the B U L L

Grinnaux de Dzemael; the Bloodthirsty Bull. ((Indie, nonaffiliated Grinnaux RP sideblog))

[thebullofishgard]

elezenwildflower:

lionessofuldah:

thecoldfireofishgard:

Life is sickness and misery and he hates all of it. The desperation of starving, of having to fight to stay alive is gone, but he is ill, and knows he’s ill, and no matter what he does the people who aren’t his brother keep coming at him to poke at wounds and try to get him to drink something that tastes vile, and he’s not even allowed to bite them for it because the one time he tried he ended up falling asleep for ages and the glowing stick was waiting for him to try it again the next time.

He doesn’t like the glowing stick. He doesn’t like the strangers. And he really does not like how much he keeps coughing. He spends most of his time curled up in the nest he and his brother were given, and though he’s aware that there is… something beyond this, something before, it doesn’t seem different enough for him to spend much time wondering about it. 

Today he’s curled up with his brother, as usual, or more accurately draped over top of him, making grumbly noises that have no real meaning, because he isn’t feeling well and it’s making him angry, and the world needs to know that’s the case. Every so often, a stranger - usually one of the two from before, the ones who had brought the red thing - will look in on them, and he thinks that maybe that will happen again soon, so he lies on his brother and buries his face in blond hair and grumbles his complaint again, because really. He hates this, and he hates that he’s aware enough to hate it, and he hates this shelter and this stupid nest and did he mention he hates everything, brother? Because he does.

It isn’t hard to gather up the more closed-lipped Herald-trainees to help keep watch over their new guests. Merle has taken each of their measures, and they’re each sound folk, not like to run or tell who it is that’s being looked after beyond ‘very sick patients’. Merle herself takes turns at it, especially when it’s Fleurelle looking after them. Because they seem to respond less violently to women, and Haurchefant is probably one face they don’t need to see, even in their still-somewhat-feral mindsets. She isn’t risking it.

It is more than a little strange whenever she hears Dravanian out of Grinnaux’s mouth, recognizable to her as such only because Dravanian has that odd quality of being half-heard, half-something more.

Dressed in more casual garments that day [shades of soft browns and muted greys, clothing better suited to the village she’d been born in], she moves to look in on the men, knowing Fleurelle isn’t far behind. They’re still ill, in one way or another, and it worries the both of them. Surprised, Merle is not, considering the state they’d found them in, but that doesn’t make it any less worrying. “I see you’re already awake and grumpy.”

“Oh, are they?” Fleurelle asks, passing off the bundle at her hip to the trainee left standing guard before she enters the room - their patients may be relatively peaceful any more, for the most part (though she keeps her staff at the ready when it comes time to medicate either of them), but that doesn’t mean she’s going to trust them around her son. “Good. That makes this easier.”

She smiles at Merle, then at the two patients - Grinnaux and Paulecrain don’t yet seem aware of their own names, but they are returning to themselves a little at a time, and that means a mental evaluation will be needed sooner or later. For now, though, they’re really only here to check in on them and try to help them find their way back where they can. 

(And in particular, Fleurelle wants to look Paulecrain over again, because as slow as the former ward members’ recoveries have been, she wants to be certain there’s no toll on the man’s lungs beyond the flareup he’s suffering right now.)

He stiffens and a growl rumbles in his throat when the door opens, but it’s no soldier, it’s the woman -- women -- who take care of them. They’re not bad, really...well, alright, the stick the one has that puts them to sleep is bad and he doesn’t like it, but the woman herself is fine. They’re helping his brother get better, anyway, so that’s fine.

“Brother,” he rumbles, nudging him from where he’s draped atop him. It’s warm and cozy and he doesn’t necessarily want to move, but the women are here and so they’re probably going to end up moving. “Up.”

He shifts so he can lean against his brother when he sits up, chest to his back and chin on his shoulder, and doesn’t bother to stifle a large yawn, wide and catlike that shows his fangs. He hasn’t been sleeping well, he finds; he can’t remember why when he wakes up, but he wakes up with a racing heart and in a cold sweat too often to like it. Though his brother’s presence helps. In fact, he might doze off slightly while the women are checking his brother over.

