draklorn

[draklorn]

soo like, are we saying that darkin canonically can break/mess with true ice or...

[draklorn]

emojis oc ask game! These are unabashedly just the questions *I* want to ask about y’all’s ocs. Feel free to copy the entire question into the ask box, because this list is hefty and I wouldn’t mind not searching through it, hahaha. Remember to specify which oc(s) you’re asking about!

🌈 - Do you associate any colors with them?

👁️ - How do other people perceive this oc? How close do their first assumptions come to the truth?

💝 - How much effort do they put into appearances? Do they have a favorite article of clothing?

⚠️ - If this oc came with a warning sign, what would it be?

🌨️ - If this oc had a day free from all their responsibilities, how would they spend it?

💙 - Describe their bedroom! Is it personalized, unchanged? Messy, neat?

👖 - Coffee shop or high school AU, your choice: tell me their role.

☕ - What is their preferred beverage(s)?

🧁 - When is their birthday? How do they celebrate it, if at all?

🧠 - What is their stress response: fight, flight, freeze, or fawn?

💭 - How is their mental health? Do they struggle with guilt or shame?

💔 - Does forgiveness come easily or with difficulty to this oc? Can they forgive others? What about themselves?

❗- What are the highest priorities to this oc (at a point in their life of your choosing)?

⚔️ - How does this oc handle conflict?

🌍 - What are this oc’s religious views?

🌊 - Does this oc have a secret or repressed desire?

✨ - Tell something that makes this oc feel happy!

🧶 - Do they do any arts, crafts, or creative hobbies?

🍪 - What are their favorite scents?

☔ - How does this oc feel about rain?

🌲 - Do they have a favorite location to hang out in?

⚡ - Does this oc have any unusual or “irrational” fears?

🗡️ - Does this oc have a signature object, accessory, or weapon?

💛 - Are they ‘good with children’, or more awkward?

🧡 - Physical touch: good or bad for this oc?

👁️‍🗨️ - Eye contact: good or bad for this oc?

🐺 - How does this oc deal with solitude?

🔅 - How does this oc deal with physical pain?

🌱 - Share one of this oc’s early memories.

🐰 - How huggable is this oc?

🍁 - What is this oc’s favorite season?

🌕 - If this oc was an animal, what kind would they be?

🦷 - Would this oc ever bite someone?

🐉 - Very serious question… are they more like a dragon, or a unicorn?

🐸 - What’s this oc’s sense of humor like?

🚷 - Tell one difference between yourself and this oc!

📓 - Do you associate any quotes or lyrics with this oc?

[draklorn]

Bloodied snow gives way under boot as the Draklorn dismounts near one of their fallen targets. Before them lays a heretic, struck down in a chance encounter. A misfortune, that her fate brought her to this pitiful end; a far easier reflection to mull over as the arrow is returned and her belongings are searched. Bitterly resolved with all they recovered, Devan gives attention to the sounds from the Troll King, and regrets it immediately as their stomach churns and something crawls through their skin, watching as his mouth opens wide.

Something deeply buried in mantras and years stirs as the Frostguard watches in distilled revulsion. A long lost time too similar to the present, where they were helpless in watching as a familiar scene played out. But when... Their head turns away at the crunching of bones, severing the connection to that foggy memory as something bitter reprimands their own weakness. They had allowed these fallen warriors this lowly fate, was it too much to ask they played the part of a witness?

Devan busies away with continuing to collect their ammo and searching for other useful equipment before the bodies were torn apart and eaten, a stalwart stoicism keeping them focused as the feasting continued. Checking the arrow points for nicks and fletching for damage to combat the terrible noises happening just out of sight. Among their salvageable arrows, what was left of the fallen hunter's quivers is gathered up, and stored with the rest of their own supplies on Summer's Bane. Still agitated from the quarrel, it shifts and waits impatiently for it's rider to return to the saddle, following them around the field on cautious hooves. It's coated withers are brushed by gauntlets for both of their comforts before Devan remounts.

Trundle's flagrant disregard for the worth of the lives he gobbled up is far too much for them to tolerate with a response. With little more than a chilling glare his way, Devan turns their attention to the path forward, urging Summer's Bane onward as their silent answer to him.

Trundle did not flinch, did not move from his spot. Exhaling from his flared nostrils in response to the steed's attempt at snapping. Watching as Devan struggled for, what the Troll considered to be, control of their mount. To Trundle this just reinforced that the Troll was right. That Devan was the loser.

