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2 years and some silence but a heads up that this blog moved, in case someone’s still around and wants this bastard man

―― ❯❯ @daemonarmor

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Ugh

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@regisluciscaelum​

Something wasn’t right. Drautos startled awake with a ferocity he’d never witnessed before, and it caused Regis to stiffen up with alarm. Watching the other man with newly sharpened senses, his eyes darted between where Drautos’ hand hand been clutching at his neck and back up to his face. Taking in a slow, deep breath, Regis tried to piece together what was happening here. Titus Drautos was a man of war. A man who had seen many things whilst he’d been out there, fighting the slowly encroaching Niff army. Whilst the Niffs hadn’t openly declared war with Lucis quite yet, it was very clear they were about to, considering how hard the outer nations were getting hit. Many had already integrated into provinces within Lucis in order to seek sanctuary. Relaxing a little, Regis figured it out. Or, rather, he suspected he knew what had happened. Gently lifting a hand up to place over the one that Drautos held over his shoulder, Regis sent him a warm, reassuring smile.

“Rough dream, huh?” He asked, understanding laced his voice. “Well, don’t worry about it. Whatever you were dreaming about is over now. You’re back here. You’ll be found wanting for a battlefield, I’m afraid.” He said lightly before giving one more swift pat and pulling away. Cocking his head to the side, he watched the other man carefully for a few moments. What had the doctors just discovered this was? Post traumatic something or another? Oh, right. Shell Shock. Apparently that was a thing they got after coming back. At least, that’s what the white coats were saying these days. “Hm.. well, if you need a distraction, why not come out into the training yard with me?” He quipped, with only the best of intentions. That just also happened to be laced with dubious, underlying intent. What? Drautos clearly needed to clam his mind, and Regis also needed to calm Clarus. He’d take Drautos out for a spar even if Clarus wasn’t on the warpath for his head. He couldn’t leave the man like this. Besides, it wasn’t like he was taking advantage of the fact that it appeared Drautos hadn’t heard him before. He was just re-iterating the suggestion. With fewer words. “You wanna grab something from the Glaive’s kitchens before we head out?” He asked, gesturing behind him towards the door with his thumb.

Blinking as he was certain he must be stuck in some kind of delusion, Titus kept staring at the man before him, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Of course, he remembered this face. It had accompanied him many years of his life and for the most part of it, hatred had festered in his chest and mind when he laid eyes on the man. For the deeds of his family, for decisions that were made, for the home he had lost...

The hand reaching for him was noticed too late and he startled at its touch, yet did not pull away entirely. Regis felt warm, not stark cold as part of him had expected, the touch amicable and far from oppressive or, which would have made more sense, forceful.

Rough dream... had it been that? Had all of it just been a haunting of his mind, a night terror? Swallowing thickly against a lump in his throat, Titus glanced at the hand offering him a reassuring squeeze, while more words addressed to him only sluggishly made its way to comprehension. "What battlefield?" he spoke at length, alienated still by the sound of his voice. "I...", he sat to speak, shaking his head slowly now and letting his hand sink into his lap when Regis straightened up again, "...this may pose a silly question but... what year is it?"

He could already feel that he must sound like he'd lost his mind and maybe, just maybe, he had? Clearing his throat, Drautos now decided he'd need to take a look into a mirror, check for the wounds he was certain he had suffered, and somehow make sense of all of this - while Regis (a much younger Regis!) kept talking about training and food.

"Just - give me a moment to collect myself." Whatever this was, he needed to confirm a suspicion creeping onto him. Thus, he swung his legs out of the bed, frowning at how smooth his movements came. Sure, he had not been stiff or untrained before, but this was still different. Seemed easier. He stood up, only dressed in briefs, and padded towards his bathroom - he remembered the layout of the room, started recognizing it, although he had not been here for... ten years? More?

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Hmmm… 

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Just a heads up! I’m still writing this muse. There’s a couple of ideas I have in mind that I want to lay out at some point, HOWEVER, Drautos is not my main, which is why the activity on here is rather slow. He’s very fickle and I need to be in the right headspace for him and also focus much harder to get him right.  Still, I will always try to respond to threads and asks etc. in a timely manner. Thank you for understanding and wanting the Kingkiller around :>

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Searing pain thrummed through his body. It pooled somewhere in the area where his neck joined his shoulder, and he could feel the life drain out of him from there. It wasn't the only place where he hurt, however. The connection to the Daemon Armor felt severed, constant whispers, and the reassuring lulling of otherwise crippling emotions fading much like he felt himself drift into nothingness. The last thing he saw was embers, a gust of sparks flying from where Nyx had been sitting, gaze resting on the rising sun as the last breath left both their lungs. Darkness swallowed him then and with it, everything else vanished from his being. 

