fullturkmenistan

[mollysunder]

You know what's crazy about Zaun? It's so deep in the ground and covered by smog the natural light doesn't reach most parts of it that they need to rely on artificial light to see. Zaun is such perfect territory for a vampire coven, it even has that danger mystique that makes people want to go down out of morbid curiosity. Instead, League wanted a werewolf aesthetic and by God they made it happen, even though no one can see the moon so they miss out on full moon imagery.

[ponderingmoonlight]

Choso getting hopelessly seduced by another blood manipulator

Jaw-Dropping gorgeous pic from none other than @sanicsmut - go check out their work here and give a big LIKE

Pairing: Choso x fem!hemomancy!reader (=basically someone who is able to use blood manipulation without jujutsu and advanced, read more here

Word Count: 2,4k

Synopsis: It seemed so easy at first: find Itadori Yuji, kill him, take revenge. Only until you showed up and captivated Choso Kamo, only until you showed him what you can...

Warnings: this gets a little smutty and heated from time to time so be prepared, reader is pretty badass I love her in this one, since this took me quite some time I'd truly appreciate you guys liking, commenting or reblogging my work - thank you <3 Also, special thanks to @yukiotacon - I truly hope you enjoy what I came up with!

Also, special thank to @sanicsmut for allowing me to use that stunning piece of art as a cover - click here to leave a like, comment or reblog for my babe ♡

„How on earth did I get here?”, you mumble to yourself, humming while walking down the empty hallways of Shibuya’s train station.

You know damn well why you’re here, roaming around this area with a clear aim.

“We’re talking about a lot of money here. Money for someone who isn’t even able to use jujutsu at the moment”, the white-haired man sitting in front of you clarified amused.

You smiled to yourself, stalked him like a hunter stalks his prey until you trapped him between your arms, a lustful grin appearing on his face.

“The success of hemomancy is as guaranteed as the fact that you’re oh so excited right now, Mr. Gojo”, you purred.

Oh, how much you enjoyed the way his heart started to pump faster immediately, how his blood began to rush into his crotch area.  

“If you fail, I’ll be there to finish off what you started. And who knows, maybe even you.”

Why does it have to be so damn entertaining to play with men, to feel their blood rush through their veins? Well, what is even more exciting than that is making them kneel in front of you just before you turn their own blood against them.

Hemomancy, the magic of blood, the reason you are able to control both your own blood and the blood of others. No matter where, no matter when. Completely without their so-called jujutsu.

“Jujutsu…”

You huff in sheer amusement.

“Why on earth would you need something like that?”

“Who are you?”

Your eyes widen just the slightest bit, mind caught off guard while you search for the person who just spoke out of nowhere. How is it possible that didn’t detect the flow of this strangers’ blood earlier? Normally, you are able to catch every living being in the blink of an eye.

“Better question is who are you”, you reply dryly, eyes scanning the area in order to find this person.

His low voice tells you that he has to be a man, maybe a few metres away from you. But where? And who the fuck is he to not get caught by your powers?

“I’m not here to play games.”

Suddenly, he is near – way too near for your liking. And there it is, the presence of his blood, the way it pumps through his arm when he’s about to hit you with full force.

“I’m either.”

All it takes is a swift motion of your finger to stop his flying fist mid-air.

“There you are”, you announce provocative, turning around only to be greeted by his eyes.

You stop in your tracks. What a pair of gorgeous eyes he has, widen in utter disbelief by the fact that you have the control over his body. But not only that, you can tell that he’s well-trained underneath that cloak.

“Definitely wouldn’t mind seeing you naked”, you mutter, eyes roaming over every inch of him.

“Are you a witch?”, he presses out, arm visibly fighting against your force.

You can’t help but chuckle, the struggle written on his cute face being the most amusing thing you’ve seen in a long time. Elegantly, you kneel down next to him in order to meet him eye to eye, fingertips caressing his cheek gently.

“What are those?”

These lines decorating his face, engraved into his otherwise flawless skin. A tattoo, some strange birth mark by any chance?

“Slicing exorcism.”

It happens faster than you’re able to react. Before you even realize what’s going on, something pierces right through your shoulder, cuts through your tender flesh with ease.

No, not something.

“Blood manipulation, huh?”, you choke out, the floor underneath your feet instantly discoloured in crimson.

Choso creates distance between both of you, eyes examining every minor move you make. Who are you? You don’t seem to have any cursed energy. But how were you able to control his arm, to stop his powerful slash in the matter of milliseconds? It was almost as if…

As if you’re using a special form of blood manipulation yourself.

“Let me make this clear.”

He squints his eyes in confusion when you begin to walk towards him, your uninjured arm stretched out in front of you. A swift motion of your hand and he lands on the cold floor all over again, feeling as if an invisible weight pushes him into the earth. No matter how hard he tenses his muscles, no matter how desperately he fights against that force, he can’t escape you.

“There is no fucking way you’ll escape me, okay? Interesting, you have to be a member of the Kamo clan, am I right?”

“None of your business”, he spits into your face.

Your hand yanks towards his neck, squeezes ever so slightly while your face is only inches away from his. That dreadful gleam in your eyes, the fact that you wear a small smile on your face despite he just destroyed your shoulder forever.

“Let me tell you a secret, Mr. Kamo.”

Carefully, you drag your nail along his neck until blood spills, earning a low groan from him.

“Do you know anything about hemomancy?”

Hemomancy…No, this can’t be real. He thought the magic of blood disappeared from the surface of the earth with the new century, forgotten by the modern people. But you…He stares right into your confident face, watches in horror as you collect the trail of blood from his neck with your finger and lick it clean.

Oh, what a wonderful metallic taste, maybe one of the best droplets you ever enjoyed. Very fitting for a man like him.

“The magic of blood, the power to control both your blood and the blood of others, to create weapons of blood to use your own blood to poison, to use others to…”

“Heal”, you finish his sentence.

“You know quite a lot about hemomancy. I’m impressed.”

The weight on his shoulders disappears out of thin air, makes him yank up out of instinct. Choso watches carefully as you stretch both of your arms into the air, circle your injured shoulder…

That isn’t injured anymore.

“So you know you have absolutely no chance to defeat me, no matter how great your blood manipulation is, right?”

Choso wants to dash forward, to hit you with full force, to finally find Itadori and take revenge for the death of his brothers. But instead, he simply stands and stares at you with trembling hands. Despite every fiber of his being urges to fight against you, he knows you’re right.

“Good.”

Again, you walk towards him with your heels clicking against the hard floor. His eyes dart up and down, take in your appearance. You look absolutely threatful, maybe even more dangerous than Mahito or Geto will ever be. Why are you even here? Whose side are you on? There isn’t enough time to ask you these questions.

Your hand finds his chest, glides up onto his back ever so gently.

“What’s your name?”

“Choso Kamo”, he finally gives in.

“Choso, huh?”

You let your finger glide over his muscular chest, up to his traps made of gold until you reach his firm back. What a force of a man he is, maybe the best one you’ve seen so far.

His breath gets caught in his throat, your touch burning like a thousand fires against his skin. But no, not like pain. What is this strange feeling building up inside his body? What is this unknown urge that slowly but surely takes control over him? Choso looks down at you with flustered eyes, takes in your sight. Is this what people call attraction?

“Don’t”, he warns you half-heartedly, his hand grabbing your arm.

This is enough. He needs to get going, needs to find Yuji Itadori and kill him, he-

His arm moves around your waist on its own, pulls you closer to his aching body. Are you using your powers, are you forcing him onto you? No, his body moves freely, presses itself against you out of instinct. He was never this close to a woman before, let alone a jaw-dropping gorgeous one like you. So this is the reason why all those stupid humans hunt after each other, why unwise feelings like love even exist.

“Do you want me to leave?”

The way your thumb glides up and down his back threatens to drive him insane any minute, eyes captivated by your hypnotizing orbs.

“I don’t know”, he breathes out.

Oh, but you do. The way his blood pressure and heart rate shoot up, his blood flowing straight down. You can’t help but bite your lip, even your own breath now coming uneven and shaky. You’ve seduced countless men in your lifetime. Fuck, even Gojo himself would have nailed you right on the spot if you didn’t leave back then. But this time, the sensation of the game itself becomes incidental. This time, your own blood rushes through your body uncontrollably.

“You aren’t a human, are you? That body definitely isn’t from this world.”

You allow your needy touch to discover the valleys of his body even faster, to enjoy the sensation of his hot breath against your cheek.

“I am…incarnated.”

Incarnated? The world of jujutsu is far too complicated for you to grasp. But still, you know he has to be damn powerful, that this body holds a lot of potential. This body with all those firm muscles. This body, radiating a heat you’ve never felt before.

“Tell me, what are you doing here, Choso?”

It takes all his strength to not moan out loud, to stay focused when your hands stroke up and down his chest.

“I am here to kill Yuji Itadori”, he also reminds himself.

This is ridiculous, wrong in so many ways. Why is he out there, allowing a woman he never met before to touch him so casually when he swore to his brothers to seek revenge?

Something inside you clicks. Yuji Itadori. One of the names Gojo told you when you met.

“I see”, you purr.

“Let me ask you one more thing. Where you ever kissed before, Choso?”

Kissed. The act of caressing each other’s lips as a symbol for affection. He’s seen it countless times in many centuries and never understood the sensation of it. But now, staring at your perfect mouth, watching as your tongue wets your lips…

“No.”

You smile softly, siren eyes switching between his lips and eyes.

“What a shame when you have lips so kissable.”

With one quick movement, you put your hands on the back of his neck, pull him so close that your lips are only inches apart.

“Please.”

The innocent word escapes his lips before he’s able to stop himself, chest rising and falling so rapidly that Choso feels like fainting for a second. What is this strange feeling, the spell you put on him? It has to be the power you radiate, the way your face seems somehow appealing to him. Has he ever seen a stunning creature like you? No, you have the brightest eyes he’s ever seen, a body that makes his mind wander.

“Your plea is my command.”

When you press your lips against his, allow him to taste what kissing feels like for the very first time, something inside Choso snaps. His hand grabs your waist roughly, presses you even closer while his other hand desperately searches for hold in your hair. Screw if this is your magic, screw if it’s nothing but a foul trick. You feel so intoxicating, your lips moving so effortlessly against his own that he sees stars. You taste like mint with a tint of iron that drives him insane.

“Choso”, you whimper against his lips, your very own hands searching for hold on his tight biceps.

What a force of a man he is, a remarkable kisser despite the fact that he probably never touched a woman without killing her before. If you had known how good this feels, you wouldn’t have wasted your time on mere mortals. Not even Gojo Satoru caught your attention like he did.

Suddenly Choso feels like he can’t breathe anymore. But not from the sensation your lips have caused, not because you hold onto his neck. No, this is something different. This feels like death.

He lets go off you immediately and stumbles backwards only for you to casually follow him and catching him right before his gorgeous figure hits the ground.

“Don’t take this personal, Choso. But I can’t allow you to kill Itadori Yuji. Not when Gojo payed me a shit ton of money in order to protect his precious little students. I’m a woman who keeps her promises, y’know?”

“What…did…you…do…”

His tongue feels as heavy as concrete, the ability to control his own body slipping through his fingers with every passing second.

“You said it yourself.”

You wipe over your lips, revealing a tiny trail of blood.

“ ‘to use your own blood as poison’, wasn’t that what you just said? Don’t worry darling, I won’t kill you. But you won’t be able to kill Itadori Yuji either. Now sleep tight. I hope we meet again to continue what we started when you wake up.”

No, he needs to fight against it, he needs to get off the ground, fulfil his duty to kill Itadori Yuji. He…

The last thing he notices are your lips, gently pressed against his cheek.

And then everything went black.

Bonus:

“You have to be kidding me.”

“Why would I do that, Mr. Gojo?”

You continue casually filing your nails while none other than the one they call “the strongest” starts to have an emotional breakdown in front of you.

