viridescent-lance - Tumblr blog

[viridescent-lance]

The inception of the thought is far waylaid from its execution: Katarina, emboldened though she may try to be, hesitates more than once to approach the knight clad in green. In the end, however, she approaches him, wishing not to pull him into the mire of painful memory but instead greet him as a comrade without.

"Ser Forsyth," the Altean greets, one hand laid to her chest as she briefly bows. Exuberance ill suits her and so she does not attempt it, but there is still warmth in her eyes, an almost-smile curving the line of her lips. Casting a glance around him and finding him presently unaccompanied, she extends a closed hand, unfurling it to reveal a pair of wrapped candies.

"Mints... from the refreshments table." Inoffensive and easily discarded at worst, or so she hopes; perhaps even helpful in better cases, if that be his happiness outside the dream. When she speaks, she does not ask -- only offers a thought, gentle and passing.

"I hope... this year's Ethereal Ball is a happy one. For... you and him, both."

"Lady Katarina." Forsyth is heartened to see his comrade in better spirits. The two have endured much together; to share something joyous is much overdue. He smiles wide and bright, taking the mints with gratitude. "Thank you. I appreciate it."

It takes her a little while, but she gathers what she needs to speak further. Forsyth hopes they can talk more, outside of events and passing. Katarina is a noble and admirable individual, and one he would be proud to call friend.

"It's shaping up to be!" Oh, if only Python was here in this moment! He's wandered off, though, doubtless to find a spirit to his taste or to make vapid small talk. He'll have to introduce them later. "He's elsewhere right now, but we did coordinate our outfits. It took some effort, but he's even got a green necklace, to go with my blue!"

Talking about them is nice. To be affectionate or even a couple in the eyes of others, but in an open way and not the topic of guesswork and gossip.

"How is Kris doing?" It only seems polite to inquire about her dear friend. He's...not entirely certain the nature of their relationship, but it certainly is close. "Is he in attendance as well?"

[viridescent-lance]

Ethereal Ball 2024 Tracker -- Forsyth

Forsyth fidgets with his necklace, hoping all the careful preparations for the ball will come to fruition smoothly. Everyone's put in so much effort! As he walks into the mainspace, he's greeted by a friendly atmosphere, though not as bustling as one might expect. The true party, he knows, lies in the veil of anonymity, but it couldn't hurt to spend some time uncovered first, right?

Forsyth is carrying a brooch adorned with Teardrop Crystals, and can give them out to muses if they so wish! He is also open to asks, as he is bolded on the ball masterlist!

Tracker:

Black Feather:

White Feather:

String of Pearls:

Teardrop Crystal:

Outfit:

art by maddie!! Forsyth and his lovely(?) date.

(this is approximately the outfit he is wearing, except the necklace is instead a blue jewel sort of thing)

[viridescent-lance]

Ah, Caspar is at that point of his development. His response frustrates Forsyth a bit, though--nothing wrong with him, but with the way things must seem to him.

To an outsider, knighthood certainly seems stringent. And Forsyth’s situation was unique, and the qualifications for knighthood were unfair. But things changed, and there’s no way to change things until you take a step forward and fight for it! Forsyth has faith that Caspar would thrive in enforcing his own morals—though, that might cause some friction with a potential knighthood…

His thoughts are disrupted by a loud clang! Caspar’s enthusiasm and the quality of these training weapons are incompatible, it seems. 

“I’d be inclined to agree. I’ve been pushing for higher quality weapons, but it’s not been fully implemented yet.” It’s endearing and familiar, Caspar’s energy and drive to succeed and do something. He just doesn’t have the focus channeled yet, and that manifests both in ideology and fighting style. “I will say, you’re utilizing the lance more like a blunt weapon. While that is something you can do, it’s not what it’s built for. Are you more used to axes, perhaps?”

tryhard meet

[viridescent-lance]

Forde's attempt to lighten things up almost reminds Forsyth of Python, though there's less of an attempt to weasel out of work so his instinctual retort dies on his lips. Instead, he chuckles, Forde's good nature proving infectious.

"You would be correct!" Forsyth takes a lance and twirls it in a practiced arc, the weight familiar and comforting. "Though I primarily function in infantry, so our techniques are bound to differ."

Forde's homeland is Magvel, if Forsyth recalls correctly. He can relate to the fear of natural disasters, though the instability of the recent war and reunion leaves the region more prone to conflict than what people would think of during peacetime.

He almost says something, but it would be a shame to undo Forde's work. So he instead continues his work, pausing at the next polearm--a javelin he hefts in his hand, testing its evenness.