[thebullofishgard]

elezenwildflower:

lionessofuldah:

thecoldfireofishgard:

The unhappy noise that leaves the pale-haired one’s throat when its brother moves forward has nothing even resembling reason in it - but the cry turns into a cough and then dies away entirely as something - food? food - is shoved its way, and despite not having as much of an appetite as on some level it knows it should, it eats as much and as fast as it can, the desperate edge of the starving in its motions. 

This one knows hunger, after all - knows it down to its bones, hunger and cold and never knowing when you’ll eat again. It’s one of the very few things that brushes against the now, touching it with echoes of other. Unexpected meal finished, it - he? maybe -  settles down again to shiver against his brother, another low rumble of warning leaving his throat as he watches for either of them to make the move that will let him attack and run, so that this awful state of being trapped will be put to an end at last.

Merle listens to Fleurelle, and watches the way the two former Ward members act. They…certainly don’t seem to be of a right mind. At all. Perhaps an after-effect of what Thordan had done? They didn’t seem to be tempered, so that was good…but…

“They’re going to need baths. And a lot more. They…” She frowned and squinted a bit. “I know my healing skills are minimal compared to yours, but I don’t think they’re in good health at all. Bright eyes, flushed cheeks; looks sick to me.” She didn’t use the rest of that phrase, because neither man was at all ‘pretty’ at the moment. Hells, she wasn’t even sure they knew they were men! “Which means we have to figure out how we’re going to get them looked after if they’re liable to attack for sudden movements or inferred threat.”

“Then we make this easier on ourselves and them,” Fleurelle says, expression dark. “Until such time as they’re mentally astute and physically recovered enough to be dealt with, we’ll look after them. And for now…” She sniffs delicately at the air and makes a face, then very slowly takes out her staff and casts repose on them both in quick succession, trusting Merle to guard her from any lashing out while she’s casting.

“For now,” she says again, once they’re out, “We keep them under and clean them up. They may not much like it, but they can complain about it once they’ve enough reason returned to them to let them put those complaints into words. Right now they need treated, and the only way to do that safely - for all of us - is to keep them asleep while we work.”

As for the actual work of cleaning them up… well, those healing students better able to keep quiet will be put to work there. It will be good for them, and as filthy as these two are, they’ll need multiple people scrubbing anyway. “We’ll need to station a guard, probably - do you think you can furnish a few of your students for that task?”

This should work, she thinks, with a little planning. But only time will tell if the two madmen can be restored to any semblance of sanity.

It doesn’t really even have time to react again when the one person takes out a stick of wood-- something glows, and then darkness claims it. Whatever dreams it has are of flying, perhaps, of the wide open sky and an ancient knowledge it should not know. Some are darker, though, with the pall of humanity over them, cold and angry and violent, dreams of distant nobility, of a temper and thing that beasts don’t have.

He doesn’t remember them when he wakes, but when he wakes he’s clean -- cleaner than he recalls ever being with his memories hazy and feral -- and warm and with soft cloth covering his limbs, and so is his brother, and it’s...nice. Very confusing, but nice. 

Time passes, and he -- he can remember, at least, that he’s a he and not just an it, that he’s a person too somehow, even if that’s all he can really hang onto with his mind still twisting in on itself in feverish sickness and in a delirium from whatever happened to him to put him in that cave (and his time in the cave itself). He can speak, but only in the rough and rasping tongue of dragons, and only in fragments, and he still snaps at those who come close -- though only the men in armor. The women who take care of him are allowed, if only because he’s got enough sense now to know he’s ill and they are fixing it, or more importantly that his brother is ill, more ill than he is, and he needs help too. 

But at least he’s...recovering, albeit slowly. There may yet be hope that there’s a man in there, the man he was, somewhere beneath the bestial state he’s still clawing out of an ilm at a time.

