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would you rather
would you rather |
for my sins surround me 1. Post with your character.2. In your comment, have your character ask a question: Would you rather ________ or _________? where the blanks are anything your character would like to know from anyone who might respond. Maybe they're asking out of curiosity. Maybe they have a dilemma of their own. Who knows? 3. Respond to other characters! Reply to whatever catches your own character's interest or whatever they'd like to talk about. Maybe they can't decide between the two. Maybe it's an easy answer. Maybe they think the question sucks. Discuss. Chat. Take turns. 4. ???????? 5. Have fun! This meme was gently lifted from bakerstreet. |
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valoirs
valoirs
Hen; Warrior of Light
illienne de matisse; temple knight
feel free to go with any canonpoint you like, I'm not picky
unhelpfully, i am also good with anything
I suppose this might have been better phrased “Would you allow a friend to dishonor you for his own sake?”
schroedinger's canonpoint
If he is the sort of man who would bring dishonor upon another knight for his own gain, then he would not be my friend in the first place.
[His voice is cold and dangerously neutral, and he's tempted to leave his answer as is and let the conversation die. He knows that Ser Solellaux is a good knight (if a wretched husband), and that she has the potential to be one as well (though he has questions of her motives, questions that he has the sense to keep to himself for now); he also knows that he has absolutely no desire to get tangled in their lives outside of knighthood. After a brief moment of silence, though, he adds one more thought, against his better judgment.]
...however, I might risk my honor for his, assuming that both he and his cause were worthy of it.
[Which begs the question: is this life worth it?]
makes up a setting tho!!
[she seems content to let the conversation die on that note, herself. with a commanding officer's practiced steps — though she herself is only a recruit — she paces the wall of the watchtower in the western highlands where they are waiting for the outriders to return with news of the horde. the astrologians have predicted a battle, and ilienne is part of the cohort sent to provide reinforcements to the order of the knights dragoon.
some within the temple knights would count themselves lucky to be posted at a watchtower with ishgard's azure dragoon, but ilienne isn't so sure that she is. she has the sneaking suspicion that solellaux posted her here intentionally, with ser estinien; her original assignment was to a different watchtower towards the southeast, and she only received word that her posting was changed as she was saddling up her chocobo for the march. there are several officers who could have authorized this decision, but — she thinks — only one who would care.
perhaps her husband is trying to protect her, in his usual misguided way. or perhaps solellaux is only trying to keep her away from the skirmish, under the wing of someone who is known to leave wholesale destruction of the horde in his wake, and therefore away from any battlefield glory. it's difficult to say. solellaux's first mistake has always been that he refuses to talk to her about aught more than the weather and acquisition of properties by the house.
oh well, she thinks. it hardly matters to her where she is posted.
she will continue to do her best until her best is not enough.
they will likely have bells more to spend in this frigid coerthan air, unless something goes horribly awry, and the biasts arrive sooner than expected. sighing, she produces a small flask of warmwine from beneath her cloak — the bottle is wrought with alchemical properties to keep its contents warm, small perks when one has a fortune to spend and no particular interest in silks or jewels. she holds it out to estinien, something vaguely mannish in the casual flick of her wrist.]
First sip is yours, if you'd like.
thanks! sorry for the late response btw
Your generosity knows no bounds.
[His voice is dry, but there's a slight upturn of his lips to hint at his appreciation. He is not one to seriously indulge while on a mission, but a sip or two of mulled wine or spirits to warm the bones hardly counts as an indulgence. Honestly, one could argue that it's a necessity, now that they've been forced to endure this accursed and its endless cold. He takes a swing, pleasantly surprised by the warmth (gods, he'd be tempted to get one of these himself, had he a place to keep it), before he hands the flask back to its owner. While he is not one for company, company becomes more tolerable when they bring drinks with them. Besides, even he must admit there is wisdom in having a spare set of eyes. The Horde is as cunning as they are vicious, and one can never be too vigilant when it comes to their schemes.
