#construction mith

[fr-familiar-bracket]

[frtools]

New Flash Sale: Construction Mith

A new flash sale has been discovered for Construction Mith

The power grips on this suit are capable of matching the bite force of a Snapper.

Game database: click here Marketplace link: click here

Treasure: 29200 23360

[flight-rising-smash-or-pass]

[ithilienns]

Notes on Middle Earth Name Etymologies

Hi all! I'm currently doing an edit series on the name etymologies of Middle Earth.

Since I've seen some discussion in the tags and reblogs of my first edit, I thought I would use this post as a fact sheet. Here, I'll go into a bit more detail on the conlangs and note real-world etymologies of the edits and add to it as I go! Basically, I thought I was normal about this, and it turns out I am decidedly not.

A note on translation:

It's important to remember that Tolkien presents The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings as translations of the Red Book of Westmarch. This means that for the most part none of the names given to the hobbits, for example, are their 'real' names. Instead, their names are in Westron, a language descended from the 'Mannish' languages spoken by the Edain of Middle Earth as opposed to the 'Elvish' languages.

Westron by the Third Age is a lingua franca across the regions of Middle Earth where the events of the books take place. However, it is not English and is not related to English in any way. Within the framing of the books, Tolkien is only translating the stories in the Red Book of Westmarch from Westron into English. Other 'Mannish' languages also exist at the same time, like those spoken in Dale or Rohan. Tolkien uses languages related to English to roughly approximate the relationship these other 'Mannish' languages have with Westron. For example, the people of Rohan don't actually speak Old English. Instead, Tolkien translates the language of the Rohirrim as Old English in order to reflect the relationship that language has to Westron (more archaic, phonologically and grammatically distinct, but closely related and you are able to understand a few words just by guessing).

A good example that captures this is the word "hobbit". The real-world etymology is fairly simple, since it was a spontaneous invention of Tolkien's. However, if we look at the Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings as translations of the Red Book of Westmarch, "hobbit" is just a translation of the Westron word kuduk. Similalry, when Théoden uses the word holbytla, it's just a stand in for the word he would have actually said: kûd-dûkan, meaning "hole dweller" in the language of the Rohirrim. Tolkien constructed the word holbytla using elements from Old English, so in that sense it has a real-world etymology. But this is done to provide an in-world etymology for kuduk and reflect the shared history hobbits have with the Rohirrim from beore the two peoples settled in the lands they inhabit by the War of the Ring. Théoden (whose name in the Red Book would not be Théoden!) does not speak Old English.

Of course for fic purposes we still use English for Westron and Old English for the Rohirrim (we are not all jrrt, we can't all construct / reconstruct these languages!). But this means that there are real-world etymologies for a lot of names (like Gandalf, the dwarves, or many hobbits). These are often meant to reflect their in-world contexts. It was also incidentally an easy way for Tolkien to borrow cool names without breaking the world mythology he created.

Gandalf

The internal etymology of Gandalf is that it is a name from an older 'Mannish' language from the North. The external etymology of the name is that Tolkien took it, along with most of the names of the dwarves in The Hobbit, from the Dvergatal in the Völupsá (part of the Poetic Edda), and it features across various Old Norse texts. In Old Norse the name means "wand elf".

Incánus

Gandalf is meant to have picked up this name during his travels in the south, potentially in Harad. Incánus is thus the Quenya rendering of a Haradic word Inkā-nūs meaning "North-spy" (x). It might also have had an exclusively Quenya origin, or even Westron. In terms of real-world etymologies, it may have been taken from the Latin meaning "grey-haired".

Mithrandir

Gandalf's Sindarin name. It comes directly from the elements mith "grey, light grey, pale grey" and randir "wanderer, pilgrim" and means "Grey Pilgrim" or "Grey Wanderer"(x).

Tharkûn

This is a Khuzdul name given to Gandalf by the dwarves and means "Staff-man" (x). This is one of the few names of Khuzdul we actually have, since most of the dwarves we meet in The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings use their common names (as opposed to their secret Khuzdul names) that are in the 'Mannish' languages.

Láthspell

This is the name that Gríma Wormtongue gives Gandalf when he arrives with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli at Meduseld. It is meant to mean "ill news" in the language of the Rohirrim. The real-world etymology is "evil tale" or "evil news" in Old English. More generally, Gandalf is referred to by the Rohirrim as "Grey-hame".

Olórin

The name is derived from the Quenya olor, meaning "dream" or "vision" and was used by Gandalf in Aman (x).

