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more long-time wips resurrected from my work folders, finally got this rendered!

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𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝚄𝚂 … CLOSED

*      ◟    :    𝖻𝗂𝗋𝖽 𝗌𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗌.

he  was  sure  the  bird  watching him was  the  druid  from  the  map  room.  not  completely  sure.  but  enough  to  straighten  a  little  when  it  landed  on  the  balcony  next  to  him.  luc  was  enjoying  the  air before this.  wind  with  different  scents  and  temperatures  and  speeds.  it's  astonishing  what  you'd  grow  to  miss  once  it's  gone.  

afraid  to  speak,  he  watched  the  moon  race  across  the  sky  silently.  he  didn't  trust  them,  he  realized,  when  they  first  met  a  few  hours  ago.  he  wasn't  sure  exactly  what  it  was.  druids  drew  their  magic  from  nature,  he  gathered.  was  their  shifting  a  normal  ability?  were  they  blessed  at  birth?  did  they  work  for  it?  luc  hated  unknowns.  

the  warlock  spared  another  glance  at  the  bird.  it  would  be  extremely  awkward  if  he  was  wrong,  wouldn't  it?  but  it  looked  at  him  strangely.  like  it  knew  things.  if  wasn't  the  druid,  it  had  to  be  a  druid,  right?  

luc  wrung  his  hands  together  over  the  railing,  splintered  wood  digging  into  his  sleeves.  he  left  it  only  a  second  longer,  rolling  his  eyes.  "  is  this  some  form  of  animal  interrogation?  i'll  have  you  know  i  bunked  with  a  kobold  and  he  was  extremely  polite.  he'd  sneak  me  water  whenever  they  forgot  to  ungag  me  and  i  feel  as  though  you're  being  very  misrepresentative  of  beast-adjacent  creatures, you know.  "    / ft. gwydion

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𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝚄𝚂 … CLOSED

*      ◟    :    𝗌𝗁𝖺𝖽𝗈𝗐 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾.

a  summons  from  a  prince.  his  father  would  be  rolling  in  his  grave,  if  luc  had  left  enough  of  him  to  bury.  still,  the  dingy  map  room  was  less  glamourous  than  he  imagined  as  a  boy.  luc  bent  the  knee.  of  course  he  did.  there  were  few  in  the  world  he  would  bow  to  now,  but  rhydian  vaendryr,  along  with  a  few  others,  controlled  his  fate.  

as  a  child  in  montsart,  his  siblings  were  often  whisked  away  to  extravagant  parties  and  elegant  balls  at  the  invitation  of  royalty  or  noblemen.  no  one  was  presumptuous  or  ignorant  enough  to  exclude  his  name  entirely,  but  it  wouldn't  have  mattered.  the  closest  luc  ever  got  was  the  time  he  loaned  his  brother  his  horse.  

some  of  those  nobles  came  to  his  trial,  if  just  to  see  him  hang.  lucaris  watched  a  crowd  of  old  idols  and  heroes  call  for  his  death.  cheeks  reddened  and  wet,  he  faced  it.  they  didn't  know  the  realm  would  ask  his  help  only  months  later.  

rhydian  was  not  one  of  those  men.  in  fact,  lucaris  had  no  knowledge  of  what  elendim  thought  of  his  crimes.  it  was  publicized,  sure.  he  was  sure  every  paper  and  letter  from  the  east  to  the  west  featured  his  name.  but  luc  had  not  been  told  much  since  he  was  captured.  he  had  no  footing  in  this  conversation,  no  control.  normally  it  would  set  his  teeth  on  edge.  maybe  the  months  in  prison  softened  his  need  ...   ᵈᵒᵘᵇᵗᶠᵘˡ !

"  your  majesty.  "  accent  bent  strangely  around  the  words,  like  he  had  never  said  anything  respectful  in  his  life.  "  you  sent  for  me?  "    / ft. rhydian

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George R.R. Martin, A Clash of Kings

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older,  stronger,  more  beautiful.  his  siblings.  his  friends.  zyrah.  he's  never  become  accustomed  to  it,  but  he  has  grown  familiar.  shadows  licked  at  his  face,  darkening  already  dark  eyes  as  they  roved  over  her.  

