lotharx

[lotharx]

just came across this picture... somebody sedate me i'm so serious

[lotharx]

Jon Bernthal as Frank Castle — DAREDEVIL: BORN AGAIN | 1.09 Straight To Hell

[lotharx]

He was a man of little words for a reason, a very simple reason chalked up to the fact that he often didn't have much on his mind either. Fharzai was indeed his polar opposite, someone imbued with such wisdom and intelligence, but also bolstered with wandering thoughts and a mind that never seemed to cease.

"I can carry the burden that the pattern seems to want to give me, but there's always that question of worthiness isn't there?" He'd never falter to what the pattern had presented to him, Lothar would fight until his own dying breath in this turn of the wheel, but the barbarian never thought of himself a hero nor one of the good guys. Lothar fought simply because there was no other way, he was the muscle that paved a way forward, and he never questioned such position. Even now, as he spoke of worthiness, it came not from an area which lacked self respect but of one that painted his mistakes. "Don't mistake my questions for resistance," he chided in a gruff tone, though he'd been less surly than typical, Lothar looking out at the event which represented all the technologies which would never serve him. "My eyes are wide open even if I may not always understand." That statement garnered a touch more humor, he knew in a battle of wits he would always lose.

Fharzai knew that Lothar wasn't the only one. Iskarans lived their entire lives without dreaming for centuries all thanks to Munin and the Dark power that fueled him. It was unjust, but nothing could be done to repair the damage he inflicted except moving forward. Even Fharzai did what he could to heal those souls that remained in Skovgard, but in that he was limited. It wasn't his destiny to guide Mavis in her healing efforts.   Still, he looked forward because Fate flowed forward, never back. "You must move on. Like a leaf in the wind, you'll flit and fly in many different directions, but you'll never return to your origin. Not really. So much has changed for you it's impossible to go back. Then again, why would you want to?" Lothar's nostalgia may have provided him some comfort, but there was a purpose he was growing into here in Lysara that would've been impossible for him to reach in Iskaldrik. "The pattern has chosen you. Resisting will only cause you strife. Try to embrace change and progress, not just for the queendom but for yourself. You owe it to yourself to dream now that your mind is open to them, don't you think?"

[lotharx]

Lothar was stuck on this; not many situations had the barbarian's wheels turning or had him provoking deep thought over something, but it seemed Prospero often found himself in trouble. Whatever target which was painted on the druids back was seemingly in blood, something tangible, indelible, eternal. "I always thought you were trouble, but maybe not in this way," that didn't mean that Lothar would ever cease in providing such aid to Prospero, but he hadn't ever figured that the druid would be caught in the crossfire of so many instances.

The fact it was starting to trouble even Lothar spoke of the severity of such occurrences and how often they seemed to repeat. He smiled, though it spoke of sadness, that insistence that continued to gnaw at him no matter how he wished to let it go. As another stretch of silence passed over them, Lothar wondered aloud again, "I don't ever ask the who of everything..." how often he would swing first and ask questions later, but it was now a pattern where he'd been unable to protect him and still such attacks persisted. "But I'm starting to wonder if I should have started that an instance or two ago."

It's rather open-ended, he's practically waiting for Prospero to deflect from it and maybe some piece of Lothar could understand it, respect it to a degree. So much of their lives, even after meeting one another, had been this extensive list of war and pain, blips of battle and recovery, it seemed impossible to explain such instances in a finite way or to even understand why they'd come to weigh so heavily on Prospero specifically.

The Dark One was always there, always watching. This was something he had to deal with alone. He didn’t have much of a choice. Was he supposed to just tell all of them the real reason he was in the situations he had been in? It felt like he would lose all of them so fast and there would be no way to get any of them back after that. They were all he had. Even as the blood in his veins was so icy that it felt like it was burning, he thought about them. About Alrik. About Alessia. About Lothar. He had no idea why he had chosen them or why they had chosen him, but he wasn’t ever going to be ready to let them go.

