forum after all this time - 3/3 - closed

Started December 06, 2022 by @larcenistarsonist group

tune

Two old friends. Ten years since their relationship had fallen apart. One of them is a fine warrior who managed to slay the Cruel Beholder that reaped every dime from every soul of the kingdom. The other was his dearest friend, the one that followed them to the ends of the world and back and chronicled each of his mighty deeds through ballad and song. Nobody truly knows what happened to the pair, but it's something unexpected brings them together again.

It's a child, an heir to the kingdom over escaping the suffocating restraints of their parents. They come knocking on the warrior's door in the dead of night, dragging the bard behind them. The two of them are already weary from sprinting from kingdom to kingdom, hiding and escaping dozens of mercenaries hired to bring the heir back to their home. "We had nowhere else to go," the bard whispers, and that's all it takes for the warrior to take them inside his dark home.

The heir tells the adults that they need to find a locket. It's the only thing that will help save their kingdom from falling into the corrupt powers the warrior had saved a previous one from a decade ago. The only issue is, the location of the talisman is on the other side of the continent. They must go through rivers and cross mountains, without a doubt fending off monsters and mercenaries alike.

Along the way, who knows what the child will have in store. Besides their main quest, there's plenty of old, messy feelings between the warrior and the bard, ones they thought they killed ten years prior. Perhaps a child is what they need to really get their hearts untangled and figured out.

–

I have never seen the Witcher but this rp is heavily inspired by it alsdkjf All I know is that Henry Cavill is there as some macho dude and he's followed around by a loud bisexual dude with a lute. And there's a child.

In this universe, magic is present and there are monsters and stuff but it is not magic-centric. I don't have any worldbuilding for this.

Anyways!!! This can either be an oxo or a group of three!

–

ROLES:

• Warrior (Age 35-40). Serious and repressing literally all of their emotions. Extremely athletic and reserved, cares a lot more than one would think. Preferably a man.
• Bard (Age 35-40) Boisterous but seriously hiding something deep. Loves a good song and an even better drink. Preferably man and/or enby?
• Heir (Age 9-13) Wide-eyed, but much more intelligent than they let on. Might be something supernatural lurking beneath their skin. Any gender identity is fine with the child.

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My rules are simple:

• Please, Experienced RPers only!! I may ask for a sample and I reserve the right to say no.
• There will be mature themes such as violence, death, and intense mental health issues. All sexual situations will be fade-to-black or entirely omitted.
• Be active!!! Posting every 1-2 days is perfect and just give me something to go off of!
• Don't be a dick, man.
• Please commit I am begging you, I really want this to be successful.

We can choose to do templates or not! I'm fine with doing either!

Hi! I have a good girl to be the warrior, if that’s not the role that you want and if you’ll have me :)

Hi! I'm glad you showed interest, but I'm afraid your style won't necessarily mesh well with mine so I'm going to have to turn you down :(

Maybe in another rp I could have you, but not yet.

Hey, it’s all good! I’ll probably stick around and stalk ;)

I would be interested in joining this, but I know we do already have another rp going on so totally good if no. 😂 I’m definitely much better at writing things leaning more into the fantasy side (I mean, I am a fantasy writer, so it makes sense). If you need a writing segment, I’m good with that, or you could also check out my rps Favorite Liar or Runes and Coffee. They’re both good examples of my normal writing style. 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

Sorry Emmrii, but we already have one going and your writing style isn't quite what I'm looking for this. Maybe in another one

Alright! Sounds good 👍🏻👍🏻

Hi! This looks really cool and if my writing is good for this rp, I'd like to write for the bard? I usually respond in lengths according to the context of the rp so I would be willing to write some longer stuff for this. It's totally alright if my stuff isn't what you're looking for though :]
(For example the type of writing I'd be using for this would be similar to what I use (the more recent replies, 'cause when I started it had been quite a while since I'd written in that style-) for ScotchTapeWorm's 'Bloodstained Gold' RP, probably slightly different to fit the character and plot obviously)

Hey! I'd be down to joining as the heir for this if that's cool with you. :)

@lemonwitch I've looked through the RP you suggested and I'm happy to say that you're good to go!