"I've learned the way of a mounted knight in recent times, and the way things change when you've such an advantageous height and difference in mobility is fascinating!" Forsyth feels his face crinkle into a preemptive grin as he anticipates his next line. "I'd love to spar, but our work is more important than any horseplay. Perhaps after?"

The calm before the storm

[viridescent-lance]

"...I would say that is none of your business, but you wouldn't take that for an answer." Forsyth's strained smile breaks at the sudden question, the genuine tone catching him off guard. It's ridiculous to feel jealous of this jester of a man. Yet a familiar unease in his throat rises, memories of men he does not remember the faces of sharing glances and physical affection with Python that left him wondering. "I think you're smart enough to figure it out for yourself."

It's a non-answer, but it's close enough. He and Python are certainly in a close relationship, one that is a partnership and committed. They kiss, they share physical affection of...many sorts.

They share something that no one else can have. No strange, starry-eyed men, no fellow mercenaries from years past, no one. Even if Python had to fake a relationship with Azama, even if he'd enjoyed it (an experience he will never understand)--it can never approach the bond he shares with Forsyth.

...speaking of faux relationships, Forsyth is doing a poor job of being convincing here. He grins and waves and gestures to the fine quality of craftsmanship (which is true!) and of the happiness of his relationship (which is true if he doesn't specify which relationship). Really, he's doing great here.

He is fine and very secure! Everything is good.

does it really suit you? (azama & forsyth)

[viridescent-lance]

"If I am to be honest, I have been better." Lukas would know some of this from his letters, but Forsyth has been less forthcoming than he would like to admit. Lukas deserves to know the truth, though he doesn't want to bombard the man with details that will sour their reunion. "But your presence certainly contributes to things improving!"

He's missed Lukas quite badly in their time apart. When Python left the capitol, during the disastrous times afterward--the person who was there for him most was Lukas. Their bond deepened further than even the fires of war could stoke, dealing with the strife of personal emotion and postwar uprisings alike.

"How have you been?" Forsyth takes hold of Lukas' hand. The casual physical affection they share is something he knows is important to his friend, and he wonders if anyone has made up for it in his (and Python's) absence. Unlikely (Lukas would have said something, yes?), but the thought lingers. "Erm, aside from the obvious. The temporal distortions here are truly something."

goodbye, see you later, i murmured

cont.

[viridescent-lance]

"Ah, well, you see..." Sir Harken is a knight through and through, in demeanor and in upbringing. It's times like these when Forsyth's commoner background feels especially obvious, and it's hard not to feel like an imposter. He's trained hard, and he deserves this! But he will never have the same experience as one trained from childhood, never have squire tales to tell. "It's a long story, but I was not born into such a station. I became a knight later in life, through my service in the Deliverance."

That will suffice, yes. Sir Harken seems like an amicable sort, not one to judge his origins, but insecurity loves to rear its ugly head. Ah, but he must prove himself worthy! No time for hesitation or worry.

"I do believe our ties are fit! I am excited to partake in this event alongside you, Sir Harken!"

A Three-Legged Horse With Mood Swings

[viridescent-lance]

march and april activity check: passed!

skill points: 40->42

faith: D+->C

riding: B+(1)->A

rewards: Pivot and Physic

[viridescent-lance]

[ 𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐲 ] : sender is apologising for appearing cold. - but it's not really an appearance, is it? And it's certainly not a true apology, because he does not know how to weigh those words behind his tongue in any way that matters. He is so, so cold, deep in the marrow of his bone and frost-rimmed ribcage.

"I should have written more. With how much you included in your letters, I could have stood to keep you more.. wholly updated."

It is a tempered admission of guilt with no I'm sorry attached. Only arms ever-folded behind his back, only an ever-demure crescent smile. He wishes he had more to offer.

"..ah, but I am glad to see you again, truly."

He has no trouble meeting Forsyth's gaze, because there is nothing for him to hide. There is nothing for his eyes to bear, be it remorse or deceit.

He does care - and he knows Forsyth knows, and he can only hope that is enough.

Lukas has come to teach at Garreg Mach--Lukas, who Forsyth has not seen in well over a year! He'd worried him greatly with the strange time-bubble, letters piling up for what seemed like a year for Lukas. And yet here he stands, apologizing with a tone to his words that Forsyth recognizes as significant despite its subtlety.

"Nonsense! Your letters mean a lot to me, you know." Forsyth's instincts carry him to defend Lukas, first, regardless of the fact that he did wish he heard from his friend more often and in greater detail. Lukas is a detached man, and struggles to put his more personal proclivities to words. "...it is a relief to hear from you more often, though, now that we are in physical proximity."

