archonguard-blog

[archonguard-blog]

One of the main reasons I am protecting you, your Grace, is that now it is personal: if I do not get to throttle you nobody else ever will... 

@archonguard said:  All of this to Tertius’ obvious *delight*. It makes his job so much… harder

pack your equipment and your men Tertius, we gonna meet up with some assassins today

#//crack

[archonguard-blog]

archontem :

They may have been in Seheron, a place notorious for its ferocity and brutality, and almost on the frontlines, but that still shouldn’t turn a Tevinter into a barbarian, now, should it? So Radonis tilted his head and nodded, a minor acknowledgement for the courtesy, and followed the legionary, holding back Glacius to make it walk at a human pace.

The panorama of the encampment was mostly unchanging and not especially exciting, but after all the war itself had been dragging on for a rather long time and, rhethorics excluded, there ought to be little that was exciting about it. Rhethorics and lives were the trade of everyone who had ever wished to wield some power; here he was indeed under the impression that the legions’ favoured trade was a great deal of mud. And blood, for blood is always involved.

With the lanes between the tents becoming winder to favour the passage of mounts, leading his dracolisk around was becoming an easier task. That animal had too much character. Reminding it who was its rider and to whom it owed its obedience hadn’t been an easy task but it had been a rewarding one.

The Legatus’ tent was ahead of them. Easy to recognise it once one found it standing right before his eyes: round and higher, the insignia had been pitched right before it. Admittedly, the green standard of the Imperium had seen better days, somewhat like certain matrons and patriarchs of the capital — there had been luster under all that face powder, but now all their remaining dignity was in their surname-given status, not in their wrinkly, withered appearance. 

Next to the standard stood a soldier, heavy-lidded and red in the face, who nonetheless saluted when they approached. « Legatus Crixus is in his stables. »

Ah, the stables. A place that he would be bound to visit soon and that might bring him some kind of enthusiasm. Radonis cast a glance towards his impromptu guide, who blissfully appeared to know the destination and led him behind the large tent. There had been built a canopy to house two dracolisks and, currently two men as well, a third standing guard. Crixus was right there, a short and built man with the dark skin that was typical of the east of the Imperium, his face so somber that he could have been a good addition to a funeral. Or to a series of equestrian statues. 

Radonis descended from Glacius, holding the bridle, and saluted. 

The Legatus eyed both him and his guide. « Tribunus Portarii, it was about time with those maps. —And you are…? »

« Tribunus Radonis Medon, sir. »

Crixus (rather predictably, as far as Radonis was concerned) raised his eyebrows. « Medon. Should’ve known from the dracolisk. We have a couple of your family’s mounts here. »

His smile was thin and knowing, patrician in its politeness. « Wouldn’t I know, sir. » After all, sticky sweat on his neck and dirty boots could not make of him any less of an Altus.

The newcomer answered Tertius’ greeting in kind, yet followed his steps without dismounting, a curious mixture of arrogance and respect where the tribunus was expecting either extreme. At least this one proved up to the task he seems so eager to inflict on himself and his animal, unlike so many other young and overconfident nobles. Pity he didn’t have more time, or Tertious would have indulged himself  to a detour though the infantry tents: that would really show wether this tribunus was one of those who could actually keep such a fickle beast under control. Moreover it would not just be an exercise to chase boredom and probably show a noble the great equaliser that was mud: knowing the level of his skills could mean life or death for whichever poor infantry bastard found himself fighting by his side in the jungle. Damn temperamental beasts! Both the rich and their mounts.

Still, there was no time and the weight of the maps in his satchel served as a grim reminder of duties and opportunities to come; the horror of this island wasn’t just for the glory of the Empire, may it ever prosper, but could prove very useful to Tertius himself. Without it the title of legatus might have been decades away from his grasp. Before them the tents became larger and more distant as the smell of unwashed bodies and leather gave way to the one of stables. The mage on his dracolisk kept following Tertius, but made no move to surpass him even as the insignia of the legatus’ tent appeared before them, a rare sign of respect from a new arrival who hadn’t yet seen how infantry was a precious friend to have on the island. Interesting.