Saruman

Saruman is the anglicisation of the wizard's common name in Westron, in the same way that Frodo's real name is Maura Labingi and Frodo is the way his name is translated into English. It's external etymology is probably connected to the Old English searu meaning "skill, cunning, cunning device", so that the compound [searu + man] is the equivalent of his Quenya and Sindarin names, Curumo and Curunír respectively (x).

Curumo

The name means "Skilled-one" in Quenya from curu "skill, craft" and the agental suffx (to indicate someone who performs an action) -mo (x). It was the name Saruman was known by in Valinor.

Tarindor

Saruman was known by this name when he first went to Cuiviénen to protect the elves alongside the other maiar who would later form the Istari, as well as Melian. It comes from tar- "high" and indo "mind, thought, will", meaning "High-minded One" in Quenya (x). Please note that this name (and the idea of Saruman going to Cuiviénen at all) comes only from the Nature of Middle Earth and was probably a very late addition to the Legendarium, so its canonicity can be debated.

Curunír

The name is a Sindarin rendering of the Quenya Curumo and is taken from curu "skill (of the hand), craft, magic"., meaning "Man of Skill" or "Man of Craft". The name is also used for the word wizard (x).

Sharkey

Sharkey is the name given to Saruman in his role as the leader of the men who take control of the Shire. It may be related to the Orkish sharkû, meaning "old man" and then adapted to Westron (i.e. anglicised). It has various external etymologies.

[highkingpetermagnificent]

hey do I have any Sindarin nerds (affectionate) who would be able to help me out with constructing a feminine name that would translate to "grey swan?" I am having a Hell of a time trying to mush "alph" (swan) and "mith/mithren" (pale grey) together.

(Also if anyone wants to help me out with the Quenya version I would also appreciate that)

[dojae-huh]

Why doyoung is getting cute and cute everyday like his baby and kids version, especially when He is smiling...he looks the most similar like his child version. Do you think his babygirl act was influence his mom too? Like how he sit on the floor it was like a pattern since childhood.

I think it's a combination of several things:

Copying mannerism from his parents Remember how a man on a show was suprised that Kim brothers fed each other. The way both like to use cute endings like their mother does.

Developing and amplifying body reactions for show

I used to think Doyoung falling on the floor and flailing his arms during laughter was something pequliar, however, on MITH I saw other senior guests do the same. Therefore, I concluded it's a Korean way to show excitement.

3. The way his body works (sitting positions, hand movements)

Natural gangliness. Some positions might be more comfortable, some habits looks cute to the outsider (the way he walks on tip-toes or bends his ankles inwards during sitting). Make up makes him correct his hair and touch his face very gently, which also looks cute.

4. The celebrity image

Doyoung knows fans like cute, so he goes for it. Make up that makes his face look softer, clothes that make him look smaller, nerdy glasses. A smile generally changes a face a lot and makes it younger and more appealing.

5. The halo effect, the fans' perception

Fans see Doyoung called being cute and be babygirl, so they start to perceive him that way. We construct an image of a face in our head that doesn't reflect reality. It was proved by experiments that people think they are fatter than they are, or that they look younger than they are. Fan, being in love with their bias, cgange the image into desireable direction (more cute, more manly, shorter, etc).

A lot of female Asian fans get shocked how tall Doyoung is. Exactly because they keep thinking of him as this cute bunny and look at him on their screens at the eye level, they forget that in reality he would tower over them.

I trust neos like Yuta and Taeyong who say Doyoung is not cute at all in real life.

[archenitesky]

Familiar matching day 7: Construction Mith. Was kinda tricky to get something that made sense but I think it worked out. Genes: Flint Skink/Peacock Butterfly/Goldenrod Filigree

[naphiatra]

Construction Mith

Midnight/Aqua/Cerulean

[punkiesocialonline]

I have been summoned by @ilovesamizayn

Rule: Tag 10 blogs you wish to know more about

Name: Scribbles. Been my nickname forever now

Gender: Fluid! She/They please

Height: A social construct, but 5′4

Favorite Animal: Frogs. Yes, I said frogs

Average hours of sleep: Y’all count those?

Dog or Cat?: Dogs. I got 3

Dream job: Author!

When I made this blog: September of this year, I think? I haven’t been around long lol

Why did I make this blog: Originally, it was to inform others on strange facts, now it’s to make people smile with quotes!

Reason for URL: I have a character named sqibbles, I scribbled him. I am his scribbler.

Current time: 9;13 am. Again, sleep? What is that?

Song Currently stuck in my head: “Monsters” By All Time Low. That song is going to be the death of me.

