#c: percival

[domericstone]

| as he adjusts to his position as hand of the queen, domeric stone decides to meet with @percival-templeton. not really an old friend but an ever growing enemy in this game of thrones and jousting for position and status. |

What right did a bastard have to rise so high? That's what people whispered about him. That's what they said to him in that way they claimed to be polite, in a way they assumed he wouldn't understand and he supposed he couldn't blame them. They thought the height of his youth came from being fostered in the Vale and tricking them all. None ever wondered how it may have caused damage to the boy who found out his mother lost herself in the man that would be his father. Domeric didn't care to speak about finding out. None would understand how it felt to see a ghost stand before you hand you something, something real.

The man who would be sitting before him soon was never one Domeric could consider a friend, even when he was a Bolton. He didn't care to know why, he didn't try to learn the reasons. Those things were only important to the people that felt them. It wasn't that Domeric didn't understand the nature of dislike. He disliked many things. Hated the man that was supposed to be his father. He disliked a great deal about life none of it was enough to talk about. Enough to complain about.

"Lord Commander, have a seat." Domeric gestured to the chair as he walked around the desk and took a seat, opening the large book in front of him. There were men would be surprised to find that Domeric Stone enjoyed the odd occasion where he could gloat. It was a quiet gloating. A small desire to look down at the people who always stared down at him. Some thought he would be outcasted as a bastard but he was the same as a Bolton. The difference? Men were bolder when you didn't have a name.

"Tell me of the updates you intend on making regarding security around the King and Queen. After the attempt on the King's life I wish to not take any chances that someone may slip beyond your professional grasp."

[ravellaarryns]

who; @percival-templeton when and where: moments following ravella's conversation with merei rogare, ravella arryn remains within the tent when merei is escorted from it, following her identification of the attacker upon the life of king graham of hosue royce. ravella remains quiet for a few moments as the knights of the vale surrounding her converse with targaryen guards, before she raises her gaze to look upon the lord commander of the queensguard. with a silent understanding, the pair make their way out from the tent back into view of the tiltyard, the sound of clashing lances and the cheering of crowds seemingly drowning out the conversation shared between the pair.

the sounds of the cheers sounded distant compared the dull noise coming from the very back of her mind; she watched as lance smashed against lance with not the slightest bit of a flinch as the queen of the vale stood silently beside the lord commander of the vale, no doubt disassociating in the thoughts of her own mind. it felt like an eclipse, as the dawning realisation of what had happened seeped within her, orbs of ice falling upon the retreating figure of the lyseni woman who had been the one to explain the link. the true identity of the person that had attempted to take the life of an integral part of their realm; despite her dizzying levels of self-importance, the queen of the vale was also aware of the roles within their society.

in class, in position, and in gender; the marriage she had made legitimised her in more ways than one to the traditional gaze of the vale. there was no better choice following the weaker example of masculinity that was rowan arryn in the eyes of the falcon court.

there was an inhale, the smallest inclination that something was entirely weary within her; as though she was holding on to her composure by the weakest of threads. the eyes of the world would remain upon them in such a moment, courtiers were their beady gazes fleeting over to the sight of civilisation itself; two ancient andal bloodlines stood side by side, though her arms remained crossed over the bodice of her deep indigo corset, laced with thread of black and silver. there was no need to speak, for it was understood should the silence break too early, so would her composure; the lyseni had crossed the vale of arryn, and had crossed the wrong individuals.

they were not ruthless like the lions, nor were they cunning like the thorns; the very reality of it all was they were worst. the belief in their superiority made this all too personal an attack, and ravella finally found herself turning her gaze toward the man who towered beside her.

"ensure it is known there is to be a council meeting this evening." ravella commanded, her hands clasping together in fists as they folded beneath her arms: so blind in their fury they were to the fact that one of the rogare siblings had attempted to help them. ravella would rather set that olive branch aflame, for she believed them to all be the same; cut from the same cloth, jumpstarts who had severely forgotten their place on the great chain that was life itself. it appeared as though she had nothing more to say to lord templeton, and yet, she remained stood next to him.

