Archer (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wroughten_iron) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
rosavelle2026-03-13 09:49 pm
wroughten_iron) wrote in rosavelle2026-03-13 09:49 pm
Archer | Budding | Catch-All
Who: Archer & People who tolerate/don't know him
When: Budding
Where: Depends on the prompt!
What: Archer has bought a home and is Trying to Deal.
Anything Else: CWs will be on their top-levels or in comment subject headers when they come up... Otherwise, have a wonderful day!!!!!!
On a shady hill not far from the sea... was a cabin repurposed from an old dairy barn. The only adornments found were what it came with, wild shrubbery and thick roots just barely come to rise beside bleached, stony paths and hard-pressed dirt. Bricks exposed themselves from crumbling mortar, roof tiles fallen in routes, diverted in a loose, ill-planned patchwork.
The walls of the interior leaked, hastily patched with clay and stone. Even floors were covered by mats and pads, save for a pristine corner of the one-room home partitioned off by little more than a circle of chalk. There were cooking utensils hung from the wall beside the door that faced the sea and a rack of clothes, covered and bagged with care.
The rear patio led to a brick and mortar oven and grill beneath a thatched roof--both crafted by a different set of hands than the rest of the house. A workbench eased against the wall beside the door, lined with rows of vials and jars that looked better suited for an alchemist's workshop than a quiet cottage by the sea.
Despite that bleak expression of loneliness, it was a house that carried a warm smell beneath the wind carried by the sea. Rich smoke, herbs and spices soaked into the bricks and roof as the sole argument to betray the image of its bleak owner's desire for a quiet and modest place to rest.
When: Budding
Where: Depends on the prompt!
What: Archer has bought a home and is Trying to Deal.
Anything Else: CWs will be on their top-levels or in comment subject headers when they come up... Otherwise, have a wonderful day!!!!!!
On a shady hill not far from the sea... was a cabin repurposed from an old dairy barn. The only adornments found were what it came with, wild shrubbery and thick roots just barely come to rise beside bleached, stony paths and hard-pressed dirt. Bricks exposed themselves from crumbling mortar, roof tiles fallen in routes, diverted in a loose, ill-planned patchwork.
The walls of the interior leaked, hastily patched with clay and stone. Even floors were covered by mats and pads, save for a pristine corner of the one-room home partitioned off by little more than a circle of chalk. There were cooking utensils hung from the wall beside the door that faced the sea and a rack of clothes, covered and bagged with care.
The rear patio led to a brick and mortar oven and grill beneath a thatched roof--both crafted by a different set of hands than the rest of the house. A workbench eased against the wall beside the door, lined with rows of vials and jars that looked better suited for an alchemist's workshop than a quiet cottage by the sea.
Despite that bleak expression of loneliness, it was a house that carried a warm smell beneath the wind carried by the sea. Rich smoke, herbs and spices soaked into the bricks and roof as the sole argument to betray the image of its bleak owner's desire for a quiet and modest place to rest.
March 5th to 15th, Menthward - Nondescript Cabin [Semi-closed; an invitation/stalking is needed]
Archer awoke in the morning on the near barren floor of that cabin, to the creak of a bed frame he'd hastily manufactured when he arrived. The mattress he made was rudimentary, at best, not rising to the quality of what he'd grown accustomed to but that much was fine--he hadn't needed anything more than the bare minimum. For those first few days, he'd get to work and go about working to clear weeds, overgrowth and replace as much of it as possible with fresh seeds from the market.
Far more care went into his 'workshop'. A workbench for working with what few herbs and compounds he had on hand for his medication sat beneath a straw roof in the back, facing the sea. He'd dug out a pit and planted posts for a stove, dragging stones stones until he had enough to shape a grill and outdoor oven and then... he stopped. Once the bare essentials were met, Archer looked on the rest of it as maintenance.
He'd crafted an amateurish bounded field around the perimeter of that cabin further down the path at enough a distance that he'd hear the chime of a bell inside if anything passed through and that was the limit of what he could offer himself for preventative measures but... what did it matter? When he wasn't working, he was searching the isle for recipes, literature, anything to keep himself busy and accumulate what useful knowledge could be found to further justify his being there. When he was there, he was practicing his magecraft, bloomcraft, cooking or fishing by the shore. Maybe he read reading or compiling notes.
Regardless of what he was doing, it was with the utmost sincerity to avoid being in the way of others, without decoration or ego but with a tranquil air as if he'd found somewhere quiet to remain without any sense of obligation but what he'd promised. It was a good place to be alone and think of the ones he'd wanted to avoid the most--the people who made it so tempting to wish to be human. For a few days longer, at least, he wished to avoid them.