His gaze was focused on whatever was in front of him as his head lay upon Lothar’s lap. It felt like he wasn’t supposed to be this lucky to have these people with him. Maybe they should have let him go so his choices didn’t hurt them any farther. He couldn’t help but think about the way even their hugs felt like they were always supposed to be in his life. He thought about those Arches, the family that he had lost that wasn’t really his. Maybe that was why he was holding on for dear life to these three people. He didn’t want to lose his family again.

The silence had become a comfort. Prospero had joked so much about Lothar’s lack of communication skills, but the truth was that he preferred it. He didn’t always need the other to talk to him. He just wanted him there for as long as he could have him. Even if it was just silence. But then the silence would break and Lothar would always say something that would shake him to his core. It took him a moment to even find the words to say in response, but eventually he found them. “I have called for your aid every time. You just weren’t aware you were providing it.”

[lotharx]

1.04, BTS — JON BERNTHAL AS FRANK CASTLE IN ‘DAREDEVIL: BORN AGAIN.’

[lotharx]

Whatever legendary warrior walked in his footsteps past surely, had to have been, less reticent than Lothar was today. Too many berserker brews, tinctures to help him tap into such reservoir of the giant blood within; he'd never been one for many words nor wisdom, and he can only raise a brow at Fharzai's ominous retort.

"I was never much of a dreamer before," the battle against Munin, each hero fighting for the dominion of dreams, it had awoken something in each of them, but within Lothar it directed him more curiously towards things he would have once scoffed at. The power of a dream, the glimpse into other fragments of the Wheel, such that were his own but in another lifetime, another place. He'd not believed it if the others hadn't lived it too. "I think I am too stuck on the past to take note of all this progress we're supposed to be celebrating," he meant no offense to the Lysaran culture Fharzai was rooted in, the one that the druid, as a Queensguard, was sworn to uphold and protect.

Fharzai looks at Lothar with an unreadable and far-off expression, completely in character for him. But amusement trickles across his features slowly in small ways. A glint in his eye, a twitch of the corner of his mouth, the drumming of his fingers against his mighty staff; Fharzai knew he should've had a little more grace, but he couldn't help but see the humor in Lothar's statement.   "We know each other well, or at least we did in another turn of the Wheel. And I've seen you in your dreams, as well as mine. That's plenty of meetings if you think about it." He nods forward, walking with his usual, measured pace. Fharzai always had a lot to say, even if there wasn't much he'd tell, but in either case, they didn't need a stranger in the crowd picking up on too much. "This is your first Progress Day. How do you feel about that now that things are in full swing?" he asks, though his uplifted mood gives way to a more somber one with each step taken. "You should enjoy it. I fear moments of revelry will become rarer. Enjoy yourself as much as you can."

[lotharx]

Prospero often had a knack for disappearing and as low maintenance as Lothar pledged himself to seemingly be, the barbarian had simply come to accept such fact. It was only when the druid did not show where he was to meet that Lothar immediately felt some sinking feeling in his gut - he wasn't one to have his wits about him, but wherever Prospero and the Hart's were concerned, Lothar seemed to have grown wiser as a result. If Prospero had agreed, or promised, to thus meet somewhere, the druids bonding word was as good as lustrous gold.

He'd been resting now, fading into slumber that was out of pure necessity from catastrophic exhaustion. Lothar had sat quietly at the edge of one side of the bed, Prospero's hat still maddeningly tipped over his head as quiet breaths noted how deep a sleep the man truly was in. Lothar stood, though he was certain he wished not to have Prospero out of his sight or quite some time now until he could be trusted to simply not be abducted.

Lothar entered the kitchen, his interest roused simply by the way such herbs and spices spelled distinctly of home, something only an Iskaran could replicate. "You are the guest here," Lothar chided simply, the words coded enough to reason that he'd stayed many times without Alessia being the wiser. Much to the dismay of Lothar's father, his mother had taught him a thing or two of tidying a home, bread making, and other assortments that were typically reserved for the women of the home. "Only questions about what you're cooking up," not entirely a true statement but he'd start there.

