1. Willard

    Private The Ballad of the Blighted Shore

    'I would prefer not to get too close either,' Willard admitted, vaulting from Hellion's saddle, mail and quilted cloth hastening his descent. Retrieving his war bow, the dawnling swept his hood back, bowstring appearing betwixt his fingers in a blink, so swiftly it could've been mistaken for...
  2. Willard

    Open What grows out of mud

    He hadn't told them anything, but he had slipped up. Willard couldn't decide which was worse. Shouldn't have lied to them to begin with, thought the Dawnling, cutting himself off from the part of him that bled so easily. Venla was right in saying it wasn't his truth to tell. But then he had...
  3. Willard

    Open What grows out of mud

    She believed every word she spoke; what did the truth matter in the face of such vehement belief? 'You did,' he nodded, placing his hands together, so that the sensation of touch might help distract him from his pacing thoughts. For a time. And that's all you could ever have hoped for, isn't it...
  4. Willard

    Open What grows out of mud

    The knight's smile was soft, sad. 'Like I said, stubborn.' The rebuttal didn't sting like the redhead perhaps feared it might. Instead, he turned with her, unwilling to let her slip away from him, to fold back in on herself. Whatever answers resided within the confines of her mind were poisoned...
  5. Willard

    Open What grows out of mud

    'Sure you can,' replied Willard, hand returning to its natural place at his side, fingers curling inwards slightly, missing the touch of those they had twined with mere heartbeats ago. 'Seems like I'm not the only one fretting. A door opens before you and yet you hesitate.' Why? The bed...
  6. Willard

    Open What grows out of mud

    The Dawnling bowed his head as Venla ran her fingers through his hair. 'It saddens me to hear you say that of yourself,' he murmurred softly, enjoying the moment of closeness for as long as it lasted. He had missed this, missed her. But telling her so out loud would have sounded disingenuous, at...
  7. Willard

    Open What grows out of mud

    Tired? Aye, he could believe that. Whatever physical malaise had overcome her in the wake of the Event was nothing compared to the burden that had befallen her spirit in the time since. The horrors of that night, fresh in her mind. And she's had to face them, alone in here, with no one to turn...
  8. Willard

    Open What grows out of mud

    Willard forced a smile, hurt. 'You sound disappointed,' he said, her hand slipping from his, the pain he saw in her eyes reflected in his as he sank down before her. Making himself small, so she needn't feel afraid any longer. If only it were that easy. 'I heard what happened,' his voice was...
  9. Willard

    Open What grows out of mud

    It was a difficult thing, walking when your feet felt like they were made of lead. The heart beating in Syr Willard's chest weighed heavier still. Palsied, somehow, as if the organ itself wasn't entirely committed to the path he had chosen for himself. Indeed, most days he felt like he had taken...
  10. Willard

    Private The Ballad of the Blighted Shore

    'I'm glad you agree, Lady.' Despite his earlier attempt to temper both her's and the party's expectations, Willard had not sought to butt heads with the bard. Lately, it seemed half the words that left his mouth came out wrong, stoking enmity where once there had existed amity. Arrowdale was a...
  11. Willard

    Private The Ballad of the Blighted Shore

    Saw it between sips of sweet rose wine, perhaps, thought the dawnling, content enough to watch and listen as the bardess plied her trade on the others. Syr Sabinian was already quite taken with the larkling, he could tell. As for Syr Kerrigan, well, she was right, of course - unicorn or not...
  12. Willard

    Private The Ballad of the Blighted Shore

    "Hasn't stopped talking since we got here." 'Ears ringin' yet?' Willard asked, following Syr Hector's lead and dismounting, the voice streaming from the seaside hut that of a stranger. Lady Lark of the Lanes, the knight assumed, since Syr Kerrigan wasn't one for wasted breath and Sabinian's...
  13. Willard

    Private The Ballad of the Blighted Shore

    Clip clop. Clip clop. So went the monotonous hours spent in measured pursuit, iron-shod hooves beating a steady rhythm against the dry earth amidst the rattle of tack and the grumble-groan of weathered beech trees. The signs left behind by their brethren are easy to spot if you know what you...
  14. Willard

    Private The only brew for the brave and true

    A nod. 'Not a fuckin' clue,' he smiled thinly, trying to muster up some levity, as his half-eared brother was wont to do when the mood turned sour. 'You're right, of course, you're right. Even so, I cannot help but worry.' Trust was not something the dawnling handed out willy-nilly. The...
  15. Willard

    Private The only brew for the brave and true

    The young knight bore no ill will towards Magnar, despite the momentary anger the older man's words elicited in him. It felt like hardly any time had passed since the Thiels had invited them into their home, and already the eldest son knew enough to pass judgement. To condemn a future that may...
  16. Willard

    Private The only brew for the brave and true

    The trouble with a guilty conscience was that you could not hide it. The part of Willard that wanted to guard Venla's secrets struggled with the part that wanted to tell them the truth. Eyes being windows, he realised he could not withhold it from them, not with the pair staring right through...
  17. Willard

    Private The only brew for the brave and true

    The dawnling sat there, confused, until he wasn't. 'Ah.' Drachenberg. Fuck! Rubbing at his weary eyes, Willard looked from Magnar to Saara, his expression a mixture of guilt and self-loathing. How could I have forgotten that little detail? He asked himself, pushing his bowl away, his appetite...
  18. Willard

    Private The only brew for the brave and true

    Willard shrugged. No surprise there, he thought. Letters had a habit of getting lost on the twining country roads seperating Astenvale from the world at large. Highwaymen loved their stagecoaches nearly as much as poachers loved plucking pigeon feathers. And sending stones were a rare commodity...
  19. Willard

    Private The only brew for the brave and true

    'Don't mention it,' replied Willard, waving the thanks away. 'We were passing through. Only right that we stopped by.' Magnar's voice was thick with relief. There was even a bit of mist about his eyes, though surely that was due to the woodsmoke, and not the words written in his sister's hand...
  20. Willard

    Private The only brew for the brave and true

    Willard's eyes widened in surprise. He laughed, shrugging, as one often did when at a loss for words. 'Careful with this one, Hec. Last time Magnar offered me a drink, he damn near poisoned me,' the dawnling's smile was short-lived. Dusting off his boots, he followed Magnar inside. My, but this...
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