ClatterCake

Cold. Exhausted. Broken. Battered. It was hard to tell what he had felt, as his final breath had left his body. Was this where he would fall, in the very halls of the Lord Lion? Mikhail’s thoughts scattered, lost in the fog of his dying state, and held together only by the confusion that they wrought. He recalled only wrath, goaded on by Walter to prove his worth, and the crimson that painted the hall of the lion’s den belonged to him. He felt his body stretch on and on through light, like an ethereal spirit. He willed himself to form, finding nothing but his torso… unwounded. Clean, even. He was okay. He was okay. When at last his senses slowly returned to him, when he knew where he had been, and what had transpired, did he recollect his final moments. His green hues stared off into the distance, finding nothing but an endless sea of reflective water, darkened by the black sky. He stepped forward, the sensation of cold water having no effect on him; he knew it would have been torture for him, yet it did not. He hardly even seemed to register the biting at his soles, yet his body recognized its touch. On and on he journeyed, through a calm, black sea, and had seen nothing but his own body. Where was he headed? Why did he walk? He had no sense of direction or purpose, save for his singular goal: forward. The path he had chosen seemed endless, with no end in sight. And then… It happened. Subtle at first, a glare within the water caught his eye. A light slowly arose, cresting over a horizon, and gifting him with the sight that he was deprived of for what felt like an eternity. The young man paused, staring off into the light, and felt the warmth embrace him… “There vy are,” a voice rang out, breaking the silence. The boy spun, meeting a once forgotten face again; his father. He was lanky and tall, covered head to toe in dirt. His hair was long and oily, reaching down his back, and held a far darker tone than his son’s. Around his neck, the skin was purple, as if he had been left to hang for days. The two stared at one another for a moment, until Ratibor spoke once more. “Ea thought vy would have been here sooner.” “Papej?” “Da,” he replied, “if that is what vy want to call me.” Mikhail’s face contorted, a look of anger, despair, sorrow, and confusion flashing. “Why are vy here?” “Same as vy; vy’re dying,” Ratibor bluntly noted. “Figured vy’d run off ag join some gang, but… ea guess vy got vyrself a decent life. Too bad it ended so shortly.” “Ea’m niet dead. Ea canniet be,” the young man protested. He was alive but a moment ago, staring Walter down, and… then it hit him. “There it is,” Ratibor smirked, “it seems like vy did catch a dobry case of death. How did it taste? Like blood? Breathless?” Mikhail turned his gaze away from his elder, the pace of his breathing accelerating, and his hand reaching up to his torso. Only, strangely enough, there was no wound there, just as last time. How could he be dead? “Relax. Ea’m just messing with vy; vy’re niet dead. Niet yet, anyways, but vy should be.” Ratibor let out a huff, making his approach to the young man, and slapped his hand onto the boy’s shoulder. Mikhail snatched his arm away, a look of disgust plastered across his face. The older man looked upset, enraged even, until it all washed away with a sigh. “Vy hate me.” “Of course ea do. Vy’re a criminal. Vy murdered ag stole, vy pillaged ag raided, vy-” “Ag this ag that ag when are vy going to grow up? Vy act like a child still, even when vy’re laying down on ve wooden floor of a castle with a gash in vyr chest, from a duel vy could have never taken part in if vy wished. Please… vy think ea do niet know what ea did?” The boy went silent, his gaze flashing to the ground beneath him. “Vy can tell vyrself that justice was dispensed. Ea can see into vyr heart; ea know vy believe mea death was right. But that is not why vy hate me,” Ratibor stated, his gaze cold and unflinching. “So why do vy hate me?” Mikhail stared at the reflective war beneath him, met with the sight of both his own visage and that of his father. “Because vy abandoned me. Vy were right. Ea do believe vyr death was justified, but… vy left me to fend for meaself. Only now have ea realized how much it saved me in ve end. It was for ve best.” Ratibor was silent, his response delayed. There was a moment of peace between the two, as if some connection had finally been made in that moment, perhaps even an agreement. “Ea saw. Vy’ve grown up,” his father stated, placing a hand upon Mikhail’s head. The act caught the young Haeseni squire off-guard, and his eyes widened. His eyes turned up to meet the man, only to find him gone. The phantom touch had remained, however, as if the man he called father had never left his side. Wherever he was… it would not be the same destination for Mikhail. His eyes turned to meet the sun that had slowly begun to rise, that warmth growing ever more intense, until the very water began to boil. Slowly, but surely, he returned once more to the empty darkness in the horizon. It was there that his destiny lied, for it led him back to reality. With a hesitant step, he pressed forward, and the sensation of the hand on his head faded away. He was okay. He was okay. Further and further into the dark, lonely abyss did Mikhail walk. His mind had come to the conclusion of where he was; a thread, connecting the very fabric of life and death, where one passes from there to the next. Or perhaps it was merely the hallucinations of a dying young man. Regardless, he had made his choice to walk away from what he believed to be the afterlife. He had someone waiting for him… somewhere… but he could not find his way home. Try as he might, there existed only the distant sun, which had now grown increasingly dim the more he rejected it. It was only until the sight of a pedestal, lit by the faintest glow, did he pause. Where was he now? Approaching the pedestal, the boy cautiously looked around for the sight of any other being or object… and resting upon it was a crown. A simple, metallic object, inlaid not with jewels, but woven with flowers and vines. His approach was interrupted only by the roar of a lion and the hooves of a unicorn; their faces were covered in wounds, yet both stood strong and defiant in the face of their adversary. His hand arose, reaching out for the lion, only for the beast to reject him and swipe. He nearly fell into the cold water below him, but caught himself at the last minute with the thanks of the unicorn. The proud, fantastical beast had lowered its head for him to catch, and to hold himself up. The lion bowed its head, turning to the darkness, and disappeared from view. Before him now rested the crown, ripe for the taking, and yet… he was unsure if he could take such a prize. He turned his gaze to the unicorn as it pressed him forward, encouraging him to take the mantle, and place it upon his head. And as he did, a singular eye opened, casting its gaze upon the boy… ‘The outsider would become King.’ Cold. Exhausted. Broken. Battered. It was hard to tell what he had felt, as his breath returned to his body. Clutching Rosalind’s arm as she mended the wounds to his chest, the boy had been given a second chance at life, having passed the Lord Lion’s test. The vision offered to him at the end was not one of an illusion, but a message from the very blade that had been used to strike him down. And as he recovered thanks to the swiftly aid of his love, he shut his eyes once more, and repeated the words that the Lady Lion had begged throughout his dreams: I am okay. I am okay.