"  and  we  can't  allow  that,  can  we,  princess?  "  with  his  loosened  bonds,  he  struggled  to  his  feet,  shadows  seeming  to  stretch  like  the  wings  of  a  swallow  on  the  wind.  "  you've  not  grown  at  all.  you're still—  "  a  grunt  as  he  found  purchase  in  his  wrist,  a  wet  crack  muffled  by  his  sleeve.  "  —underestimating  me.  "

one  hand  was  free,  and  he  wiggled  his  fingers.  lucaris  stalked  to  the  table  and  sat,  allowing  the  other  cuff  to  jingle  against  the  tabletop.  "  you  forget  i'm  getting  something  out  of  all  this.  i'm  not  going  to  do  anything,  not  if  it  costs  my  freedom.  "  his  eyes  fell,  remembering  the  things  he  did  to  lose  it  in  the  first  place.  

"  have  you  spoken  to  the  others?  i  don't  trust  the  priest.  and  the  horned  one  looks  like  a  strong  wind  could  blow  her  to  valenvin.  "  he  sighed,  his  training  running  circles  through  his  mind.  he  trusted  zyrah,  or  at  least  trusted  her  to  get  them  through  this.  "  you  need  plans  to  neutralize  them,  especially  the  mages.  i  promise  to  cooperate,  but  you  should  know  that  whatever  you  do:  "  he  paused,  lifting  the  cuff  up  again.  "  you  need  to  bind  me  tighter  than  this.  and  just  stuffing  some  cloth  in  my  mouth  won't  work,  either,  zy.  you  remember  playing  prisoner  with  selayna,  i  can  talk  through  it,  i  swear.  "  he  grimaced  as  he  called  up  thoughts  of  his  sister.   / ft. zyrah

Each advancing step resonated with the beat of an impending war drum, heralding the arrival of the princess, as she weaved through the gloom with long, purposeful strides. The obsidian halls acknowledged the princess as much as she recognized them for the prison they represented. Yet, in her approach - executed with the precise steps of a seasoned soldier - there was an undeniable sense that she was on a hunt for something. Purposeful confidence reverberated in each movement, and as she finally came into view, her orange and black eyes locked onto their target with relentless ferocity. There was a weight of gravity around the princess - a gravity that threatened to drag and pull those under - as she emitted an aura of otherworldly heat. A blend of darkness and flame. She unabashedly and openly assessed the individual with a gaze that could be interpreted as either rude or confident, perhaps both. 

Her attire, as if woven from the sombre shadows that laid claim to these obsidian foundations, melded her with the darkness enveloping them. However, her eyes were ablaze with an inner fire, now entirely and singularly focused on the one before her — Lucaris Castille Vanstrada. The guards snapped to attention as their princess-commander emerged from the shadows, and she returned the gesture without a second thought. It was a rehearsed movement honed over nearly a century of training and battles.

Oh, yes - she remembered this one. His father was once the Captain of the Guard and their paths crossed on a few occasions when it was necessary. The recollection of their initial meeting was a faded image in her memory; during which he was hastily dismissed as weak or talentless. However, the man standing before her in chains and binds, defied those initial expectations. The secret to his newfound strength lay in dark, sinister means. Some might question whether the power belonged to Lucaris or the entity that granted him such magic. But Zyrah recognised power for what it truly was and she was unconcerned by its roots if it could be wielded. Lucaris had successfully bonded with an otherworldly entity and harnessed magic through that connection, revealing an inner strength that surprised the princess. Although rarely wrong in her judgments, Zyrah had clearly misjudged Lucaris, dismissing him too easily as weak and forgettable. But his hunger for power and acceptance proved more potent than his loyalty to kin. In Nansir, power equated to survival as its central tenet, yet loyalty and discipline were two additional pillars of training that Zyrah could not abandon nor forgive Lucaris for. That marked the sharp line between their differences in gaining power.

However, Zyrah couldn't help but be intrigued by the impending contest between Lucaris and his enigmatic patron. The sharing of power seldom endured with equilibrium or peace for extended periods. Power craved a master; it hungered for dominance. Her own power - midnight fire, like the heart of a burning black star - opened a sleepy eye as she approached the warlock. Intriguing, indeed.

