#1yearofltgbtk
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It's September! A_A As you probably know, we're celebrating 1 year of LtGBtK, and I have a lot of cool stuff to share with you. The posts will start to roll in on September 1st, so I hope you're ready! >8D I'll keep this master post updated and pinned all month long. ;) ♥♥♥
long post under the cut :3
— Prompts for Five Kingdoms —
Link to the prompts here - please check the CWs before each post ♥
Hematita. (friendship) 2. Filtchen.
Hematita (fluff/arcane) 3. Mathias.
Hematita (AU: "The Bloodchemist" / Vampire) 7. Mathias.
Opala. 4. Mathias.
Opala/Topazio 15. Mandreis.
Safira. 2. Mandra
Topazio. 1. Dragon Commander.
Topazio. 8. Mathias.
Topazio. 9. Dragon Commander.
Topazio. 13.
Topazio. 14.
Topazio. 16. Mathias.
— Q&A —
Matt:
"Matty, when did you first start to realize you had a thing for the dragon commander?"
"Mathias perfume has been mentioned in the game a few times, so I was just wondering what it would smell like? It might be a weird ask but- I'm curious!"
Mandra:
"Warriors name their swords. What's the name of your sword?"
Curio:
"Will you teach me magic too please? That way I can actually call you master Curio without you correcting me?"
"Please share a funny story about Mandra and/or Mathias growing up, especially one they wouldn’t want shared."
Dr. Filtchen:
"Your piercings are the same as Melike's. Fashion or a spy thing?"
Knight Valência (it wasn't a question for her, but she'll answer it):
"What IS the "Dragon Commander"? Obviously it's the MC, but that's WHO they are, not WHAT. I'm curious about why that title, and what does it entail exactly."
General questions:
"How do characters feel about the different MC archetypes? Do they have one they get along with better/like better or one they dislike?"
"How would the characters feel about MC being with Mandra or Mathias romantically?"
— Sketches —
8:33
8:41 - I
8:41 - II
— Lore and extra info —
Date format and power/monarch lineage
Mandra's character profile
The Opalean Magazine: The Giving of the belle cards
— And this is a surprise —
xxx
You can always support me through itch.io and ko-fi!
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Hey Ligia! What about 4 "you're the heat that I know" for Mathias Opala?
8:40, four months before the end of the year.
Opala. 4. Mathias.
(Fluff) + "you're the heat that I know" + Mathias
A.N.: CERTAIN PEOPLE made me really emotional with the tags they used to reblog my previous prompts and with the messages they sent me. I'm SO glad that you're enjoying my work + that my writing managed to make your days better, even if just a little bit. I know how tough life can be sometimes, so I just wanted to offer you all some very soft warmth + a little Lore in this one. Have fun! ♥
UP, down, up, down. Now a very purposeful, slow, and maybe slightly over-dramatic pause to the side. He decides on weaving back the wrong way, to undo the just-finished row.
Slowly now, so they can see it.
But Mathias isn't sure if this little old trick will work this time. His, well, friend is now being treated as a Knight in their own right, not as his Guard. Maybe they'll become a Lieutenant beside Mandra once they reach Oscanza. And maybe in a few decades, after some heroic deeds and some conquered territories, they'll even become the Dragon Commander, filling the one role in Opala that has been empty for the past century.
Maybe they’ll become the closest person to the Monarch, the one to protect and be protected by him, They Who Share All Responsibilities, tied to the Monarch, and the Monarch alone...
Mathias sighs and tugs at the line he just weaved, pulling it tight like the laces of a corset.
Tighter, the threads closer still.
"For Kerana. You’re doing it wrong, My Liege."
Oh.
They saw it.
Mathias raises his eyes, but he wasn't expecting them to be so close. His words fail him, and his voice comes weak and low. "I-I keep forgetting how to do it properly. The new rows, I mean. I can't do it."
"How can you not do it?" There's a mix of amusement and exasperation in his Guard’s tone. "We weave a new sash every year, My Liege—it's tradition. You should be a true tailor by now."
"It’s a silly tradition if you ask me.” Or that's what people expect a rich, obnoxious Prince to say. Mathias himself wasn’t so sure anymore of what to think of it. “As if any type of unmagical shawl could really protect anyone from the winter and change a kingdom. Please."
The Guard’s beautiful features contort into a frown.
"Don’t take me for a fool, My Liege. And don’t pretend you’re one." They pause and glance at the three feathers falling over their shoulder. “I know how much you love that story. As much as I love this one.” They tap one of the feathers, then shiver. “So don’t let any highborn change the way you feel about it.”
Mathias stares at them. The story of Leticia, The Gracious, tells how the unknown seamstress from the Opalean countryside unified her people against the tyrannical rule of The Tides during the everwinter. The story tells she employed herself to the volatile, murderous king to be his royal tailor, and that she traded him stories woven in sashes in exchange for the lives of the people he tried to execute. After exactly four-and-ten years, the people she saved formed the largest militia Five Kingdoms had ever seen, and her sashes were woven into a tapestry so big and so touching that once draped over the castle walls, it roused the people to action. The Dragon that appeared on the tapestry and the force of the people behind her gave Leticia enough power over the tyrants to stop their hand and split their power into two lineages who ruled together. The Tides and the newly-founded Yva, the house she commanded.
There are many versions of the story, of course, but this is Mathias’s favorite. Most courtiers whisper that there is nothing to love in that story. There is no bloodbath, no betrayal, no suffering for love, no heroic fight to the death, not a single war, and not one killed monster or beheaded king. The Yva didn’t usurp the throne completely, they shared it with people who didn’t deserve it, and worse of all, Leticia didn’t fool or control anyone...
And yet, Mathias always loved the beauty in the story. Sure, at some point it says Leticia survived the everwinter using only a thin shawl, linen shirt, and pants, but that was not the point of the story. It was art and mercy that founded Mother’s side of the family, and Mathias was proud of that.
He wouldn’t have let the King free after everything he did, of course, but he couldn’t pretend to understand the mind of someone who lived over two centuries ago.
Besides, perhaps Leticia was the tyrant; perhaps she killed her way to the throne room, and perhaps she did usurp it, keeping the King as her royal hostage and puppet—history is written by the winners and his family's is obscure, at best, in its victories, so he could never know.
Still... the story is great.
He looks down to the sash he was weaving and sighs. The objective of this tradition is to remember the family’s humble origins and to remind himself that there’s no difference between him and the people outside the castle. It’s certainly not meant to be used as an excuse to… to whatever it is he wanted a moment ago.
Mathias relaxes his shoulders and nudges the threads back into place, separating them with the expertise of a young tailor.
“Now that’s better,” his Guard whispers.
Mathias smiles, the tips of his ears warming up. Then he stops again and frowns. He holds the second green thread, looking from it to the mess or cream and ochre threads in front of him. He looks at the sketched pattern splayed at his side, then back to the threads and at the pattern again.
A chuckle. “Here, My Liege.” His Guard slides closer, an arm brushing against his. “You changed it, so this won’t help you anymore. You want a fern, so you have to weave this thread here”—their dextrous fingers move up and down, tugging and pushing to form the lower curve of a leaf—“and the ochre line should go here again, then again after this row.” The Guard locks their eyes. “It's a beautiful autumn piece you're weaving, My Liege. There might be winter after that, but I’m sure the spring will be even prettier because of it."
The Guard smiles with the quip and offers the sash back. Mathias moves to retrieve it, but... his hand stays over his Guard’s.
They share a gaze as silent and warm as it is intense—and when Mathias starts to move away, The Guard grips his hand. They smile. The Guard’s palm is calloused and their skin is roughed by their training. There are small scars and marks on that dextrous hand, and it fits so well between Mathias’s fingers that even the thought of seeing it waving goodbye brings a knot to his throat.
