WHO: Adrasteia, Erik, others WHAT: a catch-all with starters in the comments; will match format WHEN: early Bloomingtide WHERE: The Gallows, Kirkwall NOTES: Erik comes with a built-in language warning
[It’s said as fact, though there’s a lightness to it that suggests he believes Erik perfectly capable of managing without needing consideration or concern, already pressing forward away from where he's kept himself confined— twin swords lifted from their place at his hips, and fitted well in hand.]
I shall keep my blades unkindled. Use yours to its full capacity: my armor will safeguard me.
And I will make for better practice than wooden targets.
Then I would be all the more burdened with despair should the worst come to pass, in losing your company so permanently. [Wryly stated, already settling his weight low across the balls of his feet] One acclimates to heat— [The precursor to a singular lunge forward, drawing him well into Erik’s space— blades raised high, his first strike more defensive than offensive.
He wants only to goad Erik into attack, rather than surrender the whole of his own defense outright.]
Fuck, man. [ He laughs a little. No one cried the first time he died, he's pretty sure of that; now he's got friends who would actually give a fuck if something happened to him.
Goading Erik into attacking works, though first, he has to step aside to avoid that lunge. His sword strikes against Gabranth's, the sound of metal against metal ringing out in the air. ]
Same, honestly. Not about heat, I dunno about wearing all'a dat. [ While more than adequate protection against the Stormrider they fought, more than Erik thinks would be ideal for his own purposes. Then again... what the fuck does he really know about metal armor?
He steps back before going in again — this time aiming his swing for the helmet he's sure he won't be able to actually strike. ] Did you earn it or was it given to ya?
[The subject is— complicated. As are all things related to his service in Archadia. Someone else might forever hold resentment for the Empire that erased homeland and kin— and at first he had, when such things were a luxury left open to a boy with nothing else. But conditioning had been thorough, and necessary, and he’d lived so long as an honored Judge of Archades that eventually all that remained was as much a mix of pride as his own guilt.
So in the end, yes. He is proud of his armor. Proud enough that the incoming blow is quickly deflected by a crossed guard comprised of both his swords: feeling the heat of edged (and enchanted) metal even behind the shadow of his mask.]
Every Judge Magister is gifted a set of armor crafted solely for them.
[With a sharp downwards yank of his wrists he endeavors to knock Erik back in his own posture, attempting to upset his footing.]
Thus both are true, for it was only by the Emperor’s grace that I was granted a place at his side, to be his blade. His only shield.
[ The move works; Erik has to stumble back in order to keep his footing, angling his blade down but immediately following that up with an attacking thrust from the left. ]
How many Judge Magisters are there?
[ That Gabranth protected an Emperor is not exactly shocking news, when Erik thinks about it. He seems like the sort of man who puts a lot of stock in honor (but whether that has to do with the one he was charged to protect or his rank - what is a Judge Magister, anyway? - Erik isn't so certain.
Granted it could just be who Gabranth is. That isn't impossible, either. ]
I was one of the last. The others fell in their efforts, or by my own hand.
[The harsh clatter of a blow struck helps distract from pain he might otherwise feel in discussing this; it glances hard along the edge of his pauldron, all searing heat— yet tempered metal does its work as keenly as it had against the Stormrider.
That he could've blocked that attack might be telling enough.]
Perhaps there are more, now that I’ve taken my leave. A new era of service.
[When he retreats this time, it's into a more defensive stance: one last hard thrust outwards with his longsword before sinking back onto his heels, posture tight between two blades.]
[ It is telling, actually; Erik gets it though. You can't just talk about the people you've taken down and feel nothing. Or, well, he expects that some can and that is what makes them different, that level of sociopathy. ]
Maybe. Hard to say, huh? 'Less someone comes here who's from your future, which, is weird, lemme tell ya.
[ Erik parries the longsword before dodging backward and off to the side, rotating his sword before coming back in again with a swing that strikes downward from his shoulder. ]
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no subject
[It’s said as fact, though there’s a lightness to it that suggests he believes Erik perfectly capable of managing without needing consideration or concern, already pressing forward away from where he's kept himself confined— twin swords lifted from their place at his hips, and fitted well in hand.]
I shall keep my blades unkindled. Use yours to its full capacity: my armor will safeguard me.
And I will make for better practice than wooden targets.
no subject
[ Erik sheathes his sword in order to roll his shoulders a little, crack his neck, and stretch his arms in front of him before shaking it all out. ]
Don't you get hot in all that?
[ He draws his sword again and puts himself in a combative stance, flames licking the metal blade; he's ready. Let's go, Gabranth. ]
no subject
He wants only to goad Erik into attack, rather than surrender the whole of his own defense outright.]
no subject
Goading Erik into attacking works, though first, he has to step aside to avoid that lunge. His sword strikes against Gabranth's, the sound of metal against metal ringing out in the air. ]
Same, honestly. Not about heat, I dunno about wearing all'a dat. [ While more than adequate protection against the Stormrider they fought, more than Erik thinks would be ideal for his own purposes. Then again... what the fuck does he really know about metal armor?
He steps back before going in again — this time aiming his swing for the helmet he's sure he won't be able to actually strike. ] Did you earn it or was it given to ya?
no subject
So in the end, yes. He is proud of his armor. Proud enough that the incoming blow is quickly deflected by a crossed guard comprised of both his swords: feeling the heat of edged (and enchanted) metal even behind the shadow of his mask.]
Every Judge Magister is gifted a set of armor crafted solely for them.
[With a sharp downwards yank of his wrists he endeavors to knock Erik back in his own posture, attempting to upset his footing.]
Thus both are true, for it was only by the Emperor’s grace that I was granted a place at his side, to be his blade. His only shield.
no subject
How many Judge Magisters are there?
[ That Gabranth protected an Emperor is not exactly shocking news, when Erik thinks about it. He seems like the sort of man who puts a lot of stock in honor (but whether that has to do with the one he was charged to protect or his rank - what is a Judge Magister, anyway? - Erik isn't so certain.
Granted it could just be who Gabranth is. That isn't impossible, either. ]
no subject
[The harsh clatter of a blow struck helps distract from pain he might otherwise feel in discussing this; it glances hard along the edge of his pauldron, all searing heat— yet tempered metal does its work as keenly as it had against the Stormrider.
That he could've blocked that attack might be telling enough.]
Perhaps there are more, now that I’ve taken my leave. A new era of service.
[When he retreats this time, it's into a more defensive stance: one last hard thrust outwards with his longsword before sinking back onto his heels, posture tight between two blades.]
no subject
Maybe. Hard to say, huh? 'Less someone comes here who's from your future, which, is weird, lemme tell ya.
[ Erik parries the longsword before dodging backward and off to the side, rotating his sword before coming back in again with a swing that strikes downward from his shoulder. ]