Finally, after a lengthy observation, the princess responded in a low, wry tone. “You have grown, Lucaris.” She glanced at the attentive guards and motioned for them to loosen the bonds. “If you are to be useful on this journey, then you need to be able to move. We cannot afford a weakness in our ranks.” Blunt words, yet, not cruelly meant. “You are dismissed. I can handle it from here.” With a sharp salute, the guards retreated. They were not foolish enough to question their princess’ commands. Zyrah, straight-backed and unwavering in stance, continued to bore heavy, probing eyes into the warlock. He was a criminal of Nansir - and she was duty-bound to never forget that - yet he was also a future comrade on a dangerous quest against evil. Would that be enough to redeem him, she wondered? How could the price of a soul be measured? Perhaps the answers laid in his actions.

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sweat  nearly  boiled  off  his  skin,  and  his  eyes  raised  in  reverence,  a  silent  prayer  to  casir  to  save  him  from  any  strange  whim.  the  devil  never  listens.  perhaps  he  should  be  casting  his  eyes  below — still,  it  calmed  his  mind. 

at  least  when  he  was  sentenced,  he  knew  the  arbitrator.  the  familiar  look  of  pity  from  master  druenin  almost  made  him  feel  like  he  was  still  just  alya  vanstrada's  bastard  and  not  a  criminal  soaked  in  blood.  

patricide  was  a  dangerous  claim  in  his  town.  where  your  father,  the  one  who's  magic  runs  through  you,  is  sacred.  his  siblings  never  even  flinched  against  him  out  of  respect.  but  luc  ran  a  blade  across  his  throat.  he  would  not  fear  this.

the  air  in  the  room  seemed  to  thicken  as  luc  continued  his  banter,  a  thin  veil  between  the  precariousness  of  his  situation  and  the  grim  amusement  in  his  voice.  his  eyes  flickered  along  with  the  candlelight,  a  spark  of  rebellion  that  refused  to  be  extinguished.

his  lips  parted  as  she  approached,  nearly  tasting  the  bittersweet  until  she  pulled  away.  his  shadows,  useless  with  his  hands  bound,  licked  closer  to  the  goblet  in  her  hand.  luc  cleared  his  throat.  "  i  call  them  the  twins.  they're  not,  i  don't  believe.  but  they  share  similarities,  don't  you  think?  both  are  rubbish  at  remembering  to  feed  you,  for  one.  "

luc  used  any  slack  he  had  to  nudge  the  guard  to  his  right,  a  wicked  chuckle  echoing  against  stone  walls.  dancing  upon  the  precipice  of  a  dagger.  "  they're  also  not  used  to  me  being  able  to  speak,  i  think  they're  afraid  i'll  turn  them  to  frogs.  " 

eyes,  still  shining,  returned  to  the  elvish  woman  in  front  of  him.  his  smile  faltered  a  little  as  he  examined  her.  but  he  worked  his  jaw,  and  continued  anyways.  "  nobodies  don't  get  invited  to  save  the  world.  " / ft. maerope

she  hasn't  done  much,  this  lone  figure  who  ebbs  and  flows  with  the  stretch  and  fold  of  her  limbs,  her  body.  maerope,  as  a  woman,  is  of  many  thoughts,  but  few  words,  and  while  the  others  have  poured  themselves  into  discussions  while  poring  over  strategies  and  texts  and  maps,  she  has  sat  prettily  with  her  hands  in  her  hair,  weaving  and  unweaving,  counting  their  fellowship,  attempting  to  commit  them  to  memory  —   but  this  one,  oh,  this  one.  intruiging,  said  by  half  a  girl,  said  by  an  elf  who  sees  mortals  as  pets  and  inquiries. maerope  sips  from  her  goblet,  eyeing  the  guards  who,  warily  —  as  all  other  folk  seem  to  eye  them  (  the  folk  from  elendim,  they,  fair  folk  )  —  eye  her  back.  they  have  a  duty  to  do,  seemingly  immune  to  the  recognizable  honeyed  voice  between  them,  so  sweet  and  saccharine,  enough  to  rot  the  teeth. "i'm  nobody,"  she  answers  lightly,  as  if  hopping  from  stone  to  stone  as  to  not  get  the  feet  wet.  in  her  approach  now,  her  footsteps  lose  the  sound  they  had  just  moments  ago.  "gentlemen  like  this  don't  listen  to  somebody  who's  nobody."  maerope  goes  to  offer  him  a  sip  from  the  goblet  —  this  ostentatious  golden  chalice,  filled  nearly  to  the  brim  in  over  indulgence  of  local  spirits,  a  liquid  that  only  barely  serves  her  tongue  with  luscious  taste  and  a  harmless  buzz;  they  just  don't  make  it  the  same  —  but  turns  at  the  last  second  to  circle  the  prisoner,  observing  his  restraints,  the  manacles  they  have  placed  upon  him.  perhaps  a  muzzle  would  have  been  better;  any  lesser  woman... "have  you  eaten?"  she  inquires,  walking  back  to  the  spot  she  began.  "are  you  thirsty?"

