lotharx

[lotharx]

"At the end of the day, a dying animal is no different than a dying human," maybe that was calloused, but Lothar found there to be little technical difference when time was running thin and blood was flowing. Lothar nodded, an almost humorous look melding into his expression, though not meant to insult her skills. "Sounds like espionage to me." His found family having been taken wounded him, but he remained relatively impassive on the outside; Lothar never liked to wade in such grief, let it consume him and bleed onto others, but Seriswyn seemed especially grief stricken by this reveal.

"I did not have a family until the fall happened; strange how that works." One lost everything, while another gained something; such was the cruel twist of life that Lothar often tried not to entertain. He had traveled for many years, letting his vengeance and grief push him forth; only when he decided it no longer served him, did his home fall, did his true family come to be found. "You had roots in Iskaldrik?" He bowed his head mournfully; Lothar was not very good with words, as he hoped she had learned by now, but he did his best to show he mourned for her loss.

"It should offer us protection from our enemies, it should instill us with the might to defend Haven," there was this conspiratory glance in his eye, that which danced between hardened belief and wonder if it would aid them in true victory.

“Before you afford me any undue praise, my skills are very limited outside of animals. But I take a certain sort of pride in making sure the true healers are unburdened by sutures and bumps and scrapes,” Seriswyn responded in an earnest attempt not to oversell her skills. She would hate for Lothar to show up at her doorstep torn up and needing help far beyond her capabilities. “We are, but I am not especially skilled in espionage or any of the other sorts of affairs that benefit most from a quick hand and light foot. But I can speak with animals, and they’re willing to help defend their homes as well. A Kossith might become hostile seeing me listening to its conversation, but something as innocuous as a squirrel? They wouldn’t blink at some creature in the trees.” 

The conversation seemed to continue with ease, and she was grateful for it. She could not say Lothar had seemed hostile at the start of their discussion, but it seemed they grew slowly comfortable with one another. Her brows upturned in genuine concern when he mentioned his family had been taken and she looked deeply impacted by the news. “I’m so sorry to hear that,” she said quietly. “I lost my family in the fall of Iskaldrik, and I suppose the only lucky thing was… the certainty of it when I found them." To linger in the unknown for weeks? She wasn't sure she would have been able to take it, or all of the false promises of hope that would come with it. Thus, she made none to Lothar. "I assure you Aurea is doing everything she can not only to protect the Wildlands and Haven, but to recover those taken.” Seris hoped her efforts would usher in victorious results as well. 

She leaned to look at the marking he carved better, and she recognized it easily as a rune. She was familiar with some after having spent some time living in Iskaldrik. “What does that one mean?” she asked.

[lotharx]

@bernthirst-events 🎬Underrated - The Mute🎬 Jon Bernthal as The Mute in Pilgrimage

[lotharx]

Lothar emerged from elsewhere in the home; after Aurea of the Feronia pack had defeated the Arishok, Lothar had returned to this empty home which housed so many painful reminders. Where Alessia and Alrik were meant to be bickering (one-sidedly) in the corner, there was only deafening silence, where the Queensguard druid was meant to be cooking up a meal meant to challenge Alessia's own skills, there were mere empty pots. He hadn't ever dared let them know aloud that they were family and that had been his own wretched mistake. The barbarian had never been good with words, often he fumbled over them, but it was now something he would have to live with if never they were to return.

Grating silence was cut by the sound of the door squeaking open in tandem with the clear sound of heavy footsteps. Dragging along, exhaustion sounded evident even to one of simple mind like Lothar, and the barbarian still somehow ambled towards the intruder despite the air of anxiety he suddenly felt claimed by.

"You're home, how is that something to feel sorry for?" Puzzled, borderline concerned, the barbarian crouched in front of Prospero, placed his hands atop the druid's knees. He needed the tangible reminder that Prospero was indeed here, it'd been a long while since the Iskaran had been transported to the world of dreams, but he needed to know this was real.

