blood-hunter-suggestion
Baptized in Blood
May devils cower when they hear my name, for I am a reckoning; I am an agent of death
50 posts
Last active 4 hours ago
Don't wanna be here? Send us removal request.
Last Seen Blogs
pollen-and-stardust
Pollen&Stardust
karenfordonte
Caring For Donte
en-cryptidd
Untitled
pbgt-exe
:-)
Photo
The woods are lovely, dark and deep 🍃🍂
133K notes
·
View notes
Link
Such a cool video!
Check it out….
WarriorMale
48 notes
·
View notes
Photo
DBK’s Custom Scabbard Highlights through 2019.
2K notes
·
View notes
Photo
Miss Nora Kerin, edwardian stage actress. 1907
143K notes
·
View notes
Text
How far you’ve fallen, Demon.
Do you think you can rise again?
1 note
·
View note
Text
Ignore the rabble who try to bring you down.
Crush their words with your sword.
15 notes
·
View notes
Text
Baptized in the blood of beasts, I will hunt forevermore.
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
((a couple of drabbles about some winter hunting, bc I miss the cold weather, dammit))
Hunter scowled as the cold washed over her.
She tightened her knuckle-white grip on her sword. The Lich prowled in the shadows before her, just beyond the light of her Rite-enchanted blade.
It moved with a grace that other undead lacked, with an eerie amount of humanity left in its soulless eyes. Liches retained many traits from their past life. Sadism, greed, power.
And of course, magic.
Hunter threw herself to the side as lightning crackled in the lich’s staff. The outburst of Thunder erupted forth, blasting the space she was just standing. Hunter scrambled to her feet, just quick enough to be met with a burst of hellfire. Hunt caught the fires with her sword, cutting through the magic and pushing forward.
Face-to-face with the lich, Hunt let out a defiant shout, and swung her blade.
-----------------------------------------
Damon pulled her cloak tighter around herself, the cold biting at every inch of her exposed skin.
She shuffled through the snow, following her trail to her quarry. Through the snapping chill and strong winds of the harsh winter, Damon could sense her target nearby.
The smell alone was unbearable.
When she heard the telltale huffs and puffs and strained grunting, she stopped. Looking upon it for the first time, Damon noted the creature was as grotesque as she thought it would be. Large, ugly and deformed. Strong muscle stretched under leathery skin. Even from far away, it easily dwarfed her.
She drew her swords from their scabbards, well-aware that they wouldn’t be enough. and called on the Beast And with the cracking of her bones and the tearing of her muscles, it answered. She resisted the Change, as she always did, to an extent. To control it. With enough focus, the Change stopped where she wanted it to.
Eyes like slits, she glanced back up at the creature, and let out something between a battle cry and a rattling howl. The creature flinched away from her, turning its deformed face to look.
Damon snarled, and she charged, blades lashing.
-----------------------------------------
Atlas grunted, struggling to his feet. The cold numbed his pain enough to stand.
The ogre roared wrathfully as the soldier stood back up. Atlas ignored his enemy’s anger, hefting his mace. Fear had no place here. Not here, not now.
He drew two syrettes from his belt. The first injection, the less costly one, went to the flesh on his neck. The healing concoction restored some feeling to his limbs. The pain returned, drowned slightly by the fever-high that accompanied the overuse of his decoctions. The heat returned feeling to his numbed hands, and his legs buried in the snow.
The second injection sank into the vein on his left arm. Atlas grimaced at the telltale pain of the mutagen at work. As the decoction spread through his veins, he felt heavier, sturdier. Stronger.
The ogre swung its tree-thick arm at the old soldier, sweeping the ground in a cloud of dirt and snow. And it stopped.
Atlas stood firm, one arm holding the ogre’s still, the other hefting his mace. With one last rage-fueled glare at the beast, Atlas brought his mace down on its arm. Through the toughened skin and dense flesh, came a sickening crack.
-----------------------------------------
Vitruvius smiled, leaping back out into the cold.
The vampire followed suit, hissing as it swatted the flames out from its clothes. Snow fell in light flakes over the two of them, the freshly-plowed street. The old townhouse, now consumed by fire, began to bury the vampire’s hidden lair under charred debris.
Vitruvius picked up his sword--it had slipped from his grip after he landed--and raised it readily between himself and the vampire. The creature scowled at him, its longcoat and trousers singed horribly, and its skin even worse for wear.
And Vitruvius smiled wickedly. The runes etched into his blade glowed a bloody red, and Vitruvius felt the familiar tug in his gut, the supernatural fatigue wearing at his body--the Rite of the Flame flared to life around his sword, its soul-fueled fire melting the snow around him.
The vampire shied away from the flames as Vitruvius stalked closer.
#drabbles#my writing#Hunt the Ghostslayer#Damon the Lycan#Atlas the Mutant#Vitruvius the Profane Soul#can you tell I never made a solid character for Atlas??
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
Fantasy worldbuilding 101: have lesbians, give them swords.
31K notes
·
View notes
Text
Courage is not the absence of fear -
The night is not empty of light -
Be brave, little spark;
The road ahead is dark, yes,
But the moon is overhead and the stars are out,
Each one shining just like your small light;
You are never alone.
58 notes
·
View notes
Text
I’m deep in the witcher again and I can’t find a set of it anywhere, but imo the funniest geralt moment is when he gets hammered for a vampire contract and after singing loudly in the streets the vamp is like, I can smell your blooood. And geralt of fuckin rivia just goes, “fight me, bitch”
11K notes
·
View notes
Video
undefined
tumblr
192K notes
·
View notes
Photo
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
I once met a young prince. He was strong but unsure. He was brave and ruthless, but he was too eager.
He asked me, “how do I become strong,” and I told him how.
“You cut down your enemies, punish the foolish, and reward the loyal.”
He grew up to become a fine king, and then I killed him.
His daughter, a bold princess who knew what she wanted, asked me, “how can I rule with a grip stronger than my father’s,” and I told her how.
“Make a fine line of the weak and the strong, and then make everyone strong. Punish the incapable, and reward the capable. Teach them strength through force.”
Her rule was strong, and her punishments stronger. The kingdom rebelled, so I killed her.
She left behind the sweetest of daughters, who came to me begging. She begged to know how she could take control of the kingdom better than her mother, and not have rebellion.
“Take what is yours and show no mercy” was my advice, and so she did just that.
Under her rule, her husband, the king, obeyed. Her subjects adored her charisma, and her army was loyal. Any sign of rebellion was struck down on sight—no mercy. She doubled the kingdom in her rule, but her time came swiftly.
I killed her.
From her, she had left two sons. The two princes mourned their mother and father, but quickly, their reign shone brightly, for they asked no advice, and only confided in each other. The Twin Kings and their wives destroyed lands, taking farms for their own and expanding the kingdom’s economic grip on the people.
Alas, their time was to end, so I killed them.
From them came three children; a princess and two princes.
The princess killed her brothers, claiming her right to the throne. She told me, “I wish for everything to be mine,” so I told her “your wish is my command. Let it be so.”
With me by her side, we conquered further, and fought a bloody war that sculpted the kingdom we have now.
The rest is history.
35 notes
·
View notes