“I thought you felt the tension between both of us as well! You…You said to me that-“

“I needed this job”, you clarify dryly.

“And what about him!?”

He points towards Choso who is lost in his conversation with Yuji. You simply shrug your shoulders.

“He’s everything I ever wished for-“

“AND I’M NOT!? Is it because you share the same powers-“

“We don’t share the same powers-“

“Is it because he’s taller than me!?”

“He’s not taller than you.”

“Is it because he has dark hair!?”

“What the hell are you so worked up about man?”

“I need to get out of here”, he announces so dramatically that you’re convinced he’ll faint any given minute.

“Gojo-sensei, are you not feeling well?”, Yuji questions, lines of worry decorating his innocent face.

“I’m far away from feeling fine!”

“So dramatic”, you mumble to yourself.

Tags: @arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @kenstarsworld @hellkaiserinphoenix  @lauv4chuuya @shadowfoxey @starlightanyaaa @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete @mokoartpost @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut  @mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0 @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @wxwieeee @froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso  @gojosrealwife  @coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain  @risuola  @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny @ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp @localhehecat @alicerhr @kayleegomez @belovedvamp @wifenanami @chilichopsticks @dlwlrmas-world @oikawarz @darkstarlight82 @satoreo @luwumii @tachiharazsstuff @kentocalls @cheesemachine44 @ryva @kenjakusconcubine @baku2345 @komelrebi-san @deezy12299@busyreader17 @4pgletter @okay-it-is-ivy @iluvtoru

[duraxxor]

Character Sheet: That Damn Trio

Uh oh, it would seem Duraxxor has gotten himself in a lot of trouble this time around! He’s been split into three pieces of his former self! Oh the humanity! Well there’s only one thing to do. What’s that? Well, we go on a wild adventure to put him back together, of course! That’s why I have decided to create character sheet to explain and every one of the fragments and their traits. So without further interruptions, let’s get down to the material! 

Character No. 1

Name: Daev  ( Pronounced just like Dave ) 

Race: Sin’dorei?

Height: 5′ 8″ ( down from the 6′ 4″ that he once stood at. )

Hair Color: Silver Blonde

Eye Color: None, his eyes are as clear as glass

Age:  “ I was only born not that long ago... I jest though... “ 

Physical Traits: When a person comes in contact with Daev, the first thing they may notice as his youthful appearance. Unlike Duraxxor as a whole, Daev has the physical body of a young adult that has suffered from lack of muscle. Despite this, he seems able to stand straight and maintain himself but is unable to physically apply the strength and running speed he once had. The scar that once dominated his features is now shrunken down and appears to have lining that almost reminds some of a stitching, so to speak. Perhaps even mending? The same can be said about the majority of his black attire that decorates his body other than the sleeve that appears to have torn on the right side. A thin trench coat and a pair of black leather britches that are only matched by a pair of boots below. One can also notice the pair of snake bites piercing on his lower lip that seem to have appeared as he no longer bears even a semblance of the elven fangs gene. 

Personality: Quiet and probably the most balanced of his former self. Daev seems to be given the nickname of being the Heart of the Trio. And with good reason considering he is probably the very being that keeps the other two in existence. He is never to quickly jump to violence and seeks to see how people function and feel. Selfless thought and under normal circumstances, kind to those that share a mutual respect for him and his space. Although he is the most attuned to multiple emotions, he has a hard time properly expressing them and it may even come out in a series of riddles. However, he does seem to have something to say for every type of person. 

Abilities: Lack of physical strength, Daev has to rely on his mind and quick thinking if he hopes to manage avoiding being killed off with the help of his familiars. It isn’t known whether he retains much of his weaponry training, other than having a dagger tucked away under his coat that appears to have a significance, or perhaps even symbolic value. Despite his familiars having their own personalities, he seems able to maintain control of them in certain moments and can even call them or dismiss them at will. Daev’s greatest ability is that he has so much untapped potential that is it unpredicted what he may learn in his stay within the Shadowlands. 

Character No. 2 

Name: Randdu ( Ron-doo ) 

Race: Familiar ( Bat ) 

Height: Unspecified, look to his Abilities for details

Hair Color: White

Eye Color: A mixture of Red and Yellow

Age: “ Look, man, give me a break. I only look old. “ 

Physical Traits: You feel a piercing gaze always watching you when you approach Daev with his avian shadow, Randdu. He takes on the appearance of most bats native to Azeroth aside from some defined features that make him appear more like a Fruit Bat from our world, bearing a canine-like snout beneath the leathery wraps that are his lengthy wings. Jagged claws appear to be on both the back legs and wing joints, giving him almost the look a humanoid if not for the fact he lacks thumbs. He is the definition of wild animal with personality. 

Personality: The reckless familiar that is highly regarded ( and prideful of himself ) as the symbol of Duraxxor. Randdu is also the loudest and most immature of the trio. He would rather pick a fight and see who is the strongest than listen to negotiations. He also possesses quite the appetite match this need for combat. However, this doesn’t mean he isn’t self aware when he is in over his head, being the quickest to also panic when he feels outmatched, that is until something goes right, then he will simply mock his foe. Warning: He may curse a lot. 

Abilities: Despite his reckless personality, Randdu is actually quite the powerhouse. He is physically strong and can easily pick up something that is three times his own size, which is only matched by the fact that he is able to grow and shrink his form based on the energy reserves he has obtained through his vampiric aura. The more he fights and succeeds, the stronger Randdu gets. Claws, teeth, and even a mind piercing screech are at his disposal. However, the magical affinity seems to lie more so in the fact he is able to cast a blaze of shadows about his form, giving him enough speed to perform a Wraith Flight, an ability that projects his vampiric aura outward and making mere contact results in the sapping of one’s raw energies. 

Character No. 3 

Name: Sphula ( Sph-ooluh ) 

Race: Familiar ( Serpent ) 

Height: 15′ 07″ in length 

Hair Color: “ Crimson Scales, you uneducated pig. “ 

Eye Color: Onyx 

Age: “ To old for you to know. “ 

Physical Traits: While Randdu is regarded to be the visible lurker, Sphula sticks to remaining hidden into his time is most appropriate. The lengthy serpent bears a strange familiarity to the Arcane Serpents of Northrend, but with many more rows of teeth and definitive fangs. He also lacks the ethereal skin until certain abilities are applied. Scales, bladed fings, and circular markings that are akin to chains, this crimson familiar seems to be the most colorful of the trio. 

Personality: Calm until provoked, Sphula recognizes his own intellect and will exercise it when it is most necessary. More often than naught, he is seen wrapped around Daev, whispering into his ear while chastising Randdu. For once to gain conference with Sphula would mean that you either have earned his respect or there is something of worth about you or upon you that he would sooner have you align yourself to their cause. Unlike the other trio, Sphula is not above breaking the rules in his favor. For he believes logic is more important in the case of survivability in the cruel world of a snake. There is one he deems the most worthy of his time: The Lady in the Red @sanguinesorceress​ . 

Abilities:  Not as physically strong as Randdu, Sphula is also a constrictor and has no issue wrapping his long tail around his foes or even applying it in a flailing motion to dispatch someone from approaching Daev. And speaking of which, did you know that snakes can actually jump three times their length? Not just this one, but he can also slip his entire length through objects much like a pocket space just to come out in a near forty yard radius. Sphula is also the strongest when it comes to the use of magic and intellect. He is able to conjure geomancy, hemomancy, umbramancy, and in some cases, cryomancy and pyromancy. But what would a snake be without his bite? Twin fangs possess a potent cytotoxin, which is a toxin that induces tissue necrosis. Keep your hands away from this snakes mouth!

OOC Information Station 

Rp Style:  When interacting with this blog or even the in-game character, I cannot always guarantee that you will interact with all three of them, just as I also cannot guarantee that one of the other’s won’t squeeze themselves into the RP. Otherwise, I am generally laid back and always up to most themes, including the dark and twisted. I am an adult writer and in most cases, I am not so easily triggered and easy to speak with. Please, don’t hesitate to ask questions as I may have an actual answer for them. I also would like to remind everyone that I have been roleplaying in World of Warcraft for nearly ten years. All I ever ask is your undying patience and kindness in return. 

Platforms: Tumblr, Discord, and In-game (Planned) 

If you have made it this far, congratulations. Now to get to the nitty, gritty disclaimer warnings and rules.

1. Roleplaying with The Trio means you have agreed to not knowing the original character Duraxxor is the true identity of these characters without the proper knowledge or permission. Should you regard him as Duraxxor, Alphus, Lord Daevara, Myotis, or any other former alias, it will be ignored in-character. Should this become a continuing habit, I will ask you personally to please stop trying to ruin the mystery of the characters. Let’s make this a fun plot for all, old and new. 

2. If you are seeking to fix the problem as quick as possible, then you have come to the wrong player. I am wanting this particular plot device to go longer than a few weeks or even months as the Shadowlands is going to obviously take longer than a single year itself. There’s going to be hurdles to make evolve these characters over time. You are welcome to speak about being a part of the plot where he attempts to fix himself though!

3. When addressing particular character questions, please specify who you are addressing to unless it is all the above or the mun. This makes my life so much easier and more engaging. 

4. Do not god mod my characters as I would not god mod yours. All of them have their own individual strengths and weaknesses and should be considered only through natural interaction. 

5. More importantly, be respectful and patient. This is a brand new concept I am playing with and I really wish to see it through to the very end and want those involved to have fun. 

Thank you all for taking the time to read this and I do hope that everything is clear! I look forward to roleplaying with everyone and enjoying the Shadowlands storyline! Happy Writing everyone! 

And if you have not read Chapter 1 to the Shadowlands storyline, here is a link to the story is here

[shandaumath]

Master

{The following is a retelling of RP that occurred largely between Vynlorin and @cerusaniduskbinder with a few points from @aredhelvaltieri and @barirnshadowwind, and @sparrow-of-arnud​ and @nivathostin​ for mentions. 

Very little has been altered from the original RP only for the sake of storytelling flow.}

[A simple parchment was posted on the notice board in the late afternoon. Very few words were written, but the words posted there were large and elegant and demanded attention. The seal of House Shandaumath sat at the bottom of the notice.]

WANTED: Hemomancer

Any who can provide reliable information on the whereabouts of a hemomancer will be handsomely rewarded. Further inquiries should be redirected to Master Vynlorin Shandaumath.

Search with haste. Time is of the essence.

...

“Master Vynlorin. When you have time I have information you are looking for.”

Cerusani’s voice rang out through the communication device that Vynlorin hated so much. He set aside the scroll of hemomancy that he had been researching and clicked the little button on the device attached beneath his shoulder pads.

“I have time now.”

“I am finishing up an appointment. I will be available in about ten minutes.”

He pursed his lips and wrinkled his nose. Another meeting with Cerusani, and it would end with just as much disappointment as the rest. But he couldn’t risk not seeing her. The fate of the sickly Ithildir depended on this hunt.

“Find me in Thornwood.”

Vynlorin left his books and scrolls in an organized mess and retreated from his study only to greet Nivathostin who had been standing outside as patiently as ever. The man had few interests and fewer words, and the master of the house had grown fond of him.

“Come, Nivathostin. We have a guest tonight.” As if being beckoned like a dog, the blue-haired ren’dorei following behind his master, and the pair made way into the dining hall for preparations.

....

It wasn’t long before Cerusani made her way into the room with classical Cerusani confidence. Her shoulders were back with her head held high even though she knew who she was meeting.

“Master Vynlorin. I made it here as quickly as I could. Thankfully I was just across the way and not in the city.” She did not dare take a seat anywhere as she waited for the man to acknowledge her presence.

The table was empty except for the bottle of Dalaran Red and two glasses beside it. One had already been filled and teased by the master of the house while the other remained cold and empty in anticipation of the coming guest. Aside from the usual servants that stood idle along the walls, Vynlorin was not alone. Next to his seat stood a thin ren’dore who, although far too skinny, seemed in decent health. The man boasted short blue hair and steady eyes that were unwavering in their inspection upon Cerusani when she arrived, but Vynlorin met her with a curious gaze as he waved to the empty seat nearest to her.

