sword through the heart

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you're bleeding iron, you're bleeding gold

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Knightiplier rp blog, indie and semi-selective

Mun and muse are both 18+

In line with the markcu, but since the character is fanmade, highly headcanon based and closer to an OC

rules | about | verses | mobile friendly version

Main Verses:

it is a knight’s duty

For interactions taking place before the accident, while Lark is still a knight.

sheath the blade

For interactions taking place after the accident, while Lark is in hiding.

destiny calls you home

Lark takes up his mantle and returns, unable to ignore troubles back home (or elsewhere. The exact nature of what happens is flexible! There could be supernatural or human threats, friends finding him or needing help, and so on.)

The “Lark Gets Evicted from His Story” Saga:

it is written in the stars

I.SWM au. Lark is registered as a crew member in ADS. Nobody’s sure what his problem is, except that he keeps babbling about being a knight from some absolute monarchy. Weird. Best to steer clear of that one, eh, Captain?

that is the happy trails way

sword: classic. he feels the most comfortable with this. his sword is an extension of his arm, of him, and this is where he focuses most of his practice. 10/10

bow and arrow: pretty good! he doesn’t prefer long ranged fighting most of the time, but he’s reasonably skilled at it, and hunting with it helps clear his mind. 6/10

lances/polearms/halberds: overall these are okay, but he doesn’t particularly like jousting. don’t let the other knights know. 4/10

axe/hammer: similar feelings about both of these. heavy object go woosh. 8/10

Announcing Sir Lark Waldron, son of Sir Arthur Waldron, hailing from [ILLEGIBLE].

Name: Lark Waldron

Birthdate: August 14, ____. Appears to be in his 20s.

Pronouns: He/him

Appearance: Bears a striking resemblance to Mark I.plier. Medium-long hair, scar across cheek.

Positive traits: Idealistic. Loyal. Boisterous. Dedicated. Kind.

Negative traits: Cynical. Hot-headed. Immature. Reckless. Accused of cowardice.

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The book is old and worn, the binding coming apart. It feels warm in your hands. Go on, turn the page. 

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Part of the lower nobility class, Lark became a devoted knight of the kingdom when he came of age. His impulsivity and poor ability to hide the heart on his sleeve served him better there than it ever would have in the more political scenes of the court. He was close with his guard, often found training and only occasionally getting into trouble. 

In the middle of rising tensions between [ILLEGIBLE] and a long time enemy, Lark is sent out on patrol with a small group of knights when suspicious movement is reported in the nearby forest. They’re ambushed, slaughtered, and Lark finds himself unable to do anything other than freeze and flee. Uncertain in his abilities, and the kingdom itself, the experience leaves his confidence shattered.

He can’t return when he knows he can’t protect anyone. He can’t stay and deal with the social ramifications among the nobility that would come with having run from a fight. Lark sneaks away to a town in the neighbouring kingdom, under the name Alaric Webster, and offers his services as a weaver (and, if need be, a trainer of the local guard) to make a living. No one fully knows what became of him outside of rumours. He left a small note to anyone that might read it, and little else.

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drabble prompts!

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For a moment after Chica covers Lark’s face in slobber, rousing him from his sleep, he’s convinced he’s right back home. Maybe he and Atlas retreated to their kingdom over night — their parents would be furious when they found out, but neither of them would care. He reaches out to pet the dog’s fur, but when he opens his eyes, he doesn’t see their childhood “kingdom”.

Oh. Of course. They’ve both long since left childhood behind, and this is Atlas’ hideaway.

Living here is taking some adjustment, as much as Lark is grateful to his brother for letting him stay. It’s strange to see him again. It’s strange to see him surrounded by all this magic. Strange, and still a little unnerving, he must admit.

He’s wondered why he never told him. He wonders whether that unnerved feeling would have only confirmed Atlas’ fears.

Lark slowly sits up, trying not to disturb Atlas as he works on the other side of the room. There are various trinkets and supplies sitting around that he can’t even begin to understand. Magic pouring out of every corner, star decorations littering every surface. Atlas is absorbed in work on one of his inventions. He watches him, for a moment — but then his eyes drift to his scars, and he has to look away.

