fxllens

[fxllens]

Henry Cavill as Geralt of Rivia ► THE WITCHER | 1.06 Rare Species

for @vortexoffate

[fxllens]

he  must  stifle  a  laugh,  it's  lingered  in  the  back  of  his  throat  as  she  snaps  like  a  viper  cornered  and  ready  to  strike.  and  he  was  endeared  with  her,  his  sister  the  snake.  his  sister  the  vixen  of  princes,  the  damning  drown  of  her  own  beliefs.  it  was  almost  humorous,  the  way  he  does  not  flinch  nor  does  he  scatter  like  someone  who  spilt  a  secret.  if  anyone  knew  how  to  keep  them,  it  was  sars.  he  was  a  temple  of  other  people's  discrepancies,  without  even  causing  mean  to  be.  "simmer  down,  sister."  he  bears  his  teeth  like  pearls  of  innocent,  but  the  chuckle  still  stifled  at  her  anger,  relenting  between  brims  as  a  huff  of  laughter.  "the  palace  breathes,  but  it  does  not  listen."  at  least  not  now,  when  he's  made  sure  their  words  are  hushed  between  the  crackling  of  fire  and  the  umber  lure  of  a  lute's  song  in  the  background.  "told  me?"  the  sound  that  rifles  is  offended,  and  he  wavers  her  off  with  a  swipe  of  his  palm  as  he  turns  towards  her  trinkets.  he'll  prick  one  from  the  stone  corridor  of  her  chamber,  and  tilt  it  from  side  to  side,  examining  the  purpose  of  such  an  thing.  perhaps  a  gift?  he  nearly  smirks  at  that,  too.  luckily,  his  back  is  turned  to  her  when  he  sets  it  down,  and  spins  to  face  her  again.  she  looks  as  if  someone  spit  something  sour  into  her  morning  tea.  "no  need  tell  me,  when  you  make  idle  mistake  of  gazes  across  a  court  of  crowns  and  enemies,  sister."  his  tone  a  notch  softer,  warning  of  the  fact  that  if  he  had  seen  it  -  there  was  likely  others  as  well.  though,  not  many  were  as  perspective  as  he  were.  even  less,  knew  of  his  sister  in  the  ways  that  he  had.  both  being  her  ally,  and  her  ire.  "why?"  he  steps  forward,  lips  pursing  as  he  circled  her  once,  before  stepping  back.  "are  we  going  to  bed  them  flowers?"  flowers.  poison.  the  difference  was  the  same.  "nobody  else,  that  I  am  aware.  and  i  have  spoken  with  the  walls,  they  have  gone  blind  to  your  slip  of  the  eyes."  he  stands  in  front  of  her  now.  "but you  are  treading  dangerous  waters,  ari."

location: somewhere within stone corridors. @exfortunas

“Well sister, far be it me to dampen the parade of your lovers finding tides on sand.” His chin tilts and his gaze remains lax against stone until they’re met with the familiar taunt of violet. It causes the brims of lips to lift forward, twitching up at the corners. “Though should I have known you were softening the edges of your bed for the weight of the crown— I would have suggested to perhaps invite the wolf into your bed next.”

He wasn’t judging, well— not entirely. Far be it him to judge who his sister lays with. He’s merely surprised, given the fact of who he knew she was. It was a contradiction in itself, this game she were playing. He simply wanted to be a playing piece on the board. At least, nothing of their other siblings had noticed— the way violets looked for the other in the midst of that slaughter. It was better that way. Subtle, but not enough to keep his attention at ease.

[fxllens]

he  had  not  meant  to  startle  her.  there  were  whispers  in  the  making  of  something  he  had  little  power  to  control,  nor  did  he  linger  on  the  ideals  of  it  for  too  long.  so  often  did  these  things  fall  through,  he  had  no  interest  in  catering  to  them  now,  playing  into  the  puppet  strings  of  someone  else's  hand.  however,  he  heard  of  the  beast  that  would  have  ripped  her  from  limb  to  limb,  had  it  been  in  the  wild.  had  it  been  within  the  pits  of  the  north,  where  ice  colored  the  hands  of  those  who  fed  them.  guilt  so  seldom  riddled  into  his  chest,  so  seldom  did  he  feel  much  of  anything  close  to  warmth  when  it  came  to  those  he  chose  to  surround  himself  with.  but  had  watched  her,  in  the  quiet  of  walls  screaming.  how  she'd  thrown  herself,  beneath  the  claws  and  depths  of  her  own  death,  with  sheltered  bones  and  fear.  perhaps  that's  what  allured  him  to  feel  --  responsible.  "i  mean  you  no  harm."  he  emerges  form  the  shadows  like  a  beast  in  itself,  and  he  wondered,  quietly,  would  she  willingly  throw  herself  before  him?  too?  hands  clasped  in  front,  there  were  no  weapons  visible  on  his  body.  more  often  than  not,  his  sheer  size  was  the  weapon  in  itself.  but  he  can  hear  the  virtue  in  her  voice,  the  quiet  shake  of  the  cavern  that  resided  in  her  chest.  "i  did  not  mean  to  startle  you."  though  so  often  he  does,  without  intent.  "there  are  not  many  places  a  man  can  go  to  seek  being  alone  with  his  thoughts."  he  takes  a  careful  step  forward,  only  one.  "however,  i  am  willing  to  share  them  with  you,  should  you  want  the  company."

