crowfeatherd

[crowfeatherd]

Within moments of the formation of their tentative companionship, the general presents Moze with a conundrum: a stick of tanghulu. In nearly all other circumstances, this would not be met with such indecision. Moze’s direct and straightforward personality does not grapple between yes and no often. Were this coming from a stranger, he’d turn the sweet treat down immediately. He usually didn’t accept food from people he didn’t know, ever wary of poison and other odorless toxins one might be able to slip into an innocuous, edible gift. Had it been Feixiao, or even Jiaoqiu, he would accept or turn the treat down simply based on his mood. But this is General Jing Yuan - a stranger, but also a superior and the general of an Alliance ship. There are levels of etiquette one must observe with superiors. Accepting things that one doesn’t want, for example.

This indecision lasts only a second, however, and comes out in the stutter of his hand as he reaches for the bamboo skewer. And then on they go to the next stand. Moze stares at the bright red candied fruit as they walk, debating with himself on whether to try it, to surreptitiously throw it away, or carry it around all night like some kind of sticky souvenir. This occupies him more intensely than observing the Dozing General’s leisurely stroll through the festival, performing his well-practiced act of complacent nothingness.

By the time they stop again, he’s finished off the treat against his better judgment, and draws up alongside the general to examine the targets set up against the back wall of the booth. Yet another “tch” meets Jing Yuan’s question, but this one, at least, doesn’t contain the same exasperation as the first. In fact, the shadows shift just enough to create something nearly like a smile on his face.

”Of course,” he answers confidently, pulling his knife from its sheath. He could hit any of these targets dead center without even trying.

”Hold a moment, sir!” The stall owner pulls away from the customers he’d just sent off to hurry over to where Jing Yuan and Moze stand, his hands waving frantically. “I can’t allow you to use a real weapon!”

Moze regards him wordlessly, but lowers his knife.

”You see, this is a game of skill, but I had to level the playing field a little. A child should have just as much a chance of succeeding as a trained combatant has of losing.”

The furrow that creases between Moze’s eyebrows speaks his thoughts on the matter: that doesn’t make sense. But he doesn’t voice it.

The gamemaster withdraws two slingshots from under the counter and sets them on top.

”Oh! General Jing Yuan!” He gasps, noticing his second guest now that he doesn’t have to worry about pulling a knife from his wooden targets. “I didn’t realize you enjoyed games like these. Are the two of you interested in giving it a go?”

Moze looks to the general like a child waiting for a parent to speak for him.

wardancing in the moonlight

[crowfeatherd]

Of all the things Lingsha is learning may send her charge out through the window for good, the cotton swab is not among them. In fact, despite the way he eyes her darkly before he reaches for it, the look is a searching one more than it is threatening or suspicious. He wonders if she's setting him up for some kind of trick that will make him take the medicine he's been trying to avoid, so he snatches the package off the counter and retreats to the window again. Only when he's certain he's out of arm's (and scent's) reach does he finally break the seal to take out the swab. He has stubbornness in spades, but for once he does as he's told the first time - he runs the cotton tip along the inside of his mouth, sticks it back into the package, and slides it onto the counter like they've just made some dangerous trade.

He's much more comfortable by the window, away from her, but he watches curiously for what she might do with it.

"... Are there not other ways to treat illness?" he asks after a few moments, the futility of their stalemate wearing him down a little. It's clear by this question that he is not resisting treatment simply because he enjoys suffering. He looks tired. He is tired. His voice rasps from overuse, but he forces himself to speak anyway, this time to level suspicious like a knife.

"The Disciples rely too much on medicine," he says as he watches her work, but something akin to accusation colors his usual monotone. His eyes narrow a little. There was never any real way to know if someone secretly agreed with the ways of Sanctus Medicus until they'd come out and say it. Living under their care back then, he believed that whatever they gave him was meant to cure his illnesses. That's what they told him. That's what they said to justify their existence within the Alliance. They were helping the sick. They had helped him, after all. But it wasn't until he'd grown older that he realized that their medicine was largely different from the mainstream. It'd always been concerned with promoting immortality, at whatever the cost. Patients were often times test subjects for new drugs, and curing them only a pleasant side effect. He knows that a regular doctor would not be so cruel. And yet the exhaustion has worn away his better sense and all he thinks about is how "doctors" had "helped" him survive his childhood.