"lys." she uttered, with a sense of disdain dripping her voice: the actions of their rulers had made an enemy of them this day. her tone implied disbelief, that they would even believe themselves worthy of being within the same vicinity as them.

her cousin had made a guest of them it appeared: seated comfortably within the stands. "this is a blatant declaration of war, lord commander." she uttered, for that was what it was. there was no way they could sail over the narrow sea to war on the lyseni by sea; but their influence was already in westeros, and it was in westeros they would face the consequences of their actions. "bring me our braavosi ambassador."

[hanzajesthanza]

Hello! For the "send a character" ask, could I request my favouritest guy Percival Schuttenbach? Or Lydia van Bredevoort, whichever you are more inclined towards :0

percival

send me a character and i will tell you my:

first impression

didn't care at first. you see from this long post that that changed

impression now

i find him utterly relatable... his excitement about metallurgy is just so special to me... and this bit, when he's too obsessed with admiring the technology that it doesn't register to him that he's being offered a drink for recreation, rather than being asked a question about how something works:

‘Moonshine,’ Zoltan corrected him gently. ‘And what moonshine! Try some, Percival.’ ‘But I’m not an expert in organic chemistry,’ the gnome answered absentmindedly, examining the details of the alchemical furnace’s construction. ‘It’s doubtful I would be familiar with the ingredients…’

favorite moment

it's a tie... my first-favorite moment is when percival and zoltan are showing sihill to geralt, and percival just keeps getting so excited about the technology behind the blade:

‘(...) my sihil’s blade was forged from a refined alloy containing graphite and borax…’ ‘It’s a modern technique!’ Percival burst out, a little excited, since the conversation was moving inevitably towards his field of expertise. ‘The blade’s construction and composition, numerous laminates in its soft core, edged with hard–not soft–steel…’ ‘Take it easy,’ the dwarf said, reining him in. ‘You won’t make a metallurgist out of him, Schuttenbach, so don’t bore him with details.

my second-favorite moment is when they're all freaking out about the alleged witch-girl allegedly cooking her cat in a stew, and percival points out that the cat is sitting right there... and he specifically points out the cat, using his own vocabulary:

‘It’s a shame about that cat,’ Percival Schuttenbach suddenly said in a loud voice. ‘It was a fine beast, sleek and fat. Fur shining like anthracite, eyes like two chrysoberyls, long whiskers, and a tail as thick as a mechanical’s tool! Everything you could want in a cat. He must have caught plenty of mice!’ The peasants fell silent. ‘And how would you know, Master Gnome?’ someone asked. ‘How do you know what the cat looked like?’ Percival Schuttenbach cleared his nose and wiped his fingers on a trouser leg. ‘Because he’s sitting over there on a cart. Right behind you.’ The peasants all turned around at once, muttering as they observed the cat sitting on a pile of bundles. The cat, meanwhile, utterly unconcerned about being the centre of attention, stuck a hind leg up in the air and got down to licking his rump.

idea for a story

i want to know about him and the grail... that was a fun joke from sapkowski, pointing out his namesake, but i want to know about this...

‘A cup…’ Percival Schuttenbach jabbered. ‘A goblet, I mean… Carved from a single piece of milk opal… This big. I found it on the summit of Montsalvat. Its rim was set with jasper and the base was of gold. A sheer marvel…’ ‘Don’t give him any more spirits,’ Zoltan Chivay said. ‘Hold on, hold on,’ Dandelion said, becoming interested, also slurring his words somewhat. ‘What happened to that legendary goblet?’ ‘I exchanged it for a mule. I needed a mule, in order to transport a load… Corundum and crystalline carbon. I had… Err… Lots of it… Hic… A load, I mean, a heavy load, couldn’t have moved it without a mule… Why the hell did I need that goblet?’

unpopular opinion

it's easier to avoid antisemitic caricatures when drawing gnomes than people think... though this is a complaint i've had for-just-about-ever, that artists need to be more aware of racial/ethnic caricatures so they don't replicate them in their work

another unpopular opinion maybe since i've seen no one's opinion on this yet, but i hate his voice in the chrzest ognia audiodrama, oh my lord...

favorite relationship

asides from his friendship with zoltan, i think his potential friendship with regis would be really fun. my intense special interest-having guysss... my mule-owning guys... nerds <3

another favorite moment, between them:

At the sight of the stove Percival Schuttenbach first stared goggle-eyed, then gaped, and finally sighed and leapt up in the air. ‘Ho, ho, ho!’ he called, unable to conceal his delight. ‘What do I see? That’s an absolutely authentic athanor coupled to an alembic! Equipped with a rectifying column and a copper condenser! A beautiful apparatus! Did you build it yourself, master barber-surgeon?’ ‘Indeed,’ Emiel Regis admitted modestly. ‘My work involves producing elixirs, so I have to distil (...)’

favorite headcanon

ern's design for him is the bestest and most supreme in my opinion

---

lydia

send me a character and i will tell you my:

first impression

also didn't care at first. and you see again from this long post that that also changed

impression now

i already wrote a little bit on how lydia and rience are the "as above, so below" between vilgefortz's reveal as antagonist, but:

i think lydia's relationship with vilgefortz and the way he treated her was the first sign, actually a bigger sign than more 'obvious' things like his repeated phrases, research of the elder blood, and attempted tracking of yennefer..., the first and biggest sign that vilgefortz was a bad, bad person.

his way of treating lydia is to use her as a tool, an assistant who will serve him blindly and literally not say a word against him. in other words, total control.

‘Have you ever wondered what happened when Bekker forced the water to gush from the rock? It’s generally put very simply: Bekker tamed the Power. He forced the element to be obedient. He subdued nature; controlled it . . . What is your relationship to women, Geralt?’ ‘I beg your pardon?’ Lydia van Bredevoort turned with a whisper of silk and froze in anticipation. Geralt saw she was holding a wrapped-up painting under one arm. He had no idea where the picture had come from, since Lydia had been empty-handed a moment before. The amulet around his neck vibrated faintly. Vilgefortz smiled. ‘I enquired,’ he repeated, ‘as to your views concerning the relationship between men and women.’ ‘Regarding what respect of that relationship?’ ‘Can obedience, in your opinion, be forced upon women? I’m talking about real women, of course, not just the female of the species. Can a real woman be controlled? Overcome? Made to surrender to your will? And if so, how? Answer me.’

the way it is introduced all makes sense, then:

Everyone knew that Lydia van Bredevoort was in love with Vilgefortz of Roggeveen, that she had loved him for years with a silent, relentless and stubborn love. The wizard, it is to be understood, also knew about this but pretended not to. Lydia made it easier for him by never betraying her feelings to him – she never took the slightest step or made the slightest gesture, transmitted no sign by thought and, even if she could speak, would never have said a word. She was too proud. Vilgefortz, too, did nothing because he did not love Lydia. He could, of course, simply have have made her his lover, tied her to him even more strongly and, who knows, maybe even made her happy. There were those who advised him to do so. But Vilgefortz did not. He was too proud and too much a man of principle. The situation, therefore, was hopeless but stable, and this patently satisfied them both.

vilgefortz knew she was too proud to ever say anything, so he used her love for him to control her.

favorite moment

we don't see it happen, but the attack and then suicide she commits to buy time for vilgefortz is the most tragic thing...

‘How did it happen, Radcliffe?’ asked Triss, withdrawing her hand from the gilded haft of the dagger which was embedded beneath Lydia’s sternum. ‘How could it have happened? This was supposed to be bloodless!’ ‘She attacked us,’ muttered the sorcerer and lowered his head. ‘She attacked us as Vilgefortz was being escorted out. There was a scuffle . . . I have no idea . . . It’s her own dagger.’

idea for a story

the way she lost her face...

Four years ago, on Vilgefortz’s – her master’s – recommendation, Lydia had taken part in experiments concerning the properties of an artefact found amongst the excavations of an ancient necropolis. The artefact turned out to be cursed. It activated only once. Of the five wizards taking part in the experiment, three died on the spot. The fourth lost his eyes, both hands and went mad. Lydia escaped with burns, a mangled jaw and a mutation of the larynx and throat (...)

i'd like to explore how vilgefortz manipulated her while she was recovering, espousing (manufactured?) grief and regret, enough to keep her feeling that he cares for her...

unpopular opinion

sometimes characters are just devices to show something about another character. this is the case with lydia and vilgefortz.

favorite relationship

tissaia and lydia's friendship...

