#knighteclipsed

[justicefanged]

if you can put this in your mouth without breaking it i might be impressed🥚

Not unlike the time Linus had approached Valter with the challenge of an onion, the man -- still looking as gutter-lingering as before -- was coming at him with his own challenge.

Ha! As if something so simple would make Linus back down! Tch, "might be impressed" -- oh, he was going to be sooooOoOoOooo impressed! Not that...Linus gave a shit what Valter thought. This was purely about winning, and getting to shove it in the guy's weird face!

Linus swiped the egg with little preamble, confidence written into the smirk on his face. "Like this is the biggest thing I ever had in my mouth," he barks out, flipping Valter the bird with his free hand before popping the egg into his mouth. And, at first, everything seemed fine and dandy! But somewhere between trying to shift the egg around with his tongue and secure it with his teeth, there was a pretty damning crunch.

Hm...slimy.

But Saints be damned if he was going to spit this out in front of Valter's triumphant skeeziness.

So, with a very, very tight expression on his face, Linus chewed.

CRUNCHCRUNCHCRUNCH

And then swallowed the whole mess down with a quick and fiery, "Fuck you!" before turning on his heel to stomp away.

[princessmacedon]

He scarcely looked upon the bulletin board, save for finding out when the armory had new items, and still, he did not find out about the occasion from there. That said, she was a well-liked girl, — it wasn't uncommon to hear others speak fondly of her, — and it was by the latter method that Valter came to learn of Maria's birthday.

But that's not the focus here.

A hand taps her shoulder in passing, revealing to be a knight, — perhaps familiar, perhaps not, — extending out to her an open-top box containing a glass jar of herbs: a multitude of little flowers and a wild mop of leafage like unto carrots.

"Was told to give it to you." (They walk off.)

Beneath the jar, obscured by placement, would be a note card, a message written in by a fine hand:

I was once told they were good for fevers—also that you could use them in a compress. You could imagine my surprise to see them much closer to the monastery.

It has never been uncommon for Maria to find pause as she moves from place to place (how else was she supposed to find out that the benefit to being early was that when you were late, you were on time?). A busy bee was she, sometimes the stopper, sometimes the stoppee... sometimes halted by happenstance, by the birdsong or the rustling trees -- there was much to marvel at in this world, and many and more ways to catch and be caught by others.

Today more so than most other days; thus when a passerby taps her on the shoulder, she does not find it so strange. When she turns only to have a jar foisted into her hands and a message succinctly delivered ere they... ah, pass her by, it becomes a little more uncommon. Most surreptitious gift-givers tended to deliver their presents to her doorstep -- this, by comparison, certainly feels new! Almost as if she is the princess of a country in a way that matters, her power resting not with the fetters she becomes for others, but the secrets held in her hands!

How interesting it is, and fun! And her 'secrets' are rather pretty. Maria recognizes them at once, flipping the card in haste to confirm her suspicions. So they are confirmed, not with a name, but a knowing: undoubtedly, it is from Valter! Ares of that same day's company, she imagines, would be much more forthright... but then again, neither had she imagined Valter would give her a birthday gift. Maria giggles, and calls out:

"Thank you very much!"

(Perhaps he is listening, perhaps not.)

[justicespeared]

❤️

"Hmm, I dunno, you seem a little bloodthirsty. But I do like your lancework. Ooh, this is a toughie." She circles around him, then stops. "Hm. Nah. But I do wanna learn from you!"

[justices-blade]

a hazy memory

✧ meme-ories!

cw // death, neglect, abuse

It's spring. The Missus is dead. It's good that she died in spring, he thinks, because if it were autumn or winter, they'd really be doomed. More hooks would go empty, coats without owners stowed away for the next ones to grow into them. Spring means it'll keep being warm for a while. But spring is when people sow — It's far from reaping season, promising only an unstable outlook on Daein's cracked and dry soil.

It's obvious that chaos follows.

