#(&) anri ➽; SOFT FOR A KNIGHT.

[hawksblooded]

⤖ indie & selective ALIZEBETH KENWAY,  a fandomless original character from own lore.

⤖   generic fantasy & fandom verses available. strictly 18+ .  ⤖ sideblog to @henosiis. written by KAT ⤖ affiliated with @fishermcn, @swordluck

Exploring grief, DUTY, acceptance, friendship, misfortune, necessity, justice

[swordluck]

⚘ @sunmad // cont.

Fading sunlight clung to the edges of Miriam’s robes, soft and radiant as star-fire. There was an undeniable purity to her, but also a disquieting stillness – a veneer as flawless and fragile as finely blown glass.

“Please, you owe me nothing,” Anri said simply, warmly. Her fingertips lingered in the cool water, keeping the silent company of minnows – those scale-flanked creatures with no purpose other than the fragile continuation of their existence. “I do not seek repayment. Kindness is its own reward, now more than ever in these dark times.”

Her gaze lifted to meet Miriam’s own, searching beneath the gossamer layers of chastity and devotion, penance and worship. For a moment, they sat in companionable silence, the crackle of the fire filling the spaces between them.

“You are strange to me, Miriam of Carim,” Anri said at last, her smile kind and touched with quiet curiosity. She studied the delicate profile of the woman beside her – beautiful, radiant, ethereal. “Blessed, perhaps. This world is quick to gut and devour the fleece-coated. And yet, you seem largely untouched by its horrors, as though they cannot lay their claws upon you.”

Awe shimmered in her voice as her petal-soft gaze lingered on the intricate veil, the bound hair. Every other Carim-born maiden she had ever glimpsed had been cloaked in the foreboding shadow of their assigned knight, their purpose tethered to another’s blade. By comparison, Miriam seemed vulnerable, painfully alone.

Perhaps this woman, too, had suffered loss so profound it could not be spoken.

“A testament to your spirit, I suspect. A testament to your resilience.”

A familiar ache bloomed within Anri, a hollow space carved out by the absence of Horace. Her gaze retreated, returning to the water, where golden ribbons of light pierced the rippling surface, pooling upon the silt at the pond’s bottom.

“I am glad to have been of service to you.”

In the absence of a sworn knight, this maiden would have her shield, her sword, for as long as the winding, bone-riddled road bound them together.

[confessthysiins]

🌿// @swordluck

The shrine is dutifully decorated, red flowers and evergreen sprigs in careful arrangement among the many candles that cast flickering shadows upon the stone cell’s walls, like the spark of life on the altar’s impassive stone face. Anri discards her helmet, lets out a small gasp as she makes her way closer, looking around in quiet amazement. But wonder transforms to worry when the shrine-keeper’s hooded figure, huddled at the feet of the Goddess�� statue, remains motionless at her approach. Blessed with the crow’s keen senses, he is usually up and about, feathers displayed in welcome, when she visits the shrine. Not this time. “ Oswald? ” she calls out meekly, steps hesitant at first turning to hurried strides. In an instant she is at his side, kneeling before his cloaked form, a hand reaching out to his frail shoulder.

He wakes slowly, black eyes opening to her worried face, her furrowed brow. “ Ah, dear Anri… what is it? Why do I wake to see sadness on thy fair face? ” he croons, half-birdsong and half-whisper. She strokes his jet-downed cheek with a knuckle before pulling him into her arms. “ I feared for you. For a moment I thought you were dead. ” She swallows a sob. Smooth talons raise to rake through her fine blonde hair, gently picking at the tresses. “ Oh, my dear girl. Shhh. I was only resting. ” He redresses from their embrace with a smile on his avian features. “ Time has no hold on me anymore, and I wager Death does not want me either. Perhaps thou art the last one, my knight, who still looks at this old crow with some tenderness in thine eye. ” “ Do not mock me, Oswald, I beg. There are more who care for you. Perhaps my worry was foolish, but… ” He chuckles, a rook-like noise too deep for his weak frame. 

They are sat thus before each other, and before the altar to the Goddess of Sin, Anri’s hands resting on his cloth-wrapped arms, and his’ upon hers steel-clad. She lets out a sigh of relief as she looks once more upon the small shrine, adorned and adored by his delicate attentions. A girlish laugh escapes her, and Oswald’s feathered brow shifts in interrogation. There is a rumbling hum in his chest. “ Yes? Is aught amiss? ” She gestures to the garland draped around the stone Goddess’ neck, woven evergreen, crowned with the red jewels of the mistletoe. “ There’s an old tradition, in Astora… ” she begins, but a talon gently brushes along her full lips and her voice dies down with it. “ I know the one, ” the crow-man replies, and she thinks she can see a glimmer of amusement in his dark eyes. But when he leans towards her, slowly, carefully, the kiss he bestows on her soft mouth is chaste and humble. It speaks only of those tender feelings between them, and nothing more. Love and no desire, a promise of remembrance.

“ I care for thee as well, my dearest Anri. ”

[korvyna]

As her soft lips pressed against his jaw, he felt a spark; a subtle tingling sensation rippled down his neck and behind his ears where they turned warm. In a moment there was solace, and the knight graciously appreciated it. In this moment, he quietly pondered to himself their endeavors together - their hardships, their sorrows, their losses and their accomplishments.

Nay, there was but little left until Korvyn knew they would both be at ease. Aldrich's terror called to him from the distance, and soon it would be over upon their due arrival to the cathedral. Then, they would tread the world in peace, without a worry. Whether the world were to fall to darkness, or the bonfire would be rekindled once again, Korvyn knew he would find Anri again. He didn't wish to forget until that day when the chosen Undead would make their calling's due and succeed.

He would seek her out, again and again. As many times as he would be required to, to be in this moment with her for as long as he could do so.

Alas, the silence that passed was interrupted by the low, gentle voice.

❝ Wherever you may be, never forget, ❞ he murmured, tilting her head up to gaze upon her gentle orbs.

❝ Forget not this moment... Forget not my protection of you, ❞ he placed a gentle kiss upon her soft, rosy lips.

❝ That in this life and the next, I will always find you. Where you will need me the most, that I may always be there in your company. ❞ his fingers danced upon her arms as his forehead gently rested against her own.

