⛧ Aʟʟᴇɴ "ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴘʀɪᴇsᴛ" Wᴀʟᴋᴇʀ ★ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
likethelight) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
usir2019-03-13 07:37 am
likethelight) wrote in usir2019-03-13 07:37 am
[open] I woke up this morning dead
Character(s): Allen Walker + you!
Status: Open
Location(s): Various, within a few days of travel of Krimnos for the majority of the month
Date(s) Various, not including time during the Einjar expedition
About: Catch-all for Allen during March, primarily exploration threads. (He will potentially be accidentally stumbling into the Shrine Egg, almost literally.) Character info is here, he forever has a lot of Weird. More prompts to be added as the need arises, and PM/msg me always for a custom one or surprise me with a wildcard!
Warnings: None atm.
TDM Continuations
⛧ Potion Seller Flashback
[ This is actually the worst. He hadn't even been on his own a week and this happens, ugh.
Rising to his feet somewhat unsteadily, there's a slender boy with white hair who's very carefully wrapped from head to toe in a durable black leather coat and cloak with silver trim, dark leather gloves and well-worn tall boots. There's no badge or insignia of any kind, but it's a purposeful enough sort of appearance it looks like he should be bearing one—or be bearing more obvious weaponry, as he would almost look to be dressed like a mercenary.
Or at least he would if he didn't look far too young, or have such an open expression with wide silver eyes... Or be wobbling like a teenager experiencing his first hangover. (Hint: he sort of is.) ]
Aaah, Master always warned about this sort of thing... I think I'm going to be sick. [ He sounds halfway between lamenting this fact and griping about, gripping the side of the tree he's leaned against somewhat tenuously. With a green sort of pallor to his already very pale complexion. Ugh. If only his head would stop pounding... is this what being hungover is like?? Who would do this to themselves??
He blinks however though, some of the haze and nausea clearing from his expression as he realizes someone else is there too. Immediately sharpened—but softening to concern as he realizes they're also struggling somewhat woozily to stand. Ah?
The boy reaches out a gloved hand, though he makes no move to actually touch you yet, hesitating just shy of your shoulder. ] Hey—
[ His countenance is in sharp contrast to the bright red mark he has slashed through the left side of his face however, as the hood of his cloak has fallen. Like a scar that refused to ever heal, or a tattoo that was scoured deep into flesh—which seems more likely, as his hair only just barely covers an inverted pentagram on his forehead. ]
Excuse me, are you alright?
⛧ Awakening
[ This is... well, bad doesn't even begin to cover it. Every hair on the back of his neck is standing straight-up with the wrongness of everything. Even his stomach roiled and he felt sick at patting himself down and realizing I'm alive, but... that was... but I remember...
That was 'death'.
And waking up in a crimson and black tunic he knows he's never worn in his entire life, a child tied to no nation in particular, didn't really help the wrongness of it. And so he is almost grateful when he hears the howl of wolves—dire wolves and he knows the difference—as it snaps him from his thoughts, and realizes he is entirely without anything to help him fight them. And that he needs to move. Now.
He can feel sick and worry about what's happened later.
Coming upon the dead knights though—four knights, two horses, large tracks.. shit, focus.. It's obviously an ambush, and not from other men but some monster or animal. Would that be from ogre? Troll? Except the prints seem too large... Focus, damnit. It couldn't have anything to do with him, could it? And there's nothing he do about the men (drops to kneel besides them, biting his lip when he sees no sign of breath or life), but the horses... ]
Shhh, shhh— [ Brows drawn together and a hand outstretched, he tries to calm himself enough to sound soothing as he reaches for the reins. They're rolling their eyes in obvious terror as he approaches though, and he gives a very faint sort of laugh as he hesitates then, hands held up in reassurance.
It's far more painful to listen to than it is humorous in any way though, and a very fragile sort of thing as he talks to the horses in a very gentle, normal-seeming tone. ]
It's okay, see? [ It's anything but okay, but he continues on amicably as if they were human and he weren't fracturing. ] I won't hurt you.