a balcony of the royal palace with lord dramon — @fxllens

Sleep had not been her friend since the attack, it evaded her, and she did not chase it for most of the time when she did sleep all she did was see the snout of the northern beast coming from her. although most of the color had return to her cheeks and the usual light of life began to shine back in her silver hues. the restless nights had developed a new habit, a short walk in the dark halls, tucked away somewhere in the back was a balcony often missed if you did not look for it. it was there she leaned against the rail, the breeze brushing her lose strands away from her face. she looked into the stars as if they would hold all her answers. between prayers her eyes glossed over, it is the sound of steps that has her jumping. her hand flying to clutch her robe close as she turns around, gathering herself. "who's there?" she ask with a small shake of her voice.

[fxllens]

HE  CAN  PRACTICALLY  SMELL  IT  ON  HER,  the  irritation  that  lingered  on  the  skin  like  something  he  had  tasted  far  too  many  times  to  account  for.  tongue  pushes  against  the  inside  of  his  cheek  to  loosen  the  tension  that  resides  there.  however,  his  gaze  is  remained  vexed  on  her.  there  wasn't  a  moment  in  which  it  faltered  as  she  spoke.  shifting  to  the  cruel  taunt  of  brims  that  labored  breaths  in  the  same  way  a  bite  would  snap  it's  canines  at  him  should  he  allow  it  any  an  inch  closer.  he  preferred  her  like  this,  more  ways  than  one  in  most  cases,  when  she  would  show  herself  in  his  keep  like  a  shadow  he  couldn't  unhaunt  from  his  chambers.  nor  did  he  want  to,  if  he  were  being  honest  between  the  two  of  them.  both  of  which  had  their  moments  of  truth,  spilled  in  breaths  he  could  not  forget,  even  if  he  attempted  to  pluck  them  from  his  mind  with  the  pointed  edge  of  a  blade.  "you've  rarely  complained  of  my  size  before,  wolf."  he  says  almost  as  if  it's  fact,  almost  as  if  he  can  read  it  on  her  shoulders,  in  the  way  her  eyes  met  his  with  malice  he  found  all  too  endearing  at  times,  for  his  own  sanity.  "do  you  prefer  a  man  with  slender  shoulders  now?  to  carry  his  sword?"

there's  a  quiet  scoff  that  follows.  "greedy."  he  muses  under  his  breath,  with  a  taunt  of  rolled  irises.  she  always  wants.  she  always  takes.  and  he  allows  her  to.  within  the  huff  of  breath,  his  chin  nods  towards  the  barkeep  tending  the  tavern  with  their  rounds,  inviting  them  to  stop  and  switch  her  empty  cup  for  full.  he'll  leave  a  coin  in  the  keep's  hand,  and  she  smothers  a  grin  as  she  dips  it  between  the  curve  of  a  tightly  bound  corset.  his  gaze,  however,  does  not  linger  --  instead  it's  on  vesper.  when  she  inevitably  reaches  for  the  full  cup,  he  withdraws  it  back  out  of  reach  for  a  moment.  "do  not  allow  the  others  of  these  courts  to  sense  your  uneasiness.  you  are  agitated,  it  bleeds  from  you" and some, unlike dramon who preferred to feast on it, would consider her guilty because of it.

she  lets  her  gaze  linger  on  him  for  a  moment,  lips  resting  at  the  edge  of  her  own  goblet.  ‘  in  ages,  hm  ?  ’  something  like  amusement  dances  in  her  eyes,  draining  the  last  of  her  mead  to  nudge  her,  now  empty,  cup  into  his  hands.  ‘  i  can't  imagine  it  being  a  result  of  your  charm,  so  i'm  left  to  assume  it's  due  to  you  being  overly  large  and  too  often  in  people's  way  that  they  just  allow  you  to  do  whatever  you  please.   ’  deliberate  in  her  slow  intonation  suggesting  that  they  are  at  fault  for  it,  that  the  same  didn't  apply  to  her  (  didn't  most  cases  ),  that  it  couldn't  at  all  be  due  to  his  resourcefulness  or  anything  else.  

‘  you  wound  me  to  think  i  would  be  trying  to  lighten  your  purse.  i  want  some  more  mead.  ’  approached  to  lift  his  cup  and  switch  it  with  hers  had  his  still  held  anything  in  it,  but  since  both  could  rattle  empty  vesper  nods  her  head  towards  her  own.  ‘  how  generous  of  you  to  volunteer  with  your  lack  of  payment.  it  shouldn't  cost  you  anything,  and  if  it  does,  you  have  coin  stored  away  for  just  the  thing,  hmm  ?  ’  even  if  dramon  chose  not  to  drink,  she  needed  something  that  would  help  loosen  her  chest  from  both  the  boredom  and  irritation  that  they  still  remained  in  ardora.