[thebullofishgard]

elezenwildflower:

lionessofuldah:

thecoldfireofishgard:

Everything is too bright - after so long in the dark and the cold, the fact that there is warmth now should be comforting, but it isn’t. The bright hurts, there are too many not-brothers in this area - so many that all of the fighting with claws and teeth and desperate fear had done nothing - and all the pale-haired being can do is hide against its brother and rest, waiting for one last chance to try and fight, to flee and survive or be killed in turn.

Hunger, illness, and battle alike had combined to wreak their havoc on the pale-haired being, and mismatched eyes gleam against cheekbones dusted pink with a low fever. Still, there is a wild sort of intelligence in its gaze as it curls around its brother in a corner of the strange cave they have been brought to, occasionally risking painful squinting in the brightness if a noise indicates something is approaching.

No words come, but the only sort of words that come to mind anyway are simple ones, ones that have little meaning for the current situation - brother, of course, being foremost among them. Instead, a low growl rumbles from its throat nigh-constantly, thin frame tensed and ready for a fight that hasn’t yet come. What else can either of them do?

Merle was not expecting to ever deal with the Darkhold again. Nor was she expecting that they’d ask for her and Fleurelle. They’d asked for Kikuya as well, but…well, Kikuya was looking after things elsewhere, and she and Fleurelle could handle it themselves. And Haurchefant and the others had the fledgling Collegium well in hand for a day or two.

She had definitely not been expecting what they found waiting for them, already captured. They’d told her something strange had been happening, but she hadn’t been expecting members of the Ward. They were worse for the wear, and looking like they’d had half a Fantasia shoved on them, but it was most certainly Ser Paulecrain and Ser Grinnaux. “Gods be good, what in the bloody hells?”

“I’m afraid I’ve no idea,” the elezen healer says, peering at the captive ward members from over the top of Merle’s head. “But do stay close to me? Neither of them looks to be quite in his right mind, whatever else is going on, and if they try to fight in this state I fear they’re more likely to hurt themselves.” These men had been dead, she’s certain of it - though she herself had been in no shape to deal with them or Thordan, having worn herself nearly to the brink of death attempting to heal Haurchefant after the vault, Fleurelle knows what happened there.

That they’re here, now, and apparently physically and mentally altered alike… Well, she’s not been much fond of these two and their behavior since the day she first encountered them, but they’re here and alive and in need of aid if they’re to stay that way. “How long do you suppose they’d been in there?” She asks, edging forward but remaining well out of arm’s reach. “If all they’ve had to survive on is whatever they could catch, then…” She tsks under her breath and sighs. “Whatever else is going on, they’re certainly in no state for Ishgard to deal with them, their right or no.”

Watching them watch her, she looks to Merle again, then takes an apple from her bag and places it on the floor between them, blue eyes calculating. “They certainly seem mad, but there’s no way to tell if they’re lost to it permanently,” she murmurs, voice soft. Her words are directed at Merle, but the tone is coaxing, encouraging the two men as one might a frightened animal or small child, too young to fully grasp language. “Poor things - I’d not wish this on even them, I think. Better for their souls to be at rest than returned in this manner…”

The people that enter the room are more familiar strangers, and it hisses at them when they do-- it will attack if they come close, protect him, protect its brother -- its brother smells of sick more than it does, and it needs protecting. It knows its sick too, honestly, but it won’t-- it won’t...it won’t trust any sort of stranger, not people with sharp things and loud voices, that brought them into the horrible brightness and the warmth that isn’t comforting because it’s so strange.

Eyes that barely have human intelligence in them peer out from beneath a tangled curtain of dirty blond hair, and skin that’s filthy and covered in wounds and flush with fever also happens to have patches of violet-black scales on them, on the biceps and thighs and sides. It hisses and tenses when one of them moves, but then eyes flicker down to the red thing on the floor. It glances at its brother, and then at the thing on the floor, and one of them has to investigate, it decides. It isn’t as sick as its brother, so it will. He shifts forward slightly, squinting in the brightness, and snatches the red thing from where it sits to retreat back to the corner they’ve both retreated to. 