And sure enough, after a prolonged silence the truth came out and Trundle began pounding his chest with his fist. Accompanied by boisterous laughter.

"Whatever you've done in her name, Singing Grave; I have done worse in my own!" Trundle claimed, immediately turning to the spoils of battle. Tearing apart armor and gear; chucking them in the snow as Devan still took the time to warn him.

"I'm not stupid! I have eaten many humans before!" All of their arms and gear would be molten down or crudely repurposed seeing as their size wouldn't allow for conventional repurposing. But all these thoughts were put aside as the dead were stripped down to their cores. Like oysters cracked open for the goods within. Few people had seen Trolls eat before, those that did were often lucky enough to see them eat animals and monsters living in the frozen lands. Maybe even a troll not belonging to their tribe.

They were sloppy eaters and quick ones too. They did not savor their meals; they enjoyed the feeling of a full stomach and so they gorged themselves on their food. Gluttony fit them perfectly.

But watching a Troll eat a human? It's... different. Especially if your anatomy is the same as theirs...

Bone cracking, limbs flopping. Blood showering both snow and maw. The Troll King dragged his forearm across his lips before returning to his meal. And then moved on to the next... And the next.

Like he was scrambling for a meal after being deprived of one for months. But no... it was nothing but a quick snack. And quick it was once he got his hands on them.

When he was done there was nothing left. Nothing but scattered gear, torn cloth and blood-stained snow.

"AH! THAT HIT THE SPOT!" He loudly proclaimed, baring red teeth; viscera still stuck between his sharpened chompers. Part of him wanted to provoke Devan further; mock their arguing when it didn't take trundle longer than ten minutes to devour the lot. But he behaved... for now.

"Ready to keep going?" Yep, just a snack. He had it and now he was good to go on their journey.

[draklorn]

ive not delved too much into it but lately ive been thinking on how devan had their destiny or fate or whatever one may call it taken away by lissandra.

their original tribe was broken and on the cusp of collapse yes, but it was still their family. every dream they had of lissandra acted as a wedge between young devan and what their tribe needed of them - of loyalty and learning leadership. and through the nature of the freljord or maybe something more sinister, the wedge not only drives devan apart from their family leaving them with nothing but their dreams of a vague path to follow, it becomes the downfall of their tribe.

and it also leaves them to not completely settle into a role. they began as a frost priest, but with the aforementioned destruction of their tribe, they find they would be of better use as a warrior instead, even if violence was never something they sought and instead a thing that they use for the purpose of serving lissandra. becoming blinded by this zealousness is the only way they can find strength in battle, and through years of this numbing have they grown a colder heart.

how much theyve changes through the frostguards influence and how they have turned into a husk of who they once were and could have been. like its not realistic to compare them to how they were as a child but even compared to when they were a freshly assigned frost priest to now would be staggering (something i should explore in the future maybe)

[draklorn]

| @dolls-runeterran-dollhouse's gangplank, continued from here ₊˚｡❆

Southerners often snuck their way past the border of warmth into the Freljord, where the chill overpowered even the sun's touch. Looking to harvest from their land, their beasts and treasures already limited enough to make even a humble life here a harsh one. These seals, defenseless on land, were just the latest victims to this crew of southern buccaneers. More importantly, Devan could not let another hunting party think themselves adept in taking what is not theirs.

The captain's choice of weapon, was making this difficult to achieve.

The previous shot still rang in their ears like an eternal bell, and seeing as they did not want to be the next target, Devan holds as the barrel is flaunted. They had heard tale of powder and metal faster than an arrow being able to rip through wood and sturdier things. Armoured fingers flex around the handle of their polearm, but the gathering of the crew gives them another option. "You raise a strong point. But I will stand my ground, and offer you and your crew one more warning;" The Draklorn begins, voice clear above the grunts and yelps of the fleeing seals.

"Even if you sail away with your haul, the Seal Sister will see that your ship never reaches a dock again." Eyes beneath their helm scan the crowd for their reaction, wondering if word of their superstitious nature held any truth. "Such seasoned sailors like yourselves must know in the frozen oceans here dwell mighty powers, much like the southern oceans have their legends. And they shall not take well to the greed that paints the snow this day." A hand free of a weapon waves towards seals, pathetically galumphing away while they had the chance. "Are your lives worth a few coins from the hunting of helpless prey?"

