#his main hand weapon. in my head. is usually a sword except during season 2 and HoT -> axe

[twilightdomain]

i dont draw detailed enough to make it not just look as if i cant google what knives look like. and also i havent fine tuned the timeline of her figuring out her technique specifically enough to know when they have it made, besides Definitely after omadd's machine and Maybe after talking to sunspears. BUT in my head the blade of wolfie's dagger is similar to

ID: the blade of a scalpel type seam ripper, which has one curved point and a sharp edge only on the short inner side of the curve. end ID

—with like a handguard

which is i think probably really shit for attacking a person's body with but fine for parrying and great for severing and tearing through magic the same way you'd use that 👆

[bailey-reaper]

The Lord of the Manor (2)

Summary: continuing on from the first drabble, Barok has returned to the ancestral home in North Devon to recover from the ordeal of being a prosecutor and alleged demigod for the last 5 years. On his first full day back home, he decides to visit his brother in order to pay his respects... Or does he?

Content Warnings: angst + me taking artistic liberties re: the van Zieks family

Barok awoke with the first rays of dawn to the sound of birdsong just outside his window. It was a peaceful change to the sounds of industry that were so commonplace in London. As he laid there, it dawned on him that he had no need to be awake so early; there was no pressing engagement at the Old Bailey or in his office. No meetings. No case files awaiting assessment. No crime scenes to investigate or policemen to interview...

There was nothing at all for him to do.

(I could have a lie in) he thought to himself, but the indulgent idea did not really appeal: why bother sleeping in? If he was awake then it seemed foolish to force his mind and body back to sleep merely because he could. No. Far better to get up and do something productive.

After a few moments of quietly listening to the birds, he threw the covers off and swung himself around to sit up then stand. He made his bed entirely on auto-pilot, forgetting that the ancestral home had ample staff to undertake such chores, and went to the bathroom to wash his face.

Once he was dressed, in a simple poet shirt, comfortable breeches and knee-high riding boots, he decided it was high time to undertake a spot of sword practice to maintain his form and competence with a blade. Thankfully the training grounds were as well-maintained as they had been 5 years prior and it took little time to set up a training dummy. As he focused on his footwork and poise, he couldn’t help but think back to the times that he had trained alongside Klint and the way in which his older brother instructed him.

“Good, little wolf, now watch that you don’t slacken your grip else it will be easy to disarm you. Focus on your footwork, too, lest you be tripped up...”

“Yes brother...” it was difficult to keep all these things in mind while also trying to watch for tells that his brother might offer up during their sparring match. He thought he saw Klint move to strike high, but it was a feint that moved smoothly into a low blow-- he only just caught it in time to block.

Klint grinned broadly, “Well done!”

He smiled to himself at the swell of pride that filled his chest: Klint was proud of him, he’d done well. Now, he wanted to impress him -- so he moved on the offensive in a bid to finally disarm his brother. It had been a long-thwarted goal, but today he wanted to succeed!

“Ha!” the Master of the House laughed as Barok took the initiative, “So you think you’re going to catch me off guard, eh Barok??”

In a blur, his weapon flew from his hands and he found himself being effortlessly wrestled to the floor with a blade at his throat. He looked up at Klint, blinking profusely, barely registering the clatter of his training sword on the floor.

“My win, little brother,” Klint held out his hand for Barok to take, then hauled him up with easy, “I must admit, you caught me quite off guard there!”

“Master!” Harvey’s caught their attention, “I apologise for disrupting your training with the young master, but a letter from London has just arrived. It was sent urgently via courier, so I presume it to be of some importance.”

“Mmm, I see,” Klint looked back to Barok, “Apologies, little wolf, let’s train again soon!”

He nodded, “Yes, brother,” then watched as Klint jogged over to join the butler and make his way toward the main building of the estate.

“. . . .” it took him a moment to realise he was standing just still, looking down at the humble wooden weapon in his hand. How long had he been lost to day dreaming? (To think... I’ll never cross blades with you again.) it was such a small thing, but it took him aback just how much that realisation hurt.