"Surely the Luofu has better methods." Gingerly, he leans his back against the wall to steady himself and then crosses his arms over his chest as if to protect himself. However, for all the walls he sets up around being sick, he lowers those around what truly ails him.

wicked through and through

[crowfeatherd]

Once again, Moze stays silent. He's considering Jiaoqiu's examples, what had to have occurred to undermine his faith, and what would bring the disillusioned and faithless back over and over again. It's then that the doctor starts to search the air in front of him for the censer, so Moze takes him gently by the wrist and helps the incense reach its destination. This last prayer is a powerful one, and yet it does little to dispel his doubts.

The fragrant smoke curls from each of the incense they'd left, filling the little temple with the scent of sandalwood. Moze steps back as if to admire the scene, but it doesn't quite move him. Instead, his eyes alight on Jiaoqiu, and there they linger for a stretch of quiet contemplation.

"... The gods don't actually hear us." They're fortunate that no one else has come to burn incense for the festival at the moment, but even if someone had been lurking out of sight, it would been difficult for them to catch the nearly-whispered words out of Moze's mouth. He's finally come to some semblance of understanding, but the revelation is for Jiaoqiu alone.

"These prayers are just self-affirmations. But I trust the general... and I trust you." Moze turns to look up at the gabled ceiling, as if challenging the sky beyond. "That's all."

nanmu pillars, laurel alight;

incense burning with @crowfeatherd amidst lantern rite.

[crowfeatherd]

As with all of the doctor's stories, Moze listens attentively. It's hard to imagine Jiaoqiu among the pious, whether to thank the aeons or beg for their mercy, and indeed his story seems to set him on the outside of that far away temple. Much like here, he'd merely been a passerby, but same as here, perhaps he'd been looking for something anyway.

Unfortunately, it's as though the doctor is speaking to the air, because his shadow forgets to say anything despite the questions that naturally rise in his mind. Moze has spent too long deciding which one is worth asking, and now he is turned back to the duty at hand. Following Jiaoqiu's lead, he accepts one of the incense sticks and bows his head. This, however, may be an even harder task than deciding how to navigate a conversation like a participant and not simply its audience. The incident in the Shackling Prison had been the biggest tragedy for the Alliance in recent years, and both of them had witnessed the chaos and felt its hopelessness firsthand. What else was there to offer to the aeons of a distant world? Didn't some people make wishes at shrines like these? What was there to wish for when his companions had survived?

If the doctor could have seen his shadow's face just then, he'd witness it twisting up further and further in concentration. Seconds accumulate nearly to a minute before the pressure of silence - of letting Jiaoqiu know that he's still there - finally gets to him.

"... For..." Moze starts, uncertain, "Master Jiao's resilience and wit, although it cost him his eyes. And because he took the easiest one."

Wordlessly, and as serious as ever, he adds the incense stick to the pot with the rest. Then he turns to Jiaoqiu with the question he'd finally decided on as a participant of a conversation. And because that long stretch of indecision while he tried to choose what to offer alongside the incense had illuminated all the things he didn't know. He never visited shrines or temples. The Disciples conveyed their piety with experiments.

"... When you visited the temple with the Verdant Knights... what did you pray for back then?"

nanmu pillars, laurel alight;

incense burning with @crowfeatherd amidst lantern rite.

[crowfeatherd]

For a second or two, there is no response. And then a slight breeze alongside Jiaoqiu's left precedes the shadow's quiet, obligatory reply: "Mm."

Had he been with the general, he wouldn't have made any sound at all, and although he had been training himself to speak more frequently around the doctor, the sacred stillness of this tiny, rural temple dampened just about all but the most crucial of noises to convey his presence. There is no one else here despite the festivities they'd left behind just a short walk ago, and theoretically no one to chide them should they speak too much, but old habits were, at times, the most comfortable safety nets in unfamiliar lands.

Unlike the winding path up the hill that they'd taken, the place is clean and well-kept. That is to say, it meets Moze's standards where the road had not. In the months since the crisis with Hoolay, with his own wounds fortunately superficial compared to those sustained by both Feixiao and Jiaoqiu, he had taken to assisting the doctor in whatever ways he could. Quietly and unobtrusively, of course. What should have been a leisurely stroll through the Liyuean countryside had turned into some moderate exercise instead as Moze darted between clearing the road of stray branches, leaves, and stones that Jiaoqiu might stumble over, and returning to the foxian's side to offer a word or two in response to an otherwise one-sided conversation. Even now, his eyes flit over the ground and the temple's features first before he once more departs in search of the donation box and incense described.