Mathias considers saying I’ll miss you, but The Guard knows it. Instead, he brings their hand to his lips, presses a kiss to the back of their hand, and says,
“Will you take my sash with you to the battlefield? I’ll give it to you. To protect and... w-warm you.”
The Guard narrows their beautiful eyes in mock consideration, then nods. “I’m sure its warmth will be always familiar, My Liege.” They tug Mathias closer in a silent invitation. “It’ll remind me of home.”
Mathias accepts it, turning around and laying his head on his Guard’s thighs. “I was hoping it would remind you of me.”
“Exactly, My Liege. It will.”
—— THE ANNIVERSARY MASTER POST || KO-FI || PLAY LTGBTK! || PROMPTS ——
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For the Q&A:
Matty, when did you first start to realize you had a thing for the dragon commander?
For Mercurio or Yvana: please share a funny story about Mandra and/or Mathias growing up, especially one they wouldn’t want shared 👀👀
A short story for the first question, cause yes. ♥♥♥ I'll answer the second in another post! :3
Opala, the final month of 8:32;
HE was only fifteen, so Mathias's chuckle was a mix of surprise and desperation. He placed his cup on its saucer and managed a strained smile as the nobles around him perched up in their chairs.
"Oh, Goddess. Is it true then, Mathias? Your heart is taken, is it?" said Lady Giovana of the North.
"And who is the lucky one, if I may ask?" Lord Ogor of the East chimed in.
"What a silly question," Highborn Tiê of Safira added. "Someone from my Kingdom, I presume."
Ogor hummed, tapping a manicured finger on his chin. "Kastian, perhaps? He's an Inara, as you well know. One of the last with any honor, I would think. A good choice for you, Mathias."
“Actually,” Mathias said. He was about to explain his mother had broken his engagement to the Inaras, but no one listened.
Tiê narrowed their eyes. "Watch your tongue, Ogor.” They pointed their closed fan at him like a weapon. “My cousin or not, you know I won't allow anyone to speak of my Lady like that."
“Highborn Morgause is currently single.” Lady Giovana sipped her tea with a hand while the other snatched Tiê’s closed fan. She opened it with a flick of her wrist and hid the lower part of her face. With a wink, she said, “A great Arcanos and Lady Isobel’s older, distant cousin—they might help you develop your abilities when Mercúrio is off in their... adventures.”
“Highborn Morgause doesn’t dance,” Ogur said.
“Neither does my future King!” Lady Giovana faced Mathias. “Do you?”
The three nobles turned in unison at Mathias, making something cold drop to the lowest part of his stomach. He opened and closed his lips, then scoffed a laugh that boiled the blood in his cheeks.
Mathias was very aware of the many faces around and outside the room. There were motionless servants waiting against the walls, an entourage of lesser nobles gossiping outside, a painter waiting to finish his portrait, Father’s page watching him like a hawk, Mother’s page trying to distract them, Lady Kurkova waiting to finish her lessons, at least three different kingdoms represented in the Queen’s war room, and an army of famished people forming outside the castle gates.
And from each of them, whispers. Whispers he couldn’t help but listen to, thanks to that damned thing in his head. The whispers increased in number and pitch as Lady Giovana’s eyes looked bigger, Highborn Tiê’s nails looked longer, and Lord Ogur’s teeth looked sharper.
Such is the power of the nobility, Father once said. Monsters, Mathias. Monsters you have to be aware of.
His breathing shallowed. He gulped, leaning back in his chair as his cold hands grew colder.
Another voice joined in.
“My Liege?”
Silence. Mathias looked up and met those kind eyes. Those pretty lips. That gentle face.
He managed a “Hum?” and offered no resistance when his personal guard eased him off of his chair and on his feet once more.
“My Liege, The Queen wishes to speak to you.” The Guard turned to the nobles and dipped their head in a half-hearted apology.
“Oh.” Mathias looked at his Guard, finding that glint of mischief in their eyes. “Oh. Of course.” He cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. “And I shouldn't let Mother waiting.”
“You shouldn't,” the Guard agreed. "You can't."
And outside, far away from the Nobility, the gossip, the politics, the portrait, the classes, the war, the hunger, and their many whispers, the Guard took Mathias’s hand. Their smile spread warmth on his chest.
“You looked like you needed some quiet. Besides, Mand found a baby fawn!” The Guard chuckled, racing down the final steps of a narrow staircase. “We’ll first save Melike from her diplomacy classes, and then meet them in the Gardens.”
“A baby fawn?” Mathias echoed. He smiled, trying hard to combat the frown in his eyebrows and lips, and the blur in his eyes.
“Yes, My Liege. Reminds me of you.” The Guard stopped on the last step and turned around. With a gentle laugh, they reached up with their free hand and brushed a warm thumb on Mathias’s cheek, drying it. “Beautiful and so very sweet.”
The Guard didn’t wait for an answer. As they pushed a hidden door aside and rushed to Melike, Mathias placed a hand on his own chest. He willed his ears and cheeks to stop burning and his heart to calm down—somehow, though, he knew the stupid muscle wouldn’t obey him.
Maybe, he thought, it never would.
—— THE ANNIVERSARY MASTER POST || KO-FI || PLAY LTGBTK! || PROMPTS ——
#1yearofltgbtk#love the guard be the king#visual novel#amare game#writing prompt#Q&A#maybe a mix of both?#re-med-y
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AU: "The Bloodchemist" #1
Hematita 7. Mathias
(let chance decide >> AU) + "Your lips may be sweet, but your heart"
AU: The Bloodchemist
cw: descriptions of blood, drinking blood, and manipulation. Brief sexual innuendos.
BEING one of the few human professors remaining in Opala's Blood Academy of the Regenerative Arts—a fancy, if not misleading name for a vampiric science academy—can be exhaustive, but you like the work you do. You're fed, protected, paid, and educated on subjects that range from simple mortal knowledge to the very rare and sought-after work of the grand Vampire Alchemists of Old.
On top of your lectures and studies, as your mother, and her mother before her, you're a Draco. A Commander, if you will, representing the humans on the small kingdom-island of Opala during the meetings of the vampire council.
Because of that, you're used to being invited to parties such as this, in which the gold in the guests' gowns compete with the Grand Castle's decoration.
Still, you're not used to being invited to the company of Count Mathias Jan Yvanson himself.
You let out a trembly sigh as you clasp your hands at your back and offer him a low bow. When you straighten your back again, you meet those steel-grey eyes focused on you.
"Count Mathias," you greet. You glance at the Count's sibling and gulp. The way Mandreis Jay Yvanson plays with their dagger sends a cold jolt of danger down your spine. "Your messenger forgot to mention the reason for my visit, so I brought an early version of my yearly report with me." You try to smile, but the pressure of Mathias's gaze has you almost wincing instead. Schooling your expression, you add, "I work on them gradually, rather than filling them a day before my deadline."
Deadline.
You never liked that word. Not when an immortal—and very much deceased—being stares at you like Mathias does.
"How... dutiful. Thank you, Commander." Mathias reaches for the folder your personal guard offers and hands it to his sibling. With a wave of his hand, Mathias sends young Valência away.
You two share an uncertain gaze, but you nod—if the Count wants her out of his office, there's not much you can do about it. When Valência closes the door at her back, Lady Melike Jal Yvanson locks it.
There's humor in their voice when Mandreis says, "Please, Commander. Do sit down. Breathe."
And only then do you notice that the loud clack of the iron lock has sprung you to your feet. Your heart is racing; you must control yourself. With the sketch of a smile, you swallow hard and pivot around to look at the Count. Mathias holds your gaze and offers a hand, palm up, to receive yours.
