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[perceptiveknight-blog]

Farewell (on here, for now)...

At this point in time, it’s really feeling like a better decision to drop Belf than to keep him going, hoping I get my muse back for him. Lately, it’s been very hard to keep up his activity, recently worst of all between all the life distractors. I might come back to him someday I doubt he’d be taken up again in my absence, but until then, this is goodbye here for now. I’ll still be around on Nyna for a while longer at least, so this isn’t goodbye to the group yet!

(I’ll still keep his blog up as reference and just in case I want to return to him in the future. ^^ )

[perceptiveknight-blog]

Thread Check

Another thread check. Message or reply if you want to cancel our thread or if I forgot something.

If you happen to see this post anytime after I first post it, it may contain some “note to self” icons. “!” is returned to me (only in the Waiting on Partner section); “📝” is drafted; and “✔” is queued or posted. Any other notes are straightforward.

Waiting on Me:

Layover (with @redmessenger)

Earn Your Wings (with @flowerfortunesandfaceplants)

Tourney (with @axecellent-paladin)

Chasing Unicorns (with @yatosmaiden)

Waiting on Partner:

none (rip me)

[perceptiveknight-blog]

nint3ndraw:

Exactly a week ago, I was accepted to contribute to the Invincible fanzine ( @invinciblezine ), a fanart project dedicated to Camus and all his expies from Fire Emblem that’s run by @dragontamer75 and @tatizekes! This has to be one of the faster digital arts I’ve done, and it’s also my new favorite artwork. Can’t wait until the book comes out! Expect it around June (2018)!

(This art is posted to my DA too; find it here.)

[perceptiveknight-blog]

Hi all, sorry I’ve been quiet for so long. Between work and grad school prep and me not being sure what to do with Belf especially recently, I’ve lost some motive to write. But I’m finally replaying Shadow Dragon after promising to do so so long ago. Hopefully that means I’ll be able to come back soon with at least a better Nyna for you all!

(Also, that little joke Cain made to Jagen in the prologue already won me back over, haha)

[perceptiveknight-blog]

Been a while since I drew this dude~ The digital lines of a pencil sketch I made of Belf relaxing against an undrawn background. This’ll be my part of the collab with @dragontamer75; they will handle the colors! I may well attempt my own colors muuuch later because I feel like this pose lends itself well to those low-effort (while “animating”) otome CGs where the only thing that changes is the subject’s expression, so such a coloration from me will likely involve bright palettes and quite possibly a half-assed BG….

[perceptiveknight-blog]

gradiivus:

Where was Belf?

Camus took a few hurried steps back toward the cliffs, sword between himself and the half a dozen men that had come to encircle him. If he was not careful, he would soon be surrounded, but still he inched ever closer to the cliff wall. Instinct told him that that was where his young knight had gone, and that was where the shouts originated.

The small group descended upon him at once, masterfully coordinated to make up for their lack of skill. Camus made quick work of them, however, turning their momentum against each other and little else. He hardly needed his weapon and soon had half a dozen men unconscious at his feet. They would not be out for long, but it would buy him the time he needed and he broke away to sprint toward the entrance of the nearest cave.

Inside, the walls rang with even more voices, sounding their alarm throughout the entire network, and Camus followed them. Where they were concentrated had to be where Belf had been found, and if he could―

He sidestepped quickly, pressing himself against the wall to avoid a collision with another man hurrying in the opposite direction. The white coat glowed even in the dim light.

“Belf!” Camus grabbed him quickly by the shoulder and pulled him to a stop. “What happened?”

While Camus had been fighting his own battles outside, Belf had been trying to avoid as many of them as he could. He was woefully unused to cramped quarters combat, let alone combat done in the dark and his ability to swing his sword as widely as he would have mounted in an open field, he felt horrible trapped and wanted nothing more than to get out of here. But it would never go for a knight if Grust to turn tail on foes as cowardly and dishonorable as these. He'd sooner die in these tunnels than give in to that, and that thought spurred his feet forwards, deeper into the tunnels.