But rather than let himself wallow, he proceeded to resume his training in earnest. Even if he could not spar with Klint again, he could maintain his poise and competence as a means of honouring his brother.

“My Lord,” Harvey called as he drew near, “Forgive the interruption, but Agnes has prepared breakfast.”

Barok wiped under his chin and turned to the butler, “Thank you, Harvey, I shall take breakfast in a moment.”

“Yes, as you say...” the butler cocked his head to the side, “Um... might I be so bold as to ask what you are doing, My Lord?”

“Hm?” he looked up from dismantling the training dummy, “I was going to tidy up.”

“Oh please, do not trouble yourself with that! Allow me to do that while your freshen up for breakfast!”

“. . .” Barok blinked, before relenting with a nod, “... I ... Yes, thank you Harvey, I will go and freshen up then.”

“Very good, My Lord. Oh! By the way, will you be going for a ride later? The weather is supposed to be good today and it’s the perfect season for it. Black Gale is still in her usual spirits and I’m sure she would be pleased of your company.”

“Ah...” it had been too long since he last saw his temperamental mare, Black Gale, “... That sounds like an excellent idea, I think I’ll go and visit her after breakfast and ready her for an afternoon ride.”

“The stable boy would be more than happy to prepare her, My Lord...”

“No,” he shook his head, “I think I owe it to her to have a proper reunion.”

“Yes, as you say My Lord.”

---

After a breakfast of porridge, toast and eggs, Barok went to visit his equine companion.

Black Gale was known to most as a ‘cantankerous old goat born in the body of a horse’, but the van Zieks lordling had always been the exception. Some folks thought it was because Barok was the first thing the foal saw when she was born. Her mother had died giving birth to her, so perhaps Black Gale had decided the boy was her mother. Regardless of the reasons, everyone else had a far tougher time dealing with her.

He opened the barn door and approached her stable pen, “Hello girl, it’s been a while,” Black Gale whinnied and murmured in excited tones as she trotted over and butted her coal black head against his chest. Barok chuckled and patted her muzzle, “I’m glad to see you well and in fine spirits as ever...” the mare made a few conversational murmuring sounds and continued to nudge at him, “Yes yes, I know. I’ve neglected you, forgive me...” he continued to offer placating strokes, “It’s rather presumptuous of me, I know, but would you mind taking me to visit Klint’s grave this afternoon?” he received a contented sigh in reply, no doubt down to being stroked, “... I’ll take that as a yes.”

Once he had indulged her with a few more pets, Barok took to brushing Black Gale’s lustrous coat and checking her shoes. As with the rest of the estate, his mare had been greatly cared for. He laughed when she started chewing on the ruffles of his shirt, “There’s no need for that now,” he softly chided, before producing a handful of oats from a pouch at his hip, “You really do lack subtlety, do you know that?“ she ignored him and gladly chewed on the oats.

Finally, it was time for lunch, “I’ll saddle you up shortly, alright?” he told her as he led her back to her pen and closed the door. Black Gale whinnied a little before trying to chew his shirt some more, “You truly are a hellion!” Barok replied as he de-horsed his clothing and returned to the main building for lunch.

As he ate, he reflected on his intended pursuit that afternoon: he would go to pay his respects to Klint at his grave. It was still such a strange notion -- his vibrant brother, now laying cold and lifeless in his grave... A lump formed in his throat, which he was quick to swallow down. He’d already grieved so much for Klint, but it still seemed his sorrow knew no bounds. Like an endless font or a wound that refused to heal over. It just bled within him endlessly...

“Oh... um... My Lord,” Harvey sounded uneasy.

“What’s wrong, Harvey?” Barok asked as he set down his napkin after lunch, “Has something happened?”

“Um... well... yes... in a manner of speaking... it would appear that Lady Darlington has somehow become aware of your presence here. She’s at the door now, asking to see you.”

Barok groaned and dragged a hand over his face. The last thing he really wanted to do was entertain England’s most notorious gossip. “How on earth did she find out...?” he muttered, more to himself than to the butler, “... I see. Thank you, Harvey, please see her to the parlour... I’ll join momentarily, once I’ve freshened up.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

It seemed visiting Klint would have to wait...