Some older kids tried to fill the empty space the Missus left behind in different ways — There's a boy and a girl who really worry about the really little ones, but there's also a gaggle of three that only care about who's holding the cane. The Missus at least only walloped you when you were bad. One of the kids was the same. The other two didn't care.

Not that anyone ever really was sure of what being bad was.

He doesn't remember a lot of those days, doesn't remember how long they lasted or why. He remembers their chores being thrown left and right but noone knowing what exactly the Missus-only-chores were. He remembers a kid they found in the closet with the working lock, forgotten by the Missus and everyone else to boot — Number twenty-one. She's dead too. He remembers it's hard to dig graves in the middle of Nevassa, so they put the Missus into the closet with her. He remembers the snitch trying to run off to snitch. The two kids with no sense and the canes threw him in with the Missus and twenty-one. He's still alive and snot-nosed when they fish him back out. He isn't a week later. The three of them are stinking up the place something fierce.

Most of the kids try to stay in the house — Convinced it's safety, convinced it'd keep giving them food and shelter. But one by one, the hooks start going empty, anyways — Craftier kids taking their coats, stealing from the pantries before they leave, taking blocks and blankets and pillows and little packs and leaving the rest with less and less. Sometimes folk from the neighbourhood come and knock and ask questions and the older kids pretend the Missus isn't dead in the closet with seven and twenty-one.

It's spring. The Missus is dead. It's good she died in spring, because that's the best time to get orphaned for real, because it gives you enough time to learn how to be an orphan before the hard months set in. So Finch and ████ slip away, too. What else are they supposed to do? It's obvious that the kids who dip first get the most out of it.

The Missus is dead. They don't need to follow her anymore, so they don't.

[nagaficat]

♡

if deirdre gives the child a jul- name it better be a good one. or valter will not be calling them that they're gonna be called the name of some god of war or smth instead.

My first primal thought was name him Juul but I cannot name a child after a vape so he's going to be just Jul.

This kid is Trouble. He has the soft, gentle, innocent features of his mother but do not let his looks fool you. Personality wise he takes much more after his father sorry to the world. He is so spoiled with a mom who feels too bad telling him no and pair that with Valter's general Valterness and well just do that math.

He gets away with so much because he will do the Puss in Boots begging face and you just have to question why you were ever upset with him. He knows how to use his sweet face to his advantage and has been doing it ever since he could talk.

He shares his father's hair and eye color but otherwise you take one look at him and he is a Deirdre clone. His hair leans more curly than wavy and he wears it cut short but still slightly long enough that the curl is still clearly featured. He thinks this adds to his air of innocence (it does).

Inherits his mother's major Naga blood and has incredible natural talent with staves especially. He is so so good at healing but he is not doing it out of the goodness of his heart you owe him a favor if he decides to help you out.

[optimismxmagicism]

☆ lol

“You look perfectly flammable to me, wanna test it out? I’ll make sure there’s nothing but cinders left of you. I’m sure with your unique personality absolutely nobody will miss you. ❤️”

[viridescent-lance]

🍪 (i'm so sorry but it's hilarious i think)

(feel free to ignore though dsjgnsfjkgnd)

Forsyth is not one to back down from a challenge. The Pocky Game is an entirely inconsequential, minor challenge, and a paramount rule of the game is that you can deny requests with no blowback. Forsyth respects this wholeheartedly.

But even when Valter comes up to him with a biscuit stick in tow, unnerving smile plastered on his lips, Forsyth does not consider the option to vacate. He is a man of honor, and a man who will not back down.

Even from...this.

"I accept your challenge, Sir Valter!" Forsyth takes a deep breath, swallowing as he watches the other man's facial journey. Is Valter doing this just to vex him? Does he find it fun? Forsyth does not wish to give him the satisfaction, and hopes he has stonewalled his face well enough.

Their eyes meet as the distance grows shorter, neither man willing to give up. Forsyth feels regret building in his stomach, but he must wash it down with stubborn resolve. If he goes fast enough, if he's aggressive enough, than maybe--

-CLACK-

Oh, he could just knock his teeth and nose against Valter's. That's an option. The tiny remaining piece of pocky falls to the floor, and Valter looks...too satisfied, for what's occurred. Perhaps it's because of the blood Forsyth tastes in his mouth--he's not sure whose it is, but.

