#rafent

[twistedisciple]

Rafal was not in the habit of asking for anything. Rather, one could safely imagine that the dragon would sooner take his wants to the grave than utter them aloud. A strong spirit of independence even assured that he much preferred to be his own provider. Be that as it may, sleep on this night more than any other was crucial in preparation for the new week, and due to discomfort, Rafal could not sleep.

A dire circumstance that demanded solution. He would not be at a disadvantage.

His attention landed on a short window of opportunity with all stars aligned; no-one else in the room, and a knight of conveniently similar size within walking distance. Bare feet plodded over, shuffling across the wooden floor. He stood over the lounging Griss and cleared his throat emphatically.

“Ahem—Griss, your room is dreadfully cold. I am without proper sleepwear and we are the same size. Lend me a shirt. Or a blanket of yours. Either will do." Naturally, Rafal had not come to the Rat dormitory with anything more than the thin beach clothes on his back.

It wasn’t often that Griss got the room to himself. Just as he’d told Lord Rafal earlier that day, the Rats had proven to be remarkably resilient. Compared to the other teams, they’d hardly lost anyone. And were it not for the current circumstances (a definitely-not-hiding fell dragon), any of the other dorms would have been more comfortable. Or at least less crowded. Usually Griss was out roaming the island until gods-knew-when, and rarely crossed paths with his roommates during the waking hours, but tonight, whether it was because Caspar and Citrinne knew he’d be entertaining their new guest for the indefinite future, or because they simply had other (better) things to do, they were out of his hair. And the room was empty and quiet, except for the hum of voices from the other rooms down the hall.

Waiting was the worst. The sooner the games started, the better, and for now Griss drifted in and out of some vigilant half-sleep, stretched out on top of the sheets of his bed, head hammocked by his hands. He’d lost interest in dismantling the furniture after the first week (the dresser handles remained piled up on top of it, not on its drawers), definitely not because his roommates had complained so much about it, so there was hardly anything fun left to do inside.

The sound of his name shook him out of some amorphous daydream that disappeared from memory the moment he cracked open an eye and looked up at the one who’d called, half-expecting it to be that little blonde marching up to nag him again for something or another.

Somehow, he’d forgotten Lord Rafal was here.

“Huh? What’d’you mean cold?” he asked unhelpfully, pushing himself up onto his elbows. Blinking blearily, he glanced at the window open to the noises of the jungle outside, and then up at the dragon’s bare chest. All things considered, he was lucky to catch Griss between sleep and wakefulness, because his base instinct was always to please.

Except—

“You think I brought any shirts?” Griss, too, wasn’t wearing anything but some loose pants, scarred and inked torso exposed to whatever cold was bothering his temporary roommate. He rolled over and slung his arm over the edge of the bed, feeling around for where he’d stashed a thin rucksack of belongings. Catching it by one worn out strap, he dragged it back up with him, sat back cross-legged and began digging through it. Blades. Needles. Some thread. Rings. A couple of knives. Some bandages.

The hideous sleepwear handed out by the monastery. Griss ripped it free of something it’d snagged on inside the bag and held it out to Lord Rafal.

“Here.” It was full of holes. And also stained. Who knew what with.

[dcggersedge]

[ 🍪 + roll: 1 lmao ]

"A most unusual activity, albeit one with considerable merit for the victor."

Of excitement and popular convention Rafal cared little. Relinquish one's claim of the cookie piece and the victor will be left with the spoils, after all. The dragon struck an expectant figure, leaning forward with one arm propped above Yunaka's head, chocolate-coated piece hanging between smirking lips.

"That is to say, in this bout I will be victorious."

In short: a challenge.

pocky day | accepting

"Merit, huh?" Instinct has her immediately plan out a few different ways she could escape from where Rafal has her cornered, but Yunaka's content to sit and play the sheep before the scary dragon. For now, at least. She tilts her head and smiles in a mockery of what would be innocent on anyone else. "Beating me at the kissing game is something worth bragging about?"

Of course, that was entertaining the idea that he would. His taunting prompts the sweet grin to grow sharp. "I don't play games I can't win, Raffles."

Pinned in as he has her, she doesn't have to move far to take her end of the cookie. Sheep's wolf is left behind as wolf stares dragon down, bite by bite, step by step.