You hesitate. Mathias narrows his eyes.
A pair of delicate hands rest on your shoulders and pushes you down to your chair. Those same hands draw a gentle caress on your hair, combing it back and away from your face... and neck.
"You know how much my siblings appreciate candid humans, Commander." Melike brushes a gentle thumb on the exposed skin under your jaw—you shiver—and focuses on your hair again. "So I'd suggest using all your honesty right now."
Your reflection on a closed window shows Lady Melike tying your hair with a long ribbon. The silk in it is glossy and of a deep, dark red. When Melike brushes the ribbon over your shoulder and lets it fall across your chest, you have a distinct impression that you're not looking at fabric, but at your impending death.
She smiles. People often say Lady Melike's threats are the most elegant in court, but you never realized how much until now.
Mathias opens and closes his hand again. This time, you place your hand on his.
"I'm... I'm ready to be honest, of course. Always." You decide to embellish your point a little more and to talk about honor, force, or discipline, but no words come out.
"I think this family is tired of your pretty words." Mathias raises your hand and turns it around. "We all know you haven't been honest with me."
On the inner part of Mathias's wrist, you see the small punctures on the place he often offers you to feed on. On the inner part of yours, the vampiric powers he lends you almost make you see your blood pumping in your veins.
Mathias touches you. Only one finger, resting cold and hard against your warm skin. It's part of the ritual, and you know it; your heart picks up. You lick your trembly lips and hold back a whimper as Mathias slides a long nail on your skin.
When was the last time he fed you, anyway? A week ago? Three months? It feels like a decade. Your lips burn, your mouth aching with hunger and desire. Deep down, you know you shouldn't.
Don't drink it. Keep it in your mouth again. Resist!
But you can't.
"Such is the luck of a ghoul," Mandreis says. "Half of the time in control of their humanity and free will, and the other half, kneeling before us with an open mouth." They get up and stalk towards you, tossing up and catching their dagger. "Now be an excellent little ghoul"—They stab their dagger on the backrest of your chair with a thump—"and tell us everything you've been doing for the crimson market."
"Everything you've been doing behind our backs," Melike adds.
"And everything you'll do to make me happy," Mathias completes.
Your eyes widen. They know.
"I did—"
"Don't say you did nothing," Mandreis growls. "We know of your little experiments in alchemy."
"We know you've been selling them for the highest bidder," Melike says. "The blood chemist, is it? Such a dreadful title. Such a grave offense to the blood that feeds you."
"My tinctures were harmless!" you lie. "Only a little tinge of vampiric blood to heal illnesses and treat Life Force wounds on the—"
Violence flashes in Mathias's eyes, and you feel the blood draining from your face.
"Do not lie to me, Commander." The Count walks around his desk and nudges Mandra and Melike aside. He takes in your expression, smirks, and bites his wrist. "You'll not lie to me." There's a thin trail of dense, purple-red blood running down his forearm when he stops in front of you. "You'll drink me," he says.
And as much as you try to resist the urge, you obey, flaming lips meeting the freeze of the vampire's skin.
"Your lips may be sweet, but your heart is coated in greed, huh." Mathias pats your hair as you suck his blood, his power reaching out and covering every inch of your body. "I like that, Commander. But I want that greed to serve only me. You will not lie to me ever again. Is that clear, pet?"
And you raise your head, delighted and spent, your eyelids heavy over your eyes.
"Yes, My Liege."
Mathias clears the corner of your lips with a thumb and slides it into your mouth. You let him open it and move your head this way and that, checking for himself that yes, you drank it all.
"Good." He leans back and licks the place your lips touched. "Now tell me about your experiments, Commander. I want to know every little thing about them."
— THE ANNIVERSARY MASTER POST || KO-FI || PLAY LTGBTK! || PROMPTS —
#1yearofltgbtk#love the guard be the king#visual novel#amare game#writing prompt#prompt: hematita#AU: the bloodchemist#blood cw
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Year 33
cw: reference to violence
ALL you could do was watch.
Getting close to them after a whipping was never allowed—but seeing them from a distance was very much encouraged. While so small, Melike was the one to offer support. While so bitting, Mandreis did their best to lift their spirits.
Not you, Mathias.
Never you.
It was part of your punishment, Father would say. Meant to hurt you just as much. Meant to make sure you would never forget... and it seems you never did.
— THE ANNIVERSARY MASTER POST || KO-FI || PLAY LTGBTK! —
#1yearofltgbtk#love the guard be the king#visual novel#amare game#sketch#year 8:33#i forgot about adding the CW!!!! ty for reminding me Meg!!#violence cw
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Could we have 16 topaz with mathias?
Year 46,
6 weeks before the beginning of the game.
(angst) + "Long live the King." + Mathias
CW: mild swearing. Descriptions of blood and injuries. Metion of violence and death.
AFTER all the fuckery in your past, at the very least, you did what you were supposed to when it mattered most. You protected Mathias. You saved him, for Goddess’s sake.
You try to blink, but there’s drying blood on your right eye and a swelling patch of flesh around the incisions made by the assassin’s thorned gauntlets on your cheeks. If they had managed to hold your face a few millimeters to the side, you’re sure you’d have lost half of your sight.
You swallow hard and sway backward, reeling half a step to avoid falling. It’s difficult, but you control the trembling in your bitten hand and steady it as the body slides off the letter opener and falls on the floor with a heavy thud. Your cheek is swelling up, your lip is cut, your thigh burns where the assassin slashed you, and you're pretty sure your left arm is broken, but you also know the healers won’t need more than a week to cure it all.
You raise your gaze to meet Mathias’s. He has his back against a wall, grey eyes widened and filled with something that goes way beyond fear, his chest heaving. The cut on it—made by the tip of your own sword and the assassin’s hands—bleeds through the thin silk he’s wearing, the red blooming like a death-flower underwater.
The air leaves your lungs all at once as if stolen by wicked magic. “M-my Liege, you—!”
Mathias looks downward, and the way his eyelids move pushes silent tears down his cheeks. He places a hand on the cut, then a second. You watch, frozen, as he bares his chest to you and pushes the silk aside to show nothing but light chest hair and a thin cut.
“Superficial like a paper cut,” he mutters.
You nod. Your eyes sting too. Mathias’s office is a mess of broken chairs, ripped curtains, and bloodstains. The window the assassin used to enter is still open, and a sweet-scented breeze invades the office, bringing with it the intense shades of sundown.
Shit.
It’s not even nighttime yet. You look down at the dead assassin and contains the will to kick the piece of shit. What a daring, disgusting creature they were. Your mind’s eye shows you opening the door to Mathias’s office and hearing the masked person’s last words. “Long live the King,” they said. And if you had arrived only a minute late… if you hadn't come back to retrieve your forgotten cape…!
Your legs fail. You almost fall on your knees, but Mathias takes you in his arms. One of them irons around your waist and the other crosses your back so his hand can rake through your short hair. Mathias’s fingers clutch you—your hair and the leather in your normal clothes—and they tighten and tighten, and tighten.
The pain grounds you. You wince against his neck, but he doesn’t let you go. He’s alive thanks to you, and surely he wants you to know it.
You let go of the letter opener, and it clatters on the floor. Without your armor, you feel the warmth of Mathias’s entire body against yours. Just this once, just right now, you allow yourself to bask in it. Your broken arm is limp against your side, but the other tugs Mathias closer still, your blood tinting his clothes, your breaths mixing together when he presses his forehead against yours.
And there’s so much warmth and life between you—thank Goddess—that you allow yourself to smile.