And Knight!! I always love to have you in RPs!

I'll have a template up for us all soon!

Template:

Name:
Nicknames/Aliases:
Gender/Pronouns:
Sexuality:
Age:
-
Appearance:
Personality: (please include strengths, weaknesses, and flaws!)
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Powers: (Keep them relatively minor for bard, but the heir can have something freaky going on beneath the surface alskdfj)
Brief Backstory:
Other?:

I'll be taking the role of the warrior alksdjf

Name: Clarkeston Vallein of The Dark Umber Wood
Nicknames/Aliases: Clarke, Demon of Umber
Gender/Pronouns: Male, he/him
Sexuality: Very Very Repressed Bisexual
Age: 38
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Appearance: He's a tall man with a very strong build. He keeps his ashy gray hair braided out of his face and, when braided, it reaches just down to his shoulders. He has pale skin littered with scars and dark, dark red eyes that look brown in most lights. (He's been told they glow when he's pissed off, but he doesn't quite believe that.) Clarke has a strong chin with a light gray stubble, a natural scowl, and thick eyebrows that are always furrowed. Clarke wears silver armor that's been rusted over to the point that it's russet colored. On the backplate, he has owl wings etched into the shoulderblades. Beneath his armor he wears a black tunic and armor.
Personality: Clarke is a noble man, but he never vocalizes that. He's quiet and cold, yet he's impulsive. He acts first and thinks later, often leading him to plenty of trouble, but he usually finds his way back out of trouble with an intimidating glare and a swing of his sword. This also gives him a bad rap. People often believe Clarke is inhuman who slaughters everything in his path, but truly, Clarke is there to protect everyone in the lands. He doesn't tell them. That would make him look defensive and stupid. Clarke is a very proud man who likes to work alone, but he is far from heartless. Far, far from it. In fact, Clarke believes his heart bleeds too much. He finds his emotions (though extraordinary repressed) are too strong and it's better for everyone to stay away from him. All Clarke wants if for people to let him be and allow him to protect them from afar.
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Powers: Accelerated strength and speed given to him by the bronze owl pendant he keeps around his neck. Still incredibly fast and strong without it, the magic just makes him superhuman.
Brief Backstory: Clarke was born to a single mother in a small village deep inside the Umber Woods. Due to the treacherous terrain of the area, they never got many visitors. They also rarely got any help. When Clarke was ten, a monster attacked his village. He isn't quite sure what attacks. All he knows is that it killed everyone except him. Sprinting through the village littered with corpses, Clarke came across the village alchemist, a mysteriously young woman with an oddly large amount of knowledge. With her dying breaths, she gave Clarke a pendant, one that looked like the screeching face of an owl. She told him to never let them down. She told him to keep fighting and to never stop. The alchemist died in Clarke's arms and from that day on he vowed to protect people from the horrid fate his village and mother faced. After wandering the Umber Woods, Clarke came across a large town. He was fourteen and he stayed there, training beneath the palace guard in combat until he was eighteen. He then left to fight. Six years later, after slaughtering three monsters, Clarke arrived at the tavern covered in blood. A bard then decided to sit down in front of him and begin babbling on and on about their life. They were then inseparable for ten years. They liberated a kingdom from a Beholder, they travelled to the ends of the earth and back, they trusted each other more than anybody else… and then they fell apart. Clarke moved to a small hut on the edge of the Umber Woods and that's where he remained for four years, alone and only occasionally bringing out his sword.
Other?: He fights with nearly any weapon, but his favorite is a bronze blade stained black from blood of different monsters he's slain.