If he had been there for Atlas, maybe he could have helped. Or maybe he could have been there in the aftermath, like Atlas had done for him when Lark needed it most. Lost alone in the forest.

drabble prompts!

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Quiet beeps fill the room, acting as the only reassurance that Atlas still lives, besides the slow rise and fall of his chest. Beep. Beep. Beep. The hospital feels solemn, with only the occasional droid coming to check in on his vitals. Lark hates it. Hates all of it.

He just wants his brother back.

The beeping and his breathing are the only signs on the surface, anyway. He can feel Atlas’ life through the Force — weak, but fighting. He would know if he had passed away. Lark hasn’t stopped holding his hand since he was removed from the Bacta tank. He’s barely even slept, as if he’s the only thing standing between Atlas and the darkness.

Please. Please be okay. He thinks he sees a twitch in Atlas’ face, and he leans forward quickly, only to sit back in disappointment. A sigh. A squeeze of the hand.

There’s so much uncertainty that lies ahead. Will the J.edi Order renounce Lark, when it becomes clear he’s gotten far too attached? Or worse — will they order him not to make contact with him, or Harper, ever again? The thought makes him feel more sick than it once would have.

And what will become of Atlas? Has he truly achieved his freedom? The scars littering his body will remain, the doctors said. A permanent physical reminder of what he did. If he fully regains his mind, the guilt will be… disastrous.

But Lark will be there. He’s determined to be there. He’ll have to be torn from his side by force. He can teach him how to control it, and maybe…

Atlas’ voices carries weakly over to him, calling his name in a soft question. Lark looks up, and sees his eyes open, however blearily. No yellow. His heart leaps into his throat.

“Atlas!” Disregarding the advice of the droids, he reaches over to wrap him in a tight hug. He’s okay. He’s okay.

drabble prompts!

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Finding a rabbit in a garden is a difficulty Lark had never expected to deal with. He’s a knight, not a gardener or a wrangler. But when the rabbit happens to be a prince, it changes things somewhat.

“Kit? Kit! I mean— Your Highness, you didn’t tell me you planned on playing hide and seek.”

The royal garden is truly a beautiful place. Kit often requests they go there; sometimes just to lie beneath one of the great trees that overlooks the flower beds. It’s pleasant. Peaceful. But maybe it had been Lark’s own fault for falling asleep on the job.

He doesn’t get a verbal response from Kit. Instead, he sees a flash of brown fur bolt by, diving from one bush to another before he can grab him.

If they were in human form, he’s certain they would be laughing.

“What am I going to do if someone approaches me and says, ‘Good day, Sir Waldron. The prince’s presence has been requested in the throne room’? What do I tell them? ‘I’m sorry, but the prince is hiding in the roses, and he’s become a rabbit’?”

Again, no answer. Kit rushes out to make a beeline to his next hiding spot, and Lark leaps. Arms outstretched, launching himself towards them, he snatches them up before they can escape… and lands squarely on his stomach amongst the dirt and the plants.

Lark hisses in pain, but he’s finally caught Kit after so much trouble. He wriggles in his grasp as the knight shifts into a sitting position.

drabble prompts!

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There’s still a part of Lark that doesn’t feel like he should be here. He stands stiffly on the edge of the ballroom, hands clasped at attention in front of him, and eyes focused on his charge his ruler his friend. Harper.

Harper, who brought him back after he ran away. Harper, who appointed him as their personal knight, even after learning of his failures.

What if he fails again? What if he’s unable to protect them?

They’re dressed in the finest robes, looking regal and dignified. He knows they must loathe having to do this, somewhat — the politics, the presentation — but they keep up the appearance well. The colours of their clothes stand out even more than everyone else’s, even more than the party’s luxurious decorations. Or maybe it’s just him.

Whispers drift across to him. Eyes rest heavily upon him. Lark pretends like he can’t notice the stares, or the talk of the fallen knight. He straightens his shoulders, steadies his breathing, and then Harper looks across at him.

And instantly, something in him relaxes. He smiles at them, not quite as brightly as he used to… but close. The smile they return makes it feel like everything could be okay.