It’ll end soon, this moment. You’ll part; he’ll be Crown Prince once more, and you his Guard and protector—but until then, you let him tilt your face to the side and close your eyes when he presses his lips to your eyebrow, your temple, ear, and cheek.
“Thank you, Commander,” he whispers. “You saved my life.”
Before this moment ends, you hide your face on the crook of his neck and cry in silence. Deep down you know you saved yours too, for what would you be without him?
—— THE ANNIVERSARY MASTER POST || KO-FI || PLAY LTGBTK! || PROMPTS ——
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Year 41 (Part II)
All the trouble you had to dress up in your new uniform certainly paid off when Master Curio turned Mathias's face towards you.
—— THE ANNIVERSARY MASTER POST || KO-FI || PLAY LTGBTK! || PROMPTS ——
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Safira + 2 + Mandy pretty please!!! 💖💖
Safira. 2. Mandy 8:37
(arcane) + "Did I ruffle your feathers?"
THE sun is setting now, so I angle Mandra's face to the side, trying to see the thin shimmer of the Opalean Thornbush spines. The sunlight catches on a last one, stuck deep below their right eyebrow.
Oh, Goddess. This one's going to hurt.
"Deep breath, Mandy. Are you ready for another?"
They breathe in and nod, shutting their eyes. I hold their chin for support and prepare the tweezers.
"But if you call me Mandy again, I swear I'll empty that thing in your boots." They jerk their chin to the side, towards the now full flowerpot where I've been dropping the spines I plucked from their face, shoulders, and chest.
A chuckle makes my hands shake against their warm skin. Mandra positions a hand under my arm to give me support, and I lean in again, trying to concentrate.
"Ready?"
"Just do it, for Goddess’ sake. The suspense is—ARGH!"
I straighten my back and sigh, cleaning the droplet of blood from the spine.
"All done, Your Highness. Your body is all yours again. Or... almost." My back aches, my muscles are killing me, and all I want is to sit down, but there's still work to be done. I drop the last thorn in the pot and turn around in time to see Mandreis Jay Yvanson, sibling to the future King, rubbing their face and whining like a little child.
What a precious memory this will become.
"Poor, poor Mandy. It was that bad, was it?" I brush a lock of their wavy hair.
"As bad as being thrown out of a balcony and onto an Opalean Thornbush can be." They groan, their voice dripping with sarcasm. "And stop calling me that! This is your last warning."
I can't hold back a laugh. "That says something about being in the wrong place at the wrong time."
They scoff.
Mathias was practicing his arcane alchemy this morning. With Filtchen and Master Curio's help, he was trying to revitalize my broken ranking feather when something went wrong. When Mathias dropped his tincture on the feather, the reaction created a blast so violent that pushed us all against the walls. To our despair, Mandra had just opened the door to greet us. The blast was so strong, it pushed them backward, and so fast, Master Curio barely had time to cast a protective spell on them.
I guess we should all be happy Mandra is still alive.
"Can I go, now?" they ask.
"No." I reach for a wet rag and twist it, then dab it on Mandra's face to clean the smeared droplets of blood. One specific spot on their neck needs a little rubbing to be removed. "Does it still hurt?"
They need a moment to answer. When I rest my gaze on theirs again, their eyes avoid mine. Mandra's answer is a grumbled, "Of course not."
"Well, good. We still need to decide what to do about these." I run my fingers against the plumes growing on their shoulders and temples. According to a wheezing, manically-cackling Master Curio, it was a side effect of Mathias's magic.
Still, it's curious to notice it only affected Mandreis.
"Oh." Mand's cheeks flush. "I forgot about those."
"Mathias, Master Curio, and Filtchen are still trying to find a spell to reverse that. But don't worry, Mandy... I'll pluck them all for you."
Their reaction is even quicker than their fall when they launch from the chair and onto me. I squeal as we fall and roll on the floor, their legs wound tight around my waist. I'm not sure how, but when we stop, they have me locked in a back control, keeping one of my arms immobilized while their other hand pinches my cheek.
"Apologize!" they growl.
I can't stop laughing—and it becomes awfully harder to when they tickle me.
"I-I'm... I'm sorry!"
"You're sorry what? I want a royal treatment now, you imp! Say, I'm very sorry, oh great illustrious Charmness, my very favorite, brilliant Highness, my adored Mandreis."
"I-I'm... m-my... illus..."
They make me laugh harder, chuckling against my ear.
"O-okay! Okay, I will. I will!"
Mandra stops. "You will?"
"I will, b-but... but let me breathe first! Release me, Your Highness."
They lean over my face so I can see their narrowed eyes. With a long hum, they let me go and watch as I get up. Instead of doing the same, they prop a hand on their waist and an elbow on the rug, looking like the merpeople in picture books.
"All right, I'm listening. Offer me your apologies."
"I-I'm..." I take in a deep breath.
"I'm very sorry, oh, great illustrious Charmness," they offer. "Go on."
"Yes. I'm very sorry... I ruffled your feathers, Mandy."
"Why, you little—"
And I dash outside laughing, racing across the Castle grounds with a furious half-bird at my heels.
—— THE ANNIVERSARY MASTER POST || KO-FI || PLAY LTGBTK! || PROMPTS ——
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Character profile + Q&A: Mandra
As promised in the Anniversary, here's Mand's character profile! Besides all the info I had already planned to add, you'll find the answers to some of your questions too! ♥ It's a long, long post. :X
—— [ "Mand" || "Mandra" || "Mandreis" || "Your Highness" || "Grand General" ] ——
—— THE ANNIVERSARY MASTER POST || KO-FI || PLAY LTGBTK! || PROMPTS ——
Mandreis “The Ninth Devil” Jay Yvanson
OPALA || THEY/THEM || TWIN SWORDS: THE WISH-SEEKERS || PLANT: NIGHT-DAME (FLOWER) || A SONG: EN - VOLCANO SWING (AMANDA JENSSEN) / PAIN (BOY HARSHER) | LP - PRO MUNDO OUVIR (DUDA BEAT)
How people see them:
Inner Circle: Crass, fun, chaotic warrior who does as they please. Filled with life and courage, but still an infant when dealing with diplomacy. Worries honestly about the people.
Strangers: They’re a capable young noble who should be crowned in Mathias’s place. Responsible for Opala’s victory over Topazio. Thorny and unapproachable by anyone other than those they already like.
Self-image: Trust their guts and their instincts; nothing else matters. Will never be good enough for love. A bastard child taken away from their mother.
How they act in:
Shame: With anger.
Sadness: Hides in their cave, emotional or otherwise. Always pretends there’s nothing wrong.
Anger: Will push towards a swordfight. Believes in violence as a valid way to solve conflict and discover more about people, as long as those involved accept it. Would never use violence against anyone who decides to avoid it.
Happiness: To them, happiness is a fickle and delicate thing. When happy, their innermost sweetness and frailty surface.
An argument: With Anger.
A fight: Will often try to make it as long as possible. Fighting is fun and they love to read their opponent’s feelings as they fight.
In face of injustice: Always tries to step in and help. Mandra isn’t "afraid of getting their hands dirty by shoveling out the waste," according to Knight Esma.
Loves:
Melike. MC. The Queen. Their Arcane Guitar. Mathias. In this order. Also loves music and poetry, has an unhealthy obsession with magic, sword fights, and their biological mother. Loves the rain.
Hates:
The court, most people richer than a merchant, fine clothes, boots, and socks (although they love their women with long, delicate white stockings).
Love language: Gifts and Acts of service.