He'd been lucky to encounter the first bandit in a relatively open space inside the cave network, but every other bandit he ran into had been inside some narrow corridor or another. The young knight used his wiry frame to escape what bandits he could and smashed his boot heels, his shoulder, and the butt or blade of his sword into whichever ones he couldn't, all the while keeping his eyes alert for any sign of the golden hair his general bore. There seemed to be no end to the bandits besieging him, so when a hand suddenly grabbed him out of nowhere, his first instinct was to flail about in the direction of the offending arm. It was just as well that he'd bruised his right shoulder too much while rushing the bandits to react swiftly; that flagging retaliation afforded his brain enough time to recognize the one who'd accosted him as his missing general.

“Belf! What happened?” Camus demanded as he hauled him around.

"Couldn't see in the dark" was his only reply. The blonde could easily read between the words of that terse summation to find the embarrassed guilt underneath. How many times had he been careless already on just one mission?

The young knight thought he heard a sigh (or maybe he simply imagined one to fill the brief silence), but then Camus moved aside and wanted him on. "Let's keep moving," he instructed. "Keep behind me, and don't go wandering off this time."

"Yes, sir." Belf was only too happy to comply and scampered after the general, surreptitiously rubbing his aching shoulder along the way. He hadn't even known these tunnels existed before, after all; it would be far better for one experienced with them to lead instead.

In practice they were walking abreast more often than not, whenever the tunnels allowed. It occurred to Belf that the tunnels might be widening. They hiked perhaps a half-mile inward before his suspicions were confirmed and the path before them split in two. The young knight peered curiously down each fork, lingering longer on the left. "I could swear this one smells more of the ocean than the other..."

He did not know why he whispered the words when he did, but the sudden cacophony of metal on stone was answer enough. Perhaps half a dozen raiders suddenly rushed at them from both forks in the road.

"Didja really think you could escape?" one of them chortled. His axe spun vertically through the air before landing back in his meaty palm with a menacing thunk. "I'll be taking them pretty heads of yers after what ya did to the chief!"

How did they find out so fast?! he wondered. Had it been the two criminals he'd seen on the road whispering and pointing in their general direction before?

Belf whirled around towards the direction they had come from, only to find that two more foes were emerging from the depths, one carrying an axe and the other a dirk and shield. Drawing his own blade (lamentably without his shield), the young knight backed into the clearing a few steps before his back pressed against Camus's. It seemed they'd both had the same thought of banding together to avoid separation and defeat; but here again was a battle tactic he had yet to practice on the battlefield proper.

His eyes narrowed. Well, better now than later! Abruptly, he lunged forward, his blade darting straight out in front of him, nearly catching the lead bandit unawares. His adversary howled in pain as the sword pierced clear through his leather bracer to the vulnerable forearm muscles underneath, but Belf only regretted that he didn't hit near the sternum as he'd hoped.

He reunited with Camus in the center before lashing out once more, this time striking for the shield-man who had moved to protect his injured comrade. Concentrate, he told himself, the mental mantra pulsing in time with his strikes. Synchrony with your allies will win the day.

When next the general struck, Belf followed in short order. He swung his blade in a wide, low arc towards his enemy's trunk and shield, hoping to knock it out of his hands and so take back the advantage.

First Blood [Camus & Belf]

[perceptiveknight-blog]

redmessenger:

Lukas follows the man, stopping only to fill his water bottle and wait in line for hot water a few people behind him. He sits opposite to the man once he brings his cup to the table, folding his cane and tucking it away in his bag. The tea is easy to prepare and thankfully delicious (he wouldn’t know what to do if he didn’t like it and had to drink most of it out of politeness).

“Hmm? Oh, I’m sorry- it’s Lukas. High school level English teacher, once this school year ends and the next begins.” With a wry smile, he adds “I’m sure my father wishes I could introduce myself as a physician as well, but there’s not much he can do about that now.”

Lukas pauses to takes another sip of his tea, then goes on: “So what brings you to Rigel? Making a house call? Or taking a vacation? I’ve heard that many people come here to ski or snowboard or what have you.”