Luckily for them they were spared the awkwardness of  choosing who would enter the tent first by the stables’ inspection. Tertius quickly responded to the guard’s salute before leading his fellow tribune to where Crixius was likely in the process of organising for the next attack. He looked positively livid, and for a good reason, their last attempt at pushing the lines had left the chivalry in a rather sorry state.

As soon as the legatus noticed them Tertius saluted sharply, feeling his ‘charge’ dismount next to him. The way Crixius talked to this newcomer told him far more than the youth’s name; another interesting piece of information. Maybe Tilia would know more, but now it wasn't time to sigh about his wife. With precise, measured, movements Tertius handed Crixius the maps.

“Legatus Soresi and I had to make some impromptu changes, Sir.” Keeping his voice flat and matter-of-facts he went on, after all he had been the one pushing for such changes and the old rotten ghost that was still calling himself his legatus had not dictated a message. “Our last informer was likely compromised and we are not sure wether the Qunari have collapsed some parts of the easternmost structures. We risk a finding ourselves trapped.”

In cursus belli

#[[thread: in cursus belli]]

[archonguard-blog]

[[ If anyone is interested this is a starter call. Like and/or write me a message if you are interested in this Vint! ]]

#[[ex persona]] #[[starter call]]

[archonguard-blog]

You still haunt me. I still want you.

Lina A. (via wnq-writers)

#[[vita et ars]] #[[de uxore]] #[[he still loves his wife]] #[[or; at least; her memory]] #[[not that he would ever admit to it]]

[archonguard-blog]

divinitatem:

The Argent Spire was a place of light. High, vaulted ceilings and smooth domes arced overhead and the tall windows were filled with glass of an aching clarity; sunlight poured through like honey, splitting into beams which pierced and filled up the billowing darkness at the feet of fluted columns and carven statues with its glow. Motes of dust hung in the sunlight like constellations dancing; the smoke of incense twined through the sunlight like morning mist rising from cool water. The Spire smelled of cool stone, warm spicewood, and burnt amber, burnt olibanum. The Chant wove its harmony through the light-strewn halls, a rich monophonic plainchant throbbing through the ancient halls, snatches of half-heard song murmuring and rising with the smoke of sacrifice to the Maker’s hearing.

It was Urian’s domain. His kingdom, his imperium, was in the hearts and minds of the faithful who gathered in these halls and in the halls of Chantries like it, across all Tevinter. Even where his apartments lay, high up in the Spire’s central tower, he could hear the plainchant sung, could smell the sweet smoke of burnt resins. But even so, he liked to walk among his faithful at times, a reminder – to himself, and to them.  It was good for the faithful to see him move around them; and his Templar bodyguards, while never far away, were in this setting quite nearly discreet.

But this visit had another purpose. He made certain it did double-duty, of course, walking slowly through the narthex, the nave, the transept and ambulatory and smaller chapels. He stopped when he was hailed, gave blessings unto those who asked, beamed warmly at all, was unstinting with his words of faith and wisdom. Many would leave the Spire that day certain of their Divine’s goodness and devotion – which was just as he wanted it.

His true aim, however, lay in the small chapel dedicated to the soldiers of the Imperium. Here, Andraste appeared in her warrior aspect, sword-wielding and resolute of feature, her gaze remote and focused on some distant point; the sculptor had contrived to give her jaw a firm set which spoke of devotion, dedication to her cause.

Urian’s gaze fell upon the man kneeling at the Prophetess’s feet. His spies had told him Radonis’s captain was here, of course, and so here it was the Divine had come. It was possible that Tertius only desired this time in the soldiers’ chapel; but it was also possible he was here as emissary of his master.

“You look troubled, my child.”