He knew that feeling wouldn't last long.
[ooc: that's a bigass prompt, pls don't feel the need to match it. i just kept goin]
March 9th - 12th, Menthward - Spice and Sword
That man was making himself a menace among the traders, inspecting wares with the scrutiny of a miser as he was determined to stretch every coin to its utter limit. He was there early in the morning and the afternoon, determined to create stores for the rest of the year even at the cost of his reputation.
All of March - Fishing
Of course, that scenery was modest but the gear that man possessed was anything but. It didn't resemble the same simple reels one might see in the hands of seasoned fishermen normally--its craftsmanship resembling something out of a sports magazine with thin metal pieces and finely tuned slides that made its line glide and lock in place when fighting something particularly strong.
It was, hands down, the most competitive Archer would allow himself to behave in public, aiming to infuriate his fellow fishermen with artifacts designed to cheat and expose the vulnerabilities of their humble techniques. There wasn't a night he'd return home without something impressive weighing down his bucket.
March 13th - Marelys - Afternoon - Limited
He recognized them as two of the castle's guards, dressed in more casual clothes. A young man with pale blonde hair and a taller brick of a proper soldier with a saber he'd recognized. The big fellow certainly had the air of a mugger but there was an odd sort of determination in his eyes, while the skinnier of the two with a hunch and poorer posture was just somewhat more familiar.
It was a faint enough memory, easily set aside for how little it mattered to him, but the pale blonde fellow had challenged him in front of that man before. It ended with his sound defeat and one-sided laughter but the victor hadn't expected a budding grudge to be the end result. The next challenge was more polite, more quiet and determined to be kept out of sight of the public but Archer... he found himself annoyed by what he's wrought by bothering to put in the effort to win just to end things between them. He dropped his bag and drew a thin saber from the air, flatly taunting him.
"It would be for the best if I taught you not to let your pride get the better of you."
Only a few exchanges told him much of what situation he was truly in. The young man lunging at him came better prepared, with more polished footwork than before. His grip on his sword was more confident, even if his eyes were a bit wild with fear--neither of them using training swords at that moment. The giant behind him was... worried. The stern determination before, he supposed, must have been a front for concern rather than a grudge and his eyes were darting back and forth between them as if prepared to step in if anything got messy. Duels with drawn blades needn't be fatal but often someone would come out the other end with blood on them.
It annoyed him, seeing worry on the both of them. If only they'd flirt the normal way without some grand gesture--wouldn't it be easier on the both of them? The young man was reaching the last vestiges of his stamina not for a lack of strength but for nerves that were rattled. Archer had stopped him at every opportunity and hadn't seemed any worse for it and yet a thought crossed his mind.
If I were to defeat him, would this continue for a third time? I'd prefer not to be remembered or even to be viewed as a target even if I know that's an impossibility.
Would it ruin things between those two? If that wounded pride bent the clear bond between them, what then?
That question alone infuriated him. He battered aside his blade and lunged forward. Why am I going out of the way for a couple of cretins with more muscle than sense between them? In that forceful advance, Archer took a step forward, offering his arm as a sacrifice. The young man's saber swept, a trained riposte answering that manufactured error.
Archer dropped his blade, blood dripping from a cut in his sleeve above his elbow. Fortunately, it seemed, that green soldier had done enough training for his play to appear genuine.
"...A magnificent recovery," The two were equal parts surprised by the result. A foolish mistake made and he'd been disarmed without a serious injury. One fellow relieved and proud, was pushed aside by his giant of a boyfriend so that he could urge Archer to sit and tend to the back of his arm. He'd been just as happy as he was annoyed, complaining that there didn't need to be one of those old-fashioned challenges just to impress him and that they'd be neck deep in shit with the Princess' attendants when word got out but it ended rather quietly with Archer's assurance, "I don't believe my pride could tolerate the wound of knowing defeat. Should you keep silent on this matter... I'll hold my tongue as well."
So, the two left, but not before his challenger volunteered to 'fix' his shirt--ending with the entire sleeve being torn off and heavy bandages being wrapped around his forearm. The pain hadn't bothered him in the slightest but, as the two left him in giddy relief for surviving a moment of youth's folly, Archer found himself more annoyed than when he began, deciding to make his way home instead of lingering in the market. He ended up having to fix the bandages when they'd left as well. Hoping that would be the last he'd see of those two, Archer muttered grimly to himself and cursed his own hypocrisy in the same breath.
"Should've just clobbered the fool and moved on."
[ooc: once again, the prompt escaped me. pls forgib. Also going to limit the thread to 'one person finds him after this' and if anyone else wants to respond it'll be while he's wandering back.]