Somehow, that’s exactly what Creighton needed to hear to calm his panicked heart.

It’s rare that the wandering folks of Irithyll target the two’s snowy little home. Rare enough that Creighton wasn’t at all expecting it — had panicked, totally and unprofessionally, when the two men and their hunting hounds began to bray and bark and fire their arrows at their windows — and had ran out into the snow barefoot to hack the accusing party to pieces.

Scavengers, probably. Bandits. Criminals of a different ilk. Bastards looking for an easy target — a quiet, comfy home to loot — not knowing who the place belonged to.

Anxiety and stress courses his veins and pulses in his ears louder than his own blood, but Pate’s hand upon his shoulder and his cooed words in his ear help calm the knight’s breathing, like the snout of a therapy dog placed gently upon his lap. Something that says, it’s okay. Something that says, we’re alright.

And Pate is right, honestly. Pate is always right.

… And Creighton’s feet are cold.

It takes a few more moments for the knight to fully gather himself after the rush of the fight before he is able to untense his arms and straighten his spine, letting the head of his axe smack the snow with a soft plop. He breathes deep… and exhales long. “Always sorta liked the snow for tha’ reason,” he says, which is true. “Like a canvass, it is.”

He examines his bloody work. The coming blizzard will take these bodies away like all the others. For now, it’s just paint for the landscape. For now, they should probably head back inside.

Deep breath. “Like somebody went an’ spilled a fine wine.”

As much as Pate’s face felt as if he’d walked into a frozen wasteland, he suffered through it to calm Creighton in the aftermath of the skirmish. It wasn’t all that different, honestly, than back in Brightstone all those years - centuries? ago now. 

Just snow instead of sand. 

Belated Munday thingy!

I don't use Discord. It's a personal thing, including the fact that it isn't so popular in my country. People here use other apps to chat with their groups of friends, which is what I do.

I also just... uhhh... don't feel super comfortable with what I've seen of Discord servers and whatnot. Yeah yeah yeah not every single one is the same, but I just ? Don't care for the experience as a whole ?

Unfortunately, some people can be pretty persistent and weird about the need to use Discord for RP stuff. YIKES.

@lockawayknight // these are the chances we always took too late, left up to the hands of time and fate // accepting.

ratings:

💔 -> non-existent.

💗 -> very low.

💗💗 -> a little.

💗💗💗 -> hopeful.

💗💗💗💗 -> high.

💗💗💗💗💗 -> maximum.

VISUAL ATTRACTIVENESS: 💗💗💗

( purely aesthetic appreciation of looks. )

"Creighton is... a rugged man. Rough, weathered, not unlike a stone that the wind has worn away at. It suits him more than the image some of the stories of his life in Mirrah have painted for me, I think. Rather than the softness of their nobility and knighthood, there is strength in his face and eyes that is so Forossan it makes my chest tighten. No doubt if he were not already taken by another, there would be some further north who wouldn't be able to tear their eyes from him."

FRIENDSHIP LEVEL: 💗💗💗💗💗

( how close a friend they consider them. )

"We are the blood of the bitter north, the frost and snow of Forossa that cools our veins and gives the winter's edge to our wrath. We are bound not only by kinship and camaraderie but purpose-- where his axe falls upon an enemy, my sword will be soon to follow. Wherever he might plant his feet to wage war, so too will I stand at his back. No more loyal a man have I known than he, and no greater a warrior could I ask to walk alongside."

SEXUAL DESIRE: 💔

( wanting to have sex with them. )

Brom chuckles and shakes his head.

ROMANTIC INTENT: 💔

( hoping for a romantic relationship. )

The assassin stands, arching an eyebrow behind the covering of his helmet. For at least the moment, his shield and lance remain strapped to his back: though if he really wanted to, they could be unbound and brought to the ready within just a few seconds if he really wanted to. 

“You absolutely certain about this?” He asked incredulously. Not many would be so daring as to challenge him right here in his home of Eleum Loyce... well, a few tried, most of them didn’t end up so well in the end, his tactical retreat methods had left most of them chasing after him in frustration, only to fall victim to the infamous trap laid by Maldron the Assassin. 

“But if you absolutely insist, then who am I to say no?” 

The knight gives a chuckle at that — alright, sure, she proved her point, and perhaps he was being a bit presumptuous. (Not to mention, ‘woodcutter’ is far more flattering a title than one might give his actual ‘profession’, if one could even call being a murderous convict-on-the-run that, so…)

“Mm, I could be,” he says, gently miming a woodcutter’s swing with his axe. “How hard could fellin’ a few trees be, eh?” A pause as he slings his axe over his shoulder, grinning behind his scarred mask. “Heh, you’re cheeky. How do I know y’didn’t pick up some card tricks at your, ah, dragon school, then, eh?” Another shrug. “Ony bloke I know what calls ‘imself a scholar and’s got a stiffy for dragons knows lots a’ card tricks.” He wiggles the fingers of his free hand as he says that final word.

✧* ░  “ You, for sure, could. ” There’s a smile. What kind of a woodcutter wore an armor? No hard feelings by her side - even if people often confused the witches, tricksters, sorcerers and other practicers alike - just like she struggled at times to put difference between mercenaries, warriors and knights. However, it seemed they both had the point.  

“ Card tricks, eh? Talking about cards, are you perhaps in need of some gambling advice? ” She isn’t going to admit she hadn’t much experience, but neither she could deny there was some luck with her at all times. Perhaps, even in a game of cards. However truth was, sadly, the old master wasn’t exactly cards men - or a man to prefer much company at all. The hermit preferred silence, only sharing his attenttion at the upmost need and each mentor of the dragon school, followed his steps.

He should have seen this response coming given the wretched condition the other man is in, but this certainly wouldn’t be the first time Creighton’s blissful ignorance has led to a metaphorical pike through his heart. The words hit harder than a punch, cut deeper than a knife, and infuriate him more than the death of kin. But, in a sense, isn’t that precisely what this is?

He stutters, eyes wide and enraged behind his mask. Leave it to the bitter, vengeful knight to find fury in the face of such tragedy… His next inhale is a hiss — threatening, almost, like a rattler’s tail in the once-a-thief’s face. “How… how could you…?” As if Pate could really know the answer. “After everything…?”

Pate’s expression grows more sympathetic as his brows furrow. His first instinct was to keep his distance, just on the tone alone, but something within him ached. If they had known each other before, surely they had been very close, judging by this one’s reaction. “I wish I knew...but time comes for all of us, eventually. Some sooner than others.”