"And I, you." Lukas' affection is a difficult thing to obtain and to recognize, but Forsyth has become something of an expert regarding it in their time spent together at the capitol. At least, he hopes so. He smiles, giving Lukas a friendly clap on the back that transitions into a brief hug. "It's good to have you here, truly."

[viridescent-lance]

𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝: a little assortment of prompts revolving around painful, bottled up affection and endless yearning, as well as the possible result of finally taking action. remember to tag your dark themes. add +reverse to swap the roles.

[ 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 ] : receiver notices sender looking at them longingly. [ 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 ] : receiver hears sender calling their name while asleep. [ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐭𝐡 ] : sender drapes a coat / cape / etc. around receiver's shoulders. [ 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 ] : receiver is hugging a coat / cape / etc. that belongs to the sender. [ 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐦 ] : sender is helping the receiver through a panic attack / severe anxiety. [ 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 ] : sender takes a hold of receiver's both hands. [ 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 ] : sender and receiver are spooning for comfort and warmth. [ 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 ] : sender and receiver are finally about to kiss, but are interrupted. [ 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 ] : sender and receiver are finally sharing a passionate kiss. [ 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 ] : sender has just found the receiver who's been missing for weeks. [ 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬 ] : after being misinformed that the sender has died, receiver is grieving. [ 𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝 ] : sender is expressing anger over receiver's constant recklessness. [ 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 ] : sender is voicing their negative opinion about a person who appears to be close with the receiver. [ 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞 ] : sender has just told receiver "you belong to me". [ 𝐰𝐡𝐲 ] : sender has just asked receiver "why don't you love me". [ 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 ] : sender has harmed someone who threatened the receiver. [ 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐦 ] : sender has killed someone who threatened the receiver. [ 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭 ] : sender has gotten injured protecting the receiver. [ 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞 ] : sender is getting frustrated with their repressed affection and asks receiver to leave them alone. [ 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐞𝐥 ] : unable to handle their fondness towards receiver, the sender lashes out and they end up in a heated argument. [ 𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐲 ] : sender is apologising for appearing cold. [ 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 ] : sender is telling receiver they "deserve better than whatever this is".

[viridescent-lance]

“It is easy to feel alone in grief.” The hollow ache in Forsyth’s chest where Python should be has not gone away, but it is slightly more bearable with tasks to do and allies to protect. Working with wood is a double-edged sword, Python’s voice practically echoing in his mind to chide him for missteps, but part of it steels him, reminding him of why he continues. “I’m no different, despite how it may seem.”

Lachesis is a knight true, taking to his instruction adequately and to his encouragement moreso. He only wishes he could do more for the woman, but this will have to do.

They work together in a silence that, if not comfortable, bears a camaraderie Forsyth chooses to believe will last beyond this nightmare. A friendship forged in the darkest of times and tended in the aftermath is one that stands the test of time, and Forsyth will not abandon what he and Lachesis have created here, alongside this makeshift shelter. She deserves better than that.

Two knights, in their grief, toil onward toward an unsure future.

--fin--

catch me when I fall

shelter building; 10 wood to complete; roll 1d6; heavy armor rank C +1 modifier -1-3: take -0.5 damage -4-5: -1 wood but unable to roll next turn -6: -2 wood

[viridescent-lance]

He’s alive. Python, flesh and bone, breathes and speaks before Forsyth. Far too much bone, but his voice cracks as it often does when he wakes too early from a nap, his face crinkles into a smile, his hands cradle Forsyth’s face with a tenderness that more than makes up for their physical roughness.

“Oh, Python. You scared me.” Forsyth wants so badly to close the gap and kiss him, but it feels wrong, like if he moves too recklessly he’ll realize it’s all just a dream. Instead, he brings their foreheads together, as close as he dares. “Thank goodness.”

There’s a sour taste in his mouth as his relief turns to guilt, emotions spilling into further tears, a tighter grip. 

“I thought you were gone. I saw your body, and I—I…” Forsyth’s voice and body shake, his hands gently mapping the physicality of Python’s body. He’s real, in his hands. But does Forsyth really deserve this? “I couldn’t save you. Not when we had to make the sacrifices, not when your ghost accompanied me, not when we faced down the Horsemen…”

None of what he’s saying makes any sense, but he can’t stop himself. Is he seeking comfort? Absolution? He stumbles back from Python’s touch, falling to his knees as he clutches his hand like it’s the last thing tethering him to this realm.

“I’m sorry. I failed you. I failed my very honor as a knight. I’m sorry…”

reveille redux

[viridescent-lance]

Forsyth is no stranger to war and conflict. Still, he feels selfish at the ache in his heart; he had expected more stability when he first came to Garreg Mach, and time has since proven him wrong.