What remained was a sense of being, somehow, but no concept of time and space or anything remotely tangible. How long he resided in this vortex he could not fathom either, only when he heard a familiar voice call out to him did something inside of what remained of his self stir.

 "Drautos-" 

The pain was gone. So was the light feeling, as if he'd not been occupying a body, just his mind floating through the dark nothingness. 

 "-wake up, wouldja?" 

He knew this voice. The last time he'd heard it, however, it had been altered by age, and pain, and disappointment. Vaguely, the string of words following sifted into his consciousness, and once they stopped, Titus jolted upright.  Blinking into the dark which was not as all-consuming as the space he'd apparently woken from, one hand instinctively reached up to clutch at his neck and shoulder. There was no wound to be found. 

Bewildered, the glare of ice-blues shot up to the person standing next to him, Drautos mind not immediately able to wrap around what he was seeing. Or rather, whom he was looking at. 

"...Regis?", he breathed, frowning at the sound of his own strangely youthful voice, him clearly not having caught on to the stream of words directed at him before.

Recompense or Reconciliation

Closed starter for @daemonarmor​.

__

An exasperated sigh fled him as he pulled his hat a little tighter over his head, all in an effort to obscure his face. Gods, why was he like this? Even he didn’t have the answer. Scenting of cigarette smoke, alcohol, and the faintest hint of Accordian spices, he wove his way through the Glaive’s barracks. A cheaper facility compared to most, yet it was a facility nonetheless. In Regis’ eyes, he was lucky he’d managed to get even that much out of the King. Still, the old buildings, the complicated, outdated and nearly forgotten layout was perfect for him to sneak in and out of rather unnoticed.  The Crownsguard didn’t venture here. No, this was Regis’ pet project, and the people weren’t even Insomnian. He had to admit, he was having a harder time getting the guard to respect the Glaives than he originally anticipated. Though he supposed that would only be natural, considering they were molded by Mors’ hand. Shaking the lost train of thought from his mind, Regis followed the familiar path through the cracked hallways and occasional flickering lights. He was a man on a mission, as it were. Or perhaps one could call it a man on a desperate mission. As soon as he arrived at his destination, he didn’t even bother knocking. He simply let himself in as he’d done on several other occasions- likely much to the inhabitant’s chagrin. But there wasn’t any time for that. He pulled his disguise homburg hat from his head as he entered. It was the respectful thing to do, after all. Making sure to securely shut the door behind him, the prince visibly relaxed, bringing a hand up to thread through his slightly mussed locks. After a moment, he walked through the room, making his way to the bed; or rather, the man fast asleep upon it.

“Drautos-” he called quietly, whistling a little, “-wake up, wouldja?” Ah. He was still using street slang. Mors hated it when he spoke like the commoners. Clearing his throat, he gently touched the other man’s shoulder and gave him a little shake. “Forgive me, but I’ve gone and found myself in a bit of a sticky situation. The details are a trifling thing, really. Something about me… sneaking out without Clarus knowing. And heading back out to the new swing joint that just opened up down by- well, you get the idea. Apparently, Clarus had to go and wake up early on a whim. Because of course he did.” He began, ending that off with a small groan, followed by a crooked, mischievous grin.  “As a result, he’s on what I can only call a ‘Behemoth’s warpath.’ Quickly, let’s get our things together and head off to the training yard. I’ve been training early with you all morning, you see? Surely he wouldn’t question it then.”

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Abandon your prayers. The gods do not listen.

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TITUS DRAUTOS / GENERAL GLAUCA

For @titusdravtos

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And still he betrayed me …

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Here is your peace, by steel’s swift descent.

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ｔｉｔｕｓ　ｄｒａｕｔｏｓ | kingsglaive

“there’s never been a true war that wasn’t fought between two sets of people who were certain they were in the right. the really dangerous people believe they are doing whatever they are doing solely and only because it is without question the right thing to do. and that is what makes them dangerous.” | neil gaiman, american gods

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For hearth and home …

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titus drautos + general glauca | kingsglaive

“i hurt myself deeply, though at the time i had no idea how deeply. i should have learned many things from that experience, but when i look back on it, all i gained was one single, undeniable fact. that ultimately i am a person who can do evil. i never consciously tried to hurt anyone, yet good intentions notwithstanding, when necessity demanded, i could become completely self-centered, even cruel. i was the kind of person who could, using some plausible excuse, inflict on a person i cared for a wound that would never heal.” | haruki murakami

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