Belf couldn’t resist a grin when Lukas voiced his father’s wishes. “My own father was similar,” he remarked, amusement curling his words. “While I did obey him and pursue medicine, he didn’t count on me joining the military soon after. Those days are past now, but I would do it all over again if given the chance.”

His smile tightened as the memory of his general crossed his mind. If he could revisit his military days knowing then what he did now, would he have been able to find a way to keep their team together?

“So what brings you to Rigel?” Lukas asked, drawing him out of his thoughts. “Making a house call, or taking a vacation?”

“Neither, actually,” the brunette responded. “There is an emergency medicine physicians’ conference in northern Rigel that I’m flying out to. We’re supposed to be discussing new technologies and procedures in the field, as well as best practices. If I had my winter gear, I might want to come back, though, just to try out those winter sports the place is known for.” With a small laugh, he added, “Grust is a very hot country—hot and dry. We jokingly ask what snow is back home.”

The two share a moment’s mirth before Belf spoke again. “Where are you headed, Lukas? Is Rigel your final stop? Teachers’ conference to get ready for the new year, perhaps?”

Layover || Lukas and Belf

[perceptiveknight-blog]

Thread Check

Another thread check. Message or reply if you want to cancel our thread or if I forgot something.

If you happen to see this post anytime after I first post it, it may contain some “note to self” icons. “!” is returned to me (only in the Waiting on Partner section); “📝” is drafted; and “✔” is queued or posted. Any other notes are straightforward.

Waiting on Me:

Layover (with @redmessenger) ✔

Earn Your Wings (with @flowerfortunesandfaceplants)

Tourney (with @axecellent-paladin)

Chasing Unicorns (with @yatosmaiden)

First Blood (with @gradiivus) ✔ D:

Waiting on Partner:

Master and Pupil (with @gradiivus) D:

[perceptiveknight-blog]

SENTENCE STARTERS | EPISODE IGNIS

❝ A king pushes onward always, accepting the consequences and never looking back. ❞ ❝ I’m afraid…I must ask for your forgiveness… ❞ ❝ It’ll take more than a little seawater to defeat me. ❞ ❝ I need your help…I fear [NAME] is in danger… ❞ ❝ I made a promise to keep you safe, a promise I intend to keep! ❞ ❝ I’ll see what my men can do to assist you, but I cannot promise anything. ❞ ❝ It seems even the gods are on your side… ❞ ❝ Neither of us will escape with our lives if this fighting continues! ❞ ❝ Order a full retreat. I’m going in alone. ❞ ❝ How dare you address me with such impudence…Have you forgotten your place entirely?! ❞ ❝ Look: I’m just as worried as you are, but we can’t go losing our heads! ❞ ❝ You’d best get the civilians out of here while there’s still time! ❞ ❝ Look who it is! What could you be doing here of all places…? ❞ ❝ Surrender now, and I’ll ensure your end is as painless as possible! ❞ ❝ Once you’re out of the way, the ring will be all mine! ❞ ❝ You shall rue the day you defied me! ❞ ❝ Go on, beg for your life, just like your pathetic allies did! ❞ ❝ …How do I know I can trust you…? ❞ ❝ It seems you might be of use after all… ❞   ❝ You needn’t waste your time…They’ll be gone soon enough. ❞ ❝ Why turn against your comrades? Why now…? ❞   ❝ The paths we tread may differ, but the blood coursing through our veins is one. ❞ ❝ Is it safe to assume this means you’ll lend me a hand? ❞ ❝ Our interests may have aligned at this moment, but I have not allied myself with you. ❞ ❝ No ‘saviour king’ could possibly be born of such cowardice… ❞ ❝ I have not forgotten, nor have I forgiven. ❞ ❝ You’re resilient, I’ll give you that. ❞ ❝ You will be granted power to banish the darkness, but the blood price must be paid. ❞ ❝ Many sacrificed all for you, so now, it is you who must sacrifice yourself for all. ❞ ❝ What did I just see…? A vision of what’s to come? ❞ ❝ Stand in my way, and you too will meet the same fate: death! ❞ ❝ I understand the pain you must be feeling, but I’m not the one who did this to [NAME]! ❞ ❝ Don’t try to justify this! [NAME] didn’t need to die! ❞ ❝ I always knew that you would face your fate without fear, fulfill your duty without regret… ❞ ❝ Part of me always hoped that I might see you happy…Free to love who you please. ❞    ❝ You would have made a beautiful bride. ❞ ❝ Please don’t go…Please don’t leave me… ❞ ❝ Oh dear…Was I that transparent~? ❞ ❝ Come now…Why not follow your liege’s lead and stop resisting? ❞ ❝ Oh, what good is a world that only lets you down? Why not end it all here? ❞ ❝ Rather than follow this flotsam and float away to a watery grave, why not come with me? ❞ ❝ I swore an oath to stand with you and keep you safe. Whatever it takes, I will protect you! ❞ ❝ If you’re so keen on keeping [NAME] safe, I’d like to see you try! ❞ ❝ If you aren’t quick about it, you’re the one liable to wind up dead! ❞   ❝ Conserve your strength…You’ve a calling to fulfill. ❞ ❝ Perhaps it might be best if we brought our journey to a close… ❞ ❝ I will stand with you always and help you bear your burdens. ❞