His breathing was but in a gentle labour of their kiss, his breath captured by her lips. Oh, how he was enamoured by her kindness. Captivated by her beauty. Admiration in her strength. His eyes smouldered at the thought of this, of her person.

[luckydxy]

@austerulous liked for a starter !!

The sounds which echoed off of bleak basement walls were surprisingly comforting. Someone hummed a nonsense song inbetween gentle chatter with unknown others who never seemed to respond in kind. The crackle of fire & clinking of cookware intermingle with soft steps & inquisitive tuts. Anri would awaken upon a cot, tucked in carefully with a red hood & dusty blankets, to the peculiar sight of another young woman squatting by a fireplace, fueled by bits of furniture if the hacked up chairs scattered here & there had anything to say. Helm & blade were set aside on a corner table ; a purposeful distance from their owner. Ara wanted to make use of herself, but she wasn't so thrilled with the potential of being shanked by an injured knight. Surely the other woman would understand?

Sensing her guest stirring, Ara perks. Dropping ladel into the great metal pot she'd been attending & promptly patters towards Anri with frightening urgency. Ara looms over injured knight, grin unsettlingly wide, & places her hands squarely against her own hips. She giggles.

"You almost lost your head, friend!"

[a-bottomless-curse]

voice meme.

bold what applies to your muse, italicize situational ones. feel free to add your own suggestions and carry it on.

► ACCENT

“country” │ “backwoods” │ “sailor” │ “upper class” │ “city slicker” | foreign speaker │ refined

► ELOQUENCE

educated │self-taught | uneducated | doesn’t use conjunctions │ shortens words | omits entire words on occasion | mixes up words │ just makes up their own words! │ archaic english │ dependent on mood or setting

► TONE

loud │ soft │ room volume │ high pitched │ low pitched │seductive │velvety │ speech impediment │ abrasive │ gruff │ shrill │ booming │ matter-of-fact │ toneless │ husky │gravelly │ breathy │ nasal │ barking │ chatty │ condescending │ musical │ suave │ world-weary │ brash │ authoritative

► HABITS

refers to self in third person│ incorporates different languages/terms/sayings │ uses gender-specific terms │ adapts to audience │ changes pitch around animals or children│ shifts tone when lying │ gives others nicknames │ uses terms of respect towards others

► OTHER BITS

• She frequently incorporates different languages / terms in her speech, but especially so when she is: thinking through something difficult, writing poetry, drunk or otherwise fairly intoxicated, and when she is feeling either extremely soft someone, or when she is feeling particularly frustrated.

• She uses a mix of endearments and titles for those she cares about. While she will use such endearments like "dear", "darling" and even "love", depending on the person, she will refer to them in such ways as "My darling knight", "Dearest warrior" and similar titles as a way to show her respect and her caring for them.

• Even though her voice is quite soft, she is fairly good at doing impressions and mimicry, with her favorite sounds to mimic being that of bird calls / birdsong.

► VOICE CLAIM REFERENCE

I don't have an official voice claim for her (mostly cause I'm indecisive lol) but these videos are what I imagine resembles her voice (when speaking and when singing) the voice

voice claim: Gingertail (Singing) - Elden Ring Song of Lament

Marcella Lentz-Pope (Speaking) - Lamb (LoL)

tagged by: @of-forossa and @umbrclflame (thank youuuu!)

tagging: @farumazula, @accendible (anri!), @wolfdivined, @abysscl, @sinnhelmingr, @crimsonlocks (laurence?), @royal-dragonslayer-ornstein

[arcstral]

—  memoir;  shame.  —

Altea, now a prosperous maritime nation yielding surpluses of fish, fruit, and grain at every season’s turn had started out as only a fishing village.

Without a proper representative to send to Archanean parliament, the fittest young man had always been chosen to deliver their share of the taxes instead. This man was Anri. Before the slaying of a dragon that levied him to fame with shining Falchion in hand, this was all.

Anri’s baseborn roots combined with his feats later in life asserted that he was popular amongst the common-folk, but not amongst the Archanean nobility. Unlike the founding heroes Cartas, Marlon, or Ordwin, he was a peasant grown into the larger shoes of a king. Iote of Macedon built his legacy much from the same stock, if not by worse as a former Dolhrian slave, but the nobility did not see this as great an offense.

It was not Iote who fell for a princess twelve stations above his own, after all.

And in terms of martial prospects, it was not Iote who reached for an unattainable goal of heaven when all others believed it was the ground to which he better belonged.

No, that man had been Anri.

Years later, dregs of the contempt yet remain. It was still to Archanea that they paid taxes and tribute, to repay the subsidy used to form their kingdom during the rule of the original Hero-King. Because while Anri was the hero who ended the war, he was neither rich nor royal, and he required the same amount of help that he ever gave his continent. And so, even if the reasons were obvious, the conclusion that Marth reaches is still most strange to him:

Prince Marth, heir to Altea’s throne and Anri’s modern successor, is not well-liked amongst the Archanean boys of finer breeding. These noble sons of the mainland coalesced seasonally in Pales, just like Marth. They know who he is but do not ask him to play when he sits idle around a table while his father talks politics and commerce with theirs. Or to share in their tea and biscuits.

Choice pieces of the castle cook’s soft puffy bread, baked in the mornings and dressed specially in honey, are picked clean from the plate before they have had the chance to pass into the Altean prince’s hands. Marth is not one for sweet, sugar-rotting things so the secret exclusion does not scald. He knows it was meant to.

All of this suits him just fine in the end. Merric is all he needs for a playmate, after all, and a number of his father’s younger knights will indulge him to masquerade as monsters and dragons for the wooden end of his mock sword. Elice as well, sometimes, when no one is looking and reprimands her for being unladylike. Naturally, there is nothing that these young masters offer that his bannermen and his friends back in Altea cannot. Still. Marth finds himself listening with hearing that is far too sharp.

“..Oink, oink! I’m Anri and at night, I make my bed in the swine yard with pigs!”

“Hahaha!! No, no, wait--I’m Anri, and Medeus can wait! I have to go harvest my crops!”

When Jagen or his valets are not there, the same gaggle of noble Archanean youths always clamor noisily as they pass him. Their comments inspire a round of high-pitched giggles amongst themselves, ugly and uncomfortable to Marth’s ears. His eyes scan a line of his stratagem book that replays twice in his mind. His courtly poise keeps him still, precociously immeasurable even at age ten, but every part of him is abuzz with the impatience to return to Altea’s insular comforts. When will father’s business conclude?