@lotharx

location: home note: uwu

Somehow, some way, he had crawled his way back home. Back to Lysara, back to the place where it had all started for him, back to before everything had gone to complete shit. Prospero had no idea how people felt about him or if they even cared, but he never much cared about that. All he cared about was that Alrik and Alessia had somehow forgiven him. He would have to have more of a conversation with them when things somewhat settled. They deserved an explanation for everything and he couldn’t really figure out how to put it into words yet. Alrik had saved him though. Damakos…He didn’t want to think about it again as he walked into his home and sat down in the nearest chair. Alrik and Alessia were sure to have their own matters to attend to right now and so did he.

His presence was probably not that hard to hear enter the house as he heard the shuffle of boots against the floor. Prospero couldn’t even really begin to put into words the relief he felt to look up and see Lothar there. His family was fine. They were all safe. They were all…A tear fell down his cheek that he tried to wipe away immediately. Only a whisper left his mouth as he looked down at the ground. “I’m sorry I…I’m sorry.”

[lotharx]

"You should go to any true forge master; inscribing something onto the blade seems more your speed," she seemed sternly put together, one of pure discipline and practice who wouldn't settle for anything less meticulous than that. As such, when Lothar said this he was not insulting but offering a clear recommendation that would uphold her own values but emulate the true craft of the blade that was positioned onto her axe. "With something personal only to you," since Lothar did not truly know her beyond this interaction he awaited her to offer her own truths on the subject.

There is a moment of consideration as she takes in his words, head tilted in thought as a hum sits on her throat. Lailani is always willing to sit down and have a dialogue with others, to try to understand where they are coming from and even attempt to walk a mile in their shoes. Still, she has to admit that she has always seen weapons as merely tools to an end, without sparing more than a second thought to the weapon itself as long as it proved useful to her. It’s an odd concept, to see a weapon as an extension to herself, and one she doesn’t quite know if she feels comfortable with the concept as a whole… And yet…

“And how would you suggest one goes about making a weapon truth to themselves?” She ends up asking, curiosity winning in the end.

[lotharx]

[lotharx]

"That's….. methodical of you," was that the correct word - It didn't necessarily matter to Lothar, the barbarian was the worst conversationalist around and this person just so happened to decide to strike one up. Sure, he'd spoken first, but he'd just been stating common fact and wondering if they were to stay around for the battle; anything else after that fact was mere white noise in Lothar's brain. The fact she had an axe, however, was a plus and helped her stand out in his simple mind, "I didn't mean it had to be covered with the blood of your enemies," though he grinned mildly at that. "But anybody can wield your weapon, it holds no truth to you." She didn't have to carve hers with runes or brand it with her name, but it felt too clean that went beyond mere polishing.

“You would be amongst the first,” Lailani retorts, tone equally amused as she watches him test her axe from the corner of her eye as she focuses on polishing her shield. Part of the cleaning it’s based on vanity, but a bigger part is use. A shiny shield makes it easier to blind her opponent in the midst of combat, making it easier to disarm them and drop them to the ground. Lailani stops as she cleans, setting the rag to the side to reach for her axe, giving it a little twirl as the weight settles on her palm and hums thoughtfully. “You have a rather discerning eye,” she compliments after a second, an amused smile dancing on the edge of her lip as she settles the axe next to her and grabs the rag to continue with her polishing. “I prefer to disarm rather than maim, and I focus on deescalation on conflict, so I tend to pay more attention to my shield and armor. To me, the axe is a weapon of last resort. One that I will be forced to use soon, but that I prefer to avoid if there is another means to achieve what I want.”

[lotharx]

"Arishok Vassan got the death they deserved," Lothar's lip curled and he spat as though in memory of the slain Kossathi leader. "Defeated in a trial by combat," the blood had spilled down Arishok's chest and still the Kossith leader tried to fight until last they had fallen, slain. What else could the other wish to hear? Lothar was no healer, though he could offer strength if needed to carry them or perhaps elbow the water from their lungs, his disappointment evident as neither of the two who crawled to shore were Prospero or the Hart's.

