Yo! I’ve moved this blog to the sideblog here:

xcrossedroads

Most of the ongoing/long threads have been reblogged there already, and if you don’t see yours and you want to continue it - let me know~! Chances are, I’ll be fine with that and pick up where we left off. As for the asks/starters/drafts I have on here, I will also move them! Any recent asks will be screenshotted and I’ll answer them over on the new blog. 

It caught her off guard with what the boy said, as to a common townswoman like her—that phrase sounded it carried with solid certainty of what he was talking about, that there was something he knew what the swordswoman had not figured out yet.

There was another half a minute pause, her gaze fixed on the blond’s face, searching for any clues to respond with. Eyvel’s eyes landed on the noble bow, a bow far grander than any she had seen and she had only seen a couple of archers in her lifetime here, though the craftsmanship was nothing like the one before her. Must be one of the Holy Crusaders’ weapons… It was the only scenario that made sense to her with that bow’s presence, but the focus wasn’t supposed to linger on that. 

The sense of sincerity within this stranger wasn’t something Eyvel could simply ignore, however she had no recollection of ever knowing who the bowman was upon first glance.

    …There’s something off about this meeting…

Surely, Balmung knew how strong he was. Why did he shed tears with the power he possessed? Was it loneliness? To see someone who had always done such a good job of protecting his master with tears in his eyes… As far as Leaf was concerned, Balmung was a very capable weapon, and though he had never even so much as held the weapon whether its true power could be accessed by him or not, he had no doubt that sword had won Shanan countless battles.

Bringing himself to the sword, Leaf stopped beside it, though still not quite used to its human form. He had never heard anything about this when he was a child, and it was still slightly foreign to him. That, of course, did not make its feelings less important, and this sword belong to someone who had protected someone all too important to the younger prince. Even if there were tears right now… there had to be some kind of pride somewhere within Balmung, no?

“Balmung… Is there something you’re having a problem with? If… If I can help, would you tell me?” If Balmung only needed to talk, he was at least fine helping with that. Rather, he could help with that, and if he could, then that was important to him. In a way, seeing the weapon like this made it feel like Shanan was crying… and regardless of how short their time together had been throughout the many years they’d each been alive, a thought like that still pulled lightly at his heart.

Distant footsteps... Huh? Oh.

He should’ve been more alert when he heard them but he hadn’t moved a muscle. Balmung knew better than to jump if it’s only Lord Celice’s soldiers around these parts. His eyes only snapped over when there was a voice directed at the holy blade and he stayed still silently, his mind wrapping up on what the young man had said to Balmung.

“...You are...—” A pause as he tried to fit the pieces together on who this person was. Dark brown hair and eyes... Descendant of Noba’s then? A chill went down his spine as he made the connection. Out of all holy warriors who’d speak to him when Balmung was having difficulty keeping himself together in a reasonable state of emotion, it was one of Noba’s blood... Perhaps it would be foolish of him to hope this boy hadn’t been through depressing times of war when he could just feel that aura from him that he had been through sorrow. The aura that the recent history of tragedy had affected him in some shape or form. Surely something must’ve happened while he slept those twenty years in Yied... 

“...Lord Leaf... ...I am...” He wasn’t quite alright, but he didn’t want to give the young prince a hard time over him if he lied. He’d believed that was never the way of an Isaacian, after all. “I can’t help but feel apprehensive about having returned to where I belong. I should be prideful to have a master of the caliber like Shanan yet I feel uneasy. It unsettles me that our time together may be short as well.”

Name:  Balmung   (FC: Kamui Shirou from x/1999 CLAMP & Tsubasa Chronicles Reservoir)

Age:  15-17 (appears); actually about a century old

Gender:  Male

Appearance:  Much like the Isaac royal family, he occasionally wears a black waist-length robe with silver lining, a purple turtleneck underneath and light beige or white slacks with a pair of slipper-shoes for formal wear. In casual, he’s seen with a violet purple shirt with no sleeves, wrapped bandages on both arms (not completely covering shoulder to wrist), a thick ribbon for a belt, dark gray pants, and dark-colored slipper shoes.

Personality:  Although he comes off as unemotional and unfazed by most things happening around him, he’s no stranger to random bursts of high frequency emotions like wrath, depression, and, rarely, bubbling happiness. His own emotions are often mirrored by his current wielder’s - if they feel angry with bloodlust or sympathetic toward an opponent, he reacts accordingly much the same.

Balmung may say he’s not a very curious person and just takes events as how they are - that it is not something he should concern himself with, but he does have some things he finds distaste in. His curiosity is mostly shown when fixed on random small things like trying to solve puzzles or figuring out how humans can read texts that makes sense to them or how and why his Masters could like a certain food or drink but he doesn’t.

“What do you mean you are ‘used to this kind of thing’?” Still obscured by the hood and cloak he was wearing, he looked around the village, which was now razed and abandoned, the residents long gone to some safe haven, leaving everything but their lives and the clothes on their back behind. Cuan himself had barely escaped with his life, nearly reopening the wound on his chest as he had locked himself into a temporary fight with some of the men responsible for this. He pet his steed’s mane gently, doing his best to calm its nerves, especially with a wyvern so close.

His daughter, raised as a Thracian and fighting on a wyvern… how ironic.

