aa sorry for bein so slow today!! feelin kinda bad physically & have to run some errands yet but. i promise things are gettin done !
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Questions for Magical or Elemental Muses
đ„Â - What kind of magical powers or abilities do you have?
đ - What is your main element? If you donât have one, whatâs your main ability?
âïž - Are your powers more active during the day or at night?
đ Â - Does a full moon impact your abilities?
đź - Is there an object you need to use in order to get your magic to work? (Like a wand, a tome, etc.)
đ€ - Is there something you have to do to get your magic to work? (Like singing, casting spells, etc.)
đŒ - Were you born with magic or did you have to do something to get it?
đ - Are there other people in your family that use magic?
đȘ - Is there a kind of food that enhances your magic?
đ¶ - Do you have a familiar? If not, is there an animal that you feel a connection with?
đż - Do you stick to tradition or do you like to explore modern ways of utilizing magic?
đČ - Do you believe in lucky or cursed objects? Do you have any?
đ - Have you ever charmed or cursed an object?
đ± - Do you grow plants for brewing potions or elixirs? If so, what kind of things do you make?
đȘ - Are you a newbie or an experienced magic user?
đ - Is there something you can do that no one else can?
đ - Do you get tired after using your magic for a long period of time? Are there consequences to overusing it?
đ„ - Have you ever been singled out for your magic? (Like being bullied, being disowned, etc.)
đ - What is the best thing about having your magic?
đ - What is the worst thing about having your magic?
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opportunisticshade replied to your post
don't call me out like this
callout for tumblr user opportunisitcshade!!!!!! makes too many good jokes
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yo iâm garbage at starting & maintaining conversations but
mutuals hmu,
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also sorry if i take 1 million years to respond for the rest of the night gotta. draw more icons......
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  THE HISTORY OF LIGHT & SHADOW WILL BE WRITTEN IN BLOOD.
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He tips his head. The ocean, the desert, the mountains.
    âNot here, then?â
Ordinarily, heâd find himself frustrated with her logic. If you desire else than what you have, make it yoursâbut extenuating circumstances exist. Heâs aware of what might keep someone bound to dead-ends, though he wishes he wasnât. Curious, tired and at least slightly insensitive, he presses on.
    âWhat keeps you here? Certainly you could afford to walk away, if only for a while.â
The farm seems established enough. Thereâs no way to convey what lies beyond the green of Hyruleâs borders, above its peaks. To be robbed of the experience is a shame, though as he watches a few of the animals move across their fields, quiet in the distance, he canât say he objects to the life sheâs dedicated to living.
    Where would she go?
    Where would she decide to venture if she allowed herself to break away from her self imposed isolation? A pair of docile eyes study the benign and sweet beasts that pick at the emerald grass and tear it from the earth. Hyruleâs a massive place. Thereâs more to explore and see than any one person can properly achieve.Â
   âThe ocean,â she says finally as she keeps her back up against the fence. Sheâd like to see something endless. The Great Sea stretches far beyond the horizon similar to the wild fields just outside her home. âOr to the mountains to see snow that never melts,â something permanent. âOr Iâd go to the desert,â where the golden sands dance in the wind and women decorate themselves in jewels as though theyâre common as cotton.Â
   Some place far, far, far away.
   âDunno, I dunno but Iâd still like tâsee it. Iâd still like to go. Even if itâs just to one place. Even if itâs only for a brief time, most Iâve ever seen of any of those places are just pictures.â
( @cycloe continuing from here! )
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khafia:
He follows this stranger warily, one hand used as purchase against the rocks as his other stays close to the sword beneath his cloak. He keeps glancing over his shoulder, half certain this is some sort of trick, but when no Gerudo come chasing after him, he starts to relax. After all, this man looks Hylian. At least from the descriptions heâs heard; pale skin, pointed ears⊠And much shorter than he.
   He steps into he cave the man has chosen, though stays near the mouth of the thing. The fact that outsiders have heard of him is surprise enough, knowing heâs never stepped out of that tower. Though, the Gerudo do talk. Itâs entirely possible that their insatiable need to gossip had spread word of him throughout the kingdom.
            âEvery one hundred years, a voe is born to the Gerudo people.â
The people. Not his people.
             âThey say he will be their king, but so often he is only a vessel for evil. He will only grow to destroy and rule with fear.â
He recites it. A well known superstition flung at him as accusation. He doesnât look at this stranger as he says it, still standing as he looks down at his hand. Heâs wearing gloves to cover the mark, but he can still feel it there. Burning at his flesh. He clenches it into a fist, finally turning to look at the man once more.
                      âThe way you speak of searching⊠Were you searching for me?â
To hunt down the evil and kill it now? To take action where the Gerudo hesitated? His hand rests fully on the hilt of a scimitar, eyeing the man for any foul play. He cannot be killed here. He cannot let his quest fail so quickly.