Is there protocol for when a game ends like this? Forsyth really would like to end this interaction, but he's concerned that a rule has been broken. Who would even count as being at fault here, though?

Quickly, he drops to the ground, disregarding his penchant for cleanliness and consuming the last crumb. There. That must count as victory, right?

Yet, it feels less so like that the way Valter's reacted to him...truly, there is no winning with this man, except in morality.

[fluxrspar]

if that could be.

a drabble: for selena’s birthday this year, preceding this. word count: 711 words

It was uneventful, all things considered—not that Selena was surprised to realize that. Though a big deal could be made out of birthdays, they did not erase the necessity for work to be completed: tomorrow would come, and she would deal with the consequences of today. As such, she was in her office as per usual, tending to her assignments–

A knock at the door. She would much rather open it herself, but in the interest of maintaining her workflow: “Come in.”

The door opens, and there is a shift in the air—even before she looks, the Fluorspar recognizes who it is. A ghost of a man:

Valter.

Eyes move up to meet his; moons sparkle as he says: “ Did you miss me? ”

Of course it’s him. (‘Of course’?) Actually, it would make infinitely more sense for him to be anywhere else: Magvel, causing more havoc; some other continent, doing the same. Selena can hardly believe the king of Renais chose to study here with this man around—then again, perhaps Ephraim didn’t care. Clearly, he and his allies must’ve beaten the Moonstone before.

“What are you doing here?” (And she stands, not allowing herself to be looked down upon.)

“ Is it a crime to wish a colleague of mine a happy birthday? I thought we were friends, you know. ” (He smiles, and it sickens her.)

“You think to call us ‘friends’?” No, stop. Don’t indulge him. (It’s a difficult thought to heed; to think, after everything that he’s done—to her, to her friends, to Grado.) Eyes narrow:

“Get out.”

“ So soon? I haven’t even given you your gift yet. ”

And before she can respond, he glides over to her; grabs her wrist and presses something into her hand. A box, she can tell—finely wrapped and ribboned.

“ Happy birthday, Selena, ” the Moonstone smiles, and then: he is gone.

Just as quickly as he came. She couldn’t even claim to be surprised. That was always his method—to appear suddenly and without warning, stir up some mayhem, and then leave; free of consequence. Selena supposes that if there was one thing constant, there is him. Unfortunately.

Still, his gift in her hand, however much it irked her to receive it. He hadn’t given her anything two years ago, back during the war—she didn’t expect anything good from him now either. Stepping to the door again, she confirms that he is gone.

Shaken to disturb but not to break, she hears nothing, but she can feel the weight of its contents. Cushioned likely, she imagines, though it may also be filled with something… unsightly. (Like insects or spiders.) There was also the chance that some magic had been cast upon it, but that possibility was too unpleasant to imagine.

Or perhaps this is just one of his mind games, and it is completely innocuous after all. (She opens the box.)

It was packed, the box filled with fabric to keep whatever was within hidden—(it was almost as though he meant to torture her with the effort needed to open it). Removing the top layer though, at last, the present is revealed—and for a moment, she does not breathe.

A fluorspar, she knows instantly, except that it is artistically shattered.

It is subconsciously that her hand glides to her side, before Selena remembers it is no longer kept there. (She could not bear to be asked about it—to explain her past and all that she’d done.) She does not remember walking behind her desk, opening the drawer with too much force: it’s still there. (Intact.) Just as she had left it.

She should've noticed they were different anyhow—the broken fluorspar was duller, the hue just slightly bluer than hers. It was a fluorspar no less, and yet—it was different in soul, in spirit, in value. Perhaps that was intentional; Selena couldn’t claim to know that man’s thoughts anyway.