“How can anyone ever get used to such scenes? Are you talking about the carnage? Or are you talking about the fighting? Or is it the sight of us commoners being so afraid?”“

“...Anyone who have lived here long enough would say it’s common—the norm you could say... To see the people struggle to keep their lives together for long. Practically everything you’ve spoken of you have seen, I presume...” That’s what she was used to seeing. What she was used to hearing stories and gossip about.

“Every time one would turn around, there’s some lives lost to a village raid or children being kidnapped or another...” It pained her to say this. Thracia hadn’t been this horrible of a state as far as she could remember during young childhood. Support and cooperation was much easier then, even with their longtime fighting with the northern land of Manster going on...

Did she say she was used to it all? No... that very much was a lie.

It still bothered Altenna, the girl who’d been raised as the King’s daughter from... day one? Although she had adapted well to living in the mountainous country, she who had learned to make Thracia her home to heart despite the rough times growing up... It was like watching a place she tried her hardest to love crumble from her delicate yet firm touch. A place burning up aflame that she could not control nor put out to save it.

“I feel saddened inside when they up and leave their homes behind in search of a better life... yet a part of me is...glad.  We’re—... They’re used to that happening.” If one were to question her, she’d respond that they wouldn’t be suffering anymore then had they found happiness to escape to. When in truth, it would be that those cold stares she’d receive would be gone.

Clasping a hand to her upper arm, the woman turned sideways away from the man, her eyes downcast to the rocky ground. Altenna felt small compared to every next person who could be so ready to shout words of glory and pride of their beloved South Thracia, and here she was wanting to self indulge on feeling safer over the recent occurrences.

He really shouldn’t have ran while not watching his step. It was even more of a jump scare when he was carrying bags of gold from the villages to give to specific people in the army. The fall was abrupt and he had unforeseen it. In reflex, he stabbed his personal iron blade into the side of the cliff to steady himself while his other hand was latching onto the ledge for dear life. 

Normally, he’d pass this off as common accidents, calm himself down from the sudden trip and make his way back up, but... something was scaring him. To the point he felt he had to scramble back up to the top like there was an enemy out to get him from behind. There shouldn’t be anyone there. They had just wiped out a huge army at Lubeck and they’ve heard of absolutely no commotion as of yet since the seize. So what was that...feeling? He shook the thought away quick, he needed to get back up now, and the fact that this odd fear that’s gripping onto him was making him struggle to hold on. 

A hand grabbed for his wrist and pulled Dew up to his feet. Eyes shot up to see a man’s face he knew all too well. “Dew! Try to be more careful.”

He didn’t even have the will to retort back to him like he always would despite he’d only splutter an excuse anyway. Though, on the other hand, he still wanted to say something which he hadn’t entirely thought through his words out. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. You don’t ‘ave to look after me all the time, okay? I’m not like I used to be, Jamka!”

There was that stern expression again, the face Dew had found...rather strange. The Verdane archer had it in him to scold others and try to mean the things he had said when possible in a good way. To Dew, he was that kind of strict figure who’d nag and nag and nag! But...somehow, deep down, he knew that wasn’t the truth. One quick glance past his tough face into his eyes showed sincerity and... gentleness? 

It had always been that way ever since their first encounter.

He didn’t understand what he was trying to show. He had known a strict father growing up before he ran away several years ago, and they were nothing nice. Always had to this and do that! Don’t break the rules of the house or no supper for two days. Couldn’t even get out of his sight to sneak into the next town over where all the other people his age were living at. Mother was always passive with everything, never stood up to him to defend their only son—no, their remaining son. He had forgotten they even had another son who apparently died before he was born, or was it right after? Dew didn’t care too much on recalling an irrelevant detail. Nor did he care to remember back on his childhood with his ‘family’. They meant nothing to him now. He had Aideen and Jamka, and now Lord Sigurd’s army, and they were so much different, and better, from them. 

Would that be what one would call family even if not tied by blood...?

There was a sigh, the other’s words snapping him out of his train of thought. Perhaps he had gotten over it a long time ago on taken offense to just leave the kid thief alone. “...I know, Dew. I’ve..seen how much you’ve grown. I’m still not happy you didn’t keep your promise to me and Aideen not to steal anymore, but I’ve gotten past that, knowing how you can be.”

...Wait, since when did he ever sit there and listen to strict people?! They sure loved to go on and on about how they should live their lives better and won’t ever shut their mouths up. So of course he’d tune them out and yet when it came to Jamka... It was different, but in what way?

“I know I know. I couldn’t help it! It was tha’ I had to steal to survive but I guess I confused it for a hobby sometimes and got out of hand.” Well, the last major thing he really stole for his own pleasure was that shiny glowing sword two years back from some old tower that somehow could speak to him in a ghostly voice. Yeah, never tried that again. Whatever that was, he never wanted to mess with spirits or...divine beings if he ever came across one. He was surprised he even got away with taking it, even.

“It took me a while to realize. That thievin’ for fun an’ all was no way out to save me trouble. ...it took me time to figure tha’ out, and I just wanted to help you guys out because you’ve done so much for me when you all could have left me behind for dead.” He wasn’t about to admit it, but the thought of being...alone after all of these events bothered him. He had been completely fine on just walking right out of house and never to return; lived all of those peaceful and hectic days alone afterward in content. But, that had all changed and...he never wanted to leave them or them to leave him behind. Dew’s new-found hope was within these guys to win their way out and get a better future into their hands like where it belonged. Dew didn’t really have a life he enjoyed more than the present one, and he could only imagine how much better it’d eventually turn out to be after the war was done with if he kept working at it from this point onward.