[fxllens]

BEAUTY  PERCIEVES  HER  in  the  same  aura  that  he  saw  beauty  in  the  way  a  wolf  consumes  for  the  pack.  his  tongue  runs  along  the  lesser  of  brim,  and  chin  tilts  in  the  wrinkle  of  her  delicate  features.  though,  he  suspects  from  rumors  all  themselves,  the  lady  achlys  malgrave  was  anything  other  than  delicate.  she  moves  like  a  ghost,  without  force,  but  to  be  reckoned  with  all  the  same.  the  corners  of  his  mouth  twitched,  but  his  chin  tilted  in  an  observant  kind  of  gaze  that  lingered  far  beyond  the  control  of  curiosity.  and  he  never  quite  did mind  the  claws  of  the  cat  that  followed  it,  either.

"how  generous  of  you."  there  is  a  splinter  to  the  edges  of  his  voice,  but  they're  not  entirely  malice.  in  fact,  they're  likely  to  be  more  amused  than  anything  else.  he  enjoyed  women  that  stood  twice  as  tall  as  he  did,  in  frames  that  would  have  been  all  too  easy  to  carry  on  his  shoulder,  should  they  test  him  further  than  their  wild  mouths  could  carry.  "mhm."  was  all  he  muffled,  when  he  takes  the  goblet  from  her  hands,  and  peels  it  from  idle  fingertips  that  were  nimble  in  comparison  to  the  gruff  scarred  atop  of  his.

he  will  move  around  her  with  ease,  to  the  barkeep  who  looked  almost  startled  at  his  approach.  their  chin  craned  upwards,  their  throat  bobbed  in  respects  to  whatever  dramon  had  spoke  unto  them,  and  in  a  moment's  time  he  has  returned.  however,  it's  not  with  her  dry  caego.  instead,  the  cup  is  half  filled  when  he  offers  it  to  her.  and  there  was  good  reason  for  that.  "red  is  for  ladies."  his  tone  catered  at  the  edges  like  a  taunt  of  breath.  "drabrek  spice,"  irises  shift  to  the  contents  of  liquor  outstretched  for  her,  "is  for  dragons."

taverns  were  hardly  a  place  achlys  malgrave  frequented  by  choice.  if  she  had  little  interest  in  rubbing  shoulders  with  the  kingdom's  nobility,  then  that  went  doubly  so  for  the  common  born  amongst  them.  at  least  the  nobles  bathed.  her  nose  wrinkled  delicately  as  moved  through  the  crowds,  her  guard  a  subtle  handful  of  paces  behind  her,  no  doubt  lamenting  her  choice  to  be  here  as  much  as  she  did.  thankfully,  her  quarry  was  easily  spotted  and  her  path  was  chartered  accordingly.  "then  let  me  offer  you  the  novelty  of  changing  that  for  the  eve,"  her  words  were  a  smooth  and  elegant  contrast  to  his  apparent  gruffness.  the  lady  of  witchelm  had  long  since  stopped  being  phased  by  such  things.  when  one  expected  little  in  the  way  of  manners  from  the  people  of  geimreadh,  and  with  ample  reason  it  seemed,  it  was  easy  to  take  such  a  indelicate  mein  in  her  stride.  she  placed  her  cup  firmly  in  front  of  him.  "a  dry  caego  red,  if  you  please." she  wouldn't  be  drinking  it  either  way.  the  king's  own  vintages  were  bad  enough.  she  shuddered  to  think  what  passed  as  wine  in  these  parts.  "do  let  me  know  if  you  need  help  counting  that  coin  you  are  evidently  so  attached  to. no doubt years of free drinks have left you bereft of numerical practice." 

[fxllens]

He  did  not  envy  the  other,  Dramon  had  thought  to  himself.  The  worry  of  being  a  father  and  a  husband,  worn  on  his  features  as  age  catered  to  them  both.  However,  he  felt  more  at  ease,  knowing  that  they  were  surrounded  by  wolves  and  allies  of  the  north.  Unlike  his  father,  Dramon  had  thoughts  of  his  own  when  it  came  to  the  lands  and  gestures  of  the  crown.  None  of  which  could  be  spoken  out  loud  without  the  thought  of  treason  on  their  tongues.  "How  are  they?  Your  wife  and  children?  Are  they  fending  well  to  the  heat?"  He  certainly  wasn't.  In  fact,  he'd  rather  be  left  to  their  furs  and  the  cold,  than  gallop  through  warmth  like  it  stuck  to  the  back  of  his  throat  as if something  thick  and  uneasy  to  swallow.  "Yes  well,  I  do  not  agree  to  speak  as  freely  with  the  Lords  and  Ladies  outside  our  homeland,  as  I  do  with  a  friend."  His  hand  clasped  down  on  the  other's  shoulder,  given  the  small  squeeze  of  comradery,  since  they  were  children.  "Nor  do  I  trust  those  as  I  do  you."  He'll  move  the  horse,  setting  it  up  with  leads  that  his  boy  could  reach later.  "I  have  watched  our  beasts  tear  men  from  limbs,  for  simply  venturing  too  close  to  their  pits."  He  doesn't  outright  say  the  words.  "Have  you  not?"  It  was  strange  to  him,  the  entirety  of  it  all.