I Shall summon @justamess44 @bubblegumlefty @thelunaticbinge

@casualwrestlingfan @alicejoaquin1990 @stun-steen-stun @mith-gifs-wrestling @dive-in-head-first-cant-lose @totallycorrectnxtquotes and @wweincorrectquotes

[moved--306389]

Fiona's Familiar List

Every familiar you need for Fiona's tasks. Alphabetized.

Amberwing Waveskimmer

Arctic Hippalectryon

Augite Protector

Barkback Boar

Black Iron Creeper

Bloodstone Beetle

Blue Tang Hipogriff

Boran Veteran

Budwing Morpho

Calculating Candelabra

Cardinal Hipogriff

Ceanothus Brawler

Chocolate Ferret

Chromefeather Lookout

Construction Mith

Coppercoil Creeper

Crowned Roc

Crystalhide Jester

Crystalspine Stinger

Dancing Chalice

Deadwood Boar

Deepmine Aardvark

Empress Beetle

Featherback Boar

Frost Delver

Goldenbeast

Great Blue Waveskimmer

Greybeak Reaper

Hawksbill Goliath

Hyppalectryon

Infestation Hound

Jeweled Octoflyer

King Parda

Lilium Floron

Lilyfowl

Longhorn Capricat

Longneck Hunter

Longneck Wanderer

Mantarune

Mantled Foo

Maren Ambusher

Maren Scout

Maren Warrior

Maren Wavesinger

Melprin

Mith Bruiser

Moss-Covered Golem

Octoflyer

Overcharged Silverbeast

Paddyfowl

Painted Centaur

Painted Marionette

Parda

Peacevine Aardvark

Petal Jumper

Petalmane Floron

Prancing Capricat

Ringlet Amphithere

Roc

Roundhorn Melprin

Roundhorn Rager

Scaleside Noggle

Sentinel Mith

Sentry Squawker

Shatterbone Vulture

Silver Ferret

Slight Eyewing

Sludge Sifter

Smoldering Sconce

Sparkling Stinger

Spellwall Boran

Stone Borer

Stonewatch Prince

Swift Lumen

Swift Volt

Tatterwing Carcass

Tengu Caller

Tigerblood Foo

Ultramel Amphithere

Unburdened Billy

Undying Featherback

Vigorous Goblet

Wavesweeper

Windcarve Fugitive

Wintermane Spearman

Wooden Marionette

Wraith Hound

There y'all go! Hope it helps!

[fr-familiar-bracket]

[gimmethemprimals]

The Shifting Expanse

It’s a dangerous life out on the open plains. Thieves, murderers, rabid clans, they’re all out here. Away from the city and factories, it’s practically lawless. Well. It is lawless. Whenever you’re not trying to keep yourself from being murdered, it can be pretty peaceful here. Much different from the hectic urban areas of the Shifting Expanse. Much quieter.

There are no suburbs here. It’s either the savannah and desert or the bustling city. There are clear lines between the two. Literally. All sorts of signs warning citizens not to go out onto the plains- most likely the Stormcatcher’s way of keeping his employees from ditching work.

Striking City is massive and unkempt. The Lightning Farm was decommissioned years ago, as the skyscrapers and buildings that make up the city all hold lightning rods on them. The lightning that strikes these rods are able to power the entire city. The Tempest Spire still stands strong in the heart of the city, a well known symbol of the Lightning Flight.

There are no roads here, instead there are long winding sidewalks that lead dragons through the metal jungle. Many dragons avoid these sidewalks though, as they are rarely repaired.

Trains lead right to the heart of Striking City, full of supplies from the factories that surround the borders of the metropolis. Many dragons slip away from their jobs and hop onto these supply trains as a way of transport, as passenger trains are a rare occurrence and are hard to maintain.

A storm constantly brews above the city, lightning always striking down at nearly every moment. It’s controlled enough to let most lightning dragons fly through it, but during dominance, it starts to act up.

Tattered banners and flags of the Lightning Flight fly high on the steel buildings, many of them slightly singed.

Ridgebacks and Snappers are constantly at work on construction, being careful not to slack off so close to the Stormcatcher’s domain. Faes are in charge of the details, working side by side with their much larger cousins.

Beastclans are welcomed, but many of them seem to avoid the city like the Glade. Although, there is a large population of Miths that populate certain parts of the town.

The Lightning-Fire border is full of active volcanoes that spawn lightning from their ash, known as the Magmastrike Crossing. Many claim that the treacherous mountains were caused by an ancient clash between the deities of Fire and Lightning.