As far as she was aware, don't break the cookie was the only rule...so she doesn't feel bad for sneaking the advantage by placing her hands on Rafal's waist and pulling him closer. When he hesitates, she takes the advantage, biting off as much as she can before the cookie snaps. Insult to injury; she quickly pecks his lips before backing away.

Giggling to herself, she falls back against the wall again. "Sorry, what was that about winning?" Because she's definitely sure she won that. She swallows her part of the prize. "Because that definitely seems like I won." She grins again, that spark of challenge still shining in her eyes. "Unless you want to contest it?"

[starrook]

'a kiss on the corner of the mouth, hoping for more but expecting nothing'

To Alcryst's surprise, Rafal hesitates in the end.

The dragon has him caged against the wall, at his mercy, and yet he acts so unsure. There's a part of Alcryst that worries Rafal got cold feet, or realizes that it's not worth debasing himself in front of this Brodian prince. But to be honest, Alcryst is mostly relieved. He's nervous too. It's a relief to see the other prince also wavers in this moment, hesitating before they finally cross into unfamiliar territory.

Alcryst moves before he thinks. He turns his head slightly to catch Rafal's lips in a brief kiss before they have a chance to leave him. "...I know you can do better than that," Alcryst whispers. With trembling hands, heart pounding against his chest, he guides Rafal's palm up and invites him to cup his cheek. Alcryst offers a small, nervous smile. "I'm yours. So please, kiss me properly."

[princeofopenness]

He keeps touching me.

[ashenprofessor]

The mountain should fear us

They had been led out of their holding cell but a pair of guards to be taken to a mining pit to be put to work. Their new 'friend' Daniel was with them and they are instructed to bring what was left of their weapons too. Byleth felt more capable knowing they had their trusty gauntlets ready as they venture deeper into the mountain.

Arriving at the designated site, the guards drop them off with knowing grins on their faces. Before them are winding passages and caves to traverse to clear out for the miners. Byleth led the way into the first room, noting immediately the presence of creatures there waiting for them.

"Great. Of course the witchy mountain contains horrors hidden away within." The Professor told their teammates.

Pulling on their Aura Knuckles, Byleth noticed the skeleton, hiding towards the back of the group, bow in hand. A perfect target for the first attack, take out the support. Darting forwards, they drew back their fist ready to strike.

Byleth 10/10HP hits and hits Bonewalker 12/12HP with Aura Knuckles (One-Two Punch). [Rolls: 15, 6; Hit!, Hit!; Damage: 1.5 + 0.5 + 0.5 = -2.5HP, 1.5 + 0.5 + 0.5 = -2.5HP, Bonewalker 7/12HP]

The first hit catches the skeleton in it's boney shoulder, knocking it off-balance before the second hits square in the chest. Undeterred, it raises it's bow to fire back.

Bonewalker 8/12HP hits Byleth 10/10HP with Devil Bow. [Roll: 12; Hit!; Damage: -2.5HP, Byleth 7.5/10HP] (Devil Bow roll: 1. Failure) Bonewalker 7/12HP loses -2.5HP; Bonewalker 4.5/12HP

The arrow soars through the air and pierces Byleth's arm. Pausing, to break off the shaft, Byleth looks up to notice the skeleton almost seem to wince. The bow in it's hand glows red and seems to draw something from the enemy leaving them weaker than before. Some sort of cursed weapon, the Professor wonders.

Wanting to capitalise on the opportunity presented, Byleth moves in again for another attack.

Byleth 7.5/10HP hits and hits Bonewalker 4.5/12HP with Aura Knuckles (One-Two Punch). [Rolls: 9, 7; Hit!, Hit!; Damage: 1.5 + 0.5 + 0.5 = -2.5HP, 1.5 + 0.5 + 0.5 = -2.5HP, Bonewalker 0/12HP]

Byleth knocks it's skull back with a glancing blow before swiftly adding in an upper cut. The skeleton's head pings off the top of the spine before rolling away with a clatter across the floor.