The chilling wind bit at the boy’s arms as his hands rested against the cold stone of Novkursain’s stone walls. From the roof garden, Mikhail spent much of the night staring at the stars, pondering the different stages of his life. He was born with neither riches, nor prestige, or those who he could truly call family. Ratibor, the late highwayman, was his father - a man of little intellect and even lesser humanity, had abandoned his son early on in his life to fend for himself against the harsh reality of the world. Starvation, disease, and violence were all that the Haeseni boy knew. He had understood so little of the world around him, save for one thing; death came for all. This simple, inescapable destiny had shaped his character far more than any being had done in his life, save for one: Rosalind Weiss. Life was fragile, even fleeting for the descendants of Horen, and all it took was a single blink of the eye for one to meet the end of their journey. Mikhail savored every bit of joy that he could take hold of, having come to terms with his mortality at a young age; when one is forced to face such hardships, it was always the choice between sinking or swimming. Mikhail turned his green hues to the courtyard below, examining the earth below as he pondered further than his own journey. He thought back to the time before he had been blessed with his first breath by GODAN, before even Ratibor, or his father before him. To the very roots of the Highlanders did he explore in his mind, when the Raevir first settled in Hanseti, did he fall back to. Where were his origins? Who were his people? Was he of the blood of ancient Raevir? Did he perhaps descend from some long-lost house of noble renown, disgraced into a state of complete destruction, or was he always of common stock? His brow furrowed and his mind rushed at the crisis that had taken hold of his thoughts. His fingers clutched against the masonry resting beneath his hands. He had wondered, perhaps for the first time in his life, just who he was and where his destiny had lied. A commoner, having fallen in love with a noble girl of reputable renown, and now seeking squireship; where did he belong, as GODAN had intended? As his eyes rose to the natural bridge of the Weiss’s estate, just beyond their gates, his thoughts shifted to Ratibor. The brigand met his end at the hands of Haeseni justice, a victim to his own crimes, for he had sealed his fate by tying the noose around his own neck. Why did he choose to lead a life of such villainy and dishonor? Was Mikhail tied to this fate, whether or not he did his best to escape from it? He held no love for his father, having watched his death as another blurred face in the crowd that gathered for his execution, along with the other miserable scum that had taken innocent blood for coin. His heart rushed at the memory that had once caused him no pain - would he only fall prey to it eventually? Audo had taught him of the constellations, of the meaning of the Drake, and how it resembled betrayal. Was he truly nothing more than a criminal’s son, fated to meet a criminal’s just end? It was then, that in his faltering state, that his eyes rose to the stars above him; a starry night, just like the one when he was little. There were many, for every day was accompanied with the veil of black, but one in particular had remained with him. In the winter of Valdev, in the bleakest of nights, the boy did his best to fall asleep against the raging cold. It was not until the resonating sound of a piano had echoed throughout the night, offering him a tune to lure him into a deep slumber, and to push on. That night, deep down in his heart, he believed it had been Rosalind within the gardens of Valdev’s palace. GODAN had set him on this path, not because he was destined to become a knight, not because he was fated to live the life of a criminal, or to even fall in love with the Weiss girl. It was because GODAN had gifted him with the greatest blessing of all: a chance. A chance at a better life. As he returned to the cold air of Novkursain, his stance straightened out, and the intensity of his hands finally melted away with peace of mind. It mattered not if he was from a long, hidden line of nobles, or a singular being in a sea of commoners, or even the son of a criminal. The path before him had all been paved by the choices that he had made - the routes that had appeared only did so because of those he had associated with. The Weiss gave him all he needed to succeed where he placed his ambitions, if only he would pay the price of blood and sweat. His blood, as he had decided at that moment, mattered little if it was blue or red, for his was the blood of Highlanders. For himself, for Rosalind, for Weiss, the people of Haense, and for the Crown, he would do his best to uphold the righteous values of his people. The boy had become a man. And thus, the new chapter had begun… Krusae Zwy Kongzem.