“Of course. Have a seat.”

A servant peeled himself from the wall with quick feet and reached for the bottle of wine and empty glass, pouring the woman her drink as she settled in.

Cerusani wasted no time in taking the offered seat with grace as she sat upon the wood which made a small noise. The servant who had poured the wine offered it up to Cerusani and she took it by the stem. “Thank you.” The two small words were offered to the servant before she began to swirl the delectable wine that they both enjoyed. However, Cerusani did not look at the wine but instead flitted her violet eyes between Master Vynlorin and the unknown man.

“Is he the one you need the hemomancer for? I thought it was Ithildir. That would be odd though as I told Ithildir what I knew two nights ago.” A brow arched as she shifted around the thoughts within her head. Politely she took a sip of the wine.

Vynlorin quirked a brow. “Did you? So you’ve already discussed it with Ithildir while he made no mention of it to me.” His finger gently tapped against the glass, and he entirely ignored the question she posed to him. After a moment of silent thought, he sipped and continued.

“What did he say about it?”

Cerusani sucked in the side of her cheek for a moment, contemplating.

“He said nothing but thank you. I gave him two names. Baron Herke Kruger and Lord Tion Harrowmire.” She relaxed back into the chair as she crossed one leg atop the other. “Baron Kruger once told me that Harrowmire had asked about learning hemomancy after a House of Nobles meeting. That is all I have. Though since it is frowned upon and illegal within Stormwind I am unsure if either are practitioners. It is better a lead than anything else.”

The wine within her glass swirled as she eyed the gaunt unknown man. “Did he want a glass of wine perhaps?”

Vynlorin twisted his lips and pursed them in displeasure as he received the information, but they soon pressed into a line at the attention sent toward the other man. A dismissive hand waved it off as Vynlorin looked up at the other who still remained as still and steady as ever.

“Perhaps Nivathostin’s biggest flaw is his tongue. He is a whiskey man and scorns wine whenever I offer it to him.”

There was no hiding the surprise on Cerusani’s face as she set the wine down on the table. Her eyes directly stared at Nivathostin as if seeing a made up story one only hears about once in a few moons.

“Nivathostin. Aredhele’s Nivathostin? I thought he was dead. Aredhele has always spoken of him as if he was dead. Not that she did it often. One time.” The words were low and wonderous.

Nivathostin couldn’t help but sneer at the name while his nose raised high as if he had just been insulted. “Perhaps it was always her goal,” he mused quietly with malice thick in his voice.

Vynlorin returned his gaze to his glass and allowed a snake-like grin to spread wide against his lips before chiming in. “I wasn’t aware you knew of him, Cerusani. How curious.” The master then motioned for Nivathostin to sit while waving the servants forward. “Do get a bottle of whiskey for Nivathostin here.”

With the command, the younger men scurried to the liquor cabinet, retrieved a dark bottle, and brought it to the table where they poured it into a glass and offered it to the blue-haired man taking a seat.

Cerusani finally broke her gaze away from Nivathostin and brought the eyes down to her wine glass. The ripples from the swirling radiated outward to the edges as she thought.

“I do not know much. Just the name. I know better than to ask more right now. Even if I did you would not tell me, Master Vynlorin.” As if the words parched her throat like Tanaris, Cerusani brought the wine to her lips drinking a healthy portion of it. As the glass was brought down she shifted in her seat, seeming as if she was no longer comfortable in the room. “Ithildir is dying. He had me run across Stormwind last night to fetch a potion for him. He is in no condition to fight on Sunday.”

Vynlorin shook his head at Cerusani, and Nivathostin fell silent once more as he sipped at the sweet escape of whiskey now snuggled within his hand.

“Nivathostin has had a rough few years, Cerusani, and we will do our best to make sure he’s comfortable. Let’s leave this as our little secret for now, yes?” The warlock’s predatory gaze fell heavily against the woman as his own silent threat, and the look only softened after he sipped back another dose of poison. “Ithildir is dying, yes, which is why it’s important that we find someone or something that can cure him quickly. You would do well not to fight him just as I must stay my own hand until he can recover.”

Cerusani knew the gaze that he cast upon her with the words of warning. Silence fell between the trio for a while with the only sound coming from Cerusani being the tapping of her nails atop the table.

“You want me to keep a secret for you. What do I get out of it? You’ve cast me aside. You call me a cat. You call me a disappointment. What do I get from this arrangement?” She rolled her shoulders back trying to give her the look of confidence she had when entering the room. “From your request I surmise that Lady Aredhele does not know he is here. Perhaps no one but you knows.” A brow arched as the words were pointed directly at the man.

Nivathostin paused his sip as he stared steadily at Cerusani, his breath remaining stuck in his lungs as he awaited the master’s response. Vynlorin too paused as his gaze fell into slits at the dare, and it was as if the room grew colder with a devilish curl of his lips.

“Quite simply, Cerusani, you get to keep your freedom.”

Cerusani set her wine glass down atop the table.

“I want more than that.”

Arms crossed beneath her chest as the two seemed to be in a stalemate. “You can do better, Vynlorin.” This was the first time in months that she had dropped the respect of his title.

All the servants in the room froze, stuck as statues as the tension in the air gripped their rapidly-beating hearts. Nivathostin too could feel the wrath of the master despite his innocence in the conversation. Vynlorin curled that devilish grin wider, and his wicked thoughts flashed before his eyes and danced in his mind as he considered his next move.

“Cerusani. I understand you enjoy being beaten. Perhaps you would like to demonstrate for everyone in this room what it’s like to be the subject of a lesson in disobedience.”

Cerusani should have known better and did know better but still she doubled down.

“No. I do not think I will be the subject of one of your lessons.”

The defiance flickered in her eyes as she took a moment to look from the Master to Nivathostin. Her right hand uncurled from underneath her chest and dipped into her pocket. As the hand came up from the table she held tightly onto her small communication device, finger pressed upon the button. “Lady Aredhele.”

“Yes, Cerusani?” Lady Aredhele’s voice rang out.

She took her finger off the button and cocked her head to the side once more looking at Master Vynlorin. “You can do better. Pick your next words carefully because there are different pieces to this puzzle I could pull out and say to Lady Aredhele right now.”

There was no going back. Cerusani had put this into motion.

Vynlorin squinted at the device as he heard the woman’s words ring out against his own ear from beneath his pauldrons. A soft sigh flooded from his nostrils, but he didn’t pity the woman’s fate that she had just sealed.

“Very well.”

And then, with a gentle utter beneath his breath, the shadows beneath Cerusani’s seat wriggled to life and crawled up the back of her chair only to wrest the woman’s neck backwards with its long, gangly claws. The shadowfiend crawled with tendrils and inches of nails that fashioned into claws, and it sought to squeeze the air from her neck while threatening to pierce the flesh. Nivathostin watched with dark eyes that were far too curious to hold sympathy for the woman, but the servants all sent their gazes downward and held their frightened breaths.

Cerusani pressed the button of the communication device. With all that she had left in her she squeezed out a sound.

“NIVAT-”

The word did not finish as the clawed shadows dug deeper, crushing her throat even more. With that the device fell out of her hand as the woman’s body began to grow limp.

When the radio clicked on again, the sound of broken glass was heard. Then, all was silent. Too silent. The radio connection opened after a long pause and the melodic buzz of static replaced Aredhele’s voice. There was too much emotion. Too many thoughts rushed to her mouth and she spat out with all the passion she could muster. “Where. Is. He?”

Vynlorin slammed his glass against the table and pushed himself to his feet with more fury than she would have ever seen before. His face grew dark like the very demons he commanded, and a quick flick of his wrist snuffed out every torch in the dining hall.

“Cerusani.”

That one single word dragged against the infinite dark of the shadows that now wrapped around them with the weight of every vile thought that had ever crossed the warlock’s mind. Nivathostin inhaled a deep breath that hitched itself in his throat with all the others who were unfortunate enough to be trapped in the cage with the beast and its prey.

“I am so disappointed in you.”

The woman’s eyes fluttered for a moment, taking in the darkness as it came. The little breathing that she was able to manage began to slow, become shallower. Her body limper with each passing second.

"It seems she has not responded. Would you like for me to find her, Lady Valtieri?" Barirn’s voice called out from the device.

“No no, that is alright. I will find her myself tomorrow.”

The shadowfiend grew stronger in the darkness, but its life was short-lived and soon dispersed into the rest of the room only to be replaced by the warlock’s own hand wrapped tightly around her neck. He held her firmly but allowed her breaths to trickle through so she could feel every word he uttered against her ear, his breath hot and heavy beside her.

“You could have shown me that you were capable of doing anything right, but now you’ll just be another pet to hang on my wall.”

The darkness flooded through her nostrils and reached deep into her soul, transcending flesh and breaking the barrier between life and death. His other fingers reached into his robes and pinched an empty soul shard that now glowed with anticipation for its new prisoner, and he muttered a dark and vile language as the ritual continued.

Everything within Cerusani began to twist and ache as her very source of life broke apart from her while the warlock reeled it out, slowly, slowly, until it screeched when it broke into the air and was dragged into the little shard. With nothing to see, the rushing wind that whirled within the room struck hard against the dulled senses of everyone within it, and the cold of the Nether skittered like static across their flesh.

Cerusani felt every little part of her body as Vynlorin worked his magic upon her. Her long lashes fluttered open to see the darkness of the room while the violet orbs looked as if the woman was in the depths of pure agony. Each passing moment Cerusani’s soul left her and entered the shard within Vynlorin’s grasp until there was nothing of it left inside her. Her throat beneath his hand moved as she swallowed to get out anything but nothing came.

The thoughts. The words. Everything stuck within Cerusani as her eyes fluttered closed once more. Nivathostin shuddered at the sensation of the Twisting Nether breaking through into the room, and the familiar touch of death and lost souls made his stomach churn.

Once the shard had fully sealed the soul within it, it sparked in a brilliant flash of light before falling into a soft purple glow that revealed the suffering soul within it. The anger mingling with the unnatural magics gave rise to Vynlorin’s own nausea, but he ignored it as adrenaline still pulsed within him and forced his hand to backhand the woman who had riled him so.

“You are no longer a student. No longer an acquaintance. You are a worthless animal who will learn her place.

The backhand from Vynlorin sent Cerusani’s slumping body to the stone of the floor. For a long while she laid on the cool stone before she began to come about. Her body convulsed as her skin began to glisten. The first attempt at righting her body failed with her body crumpling to the ground once more.

A retching sound came from her throat even with it being so dry. The dark floor was spewed with the wine she had consumed, and a mixture of her dinner of stew one of the villagers had made for her. The stench just before her nose prompted her to try to get up once more. Her weakened body managed to sit up as she looked around, finally settling on Vynlorin.

“Yo-.”

She had to pause a moment.

“Take everything.”

It made no sense perhaps to the men before her but it did to Cerusani. Shaking hands grasped at the chair trying to pull her to her feet, and after a few moments Cerusani was upon legs that felt like a baby deer.

“Ca-can I go now?” The view of the woman now was scant but a memory of the woman who had walked into the room with confidence.

Vynlorin stepped through the darkness, pushing the chair with his foot so he could take another step closer. That wicked hand rushed to the back of Cerusani’s neck to slam her head down against the table like a prisoner beneath his grip.

“You will address me properly.”

While keeping her head steady with one hand, the warlock returned the filled shard to its place in his robes before flicking that wrist to spark the torches alive again. The darkness fled with the flames so that Cerusani could see her captor looming above her.

Cerusani felt the impact of the wooden table against her face. Once more her stomach began to retch but there was no longer anything to give. Her body radiated with shivers as she looked up to the imposing man she had goaded into being the demon she knew lived somewhere in him. With the grasp of his hand on the back of her neck it felt as if she was his puppet when the words came out next.