The censer is easy. For the temple's modesty, the large stone bowl that awaits offerings before the entrance is more ornately decorated than anything else in the area, boasting Liyuean characters painted in gold, dragons carved into the legs and handles, and a pagoda roof as a ward against the weather. Dozens of sticks have already been left, the source of which Moze quickly finds nearby. He takes three from the box, lights them with the lamp hanging outside the entrance, and returns to Jiaoqiu with the swirling scent of sandalwood.

"This way," he says, and takes the doctor's hand to put his fingers around the base of the sticks.

nanmu pillars, laurel alight;

incense burning with @crowfeatherd amidst lantern rite.

[crowfeatherd]

A treasure hunter of some kind. Or... a spy. Bad at both though, Moze would say.

"You're not good at this." And does, in fact, say it.

He swings the key thoughtfully from his finger, back and forth twice like he's taunting her, but with a display of guilt coming out in the sheepish laugh and her eyes preferring the ground to his face, he decides she doesn't really want it and twirls it until he catches it again. Then he pockets it and cranes his neck back to peer up at the jagged scar of foggy grey sky between the tall buildings.

"I took the key to prove that I'm better. But as it turns out, that was not much of a challenge."

This admission appears to relax him a little bit, at least insofar as he removes his hand from the hilt of his sheathed knife long enough to cross his arms. He isn't sure what had been concealed back here either, or why it would be kept under lock and key, but he knows a security system when he sees one. Wordlessly, he walks on past the question painted ominously on the wall, but his steps are slow and careful. Not because he cares whether the girl follows him or not, of course; a message like that could only mean that someone had laid claim to this place and would do whatever it took to ward it from invaders.

"Whatever," he says after a moment. "I walked around these streets three times before you arrived and they kept leading me back to the entrance."

He does not get lost, he insists without insisting.

"There is something here worth protecting." This time he glances back over his shoulder, now without that haughty animosity in his eye. "Do you have any idea what it might be?"

who up backing they alley

swirl ... back alley of belobog

[crowfeatherd]

Candy isn't enough to coax out a better mood, nor does it seem to sway Moze to talk more than necessary. He doesn't even refuse it with his words, but the sulky silence that follows Lingsha to her paperwork conveys his answer well enough. He is no child, of course, but anything offered by a doctor is as good as poison, whether it be concealed within sweet confection or administered in the bitterest of syrups.

There's a distrust in his pale eyes like one might find in a wounded animal when Lingsha turns back around to carry her incense burner to him. Cautiously, he shifts to sit up a little straighter, more alert, and leans back as she draws closer. There's nothing unreasonable about anything she's said, of course: he'd be a liability if left to roam the Luofu or the Yaoqing without knowing whether he was contagious. And it's not like he can continue on with his mission until he recovers anyway, yet the settling of the warm, fluffy rabbit-shaped plume of smoke into his arms drives against something inside him like a magnet. Stubbornly, he takes a quick, sharp breath and holds it.

The disciples of Sanctus Medicus had had a plethora of techniques that they'd developed over the centuries, and Moze had sat as their unwitting guinea pig through a number of experimental treatments. It was not entirely common that their methods would involve scent, but it was not unheard of either. Visions, often horrifying ones, usually accompanied the musky sweet incense that hung heavy in that tiny, poorly ventilated room. No one usually thought to tell the child who would be subject to breathing it about what he might expect, so Moze simply had to bear whatever surprises it would bring.

So far, he sees little difference here, even though she'd told him it would ease the throat irritation. Still holding his breath, he ekes out one question:

"And what else?"

But he can feel his lungs protesting the stale, sick air he's filled them with, and a cough tickles the back of his windpipe. Exhaling sharply, he claps his hands together to break the little rabbit into wisps of dispersing smoke and then in a single, shadowy streak, leaps for the window and its thatch shade propped open to let in the morning air. Grasping the windowsill with both hands, he doubles over it as a violent cough wracks his body, but the cool air, at least, is a reprieve. As the fit subsides, he slowly withdraws his head and flashes Lingsha a petulant look, but remains standing by the window as if trying to insist that he does not need the bedrest for as long as she thinks. His face gives him away though. Despite the hardness in his eyes, he sways like he could collapse at any second.

"... I don't need your medicine. I'll sit here for a few hours and it will pass. A shadowguard should not kneel to illness so easily."

wicked through and through

[crowfeatherd]

Hidden within the shadows above the shelf at the far end of the room, Moze stares down at the reinforcement his original nurse had called for - the new head of the Luofu's alchemy commission, Lingsha. He knows her well, by now. At least what it says about her in reports and various papers. She's a far more formidable foe than her colleague, but she's faster at finding him too. As soon as she'd come into the room, her eyes had slid upwards, catching sight of something off about his disguise (quite a lot, in fact, as ill as he was now, but still generally unnoticed by the average person). Or maybe it was the power of scent she'd utilized instead. Either way, he hadn't fooled her, but he stubbornly stayed put even after she called his name.