(short) Q&A ♥
I'm really glad you're enjoying the game! It's more complicated than that (although this is certainly part of the reason) and it's also more complicated than Mandra not feeling worthy of love... but the real reason is something that won't come to light for a while. :X
Ahh, I'm so glad you're enjoying it! I hope you'll like Melike too! ♥ It's possible, yes, and fully accepted and seen as normal by society as a whole, as it should be. :) Mand wouldn't do it. After years of experimenting with their gender expression, nowadays they feel comfortable!
Hahaha! The first answer *is* a spoiler, sorry! :X The answer for the second question is above this one. The answer for the third would be a kiss on the forehead, and Mand immediately escorting MC back to the Castle because they don't want to end up giving MC false hopes. ç.ç ♥
Thank you all so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this character profile. The next one, which I'll post directly on Ko-Fi, will be Mathias's! Sooo, if you have any questions for our boy that weren't answered on the anniversary, please send them to me! ;))) ♥♥♥
OH! I'm super excited to announce I'm planning to change my Ko-Fi a little. I want to have something more Patreon-like, and this kind of post, along with all the short stories, prompts, sketches, and more, will be part of the monthly rewards! :) If this is something you'd be interested in, you can follow my Ko-fi and support me there too! ♥♥♥
Much love,
Ligia
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Some day of 8:36
Hematita. #2. Filtchen.
(friendship) + "Did I ruffle your feathers?" + Filtchen
Some day of 8:36
“YOU are absolutely insane if you think I’ll allow that!” she said.
Helena Filtchen raised her chin another inch and looked down at the man before her. Sure, she barely reached Mercúrio’s chest—which was not, mind you, very difficult to happen with how tall he was—but a glare like hers had nothing to do with height and everything to do with intent...
And her intent, in this case, was to boil a sleep potion so strong and so mean, Mercúrio wouldn’t even remember his own name after waking up. She narrowed her eyes and waited. Her assistants must’ve felt the brunt of that silent threat, for all three of them excused themselves for supper at the same time.
Mercúrio looked around and schooled his amused expression before lowering his voice.
“Helena, please. You know I have only their best intentions at heart. I know the kids will learn much with this.” They leaned in again and tried to whisper something in her ear, but Helena sidestepped to avoid them.
She hated when people dared to get too close to her, even if that person was Curio.
“I’m serious, Mercúrio.” She pushed them back with a sulfur-covered pestle. “This potion is not a toy to be used in your silly jests.” Helena focused on her alchemy book again and used the heel of her barely-clean hand to try and adjust the leather cord of her glasses. “Besides, I’m out of Topazian walnuts.”
Mercúrio didn’t even say anything. He had just arrived at the castle after three months traveling around Five Kingdoms, so all he needed was to reach inside his sleeve and tug a small pouch from it. He had an infuriatingly knowing smirk on his lips when he dropped the pouch in front of her.
Topazian bloody walnuts, if the sound the pouch made and Curio’s attitude were any indicators.
“Curio—”
They raised their hands. “I know! I know.” Curio dragged a stool and placed it beside Filtchen, climbing on it like a horseman on their steed. “But think about it, Helena. Imagine their faces!” Mercúrio's voice softened. “Besides…” They half-lay on Filtchen’s table and propped their chin on a hand. “Elias was their father. A terrible king and an even worse pops, but... they are kids.” Curio peeked at her from under their thick eyelashes. “They are feeling the loss despite everything, and the least I can do is to cheer them up and show how much better off we are without him.”
Helena pivoted around to avoid those two intense black eyes.
The mood in the castle had been quite gloomy since King Elias was beheaded. With reason, sure, but she never thought anyone would actually be sad about a man like that losing his life. She massaged her chin and took in a deep breath.
Mercúrio let out a bark of laughter. “I knew I could count on you!”
“Oh, spare me.” She took her alchemy book and leafed through the pages with more care and self-control than her expression would suggest. “So all you need is a vocoid enhancer?” Her eyebrows knitted together. “It’s a simple one; you can do it yourself, Master Arcano.”
Curio scoffed. “But then you wouldn’t be helping to cheer them up, would you?”
Helena raised her eyes to him and stared. He smiled. There were only a few people in this world that could still surprise her... Curio was definitely one of them.
She cleared her throat. “All right. Bring me my cauldron number three.”
“Don’t you think number two would be better?”
“Do not test my patience, Mercúrio.”
He laughed and obeyed, then sat at her side again. They talked and shared stories, from the political scene in other kingdoms to silly anecdotes about their journeys. It was comfortable, she thought, to be beside someone who had seen the same kind of horrifying truth that she had. More than that, it was rewarding to think about how much the two of them had fought within themselves and with each other to reach that point in their… in their friendship, she thought with a fond smile.
And as the potion glimmered green in its small vial, and Helena finished threading the glass to protect it from the light, her expression grew serious.
“Wait. I didn’t ask you what exactly you’re using this for.”
She raised the vial as if to show it, but Mercúrio, that dextrous old fox, snatched it from her fingers and all but slid away towards the door.
“I’ll give it to my darling Mathias’s mount, of course.”
Helena’s eyes widened. “You’re creating a talking horse, Mercúrio!” Her voice raised an octave. “Do you have any idea of the chaos this will… Mercúrio. Marcúrio!” She raced to him, reaching for the vial. “Give it back to me immediately!”
But she was shorter and slower, and they were as tall as slippery.
“What, Helena? Did I ruffle your feathers? C’mon now, don’t look at me like that.” Mercúrio opened the lab door like a charlatan in a magic show. “It’ll be hilarious, you’ll see. I’ll make them recite poetry the entire afternoon.”
“Oh, for Kerana. We have so many dignitaries from other kingdoms here, Mercúrio!”
He laughed. “Don’t worry. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them the potion was yours.”
And with a final wink, they disappeared down the corridors.
—— THE ANNIVERSARY MASTER POST || KO-FI || PLAY LTGBTK! || PROMPTS ——
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The Dragon Commander according to Knight Valência of The-forgotten-surname
"What IS the "Dragon Commander"? Obviously, it's the MC, but that's WHO they are, not WHAT. I'm curious about why that title, and what does it entail exactly."
This question came from itch.io!
TW: injured animal,
CW: blood, mentions of wounds.
Additional info: Every Knight has to choose the feathers they use as symbols of their ranking, and this choice often reflects the Knight's personality. The acquisition of these feathers is part of a Knight's training, and Knights have free rein over how to do it, although it's frowned upon to take them by force or to hurt the animal in any way in the process.
The knights who show the ability to deal with animals—like Knight Valência—are encouraged to spend time getting close to a chosen animal and to see these feathers as gifts and displays of trust. These animals do NOT become "companions," but they do develop a sense of deep friendship towards the Knight; they continue to live free in their native forests and might show up then and again for a visit. This often attracts hunters or mercenaries acting in the name of nobles/influential people who try to capture or kill these animals for political weight/punishment/vengeance.
Since all the feathers must come from the same animal, if the animal dies, the Knight cannot increase their ranking anymore.
AH. Of course. She remembered this place.
Valência nudged the hanging moss aside and pushed through the broken branches. The trail ended a few meters away, next to what looked like the forgotten remainings of an ancient campfire. Mother’s campfire.
“I found him!” she shouted over her shoulder. “In the main hall.”
She stalked forward, eyes jumping left and right.
Closer.
Closer.
Her foot met a puddle, and a jolt of shivers crossed her body. Goddess. She kneeled down and touched the hurt creature. Unlike before, when the hunters were still close, he let Valência turn him around and look at the gashes across his side.
“No,” she mumbled.
He whined, pushing his thorny snout against Knight Valência’s palm. Oh no. It was worse than she thought. One of his paws was broken, punctured by what was surely a bear trap; his fur was whitening in fear, his pretty black eyes were growing opaque, and the feathers around his neck, the same type as the ones on Valência’s shoulder—the ones he had given her years ago—were broken and smeared with blood.