The voice came unexpected from his right: gentle, too gentle to truly startle Tertius and yet it cut through the fog of his contemplation with a sharp purpose, like a blade shaped as a feather. Forcing the gasp lodged in his throat by surprise into but another breath was easy, easier than ignoring the armed templars he could hear walking in the armour behind the Divine even over the soothing echoes of the chant, at least. With an almost gentle, cautious, movement Tertius rose, his head still lowered, only to kneel once more, this time in front of the mage rather than the statue, exchanging a figure of cold marble made to depict fury for a sweet smiling man, whose soothing voice was much more dangerous than any sword could be. His instinct warned him against the vulnerable position with the foolish determination of a witless, ingrained, habitude. Hessarian’s old rotten sheath! After all, if the Divine or his Templars wanted him dead they would not spill his blood here; it is a strangely comforting thought, it makes it easier not to look, not to tense. “Your Perfection.” The words were smooth on his tongue, well rehearsed and still: despite what he knew, despite his disillusions, his tone still held a trace of that awe he should have forgotten, by now.

“You honour me with this question.” Tertius was keenly aware of how much his simple speech clashed with the sophisticated beauty of their surroundings, yet the impression of dullness was the better defence he could hope for. Challenging a dragon at flying in her own den wild be a sure path to defeat.

Speaking in a low drone and forcing his gaze on the marbled floors, away from ex-voto that might lead to questions he didn’t want asked, Tertius continued. “I come here to ask for peace and strength, Your Perfection.” It was odd to weigh his words and find himself telling something at the same time so generic and so uncomfortably true.

Quis custodiet...

#[[thread: quis custodiet..]]

[archonguard-blog]

Quae fuerunt: Coniugium (part I)

*****

Tertius married very young with a woman of his own age and social class, Tilia Flavii, second daughter of a Minrathous’ blacksmith who did some work for the army. Despite their marriage having its roots in very pragmatic considerations such as the mutual gain of the two and their families (at least her family, he had a complex relationship with his by that point), not to mention their possibility to sire a mage child, theirs was a love match which happened after a one-year courtship for the sake of which he delayed his promotion to tribune, which would force him to leave the city for Seheron. 

Both Tilia and him wanted children, were socially ambitious, and shared a patriotism perhaps better called nationalism, thus the match seemed an almost perfect one, and initially it was. The marriage started as a happy one, despite the issues presented by a long-distance relationship (since, by common accord, Tiia never lived on the island, but on  the closest military settlements on the Imperium shores), and the inherent danger of Tertius’ work. Still they both loved each other and found comfort in their bond. Things took a turn for the worse over the years though, as Tilia didn’t give any sign of pregnancy and Tertius remained in Seheron even after having become an infantry legatus.

With Tertius’ pay the two could have afforded a comfortable le household in a city, but the military camp forced Tilia to settle for much less than what she could have had, and frustration kept building up between the two, culminating in rather nasty fights and petty revenges during the times the two saw each other. 

So, after years, and finding herself in a marriage that was giving her almost nothing and turning sour, Tilia asked for an annulment on grounds of infertility and, thanks to the support of one of the mothers in her chantry, obtained it rather quickly . Tertius had been against it and, despite his own frustration with the situation, would have kept trying, still he was also too proud and bitter to even conceive of pleading with her thus the couple split.

That was a hard blow leaving Tertius, in addition, with the fear of having been the cause of their sterility (even though he would have never admitted that much even to himself). Still, soon enough, he realised that was exactly the case. 

#de homine #[[headcanons.. I am trying to start writing them]] #[[he is not a good person]] #cw: sterility

[archonguard-blog]

The air in the encampment was warm, cloying even; for his unfettered joy this was shaping up to be another of those days, when even breathing would be hard: fantastic. Simply fantastic. Barely restraining a sigh of irritation, more to exercise self control than for any other reason, Tertius left his tent making his way through the sluggish flow of soldiers and the occasional slave that the encampment became at this hour of the afternoon. Under his easy, confident, stride, his muscles remained tense; even a few weeks in the island were enough to teach a soldier there was no safe place there, not even in the encampment, and those who didn’t learn were soon relieved of the burden of learning anything ever again.  For Tertius it had been more than a few weeks now, almost a year; a year in this forsaken place. A soldier almost cut his way, before hurriedly changing direction and colliding with his companion. Neither did anything more than huff at the impact as air left their lungs. A mere glance at their eyes told him that scolding them would be an exercise in futility, like whipping a dying slave. Throwing a brief glance of disgust over his shoulder the tribune tightened his hold on the satchel of maps he was carrying and kept walking towards the tent of legates Crixius.