Lydia van Bredevoort, delicately conjuring up a tiny flame between her thumb and index finger, lit the candles in the candelabras. Tissaia saw traces of oil paint on her hand. She filed it in her memory so later, after supper, she could ask the young enchantress to show her her latest work. Lydia was a talented artist.

favorite headcanon

lydia was intelligent enough to guess what vilgefortz had planned. she knew, in the back of her mind, how wicked he was, she had figured it out. but was too loyal to him to reveal anything.

[malcontentswanns]

who: @percival-templeton where: the office chambers of wylliam swann, separate to his chambers within the tower of the hand because the man refused to change offices lol

"i think it makes sense for…" wylliam swann's voice trailed off as he paced the office space, his arms folded behind his back as he attempted to think through what to say. "it makes sense for…" the king had told him he needed to speak more assertively and have faith in his capabilities, and yet, he had no idea of how to go about negotiating for a bride. whilst his extension of a betrothal had been accepted by the lady in question herself, this was the first time wylliam was speaking with her male guardian personally on the matter. how did he ask, without seeming as though he were begging? how did he ensure he was being respectful, without seeming dismissive and blunt of the man's position in his sister's life? and finally, how was he supposed to look at the man in the eye without thinking of the recent scandal.

it were impossible to look at any of those pamphlets and not see something written about the knight of ninestars, whether it be about his failed betrothals, his sudden apparent interest in a stark princess, or what wylliam himself never dared mention to anyone - the incident in the inn. things were exaggerated, and wylliam knew jaehaerys taking power meant he had enemies that needed to be weeded out: paired with his close association with the proud greens in the west, it was a match for an inferno. or perhaps percival truly was a sleaze that was able to sleep with anything in reach. surely not - his sister was not like that, and it were obvious they were a good family.

"lady templeton is very kind, and i only wish to do right by her…" he stopped, looking at the parchment in his hand. he had noted down some ideas on what to say. nothing seemed to feel right. he scrunched it up in his fist, throwing it into the hearth, watching it burn.

and then the door knocked, and wylliam turned to greet the knight of ninestars personally, opening the door rather quickly after the initial knock. this was all quite informal by his own request, and therefore the guards had been moved further away. he looked upon the tall figure of the knight of ninestars, feeling his throat close slightly. he looked at him, and thought only of the queen speaking to him over a table in an inn. no, it were exaggerated - an attempt to undermine the new king. "my lord." wylliam spoke. he had not meant to sound like he were exclaiming, but his discomfort was apparent. he was not nervous, no - his fumbling around came as a result of not knowing how to word this. and because of all the scandal.

"come in. it is good to speak in person about everything. about time." wylliam added, before trailing off. the man had been burned by a dragon. seven hells. "because you have been…busy." should he engage in small talk, or should they delve straight into the matter? should he ask him how it felt for his side to melt into his breastplate? should he ask him about the inn? should he ask him whether he had seen the dragon king? no. no no, none of that. straight to business it is, for valemen seemed stern. as stiff as sheep. "marriage. between your sister. and me."

[rememberences]

who: @percival-templeton when and what: flashback to the discovery of nettles having a dragon, aka this thread. thank you tumblr, you still are truly not shit

there was always the slowing down of the world around them upon dawning realisation: even if the world was as high above the ground, where their feet should have been touching the toil they were instead closer to the gods than their fellow humans. the mountains of the moon were treacherous, despite how beautiful the sky looked from up here. and what he saw, was a cursed sight: a single knight returned, the knight of ninestars, returned from the cave. and if there had been an ambush, he would have been expecting to see a bloody blade, he would have expected to see more blood. the signs of massacre.

instead, what he saw was ash: the burning of soot, what should have been left within the embers. the man's face was black, and it took one look at his side to know what had happened. what truly lay within the mountains of the moon. there clansmen were not the only beasts within the caves.