[draklorn]

Edgy/misc OC ask meme ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

Send me a number and an OC, and I'll answer.

What memory would your OC rather just forget?

What's something about your OC that people wouldn't expect just from looking at them?

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How far is your OC willing to go to get what they want?

How easily could your OC be convinced to do something that goes against their moral compass?

What's one way your OC has changed since you first came up with them?

Would your OC ostensibly be able to get away with murder?

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What's an AU that would be interesting to explore with your OC?

What is your OC's weapon of choice? Have they ever actually used it?

Is your OC self-destructive? In what ways?

If you met your OC, would the two of you get along?

How does your OC want to be seen by other characters?

Does your OC have a faceclaim? If so, who?

What is your OC's pain tolerance like?

What is the worst thing you have put your OC through story-wise?

Is your OC more cold and detached or up close and personal?

How does your OC behave when enraged?

Does your OC have a tendency to get jealous? If so, how does this manifest?

Does your OC have any illnesses or disorders? How do they handle it?

What character alignment would you consider your OC to be?

What emotion is the hardest for your OC to process? How about express?

What is an alternative life path your OC might have gone down? How different would their life be if they'd made those decisions?

What is your favorite thing about your OC?

[draklorn]

Men are alowdd to be ugly since they are all #ExpendableWarriors

[draklorn]

Lissandra’s Level Up Animation - Legends of Runeterra

[draklorn]

BASIC INFORMATION

Legal Name: Devan Grave-Singer

Most Known: Grave-Singer

Nickname(s): Singing Grave, Devo, Priest, Hornhead

Date of Birth: Measured in summer's survived (38)

Gender: Agender

Place of Birth: Northern Freljord

Currently Living Location: Frostguard Citadel, Freljord

Spoken Languages: Freljordian, Partial Ur-nox and Demacian

Education: Academic

Hair Color: 'Salt and pepper' brown and grey

Eye Color: Dark brown

Height: 6'5" | 196cm

FAMILY INFORMATION

Parents: Warmother Ellisa (presumed dead) | Oathfather Keir (deceased)

Siblings: None alive before their birth

Pets: Summer's Bane

RELATIONSHIP INFORMATION

Sexual Orientation: Bisexual

Relationship Status: Single

[draklorn]

i have a lot of drafts still to get to, some being ic answers that i have not had the motivation to answer for literal years now so I will be kind to myself and drop them, and i have cleared my inbox!

[draklorn]

O: What motivates them?))

Fullfilling their duty and purpose to the Frostguard - and to Lissandra. knowing that their completed quests are one step forward in an extravagant plan by their lady, or that their tasks and presence can inspire other Frostguard and keep their operations running, is what drives Devan. They care for the overarching purpose of their cause, but also the wellness of their fellow Frostguard, and the outlook of the foundlings. They both dream of seeing a world ruled by Lissandra, and realise how unfeasible it is that they will see the plan's fruition in their lifetime - or even if they are long for this living world still. Getting as much done in their lifetime isn't Devan's only motivation however.

Devan cares greatly for the well-being of their steed, Summer's Bane. Perhaps more than other Frostguard would deem appropriate for a beast of burden and battle, but its care and upkeep are also a major motivator for Devan, and while traveling it is often their only company for days for even weeks at a time.

character development

[draklorn]

His drivel borders on the heretical, let alone incorrect in it's assumption it was clear he did not understand their saying. Some King, to proudly place himself on the same level as a failing tribe, and monstrosities less than man or beast. But worst of all, was to accuse Devan of disobeying their Lady. And with pushing Summer's Bane, with a screaming bellow and lips peeling away to a mouth of open sharp teeth, did it act on it's rider's behalf. They watch as their steed launches at the Troll King's arm for his unwelcome touch, and in their teeth-gritting fury, Devan almost lets the attack land.

Reins snap, and the metal bit pulls at exposed gums, forcing Summer's Bane's head back and away from Trundle. Hooves attempt to buck and kick with the sudden movement, causing both steed and Draklorn to wrestle for balance. With both hands does Devan keep their mount's chin to it's neck, squeezing legs into their saddle to stay upright as focus shifts between the prevention of the bite, and the boastful tone of the King. How many more stubborn beasts did they have to deal with?