“Ma-may I go now, M-m-master Vynlorin?” It was a struggle as every fiber of Cerusani ached.

Vynlorin kept her there a moment longer as he considered her plea.

“No.”

He responded with the same confidence that she had uttered to him when she damned herself to this fate. “Guards!” he barked, and the two men who had been guarding the outside of the door rushed in. “Take her to the dungeon. I’ll be along shortly.”

Each bulky man gripped an arm and yanked Cerusani with them, seeking to drag her along if her own feet couldn’t keep up. Vynlorin brushed the filth of the woman from his hands and waved Nivathostin to follow along.

Cerusani could not keep up as her feet dragged across the floor.

“Master Vynlorin. I wo-won’t say anything. Pleas-please.”

The words were the last things that left her lips as one of the guards smacked her on the back of her head, and she fell silent while they descended the stairs.

[1stunseeliefaelass]

Darksiders Arthurian Tales Revisited Chapter 4 Reaper’s Waltz

“This will definitely do.” Death replied looking around a bit.

“So I’m guessing you wanted to be in private because I know who you are?” Morgen implied.

“Yeah this is definitely ‘private’, and yes.”

“Alright, well I’m assuming you’re on a mission then? And if so what is it?” Morgen inquired.

“We’re after something. We hear it’s a weapon. It’s vague at best, but the rumors say it’s a book that creates weapons, curses, things like that.” Death explained.

He noticed Morgen’s eyes go from amethyst purple to white behind her mask, and her body language seemed to indicate concern. Despite her attempts to hide it.

“I know what you’re after, but there’s something about it that no one else knows. I am its creator, and the only one who can control it.”

“Where is it, so I destroy it?” Death questioned her.

“There’s no destroying it. Not with the enchantment I was forced to put on it. I destroyed the original one, only for Uther to force me to make another book. From there he....asked me to make it so no one could destroy it. Hence the enchantment.” Morgen insisted to him as her eyes turned black.

As her body language suggested fear, Death decided to try a new approach, “Where it is now? If we take it now, we’ll make sure it disappears. Never to be heard from again.” He also placed a hand on her shoulder to calm her. Course all of a sudden her eyelids fluttered a bit and she started swaying. Death recognized what was going to happen and quickly stopped her from falling. As she lay limp in his arms he found himself highly worried now. He began to look her over, seeing her neck had gone pale and assumed the rest of her was too. But he couldn’t find anything wrong with her physically. Finally, after a moment passed her eyes fluttered open again.

“What just happened? Are you alright? What’s going on?”

Morgen groaned a bit and shifted in Death’s arms before asking him, “Might you...help me up...please?”

“Oh sorry about that.”

Death gently helped her back up but she was still quite faint and the paleness hadn’t receded. Naturally he kept her close so that she’d not collapse again, but he then noticed a strange glow. He traced it to her current necklace, and grabbed the pendant.

“What the? What’s this?”

Morgen nearly explains but the glow brightens and she nearly faints again. Leaving Death even more worried now. He snaps the necklace off her neck before chucking it elsewhere. From there he notices Morgen’s condition starting to improve. The paleness finally begins to recede, and she seems far more lucid now.

“Forgive me...I wasn’t expecting...that he’d...use it tonight.” Morgen managed to say.

Death sees it shine even more now, “What is this?”

“Let’s just say...that’s Uther’s way of telling me...to go to him, immediately.”

“And what if you don’t?”

“He’ll come looking for me.” Morgen said as her eyes went black again.

Death felt her starting to shake as well, “How long do we have before that?”

“Not much longer...” Morgen stated as she shook more.

He chucks the necklace even further this time, “Will that help?”

“He’ll find it and then....likely get angry.” Morgen explained shaking even more. She could only hope Death would get that she was just scared right now.

“Well he can be angry with me, not you.”

“Just take me inside...please. I can’t allow...anything to happen to you...not because of me. Please do as I ask.” Morgen pleaded.

“We’ll continue this discussion later.” Death finally stated with a sigh.

From there Death aided her back inside the castle. Before too long they ran into Uther, who seemed quite angry. Even as Morgen was brought over, Death saw his gaze was fixated on him. More specifically, where he was holding Morgen in order to keep her steady. He could feel a storm of rage coming on, but he’d brave it if need be.

With a deep breath Uther suddenly smiled, “Ah I’m glad you found her. I was worried for her. How did you find her anyway?”

“I was walking around in the gardens, trying to view what beauty they had. Then I ran into Morgen and we spoke for a time. She suddenly feinted during our talk, and I wasn’t sure what to do. So I made my way back here with her.” Death lied.

Morgen hid her surprise at the lie and kept quiet as Uther spoke again, “Poor girl has some issues with her blood. Every now and then she’ll go stark white. I gave her the necklace to monitor her blood in case it spikes. Now if you don’t mind, I would take her to infirmary.”

“I shall assist.” Death offered simply.

“That won’t be necessary.”

“I must insist. I’m a practitioner in hemomancy, I shall be of great service in finding out what ails her.” Death explained.

“Well well, I guess you shall be of great use. Let me guide you to the infirmary, this way.”

Death followed, keeping a close watch on Uther. Uther could feel his gaze on him, and needless to say it concerned him. But he kept his mouth shut regardless, for the sake of saving face. He did glance over his shoulder every now and then though. Yet Death gave no pause nor did he turn away when Uther looked at him.

“Do you have a problem with me, or does something offend you?”

Death shook his head, “Ehehe, just concerned for the lady. Nothing to worry about.”

Mina sees them on their way there and quickly calls Barrcus with a crystal. Even though she’s real close to Uther and at risk of being seen or heard using magic. “Barrcus, ye need to get to the infirmary, now. Uther’s on his way there with Morgen and the Horseman.”

“Heh, well then...,” Barrcus says as he goes into the servant quarter tunnels, changing his outfit and teleporting to the infirmary from there, “...how close..are they?”

“Closer now, ye there yet? And are ye alright?” Mina whispered with concern in her tone.

“Just a bit worn out that’s all...now take yourself off the crystal before Uther sees you.”

Mina did so quickly and then hurried into the tunnels herself to get back to work. Uther and Death meanwhile reached the infirmary with Morgen. Luckily Barrcus had finally caught his breath after nearly exhausting himself with that much magic use. Well at least it was a lot for his body in particular to handle.

“What happened?” Barrcus urged of them whilst walking up to Morgen.

Uther however shooed him away, “Her blood issue is back. I’m here to see it’s taken care of properly. And not any of the hocus pocus that doesn’t work.”

Barrcus laughed at the offensive statement, “I’m sorry to say but this ‘hocus pocus’ actually does work.”

Uther only huffs, “Hmph, well then. At least we have an actual professional here.”, he the gestured to Death.

Death stepped forward and explained, “I’m a hemomancer, a blood mage.”

Barrcus cautioned, “I know this magic, it can be very taxing on the user. Are you sure you want to do this right now?”

“I’m not a novice, I know my limits.”

“Very well.”

With that Morgen was placed onto a bed with Death gently grasping her hand, his free one rested against the veins in her wrist. Course Uther felt a twinge of jealousy again. Seeing this stranger having the ‘privilege’ of holding her hand when it should be him alone infuriated him. Barrcus meanwhile remained concerned for both Morgen and Death. One wrong move could cause either of them to have an aneurism or heart attack, among other complications. Or Death’s current glamour spell on his eyes could fade. As time passed Barrcus sent a spider and asked Mina to warn Puck and Strife as quickly as she could. She hurried off to do so, and just as Death was starting to show some fatigue as he searched around her body. He had to pretend to be fixing shit by taking a long while. But it was definitely coming at a cost. Death’s vision was beginning to fade a slight bit and he could feel his heart racing wildly.

Barrcus urged of him as he watched what was happening, “Please let me take over for this. You need some rest.”

“Can you..handle it?” Death begrudgingly inquired whilst trying to keep his breathing under control.

“You’re not the only ‘expert’ at this.” Barrcus explained taking Morgen’s hand from him.

Death used an extra bit of magic to transfer the spell at its current process to Barrcus before moving aside. He clutched his chest briefly and winced in pain as he worked to regain his senses. All the while Uther watched him like a hawk. He sees Death’s glamour over his eyes fade briefly enough to catch a glimpse of his true eyes, and relished in the pain Death had caused himself. He almost hoped Death would have a heart attack right there in the room. It would ‘almost’ be a fitting enough end for having held Morgen’s hand, and for showing up at his home to begin with given who he truly was.

“Are you alright Horseman?”

“Fine...just a little winded that’s all...wait why’d you call me Horseman?” Death questioned as he realized what may have happened.

“You came in on a horse am I right? What else am I supposed to call you? As you’ve given no name.”

Death saw Uther was only trying to keep him calm, but would play along for now. After all he was in no condition for a fight, “Of course uhm...Mallek...my name is Mallek.”

“Interesting name, is that from the Unseelie court?”

“Nowhere in particular, just a wanderer.” Death replies.

“Why did you learn blood magic by chance?” Uther pressed.

Death responded quickly though, not wanting to lose pace and give Uther more to suspect, “Picked it up on some of my travels, found it to be very useful.”

“So how long have been practicing this magic? And why would you find use of it?”

Death thought back a moment, as this question gave such an opportunity, “I’m in the hunter’s guild. I take bounties in order to keep myself from losing favor with a few individuals.”

“May I see the mark?” Uther inquired.

“Certainly.” Death replied showing his wrist to him.The mark shown as a dragon’s skull with a blade in it.

The two stared each other down, being at an impasse. Meanwhile Morgen and Barrcus formed temporary psychic link,

“What actually happened?” Barrcus nearly growled.

“I was being incapacitated by the necklace until Uther could find me, but Death removed it. I begged him to just bring me back so that nothing would happen to him.” Morgen explained with concern.

Barrcus stridulated slightly, “Are you alright now?”

“Fine, we’d best hurry before both of them explode.” Morgen urged him.

 “Gentlemen, I think the party is waiting for you. Especially you sire." Barrcus explained to them.

"Yes it is, well I guess I shouldn't be keeping anyone waiting now should I? Should Morgen rest for tonight?" Uther expressed simply.

"It would be best given everything that's happened. But if she wants to stay up that would be fine for a little while." Barrcus recommended.

"I'd actually prefer a bit of rest, but the public may worry if I don't show up for dinner at least. I should at least be seen there before I sleep." Morgen explains.

"One minor dance to show you are strong would also be good." Uther suggested.

"Well uhm....I'll certainly try my best to manage such." Morgen says nervously.

"I would assist with that." Death offers to her.

"I would agree." Uther states before leaving the room.

Barrcus however asked Morgen, "Are you sure about this?"

"I'll be alright. Don't worry." Morgen told him with a smile, and giving him a lighter hug this time.

Barrcus then looked to Death, "Make sure she's safe for the rest of the night. Now I'm going to make sure the other things are taken care of."

Death only nods and takes Morgen by her arm, "This way."

Barrcus meanwhile muttered to himself, "Now for the final part."

He hides in a closet to change back into his jester outfit and heads back into the main party hall. Mina meanwhile has FINALLY found Puck and Strife, and walks up to them.

"Oi! Puck! I need to talk to ye and yer friend here. Now."

"Eh....uh why?" Puck inquires whilst swaying in partial drunkenness.

"Trust me it's important, let's meet in private please." Mina urged him.

"Alrighty then....herrrgh....let's....aaaaaaaa go then!"

"You're really selling it." Strife whispers to him.

Puck then looked back to Mina after dragging Strife over there, "Please tell me you're not drunk too."

"Depends on what ya mean by drunk." Strife stated.

Mina sniffs the air and gets a pissed off look, "You damn fools! This is no time to be playin wit me! I have to warn ya about something right this minute. Now get yer sorry asses moving, march."