The dark thought comes that she shouldn’t have worried anyhow—after all, it was not as though she deserved the title anymore. She was forced to choose between her lord and her oath, and she had chosen incorrectly (she had no choice, really). She was the Fluorspar no more—just Selena, if that could be.

The drawer is closed—gently, this time—and his gift is tossed artistically into the trash.

[solarsbrace]

“ Find someone to get this to Prince Ephraim—do not deliver it yourself, and do not share who it is from. ” He’ll figure it out for himself soon enough anyway.

Valter wasn’t entirely certain of that, but that didn’t really matter much to him. If Ephraim knew he was sending a gift, then that proved something of the boy’s intellect. If he didn’t– well, all the better.

He doesn’t give the monk much time to be confused, wordlessly leaving then, slipping into darkness. Still, they accomplish the task—it is passed along to an armorer in the training grounds, and when the solar prince next enters, an envelope is passed into his hands.

“A monk dropped by earlier and said to give this to you. Didn’t say why though—it’s not my business anyway.” The note delivered, the armorer steps back to their work, making sure all the weapons are still good for use.

The envelope is unmarked but neatly pressed, although sealed tighter than most. Should the prince choose to open it, a note resides within, written in a decently fine hand and unaccompanied by anything else.

Enjoy your birthday, prince. Don’t forget to think of your father.

letters were not usually delivered to him, much less from anonymous monks of the monastery. even still, the king thankfully accepted the letter from the armorer and went about his own business. he tucked the letter in his pocket, thinking to look into it at a later time. he'd nearly forgotten about it until he fell out of his pocket unceremoniously on the floor. now that he was at his dorm, and alone for the night, he decided he could finally sate his curiosity.

opening the letter, he would find a wide page inside with only a few words sprawled neatly across some of it's surface. immediately the words left him bitter, squeezing the paper tightly in his hands. a personal message, a threat, and a promise all in one simple statement. he placed the paper down at last, turning away from it like it might blind him. despite his immense struggle, thoughts of his father came to flood his mind as he wished they wouldn't.

moments of joy, moments of anger, moments of sadness, all meshed together in his minds eye. he remembers happier days with his mother and father reading him bedtime stories. he remembers the squabbles he had with his father, denouncing everything fado had stood for. he remembers their last conversation together, and how it had been anything but pleasant he remembers not getting to say goodbye. quickly he wipes the wet beneath his eyes, trying to hide the tears from even himself.

he stiffened up at last, picking the paper back up to give it a closer examination. few of his countrymen called fodlan home, and even fewer who would leave such a rotten message for him. only one name came to mind, only one retched name he had hoped to think of again. Valter...

Ashamed of his emotions, he crumpled the paper up and threw it in the bin next to his feet. "happy birthday to me." he stated, angry he had let that man get to him.

@knighteclipsed

[lycianlynx]

“ You. Assassin. ”

Although, that wasn’t the only role he had played thus far, was it? In the previous battle, he was a cleric—the flexibility of the illusion, Valter supposes. Anyone could be anything.

That allure could be considered further later.

“ Considering we’ve fought two battles side-by-side now, ” he continues, the previously harsh tone now much lighter, “ it seems an exchange of names would be appropriate. ”

“ I am Valter. ”

Nursing wounds that should have been fatal but weren't, fingertips test gently at hale rib and bone like running a pick along a lock's teeth. There's trepidation at the memory of splintering bone (and deeper still, a burning home), how vivid everything seemed and still is; Either Chad was insanely loopy off the gas or the illusion's just that potent. Performance review: He landed a few hits, got out two heals, and it looked like it did the team at least some good.

... Assassin?

The blond's head snaps up and around at the address, gut twisting at their response to the label assassin — don't call me that — Only to find his fear confirmed, the prideful bickerer, the greasy man regarding them in clear address. But — Discomfort flickers across their eyes, however briefly. They were a mage in the last round, a cleric. Does he know, or is it a guess lingering from the first round? Does he know how close he is to the truth? To be fair, the axeman noticed something too (and they realise just as quickly that they don't know that guy's name, either), so maybe they're just obvious. Damn.