But if you don't calm down, that thing might come back. And then I don't know if I could save you like this. Or myself, either. [ Gentle and feathery, like his guts are all twisted up but he's going to paste a smile on anyway, as he reaches for the reins again as the horses seem to be settling even if they still stamp their hooves nervously. ]
I'm sorry I couldn't help them, either... Any of them. [ He's murmuring to himself as much as the horses now, as he works at loosening the knots. ] That must have been scary, wasn't it?
Witnessing that... [ It's... faraway though, and he trails off as his gaze becomes a little distant.
But the knot loosens finally underneath his hands—the right one which is human, and the left which is blood red and plated, leathery and inhuman with long black nails. And the horses rear as a blood-curdling roar echoes through the valley, the ground trembling under heavy lumbering footsteps. ]
⛧ Arkoda's Awakening (Krimnos, post-Einjar)
[ One can either sit around and mope forever over things they can't begin to understand, or... they can move on. Or at least keep moving forward until something makes sense. And especially when there's gold involved, well...
All mental suffering can just go on hold when there's gold to be earned, alright. He may have been given a new lease on life, but you see he's still very broke and would like to eat. And eating is expensive when you have an appetite like his.
Therefore, friend, you have found yourself facing off against one white-haired wisp of a boy in one of the Krimnos tournaments of unarmed combat. And he is smiling at you with the cheeriest expression, all the while cracking his gloved knuckles quite loudly and with gusto. It's absolutely not cheeky. Or menacing.
The golden grifflet on his shoulder, meanwhile, puffs itself up and spreads its wings quite menacingly. Which means it only accomplishes in looking further adorable and just a bit too much into it, as it's about the size of a hamster. ]
Please, the first move is yours. ♥ [ It's so politely merry as he cocks his head to the side—and the grifflet follows suit, its tail lashing madly, and... playfully?Bring it, bro. ]
⛧ Exploration (A Forest, shortly after arriving/before March 8th/Einjar)
[ The forest has been getting increasingly darker for some time, feeling like early morning twilight even at midday. Deep moss and lichen that's claimed much of the rock and ground, creeping upwards on the trees as well. It feels ancient--peaceful, honestly. Or it could feel that way.
As it is, the impression of dimming light doesn't make terribly much sense, as Allen is also pretty sure he's been going in circles for a while. None of this feels familiar anymore. It's the same land and yet.. it isn't... It's irritating. And he bites back on a grumble under his breath as he pushes a branch out of the way, only to feel a tug at his cloak that makes him pause.
Tim's regarding him with wide, expectant golden eyes as he tugs again with his beak and flutters back, trying to pull him aside. He blinks. ]
? [ Ah. ] You want me to go this way...? [ It lands on his shoulder and fluffs up in response, clearly proud Allen was able to finally figure this out.
Well that sure is... ... unexpected? But--reassuring, too. That would be really helpful, actually! And he finds himself a little disarmed by the idea, and takes a step through the underbrush in the grifflet's--Tim's--indicated direction.
Sadly his boot finds only moss underfoot, and absolutely no purchase.
As he has found a ravine.
Or rather the steep slope leading down into one.
The echoing yelp as he drops out of sight in a breakneck uncontrolled slide towards the bottom is far less dignified than he would hope and can be heard for quite some distance. ]
Status: Open
Location(s): Various, within a few days of travel of Krimnos for the majority of the month
Date(s) Various, not including time during the Einjar expedition
About: Catch-all for Allen during March, primarily exploration threads. (He will potentially be accidentally stumbling into the Shrine Egg, almost literally.) Character info is here, he forever has a lot of Weird. More prompts to be added as the need arises, and PM/msg me always for a custom one or surprise me with a wildcard!
Warnings: None atm.
TDM Continuations
⛧ Potion Seller Flashback
[ This is actually the worst. He hadn't even been on his own a week and this happens, ugh.
