blades on Lycia. A restless feeling, like the beating wings of a swarm of locusts, settled itself into Legault’s gut.

There was little he could do about it. It would take two days to settle his charges in their new location, and another three to make Araphen if he pushed himself to his limit. Fang they might be, and able to take care of themselves, but Legault was their security slip on their new place. That would have to come first. Legault downed the last of his now-warm drink, tossed a handful of coins on the table, and got moving.

Stay for dinner, they’d invited Legault. It would be the first one in their new place, and a few others he’d helped relocate nearby would drop in. It was the least they could do, the lady of the house insisted, and the others looked glad to see him, too.

The restlessness in his gut had doubled over the span of their journey. He agreed anyway. The sun was waning, and the warmth of the small group was an echo of the camaraderie he remembered too well, soothing one ache at the expense of another. Still, as true night fell, he caught himself looking out the window, time and again. If he pushed himself on the main road under the moonlight, how long … ? The thought went unfinished.

“Waiting for a lady-friend, Hurricane?” the master of the house teased. Legault chuckled wryly. “Alas, you’ve caught me out. I’m a terrible houseguest.”  

“Go,” the master’s lady said gently. “You’ve done more for us than we could have imagined.” She clasped his hands, as did her husband over her, and the others followed, a clap on each of his shoulders. Heart full, he tore himself away, his pack stuffed with the leftovers of their dinner, and the road a blur under his feet.

Legault was half a day out from Araphen when he tilted his head up, and realized that the clouds above were gray, not white, and caught the scent of the breeze.

Smoke.

Something wrapped around his heart and squeezed as a trumpeting roar split the air. He ripped his feet from where they seemed to have taken root and pushed himself off the main road in the nick of time as a flight of wyvern riders sailed past overhead. A lone traveler might or might not be questioned leaving, but one heading towards a battlefield, afoot and alone, would ring some alarm bells.

Every scrap of elusiveness he’d learned in the Fang was tested that day. He flitted from shadow to shadow, bypassing foot soldiers looting their battlefields and cavalrymen hauling prisoners and supplies back to the center of the city. He shielded himself under trees and balconies against the ever-present wyverns, and privately thanked Heath for teaching him that the giant scaly beasts were best at spotting moving targets, not ones that stayed still. Bern lost a quartet of their scattered sentries as the Hurricane picked off the ones in his route, cleanly, silently, and with few regrets.

When Legault reached the short stone walls of the orphanage hours later, the reek of carnage was so thick that his eyes watered. He dampened his headband with what little water he had left, and pulled it over his nose and mouth before ducking around the smashed gate and into the garden. The flies rose in a thick carpet before settling again on a squadron of bodies spilled brokenly across the flagstones.

Legault’s heart stalled, and he forced himself to look again, more carefully. This display was two or three days old, by his reckoning. Assassins didn’t typically stick around after their work was done, but he’d spent enough time on a battlefield to know.

The bodies were mostly uniformed Bernese, although it seemed that a few of the local neighbors had put up a stand here that ended their days. The only sign of Lucius was a signature gray-edged scorch that Legault had long-ago learned was the afterimage of a Shine tome’s divine light. No sign of the younger boys. The front door of the orphanage swayed crookedly in the wind, and he drew closer, cautiously. No sound carried from inside, nor anywhere else here, save from the flies.

The bodies near the door were struck down by a sword with pure, artistic precision  -- one cut, one kill. The ground here was still pooled with blood, drying and sticky. Legault edged carefully around it, scraping his boots on what was left of the mat to leave as little trace as possible, and took a swift glance inside.

The war zone continued, the once-peaceful orphanage a shambles of destruction. The Shine tome had had its say here as well, spraying scorchmarks on the walls, floor, and humble furnishings. More Bernese soldiers lay scattered in disjointed positions ranging from the front door to the back, but had stalled near the monk’s study. Legault stepped over the last one, and glanced over his shoulder into that small room. It had been tossed, the books piled carelessly on the floor and desk, and a trail of blood dripped its way into and out of it, but it was blessedly free of bodies.

He eased into the kitchen. It was nearly pristine, the only damage here a similar trail of blood, although distorted by walking over itself time and again. It trailed its way around the small room from cabinet to cabinet. He stepped over it, heart in his throat as he spied the slip of paper on the counter, and seized it in a flash.

Lemons and salt. The rest of the list didn’t matter. The boys were safe. Lucius was safe -- or as safe as could be, all things considered.

Legault released a sigh of relief that broke the uncanny stillness of the orphanage, and collapsed against the counter, breathing deeply through his makeshift mask. He collected the list, and eyed the handwriting. No one’s he knew, unless Lucius had been hurt so deeply it had destroyed his elegant script. He folded it and slipped it into the pouch at his waist. Given the state of the bodies in the vicinity, he had a guess.

It was time to start tracking.

[lucius-of-cornwell]

True strength is not the power of a weapon. It is something that cannot be seen. We all have it within us. Including you.