Still — Valter, he seems more forthcoming than the boy thought. They note the name, the lighter tone, the way the man holds himself with a flicker of brown eyes.

"... I appreciate it, Mister Valter." The boy replies with a nod. "The name's Chad. Here's to getting through the rest of this together."

[lionsword]

'famed,' the Envoy had claimed this man to be, though this Giver could not fathom the how of it.

that said, no matter one's apprehension concerning a Giftee, as a Giver one was duty bound to do their best. reading through the notes hurriedly scratched down upon the Envoy's departure, the Giver can but hum in thought.

finally, in the dead of night, an idea springs to life.

the set is left before Roy's door, wrapped in plain but quality cloth of aqua blue.

within is a game set comprised of a board, painted with changeable tiles featuring diverse terrains and landscapes, dice, and small, crystalline figurines in blue and red carved in the likeness of infantry, horsemen, pegasus knights, mages, and knights.

The board is separated into two sections, one controlled by each faction. The goal is either to eliminate every enemy unit on the board, or the commander.

the note begins, citing the words as the Giver remembers them verbatim.

Rules of gameplay can be found on the cards.

said cards can be found inside the board itself, where the remainder of the tiles are tucked away.

Have fun.

and an extra note, as though an afterthought.

Hope you're ready to lose.

Roy eagerly unpacked his new gift, eyes wide with appreciation and wonder. He was used to similar games from his younger days, and he'd drag just about anyone he could into playing them with him.

Whoever his gifter was seemed to think themselves adept at such games. He scratched his head a moment, wondering who might've sent it. Despite the bit of snark, Roy was quite enamored with his gift. It would be fitting for his first match to be against who'd gotten this for him.

@knighteclipsed "Um, sir?" Roy didn't know what drew him to ask the man before him. "Did you happen to be my secret winter envoy? If so, would you like to play this game with me? I won't lose easily!"

[justicefanged]

He was alive.

As he had expected, of course. With that theory more or less confirmed (it was a pattern, not a fluke), Valter picks himself off the ground, gets the bog water out of his hair, and marches over to the barbarian.

“ Up. ” (Valter kicks him in the side, albeit not hard enough to injure.) “ And don’t pretend you're dead—I already know you aren’t. ”

(If Linus isn’t already on his back, Valter will roll him over with his foot.)

“ Your name. Now. ”

Well, that fight went better than the last -- less frustration and humiliation in regards to his own performance, at least -- but Linus was hardly proud of how things had gone. He was supposed to hold the line, make sure the kids -- especially the kids! -- didn't get knocked around, and he'd been unable to keep them safe.

So, yeah. He was seething in the muddy puddle that demon horse had stomped him into. Conciousness and life had shocked back into his body, even as the Kelpie melted into the boggy waters from whence it had emerged.

Good fucking riddance.

Then came the command to get up, and Linus remained exactly where he was, hands curling into fists. Then there was a boot being prodded into his side; not gentle in any way, but it mostly only stung on account of injuries inflicted by that creature. That earned more of a reaction, teeth bared through a mouthful of blood and mud.

"You're worse than the fuckin' horse, get outta my face, grease trap," Linus growled, pushing up into a sitting position, the sludgy feeling of muck sliding down the back of his neck making him glower all the more.

Fuck this place, fuck that horse, fuck this guy!

Glaring up at Valter for a moment, Linus huffed out a breath as he got to his feet, shaking mud and water off like a dog. Hope some of it splattered on this asshole. He didn't hurt nearly as much as he should after something like that -- he should be dead after that, really -- but he sure didn't feel like dealing with whatever this guy's issue was right now.

"I ain't owe ya shit! 'Sides, don't ya know how this works?" Linus sneered, shrugging his shoulders.

"Gimme your name, and maybe I'll give ya mine."

He couldn't care less, and he definitely wouldn't. But it might let off some steam to fuck around and find out with this creep.