Name: Renier Aseqo (Pronounced "Reneer Ah-seco")
Nicknames/Aliases: Ren
Gender/Pronouns: Gender neutral, they/them (although sometimes they are perceived as female or male and are fine with she/her and he/him in those situations)
Sexuality: Queer
Age: 37
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Appearance: Dark brown hair that falls slightly over one side of the face (not fully like in the drawing). Black eyes with a slight violet tint. 5'7, strong hands and arms which they frequently arm wrestle with in bars, though they could never beat Clarke. Leather pants, and since I could not find the proper name for this type of shirt here is a photo (https://www.google.com/search?q=name+for+medieval+shirt+for+men&rlz=1CADTIH_enUS967&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwiJ95XM4uX7AhXFnWoFHbTRDXEQ_AUoAXoECAIQAw&cshid=1670356449865891&biw=1366&bih=697&dpr=1&safe=active&ssui=on#imgrc=kaTqIY6JIyLXLM&imgdii=AWLBy2-ZhlQoZM) (Sorry for all the photos by the way).
(Here are some drawings of a character of mine that Renier is heavily based on, pretty much the only thing I changed was their personality and their having an instrument. I may have a drawing of them with it soon, which will include drawings of their equipment as well. - https://ibb.co/DfTBbsV)
Personality: As the role description stated, boisterous and spontaneous. Renier is often mistaken for a thief or fugitive based on their strange mannerisms. This is likely because of their kleptomania, an addiction that became more prominent over time, though they try their best not to steal anything of too much importance, so most of what they take is invaluable and subconsciously picked up. Even if they are outgoing, they are often perceived as eccentric in the over-the-top way they respond and adapt to their surroundings. Renier is also very protective of their possessions and other people.

Powers: Renier carries a small drum with which they perform fast-paced songs and pieces. They haven't performed a song of their own since they were separated from Clarke, mostly because they were only motivated to write for and about his feats. Using the magic from this drum they are able to grant a sort of physical energy to those around them, and without magic they are sometimes able to briefly distract. Singing does a little bit to help, but is not required to cast magic. This energy is at their own expense, but it depends on how long they were playing and how intensely.

Brief Backstory: Renier Aseqo was raised on music their entire life, entertaining others since their early childhood (about 6), and incorporating magic into their work since they were 13. They aimed to become a renowned musician like their father and mother. As soon as they turned 16, they began performing in bars and restaurants, two years later traveling around their town, which they did for years before meeting Clarke. At the time they were trying to convince a reluctant barkeeper to allow them to see the owner and ask them to let them play their drum there. When Clarkeston Vallein entered the place, they began rambling to him about their frustration, before introducing themself. From then on, they accompanied the warrior, writing their first and only songs. Even after they parted, this never stopped them from continuing to play music out of their own natural affinity for it.

Other:

• Renier carries two pocket knives.
• Not much else right now, I think more other than that will be revealed throughout the rp!
  (Also I changed the daggers to pocket knives cause I forgot how big daggers were until just now-)