So long ago and far away, there was a #FE7redphonecollab project. I loved the Red Phone project. The idea was each person volunteered to draw one of the FE7 main cast, with an old-fashioned red phone, and some uplifting or otherwise helpful quote. But why am I telling you this, go look at the tag yourself. You won’t regret it.

Well, I decided it was high time the Red Phone returned.

[lucius-of-cornwell]

[ there is a trail of petals leading out to a quiet area in the garden, where there is set out on a bench a piping hot pot of tea, a tray of biscuits, and a book, something decidedly less proper than a holy text. a note is tented across the biscuits, which reads only "rest now" ]

Raymond had been exceptionally entertained the day he found a note in one of Lucius’s inherited antique manuscripts that read “oh, the fucking abbot.” Lucius had previously been entertained, but with the way this week was going, he was beginning to understand the level of frustration that would lead a priest to write such a note. Except that the note he would leave in a manuscript, if he was copying one right now, would read more to the tune of “oh, the fucking archbishop,” and he somehow doubted it would be as easily overlooked.

How was it, he wondered, that a man in such a position of power and respect (and, presumably, faith) could somehow overlook the purpose of a church and an orphanage and instead get hung up on the buildings themselves? Dust on the windowsills, mismatched plaster, uneven steps, a tangled garden? It all seemed so inconsequential.

The archbishop had disagreed. Aggressively. Lucius had spent two hours curled up in a tearful ball when the archbishop left, then done nothing but clean for the whole week. The services had suffered for it, he was sure. His family members had suffered for it, he was sure. He’d resolved that he wasn’t going to drag the boys into this, or Raymond, or Karel. They’d all been such a big help in preparing for the archbishop to visit in the first place--he didn’t want to let this somehow fall on them...

He’d been less successful than he’d thought.

His heart had been heavier than the overfull laundry basket he was hauling when he stepped outside. The weather was nice, he should have been in better spirits, but that was difficult to do with do you ever do any actual work? ringing in his ears. It was while he was trudging to the well that he noticed the petals--a lot of them, for not under the flowering tree. He looked up. If nature had made that pattern, it had surely been at St. Elimine’s direction. He set the basket down, and followed them curiously.

He was not prepared.

Someone had gone out of his way to make a perfect little escape. Not even the thought of an archbishop could enter this corner of the garden, shielded by trees and shrubbery. Neither teapots nor biscuits grew on trees, and certainly neither did notes in handwriting that he knew very, very well. Tears spilled over before he could blink them away, and it took all his restraint to not go find Karel to thank him at once.

Rest now...he hadn’t realized how much he’d longed for someone to give him that permission.

[lucius-of-cornwell]

@kidlightnings / @askdemons

Decided to attempt A Thing from the emote meme. He fought me every step of the way.

Emote Meme D1 for Karel, featuring Chibi-me making face D7 XD

[lucius-of-cornwell]

✧ for Karel (:

Send me a ✧ and i’ll bold all that apply to your muse.                

Main Verse (Boxes-era)

I would kill you.✧ I would physically hurt you.✧ I would attack you unprovoked.✧ I would manipulate you.✧ I dislike you.✧ You annoy me.✧ You scare me.✧ You intimidate me.✧ I hope I intimidate you.✧ I pity you.✧ You disgust me.✧ I hate you.✧ I’m indifferent toward you.✧ I’d like to get to know you better.✧   I’d like to spend more time with you. ✧ I’d like to be friends with you*.✧  I’m unsure what to think of you.✧ I’m unsure how I feel about you.✧ You are my friend.✧ You are my best friend.✧ You are my mentor.✧ I look up to you.✧ I respect you.✧ You are my hero.✧ You inspire me.✧ You are my enemy.✧ You make me happy.✧ I want to protect you.✧ I would fight by your side.✧ I consider you an equal.✧ I think you are beneath me.✧ I think you are above me.✧ I would lie for you.✧ I would lie to you.✧ I would sleep with you.✧ I would sleep by your side.✧ I would hug you.✧ I would kiss you.✧ You are family to me.✧ I would die for you.✧ I would kill for you.✧ I would trust you with my life.✧ I would trust you with my most precious belonging.✧ I would trust you with a secret.✧ I would trust you with my biggest / darkest secret.✧ I love you (platonically).✧ I love you (romantically).

*this one gets a caveat because Lucius considers Karel his friend, and has for a long time. He just hopes that Karel does too.

Lucirel Verse (Road Home-era)  

I would kill you.✧ I would physically hurt you.✧ I would attack you unprovoked.✧ I would manipulate you.✧ I dislike you.✧ You annoy me.✧ You scare me.✧ You intimidate me.✧ I hope I intimidate you.✧ I pity you.✧ You disgust me.✧ I hate you.✧ I’m indifferent toward you.✧ I’d like to get to know you better.✧   I’d like to spend more time with you. ✧ I’d like to be friends with you.✧  I’m unsure what to think of you.✧ I’m unsure how I feel about you.✧ You are my friend.✧ You are my best friend.✧ You are my mentor.✧ I look up to you.✧ I respect you.✧ You are my hero.✧ You inspire me.✧ You are my enemy.✧ You make me happy.✧ I want to protect you.✧ I would fight by your side.✧ I consider you an equal.✧ I think you are beneath me.✧ I think you are above me.✧ I would lie for you.✧ I would lie to you.✧ I would sleep with you.✧ I would sleep by your side.✧ I would hug you.✧ I would kiss you.✧ You are family to me.✧ I would die for you.✧ I would kill for you.✧ I would trust you with my life.✧ I would trust you with my most precious belonging.✧ I would trust you with a secret.✧ I would trust you with my biggest / darkest secret.✧ I love you (platonically).✧ I love you (romantically).