                           âWhat do you want?â
He stops, back to the looming maw of the cave and the one standing in it. Slowly, he lets his bag drop from his shoulder, lowering himself onto one of the flatter rocks that line the floor. After another second of stalling, he pushes his hood away from his face and nods.
     âYes.â
A hand slinks out from under his cloak to gesture at the ground, sparking a small flame that casts sharp angles across the gauntness of his face. He doesnât make an effort to look at the one he speaks to as he does, keeping an idle eye on the fire from behind thin, untended bangs.
    âIâm aware of the legends. What puzzles me,â he says, taking a moment to chew his words. âIs why you donât seem to fit into them.â
Still, he keeps his back towards the stranger, hands visibly empty at his sides and staff laid out of armâs reach. Vaati doesnât expect him to buy into performative vulnerability, knowing well that his displays of magic have been less than subtle; Iâm aware we need no arms to harm each other, he implies, but would prefer we had a few words first.
    âFor the record, I am Vaati, and following your narrative Iâm guessing introductions are useless. You are correct in your assumptions, but theyâre ridden with holes.â
Heâs committed to being slow. Vague, if only because too much information may be too much. At once, at least. He has little patience for gentleness.
    âQuid quo pro; I am not unfair. I only want for you to tell me about yourself, and Iâll do the same. You seem to have a heart in a different shape than the ones who called themselves Dark Lords. Why do you think that is?â
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yoo okay, i gotta go pick up my cousin bc his flight is comin in and ! will probably be dead for the rest of the night. :â^) thank yâall for the warm welcome back!!
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khafia:
That light swings between them, startling a desert mouse that had been collecting weeds that grow sparse in the dunes. It scatters with a squeak drowned out by the winds, knowing better than to linger in this space.
     Itâs odd enough to Ganondorf to find a man out here, but from what he can tell by the light of that staff, he is not dressed for the weather. Even the way he speaks is different; where Ganondorf uses short vowels or rolls Rs on the roof of his mouth, this man speaks plainly. Directly, with none of the southern dialect.
             He canât argue the fact that shelter must be found. He had been so keen on getting as far away from the town as possible, he hadnât even given a thought to where he might find rest. He hasnât slept save for an afternoon nap, and already, rest sounds so tempting. He needs to stop, to collect his thoughts. And if this man is a foreign traveler, perhaps he can at least learn of what heâs about to walk into once he leaves these sands.
âThe only ones out here are the Gerudo. I doubt any of them would be summoning you to visit. Men are not allowed in the city.â
A truth he knows firsthand. Kept in a guardâs tower outside of town, forbidden to ever leave itâŠ
         His eyes stray to the mountainside, where shadows fall darker at the entrance to caves. Anything could be lurking inside, but his weapons arenât for naught.
                      Though, he doesnât have much to trade.
âI have my own rations. Iâll come with you, stranger. If only to make sure the Molduga havenât rested in their caves for the night.â
Or to question himâŠ
He tips his head, slowly turning and making his way towards the spreading dark of the cliffside. The wind settles as they walk.
    âMuch obliged.â
    âAnd Iâm aware. I wouldnât have found them there, no. Not particularly interested in being turned away after a six hour walk.â
He dims the light of his staff enough to cover them in the night. He has no idea what may come up on them, or if anything is plotting to; but knows the infamous value behind each syllable of their names. Being careful never hurt.
     âMen are not allowed in the city,â he echoes, stepping up a ledge and crossing under the shadow of a sheer rock. Vaati speeds himself along on rougher, firmer ground, an eye on the sky and ear to the wind as he passes it through several of the caverns nearby. Many are too shallow to be of use; the ones that arenât, too deep to thoroughly scope.
When the chill whips again, not of his own doing, he stops his train of thought and settles on a deeper system that seems quiet enough. He nods his head, and despite being very confident in not needing help should anything be lurkingâwell. Itâs best to travel in groups.
     âI suppose if men arenât allowed into the city, that explains you. Iâve heard of you; little rumors. At least, I assume they were talking about you. Iâm under the impression that Gerudo men arenât exceptionally common.â
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â i heard them calling in the distance . â
of monsters & men || starters
He hums. There are no words of comfort to offer, regardless of whether or not doing so is in his nature. There are no words to gloss centuries of running, hiding, battling dead-end against rumor and stigma. There are no words to waylay the panic of living in the shadow of old deeds. No words to describe the loss that follows.
There is no way to lessen the burden, nor any need to. Theyâre both aware, he thinks, and coping with that knowledge. Thatâs good enough. It must be.