Maybe she's bluffing, he thinks.

She wasn't.

All of a sudden, something catches in the back of his throat and seizes his chest. By now, Moze has learned to quell a number of impulses that could give him away during an hours' long reconnaissance mission, but the longer he holds this in, the more his lungs burn. Finally, he coughs. It's barely a sound, but it's enough to dispel the cloak of darkness around him and he resigns himself to the cot pushed up against the wall. With a swirl of shadow, he appears on it cross-legged, bent over with his arms draped over his knees, a dark weariness under his eyes and pallor to his cheeks revealing what might be ailing him before he even speaks. Clearly, he's been lain low by the common flu, but for now he's still sulking - casting a nasty look at Lingsha from the corner of his eye.

Patients came to doctors for treatment. He knows this. Rationally, anyway. Usually he relies on Jiaoqiu for his health. Outside of the occasional check-up or, more often, treatment for some injury sustained in battle or training with Feixiao, Moze rarely needs him. He doesn't get sick often. So it's just his luck that one of the few missions that would send him to the Luofu without either the doctor or the general would also be one where he wound up catching something. He sniffs. He's more angry that he got sick to begin with.

"I don't get sick," he asserts - to her and to himself - still not really looking at Lingsha directly, then quietly amends: "... usually."

What's more - he couldn't complete his mission while he was sniffling and coughing, but the Cloud Knights wouldn't let him leave either. Something about quarantine. And Jiaoqiu was accompanying the general on a trip too far away to come pick him up from the Luofu within a reasonable timeframe.

Moze lifts his head to stare up at Lingsha, and for another long moment, doctor and patient face off against one another in silence.

"... Tell the Cloud Knights that it's not serious so they will let me leave."

wicked through and through

[crowfeatherd]

Even as the man insists that what he sees is not who he is, Moze finds little reason to believe him, and yet the knife does not make its decisive cut (he knows, partly, that there would be no finality to the assassination here in the dreamscape anyway, and that at worst, he would lose the figure in the hotel, but that is not why he holds it steady).

"You have it wrong" - he's said it before, that old man. "This medicine only hurts, it doesn't help," Moze had insisted. "You have it wrong," said the old man again.

"I'm not aligned with the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus." Perhaps not anymore, now that his branch had been gutted by the Yaoqing's very own Lacking General. But that was why he had come to Penacony, wasn't it? To find new subjects, new experiments, new people desperate for new bodies and better health. From Moze's initial research of the place, he'd discovered that there was no shortage of such guests, most of which would be ripe for indoctrination. Just as he had been way back then, when his only options were the Disciples or a slow, withering away in agony, hardly able to care for himself.

"I hope you can see that I am not your enemy," that old man had said in the forest back then, when he'd come upon a terrified, starving child writhing in the dirt, kicking rocks, scrabbling on twisted limbs to get away. Terror, by now, had transformed into a fury that burned brightly in Moze's eyes as he pressed the knife harder against the man's neck, daring him to say more.

"I don't believe you," he says through his teeth, and indeed the disguise does not melt away for him. Because he had never seen the disguise to begin with, but the shade of a tormenting memory. The knife's edge trembles slightly, but otherwise holds still, because the wielder - for all his vengeance - is muddled by some strange sensation of relief. The dull echo of desire for reconciliation with the only father he had ever known, usually drowned out by all else, rings loud enough to hear for some reason.

"I'll ask again: Why are you here? What is this 'mission' you're on?"

I Never felt at Home — Below — and in the Handsome Skies

˚ʚ [ robin & moze] ɞ˚

[crowfeatherd]

tiny displeased chirping noises come from the lil boy. he does not like that his tail was cleaned-- he hasn't forgotten, or forgiven, his dragon stuffi being washed either.

Moze can't stand mess. It's one thing to have to clean up after someone once, another thing entirely to follow them around like a personal cleaning service. As relaxing as he finds the act of tidying his space, he does have other things he needs to be doing, and this little raccoon tracking filth through his living space is a problem he can at least deal with immediately.

He'd used every technique he knew to creep up on the mud-stained boy, following the trail of footprints and the smears left behind by his swishing tail. Then, once close enough, Moze had promptly hooked him around the scruff and dunked him into a bucket of clean, soapy water.