Border with Water isn’t much better. Electrified water crashes against massive cliffs, intense rain and lightning slam the border and can throw even the most acrobatic Spirals off their course.

The Light Border is the only one that seems peaceful. Known as The Sunstrike Canyon, some are hesitant to think that the canyons themselves are safe. Who knows what monsters from the bordering flight could be wandering there.

[necroarchy]

Father’s Day

   SUMMARY: In the wake of the Second Battle of Light’s Hope, the Lich King contemplates his Deathlord in a strange, rare moment of camaraderie. Except not really.

   OR a conversation that doesn’t end with anyone dead for once, but just barely.

    NOTE: Reposting 'cause we live that life around here and also it’s got lines I needed to find.

   WARNING: This is from Arthas’ perspective, so it’s just all kinds of awful. Mental and emotional abuse, as well as references to past physical abuse. Manipulation, intimidation, victim-blaming, etc. etc.

     “ What’re you doing, Lich King? ”

     The unsettlement of air announced his Wraith just before her voice, the syllables carrying with them the distinctive sensations that made up the patchwork of her presence - the whisper of ice, of shadow, of wolf’s teeth and bottomless hunger. He did not turn to the child as she leaned irreverently against the balustrade that wrapped around the overlook they stood upon, the hollow thunk of saronite striking saronite muffled by the material of her coat. He had forgone his helm for a short while today, and she stood just at the edge of his peripheral vision if he focused on her. ( He didn’t. ) The wolf, cleverly, settled between Lord and King. While the barrier of fur and bone and blood would not be enough to make Arthas so much as hesitate should things edge towards violence, it would stop Zoen in her tracks.

     Idly, he wondered why she was here.

     “ Observing. ” Beneath them, knights-in-training battled furiously against one another while instructors waded fearlessly amidst the fray, shouting threats and criticisms. The din was almost pleasant, yet another form of background noise to join that of the endless clamor of murmuring souls that echoed through Arthas’ skull. “ You could benefit from doing the same. ”

     He heard the shift of metal and leather as she turned to split her attention between him and the knights. “ They’re awful. ”

     “ You were worse. ”

     She scoffed in disdain, and he glanced at her just in time to catch her unconsciously raising a hand to rub at where her throat had been sawed open barely a week following her rebirth. He did not try to suppress his smirk. “ Inaccurate, and not the point. ”

     “ Isn’t it? ” He tilted his attention further to her, both approving and condemning how she rocked back on her heels away from him.

     Wariness of him was smart, was right in a knight of his, no matter their errancy - especially due to their errancy. The Ebon Blade yet had treasons to atone for, sins whose punishments he’d flay from their souls as soon as they had returned, properly, to the heavy fold of his sovereignty. Amusing though it was to watch Acherus’ children scurry around doing his bidding while stubbornly clinging to their delusion of independence, he ached for when they’d kneel in reverent, dutiful loyalty at the foot of his throne, minds reconnected to the grand nexus of the Scourge and the chains of their wills wound firmly around his wrist.

     From beneath came an especially loud shout, followed by a gradual decrease of noise. Arthas looked down and saw a rough circle of acolytes forming around what appeared to be a newly-disarmed initiate who stood clenching his lone fist whilst an instructor shouted at him. At their feet lay a severed, leaking limb. The instructor roared for a few more moments before apparently dismissing the acolyte, who took the chance to snag his arm off the ground before stiffly making his way towards the doors that would lead him to the nearest necromancers’ hall. The clamor from before rose back up, knights fighting knights with renewed vigor.

     “ See? ” Zoen murmured, tone edging irritatingly similar to smug. Was she closer than she’d been before? “ Awful. ”

     “ If any of them surpass you, Deathlord, I’ll replace you. ”

     “ If any of them surpass me, Lich King, I’ll deserve it. ” She twisted around to rest her back fully on the railing, dismissing the knights below with silent contempt. The consequence was that she now no longer had anything to really focus on save Arthas himself, which she seemed to only truly understand at the end of her little rotation. To his entertainment, she seemed incapable of regarding him for any protracted length of time, as though he were the sun and to look directly at him would burn her eyes. No, not the sun, he thought. A god, his divinity too darkly radiant for a creature of such profound imperfection as Zoen Mith to gaze upon without suffering vastly for it. The idea pleased him enough that he magnanimously declined to call out the weakness for what it was.