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im glad the same glitches are still here a year later
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khafia:
Damn the prophecies and those that blindly follow them. Damn him for being one of those people. Damn Din for not killing him when she had the chance, the Gerudo for locking him up, these dreams that haunt and plague him-
   He had managed to escape, though not without the help of a young Gerudo woman that felt sympathetic to him. Perhaps she only did it to get on his good side, for fear he may harm their people one day, but it doesnât matter. Not now. She had given him a thick cloak to fight off the nightly chill and two scimitars, a shield strapped to his back. A sand seal had taken him to the base of the dunes that rise like slumbering giants before the mountains, and as he looks upward, he pauses at the sight of a light.
A lantern? Has he been spotted already? Was this just a trap laid out so now they might have reason to kill him? Golden eyes panic as he glances towards the sleeping town that has been reduced to naught more than a speck of light, and he stubbornly continues. If he must, he will fight.
      The flash of light is what calls him to look over at the figure, and his tired steps finally come to a halt. The sand is cool where it pools into his sandals, yet he can taste it on his tongue and feel it between his fingers when a hand itches towards his scimitar. The voice is not female, so it cannot be a Gerudo⊠Though either way, heâs certain he looks just as suspicious as the one questioning him now.
                               âTravel.â
        His voice is tired and dry with thirst, and though a canteen hangs from his belt, he makes no move to drink. He does not know when he may come upon clean water again. And if a fight ensues, he may need it.
                           âI could ask the same of you.â
He hadnât expected a response. Surprised, he stands shock-still on the slope, one foot turned on its heel in preparation for disappointment. Slowly, he draws it back and raises his hands. The warm light from the staff swings as he lets it rest in the crook of his elbow, illuminating the stretch of sand between them.
     âOne doesnât travel in these conditions without a very good reason.â
He steps closer, stopping near ten feet out, and waves his light towards the steep of the mountains. Then, he gives a little jerk-nod towards the southeast.
    ââBut neither do they stand and talk in it. Iâve been looking for someone. If your business is similarly benign, it may be in your best interest to take shelter before something worse than the cold rolls in.â
If the wind howls in portent of a brewing storm, heâll deny having anything to do with it. In truth, he only exacerbates whatâs already there, playing at the strings in hopes of having more than half a word with the legend heâd spent expensive time chasing. Ideally, having those words somewhere slightly less exposed.
     âIâd planned to make camp in the small caves on the slopes, and trip home in the morning. Would be willing to trade the rations held back for my second party, if youâve anything for them.â
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"Some days I donât know if I am wrong or right."
of monsters & men || starters
      âAnd I doubt youâd be willing to take my word for it.â
Itâs an irrational anger, he knows. But itâs there, steadfast, and he couldnât make it budge an inch if he wanted to. Conveniently, he doesnât.
      âHow does it feel knowing men have died in pursuit of the idea of you? That history hinges on the hopes theyâll continue doing so?â
âUnfortunately, he doesnât seem to have a goal in mind other than being rude. Best to put him back in gilded time out, where he belongs.
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@khafiaâ
If he knew what he was doing, he doubts heâd be doing it.
A walking staff is plunged into the crest of a dune, shifting sands underfoot making the idea of leaning his full weight against it less than appealing. The cinnabar at its neck is a warm headlight in the cold desert night, casting hard shadows that melt away even in the clarity heâd asked the wind to grant him. He faces north, cupped by a mountain range whose name he canât place on one side and exposed to frigid open air on the other.
He wonât admit that heâs lost because he isnât, of course. He has his (vague) goals and his (impulsive) plans and he could very easily abandon them, should he choose to. Inching his scarf a little farther up his nose, he closes his eyes against another blast of chilly air and focuses until itâs blowing away from him. Not yet. Surrendering would waste time that he doesnât have.
He follows what little movement he can sense, hoping that the vague shapes turn out to be something other than another sand seal taking its evening stroll. When heâs close, close enough to almost see, he taps his staff against the groundâit flashesâand calls out.
      âHail. What brings you out in the night?â
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@silentismsâ
Someone turns the lights on. It'd bother him less, he thinks, if it werenât the first time in a few thousands years.
The stink of mold and worn stucco is nostalgic, even if the place heâs woken in seems unfamiliar. It isnât unusual for things to change. He comes to slowly, senses flipping on one after the other like the rhythmic manual switches of old Sheikah circuits. Last is a sense of spaceâhe unfurls each wing, a thousand years of stiffness rolling off as he tests them against the air.
And notices he isnât alone.
      â...For as much as things change, they do stay the same, donât they?â
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â thereâs an old voice in my head thatâs holding me back . â
of monsters & men || starters
       âMm.â
For once, he means no disrespect. Elbows rest on a line of fences and he makes himself comfortable enough to enjoy the view of grazing cows. An old voice, old fearâchoosing complacency only because breaking away seems too steep. Too much.
      âWhat would you do if that voice werenât there?â
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