No one liked it, needless to say. And Moze had to dry out the bathroom once it was all said and done.

All that was left now was the stuffed dragon, which Moze had stolen while the boy sulked under a warm towel after the bath. It tumbled lazily inside a dryer now, set on a delicate low heat so as not to burn its soft fabric. Moze stood ever the stalwart guard in front of it, his arms crossed.

"..."

No matter how much the boy protested, he would not be swayed. Call it retribution for the day he'd spent cleaning.

"... Let this be a lesson. Dirt is not your friend, so don't play in it."

[crowfeatherd]

The moment the general gives the word, Moze becomes little more than a smoky streak of shadow and feathers. In the next instant, he's leapt to the roof of the small shed that had been housing the weapon racks, and there he crouches to survey the makeshift battlefield. It's second nature, this routine. If it's not with the knights, then he's training with the general alone. He is no combat fanatic, however. Not like Feixiao is. And had he been left to his own devices, he might not have participated in training like this at all. But over the past decade or so, these things have been woven into a mandated routine, just like eating, brushing his teeth, stretching, and sleeping; he accepts it like a part of life.

Of course, there's another side to it as well - one that has stifled any of the complaints a contrary young man of his age would otherwise have about being dragged around by the ear constantly. As the knights begin to move, pale eyes flicker from the pairs to the group of four who face off with the general, but it's Feixiao's broad, upright back that they linger on. He has not hid his motives from her, of course; she's known that her shadow is a doubled-edged blade for as long as he's been by her side. No one else but the Lacking General would be so fond of her would-be assassin, nor so confident that her back exposed to him would not cost her her life.

Mostly because he'd tried that approach a few times. And failed.

But each new exercise allows him opportunities to observe her for weaknesses and openings, and though he relies on her as one might rely on family, studying her offers his mind the enrichment most turned to puzzles for.

Only the soft crunch of silt under rubber soles accompanies Moze's shift from roof to the ground again, and he darts along the wall to find a place to put pressure on the unit of knights who follow their leader's example and charge for their "borisin" foe. Almost all of them, anyway. One of them has eyes sharp enough to catch the shimmer in the shadows, and breaks away from the others to take care of it himself. This development draws a smirk across Moze's lips - better one on one than a whole unit. This is where he excels.

With a breath, he calls on an old magic technique he's perfected over the years and dissolves into darkness and waits until the perceptive knight has stepped into the shade.

Before the man can even brandish his weapon in defense, Moze leaps out from his hiding place and tackles him, feet to chest. The knight hits the ground with a startled cry cut abruptly off by the blunt side of a knife pressed hard against his throat. Moze crouches on top of him, clawed hand pinning his arm with its weapon to the ground, the other holding the knife, with a sudden sharpness in his eyes.

"Be wary of traps and distractions," he warns. The man sputters some kind of response - an affirmative, Moze thinks - so he clasps him around the collar and hauls him back up to his feet.

"A fool travels alone out in the open."

And maybe Moze had been foolish to let his guard down so quickly, because the moment he retracts the knife to let the man go, the knight twists around, spinning his glaive to sweep under his legs. The moment the shaft touches one ankle, Moze throws his knife and leaps backwards. As he lands, the knight staggers back, clutching his bleeding wrist.

do or die

Crystallize: Luofu Training w/ @crowfeatherd

[crowfeatherd]

deep dive character sheet

stolen from: old dash game from TOA tagging: you!

NAME: MOZE

BODY

height: 180cm / 5′ 11

strength ★★★☆☆ (he's muscular and well-built but not a powerhouse / relies on the element of surprise)

dexterity ★★★★★

health ★★★★☆ (one good thing that came out of his time with the disciples of sanctus medicus is that the experiments fixed his congenital defects and practically superboosted his immunity)

energy ★★★★☆ (doesn't have as much as feixiao but he can at least keep up)

beauty ★★★★☆ (conventionally attractive and nice to look at, but moze is entirely oblivious to this)

style ☆☆☆☆☆ (boy does not even brush his hair)

hygiene ★★★★★ (obsession with cleanliness is likely a trauma response)