in the moments before the burning torches came back into view, the king consort found himself looking upon the constellations within the darkest of the night sky, wondering whether there were any looking down upon them. the conditions were treacherous, and the air; none would understand just how hard it was to simply breathe this far above the rest of the world. the way the chest tightened, or how the head became dizzy. it were important for soldiers not to overly exert themselves. humans did not belong here. they behaved more like shadowcats, creeping along the range in the darkest of the night.

so much of what they done within the vale of arryn was so firmly rooted down to concepts of legacy and history, of stories told orally long before quill was ever put to parchment. and he believed in it, entirely: as much as they were to modernise, as much as they needed to try and view matters less conservatively, it were important to remember what they were. a land where the first men and the andals had blended, and resulted in the culture and the traditions they had today.

would they ever be able to rebalance the scales that had been devastatingly unbalanced long before rowan arryn had met his end? should graham royce, as hand of the king then, have stepped forward and done what he done long before he actually did? would that have stopped what felt like a reckoning, a rapture, from befalling the people of the vale. from the mountains of the moon to the sisters, they were his to preserve. had he done so?

the sight of percival templeton was a wretched one; the sight of ruined, molted armor was unheard of, unless for one thing. one specific thing, that would be able to melt soldiers as though they were nothing waxen candlesticks: it was molten to him. but they could not allow it to harden and solidify against his skin, whilst the molten would be excruciating, it was able to be slid off. skin would be sliced off too. there was no way percival templeton would be able to sleep entirely through what was to happen, but the knights of the vale knew what needed to be done in this situation. men needed to be held down, lest their kicking and screaming and instinctual reaction to move result in more skin being shredded off his side.

graham royce removed his own tunic from his back, which he had only recent changed into: better this, than to put some dirty old dishcloth into the man's mouth for him to bite onto. "bite onto this." graham spoke, his highland accent wrapping around each word as he handed it to him - he would not force it within the man's mouth like a muzzle. not his own.

"they'll have to hold you down, and i'll get it off. do you understood?" his mind thought back to the situation which was just like this during the war. he remembered the sound of rowan arryns screams. his dark grey orbs looked over toward his unused blade, which was being put into the flames to avoid infection; he prayed it were soft enough for him to cut around the skin that remained trapped with it.

they both knew it would hurt. they both knew the pain in itself could kill him. the shock. and yet still, the knights of the vale were a brotherhood: they had clustered around the knight of ninestars, one holding a bucket of cold water from their collection, one with freshly dried towels, another with fresh bandages as they knew they would need to cover the wound immediately. and they waited to hold their brother down, waited for his word. there were no questions of what caused this. no questions at all. one priority.

[anastacia-templeton]

who: @percival-templeton where: after announcing her engagement to wylliam swann, anastacia sought out her brother to discuss the happy news.

after having left the wedding in highgarden with a bethrotal of her own, anastacia just could not hold in her excitement. after many attempts at begging the lord lefford's hand with no whisper of hope, she found herself afraid to be stuck in a cycle of despair as her own lady mother. the banging, annoying noise of her mother's ugly voice rang in her head that she was worth absolutely nothing but a common lord, not like someone like lord swann. the whole ride home, anastacia felt like she was floating amongst the stars as one would in the throes of young love. of course, the only person that came to mind that she dearly wished to tell was percival. to gush about the details with him. as much as her brother detested such talk, anastacia gave not a care in the world. wylliam had a charm about him that she couldn't truly place; something always brought her back to the small talks they had at the celebration and she could only dream how wonderful their own wedding might be. anastacia knew she was being extremely ridiculous and petulant, a trait that she was ceaselessly reminded of, but it was every girl's dream to plan their own wedding.

thankfully, lord swann wouldn't have to know her dark secret, and neither did percival need to know. the clicking of heels in the corridors of the halls was quick, swiftly making her way towards her brother's room before she swung the door's open, her hair wild after having to hurry to see him after the whole thing. "percy!" she exclaimed, her face lit up with extreme joy, her gloved hands flying to her cheeks and her blue orbs lit with a brightness she hadn't felt in a while. "can you believe it?! lord swann asked me to be his betrothed!" of course, she knew percival could care less; he was always a very serious man in comparison to his sisters, but she hoped that he could find some way to grasp the purity of her excitement. "i must tell elinor, oh, she'll be so excited."

anastacia took a beat to realize how childish she might've sounded, even for her grown age, and it made her clear her throat. "sorry." she quietly apologized as she smoothed out her dress with her gloves, now looking straight ahead at percival, searching his face for disapproval. "do you think mother would be proud of me?" there went the childish voice she absolutely detested, but it was a true question. the relationship between herself and their late mother was awful, but maybe percival could give some sort of reprieve to her swirling thoughts.