"Thank you, Sir Forde. Your aid is appreciated." Forde is an easygoing individual. Not Python levels, but he goes at his own pace, and sometimes Forsyth wonders if he has the capacity for war. And yet, the way he looks upon the weapons runs counter to such speculation.

The weight in his voice at his inquiry, too.

"If I am to be frank, that would depend on the strength of her army." Forsyth wishes he had something more comforting to say, but their opponent's abilities are fearsome and not entirely known. "As one who has stood against these foes in the past, I have hope, but as an advisor, I must temper that hope with practicality."

"I came to Garreg Mach under the impression that Fodlan, while beset with its own political tensions, was enjoying a time of peace." Forsyth sorts weapons, a task so familiar he finds himself hardly thinking about it. It gives him ample time to interact with Forde in a more meaningful way; it is important to get to know one's new allies, and Forde intrigues him. "I wonder if outsiders are aware of the current turmoil; it feels like Fodlan does well in maintaining a reputation of stability."

The calm before the storm

[viridescent-lance]

It feels like an eternity and no time at all, the time he spends with Python. (Python's body. Python's corpse.) To rise, to set him aside is to finalize the truth of his death.

But he must. Katarina waits for him, patiently as he did for her. They will never find their partners' killers if he waits here to meet the same fate.

"Thank you." Forsyth takes Katarina's hand, slowly getting to his feet. He hardly feels anything, but the warmth of her hand and the kindness of her voice are still there, the significance and weight not lost on him. He stands still, for a second, unable to let go of her hand, and stumbles into a hug before he can stop himself, shaking as his sobs return. "He's the reason I'm here now. He never did give himself enough credit for the things that matter. Oh, Python..."

There's so much he wants to tell Katarina. Wishes he could tell her in the future. But the words die on his tongue, as what came with them died with Python. Anger, white-hot and burning, rises in his throat, and he detaches from Katarina, as not to accidentally squeeze her too tight.

"We'll find the culprits." He doesn't bother wiping his tears away, still flowing as they are. But his face is steeled with a determination, a promise to the one person he can trust right now, the person who lost their beloved partner to the same ugly trap they're all snared in. "Justice will be served. I swear on my honor as a knight, on Python's memory, I will do all I can."

fin

the looking glass half empty

[viridescent-lance]

One moment, Forsyth is thrusting his lance forth alongside Kent and Kris, dealing the final blow to the impossible specters of doom. The next, he is opening his eyes, sprawled on the ground in what he quickly recognizes is Rusalka, or what remains of it.

Did everyone from the mission get deposited here? Is it like the dream-realms?

(Forsyth tries not to think too much about how Python was not among those who fought the horsemen, or what may have happened to those who died in that fight and prior.)

He is of a singular mind as he pulls himself to his feet, worn but functional, eyes scanning the ruins for a lanky body, a head of disheveled blue hair, a bow. (And any signs of life on said body, any at all.)

It's the hair first, always the hair, a distinctive blue even under layers of grime. He's sitting, but slumped in a position that makes Forsyth's heart sink in his chest, riddled with injuries, and so, so thin.

"Python!" He falls to his knees, grasping his hand, searching for a pulse. He feels tears falling already, blinking through them to search for a rise and fall of his partner's chest. "Python, please. Get up..."

reveille redux

[viridescent-lance]

february activity check: passed!

skill points: 38->40

faith: D->D+ (thread: what if the prime minister of canada wanted to befriend you)

riding: B+->B+(1) (monthly)

[viridescent-lance]

Forsyth's last round pairs him with a rather cultured young woman, versed in all sorts of formal etiquette. He bows in turn, reminding himself of the proper form drilled into himself for navigating court.

"I am Sir Forsyth the True. I am having a lovely day, myself, and I hope you've the same." Alright, perfect. Her eyes sweep him, judging him, and she seems to think of him positively at first brush? "Ah, my name actually derives from the forsythia flowers, and I've wondered how they would compliment me from time to time. Perhaps I should test that hypothesis."

That seems a reasonable response, yes? It ties in well, shows interest in her line of conversation. Something about this interaction makes Forsyth feel like he's navigating something more precarious than the others, even with the topic of the last.

"Perhaps they are asking us for how we would go about it? I have some experience in emergency battlefield medicine, and picked up some basic healing spells here." Goldmary is right, this is a rather bland premise, but maybe the challenge is interpreting it in an interesting way. "I would hope my bedside manner would be comforting, though I have been told I am rather intense."

green & gold