Both gents drop their acts and follow her all pouty. Once Mina gets em in the servant quarter tunnels she tells them, "Alright boys, there's a real shitestorm comin. Ye need to be prepared for what's comin up. Just be aware that when shite hits the fan, you come straight here in this tunnel. I'll be here waiting for ye until then."

Uther meanwhile called out, "Now it's time for the royal dance! Unfortunately I will not be attending this one due to certain circumstances that have come up. However, my Stepdaughter Morgen shall be attending to one of her own. And a volunteer has showed himself, I hope you enjoy this spectacle. Also Morgen shall sing for you, for now I must attend to other matters."

Morgen gets a shocked look, "Singing? I only agreed to....ah!"

"It would make your subjects very happy to say the least. And Barrcus has been disobeying his orders." Uther explained.

Morgen froze as he said that and quietly begged him, "I'm not sure what you mean, but please don't hurt him."

"Best to sing for him then, and I'll give a toast." Uther says calmly before doing as he said he would.

"I'll sing first, to please everyone." Morgen muttered a bit nervously.

"I shall have the band readied." Uther told her before clapping his hands at the performers. Then after getting their attention, "Where's Puck?"

The men all groaned and suggested he was with a girl of some kind more than likely. So Uther settled for the group that remained and told them to play a specific song. One he assured them Morgen knew well. As they started to play, Morgen began to sing. She hid her nerves as best she could whilst she sang. Both Death and Barrcus could see that while she could bring peace to everyone else, the same couldn't be said for herself. Death in particular made a mental note to himself to give her a bit of encouragement as best he could. Figuring it may help in this case. Barrcus however focused on finding a spot to poison before his performance of faking his death. Only he found Uther doing just that and Barrcus was sure he wasn't going to fake this one. Whoever would die tonight would be random, but Barrcus made note of what he saw Uther poison before looking back to Morgen with pride and worry.

After she finished, Morgen received a lot of praise before announcing to them all, "Now everyone! For the royal dance!", and getting equal amounts of praise. Death found himself a bit nervous but did his best to hide it whilst Morgen took his hand, "Are you ready?"

"As ready as I can be. Most of the time people aren't watching. And most of the dances I involve myself in are bloody."

"Well, I'll see what I can do to help. Just keep calm and do your best." Morgen calmly replied.

"Thank you. Might I also compliment your singing, it was somewhat soothing actually." Death explained to her.

"Well thank you too, I'm glad I'm so helpful tonight. Just let me know if you need further help there."

Death nodded whilst glancing around every so often. Normally he wouldn't care about so many faces watching him. But in this case, he got a slight bit nervous. Morgen meanwhile noticed Barrcus in his disguise. Even without Uther's pointing him out, she could see him all the same. Her sudden look of worry towards him caused Death to ask her,

"Is something the matter?"

"I'm worried for Barrcus. Uther threatened his life earlier. I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to him beyond what already has."

"Why is Barrcus so close to you?" Death inquired.

"He promised my Mother that he'd watch over me when she died. He practically raised me alongside her. He's...family. Aside from my little brother, Uncle, and cousins, he and Mina are my only true family left." Morgen stated sadly.

"May I ask what happened to him to...make him so frail?"

"It was my fault.....I cannot control my Unseelie form. It's massive in size, to put it lightly. Barrcus tried to help me out of it when I last lost control. He ended up....being gravely injured in the process. He's been that way ever since then." Morgen explained starting to sound depressed. Her eyes turning grey as she spoke on it.

"Hey, he's alive and for the most he's doing fine. Despite everything. Might I ask, how was he healed to begin with?"

"I honestly don't know. He was taken during the incident and presumed dead for a time. Then one day he came home looking as he does now. He never explained how he was healed, why, or who had done so. Only that it happened and it's why he looks the way he does." Morgen replied.

"Which is...?"

"He was always tall to begin with. But the excess of spider features, the labored breathing that sounds like stridulating, and the constant feeling of pain, those are what came with his healing." Morgen says simply.

"Anything else that I ought to know about? What does he look under his mask?" Death questioned further.

"Believe me, even you may find yourself frightened as most are. And I don't think there's much else I can tell you right now. Unless you can think of anything else I may have missed."

Death is about to reply, but then they both hear a woman scream bloody murder.

"What the?"

As he and Morgen went to see what happened, Strife grabbed Puck and went for the servant tunnel Mina brought them to earlier. Assuming that this was the moment Mina had told them of.

Death and Morgen then come upon the sight of a man laying upon the ground. He was checked for a pulse, and judging by his checker's reaction Death could tell he found nothing. Morgen tried going over to him, but Death stopped her,

"Don't, we don't know what could be happening here."

Morgen remained where she was with a simple nod to boot. Course Uther soon came over and immediately his voice boomed out over all, "WHAT'S HAPPENING HERE?!"

The man who checked for a pulse stepped forward, "Sir, I'm afraid Lord Bartholomule has died."

Uther gained a shocked expression, "WHAT?", then upon walking up and checking for a pulse his voice boomed out, "WHO'S DONE IT!? HUH?! SHOW YOURSELF MURDERER!"

Everyone looked at each other in confusion and fear. Meanwhile Morgen was shaking badly again, causing Death to pull her close. As he was worried she may be about to feint again. Course this caught Uther's attention, "MALLEK I presume?"

"Yes." Death replied simply.

"I doubt that's your real name." Uther declared before suddenly grabbing Death by his throat. He tries to free himself but it's almost like War's or even Absalom's grip. He's even been lifted off to Uther face, "I believe I know who you truly are, Horseman!"

Then Death found his current mask ripped off. His real eyes being the only give away to who he was. And causing many an onlooker to gasp in pure fear. Strife meanwhile was peeking through the slightly open door to the tunnel. And nearly jumped out to rescue his older brother. But Mina had restored Puck's sobriety and thusly he held Strife back,

After shutting the door he told Strife, "Ya can't go out there, not right now. That man's out for a witch hunt. If he finds ya, he's gonna execute you. Probably in the most brutal way possible as well. We gotta get out of here, now."

"What about my brother?" Strife implored him.

"Ye can't help him now, we need to get out of here." Puck insisted dragging Strife back down the tunnel. Mina followed them from behind.

Meanwhile Death was proving to last a lot longer than Uther anticipated he would. Morgen was also trying to get him to stop, "My liege, Uther please stop. The Council will bring you ruin if he dies! You know this! Please don't!"

Uther however lost his reason momentarily, and he goes to slap her. His hand stopping just inches from her face, "Woman, this is an insult to the kingdom, to you, and to me. The Council has stuck their nose where it doesn't belong, into our realms. We severed ourselves so that we do not 'give harm to the balance'! Whatever that is. And what do they do?!" He shouts while raising Death higher, "They send their spies! To send threats, to cause havoc!" He bellows whilst gesturing to the dead Lord.

Death barely choked out his defense, "I was........nnnnngh urgh.....in sight......of you.....and gah.....aah hrrr....Morgen.....*cough*"

Uther however tightened his grip to silence him, "But your brother wasn't. Tell me, where is your brother, and I may consider letting you both go."

Death remained in defiance of him, and because he was starting to lose consciousness.

"Oh sorry might I provide you some air?" Uther questioned before loosening his grip. Death gasped for air as Uther asked once more, "I'm going to ask you again...WHERE IT YOUR BROTHER?"

Death still remained silent, and Uther did not take kindly to it at all. He slammed Death's head into the ground multiple times until he ceased moving. Once satisfied he tossed Death across the room, causing him to smack into a table before hitting the floor. Morgen went to rush over to him but found her arm in his grasp now,

"You and I will be speaking about this later. GUARDS! Take her to her room, now! And take THAT to the dungeon!" Uther boomed and pointing at Death towards the end of it. Morgen looked back to see if Death was alright but Barrcus urged her to move on through their mental link,

"Play along, I have a plan."

"But what about Death? Is he alright?" Morgen implored him.

"Have some semblance of faith. It's always darkest before the dawn."

Morgen finally left the room despite her worry as Death was dragged away in heavy chains, ones that were also anti magic.

Meanwhile Strife was having a pure panic attack. His head going to worst case scenarios as Puck did all he could to calm him down from the attack,

"Control your breathing Strife. Remember what your brother always says, breathe just breathe."

"I'm trying man! I should've! I could've done! I....I don't.....FUCK!!!!" Strife shouted in his panic, breaking down as well.

Puck stroked his back, "Dude, remember, breathe."

Mina looked at him and gently said, "He's right Horseman, breathe and stay calm."

Strife then began thinking back to when Death always said that to him. Calming down the more he imagined Death's voice in his head guiding him. After a final deep breath he asked, "What do we do now?"

"Well for one thing we need to hide. Find a safe place around here." Puck replied.

Barrcus then came from the shadows within the room, "Maybe I could help with that." He then begins to remove the mask.

[bloodforvlad]

This isn’t the first time someone’s come to see him. Sometimes they stand at the entry to his locked estate, mooning and pining (either going away and coming back until Vlad relents and allows the servants to open the gates, or taking the initiative to seek out the hemomancer directly). But it’s rare that they look for him outside of Noxus.

Even rarer that they find him.

Vlad lifts his head from his book, alerted by the heartbeat. He’s used to wolves, and deer, and the passage of birds overhead. Even the bandits and poachers that call these wild woods home sometimes pass close to the monastery. Rarely, though. Very rarely. None of them are foolish enough to climb the steep stone stairs. And yet, there is a heartbeat, pounding hard from the effort and exercise. Growing stronger and louder to his senses.

He glances over to his footman. “Jacques. We have company.”

His servant gives a grim look in return, but bows and departs. He has been in service long enough to anticipate his master’s will. He has seen what has happened before.

Vladimir puts his book down, and moves to the balcony. Watching the figure struggling their way up the steps. 

The stranger is panting as he reaches the monastery’s courtyard, but he’s not exhausted. He’s young, with sandy-brown hair and muscles that speak of an apprenticeship of hard work. Perhaps at sea, or carpentry, or some other trade. The clothes he wears are rough, homespun, sturdy, practical. He carries a club at his waist, and a small dagger strapped to his thigh. Weapons that have not seen recent use - a lucky happenstance, given the wildness of these lands and the creatures within it. His pulse is rich, and Vladimir can read good family lines in the scent of it. No inbreeding, which means he’s not descended from nobility or from some isolated village. And there’s something else, too. Something more. The spark of magic, a colour that has taste, a sound that is tangible. 

Vladimir watches, impassive, then steps towards the edge of the balcony, close enough that he can be seen in return. 

The young man looks up, his smooth skin marred by the sun and patched in places by the growth of scraggly chin hair. His eyes widen in shock as he sees Vladimir, before he breaks into a wide grin, and lifts one hand to wave.

“Vladimir! Master Sanguinus, sir!”

Vladimir leans on the stone, and studies the stranger. “You’re a long way from Noxus. Are you lost?”

“No, sir!” The young man sets down a heavy pack, standing straight, gazing up at Vladimir. “I came to look for you!” He wipes the sweat from his brow and straightens his clothing.

“For me? Well. Here I am.” He straightens, raising a single silver claw in a gesture to wait and be silent. The young man does so, entranced, staying in the courtyard as Vladimir turns to go inside. He still waits, as Vladimir takes his slow and casual way down to ground level, in no hurry to meet this fellow face to face. Yet it seems no matter how much time he takes, the enthusiasm of the long-travelled young man doesn’t wane.

“You came looking for me,” Vlad says, as the wind picks at his hair and robes, as the sun gleams off silver and rubies, as the imposing dark stone of the monastery rise around and behind him, framing his porcelain-and-scarlet self as he moves out of the doorway. “Why is that?”

The young man kneels, almost shaking with excitement, then he cranes his head back to gaze up at him. “I want to learn from you,” he says, wide-eyed in delight and something approaching fanaticism. “I want to learn hemomancy.”

Vladimir lets his lips curve in a faint, knowing smile. The smile does not meet his eyes.