Name: His Highness Crown Prince Zoltán Kardos Seo of the Keosalon Kingdom
Nicknames/Aliases: His Highness, Your Highness, Edvin (He calls himself Edvin, because he knows that when he becomes king that he's changing his name. And he was never called any affectionate or pet nicknames, although Edvin is very open to it.)
Gender/Pronouns: Cis male (He/Him)
Sexuality: Little dude is a kid so he's got no idea, but he enjoys the beauty of anyone of any gender.
Age: 9
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Appearance: For only being nine years old, he is quite small and has a resting gloomy face. Like there is no light of happiness in those big dark brown almond eyes of his. He also looks more like his mother than His Majesty. Edvin stands at four foot seven with a lean frame. His jet black hair goes down a little bit past his shoulders. It's kept up in a typical man bun, but he enjoys when others braid his hair. He also has light tan skin. The only marking that he has is petal-like mark on his left shoulder blade.
Personality: Just because this little prince is little doesn't mean that he isn't anything more. He is a force to be reckoned with. As much as he is selfless and somewhat fearless, he is a kind gentle person. Edvin has a heart that is concerned for others; he's a really good listener/someone to talk to. He cares for others even though he doesn't know or understand why. His curiosity is bigger than anyone could expect; a bit idealist, though he's just a kid. He is awfully smart for his age, but Edvin is often conflict by the lack of mental/emotional intelligence. He isn't good about opening up. Crying or asking for comfort is something he avoids. His trusting skills need to be worked on. Yes he wants to be held, loved, and cared for. He just wants to live and be a kid but he is pessimistic about any of those things happening. While he is determined about helping others, he isn't so determined about himself.
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Powers: Edvin is more than what others think of him, and he doesn't even know it. Sort of. He can manipulate and control shadows which also enables him to communicate with them too. He does talk to some, and he thinks that they're real even though no one else can see them.
Brief Backstory: Edvin is the only successful living child to the king and queen. After three children who didn't make it past one, there has always been this focus on ensuring that he will live, even if that means watching his every step. He is named Zoltán to honor his father's side and their long history, but he (Edvin) hates the name. What he calls himself is from a bedtime story about a kind prince who saves the day.

His Majesty (his father) always had eyes on him. He was taken away from his mother after birth and put under watch by guards. Thankfully he was returned at the age of two. There was always someone breathing down his neck whether it be His Majesty or his mother or a guard or a nanny or someone. They always discouraged his curiosity. His Majesty always assuring the little prince that everything is fine.

When his mother suffered a terrible miscarriage, his life somehow just got worse. His mother isn't who she used to be nor is His Majesty. Protecting the prince every single second became top priority in the castle, but for Edvin, it's a prison and it's killing him. They're trying to control him. There's always someone near him, but never someone there for him. His parents aren't really being parents to him and His Majesty is just turning his head at the real danger.
Other?: He has a little crossbody bag with a faceless doll in it that he is really protective of; if anyone gets near it, he freaks out.

The Umber Woods are not a place most would go. To begin with, it's already out of the way of everything. There are no trade routes nor hidden treasures within the reddened trees. It seems to sit on the edge of the world, with only a mountain range to its north and a river to its east. Anything that had once lain between the bronzed scarlet canopy had been pillaged, burned, and reaped of all life. There's nothing inside the forest. Clarkeston Vallein would know.

Clarke is a man of few words. If he can help it, he's a man of no words. Perhaps a few grunts.

He's also a man of solitude. Alone, he lives on the more feral side of the Umber Woods. He resides independently in a one story cottage that smells of iron, with a small field full of various roots and starches and a hastily stitched scarecrow with its fair share of arrows shot into its straw chest keeping guard. The sun beats nearly red in the sky, well polluted by the neighboring kingdom's surplus of copper ore throughout the decades. Clarke doesn't mind it. He grew up beneath the russet sun within the russet woods. His hung armor and sword bare the same colorage.

It's nearing evening, the sky a dark, dark pink with the setting sun. The ball of sheer light hangs to the west, hiding the path to the nearest town with its rays. Clarke is finishing his evening chores. A sloshing bucket churns as he dunks a stained rag into the soap. He cleans the outside of his singular window, then moves to the inside. He locks his door. Six bolts. It used to be five but that hadn't been enough. God, he has to shutter at the memory.

Unbeknownst to the Demon of Umber, the dying sun-bathed path occupies two people: an adult and a child. One a friend, one a complete stranger. They're running from the village behind them, the adult claiming to know the way. The bard beat on their drum and screamed to the child to keep going. After all, the iron-scented cottage that'll grant them safety for the night is not far off.

(I never specified response length, but usually 1-3 paragraphs is ideal to give everyone something to work with!!)