Around him the labyrinth of tents continued, only slightly less chaotic now that he was approaching the cavalry tents. A wash of pique against his own legatus had Tertius snort slightly: the old curmudgeon was becoming less and less useful, if only he could take his place sooner! At the thought he could almost hear Tilia’s sigh and her exhortation to be more patient. The thought of his wife seemed to make the air lighter and his steps more determined. Maybe in a fortnight he might get another permit and visit the coast. Maybe..

A sudden buzz of attention was the first clue that alerted him to the stranger approaching him. Tertius looked without slowing down or turning his head. Surely that  was an altus mage, even if he hadn’t seen the exquisite staff the young man carried the armour without a dent with its shining grades, glittering and untarnished, would tell him that much. Nobody but those who could pay for making tribune would see the frontline for the first time as a tribune. Once the thought would have made him taste bile, yet, by now, it had become almost amusing. A young legionnaire to his right snorted silently, averting his eyes: yet another reaction he might have had not so long ago, a bid not to give the mage any satisfaction. Yet Tertius payed the soldier no mind, looking at the altus and his impressive mount with bland curiosity.

Oh, that animal might have been a force to reckon with on the plains of the empire, despite his scarce interest in dracolisks Tertius could see it very well, but here, in the jungle and fog of this forsaken island such temperamental beasts often did much more harm then good to their own riders. The man on his mount looked toward him, apparently weighting him, before talking; his voice commanding enough to make the use of his grade sound almost the opposite of respectful. Tertius looked back, fixing his gaze straight in the eyes of the newcomer without either deferring or antagonising.   “I know, tribunus. I am going there.” Without further explanation he turned. “Follow me.”

In cursus belli

@archonguard

Humidity on the island was worse than the dampness of the worst days of summer in Minrathous. Glacius’ ivory skin glistened like a new fabric brought in fashion by some social butterfly — and that was about as far as comparisons with the capital’s good society went. 

The dracolisk’s claws grooved the mud between the rows of tents as Radonis slowly led it towards where the Legatus’ padillon was supposed to be. For now, the bridle kept the animal’s mouth forcibly closed, joyfully displaying its rows of teeth as they grew out of its scaly lips but not allowing it to use them to its heart’s desire. Riding it at last through the place it had been trained to face had a certain thrill of anticipation to it which could be matched only by the preparation to a duel to the death.

Radonis regretted having lost Lucius’ company so early in this endeavour; but, after all, not even the magisterial influence of his friend’s dear mother, with all her sponsoring of the war and the legions, could bend the rules to the point of having two tribuni in one platoon. He supposed they would see each other again, sooner or later, either here or by the Maker’s side — though he would have strongly preferred here. He had not come to die; but who ever does?

The faces of the men he passed had a weary quality to them, perhaps an effect of the humid warmth, perhaps an effect of Seheron, a place notoriously as pleasant as a drain spell cast on you as first thing in the morning. Well, some of them had to be slaves, hadn’t they? But not all, not possibly. Their deep-set eyes followed him and his dracolisk as long as they deemed him interesting (and, no doubt, once reached his cavalry unit they would have reserved more attention to Glacius than to him. Radonis wasn’t about to be envious of that: there was a reason why his family was known as one of dracolisk breeders and trainers, after all.)

He located a soldier, an infantry officer by the looks of his armour insignia. One could assume that such a man had enough knowledge of the camp to be able to direct him where he ought to go, so Radonis pulled the bridle to turn and halt the dracolisk in the man’s vicinity. 

« Tribunus. I am looking for the tent of Legatus Crixus. Do you know where it is? »

#[[thread: in cursus belli]]

[archonguard-blog]

Hogwarts Houses Sorting.

tagged by @archontem

Gryffindor: 56

Hufflepuff: 48

Ravenclaw: 69

Slytherin: 92

Tagging: whoever hasn’t been tagged yet and sees this, please, consider yourself tagged! 