No, no, no.
As the first and only child of Noda, the Sin-Eater, Knight Valência of The-forgotten-surname had to break the law to start her Knighthood, and the scene then was as gory as the scene now. She was used to seeing blood. She was also used to seeing corpses, but she hoped she wouldn’t see one today.
After all, the blood didn’t faze her; it was the fear of losing him that made her tear up.
“Valência?” The Commander called.
“In here!” she shouted. Her voice cracked. “He’s hurt. P-please, come quick! Please.”
She looked down at her bloodied hands and up at the stained glass window. Or course he would come here, of all places. They spent so much time reading together in these ruins... The image in the stained glass showed a woman who—albeit older and stronger, with wider shoulders and thicker legs—also had her hands dipped in red.
It was an old story, this one. Mother used to tell it during long winters when the nobles refused to die and the food started to end. Like it had done many times before, the sun poured through the glass, shedding warm, colored sunrays on Valência’s chest, face, and shoulders.
Kerana of Opala, the first Dragon Commander in all Five Kingdoms, was embracing her again.
“Please help him survive,” she mumbled. “Please, help him survive.” Valência sighed; her eyes stung as unshed tears caught on her thick eyelashes.
Ages ago, in a time when the Dragons were still many and could still change their form, Kerana of Opala was the first among all humans who found a way to speak to them. The sign language she used and taught them, rich and intricate, combined the movements of her hands and facial expressions that the Dragonkin soon learned to read, understand, and replicate. For the first time in eons, the ancient creatures were seen not as a distant race who roamed the skies, but as powerful allies who aided the lineages of monarchs—and sometimes the people who revolted against them.
They, Dragons, wanted nothing but to exchange knowledge, be just, and keep the peace; she, Kerana, wanted only to learn from them.
She was fair... and from wherever she was, Kerana wouldn’t let this animal die, would she? She would heal him like she had healed the Last Dragon, wouldn’t she?
Rushed steps echoed through the galleries. Valência let out a trembly sigh and removed her gauntlets, tossing them aside. The hunters had done a number on her poor friend. Her eyebrows knitted together. She was glad the Commander had shown them the same courtesy.
Now, she had to believe Kerana would guide Arcano Mercúrio’s hands to save her friend’s life.
Arcano and Commander came rushing in, but The Commander skidded to a stop and gawked. Pain crossed their gaze, traveled down their balled hands, and must have stopped as a ball in their throat, for they cleared it and squared their shoulders.
“Will we take him back to the Castle, Master?” The Commander asked. “I can carry him.”
“No. We don’t have much time, we’ll need to be quick.” Mercúrio fell on his knees and tugged at their bag.
The Commander nodded. “I have experience in the field, I can—”
“Do it. Make sure you stop the bleeding. Warm him and do what you can to stop him from moving; I’ll weave a spell for fortitude, and then we can then start closing the wounds. Valência!”
Her shoulders jerked up. She rubbed her eyes and looked at Curio, waiting for her orders.
“Calm him down.” Mercúrio clasped a strong hand on her shoulder and furrowed his brows. “Calm him down,” they repeated, this time slower.
“Of course, Sir. Sir Arcano; señor. C-Calm him. Okay.” She reached a trembling hand forward, but another stopped her.
“Valência, look at me,” The Commander said in a soft voice. They held her hand and rested another on the top of her head, their face kind but serious. “You’ll only calm him if you calm down first. We. Will. Save him.”
Something cold stirred inside her stomach, and Valência swallowed the fear growing in the base of her throat. She felt a renewed warmth, and it took her a moment to understand that it was coming from The Commander’s hand on her cheek. She felt embraced again, emboldened again, protected again in the same way that Kerana’s stained glass image—no, that Kerana’s presence—did.
After Kerana, many Dragon Commanders increased her legend and deepened the meaning behind the title. They are still expected to act as diplomats. Ambassadors. Captains of the Royal Guard. Counselors. They are also symbols of hope, of connection—symbols of the knowledge, justice, and peace that Goddess Kerana spread over the years. Dragon Commanders wear six feathers, the second-highest rank in the entire order, and they answer only to the Kingdom’s monarch and to The Last Dragon.
As they used to say in the Academia, Kings might die or be killed in battle, but to lose a Dragon Commander would be to lose the Kingdom itself. It’s not a title granted lightly.
“Do you believe in me, Valência?” The Commander insisted.
Valência took in a deep, calming breath and held The Commander’s hand tighter. While the big majority of all Five Kingdoms looked at her Commander with resentment and disdain, Knight Valência saw them as they truly were.
The unyielding force behind future King Mathias’s reign.
“I do, Commander. I believe in you.”
With my life.
The Commander smiled and patted her shoulder. “Then please calm him down.”
They got up and tugged at their expensive, magical cloak. In a swift movement, The Commander covered the animal with it, applying just enough pressure on the bigger gash to slow the bleeding; their cloak warmed the animal while Mercúrio finished their spell and Valência caressed the animal’s head.
Valência couldn’t know it by then, but they were right. The Commander, for saying they would save the animal’s life and Valência, for her faith in them. The Commander would soon become a force of change.
But she would do well to exercise caution. After all, a kingdom doesn’t always change for the better.
Sometimes, Valência, they become infinitely worse.
—— THE ANNIVERSARY MASTER POST || KO-FI || PLAY LTGBTK! || PROMPTS ——
#injured animal tw#blood cw#mentions of wounds#1yearofltgbtk#love the guard be the king#visual novel#amare game#q&a#pov: Knight Valência#Lore - Order of the Dragon Knights
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I didn't know we could still send prompt ask! If you have time Opala or Topazio 15 "stay behind me" for Mandra
8:35 - A First
Opala/Topazio. #15. Mandreis
(Fluff + underlying Angst) + "Stay behind me."
THEY keep their hand pressed against my lips and nose, their body so close to mine, we almost merge with the shadow of the column hiding us. Their eyes follow someone, sliding from my left to my right as steps echo through the archways.
Mandra's fingers hide my sneer when I pinch their arm, waist, and cheek trying to provoke them. They hold my hand with a soft clink of armor, trying hard not to laugh.
"Try as much as you want, you could never distract me," they mouth, fleshy lips curling around soundless vowels.
My eyes narrow; as if acting of their own volition, my fingers slip to their face again. They raise a challenging eyebrow at first, but I suppose they weren't ready for a caress.
Mandra's eyelids weigh over their eyes and their expression soften as I rake my fingers through their hair. Their breathing gets heavier, their eyes darker.
They stiffen. Their hand tightens around my wrist, and Mandra raises it and holds it overhead, pressed against the cold stone of the column.
One heartbeat. Two. Maybe a handful.
And then, they lean in to whisper, “Stop. You win, all right? Now let me concentrate.” Their eyebrows furrow even more. “And wipe that smirk off of your face, imp.”
A voice comes from the courtyard.
"They're not here. Let's split up and search the buildings again."
A choir of squires agrees.
When I can't hear steps anymore, Mandra reels backward.
"You're the worst partner I've ever had for these exams." They take my wrist and tug, guiding me towards a dark building across the corridor. "Remind me to tell Knight Olivienza that our marks should be given separately."
"Hum. I agree, Mand. I'm the spy in this assignment, so I already have the maximum mark possible." I tap the rolled scroll half-tucked in my belt. "In case you didn't realize, I stole the documents and avoided detection until we left the library.”