Renier readjusted their footing after a close encounter with a tree root, the tempo they'd been playing deteriorated slightly before they picked it up again. The flow of energy was choppier when running, it was very difficult to play and sprint at the same time. As much as they wished they could have had a few minutes to pre-energize Edvin before running, nightfall was near, and they doubted Clarke would have responded to pounding on his door by then. Instead of what would have been preferable, they'd hurriedly clipped the long strap to their drum to free their hands, and taken off. This would, ideally, have left the pair with just enough time to arrive.

Speaking of which, the sun was nearly down. "We're close!" Renier yelled to the young heir. "You've got it! There!" They continued mumbling and shouting small reassurances along the way. It was getting slightly more difficult to see the ground flying below them, one more misstep or slowdown from either of the two… No, never mind. A race against the sun. Each time the drummer's hand hit their instrument, in quantization with each time their feet hit the ground, hopefully encouraging the child to keep in time with the music.

"Clarkest-" Renier began, raising their voice. "Clarke! They screamed for his attention. Hopefully he'd open the door. Hopefully, Edvin wouldn't stop, hopefully, neither would Renier. Hopefully, the slowing magic they could provide would be enough.

Never before has such little feet run so quickly and for so long. The young prince's heart has never beaten at such a swift pace. Edvin kept panting as the drum went on. The sight of the sun setting has never sent so much panic into him. Hues of dark orange, red, blue, and black used to be sights of wonder to him. Now, they were symbols of fear and anticipation.

His feet ached. His hands stung from rope burns. He was exhausted. If either His Majesty or his mother would see him now, they would panic. He was never allowed to run. Quite frankly, most of what he is doing now is not allowed in the castle. Dressing in girls clothing would have been the least of his worries; rest assured he managed to fit some plain robes in his bag. Regardless, if he was caught now, he would be dead.

The bard's encouragement startled him. Edvin was not sure how to take it. But it is not like he has the time to take it in anyways. He blinked away the tears of confusion and just kept running. Run faster boy! He heard one of the shadows, Hunor, shout. Run or you'll be damned!

It was as difficult as it was feasible to do certain parts. Sneaking out at night to steal a lady in waiting's clothes and rope was feasible. Getting dressed in said clothing by himself then climbing down the rope and away from the palace was difficult. But was it worth it? Absolutely.

Edvin didn't have enough in him to shout along with the bard. In fact, he didn't even have enough air in him to run. Internally, Edvin begged for Clarke to open the door. He begged the gods, spirits, and shadows to hear his plea. He cannot stop now. Even if his feet or heart give out, he will find a way to keep on going. The sound of the drum rang in his ears.

Before he can hear it, Clarke can smell it. Through the iron and rust of his small cabin, he can smell something else. It's coming from the road. Fear.

"For fuck's sake," he grumbles, praying to whatever god burdens him that it won't be another rumor of a banshee in the towne hall. He's the Demon of Umber, the Slayer of the Beholder, the Liberator of the Coalent Kingdom, but he's retired, goddamnit. He already spent too many years trekking through different biomes with different blood of different devils dripping from his sword. Four years isn't nearly a long enough break. He's going to need to knock himself into a coma if he'd actually like to face peace.

Clarke pours himself a drink, hoping that whatever frightened villager will just get over themselves and leave. But the smell persists. And it's swiftly approaching his house. Snarling, Clarke slams his mug into his self-carpentered table and rips open all six locks. With an excessive amount of force, Clarke rips open the door. Just as he hears a strangled, familiar name scream for him.

"You have to be shitting me." Clarke takes the step into the evening light, squinting into the setting sun as two shadowed silhouettes sprint directly towards him. "Ren?" He whispers, hearing an old friend's familiar rhythm. Wh- Is that? A child? "Don't tell me you got knocked up and bore a crotch goblin," Clarke hisses, mainly to himself. Somewhat to the hut.

As they grow closer and closer, the sinking realization that it is an old friend sets deep into Clarke's stomach. He makes a mental note that his next retirement home will be somewhere where nobody will be able to find him. The peak of the tallest mountain in the land sounds nice. If he can learn to get along with goats, that is.