"Lord Dramon, thank you." He was always glad tonrun into an old friend and trusted ally, especially during times like this. His wolf was more relaxed that his son would be riding a horse from someone he knew was safe. "I apologize for that. The other ruling lords, well, they seem to want to spend most of their time conversing, and i would rather be with my pups or my wife." Even more so now, as the tension keeps rising every time the sun does. "The boy can wait. He has a patience the gods and I are thankful for, takes after his mother. We can talk now if you have the time."

[fxllens]

THE  VOICE  REMAINS  A  CURRENT  within  his  mind.  one  he  had  not  heard  the  lilt  of,  in  much  longer  than  he  would  have  cared  to  admit.  he'd  almost  forgotten  the  sound  of  her  voice,  beyond  their  letters.  His  attention  is  immediately  cast  downward.  He  cares  not  for  her  guards,  nor  does  he  for  the  life  she  created  away  from  their  stone  or  winter  walls.  He  merely  sees  her  as  he  always  had,  his  little  sister.  Arms  are  outstretched,  he  does  not  hug.  In  fact,  he  reserves  it  only  for  those  who  held  passage  through  his  heart.  One  that  had  been  buried  by  snow,  for  too  many  years  now.  Broad  shoulders  pulled  her  frame  forward,  his  hand  resting  on  the  back  of  her  hood.  Her  scent  was  different.  She  smelled  of  the  flowers  that  grew  on  the  edges  of  her  new  home,  and  unlike  the  warmth  of  spices  that  kept  their  keep  a  reminder  of  where  they  grew.  she  spent  ten  years  amongst  lion  dens,  and  yet  he  can  spot  amongst  any  crowd,  with  the  same  shade  of  emerald  that  peers  back  at  him.  "Isolde."  Her  name  like  a  familiar  breath  into  lungs.

"I  searched  for  you  upon  my  arrival."  He  adds,  pulling  back  as  his  gaze  looks  over  her.  He  searches  for  remnants,  he  searches  for  her  grief,  or  for  the  weight  of  a  crown  that  settles  on  the  nape  of  her  neck.  He  searches  for  the  happiness  she  wrote  of,  and  when  he  finds  traces  of  it  in  flecks  of  green,  he  lets  out  a  breath  of  relief.  "Yes,  let  us  drink  as  we  did  in  the  north."  The  corners  of  his  mouth  twitched,  however.  "Though  I  worry  you've  lost  your  tongue's  perseverance  to  that  of  --  sweetened  wines."  It's  a  taunted  tease,  one  only  a  brother  could  move  with.  His  hand  rests  on  her  shoulder  now,  his  gaze  flickering  back  to  the  watchful  eyes  of  those  sworn  to  protect  her  with  the  same  will  that  he  would.  He  does  not  falter  with  them,  nor  does  he  allow  their  presence  to  waver  his  embrace  to  his  own  blood.

large  frame  ,  like  a  beast  with  white  fur  .  the  oldest  ,  perhaps  even  the  coldest  but  then  one  who  would  inherrit  their  fathers  castle  and  home  .  she  had  always  respected  her  brother  ,  the  oldest  of  the  flock  and  the  one  who  slaughtered  through  crowds  with  his  swords  like  a  mad  man  created  for  havoc  .  she'd  heard  whispers  of  his  arrival  in  ardora  and  found  herself  in  need  of  council  if  he  so  wished  to  give  it  .  as  a  family  of  shadows  and  lack  of  emotions  ,  perhaps  they  did  not  know  how  to  fully  speak  to  one  another  ,  but  with  ten  years  amongst  lions  ,  she  needed  a  little  cold.

"  then  let  me  pay  for  the  cups  you  wish  to  drink  tonight  ,  for  old  times  sake  .  "  she  muses  underneath  her  cloak  ,  hidden  as  she  cannot  be  spotted  in  this  place  .  of  course,  guards  were  outside  the  door  ,  ready  to  strike  should  the  queen  to  be  need  it  ,  but  she  was  a  bailgrave  ⸻  she  knew  how  to  twist  a  mans  gut  with  a  blade  need  be  .  "  will  you  have  a  drink  with  me  brother  ?  "

[fxllens]

HE  COULD  FEEL  THE  STING  OF  HER  BITE  before  she  even  raised  fangs  to  his  throat.  Still,  he  is  unnervingly  quiet.  His  gaze  is  reflected  back,  where  shadows  are  cast  across  features  otherwise  deserving  of  the  God's  blessings.  Candlelight  flickers  from  the  stone  walls,  only  casting  the  faintest  hue  of  a  glow  across  the  sly  of  her  jaw.  He  expects  her  to  pry  the  novel  from  his  hands  before  she  does  so,  releasing  it  with  a  tilt  of  his  chin  and  an  agitated  scoff  of  breath  that  could  almost  have  been  amusement,  had  he  not  swallowed  it.  "You  beg  me  to  be  illiterate,  lady  devar?"  There's  a  twitch  at  brims,  halfway  a  smirk  should  she  pay  enough  attention.  He  was  enjoying  this.