Speaking of vigilance... Estinien stiffens as he sees a flash of movement from the woods, but it is no dragon - it is merely a pack of wolves, no more than three in number, dashing down the hills and through the snow. Perhaps it is nothing, but it's strange, seeing them venture so close to a settlement of knights.
Unless, of course, a greater threat lurks in the forest.]
Do you see that?
[His voice is low, and he is no longer watching the wolves. Instead, his gaze is fixed upon where he first saw them.]
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Whatever could have startled them, I wonder.
[it isn't a question; her tone is dark. she tips her flask backward, taking a bracing gulp of the selfsame warmwine estinien just sipped; hot chocolate would do just as well, in truth, but the benefit of the wine is that its spice lingers in her belly and her throat as she contemplates the horizon. as she screws the flask closed, she counts off a few possibilities on her fingers.]
There's not much that would trouble a pack of wolves in these parts. Ogres. Yetis. A messenger, perhaps.
[she stows the flask back in her cloak pocket, and then continues:]
Dragons... Heretics.
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[His dark tone suggest that he is not at all pleased by their newfound excitement. He stills himself, watching the edge of the forest a moment longer, but no ogre or yeti or dragon chases after the wolves. No, what he sees is a knight, battered and caked in blood, their mail torn as if it was made of nothing more than flimsy rags. They stumble out, using their lance to keep them steady, before they finally collapse onto the snow.]
Get the chirurgeon.
[His tone is firm, allowing no room for argument, and he readies his lance as he prepares to leap down to investigate. Hells, is that knight one of their own? Some foolish squire who broke rank and bit off more than they could chew? Or do they belong to one of the High Houses? It's too far to make out their colors, or anything else about them; if they wish to identify their potential comrade, they will need to get up close.]
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never one to suffer fools, ilienne grabs the man by his wrist and tugs him sharply along. "you're hurting me," he complains, but as his tone of voice is frankly apathetic, and he retains the wherewithal to push his spectacles up his nose while they are making their way through the snow, ilienne assumes he can't be that badly hurt.
"watch your step," is all she says in response. "we're not far now, and that knight was bleeding badly."
she will arrive on the scene soon enough with the chirurgeon. hopefully estinien has had a better time with the wounded knight.]
janlenoux de courcillant; knight of the heavens' ward
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[that, or adelphel's palate has grown weak on sweet perfumes and confectioneries... but let that never be said in his presence. he sighs.]
...The gratin, I suppose, if I were forced to choose. With the dhalmel sliced thinly. I'd sooner take it as a Dzemael preparation, though — eft tail isn't so offensive once it's ground up like any other meat.
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Ah, I imagined that you'd had your fill of eft when we were afield. Certainly, Dzemael gratin is like to be our most palatable choice — Ser Grinnaux enjoys minced meat as well, no?
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[He crosses his arms and frowns deeply, his helm hiding his gaze. Certainly Ser Estinien, prickly man that he is, would have no patience to consider something so ridiculous as-]
The fricasee, obviously. Braising the meat should do a fine job of keeping the dhalmel tender - or as tender as dhalmel ever is.
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My thanks, Ser Estinien. Then perhaps dhalmel meat is best set aside altogether?
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Are you certain? After all, Saint Valeroyant surely ate far worse than dhalmel meat when he was out on patrol.
[It is only a jest - he might have said it with a perfectly straight face, his tone betraying nothing, but it's a jest nonetheless. After all, even Estinien wouldn't restrict someone to dhalmel meat on a feast day. Whether or not Janlelnux is familiar enough with Estinien's sense of humor to realize this, however, is another matter entirely.]
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His reply is a jest of his own, distinct and good-natured humor in his tone: ]
Now I fear that this has become a true dilemma: should Ishgard eat as Saint Valeroyant did? Or eat well as we think on his victories? Those of us who have spent weeks on campaign know something of rations tougher than dhalmel, I suppose...
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Then I suppose it would be best to give everyone something more pleasant - both to eat and to prepare. After all, there is no need to repeat a lesson that's already been learned.
[Finally, some mercy.]