[perceptiveknight-blog]

gradiivus:

Their blades clashed loudly as Belf met Camus’ and effectively halted the slash he had aimed for his his arm again. He held there for half a second, waiting for his pupil to give indication of his next move, and suddenly the blade retracted from his own, as did Belf himself, and then he slipped in close past Camus’ defenses. It was speed alone that spared Camus injury, as he twisted and sidestepped to parry Belf’s retaliation, but the breeze came suddenly through the new cut in his coat sleeve. As he had expected, Belf’s quick wit had discovered a weakness in his fencing style and sought to exploit it, almost successfully.

Almost, but not quite.

Camus did not waste time returning to his defensive stance, and instead transitioned his parry to counter, simultaneously knocking Belf’s blade downward and shooting out his left hand to grab him by the wrist. With a pivot, he dragged him close and bent his hand back to loosen his grip.

“Be careful of those who are military-trained,” he warned. “A battle between blades does not exclude the use of other methods to gain the upper hand.”

His blade caught on something; Camus retreated, and Belf felt a sudden wave of euphoria cascade over him. It had been a daring move on his part to dodge into the enemy rather than away, but it had paid off—no matter that he’d only managed to score the fabric of his general’s coat and not flesh.

The young knight hopped backwards and angled his blade across his chest in a ready stance, fully expecting the other man to likewise relax and catch his breath—but instead Camus reversed direction, abruptly punching his sword hand forward, the blade reversed so that his knuckles collided with Belf’s own. He moved too swiftly for Belf to react; and gods, it hurt, much more than he’d expected—

He saw the blade fall from numbed fingers as if they were someone else’s; but the general was already moving again. His left hand shot out, clamped around his left wrist with a viselike grip; he hauled him forth with a fluid spin, close enough that Belf swore he could feel the heat of his chest on his own.

And then the grip loosened; sensation flowed back to his fingers almost enthusiastically, like air to a drowning man. The both of them were still eye to eye.

“Beware of those who are militarily trained,” Camus warned. “A battle between blades does not exclude the use of other methods to gain the upper hand.”

Belf only flicked his gaze from Camus’s to their hands in response. He was well and thoroughly disarmed, and not by any tactic he had expected. It was his own fault he had forgotten to practice his grappling skills, he realized; that and being unexpectedly presented with so fine a gift had made him forget that there was more to swordplay than mere swords. His fine silver sword lay on the ground nearby in testament to that, as surely as Camus’s still hung, backwards-facing but firm, in his hand. (And even in this the general had been considerate, he noted—Belf had been so certain that the only way this would end was in injury to one or both of them.)

The youth bobbed his head in acknowledgment; stepped back and rolled his shoulders when Camus released him. He was surprised to find how much tension had built up there in so short a time; or maybe he simply needed to relax more while training.

