#drachnslayer

Even empty, the vague drone of a choir fills the church. It vibrates within the limestone meat of the walls. It may be an auditory hallucination, the onset of cognitive decay, the result of some Irish magic trickery, drugged by faerie dust. The candles turn this man’s hair turmeric. 

He has heard of Siegfried the Dragonslayer. Propped up as an Appollonian legend, he will forever live as a radiant solar ray of Homeric heroism. He lives in bedtime stories, will continue to live long after he dies. He is blessed and angelic. Touched by gods.

He was always going to disappoint.

she had heard the rumors, the stories and the tales; of things her cousin had done while she slumbered — how he, like her own prince, was a monster slayer. how differently their stories had been woven and yet, how similar still. but, aurora didn’t hear the tales and feel wonderment and awe; she ached for her cousin, for the boy she’d been so close to what felt like eons ago, the closest thing she's ever known to a sibling. her heart was wounded knowing he had not been spared from trials of fire either. 

when word arrived that it was none other then siegfried the dragon slayer who’d walked through sonne’s gates, the princess was quick to see for herself. through the stone halls she walked, picking up pace as she neared, and suddenly, she wasn’t the cursed princess; the sleeping beauty who saw fire and brimstone in her sleep — she was just a girl. a girl, barefoot in the forest with a wisp in her hand and a dream in her heart. 

" siegfried! " the blonde cried, her walk now a quick run — straight into the man with her arms wrapped tightly around him.

🍎 𝖚𝖓𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖒𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖉. (always accepting!)

-`𖤓´- 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖎𝖘 𝖘𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖙𝖔 𝖇𝖊 𝖘𝖆𝖎𝖉 𝖆𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖙 𝖘𝖎𝖊𝖌𝖋𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖉'𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖗𝖘-- or rather, the lack thereof. here he is, throwing things at the poor, defenseless elderly. harlon has half a mind to ask him if he was raised in a barn... though he supposes that'd be rather rich, coming from a ram. the chestnut bounces harmlessly off the dorset horn's thick fluff. the prophet snorts, shaking his armored head, lowering it like a bull ready to charge-- and charge he does.

❝ MEE-E-E-EH! ❞

It's Siegfried who makes pause in their slow-moving trek.  A strangeness,  for certain  —and the witch freezes mid-step.  Being surprised so seldom,  Madonna's emotion is evident whenever it strikes  —pale,  rose-tinged loveliness of her face peering back toward her companion,  dark eyes raising to meet his own just in time to catch the shape of his right hand being raised,  stretching,  to meet her tousled hood.  She holds her breath.  Not out of fear,  but out of a strange anticipation. 

@drachnslayer sent:  [ adjust ]

He draws the hood further down her hairline,  shielding her from the drifts of snow that were now making their way down from the sky.  Madonna peers at the prince,  black eyes twinkling beneath her adjusted hood.  She smiles like a girl.  

S T A R T E R F O R -> @drachnslayer

T H E R E H E W A S. Only a few meters away from him. The Drachenfänger Siegfried, of whom he'd heard so much. Words of his arrival had spread like wildfire, but so did the warnings to not approach him for whatever obscure reason. Conn felt an urge to reach out and talk — granted who else but that man knew of dragons better than him?

Most of what he'd heard were just rumours and glorious tales about the man. But when he'd resided in the kingdom of Neupreußen, it was all people were talking about. Now driven by said urge to connect, he stands, patiently, separate from a large gathering of people. His long black cape blowing in the wind. The second he makes eye contact, Conn raises his sword in acknowledgement.

Selah follows the veiled crowd down the narrow hall, standing in the back with her hands crossed in front of her. The words from the man make her freeze, but the group carries on in front of her. She can catch up to them in a moment. For now, he needs her attention.

"Are you a Sister of Lumen?" she asks in a whisper. "Are you interested in becoming a Sister? No?" She doubts he would give up masculinity and wine for a veiled and quiet life. "Then it would not be appropriate for you to join us. You have not made our vows."

beneath leather and steel is a surprising soft complexion—all pale skin and shaking arms, thin hair over tired wrinkles, and thick fading scars. the scratchy grey wool left doesn't quite do justice to the ghost underneath, covering translucence with a false sense of life, a faint sense of security, something to hide under. though there is not much left of even that since he's unlaced the front and rolled up the sleeves. the wooded countertop he lays over is cold and empty, the lights dim. the barkeep has long since gone to bed. and it was a surprise that, in fact, the man had known arthur for quite some time.

this was apparently normal. drinking alone, in the dark, in the quiet with his own stupor-filled thoughts, was normal. siegfried's approach was not.

arthur looks left from where he is laying over the bar, drink in hand and resting over his chest, covering the dark marks that peek beneath the open v-neck. the half-empty cup rises and falls as he narrows his gaze. the dragon slayer is a blur: pretty wheat and baby blues, dark cloth and warm skin. the hunter blinks a few times but the fog does not leave him. some part of his brain begs him to sit up, to apologize for his disheveled appearance and become hospitable again. his body laughs off the idea, skin trembling as the shaky noise claws from dry lips. he is smiling, though it seems bizarre and out of place. he grins at siegfried with pearly teeth.

“ oh, i thought you left already. ” the husk of his voice is laced with the strong stench of alcohol. he does not bother to move from his place even as the other draws near, bleary clay eyes watching each step with intrigue. “ do you usually sneak around when everyone else is asleep ?? that's kind of strange, isn't it ?? ” he pauses. after a moment, a soft giggle disrupts the short quiet.