It sniffs it, frowns, and the sluggish and dormant part of it that’s mortal whispers that it’s food, it’s edible, and it thinks-- it does smell good. With a grunt it rips the thing in half, pressing half of it into its brother’s hands, and takes a bite out of its piece. It’s sweet and juicy, and it-- mm. It devours it quickly and pays no mind to what it looks like, licking the juice off his hands. That tasted better than anything in the caves, it thinks. And it doesn’t seem like it was harmful...maybe those people don’t want to hurt them, not like the silver ones did.

[thebullofishgard]

@elezenwildflower @lionessofuldah

Time meant nothing in the cave. The-- the man? The dragon? The beast didn’t know how long it had been there, couldn’t count the days even if there were days to count in the endless shadows. Days didn’t matter, though; what mattered was food. Hunt, kill, eat, the spiny, gummy fish and the fat little moles and the gristle-and-bone hippogryphs. Defend itself against the bigger things that smelled of darkness and rotten eggs. Keep warm in the icy chill of the caverns, find fresh water to drink, stay close to its brother -- its brother, the only other thing in here like it, slightly lighter than it and with a damaged eye but still its brother, it knew it better and with more certainty than it knew anything else.

All the food in the caves couldn’t fill their bellies, though, and it made them sick sometimes, and the cold froze them to the marrow if they didn’t huddle for warmth in their nest of ripped cloth and as much as they could forage for in this barren place. The water was good, at least, even if the food was bad, but it was hard to live on it all, especially with all their injuries from battle. But that’s what it had, that’s what they both had.

Until people -- people? it felt as if it knew those people, knew the symbol on their armor -- came in and there were sharp and pointy things and yelling and they fought back, clawing and biting at them wildly, but they were quickly overwhelmed, and it hissed and growled and roared at the people, snapping his fangs and pale purple eyes blazing with their slit pupils, and it tried so hard to get away with its brother--

But then they were dragged off into somewhere else, a lot of other somewheres, and it was warm, but there were so many strangers -- familiar strangers -- and it was scared and angry and...and it didn’t know what to do but hiss and snarl at whoever would come in.

[thefirstpromise-zoraalja]

https://twitter.com/Pauldy64

[thebullofishgard]

hc; modern

Name: Grinnaux de Dzemael

Age: 24

Nationality: French, mixed-race 

Height: 6′1

Date of Birth: 

Occupation: College student with an undeclared major, is in the wrestling club, fights in semi-professional MMA matches on the side.

Grinnaux is a member of the Dzemael family -- a very rich, very old-money French political family (with ties to a lot of shady business and probably organized crime). His father, Thieveneux, is the younger brother to the current head of the family, making him the nephew of Count Dzemael.

His mother, Jephionne, is his father’s second wife -- he has an half brother by Premielle, his father’s late first wife -- and their marriage was a huge to-do in the (very Traditional) family, as Jephionne is a black woman. As such, Grinnaux and his little brother Idrault are the outcasts of the family.

Grinnaux...has made it his mission to make himself the target of all his family’s ire, the most frustrating family member, to keep the heat off his brother and because he hates most of his family. He was a punk in high school, getting into fights and spending half the time in detention, and making his family regret spending the money to get him into that private boys’ school. Once he hit college he sprang for the first college he could apply for out of France, and once there made it that much worse by refusing to pick a major; he was there on a sports scholarship for his incredible talent in just about any physical activity you could think of, so he didn’t need to -- and he didn’t want to.

His real love is fighting: he spent his childhood watching wrestling and MMA fights and all the martial arts movies he could scavenge, and spent his considerable allowance as a teen going to any independent martial arts school he could find. As a college student, he still does this, and now he manages himself as he fights in semi-pro MMA matches -- his dream is to make it big in the professional circuit. (At least, he thinks, he’s not going into pro wrestling like he’d wanted to as a kid.)