“A solid win as always, General; I can’t even dream of besting you.” His last words were rueful, touched both with the admiration Camus must hear from everyone in Grust and the lingering memory of how close he’d come to scoring a hit. Within the Sable Order, spars and jousts were won by the first combatant to draw blood or disarm his opponent. Perhaps if he had pushed a little harder…

But then again, hadn’t the original point of this fight been to test his new blade, which Camus had so generously and so unexpectedly bequeathed to him? He advanced towards it now, picking it up and turning it over much as he had the moment he received it. Then he could not truly say he’d lost the fight, for he’d still gained something invaluable in accustoming himself to this more powerful weapon.

Belf smiled to himself as he sheathed his sword and crossed the short distance between him and the general. “Thank you for sparring with me,” he said as he clapped a hand on the other’s shoulder blade. “I definitely know this blade much better now—and your fighting style too. Though in that regard, sometimes I feel as if I never truly know the whole of it. But you don’t get to be general by fighting the same way every time, do you?” he added with a laugh before turning towards the mess hall. “But now I’m feeling famished again—what do you say we try and grab what’s left of the winter feast? Last one in forfeits the wine.”

🎁 - "There are few days that I am not grateful to fight alongside such a splendid knight. You have exceeded my expectations since the day that I took you under my tutelage, and I believe that the effort you have put into your training these few years deserves recognition. Please, I want you to have this. Allow this blade to serve you in the battles to come."

“General!” Belf’s eyes widened as he accepted the package Camus held out to him. Even covered, he could tell it was of fine make, the weight and distribution perfect for him even though the other had surely commissioned it without him present. Wonderingly, the younger knight unwrapped and unsheathed his rare gift; the cloth fell away to leave it gleaming silver in the firelight.

“A silver blade… I can’t believe it.” It seemed only yesterday that Belf had truly mastered the use of his old steel sword. Never had he expected to even touch one made of silver, let alone own it. “I don’t deserve something this fine,” he protested, looking up at him. “I’m still young and inept. Surely one of your fellow generals is more deserving?”

“No, I want you to have it. The effort you’ve put into your training deserves recognition.”

Belf thought he saw a paternal smile in those words that warmed him up inside. Were it his father standing there and not his general, he might have given the other man a hug. Instead, he stepped away from Camus and waved the sword about a few times slowly, almost reverently, accustoming himself to its deadly weight and power. The lingering surprise he felt at receiving such a fine gift did not change how right it felt in his hands… Which only made him feel guiltier at not having already managed to get something for the general in return.

“I’m afraid I don’t have anything for you in return yet, General,” Belf confessed, abashed, “but… Do you think you could spare the time to spar with me, so I can test this out in a fight?”

[perceptiveknight-blog]

// 3 for the meme?

Nothing. Nothing and everything felt different at once.

As Belf lifted himself out of his one-kneed, reverent kneel, his gaze fell upon the idol of Mila (as the goddess was known here in Valentia), so similar to benevolent Naga of his homeland Archanea, and he wondered again what he was doing here, praying to a different deity for a single ghost’s welfare when so many others lay ignominiously buried in shallow graves scattered across his own deity’s land. (Yet he knew his ‘ghost’ was hale and far from dead, but he’d disappeared after the wars like one all the same. Even now, he still wondered after all the reasons…)

The knight remained there a moment, standing, his auburn gaze not wavering from Mila’s as the faces of the fallen paraded through his mind - some Archanean, some Grustian, several others. Though he did not regret his choices thus far - following Camus, following Marth - it did not come without its own regrets, chief along them the worry that had he done more to avoid fighting them, their lives could have been spared. He remembered his old mentor Sternlin, returned from the brink with Khadein’s finest mages, screaming at him as they faced off in the second battle of Chiasmir: Traitor. You dare raise your sword against the land of your birth?

I turn my sword on my country that it may be born anew in peace, he’d answered. And the fight had ended with him ahorse and Sternlin painting the earth red; and yet with King Marth on the throne that should have been Nyna’s and Grust deprived of its sovereignty, had he really done right by his homeland? 