“I bet he bathed once a month and the Falchion is filthy because he used it to pick his teeth..!”

Another clap of laughter, louder than it was. The blood picks up in his ears as his indirect tormentors draw closer. He sits very, very quiet. Rather than confront them, he takes every effort to remind himself that he is Altea’s fifth generation prince. Royalty is in his blood no matter what Anri was.

The thought is admirable, but not always successful.

The back of the princeling’s neck burns bright red. Their footsteps pass him by.

[exalted--zealotry]

Sophia knew that their children were's exactly rooting for Anri to do well in the joust. But it still seemed unfair to send him into the arena with nothing at all. So she had prepared something for him-- something he'd recognize. From long ago, when they were younger and had been celebrating the birth of their firstborn. "Here," she murmured handing him the small miniature portrait that had been painted long ago. Of her and Emmeryn and him midst blooming hydrangeas. "For good luck in the joust."

Ah; how truly blessed he was.

As the former exalt drops to a single knee, his hand, gloved and armour-clad, gently takes Sophia’s into his own. Countless battles, Falchion in hand, had rendered the crusader’s hands rough-- and far less comfortable for his beloved to hold than they had been in the past. Though the gloves may deprive him of the touch he truly craved, they would not stop him from pressing a gentle kiss to the woman’s knuckles-- truly, a knight and gentleman at heart, he was.

As he rises to his feet, Anri takes the portrait from his wife, before proceeding to hold her free hand in his own, face leaning ever closer to hers.

“Sophia,” he begins, his voice low and soft, “you honour me in a way that words alone cannot repay; I swear to you, I will win this tournament. For you, my love.”

[jamesfalt]

i found a vocaloid ranking list i made a few years ago last night so i was like okay imma remake this. there are like 100 vocaloids and i’m dying

VOCALOID

KAITO Songs used: Judgement of Corruption, Cantarella, Goodnight Song Rating: 6/10

MEIKO Songs Used: Evil Food Eater Conchita, Piano x Forte x Scandal Rating: 6/10

LOLA Songs Used: Memory, Halloween Requiem Rating: 4/10

LEON Songs Used: Halloween Requiem Rating: 5/10

MIRIAM Songs Used: Re:Sound, White Flag (cover) Rating: 6/10

VOCALOID2

BIG AL Songs Used: Last Dance Rating: 4/10

Camui Gackpo (Gakupo) Songs Used: Madness of Duke Venomania, ggrks, Dancing Samurai Rating: 7/10

GUMI (or Megpoid) Songs Used: Campanella, Saigo no Revolver, Masked bitcH Rating: 8.5/10

Hatsune Miku Songs Used: News 39, VOiCE, Pierrot Rating: 10/10 miku is supreme

Hiyama Kiyoteru Songs Used: Guilty Verse, A Clown's Tears Rating: 6/10

Kaai Yuki Songs Used: Disco Chocolatheque, Ikanaide Rating: 9/10

Kagamine Rin Songs Used: Kokoro, Butterfly on Your Right Shoulder, Quarrel with the Doppelganger Rating: 10/10 supreme

Kagamine Len Songs Used: Fire Flower, Butterfly on Your Right Shoulder, Gigantic OTN Rating: 9/10

Kobayashi Matcha Songs Used: ボーカロイド Rating: 5/10

Lily Songs Used: -ERROR, Lily Lily Burning Night Rating: 7/10

Masaoka Azuki Songs Used: 飛び出せ授業！ Rating: 6/10

Megurine Luka Songs Used: No Logic, RIP=RELEASE, Double Lariat Rating: 9/10

Nekomura Iroha Songs Used: Insomnia, Twinkle Smile Rating: 10/10

Prima Songs Used: Morning Light, Illusion Rating: 5/10

Ryuto (or Gachapoid) Songs Used: Fairy Dandelion, Error of Love Rating: 7/10

SF-A2 miki Songs Used: Shatter, miki miki Romantic Night, iNSaNiTY Rating: 7/10

SONiKA Songs Used: Repeat II, Could I Just,  Desire Rating: 6/10

Sweet Ann Songs Used: Japanese Boy, Saudade, In Verbatim Rating: 7.5/10

Tonio Songs Used: Treasure Rating: 6/10

Utatane Piko Songs Used: remember, Your Song Rating: 7/10

VY1 Songs Used: Paradichlorobenzene - VY1 SOFT MIX -, Invitation Rating: 7/10

VY2 Songs Used: A Clingy Boy Sticking for 15 Years, Fools Among the Stars ~Hikoboshi~ Rating: 7.5/10

VOCALOID3

Akikoloid-chan Songs Used: It's Your Fault, Let's Stop by the Convenience Store Rating: 8/10

anon Songs Used: Eden of Nobleness, Full Throttle Rating: 6.5/10

kanon Songs Used: Eden of Nobleness, Full Throttle Rating: 6.5/10

Anri Rune Songs Used: Hallelujah Super Idol Rating: 7.5/10 (rip cries)

Aoki Lapis Songs Used: Illusionary Funeral paradise, Roll in smoke!, Waltz for Yume Nikki Rating: 10/10

AVANNA Songs Used: Word.rar III, Frigid Hearts Rating: 8/10

Bruno Songs Used: Ballroom Breakdown Rating: 6/10

Camui Gackpo V3 Native Songs Used: Paranoid Doll Rating: 8/10

Camui Gackpo V3 Power Songs Used: RIP=RELEASE Rating: 9/10

Camui Gackpo V3 Whisper Songs Used: soundless voice Rating: 10/10

Chika Songs Used: Ai, Charming Kiss, ET CETERA Rating: 9/10

Clara: Songs Used: Ballroom Breakdown Rating: 8/10

CUL Songs Used: White Knight, Lonely Star Rating: 9/10

v flower Songs Used: Inokori Sensei, HYPERDONTIA, charles Rating: 9/10

galaco Songs Used: Lovely Secret, Goodbye to a Childhood Friend, Warning! Rating: 8/10

V3 Megpoid (GUMI) Songs Used: Ten-Faced Adult Rating: 8/10 Sweet Rating: 7/10 Power Rating: 7/10 Whisper Rating: 8/10