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he  tried  very  hard  to  imagine  the  girl  as  something  more  than  fly  buzzing  around  carrion,  but  as  the  carrion,  it  proved  difficult.  his  time  as  whatever  he  was  now  was  so  short  before  he  was  captured,  but  he  knows  that  he  reached  some  sort  of  peak.  he  was  better  than  this.  ah,  but  the  carrion  cannot  ask  anything  more  from  the  fly  ...  except  a  slow  death  worthy  of  its  deeds.  

as  useless  to  him  as  she  was,  it  was  nice  to  speak  to  someone  else.  and  in  truth  a  benefit  of  the  party  was  that  they  were  all,  in  some  way,  different.  sure,  some  of  the  eyes  he'd  seen  since  he  arrived  have  been  filled  with  confusion,  or  even  disgust.  but  none  had  been  the  wet,  dark  look  of  terror.  the  same  look  that  brought  him  satisfaction,  and  remorse,  on  the  day  he  killed  his  father.  they'd  seen  things  just  as  bad  as  him,  maybe  even  worse,  and  he  took  a  bit  of  comfort  in  that.  

"  oh,  i  assure  you  i  am  well-practiced  at  sleeping  in  chains.  perhaps  i  seem  impolite,  they  have  let  me  open  my  mouth  after  all,  so  do  excuse  me.  "  lucaris  regarded  her,  sizing  her  up  like  a  slaughterhouse  calf,  moon-eyed  and  doomed.  "  what's  your  name,  artificer?  i  didn't  quite  catch  it  earlier.  "

he  had  already  started  practicing  how  he  would  respond.  he'd  been  practicing  it  since  the  day  he'd  been  stripped  of  his  surname.  his  brother  had  been  the  one  to  do  it.  to  forevermore  bar  him  from  calling  himself  a  castille.  luc  didn't  know  what  it  said  about  them,  or  about  his  mother,  that  they  let  him  keep  her  name.  vanstrada.  his  was  only  lucaris  vanstrada. / ft. gracie

An edge of curiosity hounds her footsteps, the insatiable thirst for to unveil the unknown driving her fingers to itch in barely restrained energy. She quells the urge to pry with her fidgeting, fingers dancing around the straps and edges of her outfit, flipping around a graphite stick she brings around for writing down her ideas, tapping her fingers against the side of her thigh. There is far too much energy for her small body to contain, now that they have decided to take a breath before the discussions of their path continue.

Somewhere between their introduction and the journey planning, she had settled her mask over her place once more, altogether too stressed by the company of beautiful and intimidating strangers and by the journey before them to precisely control her expression as she is used to. She needs a couple of days to adjust to the loudness, to the presence of those around them, she thinks, before she can pretend to be settled. For now, the mask is a comfort she falls upon as she approaches the rumored warlock.

What a curious man. What a tragic fate.

Graciela has heard enough rumors, has heard his name, and she knows. She knows the fate of a magicless child in Nansir, she knows their parents – Lucaris Castille Vanstrada's and hers – would not hesitate to abandon them to Vierlun, would not waste a thought on their fate after they had done so. Once, she had feared it would be her fate, so she cannot deny the innate understanding that she has for his actions.