Returning to the group, Byleth rolls their wrists, casually remarking. "That's Bones taken care off. Who wants a shot at them next"

@amitieos, @dracofalchions, @sweetroyalberry, @rafent

[verseandrhyme]

8. Is your muse comfortable with, or proud of their body? Are they insecure?

I've made jokes before about how "Mitama can get away with it because she's cute" but I do think Mitama is aware that she is (or at least considers herself to be) cute. She's very confident about her appearance and, even if there are things that might not be "ideal", she's very matter of fact about them because literally what is a girl to do about it?

Some things she is less than positive about about herself:

Her eyes get her a lot of attention whether she wants them to or not. While she does see them as something quite special, hearing all the star related puns and flattery (especially when she canonically hates puns) has made her pretty neutral about them. Yeah, they're stars. Yeah, it's weird. No, I don't know why or how it happens. Meeting Fogado was probably the most excited she's been about her eyes in years.

I made her short. I forget what the motivator was behind that, but she is short. People pointing it out or doing things that call attention to it (ie. putting their arm on her head to lean on her) would drive her to start biting.

She often has ink stains on her fingers from her poems and she worries it makes her look messy. She is messy. That's besides the point.

[stepbysstep]

7. Is your muse the big spoon or the little spoon?

sunday funday hcs | still accepting!

Little spoon. Lene will always try to go for the little spoon position. Lacking the attention of a mother figure in her youth has made Lene generally touch-starved, but embracing might be where she feels that hunger the most.

As a little spoon, Lene is wrapped up within her other's grasp while lying right on their chest. There is no better way to lock herself right in her significant other's embrace. She definitely cuddles frequently while being the little spoon, yet can hold back and simply sleep soundly within her partner's security.

Lene sees herself as independent, not needing others to be happy. But spooning is the perfect excuse to take a break from that cautionary exterior.

Still, Lene is a very considerate partner. Depending on her significant other's mood, or if they are just tired of repeating the same position, Lene is more than comfortable to swap and act as the big spoon. Even if she is smaller than the other, she tries her best to be a comforting presence, mixing embracing with soft pats and soothing words. Seeing the position as a maternal figure may be strange, but Lene simply wants to share the passion that she never had while growing up.

Tl;dr though, she defaults to little spoon. Smol spoon.

[nelithic]

He'd traded words with an Emblem once, admitted something at the tail end of their exchange regarding siblings. A belief that he truly meant- that he well and truly believed. 'Elder siblings are not the only ones who care.'

Stalking the docks- searching for his older sister with a grim expression that staved off strangers in a sweeping radius- that opinion clung tightly to the truth. He pushed past the men and women going one way with single-minded focus. Rafal stuck out. Rafal didn't care. He thought about transforming and scouting for her from the air just to make the search quicker, and only vanquished the thought at Nel's sighting.

"Here you are, sister." An angry furrow cleaved the space his brows even before he approached her. So easily sprung up at any annoyance. At this juncture it was a signal of something deeper; worry and distress. Nel hadn't been on his ship. Word of major assignments to different continents flooded his ears instead. It was easy to connect the dots.

"You are on a different ship. Did you tell them it was a mistake?"

But it wasn't a mistake. He knew that. His shoulders tensed preemptively with the burden of that knowledge, wanting to erase it. Wanting to change the rules. Rafal had promised to be her brother to him, to her, and to himself, and he had meant it.

A frustrated sound whistling sharply through his nose, he dragged his fingers through his hair. ". . .No matter. I can simply accompany your ship. I can fly if I have to—if there isn't room for another passenger. If they intend to stop me they may contend with my fangs."

chance was the word the weak used to explain the planning of the strong — so had it often been said in gradlon, land of their origin. whatever opinion one may hold on such a maxim, it is what occurs to her curiously now as a pale, stormy twin pushes his way through the milling crowds towards her. despite his thunderous expression, nel's loses a fraction of its own with relief. before she can say, however, that she had been searching the docks for him as well and so his finding her here was not only owed to coincidence, he launches into accusation: more and more familiar now since he had shed his skin as nil, but still yet an adjustment from the meek and compliant temperament she had known for centuries.

yet there are certain things that remain the same. a frenetic energy beneath the outburst that speaks to its root. she finds a smile touching her lips whilst he rails, for what greater comfort can there be to a fraught fell dragon, ever mindful of her other half's safety, than to know that the desire to remain at one another's side is returned in full?

it eases the part of her that had, for a moment in time once, feared— doubted— that his triumphant rejection of her after the shell of nil had been sundered was not so made of flagrant display as she had adamantly believed. in the clutch of that urgency at the fall of a world, it was all she had had to believe, and so she had clung to it then with an unshakeable tenacity and a willful denial of any other truth ironically befitting of sombron's once-favored heir.

she is remitted for it now, in each moment like this one.