It was too much to think on even when he’d gone to the priory for the express purpose of delivering tardy elegies to the dead, and Belf turned away to continue exploring the northern reaches of this foreign continent, sister to his own. As he did, he caught a glimpse of teal hair atop a body too finely garbed for the priestesses here. Something about her bearing was familiar and it compelled him to walk closer so that their paths intersected. “Pardon me, miss,” he apologized, as if the near-collision was merely accidental.

As he backtracked a step, he quickly surveyed her form and realized the only similarity she bore to anyone he knew was in bearing - but any member of royalty carried that same aura within. Beyond that vague connection, she was a stranger to him and he was almost sorry to keep her. “Are you from around these parts?” he asked instead. Everything about this place was so vivid; perhaps that was the reason she was too. “Come to pay respects for someone dear?” His voice was lowered to avoid disturbing the priestesses still at work in here, though they stood near the door and could easily depart at need.

[perceptiveknight-blog]

nightfall

Thesun descended over the continent of Jugdral, and though he’d spent hours herealready, Belf felt as if he had barely scratched the surface of this land.Everything about it—its architecture, its people, even the flora and faunasomehow—seemed almost familiar to him, familiar yet much older; and yet thevery air was charged with magic unlike any he had ever felt back in Archanea. Never had the knight felt any whispers of the arcane; here, they reminded him of Princess Nyna and Sister Lena, two women touched by the gods, one to curse their name and the other to aid them in delivering salvation, and wondered if this storied land, then,was one where men could commune directly with them instead of throughritualized and sometimes blasphemed procedure. It could not be a common skill - the villagers he’d seen looked mundane enough - and common men did not enlist the aid of soldiers as foreign as him. So what did this one require of him, that only a foreigner could achieve?

Hiseye dropped to Leif’s back, watching as the other led him away to a location shrouded in night. Though he had a name and title, Leif had shared little else about himself or the task he’d summoned him here for. Nary an insect tittered from the surrounding bushes, and though he did not fear the silence by any means, Belf didn't relish the thought of wandering so far from civilization with foreign company in a foreign land.

“Pardonmy asking, Lord Leif,” he began, softly so as to not disturbthe quiet overmuch. “I know you required my aid for something important, but where andwhy are we headed exactly?”

[perceptiveknight-blog]

* (1) word prompts

send a number and i’ll write a prompt about the following!

wounded 

cold

silence

safety

hot

secret

bury

run

loss

nightfall

smile

hitchhiker

blood

laughter

disgust

wrath

remorse

cry

numb

alone

danger

food

matches

hallway

sunlight

forgotten

lie

sleep

scratching

soaring

power

winter

death

panic

insomnia

rain

myth

bury

gun

clown

cult

bug

creature

tire

lost

[perceptiveknight-blog]

Thread Check

Another thread check. Message or reply if you want to cancel our thread or if I forgot something.

Since I never left a note about it before: If you happen to see this post anytime after I first post it, it may contain some “note to self” icons. “!” is returned to me (only in the Waiting on Partner section); “📝” is drafted; and “✔” is queued or posted. Any other notes are straightforward.

Waiting on Me:

Layover (with @redmessenger )

Earn Your Wings (with @flowerfortunesandfaceplants )

Waiting on Partner:

First Blood (with @gradiivus ) !

Master and Pupil (with @gradiivus ) ✔

Tourney (with @axecellent-paladin )

Chasing Unicorns (with @yatosmaiden ) !

[perceptiveknight-blog]

gradiivus:

“The men who have passed us have all been moving in the same direction, toward the northwest, and they do not appear overly suspicious. Being an order of knights works to our advantage here - these thieves expect a brigade of horses on their heels.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a neatly folded map of Grust, which he held out for Belf to see. “You are right to believe that their hideout may be near the fane, as it lies northwest of here. But there are caves all throughout this area and we cannot waste time following a dead lead.”

Searching for understanding in his young knight’s face, Camus folded the map and returned it to his pocket. After all, if one woman had already been killed, who knew how many Harlow had imprisoned and prepared to kill at a moment’s notice. Every minute wasted could be another life.

Camus climbed into the saddle again and nodded toward the wrapped corpse riding Belf’s own horse. “We will see to her burial once we reach the fane, but we must disband Harlow’s group once and for all. Are you ready?”

