#mykhael o'donnelly

[eldritchdiplomacy]

Thoran O'Donnelly

(playlist)

Mag'har | Clan McAllister

Half-Orc, Worgen, Brawler, Headlander, Just a kid from the Canals

Father | Mother

Age: 19 Height: 6'5"

A tall, broad, olive-skinned lad, Thoran might strike one as older than his 19 years, until they truly took in his cheery, if scarred up face. Though roped in muscle and scattered with scars, Thoran has a very kind, open, youthful appearance overall. His auburn-brown hair is almost always tied back, revealing the scar that passes through his left eye ((pretend it's the same in both forms, c'mon game)). He dresses plainly when not in his Harvest Witch's vestments, his clothes simple but lovingly mended and clean, tidy. He is prone to smiling wide, even with how unsettled it might make people at the sight of his small lower tusks.

In worgen-form, his fur is ((in model!)) a muddly black green, his scars ever more apparent slicing through rough fur. His ears are bid ol' ragged satellites, his same eye grey, yet somehow his grin is just as kindly.

Unless throats need tearing out, of course.

Thoran is a very pleasant, kind young man, despite the roughings up he's clearly been through in his short few years. He is quick with a smile, a joke, a drink on him if you're short….but don't be fooled. Don't start nothing, won't be nothing, those scars were earned in the brawlers club, starting when he wasn't strictly old enough to be there.

Some points!

He grew up in the dwarven and mage districts since the age of 2 - his father the mage schoolteacher Mykhael O'Donnelly. While sure, some might be wary of a half-orc, anyone who's lived there and been active in the local community would know him on sight as a big nice boy, who breaks up far more fights than he starts….outside the ring, of course.

Along with his three Gilnean Headlander cousins, they probably influenced some truly insane accents in their peers growing up.

His mother is Gaezull, an Outland Mag'har orc living in Northrend since BC. Though not together, his parents cared/care greatly for each other, and he WILL correct anyone who implies his conception was anything but loving and consensual.

Darnassus was.....an education >.>

"In the clearing stands a boxer And a fighter by his trade And he carries the reminders Of every glove that laid him down Or cut him till he cried out In his anger and his shame "I am leaving, I am leaving" But the fighter still remains..."

"But I know being reckless & young is not where the damage gets done."

Gaezull:

You'll Be In My Heart Everyone Is Someone's 10,000 Miles A Stor Mo Chroi Mykhael:

Two Of Us Sweet Afton Mammas, Don't Let Your Babies... Cloudbusting Two Worlds Reprise Growing Up/The Cousins:

Damage Gets Done Time to Run So Nice So Smart Darnassus:

Show Your Fangs Fast Car Safe & Sound De Selby (Part 1)

Present/Time To Adventure Bb Boi:

Studying Stones Learn Me Right Take The Heartland The Boxer

[theresolute]

Name: Odynae Dawnhammer

Nickname: Dyna

Gender: Female

Romantic Orientation: Bisexual, Biromantic

Preferred Pet Names: Chroi was one she was fond of, some years back.

Relationship Status: Single

Favorite Canon Ship: Definitely Dyna and Mykhael; though Dyna and Mayru was pretty good too

Favorite Non-Canon Ship: I don’t really have any? I’d maybe like to see her with another paladin or front-line fighter; preferably a lady. Let Dyna be Bi-na! Hrrm. I could have seen her engage in some form of confusing romantic interest with Ereleth Tremaine, but the appeal in that is that it would be a fucking disaster; there’s so many things wrong with it. It would be an interesting one, though.

Opinion on True Love: Dyna believes very strongly in love, romantic and otherwise; for Dyna, love of friends, of family, of the people around her is what guides her most. Love is truth, though the idea that love can only be had once is antithetical to how she views the world.

Opinion on Love at First Sight: This is not something Dyna places much faith in; infatuation at first sight, sure -- but love? No. To mistake the two is all but heresy, and dangerously immature.

Ideal Physical Traits: Honestly... there’s a lot that appeals to her; strength is one thing, though. She prefers a partner who can keep up with her, physically, even if that strength is more a mental trait than a physical one. She’s partial to a Gilnean accent.

Ideal Personality Traits: Kindness. Empathy. A desire to make the world a better place. A want to nurture the best in those around them.

Unattractive Traits: Hauteur. Cockyness. Overly flirtatious. A suck-up. Dishonesty. Wearing (proverbial) masks. Too many secrets.

Ideal Date: Shoulder-to-shoulder, fighting on the front lines!

Do they have a type?: A person who can be a partner.

Average Relationship Length: Two years-ish?