SKILLS

perception ★★★★★

communication ★☆☆☆☆ (he gets one star because when he DOES communicate, he's usually do the point; but getting him to share his ideas is a challenge in itself)

persuasion ★★★☆☆ (insofar as a knife is persuasive)

mediation ★★★★☆ (moze does seem to frequently play the mediator between jiaoqiu and feixiao)

literacy ★★★☆☆

creativity ★★☆☆☆ (has a very rigid and superficial way of thinking)

cooking ★★★☆☆ (learned from jiaoqiu how to make food that's edible and filling should he find himself without the good doctor for a while, but would otherwise prefer jiaoqiu to cook)

tech savvy ★★★☆☆

combat ★★★★★ (born and raised for battle)

survival ★★★★★ (protects himself first and foremost)

stealth ★★★★★

street smarts ★★★☆☆ (he'd probably not fall for a scam but he'd fumble anything that required being indirect or talking in code)

seduction ★☆☆☆☆ (lmao)

luck ★★★☆☆

handling animals ★★★☆☆

pacifying children ★★☆☆☆ (people who tend to think in simpler terms usually are pretty decent with children)

MIND

intelligence ★★★☆☆ (generally speaking, he's good at figuring things out with his hands but can be otherwise rigid and simpleminded)

happiness ★★★☆☆ (generally speaking)

spirituality ★☆☆☆☆

confidence ★★★★★ (he knows what he's good at and what he's bad at)

humor ★★★★☆ (moze does have a sense of humor, albeit an incredibly dry one, that he uses to lighten the mood or smooth things over)

anxiety ★☆☆☆☆

patience ★★★☆☆

passion ★☆☆☆☆ (he's still looking for something to give his life meaning)

nice         ☆☆★☆☆ mean

brave       ★☆☆☆☆ cowardly (bravery goes hand-in-hand with his confidence)

pacifist     ☆☆☆★☆ violent (his whole life is colored by violence and blood)

thoughtful ☆★☆☆☆ impulsive 

agreeable ☆☆☆★☆ contrary (as we see in the shackling prison quest, moze loves to be contrary for the sake of it)

idealistic   ☆☆☆☆★ pragmatic

frugal        ★☆☆☆☆ big spender

extrovert   ☆☆☆☆★ introvert (an introvert who likes to be around his people but would rather do so quietly)

collected   ☆☆★☆☆ wild (once a feral child, always a little bit of a feral child)

ambitious / possessive / stubborn / jealous / decisive / perfectionist

SOCIAL

charisma ☆☆☆☆☆ (he is famously Not)

empathy ★★★☆☆ (while not very good at communicating, empathy fuels much of his actions with feixiao and jiaoqiu)

generosity ★★☆☆☆

wealth ★★★★★ (I assume retainers of an Alliance general are pretty well off)

honest  ★☆☆☆☆ deceptive (to a fault, one might argue)

leader   ☆☆☆☆★ follower

polite    ☆☆☆☆★  rude (rude in the sense that he's blunt, direct, and doesn't really follow social etiquette)

political ☆☆☆★☆ indifferent (feixiao's causes are moze's causes but he still views them like a job / requirement than something he's internalized)

BELIEFS

higher power ★★☆☆☆ (his time with the disciples has made him disillusioned with the aeons)

fate/destiny ★★☆☆☆ (doesn't think about it much)

magic ★★★★★

soulmates ☆☆☆☆☆

good and evil ★☆☆☆☆

luck ★☆☆☆☆

PRIORITIES

family ★★★★★ (feixiao and jiaoqiu are his everything)

friends ★★★★☆ (doesn't have many but does seem to value them)

love ☆☆☆☆☆

home ★★★★☆ (home is wherever feixiao and jiaoqiu are)

health ★★☆☆☆

praise ★★★☆☆ (he is not immune to someone being impressed by him)

justice ★☆☆☆☆

truth ☆☆☆☆☆

power ★☆☆☆☆ (likes it as a side effect, but doesn't pursue it)

fame ☆☆☆☆☆

wealth ★☆☆☆☆

others' opinions ★☆☆☆☆ (only very specific people matter to him)

[crowfeatherd]

And just like that, both thieves, amateur and expert alike, find themselves trapped inside a labyrinthine wasteland of empty, decrepit buildings and silent, frozen streets. Not even the frigid northern wind whistles here, so there is nothing to be heard in this place except for the settling of ancient steel and stone. Time moves strangely, too. Moze has wandered the alleyways of at least a quarter of the city, by his estimate, when the white-haired young woman finally passes through the gate behind him. His search has yielded him nothing so far. No sign of life, no sign of anything particularly interesting either, except for the way he keeps ending up back where he started. It’s not him, he believes with perhaps undeserved confidence given his struggle in the Luofu’s Shackling Prison, because his sense of direction is otherwise uncomparable. He does not get lost.