Location: The shoreline near Aventia Notes: how the turn tables (open to 3 people thx)

His wings of starlight had easily taken him to safety, narrowly avoiding certain death. The Kossith had gotten what was coming to them, when the alarm had been sounded that there was no hope, all could just dare to use their magic and pray to their gods that it would work when it came to protecting themselves. The body Deimos dragged was that of a witch, unsure if the person was alive or not. Still, Deimos pulled them from the water, releasing their body when they were out of the shallows.

Another figure approached, though he wasn't sure if they were from the boat or had seen the explosion from land. "Tell me good news – otherwise, pretend I was never here."

[lotharx]

"I wasn't judging on your looks," snorted humorously, Lothar volleyed the weight of the battleaxe in his one hand, it was far lighter than his greataxe, but the true problem for Lothar had been that it was impersonal to the warrior wielding it. "It should be an extension of you is my problem," he held it back out for Lailani to take, "I feel no pride in the weapon you wield." That sounded crueler than intended, but each rune in the hilt, any mended crack in the blade, it told a story of how Lothar had come this far. Hers felt too... perfect, not a hair out of place; though perhaps that suited this one just fine. "Or maybe it's just right for you," gruffed out but with a more whimsical expression, Lothar was never proficient at reading people and he wouldn't pretend to be now.

“It is yes,” she admitted with a quick grin, looking down at her axe pensively before handing it over. It’s rather plain, when compared to that of her companion and she can see it clearly. In comparison to the elaborate carvings of runes and the like, hers is not decorated at all. Dark metal against dark wood, it’s dark in contrast to her armor and her shield, and it makes sense. Her axe is a use of last resort, one that she does not wield unnecessarily, or at all if she can. Her oath is one of redemption, a promise she will do all on her power to convince others to change their ways, even if it takes effort. Lailani only kills if absolutely necessary, if needed to protect life and when there is no other option at hand. The battle against the Kossith is one of such occasions, where there are far too many lives at risk for her to attempt to parlay. As such, the spotlight and the intricacies that are found on her armor and her shield, and her axe remains merely functional. “I assure you, I am rather adept at it, despite my looks.”

[lotharx]

Frank's Apartment - The Punisher 1.01

[lotharx]

"I know the importance of a good healer," this was the closest Lothar could get to complimenting what she described and considering how reckless the barbarian tended to be, a healer was always worth their weight in gold. "And Elvhen are very light on their feet," Lothar seldom smiled but his tone was light, swathed in a rare breadth of kindness as they continued to learn about one another; this would aid them in the battle to come if she were to stick around once the Kossith arrived. "We'll need that for the Kossith lumbering about," this was an assumption, but the wardrums preceded their presence and left an ominous feeling lingering in the air of their brute capabilities.

"You're well met, Serisywn," Lothar wasn't the most proficient at reading people, but he could sense her mild state of uneasiness when it came to approaching him, as though Lothar would swat her away like a fly if she wandered too close. He was often gauged as this sour individual, but Lothar always garnered a passionate heart and a restless spirit; perhaps, on his exterior, this seemed thorny to others, but the barbarian couldn't help that. "I do this for my family, one of many who have been taken. But I will always fight for a worthy ally, too." A simple pocket knife was taken from his pocket; the hilt of his axe was already well established with various runes etched into the wooden handle over time. Today, he marked the fallen log in which they sat currently, rendering the rune several times over to ensure it was visible; a metaphorical bulwark that would hopefully draw it's intention to the entirety of Haven. ᛉ - representing the protection from one's enemies, the might to defend that which they loved.

"I don't believe in much, but I know we fight for the same things," his thumb brushed off any lingering dust from the carved wood, closing the pocket knife and securing it back within his pocket.