Renier stopped drumming and grabbed Edvin by his small wrist, rushing uninvited into the warrior's home. They let go of the child's hand once inside, catching their breath. They'd forgotten how taxing it was to run and drum at the same time. "No, not my-" Their voice was ragged, and they took another second. "Not- my kid." They explain vaguely. "He-" Renier stands up straight.

"I- know you're retired and- and all that. I'm really sorry- about this-" This was not at all how Renier would have hoped they would have reunited. Actually, they didn't have anything by prepared to say, since they'd barely considered it. But even if they had, this was definitely the last scenario they would have thought of. "We had nowhere else to go, I…" they trailed off, their voice returning to normal, though more sober. The worst part of this whole thing was that they had no explanation. Not a real reason behind their impulsive actions.

"This," Renier gestured to Edvin, "This is His Highness, of Keosalon." They waited for Clarke's response. They examined the man's face; the same, but with a sense of weariness. He'd aged. It was unclear why this was surprising to them. Not that they were expecting him to look the same. It still felt almost surreal. They could only wonder what the child beside them thought. This was dizzying for Renier, but throw a kid like him into the same boat? Must be nightmarish, they thought.

Being pulled in by the wrist was both a blessing and a curse. The blessing being that they are in the warrior's home and he is safe. The curse being that he almost shouted in startlement and his heart somehow beating even faster. Edvin looked up at Renier with eyebrows pulled together together and a pout. The momentary anger dissipated.

Despite being a prince, he kept his chin lowered to the floor. He tried to catch his breath. His disheveled hair helped cover his face. All of his attention was fixated on his feet and the dirty slippers that cover them. It was covered in dirt, hiding the details on them. It served as a reminder about this terrible situation of his, of his life as he knows it. As a child, he only understands a sliver of all of this. He, himself, has so many questions that even Hunor nor Suho could not answer. Will anyone be able to?

Edvin opened his bag, rummaging through for the doll. When he felt its silk dress, he pulled it out then hugged it. They are safe now. There's hope for the both of them. If only his feet did not so sore or his head so light.

When being introduced, he decided gaze up at Clarke. His eyes wide with curiosity, fear, hope, and worry. He moved a lock of hair away to get a better look. His chest still pushing out and collapsing from regaining breathing. Almost all of his face was flushed red.

He clunched the doll tighter. Please help was all that he could think when staring up at Clarke. Please help. Part of him wonders if any of this is real. He wonders if he will just wake up in bed again and spend another day in there. Is this all a dream? The worry made him tear up. He'll be damned. Edvin returned to looking back at the floor.

Clarke finds himself instinctively stepping to the side to make way for the bard and the child. He cranes his neck to see if any monster had been following them, but the path in their wake is entirely empty. "Why are you running?" Clarke hisses the question as he all but slams the door and returns the six bolts to their locks. The russet light from the sunset streams in through Clarke's thick curtains. "There's nothing after you." Or there could be. Clarke's painfully self aware of how his heightened senses have been dulling over his years of inactivity. He makes a point to never address the stained bronze sword hanging above his mantle.

He stares down at the child. "A prince?" Clarke mutters. "For god's sake, Ren, you kidnapped the only heir to Keosalon?" It's been nearly a decade since Clarke's been in the kingdom. There was a festival. They were celebrating the queen's new child. The child is holding a doll. God. Clarke reaches for his mug of homebrewed ale. After a long, long swig, he sets it down on the table and wipes the foam from his upper lip. Renier still looks the same. A little shaggier in the hair. A little warier in the eyes. Clarke doesn't want to meet their stare. There's too many things he's afraid of meeting, too many things he'd rather leave like a pile of carrion in the road.

