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the blame you claim || joining - ALISTAIR - 09-24-2018
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It was quite a demanding task to reject his bastardy, which could be credited to the fact he was a bastard in the unfortunately literal sense, and so Alistair had never attempted to pretend he wasn't exactly who he was. The arlessa was not as impressed with his sincerity of character. Alistair wouldn't blame her, because he had enough wits about him to recognize it was embarrassing to have him around with all the rumors about his birth circulating, but he wished she could extend him the same courtesy. What was he meant to do? Defy time to travel to the past and ask his father to please refrain from canoodling with the starstruck maid? He did not make a conscious decision to enter the world as a bastard - he wasn't that sort of sod, but he was the sort who had a fondness for living, bastard or no. Or so it went when he wasn't disliking his circumstances entirely.
It wasn't his favorite subject to brood over. He preferred to think about lighter things, such as pretty ponies and roses and anything that did not care he was illegitimate. Cheese, for instance, did not care he was a bastard.
His life was not so simple, however much he pleaded the Maker for it. He did quite a bit of that, actually: clutching his mother's amulet, asking the Maker why his father had to tumble the maid, and if it was at all possible for the arlessa to bump her head and forget she hated him. Nothing worked, of course. Too much selfishness, too little prostration.
In a fit of childish rage, he had thrown the one tether between himself and his mother at the wall. He could still feel the gnawing dread in his gut in that beat prior to it striking the stone and shattering. If time-travel were possible, he would rather rectify that than sternly tell a king to canoodle elsewhere, or he might also redirect himself from becoming hopelessly lost. Reason number three thousand and forty one for never leaving Alistair in charge: he could lose himself in a matter of seconds, along with pants he didn't even wear.
"Do witches live in meadows, or are there not enough creepy trees? They must have some sort of rule about that. 'Dwell not where you aren't kept awake by creaking wood and beady bird eyes.'" The red-hued creature sighed. He could only amuse himself for so long before his sanity left with his pants.
Re: the blame you claim || joining - BASTILLEPAW - 09-24-2018
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BASTILLEPRISONER AURELIUS
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"You know, more often meadows are associated with nymphs," he commented from behind this stranger on their lands (possibly the border but Madi couldn't tell, so yolo), voice mild and tone vaguely conversational in that I-might-have-just-startled-you-and-don't-care fashion. There had, in fact, been no approach to give him away: Bastille was abusing his teleportation at a time when he probably should not (his body was only recently recovered from the Pitt's bullshit, and every time he used his powers even a little bit he felt a faint burning in his chest), but he couldn't really bring himself to care. Maybe the gods would humble him for his hubris eventually. Or maybe the gods were dead and he had no cause to stop living his fucking life in peace.
"A locus amoenus, if you will," he continued, pale blue gaze flickering over this stranger with that same indifference, the slightest traces of amusement. He didn't imagine that this kid — who was not too much younger than him, notably, but seemed to be an elder apprentice at most — had any background in Ovid, and therefore there was no point in delving deeper into the references, so instead he just provided, [b]"We do happen to have a couple of self-proclaimed witches wandering about, though. If you're looking for some."
[align=center][table][tr][td]"A locus amoenus, if you will," he continued, pale blue gaze flickering over this stranger with that same indifference, the slightest traces of amusement. He didn't imagine that this kid — who was not too much younger than him, notably, but seemed to be an elder apprentice at most — had any background in Ovid, and therefore there was no point in delving deeper into the references, so instead he just provided, [b]"We do happen to have a couple of self-proclaimed witches wandering about, though. If you're looking for some."
BY THE GRACE OF THE FIRE AND THE [color=#b4d5ee]FLAMES
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Re: the blame you claim || joining - DANNY - 09-25-2018
[align=center][div style="borderwidth; width: 420px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9pt;"] "All witches of different types live in different locations. I don’t think you should stereotype them. There could be things older than you lurking in these 'creepy trees' areas." The kitten emerged from behind Bast with a wide smile across his maw. It was easier to meet new faces when others arrived before him, providing transportation to get from place to place so long as shadows present. Whiskers quivered as the child lightly bumped his forehead against the taller male’s hind leg before darting forward to bump his head against Alistair’s foreleg before stepping back with his head cocked up to meet the canine’s gaze. Ears swiveled back as a low, thoughtful hum bubbled up in his chest then beamed once more before hopping back to Bastille’s side, playing with some grass.
"Are you looking for some witches?" Danny’s curiosity had been peaked when fearless leader mentioned having some wandering about– well, self-proclaimed, but that doesn’t mean they were wrong. "Looking for some spells? Did someone curse you?" Claws flexed as he plucked a piece of grass and allowed his clear eyes to meet the red furred dog once more. "Oh, and ‘m Danny. You?"