Hands remained folded as he continued his work at the whetstone. It was a skill she probably should have picked up. If Seriswyn had spent her year of solitude in something other than an ocean of grief, perhaps she might have. Or perhaps she would have learned some other skill that made her more useful than weighing portions of grain and distributing tinctures and baubles. She saw the error of her ways now, and for all of his gruffness, she could see that Lothar possessed the more capable set of hands between the two of them. “I am sorry to hear you feel that way, but grateful you see beyond it for the greater good,” Seriswyn said. “I am not the most capable fighter. But I do have a handful of skills to help keep soldiers on their feet. Cavalry, specifically.” 

“I am of the Elvhen. I am able to speak with animals, and cure them of many of their ailments and wounds,” she stated simply, naming her virtues for what they were. “This has also afforded me some small skillset with the injuries of men as well, for many things that should not burden a healer’s skillful hands.” She moved slowly to sit by Lothar and gauged his face for any sign that she was unwelcome. If he preferred to be left to his work, she would leave him. “I am also quite good at organizing, so I have helped coordinate communication with the local wildlife to gain their assistance in scouting the lands and watching the Kossith, as well as preparing rations and organizing simple medical resources.” She gave a thin smile with little genuine joy behind it. “If hope alone were productive, I suspect we wouldn’t find ourselves in such dark times,” she said, “Hope demands action. Which makes me all the more grateful you are willing to fight. Even for a people who you don’t hold much favor toward.”

[lotharx]

JON BERNTHAL as Frank Castle/The Punisher — Daredevil | Season 2

[lotharx]

This one was much more attuned to their emotions than Lothar would ever be, but he thought of his family often. Family had been the drive for his entire existence and he wasn't ever sure what he was meant to glean from losing them. A vuldak had destroyed his blood, a mother and a father who'd never wanted for much outside of Iskaldrik, and it had left Lothar alive just on the spur of cruelty. But he'd found it, avenged them, allowed their spirits to rest knowing that their sacrifice had been paid. He couldn't imagine having to lose another, one he had collected bit by bit; frangible pieces, scrabbled together in some gauche sight that represented some cobbled mosaic of a found family.

"Thora is an honorable warrior," he'd known her from the Guild, respected her, and would not mourn her for even a moment before attempting to fight for her and the others captured. Lothar couldn't speak on the others, he wouldn't speak on those he did not know and the barbarian did his best to speak on those he did.

"I'm not sure I had a foothold in this world, nor a heart in my chest, until I came to know them. I've wandered a long time, inflicted pain with no real purpose; when the Kossith see me, this pain and this bloodshed, it will have meaning. For yours and for mine." That was a promise he intended to keep, "All three - four - are strong in their own ways - Brute strength, of mind, of power, if any are wise enough to break free it is them. One has already been captured once before, faced the troubles of darkspawn; Kossith should be easy." He would underestimate them, their legends, their plight against the blight, until he could see the Kossith himself with the blade of his ax at their throats.

Zeliha wore her heart on her sleeve. It was a dangerous place to put a heart, especially when one was one so entrenched in the lives of others - particularly in their difficult moments. She registered the dial of Lothar's voice, how quickly it’d fallen into solemn tones. That would have been enough to make her frown, and his words made her eyelids flutter shut. A bit of hollowed out air pushed against her, and she bowed her head in brief silence.

"I pray, wherever they are right now, that they can feel how much we miss them and that that it gives them some measure of strength to come back home safely." Zeliha looked back up again. "You know Juneau, you know she is a force to be reckoned with. And Eivor..." She sighed. "Eivor saved me so many years ago, back when I was just a child. I wish I could save him now... though he'd hate me saying that. And I know he's far stronger than I could ever hope to be. Araceli too. Ingrid. Thora and Freydis..." Her smile was measured and sad, but she looked towards Lothar. "What about your's? Tell me about them."