Rising to his feet somewhat unsteadily, there's a slender boy with white hair who's very carefully wrapped from head to toe in a durable black leather coat and cloak with silver trim, dark leather gloves and well-worn tall boots. There's no badge or insignia of any kind, but it's a purposeful enough sort of appearance it looks like he should be bearing one—or be bearing more obvious weaponry, as he would almost look to be dressed like a mercenary.
Or at least he would if he didn't look far too young, or have such an open expression with wide silver eyes... Or be wobbling like a teenager experiencing his first hangover. (Hint: he sort of is.) ]
Aaah, Master always warned about this sort of thing... I think I'm going to be sick. [ He sounds halfway between lamenting this fact and griping about, gripping the side of the tree he's leaned against somewhat tenuously. With a green sort of pallor to his already very pale complexion. Ugh. If only his head would stop pounding... is this what being hungover is like?? Who would do this to themselves??
He blinks however though, some of the haze and nausea clearing from his expression as he realizes someone else is there too. Immediately sharpened—but softening to concern as he realizes they're also struggling somewhat woozily to stand. Ah?
The boy reaches out a gloved hand, though he makes no move to actually touch you yet, hesitating just shy of your shoulder. ] Hey—
[ His countenance is in sharp contrast to the bright red mark he has slashed through the left side of his face however, as the hood of his cloak has fallen. Like a scar that refused to ever heal, or a tattoo that was scoured deep into flesh—which seems more likely, as his hair only just barely covers an inverted pentagram on his forehead. ]
Excuse me, are you alright?
⛧ Awakening
[ This is... well, bad doesn't even begin to cover it. Every hair on the back of his neck is standing straight-up with the wrongness of everything. Even his stomach roiled and he felt sick at patting himself down and realizing I'm alive, but... that was... but I remember...
That was 'death'.
And waking up in a crimson and black tunic he knows he's never worn in his entire life, a child tied to no nation in particular, didn't really help the wrongness of it. And so he is almost grateful when he hears the howl of wolves—dire wolves and he knows the difference—as it snaps him from his thoughts, and realizes he is entirely without anything to help him fight them. And that he needs to move. Now.
He can feel sick and worry about what's happened later.
Coming upon the dead knights though—four knights, two horses, large tracks.. shit, focus.. It's obviously an ambush, and not from other men but some monster or animal. Would that be from ogre? Troll? Except the prints seem too large... Focus, damnit. It couldn't have anything to do with him, could it? And there's nothing he do about the men (drops to kneel besides them, biting his lip when he sees no sign of breath or life), but the horses... ]
Shhh, shhh— [ Brows drawn together and a hand outstretched, he tries to calm himself enough to sound soothing as he reaches for the reins. They're rolling their eyes in obvious terror as he approaches though, and he gives a very faint sort of laugh as he hesitates then, hands held up in reassurance.
It's far more painful to listen to than it is humorous in any way though, and a very fragile sort of thing as he talks to the horses in a very gentle, normal-seeming tone. ]
It's okay, see? [ It's anything but okay, but he continues on amicably as if they were human and he weren't fracturing. ] I won't hurt you.
But if you don't calm down, that thing might come back. And then I don't know if I could save you like this. Or myself, either. [ Gentle and feathery, like his guts are all twisted up but he's going to paste a smile on anyway, as he reaches for the reins again as the horses seem to be settling even if they still stamp their hooves nervously. ]
I'm sorry I couldn't help them, either... Any of them. [ He's murmuring to himself as much as the horses now, as he works at loosening the knots. ] That must have been scary, wasn't it?
Witnessing that... [ It's... faraway though, and he trails off as his gaze becomes a little distant.
But the knot loosens finally underneath his hands—the right one which is human, and the left which is blood red and plated, leathery and inhuman with long black nails. And the horses rear as a blood-curdling roar echoes through the valley, the ground trembling under heavy lumbering footsteps. ]
⛧ Arkoda's Awakening (Krimnos, post-Einjar)
[ One can either sit around and mope forever over things they can't begin to understand, or... they can move on. Or at least keep moving forward until something makes sense. And especially when there's gold involved, well...
