+ For Glory! For Death! +

[vitaelamorte]

Who: EVERYONE & Unwanted Guests
Where: The Grounds & The Palace
When: August 27th to 29th
Rating: PG-13 to R for fighting, violence, and death
Summary: Attackers from other realms threaten the Asgardian palace and your very lives! This is where you fight or flee, the place for all your combat mingle needs.
The Story:

+ Day 3 : Rock Trolls and Ogres +



Rock Trolls and Ogres are strong, tough and surprisingly fast, with great muscular bulk. Their sight is keen, and they hunger for human flesh. Fortunately they are lacking in tactical skill, and few to none will manage to break through Asgard's protective barrier to enter the palace. ( x ) ( x )

+ Day 4 : Frost Giants +



The Forst Giants will scare off yesterday's attackers almost entirely, bringing a greater threat to the palace. They are faster and stronger still, and skilled in cryokinesis. One touch by their hand might freeze a warrior whole, if they don't stop the spread of cold on time. Several of their numbers will manage to break through Asgard's protective barrier to enter the palace. ( x )

+ Day 5 : Dark Elves +



The Dark Elves are the last and greatest threat to Asgard. They rely on stealth and deadly energy weapons, their strength and craftiness yet unparalleled. They are weak to iron, and any warrior would be lucky to discover this weakness on time. They infiltrate the palace from the caves, and nearly all of their numbers will attack from the inside. ( x )

Comments

[hypoxic]

[Klaus is doing it again. He's pulling back, puffing up like a cornered beast and trying to make Fitz agree with his flawed self-assessment. It would be easier for him to be abandoned again, Fitz thinks. Perhaps it would be an excuse. He'll stand when Klaus chooses to loom over him, minimizing the height differential. He holds still then, even though his heartrate spikes in betrayal.]

Day after tomorrow if there's an accident. [At least that's what he's heard. Darcy says it takes longer after the first time.] But it's a good thing you're disciplined enough to avoid petty mistakes.

[He just wants Klaus to believe in himself as much as Fitz believes in him. Klaus will never gain confidence if he never knows what it feels like to have someone trust him.]

[poppycock]

[ of course. he stills at the reminder of the first time — that first time leopold's blood was shed and lost to this place. before he knew him, before anyone could do anything about it, his friend was beaten and left for dead.

klaus blinks at the well-used reminder. it is a weapon even if leopold does not intend it to be; it disables him if only for a moment. so does how bravely and naively his friend stands against him, an albatross in the wind. his jaw works; he's right.

he's plenty disciplined. and impulsive.

he's also not foolish, and he will not feed to the point of death on his friend. he will not stand for more vulnerability in the wake of today.

he relents. ] Nor am I willing to do more violence onto you. [ he relents nearly enough. he means to be just cruel enough. ] You've served your purpose. It's time for you to leave. [ klaus turns away and swallows down the dregs of his glass. ]

[hypoxic]

[Klaus chooses his wording well. Under any other circumstance, Fitz would protest more. He'd insist that he lacked worth, that Klaus needed strength. He'd push until Klaus had no other choice. But when Klaus skews the context of the talk, it cuts into the wound that never truly heals.

"You've served your purpose." The language of utility. He'd thought he was coming to the aid of a friend, but perhaps he was just the most convenient piece of flesh that happened to have a beating heart. The damage flashes in Fitz's expression, quick and terrible, before he masks it with stoicism.

He should have expected this. Why doesn't he ever expect this?]

Perhaps it is. [Perhaps he ought to send a bill for services rendered.] Good luck in your recovery, Nik.

[He'll see himself out without further discussion.]

[poppycock]

[ he's hurt. he's made a mark. he sees it, taking hold of leo's expression in a short order of anguish before it smooths over.

it does not comfort him but he thinks, good. he turns away and thinks, now he will leave. leo will not continue with his incessant self-sacrifice and faith, the former of which he admires and the latter of which he longs for. tolerates. denies. he has for a long while, through every hint and demonstration of it, full of fear and gratitude both.

(he doesn't deserve it. leo is a fool.)

he wants to be alone. he wants the time and isolation to temper and fume by himself, to process and hate and rage against his inabilities, against his terror, against it all. (he cannot do so if someone he cares for and someone he loves wants nothing more than to love him back and to place him on a pedestal of goodness and righteousness.

he cannot live up to that. he won't. but he wants to.

and more than anything he wants to bar himself from the tenderness interwoven through it all.)

he gets what he wants, stock still and tensed at the sound of his name — that name, familiar and intimate — used between them. for him. he knows it is meant to wound.

it does. leo passes him by and leaves the room. his hand tightens around the empty tumbler.

he attempts to ignore the regret that fills him. he envelopes the rage. he cannot help but take in both. ]