"Why are you here, Ren?" He asks, voice like gravel. After all, it's been a few weeks since he's spoken a word aloud. He finally shifts his gaze from the boy. "It's been four years." He grits his teeth, a migraine already forming behind his eyes. Clarke's going to need more ale. "And why is there a child here?" If it's going to be like any of their old… adventures, Clarke knows there'll be slaughter, blood, guts… more blood. It's hardly fit for a child.

"Why are you here, Ren? It's been four years. And why is there a child here?" Like almost every decision Renier made, the choice to go to Clarke was quick and impulsive. At least consciously, they had no clue what drove them to do it. That might've been the second time they regretted making decisions so quickly.

Renier avoided the first question. "I didn't "kidnap" him. We-" they said, referring to the others who'd been following, "-came to bring him, uh, away from his parent's control. It's a lot." They glance down at the heir, then back up at Clarke. "He knows something others don't, that's all I really know." Renier tapped their foot anxiously and rhythmically. A small part of them hoped Clarke would send them back out, so they wouldn't have to say or explain anything else to him. But even if that's what they really wanted, and even if whatever they were running from was gone by then, they were aware that it was a selfish thing to hope for. They were also aware of their deliberate vagueness in what they were telling Clarke. It was a guilty feeling, to bust into his home and tell him nothing, after not speaking to each other in- four years? Had it been that long? Time was a strange thing. The bard couldn't decide if it had felt like ten years or ten months since they'd last seen the man. Realizing that only bothered them more.

"It was something about a locket, wasn't it?" Renier asked Edvin, shaking themself from this spiral.

Something about this warrior made him feel uneasy. The warrior's gaze sent shivers down his spine. In some form, it reminded him of His Majesty's; he doesn't like it. Hearing the door slam, he jumped then ran to hide behind Reiner. The run was more of a swift limping than anything else. He knows that for now everything is okay, but he just couldn't shake off the feeling that he never will be safe.

Edvin frowned while standing behind the bard. He isn't just a child. He's Edvin, the heir to Keosalon, and he just turned nine two moons ago; not to mention he, unlike his siblings who passed to the next world, is still standing on this earth and he will continue to do so until he's old and gray. It's not much, but to him, it means a lot.

The locket. His attention sparked instantly. He stepped out a little, looking up at Renier then back at Clarke. His arms gently squeezing the doll. Shadows stood behind against the wall before manifesting into two men. One with a big black fur coat, short dark brown hair, blue eyes, and a nose hooked down at the end like Edvin's. The other shared a lot of the same features like Edvin, but was wearing bright blue robes.

Hunor, the one with the fur coat, gave the little prince a seldom nod. Then Suho, the other with the blue robes, smiled and whispered, Go on. Tell the warrior with purpose. By the time Edvin had mustered up the courage, the shadows poofed into nothing within a blink of an eye.

The little prince sighed. He hugged the doll while staring at Clarke. "Keosalon needs the locket…." Edvin managed to say in a low soft voice. "It is in danger but no one is doing anything…." A voice whispered in his hear, Manners. He added on, "Please help…Please…There is corrupt…evil…powers that put in danger…Please…"

This situation feels straight from one of Clarke's drunken fever dreams. A friend he thought he got rid of four years ago and a tiny little boy. When he says tiny, he doesn't exaggerate in the slightest. Clarke has never been one for hyperbole. The child is… small. Small, truly, that's the only adjective he can quite place on the boy's head. Clarke is fully aware that he's taller and broader than the average person, instantly dwarfing anybody marginally below average–but this child. Itty bitty. Like a blueberry.

And this little blueberry apparently holds some grand knowledge that was worth Ren stealing him from his heavily guarded castle at least three kingdoms over… And this knowledge is a locket. A little door on a chain. Clarke has to take another long drag from his mug.

"Corrupt evil powers that put people in danger– for fuck's sake." Clarke is going to need so much more ale. He rubs his hands along his face and through his loose hair. Usually he would braid it back, but he wasn't quite expecting company to come barreling through his door. He inhales as sharply as his blade, exhales as harshly as a boar he once decapitated with said blade. He swears he sees something move on the wall behind him. Must be the damned ale, he grumbles internally.