[fifthfang]

Chinook

The smell of death coated the orphanage in a harrowing miasma. Legault thought dryly that it was one of the better ways to keep his presence undetected. No one but grave robbers would bother to enter, and any that did would stand little chance against the Hurricane. It made a decent base of operations, for the short time he would be present.

The first order of business was to pick through what had actually happened. Legault was not the tracker Uhai was, but he’d taken his mentor’s training to heart. Most of the orphanage was a brutal, trampled mess, but in the slurry of mud and blood, he found escaping hoofprints to the east. One set, of an average horse size, heavily loaded. He pursed his lips. Given the message left in the kitchen, and the state of the orphanage at its final rest, he could venture a guess that that might be Karel and Lucius.

Tricky. He did not want to leave that lead for long, but there were more pressing matters at hand.

The second order of business was a quick sally down to the riverside, to an old fisherman and his wife. Legault knew them passingly, and Lucius better. He’d told Legault years ago that he’d instructed the boys to go straight there should any trouble befall them at home. Whether or not that plan had changed, Legault didn’t know, but apparently it hadn’t. A startled eye peeped through the side window, and there was a quick scrabble at the door to let Legault in. The fisherman’s wife told him in no uncertain terms that she was well relieved to see that it was him, and not another round of Bernese soldiers hunting for provisions.

The boys had been there, but only briefly -- and only Lugh and Chad, with Colin in tow. Colin was out with the master, fishing. The other boys had taken up with the ragtag force that the young Lord of Pharae had brought, nearly immediately. Raigh, she informed him with a frown full of slivers, had run off with one of the dear priest’s tomes two months ago, with no sign of him since.

Legault weighed his options. He’d no genuine proof that Lucius still lived, save the message. Even if he did, it was better that he stay in hiding. He would not put it past Bern to chase down a man they perceived as dangerous to their cause. It would be better if -- 

“Will you be taking Colin with you?” the fishwife asked, interrupting his train of thought. He met her sharp look gravely, and saw the worry underneath it.

“No. He’s safer with you than with me. I’ve things to do that that young soul should never have to face.” Colin was sweet, gentle -- much like Lucius, if Legault were to make the comparison. “In fact, it’s probably better if he doesn’t know I was here. I’d rather he didn’t go chasing after his Uncle Legault straight into the mess I’m about to wade into. I’ll be back when things are resolved.”

The fishwife gave him a thin, brittle look. There had been some discussion about his profession, albeit discreet, when Lucius had introduced them. She had put two and two together long ago, though if she’d ever wondered why a priest had an assassin as a close friend, she’d never put that question to Legault.

“And the other boys?” she asked, warily.

“With Roy, you said? That’s likely the best place for them right now. Neither of them would tolerate hiding from Bern, so the safest spot for them is in a crowd of other people of the same mindset. They’ve learned well; I expect they can handle themselves.”

Something on his face must have been a giveaway. She eyed him. “You’re still planning to check on them, aren’t you?”

Legault lifted a hand, open palm outstretched. “We’re not headed in the same direction,” he noted, a soft reminder that he’d already said he had other things to do. “But yes.”

As Legault had thought, the boys were as safe in Roy’s encampment as they might be anywhere else. It had been easy for him to slip in and observe; the camp’s guard was good, but never designed to deal with his honed talents. And Bern did not employ his kind, not any more. He lingered only long enough to make a careful evaluation on all counts, then stole one of the Bernese horses the ragtag army had captured in their last foray, and slipped off into the night.

It was a day and a half before Legault was fairly certain that he was on the trail of two living men. The horse he was following stuck carefully to the road, at a slow pace that he picked out time and again in the mud and later in the dust, but it did not stop often, and when it did, he had to spend time hunting for where it had been.

The matted areas in the grass and leaves, though -- they were too large for one man, his instincts told him. The remains of tiny, smokeless fires -- the kind Uhai would build -- served as a silent punctuation. He trailed them until the trees opened up and the road wound its way into a farming village, silhouetted against the sky.

What was left of the trail disappeared here, lost in the crush of carts and horses and oxen. It was a calculated risk to stop and scout for them here, but it would be a long while before he would find them at the far end, if they had continued on. He chose the first pathway marked with a tiny positive sign, hitched the horse at their post, and knocked politely.

He was met by a small child who yelled, “MOM!” over her shoulder, followed by, “It’s another one!” Legault managed not to laugh, barely. He must have come to the right place.