"you know as i do that that is not an option, rafal," comes her anticipated, staid reply — stone to curb his agitated flame. "you must have heard that my destination is hostile to our kind. i would not tolerate you putting yourself at risk." a quick headshake. "and before you ask — i will be careful."

quiet gaze returns to his, garnet to garnet matching, and with the disquieted shadows of his face and figure to the waiting background of large ships moored for imminent sail, there comes an undeniable pang in her chest. were they somewhere quiet and alone together, she would perhaps transform and enfold him in the microcosmic blue of her wings in an embrace that had always come more naturally than those of this smaller and somehow inadequate form. instead, she only takes his hand, holds it firmly as though she intends to lead him somewhere as she always has.

"i understand how you feel. to be separated when you have waited a thousand years is indeed cruel beyond words. i am also pained that i cannot watch and protect you as well, as i have since we were nestlings. it will be the first time we have taken long missions apart. i trust you will return to me safely."

a statement, not a request. at the fall of a wholly different kind of world, it remains still an adamant belief — a willful denial of any other truth.

[hresvelged]

[ Tea ]

Rafal in his observation of the Black Eagles leader was nostalgically reminded. To his once covetous eyes, the Bracelet of the Three Houses had been a treasure grander than any other. First a treasure, then an ally on the battlefield, he had learned deeper things of the Emblem Edelgard beyond the strength of her axe and the commanding presence she wore. For example; that the amount of sugar cubes Rafal drowned in his tea had been to her most egregious. A cardinal sin. 

One foot pushed him from the wall, a cup in each hand.

“Edelgard. Does a moment of repose find you? If so. . .here. I would ask that you take one of these off my hands. Being made in advance, the left one is far from sweet enough for my tastes.” Not sweet enough by nature, or that Rafal had not sweetened one of them to begin with? A mystery, to be sure.

An ungainly blink, then another, with subtle focus on the feathery brooch she wore, and then the spaces right and left of her. Rafal hovered and did not seem to know what to say. What else was meant to be bespoken during such. . .informal exchanges?

Her attention was drawn towards the cups in Professor Rafal's hands— Lilacs sharp as her lips drew to a part. "Oh? Your timing is impeccable. I was just thinking about heading towards the teas, myself. I appreciate it." Her fingertips wrapped around it, bringing the beverage closer towards her person. Music enveloped from the back; Edelgard's stare lingered in front.

She took it upon herself to fill the void that was the silence looming in her direction. A clear of the throat, hovering forth words to share: "Well, then. I hope you don't mind if I seize this opportunity. Will you join me? I do prefer my tea in the company of another." Her pinky flickered atop her black feather, unclasping it with her free hand as she placed with her professor in lieu of the teacup. Wordless, without prompting. Her eyes spoke enough; of gratitude and insightfulness.

The Imperial Princess brought the awaiting cup upwards, slowly raising it nearest her mouth as she took a sip. What she tasted first was its warmth, pressed with subtle florals. Her eyes closed for but the briefest of moments, lowering the glass as its contents swirled. It reflected nothing, all the while showing all she needed.

[elusivia]

19. a memory of someone they don’t see anymore

He could taste it to this day.

Zelkov remembered lying on his bed, groaning miserably. He must've been around five years old, old enough to know better, he mentally scolded himself.

"You're going to be just fine, sweetheart." His mother was barely restraining her laughter as he spat out more herbs. Vulneraries, he'd just learned, were not meant to be ingested. The little bundle had looked so much like a dumpling... he hadn't thought about it. He'd shoved it in his mouth whole and bit down with all his might.

Nasty.

NASTY.

He'd wound up crying on her shoulder, still sadly coughing up herbs for several minutes. His brother had made fun of him for weeks, only stopping when they found something else to squabble about.