The break from their fury into concentration was a needed one, no matter how much they loathed the situation. The memory of their Lady's words shatter their pride instantly, reminding them of what was forfeit in the face of failure, and what company the quest required... When Summer's Bane had settled and only shook it's head irritably, Devan exhaled deep breaths to find some semblance of control before their next words, hissed through teeth; "Yes, I do need you." Something akin to colour met their cheeks, and they were glad for their helm while admitting to a Troll of all creatures. "If you wish to, to brutishly eat your kills then fine! But I will play no part in humouring it. Do not waste their carried supplies."

"And do not EVER question my loyalty to Her. Pray you never learn of all I have done in Her name." With the last remnants of their vitriol spat, Devan urges their steed forward to collect their ammo before the King wolfed it down too, mulling over the rest of their anger.

"Return to the ice?! PFAH! Nonesense! That just means something else will eat them instead or they'll be frozen and found. Doesn't matter they'll not be given 'peace' in the long run!""THIS IS THE CYCLE! THE WEAK DIE, THE STRONG EAT! IT'S HOW EVERYONE LIVES, EVEN THE PATHETICS OF THE WINTER'S CLAW UNDERSTAND THIS!"

Once more he thumbs his club on the ice, scowling as a loud snort escapes him. Leaning forward, glaring at Devan. Hidden behind their helmet. "Queen Lizzy understands the Trolls; she never forbid us from doing anything. We were permitted to do whatever we wanted with those we kill."

"So who are you, singing grave, to go against the orders of your Queen? HUH?!" He took another step forward, giving a shoulder-bump to Summer's bane to show that even on their horse, Trundle was not intimidated but the intimidation. And then, a grin spread across his face... Trundle might not be the biggest or the strongest troll. But the reason why he was king was because he was the smartest.

"But fine... go ahead. Think you can find the True Ice weapon without my help? My brains? My club? HAAA-HAHAHAHA!" Boisterous laughter as he slammed his club down repeatedly. The whole reason Trundle was here in the first place was to help, was to collaborate. But if Devan wanted to do it without Trundle then so be it. He'd just tell Lizzy that one of hers refused help and died. Who'd she believe? A dead singing grave or a living Trundle? "YOU NEED ME, SINGING GRAVE!" Trundle boldly claimed, pointing at them in mockery.

[draklorn]

by Frankie Carino

[draklorn]

Magdalena Bay, oil on canvas, c. 1841

by François-Auguste Biard (1799–1882)

[draklorn]

H. E. Y.

H: What is their favourite place to be?

Ironically, within the fortress aloft over the biggest threat in the world. The Frostguard Citadel is a bleak, cold place, and it is their home. Its winding and maze-like passages have been walked down countless times and have fond memories in nearly every court and room. There is always more that needs to be seen to; patrols, watches, citadel upkeep, fires lit and extinguished (they try so hard to keep the halls snow-free, but it is difficult when it does not melt...) Even though Devan is a Draklorn, they will participate in the smallest and lowest of tasks still. Although there are not many who would call a dark fortress in the heart of a glacier beautiful, Devan appreciates it for both its origins of defense, and it's role as a home for them and their fellow Frostguard. Their favourite places above all are the mess hall, the library, and the stables.

E: What is their love language?

answered here.

Y: What physical object do they value most?

Their armour. It has saved Devan's life countless times, and it's dings and scars tell that it has not been replaced often, moreso repaired. It is also a symbol of their role and standing, everything they have achieved in life. Unlike normal Frostguard armour, theirs is a darker metal, a fuller set, and is adorned in embossed Frostguard imagery, eyes and other details. Though they are not particular or overly protective of keeping any of it preserved - this object is a tool with a purpose, and it will bend and be wear as is part of its purpose - Devan upkeeps their armour as well as they can with cleaning it themself, and getting repairs seen to as soon as they can. Devan also just likes wearing their armour; it is a protective layer that speaks of their power and standing without uttering a word (although they will still do that too.) Sometimes it feels like their helmet is more their true face than the skin and skull within it.

character development

[draklorn]

Devan accepts the offered seating, settling into it with their fur coat comfortably surrounding them. Hands rest in their lap without their bone-wrapped staff present. This moment of sincerity is a welcome one, so even with how easy it would be to point to the young Warmother's recent choices and chastise them for being the sources of her worries, the Priest's lips purse, and they nod in understanding.

"Dreams are powerful things; gateways into our minds and souls, what we care for and what troubles us. And these are already rather troubling times as of late, are they not?" A smile keeps their tone light, and from the layers of their coat do they produce a small wooden idol, it's helmed shape worn with handling. Devan leans forward, and matching Sejuani's gravity, dark eyes focus on her.