[lotharx]

"Is that... your weapon of choice?" Never proficient in small talk, this would have been excruciating in any context, but Lothar tried his best. He noted the axe alongside her, the shield; two items which seemed almost impersonal to her being. Lothar set his own axe down, holding his hand out to examine hers if she allowed it. His own weapon was brandished with many runes, each personal to him, each which told his story. Othala was etched upon the helve, a nod to home, of family bonds forged. Higher up on the helve was lucky shot, something which he was called when he first began within the Warriors Guild, how it stuck with him even today; the barbarian often never missed. Recently, Thurisaz had been carved into the bottom of the helve, the symbol needed for the destructive, yet protective, force of channeling the strength of the giants, the mettle to persevere. He would need that energy for the battle to come.

There is no rest time while preparing for an invasion. There is always another task to finish, another building to check, someone else to train. Preparations take time and effort, and Lailani has always been willing to put herself to work. As the wolves recede to meet, she makes herself busy wherever they send her. But even the busiest of bees must be well rested to fight, so Lailani finds herself sitting next to a human one day as she examines her own axe and shield to make sure her tools are as ready for battle as she is. A rusty axe could be lethal, and not for the person intended. 

“That is my intention, yes,” she agreed with a nod of her head, eyes flicking towards the human before returning to her own work slowly and steadily. “Every hand is needed, and I am more than willing to lend my own.”

[lotharx]

"That's what I said," Lothar had paused to clarify this before simply shrugging and gliding the axe one last time upon the whetted stone before considering it sharpened to perfection. He was a man of simple words mostly because he was of simple mind, and that often tended to offend people who resonated on a deeper understanding of the world. "Nothing wrong with what they are, but they are," Lothar had come a long way for there was once a time where he indeed detested lycanthropes and any variants of them. "If you can fight that's all I care for; if you've come all this way and can't defend yourself we've bigger problems." He'd seen those of Haven fight to the death in Aventia before, he knew they were capable, but he was unsure of this one currently.

"Lothar," gruffed after a moment, "What can you do?" She was often very vague about her capabilities of bolstering them and as such, Lothar took the bait with clear curiosity. "A witch?" Wondered aloud, the title to him clearly included variants of druids or other arcana. "It's not naive to hope," maybe it was hypocritical of him to say, but he never faulted others for garnering such perverse emotion.

Such strange and charged words. Was this place not part of the earth he lived on, not part of the vital ecosystem that stretched from one region to the other? No part of Taravell existed in a silo, the good parts or those that left something to be desired. “Are you calling the wolves the beasts?” she asked. His words, she felt, were inflammatory given all of Aurea’s generosity, but she kept her tone flat and calm. A moment later, it was clear he at least accounted for what Aurea had given. “Well, then I suppose you are twice as honorable to defend this place given the circumstances. I do not have much to offer, but if there is anything I can do to bolster you, consider it done.” 

“And do you have a name, or would you like me to call you by that very long title?” Seris asked, venturing a step closer as he did not shoo her away. “I am Seriswyn.” It was impressive to her that he did not fear the Kossith. While she did suspect they would keep their word regarding their timeline and intentions they were clearly on the warpath and in a pattern of escalation. “I am here on borrowed time with the hope that my presence will make those who wish to evacuate’s task in doing so easier, and to do whatever I can to increase our odds in battle for those who would stay. Like yourself.” Seriswyn did not have many tasks that were truly marketable in times of war, but she knew she could put her hands to good use. “Or, perhaps, I am merely desperately and naively trying to make the most of the time to find some sort of solution that would not require her to yield the city in the first place.”

[lotharx]

The Punisher Season 1 Episode 02 - Two Dead Men

[lotharx]

"That's what a lot of you say," although he was rather confident that she was not a wolf, there seemed to be a rather stark loyalty for Aurea from many that went beyond mere bonds of lycanthropy. He knew this one.... from the Cove, what seemed to be another lifetime ago considering how many times Prospero seemed to have been abducted or placed in danger since then. Hestia's Cove was another battle that seemed impossible, but they indeed had managed; the Kossith swarming Haven would have to be as underwhelming he hoped. Not that having his mind possessed and being forced to attack his allies had been underwhelming, but in the end those that went against them had been defeated; the story would not be rewritten this time.