Belf resisted at first when Camus shoved him further back into the woods, but was glad he complied when he saw the lone bandit pass close by. He had… never seen the cave networks the general claimed lay northwest of their present location, thanks in part to his having not yet taken on missions beyond the capital and its surrounding towns; but even if he were inclined to disbelieve the general, the map he unfolded lent credence to his claim. “So it isn’t ambush, but reconnaissance you wish to achieve,” he mused in a low voice. “And that, too, is better done with two men than twenty…”

The general nodded and, returning his folded map to his breast pocket, re-mounted his horse. Belf hastily followed suit, nodding once in reply to Camus’s question. “Yes, sir! I’m ready.”

(And for once today, he did actually feel ready, for with such a renowned general at his side, could he feel anything but invincible?)

The two knights trailed slowly after the injured raider, masking the crunch of their horses’ footfalls with the ambient sea and forest noise. Their quarry was more concerned with keeping his blood in his body than with keeping track of his surroundings, but as he approached the Fane of Raman, a dark figure emerged from behind the well to join him. The two stood and conversed near the well for several seconds (Belf thought he saw the newcomer pointing in their direction a few times and nudged his horse backwards a step) before finally resuming their trek—further west, towards the cliffs away from the fane.

Several yards of wild, grassy field separated the thicket in which they hid from the cliffs 100 meters above the sea. Belf’s hand dropped to his sword. Between it, the cliffs, and the sea, this was an excellent place to charge at the raiders and mow them down, but his effort would be wasted at best if they both ducked down into the grass and expose his position at worst. Even so, he’d had enough of this skulking about; and so the brunette dismounted his horse and squinted at the craggy cliffs, trying to determine which of their shadows concealed a cave.

Camus, however, was already moving towards the cliffs with the surety of one who’d seen or even entered them before, a hand on his hip to minimize the clanking of his sword. Belf hurried after him, but though he tried valiantly to keep the general in sight, Camus was simply more used to this crouching movement than he, and before long, the brunette lost him amongst the waving strands.

He dared not call out, lest he give away his position to the minimum two raiders elsewhere in this field, but he dared not stay still for fear of the same. Was he even still headed for the cliffs? Casting a glance about him for bandits (not that he’d be able to see them through the grass), Belf hastily reoriented himself and then resumed his slow advance… hoping that nothing around him could hear the rising thud of his heart.

(So much for feeling confident.)

Mercifully, he made it to within three meters of the cave-ridden cliff wall without being detected. The pockmarks he’d seen from afar had all steadily widened large enough to hold one or even three men standing side by side. The shadows in each were too deep for him to know which of these might contain an enemy bandit. After a few seconds (which dragged on too long in his mind), he resolved to try the closest one.

Still with his hand pressed to his sword, Belf edged into the stony tunnel. The sudden chill in the air hit him immediately, though the outside was made nearly as cold by the sea and the falling sun; and forcing himself to ignore the shivers coursing down his back like furtive mice, the youth advanced, straining his senses for any sign of hostile life, or that he was making a misstep.

The latter came far sooner than the former as his shoulder collided with something soft and decidedly not made of stone. Startled, he leapt back, but the damage was already done.

“Who’s there?!”

The angry shout echoed down the blackened cave walls, as did the ominous scrape of metal on metal, but the panicked knight was already answering the enemy weapon’s song with one from his own. He’d heard tales of veteran knights cowing their enemies with the mere sound of their weapons being drawn, but here and now, Belf was anything but. He drew his sword with the panic of a hunted bird, and it purely by chance that his wild swing happened to catch his enemy’s shoulder and dig deep.

Adrenaline stayed any revulsion he might have felt, yanking his bloodied blade out of the falling man as trailing black bloody droplets splattered his coat, and Belf fled deeper into caves suddenly boiling (at least to his paranoid ears) with noise, hoping the next man he met in these tunnels was an ally, not a foe.

First Blood [Camus & Belf]

[perceptiveknight-blog]

Is there anything you don’t understand about my muse?