"I hung up my sword for a reason, Renier," Clarke starts, his back to both the adult and the child. His teeth grit together; his knuckles go white around his mug. He hung it up because the Beholder is dead. He hung it up because he wants to rest. He hung it up because he's sick of always putting others in danger along his frivolous and surprisingly blood-heavy quests. "I hung it up, damnit, but–" He sighs, a heavy sound. His boots screech against the wooden flooring as he turns. "How far away is this damned locket and how long will it take to get to it?" The child is clearly in no shape to take care of himself, and what the hell is Renier going to do when faced with a garish Maule? Tap a jig out? Get it to shuffle along? God, Renier is going to get both the child and themselves killed.

Yet another thing Renier didn't know. How long had they been here? Three minutes? Clarke's questions were fair and called for, unlike their entrance back into his life. Though, did he agree to find whatever talisman Edvin was talking about?
It didn't take them long to decide that if they pulled Clarke into this, they were going to make an effort to get him out. Whether or not the warrior would allow Renier to be of use didn't matter. Either they'd persuade him or they'd find a way to follow anyway. If they were persistent they, ideally, wouldn't have to resort to the latter.
In any case, if the warrior had somehow been persuaded to let this shadow of a past life hit a drum alongside him, Renier had no plan nor desire to recreate past adventures. Most likely, neither did Clarkeston.
Wherever this locket was, all there was to do was hope that it was close. Renier looked down at Edvin. Did he know where the locket was or just that it existed? How did he know all this anyway? It wouldn't be too surprising if the heir was less than human. Then again, he was so frail, so at the same time, it was a bit surprising that the magic that was just streaming through his body didn't cause the child to collapse.

(sorry for the short reply! it will be longer next time)

Whatever is going on between Clarke and Renier, it is completely passing over Edvin's precious little head. Between feeling exhausted and thinking about the unimaginable happening, there was too much on his mind anyways. Even now, Edvin cannot handle it. The only thing holding him together is the doll; not to forget the fact that he is also far away from His Majesty and Mother. Far away that he will be safe standing still.

The whole time there was back and forth between the adults, he kept his head down. It is not prince-like of him to do, but what else could he do? He heard a word that he only ever heard while eavesdropping on soldiers in the hallways or His Majesty. Even Hunor had said it once before being scolded by Suho; this also made Edvin very tensed. What does "fuck" mean anyways? Why do all these men say it? Does he get to say it when he is their age? Hopefully not, does not sound good to him, especially the way Clarke just said it.

"Hm?" The little prince stared up at Renier with wide eyes full of a lot of things. Confusion shining in them among the rest. What? What does he have to say now? At this point, he just wants to sleep. The sun may have already set mere moments ago, but he has gone through so much today.

A shadow traveled down the wall. It was a plain shadow but Edvin could see it was Hunor. Then another appeared across from Reiner. Suho. Show the warrior the map, child. Hunor's voice was low and rumbled like thunder but it hummed nicely in his ears. It was definitely different from Suho's. Go on, little one.

There was a folded up paper in the bottom of his side bag. It was hidden underneath the other clothes he had packed. He had folded it up so much that it was difficult to unfold with one hand. Hunor had walked over to him, but the little prince had waved the shadow off. "No. I can do it," He mumbled. It disappeared before he managed to unfold it.

Edvin, using his left hand, held the map up for Clarke to see. It showed of the land where the locket was. "Across the continent," He responded then pointed to the locket's location. "It takes about…." He bit on his bottom lip. Suho whispered, About four weeks if you make haste. Edvin continued, "Uhh- Four weeks if we make haste."

The whole time Edvin held the doll by its left hand. Holding the map up as high as possible with just the one hand, he placed the doll in his bag so he had the support of both his hands. They were getting tired. Thinking about that made him even more tired. At least his motivation is enough to keep him awake.