     The moment extended awkwardly --- for the girl, of course, not Arthas, who really couldn’t care less about her dilemma except the ways it may compliment him --- wherein Zoen shuffled between gazing down at her dozing wolf and sending furtive, disturbed glances at the sculpted skull of his right pauldron. Her eyes dropped to her feet and her hands fell from the railing to inside her coat’s pockets. She pulled out what looked to be an old, brass pocket watch and frowned briefly at it before curling her fist tighter around it and jamming them both back into her coat.

     They fell into silence, leaving one another to their distractions: Zoen her growing unease, Arthas his supervision of his knights’ training. Nothing so gruesomely inconvenient as dismemberment plagued any of the remaining acolytes, though such mercy could not be attributed to hesitancy or consideration on behalf of their brethren; indeed the tide of their ferocity and bloodlust seemed to rise higher in concurrence with the growing length of time that their mock battles stretched on. Except mock began to seem too trite a word, now that he thought about it, its connotations almost too passive for the crashing violence that swept across the floor below - as though it was not a legion of fallen, desecrated heroes pitted in a dozen vicious wars but a pack of squealing children artlessly swinging sticks at one another. Puerile, even - and of course thoughts of puerility inevitably drew his attention (and eyes) toward the child leaning artlessly against the balustrade at his side, one of her hands curling loosely around the hilt of her overhyped stick.

     It dawned, suddenly, that he had never before shared any moment of remarkable length with this child of his that did not involve violence of either a physical or mental capacity. He would not call what they dwelled in currently peace, aware as he was of the literal and proverbial wolf slumbering between them, and the blades they both carried at their sides should the metaphorical beast awaken. But it was not violence, nor teeth-clenched toleration that would only last the very bare minimum of time until they could hastily part ways. It was, temporarily, a state of coexistence.

     Arthas seized the opportunity to really, truly look at Zoen. His child was a mess of poor construction, avian bones wrapped up in lambskin with shark’s teeth jammed into a too-small mouth, her own weak jaw muzzling her better than any man-made contraption. Lordship had settled heavily on her shoulders, rounding them until he wondered for a moment if they had been wrenched from the sockets. He could see the tension in her neck, how the tendons were taut as bowstrings beneath the skin. The dark shadows that clung to her eyes spoke of an exhaustion she could not even experience anymore. Her cheekbone was splattered with the telltale discolorations of a nearly-healed bruise, and below her jaw, just above the line of her coat’s collar, a sloppy row of stitches ran diagonally down her throat.

     “ You look atrocious. ”

     Candid, but he had never been the liar between them. She grinned sardonically, and at the corner of her mouth he could just make out the faint, silvery line of where a blade had broken through the skin long ago, trailing from the edge of her lips to the swell of her chin. The scar was unnotable enough on its own, but compounded with his intimate knowledge of the mutilation that destroyed the other side of her face, its inconsequence was practically insulting. Arthas entertained the thought of taking a blade and digging through that pathetic blemish, turning it into another emblem of ruination. Another lesson.

          Perhaps this time, she would learn it.

     “ Do I? What a shame. ” Her voice was a desert. “ Somewhere between slaughtering demons and leading armies I suppose I let my skincare regimen fall to the wayside. ”

     “ If you crumble, child --- ”

     “ Yes, you said, ” she snapped, and he so dearly desired to reach forward and pluck out those teeth she dared turn against him. Petulance could be amusing, and spite had its charm, but little mitigated such outright disrespect. “ You’ll replace me with one of your pets. I’m very sure they’ll have better luck attacking the paladins than I did. ”

     “ That would not be difficult. ” He rounded on her, paying no heed to the growl building up in the wolf’s chest as it scrabbled to its feet and backed up against his Wraith, its fangs bared uselessly at him. “ Your failure was a spectacular display of the incompetence characteristic of your Ebon Blade. ”

     Below them, the din of battle lessened as distracted knights turn from their combatants to the storm quietly brewing on the overlook. Arthas lashed out at their minds in painful chastisement, disgusted at such a large-scale lapse on their part. He would not allow his loyal servants to succumb to the same weaknesses that crippled his traitors - crippled his daughter, who for all her snarling, sputtering outrage could inspire only a swell of disgust in the Lich King.

     “ We aren’t --- ”

     “ Maxwell Tyrosus and Liadrin were at your mercy, ” he spat viciously, “ and rather than bring them into --- ” my “ --- your fold, you chose to leave them crumpled on the ground, battered but alive. Tirion Fordring rests peacefully in his grave still, because you were too weak to claim him. Time and again, you are given chances to prove yourself, and time and again, you fall short of expectations. You disappoint me. ”

     The effect was immediate; Zoen reeled back, face crumpling in a way that brought to mind Archimonde’s destruction of Dalaran; the experience of watching something vaunted be brought down by a power so totally beyond its scope that resistance was completely inconceivable. She built herself back up, brick by brick --- swept away her horror and dismay behind a curtain of rage and hatred, but he could still see it through the gossamer threads, he still knew how fragile the foundations of her construction were.