[lyxchee-art]

Idk if I did this accurately

[claudefrollosreddiamondring]

They so would all be best friends and do the funniest shit ever together #besties fr

[feel-the-fire]

More Disney Villain wallpapers! Please like or reblog if you use! 🖤❤️

[harusuki]

the legend of vox machina gifset per episode season 2 episode 10: the killbox

patreon

[blorbologist]

Hot take, apparently, but

a) Percy's hair in TLOVM isn't that bad. It's simple and effective and the built-in shading really helps give dimension to his head. And, more importantly...

b) consider that in the earlier concept art, he does have cool hair. So the hair he ended up with was a conscious choice by Taliesin and Phil Bourassa (and any other artists involved in the process).

Look. He went from this...

... to this:

It doesn't seem all that easier to animate (and if Percy being a pain in the ass was an issue, wouldn't the simplified coat/etc. already accomplish that?), but the main thing that stands out is how much younger it makes Percy look.

Which, y'know, is important, given S1 focuses on his trauma suffered as a teenager. Which was not all that long ago.

He is young, the second youngest of Vox Machina! And a core part of Percy's character is that, despite thinking he and Vex are the only adults in the room, he is not nearly as mature as he thinks he is. Which is also apparent in his more silly moments in S2, which are also complimented by the more boyish hairstyle.

Percy shouldn't be taken too seriously, which I think is emphasized by how much Taliesin makes a point to underline his flaws and bully the character when he can. With the gunslinging and shock-white hair and cool coat and shadow demon and a castle to put it all in, he's already bordering on too cool; making him look like a stud when he's really just a nerd would make it harder to pull off comedic moments with him. On top of emphasizing the horror of what happened to him at the hands of the Briarwoods and Ripley; he's still so young.

And as an audience we need to be reminded of that when he's pulling off a cool pose or trying to flirt with Vex or getting all raspy with the Orthax voice.

Anyways, art is subjective, but Percy as a character walks the fine line between 'coolass anime protagonist' and 'cringefail nerd' and I think the artists and Taliesin knew what they were doing refusing to let him be too #badass or #hot when he's an early-mid twenties nerd wailing that he's very flammable and sniffling pathetically after giving a girl he coat.

[houseofmouselove100]

Goofy decides to ask if they have seen any costumed villains but to no avail.

Goofy didn't know

that the evil queen was dressed as an old woman

Ursula was Vanessa

Pain and panic being the children who deceived Hercules

Everyone was seen accusing and arguing so the best solution was to lock up all the villains but after a small blackout the villains were disappeared.

[ravellaarryns]

who: @percival-templeton​ (semi-flashback thread) where: the eyrie, prior to the departure of the vale court to travel to the reach. this is set some days following the union of queen ravella arryn and lord graham royce, thus rising his station to becoming king consort. 

the knight of ninestars had risen rapidly following the downfall of the falcon king, his wings being plucked from him by the man she now took to her bed: perhaps there was a part of her that should be struggling to fuck the man that murdered her own brother in cold blood, and yet, there was nothing. the days following the wedding continued to be busy, for the amount of courtiers that were within the eyrie were higher in number than usual, awaiting a change in the system: awaiting to see who would rise, and who would fall. 

what positions would go to who, and how different this new realm would look in regards to the political structure of the court. a new age had begun.

and the first of many changes happened during this ancient ceremony of the eyrie, under hues of blue and purple through the stained glass. to look beyond that stained glass was to see only the white of clouds, and if it was quiet enough, one could hear the sound of alyssa’s tears. in the distance came the sound of the choir, singing andal hymns: for this was entirely an andal ceremony, specifically for the man in question. 