❓ Go ahead and ask.

[perceptiveknight-blog]

gradiivus:

Camus watched his pupil, recognizing the look of concentration that had slipped onto his face, the sign that the gears were turning inside his head, testing, experimenting, figuring out how to use his new blade. Excellent.

While Belf was not the strongest of Camus’ trainees, he more than made up for it in his ability to pick up and master new skills quickly, to amass large amounts of information useful on and off the battlefield both, and sparring with his gift was no exception. When Belf recomposed himself and lunged again, the blade just barely grazed the front of Camus’ coat before he parried it and returned with a thrust of his own, aiming to knock his pupil back a few more steps.

The attack earned Belf a warm nod of approval, however. He was indeed learning quickly.

“You appear to be warming up quite nicely,” he observed, returning to his place of rest once more. “It is a good fit for you.”

The general parried with a vertical block, easily turning the younger knight’s blade aside with his greater strength before thrusting his sword forward. Such was Camus’s reach that Belf had to jump to the side to avoid being skewered upon the point. His heart raced at his near brush with serious injury, but he forced himself to think. It seemed that Camus deceived his foes with defenses kept close to his body before surprising them with a long reach amplified by the length of his sword. A difficult wall to break, for it combined the best aspects of pike- and swordplay, but even this had to have some weakness…

“You appear to be warming up nicely,” Camus observed, cutting across his thoughts. “It is a good fit for you.”

The words caught Belf off-guard (he was more used to being picked on for his slighter and less knightly build if he was acknowledged at all); he hesitated and was promptly punished by the sharp metal bite of Camus’s blade. A moment’s panic shot through him, and he retaliated with a wild swipe that caught nothing but air, for the general had already retreated beyond his reach to resume his defensive stance. Assaulting the general in that position would gain him nothing, so instead Belf imitated him, angling his blade diagonally in front of his body. “I am… not so sure about that,” he answered, eyes flicking down to his shoulder where he’d been struck. Somehow, the blade hadn’t come close enough to him to draw blood; and as he still had possession of his blade, he had not lost yet. Perhaps he should be glad that their sparring match wasn’t over; but he still didn’t know how to defeat Camus.

Earlier, he’d compared the general’s offense to a pikeman’s. Then like a pikeman, he had to be vulnerable to overextension, right? If he could somehow slip behind Camus’s offenses before he could retract his blade, perhaps he stood a chance of besting him…

But the general’s blade was already whizzing through the air; hurriedly, Belf tilted his own in anticipation of a block. It seemed that Camus would not wait for him to go on the offense this time.

🎁 - "There are few days that I am not grateful to fight alongside such a splendid knight. You have exceeded my expectations since the day that I took you under my tutelage, and I believe that the effort you have put into your training these few years deserves recognition. Please, I want you to have this. Allow this blade to serve you in the battles to come."

“General!” Belf’s eyes widened as he accepted the package Camus held out to him. Even covered, he could tell it was of fine make, the weight and distribution perfect for him even though the other had surely commissioned it without him present. Wonderingly, the younger knight unwrapped and unsheathed his rare gift; the cloth fell away to leave it gleaming silver in the firelight.

“A silver blade… I can’t believe it.” It seemed only yesterday that Belf had truly mastered the use of his old steel sword. Never had he expected to even touch one made of silver, let alone own it. “I don’t deserve something this fine,” he protested, looking up at him. “I’m still young and inept. Surely one of your fellow generals is more deserving?”

“No, I want you to have it. The effort you’ve put into your training deserves recognition.”

Belf thought he saw a paternal smile in those words that warmed him up inside. Were it his father standing there and not his general, he might have given the other man a hug. Instead, he stepped away from Camus and waved the sword about a few times slowly, almost reverently, accustoming himself to its deadly weight and power. The lingering surprise he felt at receiving such a fine gift did not change how right it felt in his hands… Which only made him feel guiltier at not having already managed to get something for the general in return.

“I’m afraid I don’t have anything for you in return yet, General,” Belf confessed, abashed, “but… Do you think you could spare the time to spar with me, so I can test this out in a fight?”