Hatsune Miku V3 Songs Used: World is Mine, Blushifying Phenomena 100% Rating: 10/10 still supreme

IA Songs Used: A Tale of Six Trillion Years and a Night, Imagination Forest Rating: 10/10 one of my faves

KAITO V3 STRAIGHT Songs Used: Bad Apple Rating: 9/10

KAITO V3 SOFT Songs Used: Meltdown Rating: 9/10

KAITO V3 WHISPER Songs Used: Hirai Hirai Rating: 10/10

KAITO V3 ENGLISH Songs Used: Addicted Rating: 9/10

kokone Songs Used: Nervous, cry for the STAR Rating: 8/10

Lily V3 Songs Used: Lily Lily Burning Night Rating: 7/10

Luo Tianyi Songs Used: Waiting in Vain, Not Too Hot in Tokyo Rating: 8/10

Macne Nana Songs Used: IROHA(common), Slow Starter Rating: 7/10

MAIKA Songs Used: HAYWIRE, En tu mirar, La Llorona Rating: 8/10

MAYU Songs Used: I Fall....and Stay Down, emerald city Rating: 8/10

MEIKO V3 POWER Songs Used: Love is War Rating: 8/10

MEIKO V3 STRAIGHT Songs Used: Romeo and Cinderella Rating: 6/10

MEIKO V3 DARK Songs Used: Ayano's Theory of Happiness, Hirai Hirai Rating: 7/10

MEIKO V3 WHISPER Songs Used: Hirai Hirai Rating: 8/10

MEIKO V3 ENGLISH Songs Used: Hello Rating: 9/10

Merli Songs Used: How many tears, Tori no Uta (cover) Rating: 9/10

Mew Songs Used: Yume no Chikara, Stella Rating: 8/10

OLIVER Songs Used: eTeRNiTY, desync Rating: 6.5/10

Rana Songs Used: Uraomote Fortune, Bad Girl Rating: 8/10

Ryuto V3 Songs Used: WAVEFILE Rating: 8/10

SeeU Songs Used: Hide and Seek, Leaving Donna Rating: 6.5/10

Tohoku Zunko (btw can i just say i love her and the whole concept of her being a vocaloid is so sweet) Songs Used: Pastel Imagination, On My Wingless Back Rating: 8/10

Tone Rion Songs Used: Caramel Macchiato Rating: 5.5/10 i just never liked her tbh

VY1v3 Songs Used: Rolling Girl -Rock ver.- Rating: 8/10

VY2v3 Songs Used: Hurting for a Very Hurtful Pain Rating: 8.5/10

Xin Hua Songs Used: Honey², Standing on Tiptoes Rating: 9/10

YANHE Songs Used: A Superior Youth, To Love To Kill Rating: 10/10 i just love her voice a lot??

YOHIOloid Songs Used: NeapolitaN, BURST FORTH Rating: 9.5/10 i mcfucking love yohio

Yuezheg Ling Songs Used: Nine-Nine Eighty One Rating: 9/10

Yuzuki Yukari Songs Used: Ferris Wheel Rating: 6/10 sounds like every female vocaloid looks off

ZOLA PROJECT Songs Used: Natural nobility of downfall Rating: 8/10

VOCALOID4

AKAZA/Otori Kohaku/Unity-chan Songs Used: SILENCE, Indulging: Idol Syndrome Rating: 6/10 again, sounds like every female vocaloid

ARSLOID Songs Used: Mischievous Function, RAINBOW Rating: 6.5/10 not really memorable

Camui Gackpo V4 listen man he always sounds the same just whatever 9/10

CYBER DIVA Songs Used: Korozashisakae's Mysterious Package, LOVE, Smoke and Mirrors Rating: 5/10 she sounds like miku without an accent lmao

CYBER SONGMAN Songs Used: Tightrope Rating: 6/10 he's ok

DAINA Songs Used: Rotary Dial, Pushing Daisies Rating: 7/10

DEX Songs Used: BLACK & WHITE, My Impulse, Different Seas Rating: 8/10

flower v4 Songs Used: Mind Brand Rating: 10/10 i'm biased

Fukase Songs Used: Alien Girlfriend Rating: 8/10

Megpoid V4 (GUMI) please i don't wnat to do this just she's gOOD OK

Hatsune Miku V4 SHE'S GOOD SOUDNING OKAY IT'S MIKU SHE'S SUPREME

Hiyama Kiyoteru V4 Natural Songs Used: Hey William Rating: 8/10

Hiyama Kiyoteru V4 Rock Songs Used: Liar Dance Rating: 7/10

Kaai Yuki V4 Songs Used: Deep Sea Girl Rating: 10/10 i love her

Kagamine Rin/Len i'm not doing them they sound fine probably

Macne Nana and her english probably the same as before i never really liked macne tbh even when she was an utau

Macne Nana Petit Songs Used: Senbonzakura Rating: 8/10

Megurine Luka V4 Songs Used: Last Song Rating: 10/10 i lvoe luka she is perfect

Nekomura Iroha V4 Songs Used: Ghost Rule Rating: 10/10 perfect vocaloid

Otomachi Una Songs Used: Hate It! Hate It! Huge Ego! Rating: 6/10

Rana V4 idr what i put for her before but whatever that was yeah

RUBY Songs Used: Heart's Lock, -ERROR Rating: 7/10 her hype was a let down

Sachiko Songs Used: Seasonal Feathers Rating: 10/10 I LOVE HER I DIE FOR DEEP VOICED FEMALE VOCALOIDS

SF-A2 Miki V4 Songs Used: Mind Brand Rating: 10/10 sHE SOUDNS SO MUCH BETTER???

Stardust Songs Used: Coming For You Rating: 10/10 GREAT GOLLY

Tohoku Zunko V4 Songs Used: Deep Sea Girl Rating: 10/10 i kepe giving them these but they all sound so good

VY1v4 Songs Used: iNSaNiTy Rating: 8/10

Yuzuki Yukari V4 god please this is my last one i listened to her onn voicebank it sounds really good ok i'm done

[hawksblooded]

( camp ) - our muses have sex in a tent

IF ANRI HAD TO name any quality of the hunter’s, it would be honesty. So when Alizebeth warned her that no matter what, she would not stop, even should the knight beg and plead, she took that to mean the night would be long and restless. A shiver had run down her limbs, ancitipation and uncertainty both sending her heartbeat into a gallop.