#[[ex persona]] #[[apparently he is very much Slytherin]]

[archonguard-blog]

Quis custodiet...

@divinitatem

In the palace’s chapel the air was usually musty and it smelled like overpriced incense: an attack on his senses that had always left Tertius with an impending headache and the almost desperate need to get ride of the itch inside his nostrils; too much, it was definitely too much and, despite the advantage of privacy it seemed to offer, the soldier in him couldn’t help but find the attack on his senses far more disquieting than the presence of other worshipers. Vulnerability only happened in presence of others, true; still it started from inside oneself.

The argent spire, on the other hand, even with all its unmanageably large rooms and overly ornate altars where a mounted man could have hidden, and even with the incessant ebb and flow of humming crowd had a strange.. peace to itself. Or maybe it was just his war addled mind finding solace in chaos, thought the man with a sigh before bowing to the dozing old father sat on the right of the entrance to one of the minor chapels. The priest seemed to sigh into awareness, bestowing a mumbled blessing upon him and letting Tertius enter the circular room behind him before slumping in his chair once more. 

Inside the soldiers’ chapel (empty at this time of the morning) the smell of incense mixed with the one of new leather and wood. Syllables of the chant drifted in from adjoining corridors and windows only to loose themselves between insignia, banners, and votive figures. Slowly Terrtius made his way through the pews to kneel in front of Andraste’s statue; not directly in from of it , never, always slightly to its left: an habitude that seemed to have settled in his very sinews for a few years now, a bit like the tension in the muscles of his back.  Moments like those were rare, not only because festivities were always spent to the side of the Archon and Seheron eroded faith as fast as pumice, but because Tertius was careful, always careful not to develop habits, not to open his flank, and still..

His eyes fell on the face of the Prophetess, beautiful and yet distant: following the lines of her face to her throat, then down her bosom to the place where the  marble blade she held seemed to bisect her figure. Still there was an odd peace to be found in bending his knees in this chapel and pretend that their banners still stood as proud as the ones resting here, and his faith untouched, all  the while remembering, honouring, the reality of those who died for the Imperium.

Tertius tried to lower his gaze, that at the very least if he could not close his eyes, when the glimmer of light over a bronze ex-voto caught his attention drawing his gaze to a plaque where a few delicate lines of writing recommended the life of someone to the Maker: only slightly underneath the  prints of a delicate hand (probably a woman’s) and a child’s palm indented the surface. The prickle of pain hit him stronger than usual, overwhelming enough to making Tertius loose himself in his thoughts, his eyes fixed on the metalled his guard lowered.  

#[[thread: quis custodiet..]] #[[If I have made canon mistakes tell me! XD]]

[archonguard-blog]

archonguard:

[[ If anyone is interested: this is a starter call. Like and/or write me a message to plot if you are interested in this Vint! ]]

#[[ex persona]]

[archonguard-blog]

Fulsere quondam candidi tibi soles cum ventitabas quo puella ducebat amata nobis quantum amabitur nulla

Catullus 

#[[vita et ars]]

[archonguard-blog]

Appearance headcanons.

1. Tertius has quite a collection of scars on his body and face, something which doesn’t stop him from being rather vain, though. Even on the frontline he was fairly adamant about his beard always having, at least, a recognisable shape.

2. Tertius always keeps his hair short, when they are longer it is because he hasn’t had the time or the opportunity to cut it.

3. Tertius’ hands are calloused and his fingers are big, but very nimble. 

4. Tertius is rather tall and cuts quite an imposing figure when he wishes to. 

5. While Tertius is rather frugal in the way he dresses, he can spend, and has spent, quite some money on razors and creams to shave himself or trim his beard. 

#[[let's hop on this train]] #de homine

[archonguard-blog]

[[ If anyone is interested this is a starter call. Like and/or write me a message if you are interested in this Vint! ]]

#[[ex persona]] #[[I promise I do not bite.. he might though.]]

[archonguard-blog]

Detail : Ceiling fresco.  Domenico Brusasorci. Italian. 1516-1567.

 http://hadrian6.tumblr.com

#[[Patria et Ars]] #[[Imagines]]