And yet– She is not one to sign a contract she has not read, not one to have faith on another – be it a devil or a man – for she is aware of their fickleness. His choice is not her own, and yet she cannot help it.

The curiosity.

What does his deal entail? What did he get in exchange? How learned is he in magic when he has never had a formal education in the subject?

She wants to know, so she approaches the man, steps measured as she draws unto herself and dredges the mask she has built to protect herself from the world.

"I think they are smart enough to know that," Graciela comments, a quick glance to the guards garnering their perusal, and she keeps their gaze for a moment, eyebrow high, until she can see them shift before her eyes fall back on him. "I doubt they will keep you on the bindings for much longer, but we can ask Her Highness Teneldris to hurry the procedure if you are uncomfortable. It would be best if you are well rested before we depart, after all."

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𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝚄𝚂 … OPEN

*      ◟    :    𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐'𝗌 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗎𝖾.

a  patch  of  sweat  had  begun  to  form,  behind  his  shoulders,  from  where  the  twin  guards  were  pressed  against  him.  they'd  been  there  all  day,  since  he  was  dragged  from  his  cell,  and  they  haven't  seem  to  have  lost  contact  with  him  since.  his  eyes  were  closed,  but  he  knew  it  wouldn't  matter  either  way.  the  shadows  whispered  to  push,  push,  push  until  they  left  him  alone.  gods,  alone.  a  luxury  he  had  not  had  in  months  past.  and  he  fears  that  he  would  not  have  again  for  some  time  yet.  

luc  had  spent  weeks  at  a  time  like  this  in  his  cell.  listening  to  the  whispers  and  the  tap  -  tap  -  tapping  of  his  cellmate's  fingertips  on  the  bars.  completely  still,  barred  from  all  verbal  and  somatic  components  by  bindings  on  his  mouth  and  wrist.  they  called  him  many  names  there,  shouted  out  by  the  guards  that  fed  him.  but  it  has  been  so  long  since  he's  actually  spoke.

when  footsteps  echoed,  dark  brown  eyes  shot  open  to  find  their  shadows  dissipated.  his  posture  straightened  as  he  saw  an  opportunity.  he  would  endeavor  to  try.  "  can  you  tell  these  lovely  gentlemen  that  i  can't  do  anything  if  i  am  to  be  bound  the  whole  journey?  "  his  words  dripped  with  honey,  head  tilting  as  what  he  assumed  was  one  of  his  new  questlings.  "  pretty  please.  "  he  grated  out,  debased  as  it  was. 

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🗧* ⭒   ᣟᣟ    𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐒    :    1 / ?

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WHY DID THE AUTHOR KILL YOU OFF?

› ⸌ MORALS = MORTALITY.

every   story   has   themes,   with   lessons   within   those   themes.   your   death   was   in   service   of   one   ( or   more )   of   these,   your   life   made   forfeit   in   favor   of   imparting   wisdom...   or   what   the   author   presented   as   wisdom.   were   you   too   kind?   too   trusting?   too   forgiving?   did   a   cruel   author   kill   you   to   prove   that   happy   endings   do   not   exist?   or   were   you   too   proud   to   ask   for   help?   too   angry   to   let   the   past   go?   did   the   author   hold   a   mirror   up   to   the   protagonist,   showing   them   your   death   where   the   reflection   was   supposed   to   go?   on   one   hand,   your   death   is   pitiable,   for   it   does   not   belong   to   you.   on   the   other,   you   have   been   granted   a   gift   many   spend   their   whole   lives   searching   for:   a   purpose.   may   you   find   comfort   and   truth   within   the   circumstances   of   your   demise   ( and   may   we   all ).

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"The gods' chosen" "the gods' champion" no that's the god's little wind up toy. The gods' chew toy. The gods' favorite barbie doll

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Wounds of the Earth

— by xis.lanyx

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DRAGON AGE: AWAKENING — ♡ dev. bioware

meeting Anders, the apostate

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enzo vogrincic 🌹

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Let me carry the hatred of this world. Because of the choices you made. Choices you too will make… in time. I will never walk your path. I know you believe that now. But soon…Soon you will have no equal. The years spent alone will grind you down, they will harden you. And who will be there to shield you from it? Who will be there to save you? I will save myself.