Memory Bank

[valkenhound]

"It's been a long time since I've seen a lycanthrope."
A memory that is filled with a rush of anger and satisfaction. A strong sense that the prey he desires is within his reach; there is the taste of blood and the tearing of flesh as he bites down on someone's arm. [Regains werewolf form. ]

"I'll take care of her in your stead." (Headcanon?? Not actually shown in game)
An overwhelming sense of loss and sorrow. The feeling that someone irreplaceable has been lost. He is in a moonlit courtyard overgrown with ivy; as he stands there looking up at the moon, the faint scent of blooming roses begins to fill the air.

"So this is the power of a creature that isn't meant to exist..." (HEADCANON)
He is surrounded by overwhelming darkness, veined with red; the screams of an otherworldly monster fill the air. Others are around him, but he pays them no heed; he knows with absolute certainty that they are here for the same goal as him. There is a feeling of intense focus, and determination. [ Regains fighting skill. ]

"Wait!"
He is injured and fighting his wounds to stand. Someone is in front of him, bringing a strong feeling of disgust, a slow burn of anger. The world goes fuzzy, and they disappear, leaving behind nothing but his own frustrated feelings.

"Pay for your crimes, monster."
A memory of someone who has intruded into his territory, the castle lit by moonlight. The scent of roses in full bloom fills the air; rose petals drift on the wind. Despite the sweet smell, he feels nothing but rage at the form in front of him. He knows in his soul that this person should be erased from existence.

"...Then this old wolf will give you all he has left."
A memory of facing someone that he feels apprehensive about fighting. The overwhelming feeling is conflicted loyalty; he should not raise a hand, and yet he has been asked to...so he must.

"It's time we put an end to this grudge, don't you think?"
A feeling of savage satisfaction as he views the state of the person in front of him; the sense that a hunt is about to come to an end, the final act of something that should have been resolved a long time ago. Though he's sustained his own wounds, he's strong enough to stand. [ Regains supernatural stamina and strength. ]

"Youngster...know your place."
Someone who reminds him of himself is facing him down now; for the sake of the one he's pledged himself to, he will judge this young upstart for himself to see if they're worthy. The tone of this memory is a quiet confidence; no matter what, he'll see it through.

"This...is not...your fight...!"
He burns with humiliation and shame; he's been beaten thoroughly and almost killed before someone very important to him, that he treasures the opinion of highly, and saved at the last minute. His vision blurs with the intensity of the emotions he's feeling.

"This is where my mission ends."
He stands in the inner workings of some strange place, suffused with a golden glow; a place where mortals shouldn't be. Someone has left; he feels the strain that the fight that took place earlier has taken on his body. He can do nothing more here.

The dominant emotion of this memory is a kind of resigned acceptance, a feeling of what can only be described as defeat. Though he can do nothing more, and cannot interfere any longer...he still views it as somewhat of a failure despite himself.

"Hello, there."
He is standing in a village; small children who are not human circle him curiously, peering at him with wide eyes, fascinated by him but too cautious to draw near to him.

In this moment, he feels like a weight has been lifted from him, briefly; he can feel the smile. He moves with normal time, for just a moment.

"I don't regret it."
He is standing in a moonlit bedroom, watching a slumbering form, small and frail beneath the covers. The bed in which this person lies is so much bigger than they are.
He will await their awakening, no matter how long it takes. The main emotion of this memory is the sensation of painfully protective love; he would defend this person with his life, and give all he has in their stead.

"A promise to those that came before--"
He is facing an old friend; stubborn and clear of mind, set in purpose. Nevertheless, though it is an admirable thing, that dedication...for the sake of his master, he will fight once more. If the lesson has not stuck, he will administer it. He readies himself in body and mind for the fight ahead; he lets all else stream away. He retains a clarity, and determination.

"Do you not want me to tend to your wounds?"
He faces an old friend; blood tinges the air, a sharp and clear note that he can't help but smell like a bloodhound. He can't help but worry for them; he wonders what has happened to injure them so badly. For this person, he'll reach out.

"They grow up so fast."
She knows her own mind, though he wishes she didn't have to make excuses to get him to leave...he supposes it's a necessary thing, however.
He breathes in, taking in the sweet scent of roses and the hot, fragrant steam of tea. Though this might go to waste, and his master is away on her own business...he can't say he's surprised. He feels amused, more than anything, just for a moment.

"You must be out of practice."
She is powerful as ever; sometimes, he feels as if he is a fool to worry about her so much. But things change; she is an observer, after all, and the world moves as it will.

Though he knows he grows old, to see her command over her powers strengthens his trust and resolve in her. He will follow her to the bitter end, if there is one.

"If only you could see your daughter now."
Flower petals scatter brightly in the darkness, lit by the glow of the moon; he stands at a chair set beside a table and spreads a blanket over this person he has such love for, his master and ward.

She has grown. Though it pains him somewhat to hear her doubt, he knows she will be all the stronger for it. He is proud of her, as her father would be, and that pride burns like a flame and fills his heart.

"Surely you realised what a difficult decision it was..."
She stands before him, sleek and metal and threatening, and he knows how dangerous those claws can be. Yet, he remembers her in another light, long ago; he is not sure if she remembers, too. He feels apprehensive; yet another thing he does not know if she recalls.

"What will happen if you continue to push yourself...?" (HEADCANON)
They have had this discussion many times, it seems. She never drinks her tea, in those times; it seems to upset her. But it is necessary.

He is afraid. The world is changing; but more than that, it seems to be taking his master with it, if it is indeed changing for the worse. He looks upon his master's tired face and his chest is tight with worry; he has already had to bury her father.

He will not be able to face his old master again, not even the thought of him, if he lets his daughter die.

"You've grown old..."
His master is awake; he reassures her that apologies need not be made, and begins to update her on what she has missed while she slept.

Still, he is grateful for that small exchange between them. Though he serves loyally no matter what, they are good masters.

"Happy birthday, my butler." (HEADCANON)
He is holding her in his arms; she weighs little more than the furniture he moves to clean their home. On some sudden impulse, she reaches her arms around his neck; he stills in his activity, afraid to make her lose her balance.

He feels the gentle tug of small hands on his hair, a pressure going taut. A flash of pink flutters in the corner of his eye - a ribbon.

"It's your birthday," she says, as if that explains everything, and he supposes it does. The sudden and intense swell of love he feels for that tender gesture, and for her, is something indescribable.