It’s a poor host who does not invite a guest inside. The young man is shown into the monastery. He is given a meal, water to wash with, a room to sleep in, is promised a tour when the morning comes. The boy’s giddiness seeps through the stone, balanced only by the calm and steady pulses of the servants who attend to their master.

Vladimir slowly drains a bottle of wine, and watches the afternoon turn to evening.

It’s not quite a full moon, but it will do. Jacques ties the cow to a stake, Lance rouses the stranger, the maids quietly retreat into the kitchens and storerooms to begin preparing a meal for their master. They have their routines. They know their places.

Vladimir himself waits on the cliff edge, standing in the same place Dmitri did all those years ago, looking out across the vast, black forests. Far, far in the distance, he can see the dim lights of Noxus, the skull-shaped mountain by the sea that, from here, seems little more than the humped back of a rabbit. Or a rat.

He starts speaking before the stranger can, as Vlad feels the pulse enter the courtyard. “The art of hemomancy is not a forgiving one. It demands quite a sacrifice. Are you prepared to do what is necessary?”

There is a lover’s breathlessness in the stranger’s voice. “Anything,” he says. “Anything, Master Sanguinus.”

The blood mage flexes his claws, then steps away from the parapet’s edge. Under the moonlight, his scarlet robes seem darker. Almost black, like heartblood. His eyes, likewise, though with an unearthly gleam to them. He is a god, given form, and the stranger gazes in wonder and worship. It is a shame, really, what must come of this. It has been so long since he was worshipped.

Vladimir gestures to the cow. “Show me what you can do. Cripple the beast.”

The young man licks his lips, turning his attention to the tethered cow. It’s a shaggy beast, dense of fur and heavy of horn, the kind that thrives in this mountainous climate. It’s a strong beast, in the prime of life, and it is smart enough to sense impending danger. It lows, and tugs at the tether, trying to free itself from the stake.

The stranger acts quickly. The magic in his veins rises, finding a focus. Vladimir watches, impassive, as the air ripples around the stranger’s hands, as shadows coalesce. To his sight, familiar with magic, he sees blacks, dark greens, thorned pikes. And he sees the glee on the stranger’s face, the same kind of glee on the faces of those who pull the wings off flies, tear the feathers from birds, throw coals at cats, take to dogs with cudgels.

The cow screams, almost human, as it buckles, as the magic coils around it and claws at it. Bruises form and blood spills from savage wounds across its legs and throat and belly. Each wound has almost clinical placement. The young man knows how to hurt. The young man very much enjoys making living things hurt.

“Enough,” Vladimir says, sounding bored. “I said to cripple it, not kill it.”

It chastens the stranger more than a ‘my gods, what are you doing, stop’. The feathery darkness of the magic withdraws, and he drops his hands to his sides, panting. Flushed. Excited, but now nervous. Desperate to impress.

Vladimir looks over the wounded animal, at how it lays on its side, on how its legs have locked, tense and unmoving, at the quickened rise and fall of the flanks and the eyes rolled back until they show the whites. 

“Very well done,” Vladimir says, eventually. Careful not to sound disgusted, or grudging in his praise.

The young man grins, elated.

“Now heal it.”

The young man stares in confusion. “... Master?”

“Heal it.” Vladimir’s voice is as flat as before. His expression expectant, his eyes hard.

The young man shifts, now, uncomfortable, looking down at the injured beast. He raises his hands, hesitates, lowers them again. His pulse is racing. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t understand. He can’t: can’t do, and can’t understand, in equal measures.

“Hemomancy,” Vladimir says calmly, “Is the mastery of life and death. Anyone can kill. Cretins can kill, cowards can kill, children can kill.” He steps forward, hands idly waving over the cow. “Killing is easy. But keeping things alive? That’s the greatest challenge.”

His eyes gleam, rising red and ferocious like twin stars in the darkness. The open wounds close. The bruises fade and vanish. Those tight-locked limbs uncurl. Slowly, the cow gets back to its feet, fearfully shifting away from the stranger. But it stands, unmarred, giving one distressed low before settling into silence.

Vladimir flicks his claws, and the spilled droplets of blood gather and spin around his hand like miniature comets. “There is no art to death,” he says, bored, flat, stony. Watching the blood.

“That’s not true!” The stranger steps forward, desperate in pleading. “I’ve heard about what you can do! With the ropes of blood! And the Danse Macabre! I want to be able to do what you do, Master Sanguinus!”

“No,” Vlad flicks his hand, sending the blood to scatter on the stones around them, allowing his anger to show for the first time as he locks eyes with the stranger. “What you came here to learn was more ways to cause pain and suffering. You don’t want art. You want dominion.” He sneers, then moves back towards the cliff’s edge, turning his back with a flick of his coat. “If that is what you came here to learn, boy, then I have nothing to teach you. In fact... I don’t want to teach you.”

“... but... why?”

“I don’t have to give you a reason,” he says, coolly. “Go to bed. In the morning, you return to Noxus. I have no need of you. Hemomancy has no need of you.”

A student willing to learn might have lowered his head and turned aside. Or maybe stood to fight, to plead, to weep. But a boy who likes to cause pain and suffering, one who has deluded himself into believing he is head and shoulders above the rest of the world, who would hunt down a teacher, a kindred spirit? A denial like this is unthinkable. Unacceptable. 

Vladimir hears the knife being drawn. He allows the young man to charge. He makes no move to dodge. 

But before his chest, his claws flick. He delicately caresses the blood vessels with a gentle waft of his consciousness. He knows how to cause pain, too. But he doesn’t find glee in it, like this stranger does. He also doesn’t need to focus, doesn’t need time to bring his magic to bear.  Vladimir barely moves, tilting his head and sighing, and the effect is instantaneous.

Muscles contract. Blood reroutes. The black thorned magic shrinks back. 

The young man gives a strangled yelp. 

Vladimir turns his head, then, and meets his eyes. A brief gaze, held long enough for Vladimir’s disinterest and disdain to burn themselves into the stranger’s memory, and for the wide-eyed, opened-mouthed panic to be registered in Vlad’s awareness.

And then the young man is gone. Toppling over the parapet, limbs flailing. Vlad doesn’t watch. His eyes are lifted to the distant shape of Noxus on the horizon, and he ignores the figure pinwheeling downwards into the dark.

Not that he needs to see. He can sense the magic, and the pulse, cease.

Jacques emerges from the doorway, rubbing his hand over the cow’s broad head before he moves to stand beside his master. He looks down. He squints through the blackness. He looks up, and almost shrugs.

“We never got his name,” Vlad murmurs. “Did we?”

“No.” Jacques is almost as detached from the scene as his master. “... should I fetch the body?”

Vladimir sighs, feeling the tension bleed out of him. He shakes his head, then turns and heads inside. 

There is a dinner waiting for him, and then he needs to get back to his book.

[snugglyporos]

The world is a changing place. Runeterra is daily rocked by the reemergence of gods and avatars and other such beings. Void creatures cause incursions upon the land, which common people are powerless to stop. Men of science and magic seek to reinvent what it means to be human, turning to machine conversion and drugs to enhance themselves.

This has been a long process; man has always sought to be more than they are. They delve into powers they should not have, delve into methods that strip from them what they were. Yet there is always one thread that unites all of them; there was a moment where they chose not to turn from the path they walked.

His true name is erased from the records of Piltover’s academia, as is his research. What is known is only what people who have met him have gotten from his own lips, and the story never seems to stay the same. Yet there are threads there too, that can be understood. 

He was a moderate physician and a brilliant surgeon, who gained favor with Piltover’s notoriously fickle clans by being able to perform procedures that would have been impossible for less capable hands. Though he took pride in this, his true passion was not in helping the sick or wounded, but improving the human condition. 

Piltover, after all, is the center of The Church of the Glorious Evolved, a religious cult that believes the flesh to be weak, and that only through machines can mankind prosper. Viktor’s own Glorious Evolution advocates the complete replacement of flesh with steel and iron, for the flesh is inferior to it. 

But this man disagreed. Flesh was not weak, for it possessed something the static forms of metal and iron did not; the ability to evolve. It could change, adapt, develop; all things metal could not. Machines could only do what they were built to do. They could not progress beyond what they were. Therefore, there was no glory there, no perfection, and the very idea of perfection ate at this man, for it seemed entirely counter to the notion of a man of science. 

However, he was not in a position to do very much about it as a mere surgeon and medical researcher. That is, until one of his patrons sent him a captured void creature for dissection. Of course, voidborn creatures decay rapidly after death, so dissection would require a very capable hand. He’d need to keep it alive, so he could study its inner workings. 

What he found was amazing to him. The voidborn are adaptive creatures; they possess no static form, not really. Their physiology changes depending on what they encounter. They exist in a state of rapid development, ensuring that no two were entirely alike, and that only the strongest or perhaps most effective would survive. 

He also found another curious development. They were infused with magic. Indeed, flesh and magic were so intertwined, that it was hard to say that they were separate. There had been theories of this of course; but there was little practical application to back it up. Here, he had his opportunity. 

He began leaning on his benefactors to bring him more captured void creatures, so that he might continue his research, all the while beginning to formulate a rather heretical belief in secret. The flesh was not weak, the will was weak. The flesh merely required a will that could shape it, and the power to do so. The Church of the Glorious Evolved was the ultimate expression of human weakness and fear, for it put trust in static, unchanging reality in an ever shifting world. The void were strong, not because of any dark magic or because of some divine blessing, but because they cast aside foolish notions of form, and focused entirely on function. Evolution was not a pathway with a beginning and an end. It was a constant process, one with no true end point, and to give in to fear and embrace static reality was to give into weakness. 

Transforming oneself into a machine to avoid disease and weakness was no virtue, and embracing the flesh was no vice. 

He began augmenting his own form with magic, infusing himself with magic on a more subtle level. Others used enchantments and spells and the like; this was pointless. He would not use magic, he would become magic, or at least, make his flesh the catalyst for his own work. Flesh and bone was as good a medium as any potion. 

His work progressed, and during that time he began experimenting on others in the name of ‘fixing’ them. People would come to him for surgical help, and he would provide it, but in secret he would experiment on their internal organs, altering them, testing to see what effects might occur. This worked well, until one day one of his patients was in an completely unrelated accident, and the surgeon opened the man up to find his internal physiology to be utterly alien. Organs that had no human equivalent functioned in nearly alien ways, and it did not take long for people to investigate the other patients he had worked with. 

His research discredited, his arrest called for, police raided his lab to bring him to trial, only to find him dead from a self inflicted gunshot wound to the head. It was, perhaps, fitting, and neither the police or academics wished to delve too deeply into whatever madness he was looking into. Corrupted by the void creatures he studied, they said. 

But this was a ruse. He had taken someone, and he had fleshcrafted their body to look as his did. Face, dental records, finger and toe prints... this person was him, at least in appearance. The manipulation of the nerves to cause him to shoot himself was all that was needed to complete the illusion. 

He took a name for himself: Tzimisce. And he named his new discipline Vicissitude, meaning “the quality or state of being changeable.” Simply put, his belief was not in static machines or magical incantations, or even in limits or the oppression of form itself. His virtue was adaptability, change, mutation. 

Tzimisce’s craft was, and is, like no other. To him, to his touch, flesh and bone are like clay. He can craft and sculpt flesh with ease, with all the deftness that he once used to wield a scalpel. Only now, he puts his talents towards endless evolution of the self. 

Skin that is tougher than steel. Bones harder than titanium. Fireproof. Internal poison generation that can be excreted through the skin. Rapid healing and acidic blood. His body is equal parts canvass and scientific experiment; his endless search is for something stronger than him so that he might overcome it. 

Indeed, his journey has brought him from the pits of Zaun to the Freljord, from the jungles in the deep south to the gates of Noxus. He carries no political or ethical creed; such things are pointless and limiting. The virtue is in development, not in stagnation and stasis. To hold any ideal other than this virtue is to give in to human weakness; to be stuck rather than moving.