They had camped behind a large boulder on a misty plain, the tent pitched haphazardly among the stones. They’d been traveling through the fog, armored figures cutting through like knives. Exhaustion had caught up to them before they could cross the miry moor into more covered ground, and so against the hunter’s wish they had set up their humble lodgings in the nook of monolithic stones, a small haven of fire to drive away the gloom.

Shaded from the world, wrapped in murk like sealed away from all else, Anri had made the first mistake. She had walked up to the hunter as she undressed; “Let me help you,” she had said, and began to work at doffing Alizebeth’s armor, unclasping the half-undone pauldron, placing it delicately on the mossy ground, followed by a spiked gauntlet, a fur-lined helm. In the shade of their tent Alizebeth looked hewn from the same rough stone that surrounded them, all sharp edges and eroded scars. She hadn’t thought of the intimacy of it, had simply followed a strange and new desire to know. Steely eyes fixed on her like a hawk’s, and Anri thought she could see a glint of encouragement in their amber depth. She let fingers roam beneath the armor as she unfastened belts and untied cords, the hunter’s body open and accepting like a sheathed weapon. Hands glided over well-built, scarred arms, slowly dragged the gambeson off broad shoulders. The other woman had turned to face her, towering as Anri worked at the strings of her tunic. Her cheeks flushed rosy as she realized what she was doing; she tried to retreat, head held down apologetically, but Alizebeth stopped her, rough hands wrapping over hers. “It’s okay,” she had said simply. Anri looked up to her with worried eyes. “N-No, I just…” she muttered as she stepped away. The hunter took one long stride towards her, touched her pauldroned shoulder. “My turn.”

Anri is as bewitched. Laying on her back in the deep shadows where they had made camp, she is motionless with awe as Alizebeth straddles her. The hunter reaches behind her broad back and pulls her tunic over her head in a swift motion. In the dancing shade of their fire she’s a statue, chipped by time, gashed by neglect. Anri’s eyes fall on the deep scar that gouges her left breast to the collarbone, run down its riverlike length to a wide ribcage, the subtle dips of her chiseled abdomen. How strong she looks, how unstoppable, like a mountain, or the sea. “Are you sure?” the hunter asks, voice little more than a growl. “ No one will be there to stop me. I won’t let you go. Not even if you beg, not even if you plead.”  In the low light her eyes glow yellow, fixed on Anri like a predator’s.

The hunter’s warning rings clear in her mind like a prayer. She can live with that, she thinks. She has to know it, the taste, the feeling of her. What would it be like, to be loved by a woman not like a flower but like the soil, not like the rain but like thunder? Her answer comes in a curtain of black hair caressing the bared skin of her shoulders as the hunter softly bites her neck, a wide hand pressing at the dip where her thigh begins. “Anri,” Alizebeth says, “I’ll be good. But you have to want this.” Biting at her lip, more sure of wants than she is of words, Anri’s fingers comb her dark hair away, settle at the nape of her neck, pulling the hunter into a kiss. It’s a rough and hard thing, not like that of her gentle fire-lover, not in softness and love but in teeth. Fangs nip at the spot where she had bitten herself red, and Anri’s brow furrows with the ache. Long fingers drag along the skin of her thighs beneath her tunic and find the delicate hem of her undergarments, pull them down without ceremony. 

Every tender spot of her will be found, of that she is certain, every little weakness examined and pressed and kissed. But Alizebeth isn’t the type to save the best for last. She leaves Anri’s embrace to hike up her tunic further, baring a soft belly as pale as lilies and just as soft. The knight’s legs tense up in Alizebeth’s hands, her expression firm as she parts them to nip at the delicate skin inside, leaving a trail of rosy blooms. Her strong arms wrap around Anri’s waist as she pulls her closer, inhaling the sweetly acidic scent of her arousal. The knight’s cheeks flush a deep red and she closes her eyes tightly when she feels the tip of a nose through the hair, the warmth of the other woman’s breath. “Alizebeth, I-” She should have known - one who looks like a wolf loves like a wolf. Deliberately and with surprising skill the hunter begins the work of teasing whines and shivers out of her, tongue prodding at her lips, Anri’s hips held firm and still in her arms. With every lap at her sex Anri feels the heat in her stomach grow, rise to wrap around her heart, it’s beat quickening. She bites her own wrist to muffle the lewd sounds being driven out of her, a spirit of hunger exorcised in the wet heat of Alizebeth’s mouth. 

The hunter’s zeal at the debauched task is commendable. There is a tender determination, an earnest wish to please that seems so at odds with her cold demeanor; for even now, glistening lips open and panting, her face is closed, focused. All that matters is slaking Anri’s lustful thirst. The knight mewls when two long fingers part her lips and settle slow and deep inside her, curl and grasp in search of that delicate spot that sends her spine twisting like a serpent in Alizebeth’s strong arms. The hunter looms over her now, breath hot and sweet with the taste of her, palm rubbing against her as her fingers work the knight feverish.  “O-Oh, please, gods above, I’m-” she arches into the touch, all traces of propriety now gone and in their place the fervor of rut. Blood pounds furiously in Anri’s head as sharp teeth close on the soft skin of her stomach.

Pressure mounts, hot walls of tender flesh close around the hunter’s fingers and Anri’s hand wraps around hers as she climaxes. “Liz, please, I can’t- I can’t hold any longer,” Anri whines, hips bucking into the other woman’s wide hand, voice pitched high and raw with need. But her pleas fall on deaf ears. “Not yet,” Alizebeth replies, monotone eerie in the echo of Anri’s lust-filled voice. “Forgetful girl. I told you it would be useless.”

[swordluck]

⚘ @through-fire-and-flame // cont.

He lingered on her lips, a taste of smoke and water, an ember refusing to cool.  Anri had expected many things – silence awkward and heavy, perhaps even crushing disappointment – but not this.  Certainly not the flood of words that followed her kiss, spilling out in hushed reverence, a litany of sentiments so tender they struck her like arrows, each one lodging deeper than the last.  