     “ I disappoint you, ” she sneered, shaking her head, as though that might bolster the illusion enough that he couldn’t see through it. “ I disappoint you how, Lich King? ‘Cause I didn’t slaughter my way through Light’s Hope? ” And he could kill her for the ghost of guilt he saw cross her face. “ It only took me four knights and a handful of ghouls to reach their Sanctum. You sent ten thousand soldiers and you didn’t even get through the door! ”

     “ Tread lightly, ” he warned softly, taking a step toward her. His Wraith almost tripped over herself in her attempt to not mirror him with a step back, and this was godhood, was sovereignty, was power, this ability to dominate with nothing more than a twitch and a breath. “ Mograine died for you, Deathlord. Don’t throw that sacrifice away out of petulance. ”

     But godhood, sovereignty, power --- none would be nearly so gratifying if the whole world simply rolled over, quavering in fearful submission, meekly accepting his dominion without giving rebellion a fleeting thought. Zoen tilted her chin up, the line of stitches across her throat stretching, and Arthas delighted in the defiance as much as he loathed it. There was incredible satisfaction in possessing something that had once fought tooth and nail against being owned.

     “ I’m right, though, ” she said coldly, hollowly. The lack of arrogance ensured that his loathing did not outweigh his delight for now. “ Other than bringing back Tirion, we’ve done everything right. Got the weapons, got the Horsemen, got a couple mountains’ worth of dead demons behind us, got a… glowy, floaty, singin’ thing hangin’ out in the corner of Acherus that I should probably throw back into the ocean or something ‘cause it’s giving everyone a headache and it clashes with everything and we’ve got a bloody aesthetic to maintain --- ”

     The wolf chuffed, breaking the flow of Zoen’s ramble. She spared it a blank, indecipherable look before returning her gaze to Arthas.

     “ So --- so you could kill me ‘cause I’m petulant, and replace me with one of those --- those unborn brats down there, and see how that goes. Or you could… not kill me, and not replace me, ‘cause so far that seems to be working out pretty well. ”

     “ Is this a plea for mercy, Deathlord? ”

     A laugh tore its way out of her throat. “ Mercy’s a sin. I’m asking you to be practical. ”

     It was not pride that unfurled, sleepy and disoriented, beneath his rib cage, but its precursor. The acknowledgement that pride could exist within him, that one day it might settle in his bones, that looking at his Wraith would not inspire frustration and betrayal and and a sinking, clawing feeling that he could not name. And if she could scrabble her way towards such glory as the Death God’s approval, imagine what the rest of her brethren could accomplish, those whose only disappointments had been betrayal.

     A crooked grin crossed the Lich King’s features, and that precursor must have bled through because Zoen lowered her chin, looking somewhat disturbed. “ Then consider yourself forgiven, Deathlord, ” he said with all proper magnanimity of a god. She wasn’t, really, wouldn’t be for a long while, but if she could offer candor, he could offer lies. “ I’d suggest returning to your knights before you need seek it again. ”

     His Wraith, for all her faults, was not quite foolish enough to dare stay when a clean exit was offered; and thus with a short whistle to her wolf, she lurched away from the balustrade, hands raised and wreathed in shadow as she wrenched open a death gate. The wolf padded obediently through the portal, and she had nearly taken her first step through when:

     “ Though I do wonder, Zoen, why you came here today at all. ”

     With her back to him as she stood before her gate, Arthas could not see what sort of emotion might have twisted her features, but he knew enough from the stiffening of her shoulders, the way her hands curled into fists before she shoved them into her pockets, that it would have been interesting. And as the silence grew between them, festering like an infected wound, he began to consider reaching forward, yanking her around that he might find out.

     “ It’s Father’s Day, ” she said at last, and that strange, sinking feeling clawed at his insides. “ Thought about just sending a card, but I’m pretty sure the postage would’ve bankrupted me. Suffer well, Arthas. ”

     And then she was gone, the gate sealing neatly behind her, nothing left behind to indicate she had ever been there at all. Arthas found himself staring at the space she’d occupied for a moment too long before finally returning his eyes to the knights training below, clashing in their mock battles like a pack of children.

    Father’s Day.