Zelkov had always held it in his mind as a memory proving how much of a handful he'd been as a child, but he had to admit, he too would be trying to hold in laughter if any child tried to eat one of his vulneraries.

Perhaps love could be endeared to moments such as that.

Zelkov would eat a hundred vulneraries to see either of them again.

[achaemenidstar]

🕯️ welcome!! :)

He reminds me of Teach, if Teach talked a lot. Similar expressions, wise-ish beyond their apparent years, wields some sort of mysterious power, and reveals so little of their past that I can't help but probe for answers. Usually I can read people easy, but there's something more to Rafal. I just can't put my finger on what exactly it is... Hm...

-----------------------

[rp meme can be found here :D]

[twistedisciple]

“I’d heard there was a bloody robed man running amok, brandishing a knife in an effort to have it used. On himself. And as suspected...”

As suspected, that masochistic culprit was none other than a certain Hound and simultaneous knight. Familiar - and miraculously. Every plane of him that could be seen was claimed by some gash or wound or bruise. A tense bubbling of Rafal’s concern rose to meet that fact, that incertitude toward fake or real, but subdued at the observation that Griss was otherwise not one hair split from his regular condition.

He pulled a face, between worried frown and displeased scowl. The sight of a bloodied Fell Dragon’s servant expected and even destined, on par for the course in a culture where blood amounted to sacrifice, and sacrifice to service,

. . .but mysteriously not well-liked. 

“Have you a moment? I've something to ask—UGH, WHAT’S THAT SMELL?!” He crossed his arms defensively - thought better of it - used one hand to pinch his nostrils shut. Both of them looked different, but beneath the pomp and the horns, Rafal was most certainly still Rafal. And beneath that smelly splashed pigsblood was still Griss. “As I was saying. I have come to ask of you something.”

A look at Griss; an attempted look at Griss using the whites of his eyes as indicators in the darkly mud caked—darkly blood caked?—face.

“I seek for candy—as much of it as I can possibly attain while this opportunity endures. Recently, one called Yunaka has questioned whether I would use my looks to put on a show in return for said candy. In truth, that sounds easy. And most promising." Nod, nod. Then the straight-faced confession; because Rafal would rather admit that he didn't know something to Griss than any stranger or acquaintance else.

". . . . .In truth, I am not really sure what that entails.”

“Oh, hey Lord Rafal. What? Don’t like the smell of blood?” By now, Griss has gotten used to the smell. Forgotten it, in fact. He doesn’t seem to care though - neither about the odor that hangs over him like a shroud nor the fact a fell dragon would find it so offensive - because Lord Rafal brings him something more important: a request. Like his loyal hound, Griss straightens up in some loose approximation of attention. Then eyes fall to trace the dragon’s plunging neckline. Which isn’t really much of a neckline at all and more like a collar with sleeves. With a hand settled on his hip, eyes settled on an unblemished chest, he nods along absently. Wants candy. Thinking of putting on a show. Yunaka gave him advice.

“Wait, huh? Yunaka?” Eyes dart back up to Lord Rafal’s face under a furrowed brow. “The one who’s got the hots for you, yeah? You didn’t put two and two together?”

Of course she’d want to see a show.

Not that Griss can blame her.

“Look-“ Griss takes a step forward as if he’s about to drape himself around the dragon’s neck to impart some secret knowledge, but stops himself with all the self-restraint he has a hair short of smearing his lord with blood. He steps back again and crosses his arms.

“All ya gotta do is transform into a dragon. You’ll be the best-looking thing around. Plus, you’ll scare the candy outta everyone, and if you don’t, just demand tribute! Easy!”

[dcggersedge]

'kissing them to shut them up.' this can go both ways that's the best part

kissing meme | Accepting!

She was only half paying attention. That was her first mistake, in retrospect.

Whatever Rafal was saying was going over Yunaka's head as she kept her eyes on the crowd. No one was paying them any mind on the edge of the party, but that didn't matter to her screaming nerves, just waiting for the first sign to run.

(She doesn't know why Rafal is sitting with her either. They aren't friends. She doesn't know him. She doesn't have any reason to be rude and tell him to leave her alone either. Whatever.)