For a moment, she could only stare, her breath snared in her throat.  His face was so close it filled her vision – he was all she could see, all she wanted to see.  The rough stubble of his jaw scraped softly against her skin, the faint scent of soot and damp earth clinging to him, rooting her in this impossible moment.  His lips brushed hers with every word, each syllable as soft as a moth’s wing, yet she felt their weight, their heat, as though he spoke not to her, but into her.  

Sobbing around a smile, tremulous and sweet, Anri’s hands rose to cup his bearded jaw, fingertips threading into the roots of his hair.  In Laurentius, she had seen the face of courage:  to thrive in the half-light of the swamp, to endure hardship, to leave home behind.  But this courage – his unflinching vulnerability, his immeasurable capacity for kindness – left her unmoored.  His voice was no louder than a whisper, but it resonated within her like the great bell that once tolled across Lordran, a sound carrying endlessly, reverberating in places she had not realised were hollow until now.  

Over cracks she had painted the veneer of a knight, remaking herself into the image of a hero she longed to be:  a figure to storm the cathedral, to shelter the frightened children in her shadow, to stand unyielding against the dark and the Deep.  Lifetimes spent playing at honour, a clumsy mimicry of the ideals she envied, and yet here he was, looking at her as though she embodied them.  

Another sob shook her, delirious and joyful.  Tears welled in her eyes unbidden, falling like tiny stars.

“Laurentius,” she murmured breathlessly.  “I – ”  

What could she possibly say?  That his voice, his warmth, the fierce kindness in his hazel eyes – all of it felt more like safety than anything she had ever known?  That she had never felt so seen, so known, so heard, so accepted?  The words lodged in her throat, too raw to release.

Instead, she reached for his hand and guided it to her cheek.  She nosed against his palm, breathing in the scent of him, the soot baked into every crease – the hands that cradled flame now stippled with her tears, her joy, her relief.  Let them hold her, as they held so much else besides.

“If I am home,” Anri whispered, her voice gentle and low, “it is because you are my hearth, Laurentius.”

And then she kissed him again.

[hawksblooded]

↣ ITS RED AND DEADLY BITE. //@swordluck

IT CLOSES BEHIND HER like a maw, the door to Anri’s room snapping shut quick as an arrow sprung from a bow. Alizebeth, briefly baffled, holds up her hands in submission. “Oi, what’s with the-” Immediately the knight’s hands close in around hers, pinning her to the wood. Blue eyes run the length of her jaw, up to thinly-pressed lips, and past her own to glance upwards. The hunter’s head tips along with Anri’s gaze to a humble wreath she likely crafted with her own hands - a beautiful little thing woven with evergreen branches, and at its heart a small sprig of mistletoe, gleaming bright and red-berried in the verdant circlet. “Ah,” the hunter smiles, and before she can say more the strong jaw she exposed with her tilted head is warm with the other woman’s mouth. 

The knight presses into her, entwines their fingers as she does so. Her lips trail the length of Alizebeth’s neck, lingers on a small scar. There’s ale on her hot breath, ale and that sweet taste of her own that the hunter finds so fascinating. “You’ve had too much,” she states, and for only answer Anri’s voice thrums against the soft skin of her throat. “Mmmmaybe.” The knight parts her companion’s legs with one knee thrust between them, wobbling as she falls from her tiptoes.  “Or maybe not,” she smiles. “Now come here.”

The hunter, all obedient dog, bends down, their interlocked hands lowering to her sides as Anri stretches up, closes the distance. Mouths hover briefly before one another, parting in anticipation. Alizebeth remembers it now, that expression of focus as they walked through the forest to the village where they now stayed, the knight plucking leaf and twig from bushes and trees in their journey. Where did she find that dreaded poison-fruit, that deadly berry that apparently spoke of love in her faraway country’s tales? Even she herself did not know. All she knows is that it hung prettily above her head, turning the hunter into the prey for one brief moment.

And the kiss Anri plants on her lips is just as brief, leaving Alizebeth hanging, mouth agape. Her broad hands tighten around the knight’s. “Now you’re just teasing,” she growls, leaning further to steal more of her companion’s sweet breath - but she leans back with a girlish giggle. “Maybe! Or maybe not.” A hum escapes Alizebeth’s throat, a rough and needy noise. Anri’s pretty smile runs along her scarred collarbone, down to her chest left bare by the deep neckline of her blouse. She nudges at the cloth with her small nose, trailing nibbles as she goes, tracing the curve of a breast she uncovers with deliberate patience. The hunter’s heart beats steady beneath the soft flesh, its rhythm quickening when Anri licks the dark bud that marks her chest’s peaks. Alizebeth stifles a groan. “You…” Anri doesn’t bother with a response, doesn’t need to - the hunter’s hips buck into the thigh pressed between her legs, and that is goading enough for her to give her nipple a quick bite. She can feel the muscles tensing in Alizebeth’s body, feel her hands tighten over hers. 

She knows she’s not really in trouble, not yet; why else would the hunter let her pin her so, like a caught animal, knowing fully that her raw strength was greater still? Alizebeth must be in a playful mood herself to let Anri tease at her so. But all good things run out. They must. “I’ll make you regret this, Anri,” she speaks through a barely held-back moan. “I will.”

Anri looks up into amber eyes, her cheek still pressed to the hunter’s breast. She pouts, the expression quickly turning to a smile when she asks:

“Do you promise?”

[hawksblooded]

❝ you don’t have to tell me how you got it. i just wanted to see. ❞

↣ SCAR PROMPTS. always open

“ No, I’ll tell you. ” I don’t mind talking. Not if its you.

Alizebeth’s arms are bared, brown and scarred in Anri’s soft hands. The sleeves of her blouse are rolled as she was preparing to cut wood for their humble campfire. They’re set up deep in the woods, far enough from any road to be unbothered by bandits and other unsavory highway-prowlers, bedrolls close to a large oak that shades them from the twilight sky.

“ That one… A striga, I think. Could’ve been a bruxa. Hard to remember, ” she says with a shake of her head that draws a curtain of black hair over her face. Anri’s soft fingers move down her bicep to her forearm, where a deep, half-moon mark glows pale. “ Ah, that one’s from my sister. ” The knight looks up quizzically. “ I didn’t know you had a sister. ” “ I used to. ”

Alizebeth’s own hand moves up over Anri’s, stretching the marred skin. It was a deep wound, once, gushing with grief. But now, old and faded next to fresh battle trophies, it looked subtle, forgettable. An indelible memory of a time long gone.