Maybe he gets a little lost. Sometimes. Only in strange foreign cities with outdated, military-grade architecture that all looks the same. This time, he decides to try his luck with the rooftops, but finds out quickly that a dense wall of fog hangs across this part of the city (strange - he recalls a crisp, clear blue sky over the alleyway he’d just come from). He gives up quickly, and when he lands on the ground again, he’s back at the entrance once more.

And there’s the amateur. She looks even more lost than he does, and he’s heartened by this somewhat. For a split second, they make eye contact. Did she expect him to help her? He frowns, but turns his back and continues a short distance down the street. Here, the tall buildings nearly touch, and the narrow path between them can hardly be called a street. Moze likes these small, shadowy places better. This one, however, brings him no closer to a way out, and more questions than answers.

WHO TRESPASSES HERE? is painted on the wall in bold, black brushstrokes at the end of the alley.

”This is your destination,” he says to the thief who insists on following him, judgmental, skeptical, and a little disappointed. Silently, he retrieves the stolen key from his pocket and holds it up in front of her.

”Why?”

who up backing they alley

swirl ... back alley of belobog

[crowfeatherd]

While unintentional, just about everything Moze did could be described as “brooding.” As the general steps past him to point out the very thing he’d asked for, he tracks him only with his eyes, and testily at that, like a petulant teenager. He could take criticism, but it didn’t mean he liked it. It didn’t mean he couldn’t be mad at himself and the sharp eyes that had pinpointed his hiding place either. He’d just have to do better to avoid it next time. Despite the cold hardness in his eyes, he gives an appreciative nod - the best the general will get for the gracious feedback.

But then his eyebrows raise slightly, a rare glimpse of Jing Yuan’s mind catching him off guard and by surprise. He doesn’t say anything though. Not immediately. And stands rigid, arms by his side, as the general reaches out as if to touch him, then decides against it. Had Moze believed that he meant him harm, his reflexes would have pulled a knife from its sheath in no time flat, but the gesture didn’t set him on edge so much as it confounded him. Just as subtly as his eyebrows had raised, he tilts his head to the side.

The differences between Jing Yuan and Feixiao were like night and day, and Moze had only just gotten a grasp on the latter.

”I intended to watch you all night,” he says candidly. There’s no reason to hide it now, because he’s been found already. He wouldn’t try to trail the general in secret again. At least not until tomorrow. Brows twitch together for a split second, confused by the invitation and weighing his options. But then he nods.

”If I come with you, it's only because you have found me out, and I have nothing else to do.” Again, he is candid, yet the finality in his voice is softened just slightly, unconsciously seeking the general’s approval of it. Whatever happens, he will report it to Feixiao, in other words. Pale, unblinking eyes try to stare holes through that gentle smile, to no avail.

”I will continue to watch you,” he amends.

wardancing in the moonlight

[crowfeatherd]

CROWFEATHERD | Moze affiliated with Gnostic Hymns | PINNED

[ Basics ] [ Mun ] [ Headcanons ]

Notes:

Penned by Ree. They/them, 25+ years. I really only join the GH server during events so the best way to contact me is through Tumblr IMs, replies, or Discord DMs. I'm caught up with Genshin Impact and Honkai Star Rail, but what I know about Honkai Impact 3rd has been absorbed through osmosis. I currently also write Wriothesley and Gallagher.

ABOUT MOZE: Moze is General Feixiao's shadow guard. This means that he's usually tasked with jobs that the general cannot do herself, like assassination, reconnaissance, interrogation, and infiltration. He is not her bodyguard, even though surveillance does fall within his responsibilities, and he does regularly try to kill her as part of a contract he established with her when he was young: As long as she's alive, he must do everything she says, but should he succeed in this assassination, he will be granted freedom. Nevertheless, he views both Feixiao and Jiaoqiu as family, but is not necessarily connected to them by the hip. Personality-wise, Moze is blunt, simple, and occasionally cocky, but he doesn't like to speak or be seen.

DUB: I base my characterization and dialogue on Sakata Shogo's performance.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Moze's past involves themes of brainwashing, child abuse, torture, and unethical human experimentation. While Moze will likely not talk about his past, he does still carry the trauma with him and will react negatively to things that call on these memories, such as being given medicine. I will tag upon request and will always talk to my partners about their limits.

TRIGGERS: I have none but will respect by partner's boundaries.

NSFW: Sexual NSFW is a no, however, gore and medical abominations may be present in threads or Moze's memories. I will always check on my partner's boundaries ahead of time and in general will avoid writing too graphically.