He doesn’t want to be in his family’s shadow, so he uses a fake surname -- Taureau -- when he fights, or just calls himself The Bull. Also, he kind of adopted one of his fellow competitors, Paulecrain, at some point, and the two are best friends.

His family hates his attitude and activities, but they can’t really do much, so he enjoys giving them the metaphorical finger with everything he does -- he’s irritable, reckless, sarcastic, obnoxious, and a bit of a jerk on the surface, but he’s...mostly kind of a decent sort deep down? Deep down.

[thebullofishgard]

thecoldfireofishgard:

Paulecrain can tell that Grinnaux isn’t sold on the idea, and that’s… fine, really. He hadn’t expected an immediate answer, after all. And he thinks that just maybe, even if Grinnaux doesn’t want to… he may do it anyway. They would still be brothers, and he’d have… well. He certainly wouldn’t be losing anything. The way his brother-in-arms is hesitating, though, it’s clear he still has something holding him back. 

What it is, he doesn’t know and probably couldn’t understand anyway. But it’s definitely something. 

“Not saying we need to decide right away,” he says, shrugging. “Just think about it.” He thinks he probably will, either way, it’s only that doing it alone is… surprisingly unappealing, for some reason.

Fuck, he wants to be certain of it. He wants to want to do it! He really can’t think of any downsides. Just knock back some dragon’s blood and fuck off to go have fun and spar with each other and forget about the High Houses and his uncle and all of that shit. He’s never been devout enough to feel too horrified at the idea, especially now that they all know it’s not really heresy. But..

He wishes he knew what was bothering him about it. 

“Sure as hells gonna think about it,” he agrees readily. “Just...don’t go and do it without me, y’hear?” He wouldn’t mind if Paule still wants to do it -- it’s just that he doesn’t want him to do it without telling him first. He doesn’t want to be left behind. Which maybe is part of why he’s not sure about this? Because of his brother. But-- ugh. He wants to be sure.

[thebullofishgard]

thecoldfireofishgard:

@thebullofishgard, from here

“You might,” Paulecrain says, smirking slightly at Grinnaux. It’s a crazy idea, he’s well aware of it, but it might just be the best one he’s ever had, as well. “Thanks to our brother’s actions, we now have an opportunity that could never have come to pass any other way.” He waves a hand in the direction Guerrique has been sleeping in since they fled to this place, this haven for dragons and fleeing Ward members alike, and waits for his brother to understand what he’s saying. “If we drink dragons’ blood as he did, you’ll be free from your family’s machinations permanently. We’ll be stronger, the fights will be more fun, and at this point the only ties either of us has worth keeping are out here with us. So why not do it? It isn’t heresy when what we were taught was a lie all along.”

He opens his mouth to reply and then closes it with a click. “Huh,” he says after a moment, genuinely thoughtful. “Never thought’a that...” He hadn’t, actually -- sure, Guer was a dragon now, but he was still their friend, and hells, he was looking forward to him getting his shit back together so they could test their might against a dragon for fun. What would become of all those arm wrestling games now!

But-- what about Idrault? And...could he really just run away from his title and his house? Fury, does he want to, but could he? ...Ugh, he’s not used to being introspective and he doesn’t like it. “I mean, you make some damn good points,” he agrees. “And I ain’t sayin’ no, ‘cause I really don’t see many downsides to it, but I--” He can’t even say why he’s not completely onboard, because he’s not sure why. It makes no sense, he should be absolutely...it’s Paule who’s the rational one! And if Paule says it’s a good idea...but he isn’t sure.

[thebullofishgard]

"I have an idea."

“Am I gonna like this idea?” He asks over his flask of water, raising an eyebrow. The answer’s probably yes, really, ‘cause he always approves of Paule’s ideas, but he has to ask anyway. His grin should be enough of a giveaway that he’s sure as hell anticipating something fun, at least.

(Though he feels as if something in his voice should make him more concerned than he is...)