    The claws sunk deeper.

    He should have carved up her face again.

[acherys]

SUMMARY: Set during Legion. On the steps of Icecrown Citadel, there be demons. More the pity for them. OR: Zoen gloats about things that don’t deserve gloating, and Arthas has no sense of humor at all. Until he does.

_______________________________________________________________________

     There’s something HOLY in witnessing the Lich King at war.

     ( Forgive her, Fordring. )

     Some distance away there looms a Cathedral crafted of god’s blood in his name, dedicated to his service and worship, and they ought to just blast it from the ground. Here is a chapel fit for him, this bloody killing field. The nave is constructed by the path he treads through the dozen squirming bodies he stamps down to dust with all the difficulty of a boot landing upon an ant. In this heart shall rest Frostmourne, through that skull will a thorn of ice burrow - with the same lazy summertime thoughtlessness of a boy taking an apple from a tree in the garden, does he pluck a felbat from the air --- and in his hand its arm crumbles like browned fruit --- and under his boot does its head splatter with a rotten wet crunch.

     Fall to your knees and weep, cultists, drag your flesh across the paths of broken stones. Not one in one hundred of you shall be granted this honor for all your ghoulish devotion. But she --- heretic and apostate and antitheist, she has front row seats. She was invited to observe this mirac---

     A spear jams into her shoulder. 

     It very nearly hurts.

     Man’ari are meat between wolf’s teeth as much as any other prey, and so Tiris drags the eredar shrieking to the ground to make a mess on the floor. There’s the high dry snap of wood as the spear’s shaft splits, but the head is still buried beneath her collarbone. She scrabbles for it; the demon hit her right shoulder, and pulling it out with only her right hand is awkward. More damage is done in the removal than was done in the stabbing. 

     Then, lancing through her skull: Harness your rage and FOCUS!

     “ Maybe if you didn’t YELL AT ME EVERY FIVE--- ”

     He flings a doomguard at her.

     This mild annoyance she feels, the lack of any true outrage --- how far have they come ( how far has she fallen ) that she shrugs this off as easily as a teasing quip? She pitches forward with a snarl, grabbing for horn, armor, anything to bridge the gap between demon’s throat and Lament’s edge. The monster dies eventually, and she’s angrier at it for taking so long than she is at him for sending it at her in the first place.

     Shadows knit the flesh of her shoulder, reconstruct her ruined collarbone. Elsewhere, a skeleton warrior in his prime falls to ash and dust. The Lich King does not look at her, thinks as little about how he consumes and invigorates his soldiers as he does those apples --- no, bats --- no --- what was the point of this, again?

     “ If you die here, Deathlord… ”

     “ Bit late for that, ya? ” 

     He doesn’t even react. Had she wanted him to react?

     She laughs regardless, because fuck you Cole Mathis of Scholomance and Black Knight of the Tournament and Noth and Heigan and all the rest --- you’ve sold heart and soul and body and mind to him and still not a one of you will ever be close enough to this damned divinity to laugh at your own atrocious jokes.

    Tiris yelps in pain.

     She stops laughing.

     All that I am, he once said, but you know, he can keep his apple trees in the garden, she’s fonder of back alley knife fights, and guess what, you knock-off Tichondriuses, she sent Defias running all the way back to bloody Westfall when she was just a little rawboned brat of broken bottles and split knuckles. It’s been five years and four deaths since then, so see what she can do now. 

     There was a girl once.

     There is a monster now.

     Flesh to fire, coat to smoke, there’s this thing of teeth and talon where Zoen Mith once stood. Lichfire clothed in pitch Void: Death God’s Beast, Herald of Winter, the Wraith. 

     “ Ģ̯̳͎̥Ȩ͍͉͖͖T̤͙̝̫̲ ̨̯̳͔ͅḆ̻̲͚̣A̗͕̞͎͙C̫̟͙̪͕K̡̢͓͜ͅ ̡̦̱͚̠U̪̪͖̝͈P̢̢̜̮̘!̹̮̞̗͉ ̡̲͖͖̩Ḑ̰̦͎̠I̮̭̠͖̟D̟̗̝̤̘ ̼̙̭̝̙W̡̥͎͖̥E̗̠̬͙͈ ͈̱̣̣͇S̡͎̦̫̠A͙͙͚ͅͅY̹̜͉͓̩ ̡̢̪̼̪Y̨͕̟̘̙O͔̝͉͉͕U̲͚͚̳̣ ̳̹̣̙͈W̭̯̼̯͇E̡̺̠̙̳R̡͎̥̠̦Ȩ̧̭̜͜ ̧̨̢͉͓F̯̬̻͈̯I̖͓͖̳͔N͖̼͉̳̳I͍̞̱͕͕S̙̤̦̤̫H͍̱̻̦̱E̫̦̮͓̦D̦̪̰͎ͅ?̨̬͈͔̙ ”

     Wine-dark magic seeps through broken bodies and the few yet sleeping beneath the ice and snow to bloom within them in pale puffs of lichfire radiance, and it’s not by his will that these soldiers are torn from their deserved respite, but oh... you could be forgiven thinking otherwise...