[princessmacedon]

Parts Unknown

When she wakes - or rather, when she opens her eyes to a new dream - Maria sees a blood red sky, though she know sky is not the right word; it is the light of that ruinous glow seeping through tendrils of smog atop the bones of what must once have been a glorious city, and it tells them at once just what sort of world they have come into. 

It does not take long for them to separate into smaller groups, shock and awe quickly stifled for the more important task of finding their bearings. She, for her part, joins the patrol of Ares and Valter, traipsing across the unfathomably large chunks of fallen debris or scurrying through the crooked shadows they leave behind. Warmachina or small game - they will take whatever they can find.

Or, as it happens, they will take what finds them. The strange flying machine is unsubtle in its approach, the sound it makes as it charges them an unsettling hum, but in spite of this, or rather because of it, Maria summons a pillar of light to smite the fiend in an instant. 

“There,” she breathes, lowering her hand as the thing falls to the ground in a useless heap, seared and torn. Approaching it cautiously, she waits for it to fall silent altogether, and then a moment longer, ere she kneels amongst the wreckage. The little cleric holds a hand over the glowing core - no heat, oddly enough - then prises it from its home. 

“I think... this is what we’re looking for?” 

@lionscion

[fellincantation]

🐍"Hm? An over-sized worm?" (Valter smirks.) "How easily you could be crushed..."

(Currently forgetting that he's at the moment body-swapped with Random Academy Student #713.)

Grima slowly turned her head and glared viciously at the voice. That voice belonged to a fellow Black Eagle. She hissed instinctively and smacked her little tail against the ground.

"Who do you think you are? Threatening me?! When the end of the world comes by my hand I will make sure I find you first." She shouted, rage filling her tiny form. Linhardt would die by her hand one day. Sorry Lindhardt. She doesn't know that it's Valter she's truly after.

[melusinezephyr]

*pokes you with a knife* fear me woman >:(

Zephia's eyes are cold as she stares down at the 'knight' - though he made a pretty sorry excuse of a knight, what with the bloodlust that seeps off of him like a ocean in storm. Were knights not supposed to be noble, care for the people that they were meant to protect?

Hmph, like she had any room to speak. But she was far more adept at hiding her more... sinister intentions. Far more adept indeed. After all, she'd centuries more of practise. It would only figure that he was inexperienced, and what he wanted was only all too clear.

He was looking for a fight, and if that was what he wanted, then she would be all too happy to give it to him. Things had been getting a little bit too peaceful around here for her liking anyway.

"Oh, dearest, you think I am that easy to intimidate? You are going to have to try a lot harder than that if you wish to gain my fear. It's cute how you think you're even marginally scary when you're only a mere human."

[nagaficat]

this is just like among us fr

Scavenging

- receive 1 random resource (plank of wood, metal can, or 1d10 tokens) per post

– 1d10 chance of finding odd gadget from same post, where 1&2 = success (ping Key)

There is certainly no shortage of things to see or find here in this dreamscape.  Debris from some sort of catastrophe lies everywhere to the point that Deirdre almost finds it overwhelming as she sets out scavenging for anything useful with her two knightly companions.  The difficult part is discerning what exactly the group could use.  So much of this world has been destroyed completely and what hasn't has already been picked over but she holds onto the hope that something viable will turn up!

Deirdre takes point, allowing the two men to follow her into one of the buildings near the apartments. A store long ago, she guesses. It is full of shelves that must have once been covered in goods. There are some things that remain but it is mostly layers of dust.

But she kneels at the base of one the shelves where there is a pile of things and starts to sort through it. It is mostly broken boxes and crates but she does find a few metal containers. They are empty now but the labels on them suggest they once contained some sort of fruit. And oh! Another of these containers except this one is sealed and only slightly dented. She examines it, trying to find a way to open it but it is sealed in a way that she cannot do just that.

Roll 1d3: 2, can got!

Roll 1d10: 4, no bonus treats

"There is not much here," she laments out loud before holding up her treasure. "But I did find this! There is clearly something inside but I cannot get it open. I think that we should bring it back with us."

@viridescent-lance @knighteclipsed