All mental suffering can just go on hold when there's gold to be earned, alright. He may have been given a new lease on life, but you see he's still very broke and would like to eat. And eating is expensive when you have an appetite like his.
Therefore, friend, you have found yourself facing off against one white-haired wisp of a boy in one of the Krimnos tournaments of unarmed combat. And he is smiling at you with the cheeriest expression, all the while cracking his gloved knuckles quite loudly and with gusto. It's absolutely not cheeky. Or menacing.
The golden grifflet on his shoulder, meanwhile, puffs itself up and spreads its wings quite menacingly. Which means it only accomplishes in looking further adorable and just a bit too much into it, as it's about the size of a hamster. ]
Please, the first move is yours. ♥ [ It's so politely merry as he cocks his head to the side—and the grifflet follows suit, its tail lashing madly, and... playfully?
⛧ Exploration (A Forest, shortly after arriving/before March 8th/Einjar)
[ The forest has been getting increasingly darker for some time, feeling like early morning twilight even at midday. Deep moss and lichen that's claimed much of the rock and ground, creeping upwards on the trees as well. It feels ancient--peaceful, honestly. Or it could feel that way.
As it is, the impression of dimming light doesn't make terribly much sense, as Allen is also pretty sure he's been going in circles for a while. None of this feels familiar anymore. It's the same land and yet.. it isn't... It's irritating. And he bites back on a grumble under his breath as he pushes a branch out of the way, only to feel a tug at his cloak that makes him pause.
Tim's regarding him with wide, expectant golden eyes as he tugs again with his beak and flutters back, trying to pull him aside. He blinks. ]
? [ Ah. ] You want me to go this way...? [ It lands on his shoulder and fluffs up in response, clearly proud Allen was able to finally figure this out.
Well that sure is... ... unexpected? But--reassuring, too. That would be really helpful, actually! And he finds himself a little disarmed by the idea, and takes a step through the underbrush in the grifflet's--Tim's--indicated direction.
Sadly his boot finds only moss underfoot, and absolutely no purchase.
As he has found a ravine.
Or rather the steep slope leading down into one.
The echoing yelp as he drops out of sight in a breakneck uncontrolled slide towards the bottom is far less dignified than he would hope and can be heard for quite some distance. ]
no subject
Using her scarf as a tool, she throws one end of it around a tree, sliding a couple of feet down and catching herself with the scarf pulled taut to either side. A lifetime of scaling cliffs and finding paths along the dangerous mountain ledges has given here a surety of foot that was usually reserved for tieflings and mountain goat satyrs.]
Don't move. I'm coming down.
[Even if he is fine, he might need help getting back out of the ravine, and with how dangerous the wilderness has proven to be she isn't going to just leave him there to be eaten or gored by something. Especially not after all the noise they have both made.
She chooses her descent carefully, taking it small sections at a time before sliding down the last distance. The young elf dhampir is dressed in an odd assortment of scavenged clothing, a torn pair of dark brown pants, a variety of fabric wraps, a shirt, and a coat she managed to 'borrow' from the pier. A small, thorny armadillo lizard stares unblinkingly at Allen from her shoulder, his head tilted to one side, but Rey keeps moving, crouching down beside him with her arms on her knees, just barely in arm's reach.]
Didn't break anything did you? [Her skills in wind magic had grown over the years but healing wasn't one of them. She did know plenty of field patching and first aid, but that would only help set bones, not repair them.
Foolish, Thorns voice mutters in the back of her mind, and she gives him a scolding look at the commentary before focusing back on Allen. Her animas had had a voice since she found him following her horrible encounters in the pit, but she still doesn't understand why he has a voice when others had not always had one, or still don't. She hasn't met enough people to determine the difference and hesitates to talk to anyone about it.
Being a Dhampir is dangerous enough without also mentioning she had come back after a century dead to the world.
