VOTE: Count C
character name: Sigmund Halvard
character appearance:
character lore: pending and TBD; I had a long day and just finished making good progress on the setup I’m crafting with eevee
neural.love is a surprisingly good ai art generator. that’s almost precisely what i was looking for
unsure what the time investment expectation for this is hopefully going less intense on the RP at least for some days when i’m super busy is acceptable
VOTE: Chiefs B
VOTE: Chiefs A
(Just woke up so I’ll be checking thread periodically, I’ll throw Ash in somewhere if I feel like it unless someone particularly wants to talk to him 
)
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(i am awake and will prioritise continuing with atlas when theyre available)
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(busy being exhausted)
(need a minute)
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(nods)
(take care of yourself first)
“…”
She’s running out of things to say. His honour is too honourable for her honourable understanding of honour. Honourrrrr.
“Um.”
She holds her hand out in an attempt to half-shrug. “How have other people… honoured you?”
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Augustin catches Ophelia with a sorrowful gaze. He straightens himself and steels his eyes.
“We all honour the Ninth, and through our devotion we show our merit. Seeking honour directly is fruitless; a true nobleman doesn’t seek to be esteemed by others. If one wishes to be honoured, they must first honour others.”
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A grimace flashes across his face as his eyes dart away from hers momentarily, before it fades back to his usual emotionless smile.
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She responds with… a conflicted look. This seems to be confusing.
“Being a ‘true’ nobleman of the ninth sounds like it does nothing.”
She’s leaning forward. Too close for comfort. Her hat tilts unnaturally.
“Would you sacrifice yourself for the ninth?”
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He meets her eyes, his eyes burning with sorrowful confidence.
“By all that is true in this world, milady, I would gladly sacrifice my life for the Ninth, were He to deem it proper.”
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She stands up to lean close to his ear, and mumbles something.
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Augustin bolts upright, knocking his chair over. He stares at Ophelia, mouth open, his face a storm of emotions. He grips his sash, his face contorting in pain.
“I… You… You have no right to say that about my parents, milady.”
A tear can barely make it to his cheek before he catches it with his glove. With a last sorrowful look at her, he turns away violently and begins to storm away.
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After a few unmoving seconds, he turns back to Ophelia, his face wracked with pain.
“Maybe you’re right, milady.” Tears roll down his face. “But I’m a nobleman, and I have a duty to uphold to the Ninth’s children. It’s something a merchant like milady might not understand.”
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“…!”
I’m looking through my book of words. Do you think ‘mazed’ or ‘baffled’ better describes her expression?
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“…”
She tilts her head. “Why?”
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