Recent content by Lionel Leonhardt

Romance. Gross. Lionel's lips pursed like a child's might be upon being offered vegetables. If there was any one aspect of the heroic legend that he didn't understand, and furthermore didn't like, it was the focus on romance. Save a princess from hell to marry her. Kiss a sleeping prince so he...

"Actually," The poet scratched at his chin, "I don't mind at all joining you. Writing an epic in which someone I hate is made out not only to be the villain, but also a fool, would be beyond a dream come true." Then the stranger got this real thoughtful look on his face, and began to pace...

"Yes. Unfortunately, I do know him. And he does happen to be a fellow student." Lionel observed what he thought was a wide variety of emotions on the stranger's face at the mention of this villian of the Upper City, this Harkenright. None of those emotions looked pleasant by Lionel's reckoning...

The man was nervous, even Arthur could tell that much his roof-top perch. The ciruclar golden light from a neighboring lamplight definitely helped him see this, which shone upon the poet like a beam from the heavens, or like a spotlight would in a theatre on an actor's famed monologue. Though...

"You aren't by any chance. . . a hero?" It was like music to his ears. Leonhardt had lived his entire life doing countless heroic things. I mean - he hadn't killed a dragon, or saved royalty from a tower, or really anything that was in the books, but for Alliria he was a gods damned champion...

Leonhardt stared at the duo blankly in the alley way mist, and blinked. If you were staring keenly enough, you might've noticed the near-impercetible way one eye started blinking before the other. A moment later, his head tilted rightwards in confoundment. The moment was eerily similar to that...

Leonhardt was running from rooftop to rooftop now. Not for any real reason other than he felt it was something a hero might do. After-all, everyone walked the streets, and heroes were oft elsewhere than where everyone was. He needed no more reason than that. With the wind in his wavy golden...

Leonhardt had always loved books. After all, they were the number two avenue of stories, and Lionel loved stories. However, a lot of people who read books, in his mind, the world could do without. Most readers were fine really, after all he was definitely a reader, and he definitely could read...

Lionel stuttered in his merry march, as if frozen by Marta's growl. There was a pause, purposeful and long, as the Glorious Hero pondered testing his fellow warrior's patience. Slowly, he chanced a glance over his shoulder and it's ragged cloak. He saw Marta's disgruntlement and displeasure...

Lionel laughed with practiced grace, and in that moment decided that he liked Marta. Her temperament might've been more brash, brawlin', straightforward wrecking house of a person, more alike a musclebound rival or empowered goon of some villain as opposed to the chivalric mannerisms that...

"Careful not to go and let them creatures see the shine of naked steel, hero," The quip was a conversational crossbow bolt aimed right for the hero's heart, though by some miracle (likely his lack of sense), it flew right over the his head instead. In response, the hero let out a giddy little...

"Lionel, Marta, and -" "Whatcha go and have your sword out for?" came the familiar words from behind him. Marta, he knew at once. Brash and mirthful, definitely not Rook's. Lionel smiled a bear-trap grin, and turned his head to regard the knights. Or at least, the once-knights, as they looked...

Lionel waltzed fourth before the cage through the nearest ring of spectators with a wild swing of his golden hair and a gaudy, sassy strut. He stood before the cage, cock-hipped and smiling heroically for a spell, holding his heroic pose as if there were a painter sketching his magnificence...

It was almost midnight in the Shallows, and the air was thick with an obscuring mist that was wet to the touch. The atmosphere was cold and clammy. The countless wooden walkways and docks were slick and damp. Laterns glowed in the grey darkness like fairy lights, and the fog of the place...

Lionel leaned back into a sassy swagger, a stance favoring his left leg with the corresponding hip cocked outwards. He raised an index finger to his chin, and continued to smile. "Lionel, Marta, and Rook. Bound to accost these sightless scoundrels, from every cranny, to every nook. . . " He...