Leaning  back  into  the  chair,  should  she  consider  him  to  be  more  brute  than  anything  else,  he  would  play  into  her  mirrored  version  of  him.  His  legs  outstretched  now,  lifting  and  placing  boots  on  the  wooden  desk  with  a  thud  that  rattles  it's  legs.  One  leg  crosses  the  other,  and  he's  perpetrating  that  personal  space  of  hers,  with  the  brawn  of  a  man,  who  in  her  eyes,  couldn't  read.  His  attention  shifts  from  her,  to  the  book  she  plucked  from  his  hands.  "The  Fables  of  The  Lightbringer."  That,  causes  the  lilt  in  his  voice  to  remain  almost  taunting.  "It  is  a  collection  of  stories,  some  fabricated,  others  are  not."  He  allows  her  to  read  a  few  passages,  the  book  was  not  something  he  should  have  held  between  fingertips.  She  would  ask  where  he  stole  it  from,  which  land  had  plucked  it  from  their  libraries.  But  he  remains  relaxed,  all  before  he's  snipping  it  back  from  her  hands,  with  boots  scuffing the  floor  now  as  he  stands  to  his  full  height.

more often than not, she would tip books from shelves, and withdraw to her chambers -- stone corridors were cold, stiff, and at least within the devara quarters, ariadne recognised a fragment of home, where tempest that coiled within could still. not once had she sought conversation, with those who spent their eves in the tranquillity of these halls -- it was a nook designated for quietude, after all, and she had only so much nerve, for exchanges of hollow platitudes. she had noted his towering frame, before he'd addressed her -- witch, he would call out, and she wondered how the chair he was perched on had not collapsed under his brawn. "late for what? reading?" digits had only traced spines of unread tomes, her attention drawn to the lord and his barb, all too keen to resume the bickering she had thoroughly enjoyed when paths had crossed in the bleak depths of his homeland. "does the crown prohibit its subjects from reading past a certain hour?" she settled on the chair opposite him, violets darkening with intrigue. nimble hands reached to pull the book from under his nose, wondering idly, what had drawn his interest. "begs the question what the beast of bailgrave seeks in these corridors. i wasn't aware they taught your kind letters."

[fxllens]

WOMEN  MADE  WITH  FIRE  LILIES  in  their  blood,  would  be  the  death  of  him,  he  was  almost  certain  of  that  with  the  way  his  attention  drowns  fleeting  in  the  moment.  though,  the  corners  of  his  mouth  twitched.  the  ever  bringing  of  a  smile  that  could  have  been  misplaced  as  a  taut  of  muscle  on  the  northern  beast.  "my  reputation  should  be  as  lucky,  if  they  were  to  make  haste  of  it."  still,  he  allowed  her  to  lead,  not  something  he  does  often  with  others  made  of  brawn  or  steel.  he  will  remove  the  leathers  that  held  iron  to  his  back,  letting  it  clink  against  stone  floor.  green  irises  that  were  always  aloof  in  the  winter  blankets,  peered  forward  at  the  taunt  of  cloth  slicked  with  water.  practically  iridescent,  he  could  see  through  what  little  left  to  the  imagination.  and  this  time,  he  did  not  offer  the  mannerism  of  averting  his  gaze.  after  all,  despite  what  the  rumors  whisper  on  winds,  he  is  still  man.

he  sits  on  the  edge  of  the  baths,  arms  placed  strategically  atop  of  his  knees,  where  his  hands  met  clasped  there  in  the  middle.  gaze  shifted  along  the  ripples  of  the  water  as  she  moves,  and  how  even  the  steam  from  the  baths  entangles  her  like  snakes  in  pits  of  sand  and  sun.  "yours  however,  may  be  tarnished  by  laying  with  beasts."  that,  however,  does  pull  at  the  corners  of  his  mouth  now.  he'll  watch  for  a  moment  longer  before  he  answers  her  question,  pulling  his  gaze  back  to  a  respectable  distance  above  her  collarbones.  "you  have  traveled  far  this  month's  moon,  have  you  not?"  and  she  had  sent  him  little  letters,  though  he  would  not  comment  on  the  scorch  to  his  ego  at  that.  "have  you  heard  word  of  the  attack  on  the  crown  in  those  travels?"