POST FORMATTING: I use small text but nothing else. I don't care how my partner formats their posts as long as it's legible. I'm here to RP so readability > aesthetic.

INBOX & PLOTTING: Always open for new things, so hit me up if you have an idea or just want to drop by Moze's inbox to say hello.

SHIPPING: Naturally, I lean more toward shipping with muns I know well OOC. Communication is absolutely important for things like this and I prefer to have rapport built both OOC and IC before committing to anything. I like writing slow burns that take months, if not years, and usually this goes hand in hand with getting to know my partner OOC too. Currently, I don't foresee Moze pursuing any romantic relationship, but this could change given development. At the moment, it's not something he thinks about or wants. Currently: not in a relationship and not looking for one

[crowfeatherd]

There’s nothing new about this, other than the circumstances. Wherever the general goes, so does her shadow follow, and right now he lurks feet behind her in the shade of an awning housing a rack of training weapons. He knows her speeches by now, he knows her passion and her strength, he knows how she likes to handle new recruits. But these aren’t new recruits - many of them are veteran Cloud Knights, terrified by a moment of uncontrollable weakness and devastating loss. In a way, he understands them, because a long, long time ago, the general had found him in much the same way. It’s only because of her that he is here now, that he had not succumbed to some earlier threat to his life, and that he had not faltered before the fearsome fangs of the Borisin Warhead.

Whatever anyone might say, her methods work. Moze can already see acceptance ripple across the faces of the gathered knights, and that’s the first step to healing.

Of course, he hadn’t come all the way out here just to watch, even if that is his job most of the time. And indeed, the general twists her head to call for him over her shoulder then. Wordlessly, he unfolds his arms and pushes off from the wall of the storage shed. This is routine by now; she barely needs to tell him what to do. As steel claws wrap around the handle of one rack, however, a split second’s hesitation presents a vision of a shadow grabbing one of the glaives and bludgeoning the base of the general’s head with the blunt end, killing her quickly, without fanfare. But like the dozens of other assassination plans he’s toyed with over the last few months, this one is thrown away almost at once. It would be all too easy for her to spin around and disarm him.

So Moze drags a pair of weapon racks out from the shade and into the sun where the knights have organized into pairs. He sets them up nearby and begins tossing training glaives to half of them, and specially crafted claws to the other half. Then he crosses the field to where the general has begun to prepare herself for her own fight - or fights, more likely.

”They’re armed,” he says simply, a statement of fact that he has done his part of the job. “The claws have a small dose of lupitoxin, as you requested.”

Pale eyes raise to study the general’s eager face. Knowing her, she wouldn’t stay on the sidelines for long.

”It's not the same as a real borisin.” Another statement of fact, delivered just the same as the first one. A report, yet tinged faintly with curiosity. His eyebrows raise slightly behind his shaggy mop of hair. The claws might not be the same, but Feixiao--.

"Jiaoqiu isn't here, you know." Be careful.

do or die

Crystallize: Luofu Training w/ @crowfeatherd

[crowfeatherd]

Beneath the shade of his hood, pale eyes flit from scholar to machine to bottle, then back to scholar again but doesn't move any more than that, almost as if he's still hiding in the trees. The offer of a drink doesn't produce the enthusiastic gratitude with which anyone else might react to such generosity, instead darkening Moze's expression with skepticism. Employer or not, he doesn't give his trust so easily, especially for things like this. The back of his tongue still tastes bitter with the memories of the Merciful and what, in their mercy, they had forced him to drink.

So he introduces himself simply: "Moze." And regards the offered hand with some muted bewilderment. If not friendly, then at the very least he should be cooperative for a task like this - he can almost hear Jiaoqiu chiding him - so tentatively, he accepts the handshake and then produces a small bottle of his own stashed away in a pouch hooked to his belt. In a show of defiance, or perhaps simply to acknowledge the scholar's warning to take care of himself out here, he drinks from it, caps it, and then returns it to his belongings.

"You intend to venture into what people in this world call the Withering Zone, correct?" he asks when he's finished, mostly because Kaveh (and Mehrak) both seem to look at him expectantly. He's never been good with the part of assignments that required conversation. That was the garrulous doctor's speciality, while his own questions were usually accompanied by the shine of a knife's edge. For now, however, his daggers remain at his waist, sheathed but still visible.

"Tell me about your experience with it. You've hired me as a guard, so I should know the kind of dangers you're expecting, and what you're capable of."

Malignant Earth [Moze & Kaveh]

Swirl | The Withering