“ She… died. Of illness, ” the hunter recalls, head down. A deep breath escapes her. She doesn’t talk about her sister, not normally. But she feels like Anri has the right to know. Or perhaps - and she doesn’t want to admit this to herself - perhaps she feels like talking about it will keep the memory of Natalia alive just a little longer. Like she can hold her close again, and hold the memory of her embrace rather than that of her teeth.

“ She rose. Like you. But not like you. She wasn’t… herself. I… ” ...had to put her down. Like a bad dog, or a wounded horse. I did it with an axe. I had to kill her again. I had to. Strange to think about her sister that way; like an animal, like the things she kills for a living. Work and family always had a way of becoming one for her. She didn't know how to feel about that. Didn't know how to feel about the fact that she wanted to talk, if only to Anri. These were thoughts she kept close to her heart, not secrets but something more primal, more precious. Thoughts that circled her mind when she looked into a campfire's flame or held herself in her own arms in cold, ever lonely nights.

“ I don’t like to talk about it. ”

[hawksblooded]

dip, sender skinny dips in front of receiver and invites them to join.

↣ ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER THAN WORDS / open.

That's it. The knight's gone mad.

She's in her gambeson in an instant, and by the time the hunter turns around her companion has already shed her shell of metal and leather and jumped into the frigid river, laughter and splashing threatening to attract all sorts of unwanted attention. Foolish astoran. Who even knows what lurks around here? The water looks peaceful, running bright and clear, but...

"Come!" she hears the younger woman call behind her. "It's surprisingly refreshing."

No, Alizebeth will stay right here, leaned against this tree, safe in the loving arms of her armor. They've been walking for what feels like weeks at this point through the wilderness, companions of misfortune and ill-advised travel. In her rancid, sweaty armor.

"... Fine. You win. "

Alizebeth puts two fingers to her lips and a whistle, its high pitch barely audible over the rustling of leaves, echoes in the plain. Soon a massive wolfhound appears, returning to her master; the hunter speaks to it quietly, a one-sided conversation where she nevertheless appears invested.

" No bears around or anything, girl? You seem calm. Keep watch, won't you? " she ruffles the cream-colored hair on the dog's head and heads to the riverbank.

There Anri stares, arms crossed over her bare chest. " Are you always this reluctant to have fun? " the younger woman asks with a feigned show of petulance. Alizebeth is still unclasping her gloves when she snaps back, monotone: " Are you always this careless? "

Clasp after buckle after strap the hunter undresses. She's clad only in her leather pants and her boots when she finally puts down the hunting knife that hangs at her side, placing it carefully next to her crossbow and sword. Her weapons are always the last thing she removes. The man who taught her that is gone now, but the lessons always remain.

Quickly Alizebeth rids herself of what little clothing she still wore and steps through a wall of reeds into the river, carefully lowering herself down from the rock where she's stashed her belongings and glancing over at Anri. Soft for a knight, she thinks, her own body rough like a tree's bark next to the astoran's. While the water reaches under Anri's chest, Alizebeth is barely submerged to her hips when she approaches.

" You could stand to be less at ease. We could be caught unawares at any time. "

[swordluck]

[ spar ]

The axe’s blade bites the snow beneath them, naught but a few deadly inches away from Anri’s helm. It was lowered slowly, though, with no intent to draw blood or threaten her pulse — her heart, beating fast now, loud enough it surely rings in her head like a clamour of cathedral bells.

Creighton looms above her now, teeth bared behind the steel wall of his mask, though murder, for once, has no home in his eyes. One knee digs into Anri’s breastplate, pressing her into the powdery white below them, the two sinking slowly as snow crinkles and crushes beneath their combined weight. He is panting, shoulders heaving, hands shaking against the haft of the axe he has now loosened his grip upon.

He meets her eyes — those beautiful, doe-like eyes, and all the fear and fury that swirls and churns within them — and it’s clear he wants to say something. But he is too out of breath. Sparring matches are no stranger to the Mirrahn knight, of course. But Anri sure as hell gave him a run for his coin.

And so, in this moment of silence, Creighton releases his hold on his weapon — the axe stays put in the snow beside his friend’s cheek — and shifts to straddle Anri’s waist gently, hands falling dumbly at his sides. His breath, hot and fast, trails out his mask in tendrils of steam as he tilts his head back and pants in great volumes.

Breathe…

[from lockawayknight :3💕]

@lockawayknight ♡

Snow caved beneath the combined weight of bodies and armour, buckling earthward with a sound that was both soft and sharp.  In another encounter, this frozen crater might have proved a resting place, a frost-rimmed grave on the borders of the Boreal Valley.  Instead, it became a cradle, a powdery palm holding Anri in a moment of shared respite.  Next to her head, the silvery crescent of Creighton’s axe lay buried, signifying the end of their session. 

No matter how many times they fought, Anri was left in awe of the savagery and ferocity with which her friend was able to conduct himself.  There was a precision to his swings, power enough to stagger her even with a shield to absorb the brunt of those blows.  Such craft was not easily taught, if such a thing could even be learned.  By comparison, when she moved, it was with the knightly countenance and choreography she had inherited from her forbear.  She did not share the same fluidity, the same predatory instinct. 

Perhaps she had come to the blade too late, or maybe she was muzzled by her deep-seated reluctance to cause harm to any besides Aldrich and his ilk.  It could even be that her very desire to survive faltered – Anri had already lived too long, and was weary in a way no amount of sleep could ever remedy.  Still, she challenged Creighton to the best of her ability, pirouetting around him, redirecting the sharp edge of his axe with the tip of her lucky straight sword, fresh snow churning beneath their boots.  Until, at last, she was knocked flat.  Had this been a duel of real intent, it would have ended with her skull split down to the brainstem.  

Exhalations billowed through his steel mask, appearing in time with the ragged fall of his chest.  Similarly spectral plumes leaked through the vents of her helm, as though in answer.  Only under Creighton could she be this calm.  When his shadow fell on her, it felt warm.  His weight at her breast, then her waist, came as a comfort.  No matter how far along the path of undeath they marched, she could not imagine him ever forgetting himself, or forgetting her.  Desiring wintry air on her face, Anri pulled free her helm, her head protected from the earth by pinned plaits of golden hair.  Carried on the wind, swirls of snowflakes stung exposed skin like grit.  Silence stretched as she lay exhilarated and spent, cold air burning her lungs and cheeks.  