HALF-MAN,  HALF-MOUNTAIN.  It  was  difficult,  not  to  shy  away  at  the  mere  sight  of  such  a  man.  But  she  did  her  best  to  remain  composed,  to  hold  his  gaze  even  as  it  faltered  in  its  attempt  to  bestow  a  certain  dose  of  respect  and  modesty.  Smile  carved  into  her  lips,  unnoticed,  and  soft  eyes  absorbed  familiar  features  just  the  same  as  the  white  sheer  fabric  she  draped  around  her  body;  did  the  water.  It  glued  to  her  contours  firm  and  gentle  at  the  same  time,  and  although  there  was  little  improvement  to  being  entirely  bare,  she'd  deemed  it  good  enough  to  gesture  for  his  approach. "The  little  birds  you've  scattered  shall  go  singing  of  the  implied  endeavors  in  haste,  you  know?"  she  never  minded  gossip,  especially  that  pertaining  to  her  virtue,  or  the  lack-there-of.  But  she'd  only  just  arrived,  and  did  not  wish  to  appear  to  be  so...loose-legged.  "Well  then,  since  you  are  in  such  dire  need  of  a  woman's  touch  --"  her  fingers  travelled  down  his  forearms,  softly,  before  they  reached  his  own  --  then stopped  and  intertwined.  "Lean  down  for  me  my  sweet  giant.  I  should  like  to  kiss  away  the  furrow  at  your  brow." With  niceties  out  of  the  way,  Nyarah  pulled  him  down  to  the  baths  edge  where  her  feet  dipped  back  into  the  water  as  she  reached  for  the  scented  oils.  "Go  on.  What  are  these  pressing  matters  that  could  not  well  wait  for  the  morn'?"  selfishly,  she'd  hoped  the  matter  was  but  an  excuse  to  cover  up  the  fact  he'd  simply  wished  to  see  her.  But  this  was  the  real  world,  was  it  not?  She  was  not  the  sort  anyone  rushed  to  see for the sake of it.  "Talk  to  me."

[fxllens]

location: inside stone corridors of the crown’s library. @exfortunas

He spent his time reading, for the sake of thoughts prolonging him. He hadn’t had a chance yet to speak with his siblings, since blood soured the bottom of his boot and was not belonging to their house or people. He doesn’t enjoy the stale taste of the king’s choice lingering in the air, like burnt flesh. surely, whoever prompted the beast from the northern region, wanted to purpose a war. If it were to work in their favor as they’d planned, the king would have proclaimed it. It appealed too easily, that the culprit be found so eagerly. It made little sense to him, yet he hadn’t spoke in refuge of it yet. The north was already under scrutiny, if another bleeds for them, then so be it. He would deal with his own, after.

The doors open, and a visible sigh lingered on the brink of brims that pursed. “Is it not late, witch?” Had he not been preoccupied with his thoughts, maybe he would have actually enjoyed her presence this time again. Though he suspected her manners were left where she misplaced them priorly. She had not been a face he would forget, nor the reputation that followed her such a viper. He had wondered, in her absence, if a snake, could strike faster than a beast.

[fxllens]

location: somewhere within stone corridors. @exfortunas

“Well sister, far be it me to dampen the parade of your lovers finding tides on sand.” His chin tilts and his gaze remains lax against stone until they’re met with the familiar taunt of violet. It causes the brims of lips to lift forward, twitching up at the corners. “Though should I have known you were softening the edges of your bed for the weight of the crown— I would have suggested to perhaps invite the wolf into your bed next.”

He wasn’t judging, well— not entirely. Far be it him to judge who his sister lays with. He’s merely surprised, given the fact of who he knew she was. It was a contradiction in itself, this game she were playing. He simply wanted to be a playing piece on the board. At least, nothing of their other siblings had noticed— the way violets looked for the other in the midst of that slaughter. It was better that way. Subtle, but not enough to keep his attention at ease.

[fxllens]

location: tavern near the marketplace.

To say he misses the cold, would have been an understatement. Yet, the warmth of mead has tested between brims and he leans on polished woods as his gaze shifted along those who had been called to the crown’s land. Those that had been called to witness its blade, too. His chin tilted as he was approached, or perhaps they were just lingering closer to the bard who spoiled the words to his own song. Tiring times, thought. When even a poet can no longer remember his rhymes.

When they moved forward in step, but their haste betraying them— he doesn’t counter them as they wavered. Though his frame is large enough that it offers itself as a pillar without having to move at all to settle them. He doesn’t speak at first, irises shifted to meet their own. “Pardon.” The word falls flat, and his brow lifts in question to the newly empty cup in their hand. “If this is a clever trick to empty my coin, you’ll be disappointed to know I have not paid for drink in ages.”

[fxllens]

His attention drifted to the familiarity of the man, and he nods his head in respects. “I do not.” Though by its dressing, he could assume as much. So instead, he steps aside leading his horse forward. “Take mine.” There’s a glimpse at the beast, who rode from the north into lands that left her uneasy in these stables. “She grows restless here, allow your kin to ride with her. She does well with children, and does not steer in the presence of wolves. I’ve trained her myself.” That and he had entrusted the horse with that of his own siblings, he would not give her to merely anyone, though. “We have not had time to speak, Lord Aldric.” Not since the ceremony, where blood greeted the boots of the noble houses and names were forged in something that felt too — predictable. For his own liking. “Perhaps after your ride, then.”

「 ˖˙ ✶ ─ 」 STATUS. ﹕ open. 「 ˖˙ ✶ ─ 」 LOCATION. ﹕ horse stables, early mid day. 「 ˖˙ ✶ ─ 」 FEAT. ﹕aldric & anyone.

the wolf was looking at the horses located in the stables for use. one of his two wolves following behind near his feet as he searched for the perfect horse. his second oldest had been wanting to go riding and normally he would have folded at his son's request but with every thing that happened, he had to wait. his younger children may not understand what is going, with the exception of his oldest, but he wanted something joyful to happen at least to bring some some joy if not for moment to serve as a distraction. he came upon a horse that had a look in their eye and knew they were the one. "Good morrow, you wouldn't happen to know if this is a capital horse or one of the noble houses? One of my kin wants to horse ride." aldric mentioned to the other he happened to come across. "Oh to have the innocence of child, even in these troubling times."