Date: After Drowned Kingquest Location: Prospero's place Characters: @lotharx & @alessiathepath Notes: wtf was that x3

It had been a wild day. After making it back, getting Prospero checked out by the Healers and finally making it home, she let Alrik and Lothar be the ones hovering over the druid to confirm he was actually alive. In the meantime, Alessia played the lady-of-the-house in the way she hadn't since she was a child in her homestead. But she didn't mind, at least not every once in a while. She didn't mind cooking and cleaning alone if it was for her family. And, after nearly drowning and fighting undead, she was actually glad for the normalcy. When Lothar walked into the kitchen, Alessia turned on the spot and stared at him for a moment - trying to gauge his mood. Then she put down the spoon that she'd been mixing over a boiling pot.

"If you're staying over, I set up a bed." There was a very subtle edge of humour, leaving the challenge unspoken of cuddling up to Prospero instead of having his own bed. "And if you have questions, I probably don't have many answers." She turned around again, resuming her mixing. It smelled like herbs, something distinctly Iskaldrik.

[lotharx]

"They're smart not to fall for all the glamours and wealth," Lothar had never trusted a Lysaran for as far as he could throw them and his bitterness showed rather clearly on his scowling face. "It only means something else is to come up, very soon," Lothar had a bad feeling of it all, but the barbarian often felt everything was a catastrophe lying in wait. "Count our blessings while we can, young wolf."

"Someone once told me that Lysara isn't as it seems and I can't say I can argue with him." Etienne trusted Eivor, he and Goose both owed the man their lives after he'd paved the way for them at Nornwatch. Progress Day was overstimulating, too loud, smelled too much, and he couldn't help but to wonder where all this "progress" was while they were all dying at Nornwatch and Aventia. It's too bitter of a thought to express, but the looks to Lothar curiously. "What do you make of it?"

[lotharx]

Everyone discovering this video with Jon… whew lord he was feelin himself…

[lotharx]

starter for @prcspero.

where: taking care of my househusband

when: current timeline, or directly after zee quest where propro is rescued

note: loud yelling noises

Lothar never ventured to ask many questions, never took the time to truly scrutinize much of anything. Prospero was always chatty enough for the both of them, he filled in the gaps where Lothar lacked in conversation and even primed the giant oaf to contribute from time to time. Still, Prospero had returned as some bruised and beaten husk, clinging to this life he seemed to headstrong to defend for the two witches he'd scooped up on the journey back towards Lysara.

For once, Lothar had conjured a thought of his own, studying Prospero as the druid's head lay in his lap; he'd been unsure of how much time had passed since Alessia had helped him home and Lothar had insisted she be on her way. Hours or perhaps days since his brittled and wounded body was helped through the door - even the barbarian was unsure.

Finally, he cut through the silence, though he dreaded speaking first, "How many times have you been in trouble like this and felt you could not call for my aid?" It was a veiled question, something that seemed so obvious that only a foolish brute could ask, but there was devotion there, longing; between each word was the knowledge that Lothar would go to the ends of the earth to defend Prospero if only he'd let him.

[lotharx]

"I never was one to take magic seriously," normally, Lothar hulked his way through most things for something could not be used against him if it was, well, incapacitated or dead. "But even I can admit when I make mistakes," there's something of a rueful quirk of his lips there; the barbarian was never one to show his emotions but there were often faint tells on occasion if one paid attention.

Lothar did not know her father nor the man he truly was, but Lothar could see with the quiet shame in which she brought up the comment that her father was someone who thus meant a great deal to her. The barbarian could understand, his parents were the one thing in this world who had been a fixture of light and good, of stalwart purpose, and they'd been violently taken from him. He often avoided speaking of them in a similar fashion. A purposeful grin found its way onto his expression, nodding at the mention of the guild, "You could endure the trial by fire, but are you sure the guild is for you?" He did not scrutinize on the basis of her skills nor her wrath, but rather where her heart resided; Lothar was certain there was more accurate places for the Hart to belong to, though he would not mind genuinely showing her the ins and outs of the guild if she looked upon it seriously. Lothar simmered at her last interjection, gruffing out petulantly, "He looks at me funny."