His greatest enemies, in his eyes, are those like Viktor and Camille, those who cling to machines and stasis as some sort of virtue when they are merely trapped in their own prisons. He considers Vladmir to be a rival, given his mastery of hemomancy, though he finds Vladmir’s foolish clinging to a static form to be bizarre. He lacks vision, clearly. He finds Swain to be interesting, if foolish, the same way he looks upon the magical sort in Noxus. Though they freely throw away morals, which is good, they stupidly look for power in dark pacts and other things. Being chained to some fell creature is hardly freedom or power, should one of them decide to reassert power over the leash. 

Most find Tzimisce to be utterly bizarre, regardless of his appearance, which is hardly ever the same twice. He seems to take no real interest in anything other than conflict, though he professes to only be interested in developing himself. Challenges are to be found and overcome. He expresses disdain for most magical and technological projects; they are unneeded when one’s flesh is the tool. Though he has some admiration for creations like Sion or Urgot, he thinks them incomplete. And most tend to find him... dangerous at the very least. A being who has no attachment to anyone or anything for long is only useful so long as you can keep the beast occupied after all. Though many hope his often remarked desire to face down one of the darkin will kill him and rid them of him. This of course, is unlikely; anything hoping to kill him only has one shot before he seeks to counter it. 

Perhaps the only reason anyone keeps him around is because he does great work. Tzimisce’s handiwork is legendary; he can cure just about any disease, replace any organ, transplant even the brain from one body to another. He can improve the human form to peak condition, create bodyguards or golems that are beyond the realm of any magical or machine creation. Limitations of the flesh do not exist, save fr the willingness of the creator. Granted, very few are entirely comfortable with a being that considers everyone he meets to be building materials. 

Thoughts? @consider-the-tentacle @noxian-rose @nihil-remedium @infinite-xerath @hook-and-chains @ask-kalista @saurianbutcher

[nithhaiahh]

Unknown

-Closed starter @diplomatic-steel-

She promised it was the last time, she wouldn’t walk those alleys again without protection or someone who could secure her safeness but there she was, searching for that damn copy of book about hemomancy in that damned place called Noxus.

An old piece of clothe that could resemble a scarf being used over her head, covering the girl’s special features and red mane. Purple long skirt and barefoot, if she could, she would wear any type of footwear but the only pair of boots she had were thrown into the ocean by an old man in the ports of Demacia (after she threw one at his head).

And of course her odd dark shirt, but this time she decided to changed it into something more suitable for the place, an off shoulder shirt with a blouse texture, but it was still black smoke if anyone paid enough attention to the details. Most likely no one did, from her previous experience in this place, she was nothing but a walking rat to everyone else. Nevertheless, Nith continued her march, hoping this time she could find the precious spell that could help her with her blood problem in the dark market of the area. She always had low defenses, since she was little, sometimes she was about to faint due to the lack of red blood cells produced by her body. When he became partially immortal, she thought that this problem would be solved but no. It was just the opposite. 

The situation became complicated, now that her heart is no longer beating at the same rate and she does not have the need to eat or drink water like a normal human being, the bleeding deficit in her body is worse to the point that she does not have any symptoms prior to madness. The girl only realizes this when she begins to see people as food and after that her vision becomes blurred, she passes out or she butchers anyone in front of her. It did not help her much, she could eat and recover some of her blood thanks to her control in water magic. But it was not the same, nor could it be compared to the other.

She didn’t want to kill again, Nith had to find a way out of this, any spell should make the trick. Sadly, history repeated itself. When ever she tried to ask about a book or mentioned the word, people would avoid, insult or push her away. Finally, at some point of the afternoon her knees got tired, not being able to bear the pull she received from the owner and falling to the ground. She couldn’t stand up more. She was angry, she was frustrated and a little hungry...

[heredis-sanguinis-moved]

[Hc Vladimir’s race + origin]

Born as the youngest heir to an ancient kingdom, where one day the lands would belong to the Noxian empire. Vladimir was human in every way. Mortal, aging, fragile. But also fierce, ambitious, emotional.

Being traded as a hostage to guarantee his father’s kingdom to remain and secure his loyalty, would begin changing the young prince forever.

Having accepted his Darkin master’s orders to reprimand his father for betraying his oath, Vladimir would soon present his father’s head to his master. But not before having tutored and trained properly. Failure, after all, was not an option. Not for his master, but certainly not for Vladimir.

Although it took everything he could muster to learn the simplest of abilities in the Darkin’s arts of hemomancy, it would be enough to achieve victory. Draining his enemy, whom he once called fellow countrymen, the young man would be victorious. Filled with a sense of power he never felt before he would return, bearing his father’s head on a pike.

Like a good dog on a leash, Vladimir would continue his tutelage in the art of hemomancy, and also combat skills. All to protect and defend his master’s realm.

But something else also ignited within him. Ambition and a will to sate this ever-growing hunger for more. With each wound closed by his newfound magical prowess, each wound inflicted by that same source, he felt stronger.

And when his greatest enemies gathered to overthrow him. His Darkin master turned to his pet to defend him and lead hies armies. That is when Vladimir gave in to his most sincere and primal desire.

He slayed his master personally, betraying him in a manner most fitting to the young hemomancer. Draining the Darkin with his own self-taught abilities. The walls and ground ran a deep crimson for a moment, until Vladimir took control over his fallen master’s life essence and drank in it.

His own essence mixed with the Darkin’s. A demonic and diabolical fusion of mortality and immortality. A mixing of human and Darkin. Both sides trying to overtake the other. To eradicate and claim victory as primary force. A change most painful and excruciating for his mortal body. But with this mixing of bloods a change happened. He would never be the same again.

On the surface little changed. Once-bright-blue eyes had changed to a perpetual crimson, almost pulsating with an underlying heartbeat. Golden blonde locks that would shine in the sunlight, their colour receded to a silvery white. Skin turned to a porcelain tone, almost as if crafted from a slab. He had every appearance of a human, albeit one with slightly more unique appearances. It was what ran through him what forever changed.

Every cell and fiber within pulsed with strength. more than he ever felt when practising his spells. Now he could feel the might come from inside of him. From his very core. Arts he barely could perform, were now second nature almost. Cuts and gashes would almost instantly close. In the distance, if he concentrated he could notice the heartbeats of living creatures around. At first it was deafening, but he would adjust to this new sensation. He had to, if he were to survive this change.

When he claimed his master’s essence, Vladimir had become something beyond human. If asked, he would claim to still be one purely, or say he is not exactly sure. But none can know completely, when he is the only one that combines both worlds like he does. The body of a human with the prowess and skills of one of the Darkin. 

That is Vladimir.

[adventk-blog]

                                             — ARE YOU WHO YOU WANT TO BE, 

       introducing BAE SUJI, a MUTANT— and currently a believer of SEPARATION. age ( twenty-three ) and gifted with the ability of VOODOO MASTERY, they are currently working as a RECEPTIONIST.

WE ARE SO MUCH MORE THAN STORIES,

it is well known that most stories follow a narrative arc and suji’s is no exception.

exposition.

suji is born to a couple, happily in something - not love, perhaps, but there is contentment. this is a cruelty casual in its lack of sentiment, in its utter sense of settling, but at zero days old suji doesn’t know that yet. she knows only bright lights and the warm embrace of her mother.

her early years are simple. trite, even. she is bright eyed and bouncing, all sparkling eyes and wide smiles. she is an eager creature, enthusiastic and calmly observant, fascinated with the world around her.

her later years, she becomes erratic. the casual neglect of her parents leaves her disgruntled and moody. mercurial at best, her teen years are riddled with the casual rebellion of youth. at fourteen her parents find cigarettes in her room, notice she’s skimming the liquor from the cabinet, and they decide to intervene.

rising action.

boarding school sucks, she notes candidly. high school off in the mountains in what she feels might as well be some victorian trope of a finishing school: uniforms that scratch at her skin, not a boy for miles, and only her studies to entertain her. it’s a story of rich girls cooped up together, isolated and overworked, and such things never really end well.

suji finds herself enfolded into the group of queen bees, perhaps because of her general charm, perhaps her looks, perhaps her father’s connections. whatever the reason, suji plays along with their silly games and gossip, smiles pleasantly and remains inoffensive as they test her here and there and then - and then.

they let her in on their secret. they call themselves a coven, little budding witches clustered around candles and sage, etching runes on the polished wood floors and making little dolls of their petty enemies.

it’s all fun and games, until someone gets hurt.

none of it really works. the ouija board is without response and the tarot cards reveal no mysteries, only the general little snippets of promise that give just enough to be correct and benign.

except -

the dolls.

she makes one first of an “enemy”, a girl who tries to one up her in class. they think little of it, when she sticks a pin into the abdomen of the doll, as they giggle and chant meaningless, garbled latin.  they think nothing of it until the next day, when miyeon is sick in the nurse’s office - stomach pains, acute and sudden. perhaps she needs her appendix out. her parents pull her from school and never send her back.

suji always wonders about her. about what might have happened.

this is the first inkling.

she wonders about her grandmother - estranged from the family. an odd bird, they said to her. an odd creature, a strange woman. crazy, unbalanced. suji starts to think a little more.

and then she experiments.

what happens with a lock of hair? what happens with a drop of blood? what happens if she slides the knife down a slender arm.

there are hits and misses. there are ups and downs.

she rises to the top of their little hierarchy, reveals just enough to suggest that she might be the strongest of them all, that all these girlish fantasies are real, coming true before their very eyes.

climax.

all good things must come to an end.

for suji it happens when she starts on the potions.

she finds a book, a pdf really, translated in her online research. she’s dubbed her magic voodoo by now, and keeps the darkest bits of it - the blood and the bone, the dead animals from the forest, the graveyard dirt - from the others. she shows them only the trances and the dolls, the charms and hexes, little things.

the potions? more difficult.

but they work - isn’t that something? luck, a little crush, a little bit of ill-timed sleepiness.

this is, unfortunately, too much to hide from the administration.

when her parents are called in, the looks on their faces says it all. disgust, horror, dismay.

at least it’s not drugs, her mother says flatly, but it doesn’t really seem like much of a solace.

the falling action.

she returns to seoul, an unwelcoming home.

suji is packed off to school, strictly monitored, closely guarded, harshly chided. the world is her cage and slowly she breaks free, breaks it down. university brings her parent’s silence, as if they are willing to pretend she never dabbled in the arts of her grandmother.

she realizes soon what they were planning.

he shows up for dinner. bland and boring and far too much her senior, as far as suji is concerned. they want her to court him. marry him. its best for everyone.

she knows what they mean - it’s best for them. best if she marries off and gets knocked up before he knows what she is. before he discovers this shameful, critical secret.

overwhelmed, she finds herself inadvertently nicking her finger on the knife with which she cuts her steak, blood welling up from the short cut.

she realizes something new is wrong when that same wound vanishes, only for the boy across from her to stiffen, glancing at his hand in confusion as blood wells from the tip of his finger.

all the blood drains from her mother’s face.

denoument.

the closing arc of suji’s past is this: exile.

she leaves her family home - she is given vast monetary incentive to do so.

they tell their friends she has left to study in america. she moves out of the city.

suji leaves her old life behind, finds a job at a shop that allows her access to medical arts, to understanding of herbs and serves as a closely veiled front to the witches and magic users of the city, those with arts that trend towards the occult - less palatable than speed or strength.  

suji exists in a tenuous state of uncertainty, devouring knowledge as fast as she can get her hands on it, manipulating the world and the humans around her to her own advantage.

she finds herself in upscale bars, working careful to sneak scraps of hair or fabric, brewing potions that lend her the ear of powerful men. she picks up part time jobs, one after another: intern at the police precinct, personal assistant to the mayor, receptionist at a major law office.

she gathers the materials she needs, the information she wants, to bring the powerful humans of the city to their knees. scraps of hair, nail clippings, a drop of blood on a handkerchief - little things categorized as trophies that lend her the beginnings of control. if the world won’t revolt to give people like her a chance, she’ll bring on the revolution herself - one step at a time.