[fxllens]

“Speak less of this act, Meilin.” His tone was softened at the corners despite the words that left were splintered. How he had managed to be alone with her now, were whispers to the walls that paid for silence in things much more valuable than coin. Information. When he approached forward, he does so with a softened step, his gaze is shifting, blues falling along the curve of her neck hidden by midnight tresses that swept against collarbones. His tongue pushed anxiously to the inside of his cheek, his jaw twitched in discomfort as his palm clenched behind his back. Until, it dives into his pocket and retrieves a cloth bundle. Inside, were herbs native to lands that were on the outskirts of the crown’s walls. “It will help with the healing of the mark.”

He doesn’t press forward. He remains where he stood, a few paces towards her but remaining in place now. Something within him churns, at the thought of something as bright, being dimmed beyond the comparison of what others could simply see. And yet, here she stands, still pretending as if they hadn’t all watched her father’s head tumble down the stone. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. One that almost spoke of rebellion, had it not been for his composure he’d been keen to keep. Unlike his sister, it seemed. He’d approach that later, though. “We are alone, the walls shall not listen for the next hour. Please— I beg, don’t spare me your troubles for the burden that grief carries.”

「 ˖˙ ᰋ ─ 」 STATUS. ﹕ open.  「 ˖˙ ᰋ ─ 」 LOCATION. ﹕ the streets in the capital, during midday 「 ˖˙ ᰋ ─ 」 FEAT. ﹕ meilin & anyone.

Somberness clung in the air, and yet here she stood, walking around as if it was nothing but it was everything. Too many had been hurt after the attack and while some felt at piece a culprit was caught, the bright flower had felt like she lost it all. Meilin felt guilty, her father was gone, mother was trapped and she was stuck with a mark that felt like a chain. Resting her head against the cold stone behind her after spending sometime in the marketplace before deciding it was bet she head back to where she was being held. "Even the capital feels too quiet, I don't think anyone actually knows how to feel right now." her tone soft. her words sounding almost like a whisper as she spoke to the other. Hopefully believable. she was shown far too much of death in such a short amount of time and it bothered her. But she knew better than to complain like a child, she knew people would expect sadness from her and here she was acting as if her brightness hadn't dull at all.

[fxllens]

There was stir from the head of the fallen. One that settled beneath his bones like rigid winter, his gaze remained sharp, quiet as it shifted between those of the court and the silent cries of blood that would burn for their father’s crimes. His jaw had been set tight, it was the following days upon his call to the king’s land. And it was too warm for his liking, the bead of sweat down the nape of his neck an ever reminder of the fact that— he had a sour distaste for this. Upon hearing of her arrival, he’s moved through the corridors like stone. Who were to stop him? Many failed to even lift their gaze upon the beast, more so following the betrayal of the crown, and their public execution. To speak ill on it, was to be whisper treason.

He’s entered with the flair of chamber maids whispering amongst themselves, his gaze reflecting downwards to their bashful averted expressions. His attention shifts to her, respectfully, as he sends the extra ears and eyes away. “Leave us, I wish to welcome the Lady Devar myself. It has been much too long since I’ve indulged in the touch of a woman.” Lies, however he waits for her to give permission before entering further.

The chambers would be theirs now, as the women scurried for their privacy. He doesn’t allow his gaze to linger. “Dress yourself, Ny— I’ve come with matters to discuss that are quickly becoming far less pressing in comparison to your lack of clothing.”

open  starter.  location:  the  baths.

SHE  ARRIVED  LATE.  In  every  sense  of  the  word.  But  the  journey  was  long,  and  tiresome,  and  it  took  a  few  deaths  to  truly  lure  her  in.  Once  she  finally  reached  the  gates  of  the  palace,  she'd  looked  no  better  than  a  common  beggar,  and  the  guards  were  weary  to  let  her  in.  Luckily,  in  less  than  an  hour  she  was  off  her  saddle  and  scrubbing  away  weeks  worth  of  dirt  and  dried  up  blood  off  her  calloused  skin. Her  body  ached.  Persistent,  but  not  entirely  unpleasant.  She  would  sleep  well  tonight,  perhaps  too  well  for  someone  who  clutched  onto  a  blade,  ready  to  swing  at  any  moment,  ready  to  run. "I  wasn't  expecting  company."  words  came  out  soft,  eyes  fast  and  curious  to  meet  the  approaching  gaze.  "Bit  late  for  a  bath,  is  it  not?"

[fxllens]

HEIR, MORE BEAST THAN MAN

HENRY CAVILL , CISMALE , HE/HIM the almighty has blessed us once more, it seems DRAMON BAILGRAVE has come to ilthoria. the LORD / HEIR, brings with them such glorious fortune and they are known for being PRAGMATIC but also UNYIELDING. joy will spark when the FORTY year old comes to court. what songs would be sung in their name ? BLOOD UPON SNOW + HOZIER for in the decades to come they will sing of : a sharpened tilt of agitated insight, weary tales of an heir more beast than man, and blood dressed as berried wine. may enerin bless your soul, welcome to ilthoria child.