Mikhail prepared for the day, picking out a far better choice of clothing for a lady of Rosalind's status; he had taken Audo's words to heart. He would learn what he could in etiquette, of what it meant to be Haeseni at it's very core, and present himself as the best he could. He was a commoner, but he would keep his word, for honor was the lifeblood of the Highlanders. As he set foot out the door, his eyes rested on a parchment; a poem, penned by the very same man that he had called Borsa... and whose heart he had played a role in crushing. He had never intended to hurt his fellow, but both boys had sought her blessing in courtship - someone would face the sting of rejection. He was lucky to have been chosen, he felt, but Rosalind had stated her reasonings clearly on that very day. With a deep breath, his green eyes arose from the parchment, and looked to the road ahead of him. Leonid was healing... but it would take time. He recalled the words he had parted with the boy as he left Novkursain. When you are ready, we will have our conversation. And I will still call you Brother. Holding firm to his belief, he gently placed the poem away into his pocket, and stepped forward... beginning a new chapter in his life.

Mikhail read the missive carefully, a warm smile spreading across his visage. He was glad to be a House Guard for the Weiss, giving him the optimal chance to attend the festivities without worry for an invitation. Even if he'd be on duty, he could at least be present for her. With swift penmanship, the boy signed up for the tournament, and pondered on what to gift her; she deserved something worthy... and perhaps, albeit a little selfishly, he'd gave some of her favor for the fights. When at last he sealed his name in the list of contestants, his thoughts turned to Viktor, and his decision had been made. "Da... she would like that."

The Haeseni boy looked overjoyed at the opportunity to make a name for himself; this was the perfect step he needed to thrust himself into the spotlight for Lord Walter and his Brothers within the Brotherhood. With another goal on his mind, the boy hastily signed up, hoping they would take a last minute addition, and set off to get some last-minute training in with Pebbles... praying that the ornery old steed wouldn't throw him off again in his most dire hour.

The young Templar attended to his horse's coat with a wide grin, brush in hand, when a courier approached unannounced. As his gaze shifted away from his steed, he immediately eyed the letter-filled bag, and felt a rumble of excitement building up. New mail was always such a treat! The exchanged their pleasantries, Ardreth was handed his letter, and the courier made his way to his next destination with a shiny new coin for his troubles. With one swift motion, the letter was unsealed, and the Elf examined it's contents. "A wedding? For Elimar and Moliana? Well, I'd say it's about time! Maybe I can bring that as a little wedding gift? She ought to enjoy it." Grinning wider than before, Ardreth returned to cleaning up his faithful companion; after all, with such a joyous occasion around the corner, one should always be well-groomed and dressed to perfection! Or in his case, have his hair combed and face cleaned of dirt enough to be presentable in public.

IGN: ClatterCakeRoleplay Name: ArdrethNumber of Entries: TwoScreenshot of Books Donated:

IGN: ClatterCakeRoleplay Name: ArdrethNumber of Entries: ThreeScreenshot of Books Donated: (Third one was added after the first two.)

Ardreth wiped the sweat from his brow as he left with the rest of his team; what a tough team to face, those Saints! But it seems like the Bucks got the best of them this time around! The comeback has arrived!

Ardreth clapped his hands as a wide grin spread across his visage. It was a tough first game, but this looked to be the start of something great; now was the time to show the League what he could do! "Let's stomp the competition, Bucks!"

IGN: ClatterCakeRoleplay Name: ArdrethNumber of Entries: OneScreenshot of Books Donated:

IGN: ClatterCakeRoleplay Name: ArdrethNumber of Entries: SevenScreenshot of Books Donated:

Ardreth stared off into the distance, his hand casually swiping away at the soot that covered his visage. After a moment of silence amongst the sounds of birds and crickets, he closed his eyes, and smiled. The worst had passed and he lived another day; Malchadiael and Vulen had given him the strength he needed. "Thank you."