Her eyes run over the crowd again, still not paying him any mind. That was the second mistake, most likely. It leaves her less time to react when what he's saying finally starts to fight its way past her focus and into her ear.

"...ame, what was it? Lari..."

She turns on him and grabs him. No one is close or paying them any mind, but that doesn't make the need to get him to stop talking any less urgent.

The first attack is the direct one, yanking him towards her and pressing her lips to his to swallow the rest of the name before it can meet the air. The second attack is...still direct, but far less subtle when it comes to the point.

Yunaka pulls away and glares at him. Her lips against his are traded for a blade to his throat as she angles it closer, but not close enough yet to sting. "Where the hell did you hear that name?"

[starrook]

Rafal, in contrast to uncaring outward appearance, had been paying attention. Listening. In another world, another Alcryst had been born on this very day, and so fueled the dragon’s inscrutable stare as it trained upon his counterpart. Whether near or afar - and as if betrothed to some duty and vigil - as a statue he stood, silent and watchful of the other prince for a time.

But not forever. Gaining a moment to interject, hesitant approach brought him before Alcryst, stiff and ungainly, but above all…decided.

“Alcryst, so you are here. I know—” He swallowed. “...I have heard that it is your birthday. In that regard, I would like to wish you well, and would do so with this.”

The pouch of candy extended, cinched at the lip with a colorful pink ribbon. Contents of luxuriously handmade toffee housed within as its sole and sugary stock. He looked away. Or more rather: at his feet.

“I know little of your preferences, but I imagine there to be few in existence who would not enjoy such succulent dollops of sugar from time to time. I pray these ones are to your taste.”

A heartbeat succeeded his words, filled with so much sincerity that Rafal's expression did not waver an inch. Entirely serious.

“...I have not poisoned them, if that should prove your concern.”

"Really?" As soon as Alcryst says it, he winces at his tone, how shocked and disbelieving he sounded just now. It's just... well, Alcryst never expected Rafal to acknowledge his birthday, never mind go beyond well wishes and bring him a gift.

Alcryst wonders if Rafal knows because his Alcryst happened to share the same birthday. He inspects the candy, the buttery caramel sweetness of fine toffee, and wonders if this is a gift more for the other him. Alcryst doesn't gravitate towards candy. He's lost his sweet tooth years ago.

"Huh? N-No, I never thought you did...!" Should he have? Alcryst isn't sure, but right now he decides to believe Rafal is being sincere. The dragon could have done nothing. Alcryst wouldn't think anything of it. And yet here he is, acknowledging that he doesn't know much about this Alcryst but making the effort all the same.

Alcryst clutches the candy in his hands. Meeting the dragon's eyes, he offers a sincere, "Thank you. I, um, I appreciate that you went through the effort. It means a lot to me..."

He pauses, unsure if this is something he ought to say. "...I'm sorry, but I don't like sweet stuff too much. I know most people like the taste of sugar, but too much of it is overwhelming to me." Alcryst hopes not to offend but instead to inform. I like this. I don't like that. This makes me happy. He opens up to the fell dragon about his preferences in anticipation that there will be a next time.

"It smells good, though!" Alcryst offers. The bag has a sugary sweet smell to it, but not to the point of overpowering other scents; rich chocolate, browned butter, a faint impression of salt. Alcryst breaks the corner of one piece, determined to at least try it. A moment later, he breaks another piece and offers it to Rafal. "Here, why don't you share with me? I'll try it with you."

[fellcorruption]

A bad omen colored the morning. Soured by a worm-eaten apple, Rafal’s mouth curled at a bite of its bitter flesh and he took quickly to discarding the rest. A normally delectable treat was tossed aside with passing regret, but the very next disturbance of his day belonged to an immeasurable caliber. A truly rotten apple that could not be forsaken with remotely the same ease. No, this one even had a name.

His expression hardened as he left the monastery and the reach of its light. His remaining plans were canceled on a stone-faced whim he would not explain to students or faculty alike. Attuned, ultimately, to a presence inkier than even the blackest of sins which once painted Rafal’s hands - one who had driven him to commit those sins to begin with. In the end, no passage of time could eliminate his grasp on that foul aura; remembered, identified, and now followed on undeterred footsteps to its source. Soon faced with the cruelty that polished his own, Father was a familiarity that dawned so long ago he might as well have been a stranger.