“arise, ser percival templeton, the knight of the ninestars.” her voice came harsh and strong, echoing from the chambers of the eyrie’s great hall; she stood before him clad in silks of purple and blue, an amethyst diadem atop raven curls. to look upon them would be to look upon the image of vale excellence - of andal civility. they were truly higher than honour. “i name thee lord commander of the queensguard, and second in the charge of the realm’s knights of the vale.”

there came the tip of his very blade; the blade he had used to gain such a position. she knew he as there the moment her brother’s bleeding corpse cracked against the marble. her hand was extended; there was the arryn ring which was to be kissed, a symbol of gratitude and acceptance for the rise in station. it is said the templetons could raise a thousand men - something she would need for what was yet to come. “may the seven of new and the seven of old grant you strength in your service.” 

[kissentz]

i love silly crying men

[voidv3ssel]

Morning Discussion

Long time coming! A complete Gravity Falls comic featuring my oc Percival Phox. I wanted to do something for the Book of Bill, and out of the both of them, Percy would be the one to read it. He would not let Ford even touch it. That triangle has done enough to them both, but it will be a cold day in Hell before Percy let's Bill hurt Stanford again.

Of course, Ford isn't happy with Percy putting himself on the front lines either. Though they can both agree that the book will NOT get into anyone else's hands. Least of all the kids.

[rememberences]

who: @percival-templeton where: the camp within the mountains of the moon in which a concentrated number of the knights of the vale are stationed. it is incredibly early into the hours of the morning; the sun still yet to rise. and yet, all were entirely on edge.

graham royce was not within the makeshift camps and tents that had been set up to provide some shelter for a king. he remained sat beside the flickering fire with the other knights of the vale, the only limited source of light: it were important light was scarce and minimal, should it attract any unwanted attention. the men returning from the scouting mission would be holding burning torches to help them navigate the treacherous paths, as needed. but the men awaited for them, remaining around the fire to provide some sense of warmth. the skies were impressive above them, the night sky which showed him more stars than he had ever seen before.

even breathing was different this far into the clouds, which they too had begun to climb above the clouds. air came shorter and harder, especially in those days where they needed to walk and push further in. and the cold. the cold came in the night, and it was bone chilling: the same shivering chill that came in the heart of the wintery north just some months ago. it were unnatural for a royce of runestone to be so far into such terrain: it was unnatural for any man to be so far into these circumstances. they were playing with life and death itself in this moment, exposed entirely to the elements: if it were not the risk of the cold killing them, or the wind resulting in mountainous, devastating sweeps of rock to crush them, it would be nature.

indeed, he remembered the eyes of the shadowcat he had made eye contact with: startling green eyes amongst the rocks, as the sun sunk below them.

and now came the part of these days that filled all the men with dread: those hours of complete darkness. and yet, it needed to be done in these hours of complete darkness: with the help of the high commander, whose experience and months within these ranges ensured he would be able to direct the men on how to step, how to navigate, how to climb, they would push further into the cave system which they suspected held the heart of what had been plaguing their realm for what felt like the entirety of history. those who had refused to bend the knee to support his own knee: there was something almost chilling to know it were a bronze king and high commander who had come to emerge from the shadows once again.

graham royce was not within the makeshift camps and tents that had been set up to provide some shelter for a king. he remained sat beside the flickering fire with the other knights of the vale, the only limited source of light: it were important light was scarce and minimal, should it attract any unwanted attention. the men returning from the scouting mission would be holding burning torches to help them navigate the treacherous paths, as needed. but the men awaited for them, remaining around the fire to provide some sense of warmth. the skies were impressive above them, the night sky which showed him more stars than he had ever seen before.

he cared not for the stars. he cared for the situation they had found themselves in: no longer did they wait to meet savages upon the long open road. they had found themselves within their lands, within the scope of their own lands, and it were numbing to think of how they had ended up in this very position. there came the sound of rocks as soldiers walked, careful; knowing there could always be something in the darkness that surrounded them. and then came the sight of a single burning torch returning, the sight in itself being enough to cause graham to rise from his seat on a rock. he had practically flew over rocks, coming down with a poof of dust to move closer to who was approaching.

there were meant to be three torches. there was only one.