A youthful Elf halted his advance just a few feet away from the stone monument; it's build was an inspiring piece, detailing a warrior in their prime, sword planted on the ground in front of them, and their hands resting around the hilt. For a time, there was silence, save for the sounds of nature around him. It was a strange feeling to the would-be-knight, to hear the calming breeze shuffling through the grass at his feet, knowing that it would soon be burnt away in the ashes of war and dragonfire. But was it truly a war? No, he thought, a battle of survival. As the thought of the incoming destruction loomed over him, his gaze shifted to the scene around them, until at last he spoke up. "Hello, Mister Vulen. It's me, Ardreth. Well... I was Daisuke at around that time. It's been a while since I've visited, hasn't it? A lot has changed over the years; I'm not a kid anymore. I've grown bigger than Dael, believe it or not, but he still treats me like I'm five. I'm still scared of that cane of his and wonder when he'll hit me in the head next." A laugh escaped him as he spoke of his mentor's brutal teaching methods, a sense of warmth filling his chest. When the laughter died down, all that had remained was his smile. "He's a tough teacher, but... I wouldn't have gotten as far as I did if it wasn't for him. He... misses you. Ever day. But I'm sure you already know that. I'll make sure he stays safe, for you. But that isn't why I'm here." The gauntlets around his hands felt as if they weighed on him like a brick, yet he found the strength to lift it, if only to rest it on the pommel of his sword. "I still have that sword. Aegrothorn, I mean. Stupid name, I know, but I was a kid when I named it. I'm just... I'm scared is all. That's why I came here. I'm here because I... I wanted to ask you and Malchadiael for the courage to fight. I'd... ask him directly, but I'm no Templar. So maybe you can put in a good word for me?" His smile contorted to a sheepish grin at his request. Suddenly, as he opened his mouth to speak once more, a small, black speck floated down in front of him... then another... and another. His heart sank like a rock at the sight, at the thought of what could happening in the upcoming battle. Yet something stirred in him... as he had done many times before, his training had kicked in. Fear slowly morphed into focus, paving the way to the courage he needed to fight. Whether it was through his own merit or those of his prayers, it was unclear to him. With one swift motion, his helmet wrapped around his head. "Well, looks like it's time to start getting ready. Wish me luck, sir. I'll try and take a few down for you. And if this is it... well... I'll see you soon." A salute was given to the statue, followed by a turning of the heels, and Ardreth's departure. With the sound of armor fading off into the distance, all that remained was the bellowing wind, and the ashes that it carried...

The now-grown Elf, once by the name of Daisuke, quietly examined his inventory, taking notice of a small bottle that had rested against the back of his container, and reached out to take hold of it. His eyes examined it's contents for a moment, his mind racing to his childhood, before a soft smile grew on his face. "I remember this now... that little mouse-man gave this to me when I gave him some coin in exchange for a song! I never did get to hear it, though... maybe I should find him and see how he's doing? I'd certainly like to hear that tune he offered!" He then spent the rest of his time reminiscing...

Character Name: Ardreth IGN: ClatterCake Discord: ClatterCake#4145 Timezone: EST Teacher or student?: Student Subject(s): Piano

MC Name : ClatterCake RP Name : Ardreth Are you are Citizen of Oren : No CRP or PVP : CRP (because I'm bad at PvP ha)

Daisuke watched on with horror at the sight, his sword hanging by his side in a tight grip; though he knew full-well that they had deserved what was coming and believed it was justice with all his heart, it was the first time he had witnessed such bloodshed. It was not the first, he assured himself, and it will not be the last. Steeling his heart with the news of Vulen's death and it's circumstances still fresh in his mind, he followed after the group, tossing lantern and matches against the burning vessels as the wood cried out with each snap. When all was said and done, he would leave alongside the party, having shed no blood with his weapon that day, but felt a change in his thoughts. One day, he too would have to take the life of another... and there could be no turning back.

Daisuke stood outside as he swung his blade about through the air, practicing his form in order to get his mind off the previous events within Elvenesse; it was a particularly brutal day. Of course, when a small bird fluttered about over his head with a message for the young man, he ceased his motions, and calmed his stance to allow it's approach. Finally, when he opened the letter, he read on quietly, before a large smile spread across his face. "A wedding? Well... that sounds like it could be fun! Maybe I can see how strong I've gotten with the boxing match!" The youth went about his merry way to prepare for the trip, though stopped for but a moment to ask himself one question: who is Mark and why are there so many of him?

That video tho.

Daisuke stares at the paper in front of him and scratches his head in deep thought. "Maybe I should give it a shot! Hopefully, I can impress Mister Dael!" With an enthusiastic smile, he reaches forward, and writes his name down in less-than-elegant writing. "I hope I can eat that food in the Palace again as a prize..."

Why do you keep going all in on Salty Bets? It makes me cry watching your wallet go down the drain.