"Juneau," his brows stitched together momentarily, "I know her." Briefly, he had taught her how to wield an axe, and he'd not seen the wily girl since. "Sad to know she's not better off since last I saw her." It was impossible to pull much from the barbarian, save for rage, but even this microscopic dose of grief over the situation was more than ever shared before. "They took my family." Said freely, though after much pause; Lothar was certain that whether the Kossith stormed Haven or not, that they would see his face and they would know who he was before the axe came striking down.

"I'll go wherever Queen Aurea goes," Zeliha replied softly, sitting beside the man. She recognized him from the many refugees that had come past the border over a year ago, back when she was assisting. And then she only knew his name because of the destruction they'd gone through together at Hestia's Cove. However, their interactions had been little more than surface-level.

Even now, the faiman was meant to be making sure that everyone who was meant to go was getting packed up and ready. She wasn't meant to warm up to those who were adamant on remaining. Yet, when she saw Lothar, she could not help but linger. She knew Prospero, the sweet druid, had been among those captured. And even if she hadn't had the observation skills of a Celestial with a hundred eyes, it had been clear as day what they meant to each other.

"But... if I had the chance to confront the Kossith who took away Juneau, and the rest of them..." Zeliha trailed off. Violence was never her immediate reaction, but the injustice of losing their loved ones was infuriating. She tried not to wallow, but it felt right to extend some of her empathy and understanding to Lothar.

[lotharx]

Something of a low grumble escaped him, though Lothar had started this conversation up, he was still true to his word, of well, lacking many words. This one felt so uppity, he almost felt worry for her; they needed warriors, not those who could swindle their way through a conversation. Lothar simply hoped he was misjudging her, but he felt greatly disturbed at the revelation that Aurea was to resign Haven to the Kossith; his face showed this. A man of little words and a man who often hid little, his face was offended at the idea.

"I hold no loyalties to this place nor the beasts within it," in fact, for most of his adult life, he rather detested wolves and their fiendish counterparts; it'd been a vuldak who set the very course of his life, after all. "But to spill the blood of the Kossith, to defend this wolf city, it'd be something of a debt repaid." They had housed him, much like they had done for every Iskaran refugee, and that alone propelled Lothar to come here.

"I am someone who should have died a long time ago, I don't fear any battle ahead." His thumb ran over the sharpened blade of his axe before deciding it needed to be sharpened further. "If she is to yield it, then why are you all here on borrowed time?" He did not fault Aurea for yielding it, but it wouldn't have been his decision if he were in her shoes.

The man was familiar in a way that was difficult to place. Seris had taken pains to separate herself from others for so long, nearly a year now, but she knew she had seen him before. He was like her, displaced. A refugee. And further, a loneliness seemed to radiate from him. As jarring as it now was to engage with others, Seriswyn knew when the effort to connect with others was worth it, required. She was lucky to be engaged first rather than the burden of thinking of how to strike up a conversation falling to her. She had once been a noble, practiced in the art of conversation. Now, so much of herself existed externally, passively, apart from the world. 

“I have faith the Kossith will remain true to their timeline,” Seriswyn responded softly, her hands folded before her and her body language calm. But the entire earth vibrated with anticipation of the arrival of the Kossith and their cruel ways of exacting their might. “But the day does grow closer at an alarming rate.”  She considered where she might be when the Kossith arrived, and ultimately came to the conclusion that the decision fell upon Aurea rather than herself. “I will follow the directives of Queen Aurea. Perhaps that will demand that I remain here. Alternatively, I understand she intends to yield Haven where it stands to these… beasts.” His confidence seemed to be intact, his mind poised to face the threat head on. “Do you not fear them?”