“So you have been restored, Father.”

What-ifs and what-thens; such useless and ramshackle meanderings of the mind eluded him, a dragon more concretely rooted in reality known to the waking world. But for the first time across countless centuries he wondered what words and possibilities might pass into creation next. On the cusp of filial longing, a single welcome understanding exorcised all uncertainty. Weakness. “—or rather Sombron. For I suspect you are not the Fell Dragon that sired me.”

He couldn’t be, he understood that now. His Sombron had felt.  .  .different. Stronger, perhaps. Regardless, he would have recognized his 'heir' during the moment they locked eyes and that illuminating sense of cognition evaded the face on this one. This Sombron remained in the dark. A dark that Rafal would illuminate for him.

“Regardless of which you are, my answer is the same. I am Rafal, the Fell Child of another world who once performed to the tune of your desires. Sullied by those resulting sins, I have every reason to resent you.“ He stepped close, only as much as two Fell Dragons ought to be - beyond range of each other's transformation. Shedding vulnerability, shedding light, he retreated to a cold realm he knew better. Deception. Cocking on a tone, a head, and a familiar return to roots. 

“Instead I propose this. Let us be. . .allies.”

Memories meant little to Sombron. Every moment that passed was as unremarkable as those that followed. Sensing a young Fell Dragon approaching Sombron took a moment to pause. As the young one spoke and introduced himself, Sombron allowed him to speak. For the briefest of moments, Sombron began to recall why this one was so familiar to him. The vaguest memories of two children torn apart by Corrupted rose to the surface. Regardless, the relation meant little until Rafal began to offer his help.

"You have every reason to resent me but you do not. Instead, you come to me to serve me." Sombron repeated Rafal's intentions. He let the words roll around in his thoughts. "I have no need for children who will only fail me. Your father must have made that clear when he still drew breath."

Had Sombron made a mistake allowing his young twins to die centuries ago? Would the Rafal of his world have helped him succeed in his plan and get him to another world? Would he have been content knowing his father would leave and forget him completely? Such a thing would be what makes a true Fell Dragon. Sombron would never admit to such an error out loud but he would not let the opportunity pass him by a second time.

"I have grown weak in my time lost to the void. Help me gain my former strength and I will accept you as my son even if you are not of my world," Sombron said. He stood tall as he spoke to Rafal. "If what you say is true then you already surpass your worthless siblings. Your father had died, but you persevered. A true Fell Dragon."

A Fell Dragon that could replace Sombron once he continued on his search. Sombron cared little for reviving his race but loyalty to him and him alone was exactly what children should be. Sombron was giving Rafal the chance to make him proud.

[royalknght]

Shock. Recognition. Indecision. Guilt. All such emotions converged at a single point on the pale, wide-eyed face that peered back from an opposite end. Opposite from - of all people - Mauvier.

“You are Mauvier.” The words escaped him before he could rein in any semblance of their control, as did the ones that succeeded them: “Is it truly—are you—” His fingers clenched and unclenched uselessly at his sides, reflecting the mire of conflicting thoughts scarcely contained behind his unguarded gaze. Oozing out with every second that hovered between them.

But soon the holes patched. Sensibility settled in place of wishful thinking. The walls returned, rising up again toward the sky with a proud rear of the dragon's head.

“.  .  .I see you are new to this land. If there is anything you require - anything at all - do not hesitate to call on me. I will answer at speed.”

Two heels pivoted on a hasty exit.

Rafal hadn’t even thought to give his name. 

The interaction happened faster than Mauvier's mind could fully process it. He recognized the emotions on the other's face but could not understand from where they originated.

Mauvier scrutinized the one before him. This is a face he felt he would remember surely. Should he remember? Had he forgotten something important? He didn't think so. To be the cause of someone's guilt was somehow an unforgivable offense. He did not know what had happened to the man before him and he did not feel as though he could ask.

"I am Mauvier. Yes." His answer was stilted. Uncertain.

He would figure this out. The stranger was gone before Mauvier could say anything else. Before he could say that he would not be calling, it was his duty to aid and never to be aided.

A frown formed. This was an issue he would need to solve. It was his way.