hey guys, with grad school and a new job happening inspiration has been lower than i’d anticipated, and it isn't fair to anyone to hold onto a muse that i can’t consistently and frequently write for as much i’d like to. i apologize to those with threads and those planned, but i think i’m going to have to retire owain prematurely for now and stick to a single muse -- perhaps though he will return at another time, even better than before!
@inhabiliis, continued from here!
Perhaps it was natural inclination, or perhaps it was growing up with the presence of time-traveling dragon magic so closely tied to his own personal story, but Owain couldn’t help but leap -- or, perhaps more accurately, bodily hurl himself towards the idea of getting to travel this far back. Outrealm gates weren’t exactly a mystery to him anymore, and his many travels through him had rid him of the post-portal nausea after about the third or fourth time, so there really was never a question of if he would go, but rather, where. And given the choice, well...
It wasn’t as green than he’d imagined it to be.
Of course, the stories had described the craggy peaks of the continent, but sometimes, after you’ve read something over and over, certain misconceptions about appearances tend to stick. Then again, maybe it had stuck itself in his mind that way to contrast his own reality at the time. Hmm. Either way... this was real. The meager grass was real, the mountains in the distance were real, and the dirt beneath his feet was real! And the bandits attempting to take his life and traveling belongings were also, regrettably, real.
He’d taken with him a sword and a simple fire tome, after much deliberation -- dark magic was entirely out of the question here, wind magic would be too hard to explain so far south, and thunder magic... well, according to the stories, the people here probably wouldn’t be too keen on someone wielding the magic their former oppressors so commonly toted about. Thus, fire tome it was. He’d been just about to pull it out when a lone figured appeared, deterring the ruffians before he’d even had time to shout something cool or intimidating. Not that it really mattered any more than dust in the wind once said figure introduced himself as the King of Thracia. And there was only one such king.
The stories really, really didn’t do him justice in the face of the real thing. They had described the ivory armor adorning him, “clean as glittering as freshly fallen snow in the sunlight” as he sat atop a gallant white steed (Owain figures the white steed must be in the stables currently, if this is the case), filled with bearing just as poised and noble. Of course, the tales had also mentioned his great youth, but he’d never really registered the gravity of the lack the king’s year until he stood face to face with him and realized he was barely a man.
Owain sort of gapes, mouthing ‘Leif’ before realizing that he’s being addressed -- he straightens up, patting down his cloak and stowing his tome before bowing his head deeply and taking a knee. “Y-Your Majesty,” he replies, voice heavy with genuine reverence and awe, trembling only slightly at the end (from excitement).”I-it is the greatest honor-- I-I am unhurt, thanks to you.” He glances up, catching another glimpse of Leif before dropping his head to hide the wide grin spreading across his face to strong his cheeks began to sting.
@dreamyarcher
Maybe... maybe if he just... wiggled a little bit like that... nope. Nope, that was definitely not making any of this any better.
Admittedly, this wasn’t the most embarrassing situation he’d found himself, but in that past blunder he had at least been able to judge himself from an upright position; instead, Odin found himself decidedly upside-down, hanging most ungracefully from the end of a rope snare like some sort of hunted game. This was not a befitting state for a great hero -- nay, any sort of person -- to find themselves in, and yet, here he was.
Lord Leo would never let him hear then end of this... Niles would never let him hear the end of this... Not to mention Severa and Inigo... Gods.
There hadn’t been a Hoshidan soldier in sight, and it was woods as far as the eye could see (at least from his perspective), so what was ordered to be a quick reconnaissance mission was supposed to go very smoothly -- get in, get out, live to fight another day! And not get caught in a trap. Unfortunately, fate is cruel, and that rope was too well hidden, and one misstep later and he’d found himself in his current predicament.
He supposes he could shout for help... provided anyone was actually in the forest to hear him. In the best case scenario, he'd be picked up by some random solider and questioned about his reasons for being here; in the worst, the prince of Hoshido would show up personally and behead him before he got a word out -- and Odin really liked his head remaining attached to his shoulders if he could help it. Thankfully, he’d had the mind to craft a pretty decent disguise, as well as an alias, just in case he’d get discovered, but it still doesn’t change the fact that the first impression his eventual finder would get of "Takeshi” would be with a beet-red face, pathetically dangling from a tree branch.
Still, someone finding him was better than no one, so he begins to yell, calling out for help, assistance, saving -- anything he could think of as he wiggled more, trying to get himself unstuck (or maybe break the branch and simply fall).
||ooc:
hello again everybody! really excited to break in owain here, so this is an official starter call -- like this post and/or pm me and we can plan something!
There comes a time in every hero’s story where he must face the doors of destiny, and throw them wide open! Or at least, in this case, throw open the closet, the cabinet, and empty the contents of all of his belongings.
Which is precisely how Owain found himself now, rummaging through his amassed pile of various things, searching. No, if it wasn’t in here then-- no, not under the bed either... And he had already rooted through the bathroom and under the sink, as well as between the panels beneath the inn’s mattress (coming away with a couple of stashed coins, but not what he’d been searching for), so all that could be left was -- thievery. Thievery of the highest kind.
How could he have been so blind! One of them must have slipped passed his defenses and managed to snag it as he had made his quickly decided retreat, that had to be the only explanation. And now... he shudders to think what evils could befall the innocent -- nay, mankind itself! -- should such secrets find themselves in such evil hands. There was only one thing to do.
They must be stopped by all means necessary -- and any man with a lick of common sense knew that rushing headlong into a battle that they couldn’t defeat on the first time without backup was foolish at best, deadly at worst. He would need to find a partner in this quest. And all the best partner-recruiting took place in villages, everybody knows that! Thus, the search begins, Owain descending down the stairs and out the inn door as he adjusts his belongings back about himself, eyes scanning the gathering crowd milling about on the streets. Hmmm... There! That person! That person looked well-prepared! Jogging over, he waves a hand to try and get their attention.
“Excuse me! Excuse me -- you there! Yes, you! I require your assistance on an endeavor of the highest importance!”