THERE IS FLESH AND BLOOD BEHIND THESE TALES,

suji is a strange dichotomy of a girl - half soft and half fierce, as ferocious as she can be kind. the issue at hand is that she is mercurial, wild in her moods and erratic in her temperament. she is a girl of intense focus - almost to the point of obsession, which can be directed to any number of realms: people, concepts, goals. at the moment her dedication is focused entirely on harnessing her abilities to their utmost extent, which means studying a number of different things, often at the expense of sleep. suji isn’t a girl who knows how to do things halfway - she is either wholly committed or largely disinterested. emotional attachment doesn’t come easily to her, having been largely divested of that by virtue of her abilities.  she carries in her a bitterness and resentment for her own capabilities and in turn for those who would condemn her for them, with them being largely out of her control, thus leading her to her resentment for the normality other people enjoy, as well as a feeling of distance from “normal” people, and indeed from many other powered individuals who enjoy less stigmatized affectations.

AND EVEN MONSTERS CAN LEARN TO WEEP.

to detail suji’s capabilities as voodoo is perhaps not entirely accurate. voodoo is, after all, quite technically a religious affiliation, a type of spirituality. it is also, generally speaking, something along the lines of the witchcraft of the wiccans - dubious in its efficacy. suji’s voodoo, suji’s magic, is entirely real. it is tangible, it is dirty, it is raw. it is bloody and boney and often quite alarming to the casual observer. due, however, to the rules that her powers seem to obey and the nature of the subset of her abilities, voodoo seems to be the closest accurate representation. voodoo is most known for magic involving effigies (voodoo dolls), necromancy (connection with the dead, or the “loa” who are the spirits with whom practitioners communicate to divine information or possess/allow possession), and bodily magics (empathic masochism, rudimentary or basic manipulations of motor skills, hemomancy, and so on). voodoo, and suji’s abilities, follow two primary laws of sympathetic magic. the first is the law of similarity - like effects like. this is the law that allows for the creation of voodoo dolls that enact torment (most often) upon the target. this can be done for beneficial purposes as well, though it is not so pleasantly direct as when one plunges a needle deep into the effigy of a person. the second law is the law of contact and contagion- thus, things that have once been in contact or close quarters with one another continue to act upon one another when they are separated; things once in contact continue to have bearing upon one another after they are severed by distances. while distance weakens the effects of her capabilities (expanded up on in the weaknesses) it does not negate them. thusly, she is both strengthened by physical proximity to a target, and her magic is similarly grounded in the physical and bodily.

APPLICATIONS :

body magic: what one might imagine to be the traditional “voodoo doll” construction, magic of the body requires a physical connection to that body. this may be done via hair, nails, or even touch. the manipulation of the body is easily channeled, historically, into the conduit of a voodoo doll: a likeness of the target created with the element of the target’s body. then, rudimentary manipulation of motor skills or the bodily state (such as: stabbing needles into the doll to affect physical pain against the target, etc) may be induced. however, these effigies must retain some physical token of the target, which plays into the second law. empathic masochism: which might also be known as psychic voodoo, wherein the wielder becomes, themselves, a voodoo doll of sorts. they are then capable of enacting physical pain upon themselves in order to transfer that to the target, provided they are within the immediate vicinity. eye contact exacerbates the effect, and it is strengthened further by contact, or if suji is able to hold on to some physical link to the other (hair, a vial of blood, etc). hemomancy - blood is her greatest tool in magic - usually her own. similarly her own body is a weapon with which she can project damage: she can both create and become a voodoo doll. her blood enacts the capability of a crucial element of voodoo; hemomancy. with this she is able to do a variety of more “academic” magics, via the use of runes, cards, potions, poultices all in conjunction with her own blood as a conduit. it is also possible to divine information via the use of her blood, in conjunction with a trance state and runes of various types, but she is as yet extremely ill versed at this.

necromancy - this is where suji’s abilities are the very least accurate and useful. it is not the necromancy one might associate with the name. voodoo historically is responsible for the myth of the zombie in many of the forms we know it now, but suji doesn’t wield that kind of skill. her abilities are mainly limited to being tied with her hemomancy, calling upon the dead for the purposes of divination. even this divination itself is limited (see below). while there is a shade of reanimation to her abilities, it consists only of animals for an exceptionally limited time and is also obviously predicated on there being a dead animal in the vicinity, which in the city is uncommon and most frequently perhaps a random pigeon. super useful.  

LIMITATIONS :

GENERAL: all magical arts are based in a give and take. one must maintain a balance - in order to do anything, something must be offered up. in many cases, this “something” comes from suji directly; generally a bit of blood, or something similar. while this is all well and good in theory it is not particularly pleasant. it is painful, heavily stigmatized, and over time it is exhausting. should she take from a target, this is similarly unsettling - there is something gravely personal and terrible about the arts of voodoo, in her practice, in that they are so very close to home. there is a violation in being manipulated or mangled based on something that has come from you, that is now made to look like you. lets just say it doesn’t make her a whole lot of friends and is most assuredly not very “public friendly” in nature.

EDUCATION: do you know how many books on traditional voodoo practices have been translated into korean? almost none. fully harnessing the nuances of her abilities, in terms of the potential potions and concoctions she could create, is exceptionally difficult because the resources aren’t there. with a power that seems to strangely draw from an existing, foreign belief system, she’s had to brush up both on her english and french (which were fairly nonexistent prior) in order to piece together information for her studies. from this information she then must further experiment to see what of those concepts she is actually able to apply and harness in reality, and what is either impossible for her or a work of spiritual fiction.  while some of her skills are more broadly applicable, they are also the ones that take the greatest toll on her (namely, empathic masochism) and are thus the most unpleasant both to witness and to utilize.

PHYSICAL TOLL: you’ll notice that “regenerative healing factor” and other types of accelerated healing are not present amongst her skillset. you’ll notice also that quite a lot of her ability predicates on the spilling of blood or manipulations of the body. frankly, this combination utterly sucks for suji. her arms and legs are a latticework of thin scarring and wounds, there is near always a pinprick of blood at the tip of at least one of her fingers, and she has huge issues with nutrition- it’s hard to eat enough and correctly to counteract constant low grade levels of blood loss. occasionally, after a huge endeavor that might require a lot of blood from her, she is forced to forgo her abilities for a few days or even weeks in order to allow her body to replenish itself, much like how someone who has donated blood isn’t able to do so again right away.

CONCENTRATION: in any magic, the utmost importance lay with concentration and intent. there are rules to be followed, procedures in place - she can’t just move willy nilly through things or she will instantly and viscerally regret it. this is a hugely taxing thing, as she must (as mentioned) conduct a lot of independent study in order to be able to function with her abilities, lest she run the risk of doing real damage to herself (or others, but more often than not that IS the point so, perhaps that’s fine). with this and the physical tolls combined, it shortens the amount of time she can sustain an act of magic considerably.

INACCURACY: divination in terms of hemomancy is not half so accurate as one might hope. rather it is good for general “feelings” on a situation - it is only as good as the information she is given regarding a particular issue. a vague “will my life be happy” could get any sort of answer, but a specific “ next week at my job interview will i royally fuck up” might recei33ve a more accurate assessment. she’s not able to divine specific and intense visions, and it must be conducted in a ritual that takes a good bit of time. MENTAL & SPIRITUAL TOLL:  as one can imagine from a power with such expansive applications in its raw forms, it is physically exhausting. beyond that, however, it has the addition of being mentally exhausting, taking a toll on the girl’s mentality. she’s not quite so stable and healthy mentally as she once was, faltering in terms of her handle on her emotions. she’s bordering towards imbalanced at the moment, an erratic bundle of nerves that vacillates between brutal and callous and relenting, soft and yielding. STIGMA: quite frankly, there are some powers that are more palatable to the general populace and some that just aren’t. slitting your wrists over a stone bowl to speak to the dead, making dolls that allow you to enact physical harm on distant targets? not exactly the kind of thing people take kindly too. super speed, super strength, okay, those make some sense. super heroes have those sorts of powers. voodoo? thats a scary, distant, dark thing. its not making her any friends, but it’s also not much of a secret that she can keep; she wears the scars of it on her body, pours her attention and time into the study of it. the result is a fairly solitary life, as it can be offputting even to other powered individuals.

THREAT LEVEL TWO.                           02+ BRWN, 06+ RSLNC, 06+ INTLCT, 05+ WLLPWR, 02+ FGHTNG, 03+ SPD

[bloodforvlad]

Vladimir’s powers

Most of Vlad’s powers in-game involve the drawing of blood from his target to himself. However, hemomancy is a very complex art, full of intricacies and subtleties that Vladimir employs for various means and purposes, whether for himself or for others. Some examples include:

Affecting absorption of consumed items. He can increase the potency of coffee intake by forcing the caffeine directly into his bloodstream. Likewise, with alcohol, he can smother the usual protective effect of his magic to allow himself to get drunk. This effect can be forced on others, but he has little reason to do so... except when it’s funny to see someone pass out from a single drink.

Influencing emotion through biological influence. Usually as a means to supplement his usual charm or to force an emotional response from a target of his interest, he can quicken a heart-rate, restrict blood-flow to lungs to the victim feels breathless, or influence the creation of adrenaline for that little heart-fluttery effect. Contrarily, he might slow a pulse down to calm a victim, or - in rare cases - he may consider divert a pulse to prevent arousal, particularly if he is not interested in an over-amorous individual. (He often uses the latter on himself, should he need a little help in restraining himself when in the middle of a very successful seduction, or to increase his stamina during sex).

Changing blood pressure. Whether for emotional reasons, as above, or to ease headaches or cause nosebleeds. He can take this further, if he chooses, and induce internal bleeding within someone who irritates him, or strokes/brain haemorrhages in those who he wants to see literally drop dead.

Blood sense. A moment’s concentration is usually all it takes to sense a person’s blood type. A little longer, perhaps aided by a touch to their skin, and he can get a general sense for health and wellbeing, what was eaten recently, any major illnesses or conditions, and so on. Focused concentration at close quarters allows him to study someone right down to their marrow, and even to their familial relations (general heritage, mostly, but if parents or children are nearby, he can pick them out). He might not have words to explain what he sees, but he can discern right down to the level of DNA.

Compression. Vlad has found a means of concentrating blood samples into incredibly dense forms. If he’s carrying around a blood orb, it could be made up of more blood than it appears. He has reached the point of his craft that, with effort and concentration, he can actually make gemstones from blood.

He will always be livelier after a big meal, and produces less urine and excrement afterwards. His body requires a lot of fuel, but it is very efficient about how it processes it.

Much of what Dmitri taught him was - in it’s own way - highly medical. What the young Vladimir learned from textbooks was put into practice during the years under his master’s tutelage... and then some, learning above and beyond what even necromancers in Noxus would dare to publish. He has, then, a high level of anatomical and biological knowledge (perhaps even anachronistically so, for the world that he lives in).

But, he is not a master of hemomancy. He has mastered many aspects of his powers, and unlocked secrets of masters past, but he has a long way to go before he can call himself ‘Blood Lord’ Vladimir.

Considering most living things have some kind of pulse, hemomancy is a ridiculously overpowered kind of magic. He does, therefore, have something of a superiority complex; why wouldn’t you, when you can kill anyone who dares to even look at you funny, with barely a thought? But not everything in Runeterra has a pulse, and while he has not met many such entities, to be around something that lives, breathes, and moves without blood is incredibly unsettling to him. His usual methods of defence and control would be useless against the following:

Zyra - her body is a plant vessel shaped to look like a person. She has no blood, only sap and magic.

Galio and Malphite - animated stone.

ZAC - not even made of flesh

Nocturne

The Shadow Isles champions - dead and gone, centuries ago

Any creature with a powerful-enough magical signature to override his own, such as Wukong, Swain, LeBlanc, and Lissandra, can be affected to only a lesser degree by his powers

Sion