"Tell me what you can recall, no detail is too small."

UNPROMPTED 💙

@draklorn sent:

It wasn't until fires had been extinguished and a quiet had rolled over the Winter's Claw camp that Devan made their way over to the Warmother's quarters. Discreet in their short journey, they only hoped guards were not suspicious of them. But if needed, they would use the excuse of not knowing what they were called for, if their small knife and other medical supplies were found within their furs. The crunch over snow and silt slowed before the tent entrance, and the Priest steel's themself for anything before they whisper into the canvas. "Sejuani, I am here now." Only after they were permitted entrance would Devan make sure no one was watching them, before pushing the tent flapping aside and joining Sejuani inside.

"They actually came. Huh." Were the words Sejuani uttered under her breath as she heard Devan's voice. Her own was raised loud enough that they would hear her from outside but it would not draw any unwanted attention.

When the priest entered there was a long beat of silence, though the Warmother pointed to a vacant seat where Devan could sit if they wished to. "You must be wondering why I called you here. And I would like to be straightforward with you, no mind games or manipulation tactics."

The seriousness to the blonde's voice and blue eyes as sincere as the sharp cold of a winter's morning, could be cause for worry. There was a matter to be discussed that wheighed heavy on her heart. "I worry for the Freljörd, all of it, not just my tribe or the land. There have been nightmares plaguing me as of late. Would you as a priest be able to interpret them?"

@draklorn

[draklorn]

Fury boils blood at both his callous way of calling those bodies food, and teeth-grinding audacity so fitting of a self-appointed ruler. Caring more for the waste of meat than respecting the lives of, although renegade people, still people. Trundle's approach is met with Summer's Bane standing it's ground, head high and ears aggitated, pulling at it's bit to reveal lips that peel too far up it's jawline. Less than fearful at his frustration, Devan was infuriated themself. Many ways of calling him entitled, brutish, and immature whirl between their ears, but more than this, the Draklorn reprimands themself for letting the King command their party of two. And between hissed breaths that cloud in the air, the Frostguard nearly rises out of their saddle to match the Troll in his shouting.

"No, they will be left to return to the ice!" Devan had spoken clearly all this time in the presence of Trolls, but now their own anger fueled their volume and snapping words. "I will not fight or venture alongside anyone who eats the flesh of people! It matters not if you are Iceborn, King, or Troll, you would be no better than a Lost One! Whom which Queen Lissandra has held in contempt for ages before you or I even existed!"

The thought of this argument continuing the brawl they all stood in the battlefield of is not lost on Devan, despite every alliance and treaty and agreement in place. They cared little for what Trolls did after conquest and battle is complete (for they did not dwell on it), the caveat being that they were not usually present. But they would not be an accomplice to such a foul act, a fire from their within bones said it so. There is no time to give thought to the origin of such a strong stance.

A powerful exhale clouds the air around their helm before Devan continues, before the Troll King starts up again. Some composure returns to their tone, with their anger locked behind a set jaw and clenched teeth. "We will use our supplies and hunt perfectly fine food on our travels, not our slain foe's bodies."

Trundle didn't register Devan's assistance during the fight. Clubs and blades struck against his frame, but he didn't stagger, didn't stop. Despite wielding boneshiver he was not beyond using his fist. And for the unlucky few who got too close: the teeth.

But Troll or not, there was no eating during a fight. And so the teeth were only used to break apart armor that broke under the strength of his teeth. Shaking around one of the raiders before throw them against a lone tree, breaking their back on impact.

The last one that tried to escape was halted by the true ice club; claiming her leg as the Troll approaches and brings his club down. Slamming the final marauder to the ground; dead upon impact.

And now... for his reward!

Or that would've happened if Devan didn't show up and call out an order, which ticked off Trundle more than anyone could've anticipated.

Turning his head towards them, he approaches Devan. Exhaling loudly, nostrils flaring. "What?! Perfectly good food here! I could use a snack, been travelling for some time now! S'ides! If I don't eat it, some other beast will. Or-" He stopped, a dreadful thought suddenly manifested in his simple mind.

"You don't mean to give these corpses a proper burying, do you?"

"ABSOLUTELY NOT!" Voice raised, brow furrowed. A stomp of the foot that shook the direct area between them. "You don't give me orders, singing grave! I am the Troll King! Only Lizzy can give me orders! Sides half the kills are mine so I can do whatever I want with those!"