STATISTICS.

full name: dramon bailgrave. / nickname(s): n/a. / height: 6'6 / birthdate: november 2nd. zodiac signs: scorpio sun, taurus moon, aries rising. / gender + pronouns: cismale + he/him. / titles: heir. & lord. / occupation: being unnecessarily large.

faceclaim: henry cavil. / height: 6'6ft. / hair style: long, usually falling to his shoulders or pulled back in some way. / eye color: blue / green. / tattoos : family crest tattooed against the back of his shoulder. / scars: multiple littering his body through many spars.

positive traits: steadfast, taciturn, protective, attentive, . / negative traits: dry sarcasm, brooding, guarded, morose, emotionally cut cold. / sociability: high. / emotional stability: medium. / character study: tbd.

IF I BLEED, YOU BLEED WITH ME.

dramon heir of the bailgrave name. you spent your time in the cold, so you now know what the warmth of fingertips felt like. and how the lack of it kept you lingering in the chill of the night and wolves. you carry a burden larger than your name. larger than your title, and it weighs on shoulders that never buckle beneath the rigid air that stones your people within it's icy walls. your family stands idly by, waiting for command but you still in watch as the pieces to a game of chess are laid out before you. a kings game, that brings nothing to your table but the distaste of a pawn hidden beneath it's crown. still, you remain watching. waiting. for a new queen to strike.

make me howl, cut me from my clutches.

you have a reputation that has perceived you since you were old enough to wield a sword. since you were old enough to grasp a style of fighting native to your family's name on tongues that fear it. you wore two swords in battle, a strength that's kept your reputation across all lands and sea. a heir more beast than man, and they're true to think so. you're cut from a cloth that can not warm through winter. you're bleeding, but the blood is not your own.

LEGACY CRAVES TOUCH.

you have spent your life preparing for the next bloodshed, with pets from wolves and chill in the air that freezes warmth of beating hearts. you never cared to marry, you've only loved and loss in silence.

headcanons.

dramon fights with two swords in battle. it's a fighting style that is known and harbored by his roots. taught by his father, and so on. he is often known for his brute force, and his sheer indescribable size. he's only lost one spar his entire life, and it was to his father.

much to his own dismay, his family has attempted to wed him several times. this feeds to his reputation of being more beast than man, with rumors that he could skin wolves with bare hands. most women who were to be wed to him, fled in fear before reaching his homeland. however, those who hadn't, ended up in his bed rather than as his wife. upon either his ruling parent's deaths, or their step down from leadership, is when he will take a wife.

[fxllens]

SAND URCHIN, PLUCKED FROM FATE.

　 JOSH HEUSTON , CISMALE , HE/HIM the almighty has blessed us once more, it seems SARRUH “SARS” DEVARA has come to ilthoria. the LORD, brings with them such glorious fortune and they are known for being MESMERIC but also UNBRIDLED. joy will spark when the TWENTY FOUR year old comes to court. what songs would be sung in their name ? TROUBLE + VALERIE BROUSSARD for in the decades to come they will sing of : bejeweled fingertips tapping on stone tables, ears perked at the mention of rebelling, longing green irises allured by the reckless or damned. may enerin bless your soul, welcome to ilthoria child.

STATISTICS.

full name: sarruh devara . / nickname(s): sars. / birthdate: august 27th. / zodiac signs: virgo sun, scorpio moon, capricorn rising. / gender + pronouns: cis man + hehim. / occupation: sister antogonist.

faceclaim: josh heuston. / height: 6'0ft. / hair style: grown out curls that usually are pushed back or framing his features. / eye color: blue. / tattoos + piercings: quote "to bleed" inked in a foreign tongue written across ribs. / scars: several barely visible and faded across his body that appear to be dagger swipes.

positive traits: curious, protective, insightful, magnetic. / negative traits: secretive, untrusting, reckless. / sociability: medium. / emotional stability: medium. / character study: jess mariano, finnick odair, (lowkey aladdin too)

TRY TO TEST MY FAITH.

you were born into nothing. you will die nothing. that's what the merchant told you when you were five and stealing for food. you didn't know what it meant, but you knew what it could mean if you were caught with your hand in someone else's coin purse. it didn't stop you then, even now sometimes old habits die hard. sometimes you take things that aren't yours. words, hearts, conversations you are not meant to hear or see and yet for some reason you can bargain the walls into speaking with you. you remember what it was like, to be hungry. to be unwanted. to be left behind. though you'll never admit that scar it's left on you. instead, you were lucky. found and put in a home that had warmth, and bread, and purpose.

HEAD CANONS.

sars is not a physical fighter. he fights more so with his head and his heart rather than any limbs. he will outrun you, if given the chance, and he will catch you, should you try to get a head start. he is extremely resillent, unwilling to die. there are rumors he was plucked from the sand, an urchin the devar name gave title to, and the rumors are true.

he does not believe in marriage unless it's for love. but he does believe in lust, and wine, and getting lost to find where you're supposed to end up.