[lotharx]

Jon Bernthal semi-naked in front of a mirror cinematic universe.

[lotharx]

#murder strut JON BERNTHAL as THE MUTE | PILGRIMAGE (2017)

[lotharx]

starter for @fharzai.

where: progress day

when: day 1 or 2 ya kno

note: hello my son in law and fellow red hand, this will get better

Their paths seemed only insistent to cross when on the battlefield, whether that was in Fharzai's genuine dreamscape or here, in this scope of the world. Lothar hadn't ever had the chance to truly chat with the dream druid, and considering he was never a man of many words, Lothar often didn't know where he'd start if given the opportunity. Fharzai had done a lot for the Iskarans, it seemed each battlefield Lothar was, so too was Fharzai, and yet he was of the Queensguard, too. He was one amongst the crowd of those Lothar scrutinized, but one who could sway how the barbarian truly felt about Lysarans as a whole it would seem.

"Fharzai," Lothar greeted gruffly, nodding, "So we finally meet outside of battle," the barbarian wasn't necessarily known for smiling but his tone was softer than normal, borderline kind.

[lotharx]

starter for @etienneulven.

where: pwogwess day, in the mercury's bazaar somewhere

when: day 1 or 2 ya kno

note: i got tired of using the same 20 season 1 gifs gasp

The streets of Eterna seemed to be sprawling with everybody who occupied Lysara as of current. Whispers had flooded the streets up to a month prior, talks of something called Progress Day, and with it came whispers of what Queen Arethusa had promised in turn this year. Lothar had always been a rather stern pessimist; it took a lot to rouse the barbarian to think of something positive or hope for a better tomorrow when it came to everything he and any Iskaran already endured.

There were whispers of whatever machinations here having the tech to hopefully strengthen them to returning to their home, whatever could possibly be left of it, and though Lothar was itching to accomplish such motive, he was unsure of accepting such buffs to their fight.

"How much faith do you have in the Lysaran queen's decree?" As another red hand, Lothar was fond of their input when it came to such topics.

[lotharx]

I watch The Punisher for the plot

[lotharx]

It was a real shame it was these two stuck together and not any other of the guild, for Lothar was certain the two of them, in all their seriousness, would likely never bring this portion of the contract up again. A laugh wrenched from his stomach, one that was loud and cacophonous as Lothar doubled over again, a large finger pointed at Torsten as he too doubled over. The witcher fell to the ground, writhing in place as bouts of laughter practically consumed him, Lothar caught in his own fit. Tears streamed down the barbarian's normally stoic face. After a moment, too long a moment, the barbarian snarled as if his reservoir of inner rage would keep the fits of laughter at bay, wrenching Torsten up from the ground by the mithril arm as though he was a bag of bones and not made of muscle like the witcher genuinely was.

"If - heh, we're missing - hahahaHA - anything," the tears kept rolling as the laughter kept bubbling out, "I'll blame you." At the end of the day, Lothar would thank Torsten for gathering thee plant needed, but right now he was really clashing with these fits of laughter and his own anger. He could also, probably, put Torsten down by now but he had thrown the other over his shoulder and turned towards where they came.

"Ask someone who cares." Torsten said resolutely, a small giggle escaping from the back of his beet-red face before he all but stomped his way to the presumed source. Some fey flower that had been described to them keenly enough, though the requester had left out this unfortunate side effect. Another bubble of laughter ricocheted noisily from deep within Torsten's gut, practically shaking his limbs as he reached to wrench the damn bellflower from the ground. "I ha-" Another fit of laughter, keeling over onto his side as he felt like his ribs might erupt from his sides. "I can't-" He was a warrior, with ambitions of climbing ever higher, and yet he couldn't steel himself in the face of... Giggles.

With great effort, the witcher drew everything he had in himself to extend his hand toward the flower, fingers curling around the stem before he wrenched on it with all his might and then stuffed it in the satchel they'd been provided. The fiend was contained, but the pollen lingered, causing uncontrollable fits to continue as he writhed about on the ground. Torsten was in danger. Mortal peril - he might piss himself.