Despite her proximity, she doesn't seem to react to his unusual arm, offering out a hand in case he wants help getting up, in which case she will stand up to help him back to his feet.]
no subject
"Foolish" is A+ spot-on though. Her animus is a shrewd one, and Allen blinks for a moment before brushing some twigs from his now-dirtied face. Break anything? No, he has some scuffs, a lot of smudged dirt, and a nick across his cheek from the fall, but it could have been far worse. Good at breaking his fall? Apparently.
There's leaves in his hair too, but his own animus is keen on preening them out with cheerful diligence. He seems quite used to doing this.. though the grifflet stays tucked back in the hood of the boy's cloak to a large degree as Rey approaches, watching her from behind the tufts of white hair with bright eyes. ]
I don't think so. [ He clasps her hand gratefully if curiously in return, pulling himself back up to his feet. And she needn't worry about reacting or not reacting to anything: a pauper he may still be, he is resourceful and has already procured himself a pair of gloves, shirt, and long sleeved (heavily patched and threadbare) coat and cloak before he'd dare venture out. Cards and how to cheat at them hasn't changed much in 100 years, and he has priorities. His arm as such will appear as any other arm, every blood red and plated bit thoroughly covered—though a very observant eye might note that it would not seem like "fingernails" pressing at the tips, but clawed tips threatening to poke through the leather.
Given, being what he is... whatever that is precisely, he's long since written it off as not being terribly important and is rather squirrelish about all the speculation it's brought, as it's never been very kind and people seem to only react more poorly now... Well, being someone cursed, blessed, by or of dragonblood or whatever is the reason for it—keeping aspects of himself that may or may not taint anyone's perception of him just seems in everyone's best interests.
It's just less tedious that way.
So that arm stays firmly under glove and wrap until he needs to use it. And the hooded cloak to obscure his face with that curse mark and ghostly complexion, though it's fallen back in the fall. If people think him a leper for how much he tries to cover himself that's fine.
Even if he does pull a face at standing as his lower back greatly protests his moving. ]
I'm sorry, I can't say I'm terribly familiar with these woods.
[ Once, he might have claimed such. Once. Not really, but it's just plain disorienting and strange now. ]
Why are you out here...? [ While he has his reasons he knows it's certainly odd enough. They're quite far from any established road or path. ]
no subject
Her animas stares boldly and almost defiantly at Allen and his animas as she releases his hand, not entirely focused enough to notice anything different. At his response she looks up the edge of the ravine he has slipped down to the part to fully named trees and then back to him.]
Getting to know the paths before the foliage comes back and throws everything into deeper shadows. [First rule of survival, know your surroundings. The more she learned the forest now the less lost she would be once it was filled with life again.]
Animal tracks. [She explains, realizing that 'paths' might not be the best word to describe what she was doing. There was still enough snow to show the paths the wild creatures took through the trees, and she trusted their knowledge more than any paths made by city folk.]
They usually know the safest routes to take. [Something she had learned following goat tracks in the cliffs beyond Krimnos to find the safest ledge paths.]
That's a long way down. You must have some luck in you.
no subject
Her comment gets a sheepish sort of laugh from him though, and he taps a finger against his cheek momentarily with a gloved finger. Tim, meanwhile, slowly twists his head about while watching her animus with great interest and wide, unblinking owlish eyes. Haha, luck...
He doesn't believe in luck except the kind you make for yourself. ]
Not luck so much as my master... he, ah, believed one should always be able to land on one's feet. Or at least not break their back. [ He says it so diplomatically. Best not to consider the implications... ]
Though I guess I am lucky you came by. [ It's a turn of phrase. ] Thank you.
so sorry for the delay
She just smiles, her eyes drifting to the unusual creature staring back toward her. Eyes back on Allen she brushes herself off and pulls her staff back out, using it to lean on as they talk.]
Smart master. Can't do much with a broken back. Speaking of feet, how are you feeling on yours? Ready to get back to - whatever it was you were doing out in the forest alone? [Her tone is light and amused, not judgemental. She was out on her own too.]