[thebullofishgard]

headcanon; personality

[thebullofishgard]

thebullofishgard:

Grinnaux is a very straightforward person; unlike most members of his house, he detests manipulation and underhandedness – he prefers action over thought, and is an honest, forthright man. Straight combat and tests of strength are far preferable to deceit and trickery.

As a noble son, he’s a bit spoiled, and that along with having to grow up with his siblings and cousins, most of which were arrogant and selfish and cruel, shaped his personality to be blunt, proud, and confrontational. He has very little capacity for politeness and diplomacy, and always simply states exactly what’s on his mind, no matter how tactless or rude it is. He also has a bit of a temper, and this causes him to get in fights when his candid and brusque way of talking pisses people off; as he likes to fight, this doesn’t bother him.

However, unlike most of his family, he does not share their low opinion on the baseborn and citizens of the Brume. He believes that it doesn’t matter where a man was born as long as they’re strong enough to fight for Ishgard.

He comes across as very hard to approach, as he’s very disrespectful and rough around the edges, all loud laughter and sharp tongue and a boisterous, intimidating love of combat – but he’s honest and loyal, and he truly loves Ishgard and wishes to protect it.

He can be a little naive at times – his habit of acting before thinking makes him and his warrior’s skill easy to exploit; he tends to believe what he’s told without much prompting if left to his own devices. He detests politics as a rule due to this – he is self-aware enough to know he’s no place in political affairs, as he’s not meant for the maneuvering and duplicity inherent in it. He’s a soldier, nothing more.

The one exception he’s ever made is in regards to Paulecrain – hiring him and keeping him on was at first partially as a ‘fuck you’ to his father and uncle because of their differing views of the lowborn. The fact that they quickly became fast friends was a pleasant surprise, and Grinnaux has become deeply loyal to the dragoon, his best (and given his abrasive personality, only) friend.

He also is deeply loyal to his younger brother, Idrault – the boy is physically weak, and is far too soft-hearted for a Dzemael, so from their childhood, Grinnaux protected him from bullies and the others in the household who would give him a hard time. Despite his brother’s weakness, he still cares deeply for him, and would be proud of him no matter what Idrault ends up doing. (Grinnaux is nowhere near as loyal to his older half-brother.) As for his parents, while he respects his father and adores his mother, he and his uncle do not get along very well, and he does not like his cousins at all.

[thebullofishgard]

headcanon; return

[thebullofishgard]

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 – and an worse than usual temper.

It also manifests physically as well – patches of purple-black scales on his shoulders and sides and thighs and back, what are almost claws instead of nails, and elongated canines.

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 – 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.

[thebullofishgard]

hc;

[thebullofishgard]

thebullofishgard:

WELL I’VE GOT TO EDIT SOME OF THIS STUFF NOW!!

Grinnaux is 29, and the nephew of Count de Dzemael.

Personality stays basically the same and the reasoning too – being a Duskwight (thanks to his father’s second wife being one as well), he and his little brother were pretty bullied. This is how Grinnaux developed his legendarily disagreeable, confrontational personality. Someone had to toughen up, and he was the elder brother, after all.

Eventually his father got him a spot in the Temple Knights, and it was a combination of name, skill, and the others’ fear of him that got him a high rank.

His personality just got worse as the years passed, quick to punch knights who didn’t listen to him on the field and get into drunken brawls (one of which being how he met Paulecraine de Fanouilley, disgraced ex-Fortemps knight, and the two became fast friends as Grinnaux took the man in). The fact that his father and uncle the count would quietly pay off anyone who complained or the families of men he accidentally injured or killed just made him (at first) naively believe that he was just damned lucky. He knows better now, and knows he’s still lucky -- but in a different way. 

He has no head for politics and the like, simply a peerless warrior, and he prefers it that way. He’s the axe, just point him at what he’s got to kill.

He’s basically been spoiled in his own way by his father’s concealment of anything he’s done wrong – sometimes with gil, sometimes via asking Paule to handle it – and he tends to think with his fists before anything else. But he’s loyal to his city and its people, and he’s loyal to his little brother, and he’s got a good heart somewhere under that terrible personality.