     The Wraith does not see how the Lich King pauses a moment to watch her, head cocked to the side.

��    She does not hear the chuckle that tumbles like a stone from between his teeth.

_______________________________________________________

     The Legion recognizes defeat eventually, and scrambles a retreat eventually, scurrying into their sharp ships to lick their wounds and pestering the living down south for a while longer. Up north, the cleanup begins.

     She’s a thing of flesh and bone once more, seated atop the rubble of a destroyed Infernal as she combs through Tiris’ matted fur. Their bond allows her to know already the triviality of his injuries, but there’s yet something soothing in double-checking. Just in case. 

     The Deathlord does not look up as the Lich King approaches. Her skin crawls at leaving a predator at such advantage, but worse is the way her chest hollows at the thought of acknowledging him. Too much all at once, she thinks. It’s all too much at once.

     “ You coddle him. ”

     Such disgust. She grins so brightly at it.

     “ How’s your horse, Lich King? ”

     He doesn’t respond because he’s a spoilsport, and Zoen doesn’t continue the thread of conversation. Those cultists are back on her mind; that Cathedral is visible just past a mountain range. 

     Because she’s on the steps of Icecrown Citadel, because she just defended it ---

     “ We. ”

     She looks up. It’s as terrible as she expected. “ What? ”

     “ You said we. ” Arthas pauses a beat, and she needn’t see past the helm to know of the smile crawling across his face. “ Come inside once you’ve finished fretting. We’ve things to discuss, Zoen. ”

     He leaves her alone on the ice.

     Except leave is such a strong word these days, isn’t it?

[emordnilap-fr]

19 & 20 for the ask meme

nitty gritty asks

19. If your clan has a diverse number of dragons of different elements, how does that affect society? Are some dragons prejudiced against certain elements/breeds? How does the clan handle this?

for the keepers, it doesn’t affect much, though it can definitely influence what jobs they may be assigned. earth and water dragons are generally looked towards for helping with lair construction and maintenance, and they’re in demand for a nature dragon as a healer. they haven’t had an official healer in quite a while. 

some dragons are definitely prejudiced. the most notable example is Oceana, who is wary and distrustful of most imperials. she’s gotten better over the years while they’ve been in earth flight, but it’s a constant presence. it’s usually dealt with by her: she doesn’t interact with them often. (in all honesty though, she’s not the only one with this distrust; given multiple events with emperors, many in the clan are suspicious of imperials.) otherwise, i can’t think of other prejudices; i’ll have to think more about it!

tzaphi port is less diverse, and is generally more accepting of dragons who are more fitted to withstand the area’s climate. the most common elements are ice, water, and wind, in that order of occurrence. fae, tundras, and imperials will find little to no work in the town due to their sizes, as well as smaller individuals of other breeds. ridgebacks and guardians are the dragons who perform the most manual labor.

the enclave doesn’t care. if you can kill, you’re useful.

20. Are there Beast Clans near your clan? How does your clan interact with the Beast Clans?

both the keepers and tzaphi port have issues with local harpy settlements, though it’s more of an issue near the keepers where the weather is more in the harpies’ favor. the keepers are also hostile towards talonok and serthis, though those tribes are farther away and not in much contact with the clan. they’re usually encountered if and when the harpy settlements recruit talonok and serthis fighters.

tzaphi port has a mutually beneficial relationship with the maren in the bay. the maren protect the ships from water-borne dangers while the dragons of the port provide goods - such as food and quality tools - to the maren. outside of the maren and harpies, tzaphi port doesn’t interact with the other tribes often.

there are a few longneck settlements near the keepers, and the clan is allied with them. they’re welcomed within the clan as though they’re fellow dragons and participate greatly in the clan’s market. they’re often hired as messengers and guides. miths are welcomed in the same way, though there are no settlements nearby; rather, many miths have taken up permanent residence within the clan, and the occasional travelling mith passes through.

[peacevine]

construction mith // 483859