[ As Lucina uses it, prod is a neutral term. It's also fairly inarguable. From her perspective, the blunt questions - the questions he's not bothered to ease her into - have been consistent to the point of lacking any self-awareness. It's... it's just a quirk. She's known people with quirks.
So, she begins to speak. To answer, really. The words are slow and measured at first but the more she says, the easier it comes, like a blockage clearing - like a wound bleeding fresh so it can heal. ]
It was my father's, and his father's before him... [ fuck that guy though ] - and many generations back. Our matriarch, the divine dragon Naga, enchanted the blade and our line twofold. As long as we thrive, so will Falchion, and it will never rust or become dull.
[ Not that it stops her from taking freakish care of it. Girl needs a hobby. ]
I inherited it before I was even strong enough to properly lift it.
[ When the Exalt's line was fodder for the Grimleal, in the scant years of her childhood when titles and politics still mattered - before it was nothing but scorched earth and survival. ]
There was a dreadful war, [ she clarifies. ] Our westerly neighbours were ruled by malevolence and worshipped something very dark. They amassed enough power to spread their horror. My father passed away when I was just a girl. My mother survived a few years more. [ In truth, she has more memories of a childhood with Lady Lissa as a solemn guardian, her childish impetuousness tempered by grief - an unending, unflinching stream of grief, the sort that put lines on her face when she was barely out of girlhood... although Lucina doesn't say that. It has nothing to do with Falchion, after all. ] Learning to fight was imperative and I would have no weapon but my father's.
no subject
So, she begins to speak. To answer, really. The words are slow and measured at first but the more she says, the easier it comes, like a blockage clearing - like a wound bleeding fresh so it can heal. ]
It was my father's, and his father's before him... [ fuck that guy though ] - and many generations back. Our matriarch, the divine dragon Naga, enchanted the blade and our line twofold. As long as we thrive, so will Falchion, and it will never rust or become dull.
[ Not that it stops her from taking freakish care of it. Girl needs a hobby. ]
I inherited it before I was even strong enough to properly lift it.
[ When the Exalt's line was fodder for the Grimleal, in the scant years of her childhood when titles and politics still mattered - before it was nothing but scorched earth and survival. ]
There was a dreadful war, [ she clarifies. ] Our westerly neighbours were ruled by malevolence and worshipped something very dark. They amassed enough power to spread their horror. My father passed away when I was just a girl. My mother survived a few years more. [ In truth, she has more memories of a childhood with Lady Lissa as a solemn guardian, her childish impetuousness tempered by grief - an unending, unflinching stream of grief, the sort that put lines on her face when she was barely out of girlhood... although Lucina doesn't say that. It has nothing to do with Falchion, after all. ] Learning to fight was imperative and I would have no weapon but my father's.