[thebullofishgard]

headcanon; dzemael family tree

[thebullofishgard]

thebullofishgard:

(Bold - canon)

Count ‘Feltrenel’ de Dzemael [Wildwood]  + Countess Beautricie de Dzemael

Children: Maelquinaunt de Dzemael, Tedalgrinche de Dzemael, Archombadin de Dzemael, Cheriette de Dzemael

Maelquinaunt + Lady Edrielle de Dzemael = Maellie de Dzemael, Aliciette de Dzemael

—–

Baron Thieveneux de Dzemael (younger brother to Count) 

First Wife (Wildwood): Baroness Premielle de Dzemael [Wildwood]

Second Wife (Duskwight): Baroness Jephionne de Dzemael [Duskwight]

Children: Astrautieux de Dzemael (by wife 1) / Grinnaux de Dzemael, Idrault de Dzemael (by wife 2)

Astrautieux + Lady Cosselle de Dzemael = Orelle de Dzemael, Roiveaux de Dzemael

[thebullofishgard]

;ooc

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

[thebullofishgard]

ooc;

Random headcanon:

Being a son of House Dzemael -- nephew to the Count and not in the line of succession, as well as being the house’s black sheep notwithstanding -- he is, as his cousins are, used in the games the High Houses play against one another.

Being a member of the Ward is not enough to prevent this, as his uncle and father use him anyway -- he cannot say no to anything they order, though, as he’s aware to some extent that it’s thanks to them his record’s as clean as it is despite all the shit he’s pulled. He knows that if he doesn’t act the obedient Dzemael son, the rug his misdeeds were swept beneath will be pulled up, and his family won’t give a damn about what happens to him after.

Zephirin (and Paulecrain on occasion) have tried on several occasions to get him to stop, promising the Ward’s protection in lieu of his family’s -- as that’s what the Ward does for its own, and as he’s a member of the Ward, his family ties are no longer relevant anyway. It has not met with much success. Count Dzemael is a force to be reckoned with.

[thebullofishgard]

ooc;

jazz hands i still live over here wheeeee

and boy oh boy do i want to talk about this fighty asshole

[thebullofishgard]

thecoldfireofishgard:

serguerrique:

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. 

They’ve barely been let inside when Paulecrain spots Grinnaux. Sure, he noticed Janlenoux too, but he doesn’t particularly care - well, he does, but it pales in comparison to the sheer joy of seeing his best friend again. It’s a good thing Guerrique had the intelligence to move out of the way, because there’s barely a moment between Paulecrain stepping inside and when he barrels forward, literally tackling Grinnaux as happy song escapes his throat, hard-earned sanity and reason fleeing him.

Finally! Finally finally finally Grin’s here he can fight and wrestle and not get in trouble for it and yesyesyes Griiiiiiinauuuuux.

… It’s a pity he’s so feral at the moment, because he’s acting less like a happy Spoken and more like an overexcited wild beast, ignoring personal space to nuzzle and croon and preen over the friend he hasn’t seen in too long.

He’s half to his feet when the door opens, and the girl comes in. After that the first person he sees is Guerrique, who waves -- and gods, is he glad to see that asshole looks...sober? Well, sober’s better than drunk, and he doesn’t seem miserable, so hey, it looks like dying did something good. He’s moving out of the way of the door pretty fast, though, which is weird. Why is--

He’s tackled to the floor, then, and there’s a heap of dark limbs and pale hair and he doesn’t even need to see who it is -- he can feel it in his bones and the dragon’s blood in his veins, in the song purring out of the other man and the one escaping him.

“Paulecrain!” He manages, his voice breaking with relief and pure joy, the happiest he’s been since he came back to life changed like this. “Brother!”

He’s laughing, barely even caring that his friend isn’t even talking, more overexcited pup than Elezen -- he’s too happy to care. Gods above and seven hells below, it’s Paule. His best friend, the brother more important to him than any of the other Ward members. The only man he considers true family besides Idrault. He’s alright. He’s here.