The room we enter is small, cluttered with glasses, bottles, and buckets. Mandra lets my wrist go and sneaks towards the door, motioning me closer with a gesture. They press a finger against their lips and jerk their chin to the side to show the small trio of squires still patrolling in front of our exit. Among the trees, half-covered by shadows, I can see our instructors waiting to judge our performance.
“That’s because Knight Olivienza made sure to partner you with me, so you wouldn’t feel bad about your own marks, fresh meat. If it were for me, I’d prefer to have a partner with more than a year of experience in the Academia.” Mandra crosses their arms, and their little pout is nothing short of adorable.
Sadly for them, I know Mandra asked to be partnered with me—it’s what Knight Olivienza himself told me when explaining my role today. Mandra’s marks are already so high, they wouldn’t even need to take this one… but I suppose they are more eager to see me succeed than I first thought.
Mandra taps the tip of my nose. “You barely have any knowledge in combat strategy, little imp; all you did was to follow my plan, so I hope we’ll continue to do that while I secure the best marks for us.”
“So much conceit, Mandreis.”
They shrug. “It’s justified.”
I know it is. “But I hope you realize I’m older than you.”
“And I hope you realize I outrank you in many, many ways.”
That gives me pause. Mandra’s smirk deepens.
I clear my throat. “Whatever you say, Your Highness.” I cross my arms, but I definitely don't pout like them. “Now is your turn to show all your supposed superiority. Let’s see you work hard to take me back to safety."
“Work hard?” They scoff. "Please. Look at the other squires. The day I let any of them as much as touch you is the day I'll let you mount me and call me a pony."
It takes me a moment to school my expression and then another to swipe the room with my eyes, looking for a good tool.
“Oh, no.” Mandra's cheeks darken; their eyes widen. "Wait. Don't you dare!"
Before they can react, like a devious little imp—or a cat—I push a bottle from a table nearby and send it clattering on the floor.
The reaction of the squires outside is immediate. They turn around, and when our eyes lock, the trio shouts and runs towards us, unsheathing their swords. From a distance, I can hear more shouts and rushed steps.
"For Kerana! What a hogwash-swallower, piglet-little imp—!” Their words are interrupted by a hearty laugh. “Fuck!”
Mandra grips the golden hilt of their sword and pushes me back towards the back entrance. Just barely, we escape from a small shower of splinters when one of the squires kicks the main door open, breaking part of the rotten wood in it. We leave the room.
“Don’t leave my side,” Mandra says. “It’ll be one less point for each scratch or bruise you recei—shit.” Kicking up dust, Mandra skips forward, passing by me.
I turn around in time to see them deflect a blow. Mandra’s sword grate against the other squire’s, and with a flick of their wrist, the weapon escapes the squire’s hands and clatters on the floor. The squire reaches for it, but Mandra lands a heavy kick on his side and sends them down.
“Of course you would know how to keep me on my toes." Mandra peeks over their shoulder, watching me with a mix of amusement and something else I can’t name. They shake their head and position themself in front of me as the other two squires approach. "All right, imp. If it's a show you want, it's a show you'll have. We won’t leave until the last of them is on the dust."
"Go on, Mand.” I place my hands on my waist. “I'll be right here, waiting to see if today is the day I’ll earn myself a pony."
Mandra guffaws, and the squires in front of them freeze in fear.
"We'll see about that. Stay behind me, beloved. And watch."
—— THE ANNIVERSARY MASTER POST || KO-FI || PLAY LTGBTK! || PROMPTS ——
#1yearofltgbtk#love the guard be the king#visual novel#amare game#writing prompt#prompt: opala#prompt: topazio
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For the character asks~ I have too many questions so I will only ask those so as to not spam~ if it's a spoiler feel free not to answer! How do characters feel about the different MC archetypes? Do they have one they get along with better/like better or one they dislike? How would they feel about them being with Mandras or Matthias romantically?
Hi, Anon! hahaha aww, thank you! ♥
I'll answer the first two now and leave the third for later, bwa-haha. >8)
- How do characters feel about the different MC archetypes? Do they have one they get along with better/like better or one they dislike?
All of them love/like/appreciate MC no matter what. That said, some archetypes just vibe better with some characters, and I'll try to tell a little more about that without giving any spoilers lol. Mathias and Queen Yvana treasure them all equally, so I won't even add them to the list.
Mandra - Particularly likes The Seeker for how sweet they can be (Mandra fully believes that "being kind is being brave" in the world they live in) and The Destroyer for being "the most genuine person in this Castle." They don't exactly dislike The Ruler, but think they're more difficult to approach, so Mand usually keeps more to themself. If approached, Mand would act normally, no matter to which archetype—unless The Ruler MC unlocked Mandra's special scene before the music battle on CH02, in which case they couldn't care less about MC.
Melike - Is, in no small way, obsessed with The Ruler and has a keen interest in how the court answers to The Destroyer. Likes The Seeker well enough, but she just doesn't have as much fun watching them as she has with the other archetypes. She would definitely be more interested in them if she knew what happened in the gardens between The Seeker and Mathias. Still, her interest would be much more connected to her private list of "perfect ways to tease Matt."
Dr. Filtchen - Cares more about the way MC solves problems than their personality. She's the type of person to overlook rudeness, arrogance, and/or condescendence (and more) if you get the work done. That said, she really prefers MCs who think logically, which is sometimes difficult for The Destroyer, and she doesn't like people who avoid confrontation, which sometimes might be the case for The Seeker.
Mercurio - They see the full strength of being kind, so they're particularly drawn to The Seeker. Master Curio greatly approves of The Ruler's discipline and is generally entertained by The Destroyer's sharp words and behavior. More than any of the other characters, though, it's difficult to know when Master Curio is pleased and when he's not. He's not shy to show their favoritism towards Mathias and love for the Queen, but he's very closed off to most people.
Knight Valência - Sees The Seeker as an inspiration, The Destroyer as an older sibling, and The Ruler as a mentor. Her treatment and affection for MC don't change, though—she's always a peach. A dangerous peach.
Commander Kastian - As far as first impressions go, The Destroyer leaves a lasting one. >8) And if you don't know who Kastian is, you can meet him in this snippet here.
—— THE ANNIVERSARY MASTER POST || KO-FI || PLAY LTGBTK! ——
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Year 41 (Part I)
Mand, MC, and Knight Valência. :) As I mentioned in this post, "People in Five Kingdoms wear a ridiculous amount of layers and fishnets everywhere cause why not."
What I failed to mention is how much of a daunting task it is to wear anything for the first time.
Think back, Commander. Aren't you glad you always had people around you who were more than happy to assist you?
—— THE ANNIVERSARY MASTER POST || KO-FI || PLAY LTGBTK! || PROMPTS ——
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Topazio. 1. Dragon Commander (Year 41)
(angst) + "No. Let me."
This one is from my ko-fi!
(No specific archetype, just one night spent near the battlefield)
CW: descriptions of blood, injuries, and guilt. Mention of death.
YOU hear the heavy steps outside and press a finger against your lips in a mute, desperate request. They nod, shutting their eyes. You don’t want to, but you decide to clasp a dirty hand against their lips, helping them silence low murmurs of pain. They spent the entire night rambling on about the beautiful flowers in their village—purple little flowers with the greenest of stems and leaves so pink and so thin, they look like fabric—so there’s not much sound left in their throat.
The small squad of Topazian warriors walks past your hiding place, clattering armor and sloshing steps filling the deep silence in the marshes.
One of them stops, and your heart almost does the same.
You don’t know where it comes from, but your first instinct is to pull the kid closer, blending in the shadows under the hollow tree. Thank Goddess you removed the kid’s armor. This place is hot enough at this time of the year to not require anything else but linen for survival—and escaping would be easier if the kid wasn’t wearing almost twenty kilos of metal around the many lacerations that the fucking mage caused.