“Slain, again.”

It was an observation made without complaint and accompanied instead by the gentlest of smiles.  This was his triumph, his victory, and she celebrated him.  Anri released her grip on her sword, leaving it embedded in its pristine pillow of snow, and took Creighton’s gloved hands fondly into her own.  More than mere play, their sparring carried purpose.  Purpose like that which hung as a millstone around her neck.  Purpose like that which waited for her in the icy heart of Ithryll.

“Do you think I am ready?”

Just as she could not bear to be explicit in her meaning, she could not bring herself to ask the question that lay leaden on her tongue: Will you come with me?

[swordluck]

His voice was rich and dark, like the earth after rain.  A man who dealt in blood and coin, who lived in the shadow of death, with danger forever dragging its teeth across his throat.  Men like him often rationed their compassion, if they possessed any at all.  But this one seemed different, she thought.

“A pleasure, Eskel.” Anri repeated his name, trying it with the blade of her tongue.  She took him in, studying the glimpsable details of his face – weathered, lined with scars, the ravages of his violent trade.

“Trouble is too often a knight’s companion as well,” she added, her voice soft and distant, laced with a bitterness as sharp as lemon pith.  “Perhaps that is why we meet here, in this forsaken place, with only the dead and the damned to bear witness.”  

Hands extended toward the fire, fingers unfurling, pale as lily petals.  The warmth drew a low sigh from her lips, easing the bone-deep ache of fatigue that had settled over her like a shroud.  It felt strange to sit unarmed in the presence of a stranger, in the presence of a man whose very nature spoke of violence.  And yet, his quiet generosity felt like a rare kindness in a world where such things were often mistaken for weakness.  Perhaps the rain had done more than soak her to the skin, perhaps it had washed away the last of her caution.  

“No squire for me,” Anri admitted after a pause, her voice low, almost confessional, but failing to deliver the entire truth.  “A gallant travelling companion – Horace is his name – but we have been separated.  I fear I have yet to find him.”

It would not do to dwell on the uncertainty, on the choking fear that came with unwanted solitude.  She must trust in her dear friend’s strength, in his ability to find his way back to her.

“I had a horse once.  Or, well, my mentor had a horse.  A fine mare, dapple-grey and thick-necked, with a penchant for the fattest red apples.”  

Dead.  All dead.  Dead mentor.  Dead horse.  And she, a dead girl walking.  And Eskel – was he…?  Her gaze returned to the Witcher, catching the way his attention lingered on her armour, on the tapestry of survival clawed and dented and etched into it.  He was cataloguing her, measuring her, much as she had done to him.

“Monsters,” Anri murmured, the faint smile dressing her lips growing cold at its edges.  “Some walk on two legs and wear crowns, or call themselves saints.  Others…”  She gestured vaguely to indicate the desolation around them, the landscape that was home to a wheezing, rattling battalion of undead and demonic entities.  “Others are less subtle.”  

Not here, though.  Not tonight, in this half-crumbled tower.

Anri’s attention drifted to the stew offered, its aroma faint but rich, reminding her of hungers she had long taught herself to ignore.  Reaching for the ladle, the motion was almost reverent, almost ritualistic – it was a breaking of bread between strangers.  

“Thank you,” she said quietly, fixing herself a bowl, avoiding anything that resembled meat or gristle.  Crude chunks of vegetables, fresh herbs, broth ��� all fine fare for her.  “For the fire, and for the company.  Both are rare comforts.”  

Star-bright eyes settled on Eskel once more, studying him in the flickering firelight.  The Witcher, with his monster-slaying sword and his scarred hands, seemed a kindred spirit of sorts.  After all he too was a creature birthed by the past, bound to duty, shackled to survival.

"No trouble at all, lady Knight... but then, trouble is usually my area of business. Can call me Eskel if you want, or Witcher... one is as much my name as the other. A pleasure. Help yourself to some of the stew, if you are hungry or low on supplies. Always make plenty."

Eskel's low, amused tone returned in offering to the metal helmeted young woman, viper eyes looking between the fire, her and out over the gnarled wasteland now and again. It didn't seem like anything had followed her... or at least nothing his mutated senses or enchanted silver medallion could pick up for the range of a few miles. Good... a respite could do them both a world of good, it seemed. The day had been long and trying enough already... and filled with worse things than the giant corpses of the Sentinels laying around the exterior of the tower. Still, he had recovered a good deal of useful weaponry and equipment to supplement his gear, valuables for selling next time he was in a town, and just now, the well earned meal and drinks were hitting the spot. He had no complaints. Just another day for him. He silently studied her armor, taking in the details... seeing a good number of scratches and scuffing on it... durable or not, it was clear she had been putting it to good use for quite some time. Her shield was the same way, of course... and he could imagine she had racked up a fair number of notches on her sword as well, given how many monsters scoured the land.

The Witcher watched as she set down the weathered shield and sword... surprisingly trusting him, a stranger in a strange land, with disarming herself. Then she likewise drew off her helmet and gauntlets suddenly, revealing the beautiful young blonde woman who had been hiding away beneath, braided hair arranged as though it were a crown around her head. Blue eyes like the serene, sapphire waters of the Gwenllech River back home... but features evidently tired and cold. The sight of her gave him pause for a moment or two... distracting him, scarcely recalling the last beautiful woman he had seen on the Path, much less in territory like they were now in. Just the dead and the damned, and those that hunted them. Jaw tightening within the hood, he remembered himself, focusing again on the fire she warmed her hands by and his meal and drink determinedly, savoring each. At the lady Knight's question, his gaze returned not to her eyes but back to her rain soaked helmet laying nearby, studying it for a moment, before his hooded head nodded, deep, languid voice washing over her once more as the rain was. Considering the matter, her and the question, deciding to inquire about her in turn.

"More or less, not to insult my faithful horse grazing back there, Scorpion. Better company than most folk, in my experience. Usually just me and the monsters otherwise. No shortage of them, and they are quite honest about their intentions. How about you? All alone? A Knight should at least have a horse to ride and a squire tagging along carrying your things."

@prismaiden