You look down at them and they up at you. A lone tear slides down their cheek, wetting the dry blood on your knuckles. The healing herbs you were sent to collect pool around you, mashed and milled with your gauntlets in the hopes they would help the kid’s wounds, but the basics you learned don’t cover the kind of damage a magic-wielder can do.
You try on a smile to make the kid feel better; they sob against your palm.
“Are you sure this is where you last saw them?” says a tired voice outside. Through the aerial roots, you see their leader—Fabiana the Just, if you’re not mistaken—stop and look around. “And are you sure you hit your target? We need the Hatchling Knight alive.”
You. They want you.
A pang of guilt rings deep in your chest. The laceration spell should’ve hit you, but the kid, the oldest son of a baker and not a day older than eighteen, decided to play hero in their first assignment. Their first fucking assignment.
You’d be ready to defend against it. You were trained to deflect a little magic. You were the one responsible for them, not the other way around.
And yet, the child-of-a-baker was faster.
“I’m sure, My Lady,” the mage answers. You recognize the smell of his mana. It’s the same mage who attacked you. “I… I used l-laceration. By mistake, I swear, I—” He looks as scared as the kid in your arms. “I don’t know which one took the spell, but I feel it working. It added to my scale—it added a lot to my scale. I didn’t know I could hurt someone that much, My Lady,” he completes in a broken voice.
Pure dread spreads on Fabiana’s expression.
The kid tries to move, and a new wave of their blood warms your thigh. You glare at them, but their eyes are shut again. The kid tries to bite you, uneven teeth grazing your fingers, your palm, then your inner wrist as they struggle. They must be in pain; the proximity with the mage must be renewing the effect of the spell.
“Shhh. Please,” you whisper against their ear. “Please, I’m here.”
Fabiana sighs. She places a hand on the mage’s shoulder and whispers something you can’t understand. Something about accidents, you think. Or about not letting guilt corrode you. Then something about this place not being safe anymore, about how the mage and the soldiers should go and ask for reinforcements, and then Holy fuck. Kerana is my witness, if my senses are right, we will need more people.
The mage nods and runs away alongside the other warriors.
Fabiana’s eyes meet yours. She holds your gaze for a moment. A long, tense, excruciating moment during which she places her hand on the handle of her sword, looking around as if expecting someone. She looks ready to unsheathe her weapon when her gaze snaps to the side.
You follow her line of sight and feel nothing but relief when you find Mandra staring at her. Silent. Immovable. Unarmed, yes, but never less dangerous because of it. They don’t say anything—not Mandreis, and not Fabiana—but there must be a silent agreement between the two, for Mandra climbs down from higher ground and turns their back at her to look at you. She turns away and disappears among the trees, shouting orders.
Mandra gives you one of their rare, sweet smiles and in a whisper, promises to never let Mattie learn about this. “Brother would be too scared for you. Too worried.”
You accept their hand but refuse their arms. You don’t need a hug, you need to save this foolish kid. You finally maneuver them out of your hiding place, their body draping against your side like a cold, wet, shivering mantle. A full squad of Opalean soldiers stands around you. They salute you with the respect you never received at home; the kid is their friend, and you know they feel for them too.
“Are you hurt?” Mandra asks.
You shake your head no. The exhaustion of spending the night in the mashes must hit you then and there, for your legs lose force. The smile on Mandra’s lips disappears; they clutch your arm, helping you find your balance.
“Here. Let me, I’ll carry them,” Mandra says.
You stop them with a hard stare. “No. Let me.”
You tug the kid closer and gather all the strength you have left to wade your way back to camp. You’re not so sure anymore if you’d have endured the spell. Maybe you’d be dead already. Maybe the kid is the strong one among you.
They grow heavier. Back in the camp, as magicians rush around you weaving spells and milling plants, you consider asking their name before they go.
Again, you look down at them, and they up at you, and this time the kid smiles and says, “I remembered the name. My flower, it’s… it’s the Purple Quaresma.”
Once again, they are faster. But this time you smile too, fully aware of the kid’s name in your memory from now on.
"Good job, Esma. I hope you'll find lots of it pretty soon."
—— THE ANNIVERSARY MASTER POST || KO-FI || PLAY LTGBTK! || PROMPTS ——
#blood cw#injury cw#death cw#guilt cw#1yearofltgbtk#love the guard be the king#visual novel#amare game#writing prompt#prompt: Topazio#ngl I'm now thinking about bringing Esma to the main game -_-''''
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This one comes from my ko-fi :3
Hematita 3. Mathias
(let chance decide >> fluff / arcane) + "You should see me in a crown."
THE wood finally breaks, and smoke escapes through the new hole in the door. Instead of stepping back and yanking your leg free, you push forward and walk through the dense purple fog now billowing to the castle corridors—splinters and danger be damned.
"Mathias!" Your voice comes strained when you shout. Because of the smoke or the worry, you're not sure. "Where are you?"
"I'm here." His voice is low. He coughs, laughs, chokes in the smoke, and laughs again. "Remind me to never try the leather coloration spell again."
You see his silhouette cutting the smoke, and only then do you manage to sigh. You run to him and clasp his hands. He locks eyes with you and lets out an embarrassed chuckle; a little boy caught in the middle of mischief. His hands are cold when he cups your cheek.
And purple. His hands are purple.
Your thoughts race. Mathias's hands aren't usually this cold—you know them well—and to be this color, it must mean the blood is already freezing in his veins. You can't imagine what could've caused him to contract the sickness and speed it so much, but you can only think this is the Azure Taint in its most developed stage.
Goddess, why?
You see images of him bedridden and shivering, drinking nothing but the soups he hates. What would happen to him? Could Filtchen help him and the Queen at the same time?
Would he... die?
"Mathias!" You grab his wrists and tug him outside.
"Please, I'm fine."
"No!"
Out of his study chambers and under the daylight, you blink to clear your blurring vision, throw a gauntlet off, and press a warm, calloused hand on his neck, to feel his pulse. It quickens under your touch—and it races when you lean in and press your cheek against his lips, keeping his face there long enough to feel his warm breath hitting the side of your face.
... Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen seconds.
Warming up and no shivers. Good. His temperature seems normal, and his heart, too.
You step back and study his face.
"I... I'm pretty sure the gesture usually works the other way," he teases.
He's pink now, a slightly darker shade of it on his cheeks. And now yellow, blue, then purple again. His skin changes before your eyes, jumping from one hue to the next. You frown. Mathias sighs.
"As I said, remind me to never try the leather coloration spell again." He groans. "I'll try to solve this for myself, but if I can't... I'll have to ask Master Curio for help. Tsk. I bet my right hand they'll try to give me a lower mark on my next test."
You shake your head, willing your heart to calm down. He's okay. He's safe.
"Well, I'm sure Master Curio will have a good laugh, My Liege." You smirk. "And I'm sure they'll help you undo all this damage once you fail. Just try not to draw too much attention in the meantime."
Mathias quirks an eyebrow. "So you think I'll fail, do you?"
"Yes, My Liege." You narrow your eyes. It's your little vengeance for the scare he gave you. "But don't worry, you look quite striking as a Nacre Prince. Not quite Opalean—but close enough."
Mathias scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Yeah, well. You should see me in a crown. A proper crown."
You chuckle. Before you can stop yourself, you tuck a lock of his hair behind his ear.
"I can't wait to see it, My Liege."
—— THE ANNIVERSARY MASTER POST || KO-FI || PLAY LTGBTK! ——
#love the guard be the king#1yearofltgbtk#amare game#visua novel#writing prompt#prompt: hematita#a soft start with a soft Matt :3
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