Preferred Non-Sexual Intimacy: Combat training

Commitment Level: ALL IN

Opinion of Public Affection: Embarrassing

Past Relationships?: Galeen - a month-long disaster which ended in his disappearance, but not before she left the Church for its judgment of his character as a ne’er-do-well. Galeen was exceptionally jealous of everyone she befriended, considering her too naive and believing everyone had ulterior motives with her. After he went missing, she ended up involved with Strahm Vindalis about a month later, at which point Galeen returned from his disappearance and promptly gathered his comrades to publicly shame her. Dyna ended up marrying Strahm, and the exact day of their wedding he was taken by the Apophan, and then killed a month later. She worked alongside others to bring him back from the grave, after which they mutually became involved with Mayru. When Strahm and Mayru both disappeared... Dyna came to believe that something had gone wrong with the resurrection, and by the time Strahm had resurfaced again a year later, she had annulled their marriage, believing the man she resurrected to have been an interloper wearing Strahm’s skin. (Spoiler alert: she was right.) Mykhael O’Donnelly was her last relationship, a single father with a half-orc son; initially, she hated him, thinking him a bit of a cad and a player, but she adored his son, and eventually came to love the father as well once his facade was lowered. Mykhael, too, went mysteriously missing, and in the time since, she’s lost a finger and gotten significantly uglier.

She’s pretty sure she’s cursed.

Also, for the moment, her brain is scrambled eggs so it doesn’t really bother her anymore. : )

Tagged by @wardennerd

[eldritchdiplomacy]

Real footage of Thoran at Druid School as a middleschooler:

Malfurion: *drones*

Thoran: *tongue between his teef, scribbling*

Malf: ....youngling, are you taking notes.

Thoran: ....yah.

Malf: ...may I see them?

Thoran: ....yah. S'you.

Malf: ......;_;

[eldritchdiplomacy]

Share a random sex fact about each of your muses & Which muse needs the most attention on sinday?

I answered the last one!

Share a random sex fact about each of your muses

A smattering.

Calline is a romantic. Eye contact, lotsa kissing, breaking furniture, etc.

Anyone who’s only known her recently/through this blog may have missed some of the...truly disturbing details of Izzy & Vizzy’s sex life. That writing generally stays private these days, but the kids still whip out the knives, the shadowplay, the holding-off on transforming. It’s all just healthy fun and games when you’re a healer! >.>

Dyna once broke Myk’s rib.

Once upon a time, Tamsin was finally about to get some Ham, when Sig came through her roof like a wrecking ball and broke his back...

[eldritchdiplomacy]

Smelly Ones.

((Of all the toons I need to write stuff for, this is the first scrap of something that demanded to be written!))

 He's big, for either an Orc or Human child his age. Thoran is eight years old, and already broad, his hair falling in thick shaggy red curls over sharp green eyes. 

 'Brightstone eyes,' Myk thinks, privately, for all he and Wynn had left their father's surname buried in Gilneas. His eyes were a piercing link between them all, and his tough little lad carried them on, against olive skin and over two small tusks.

 Presently, Thoran has his tongue poking out, concentrating hard on the task at hand - arm-wrestling his mother. In a shadowed corner of the tavern in Booty Bay, Myk had managed to catch Gaezull between ports, on her way off to heal her fellow Horde soldiers. Their contact was sparse, meetings always brief...but for the sake of their lad, who was already trying to figure out who, exactly, he was, they tried. 

"Yer given me a time of it, boy!" The orc woman grins, allowing herself to be bested. The boy grins wider.

"Aww, yuh let me win," He scoffs good-naturedly, picking back up a hand-pie from a plate of them, tearing into the pastry and meat happily, "Schtill, better fight 'en Kern. E' always cries uncle!" 

Gaezull chuckles, drawing a long drink of her ale. Myk just smiles from the shadows, leaning against the wall. "You get along with yer cousins, though? They are good friends?" She asks, casually enough, but with a glance to her son's father. Myk nods very slightly.

"Oi yah! Bes' friends!" Thoran tells her earnestly, "Call ourselves our own wolf pack, us an' some other 'eadlan' kids from school."

"Fits in jest fine there," Myk notes, sipping his own brandy slowly, "E's learnin' 'is numbers an' letter an' such at 'is Aunt's schoolhouse....lotsa scrappy kids." He smirks. Gaezull nods, approvingly, giving Thoran a nudge.

"One day, you can teach me to read an' write in Common, maybe." She suggests. The boy brightens. 

"Caw ye!" He bounces, chattering on, and Myk doesn't imagine the way Gaezull's throat tightens, at how smart he is, how much he speaks with a Headlander brough. How he makes plans about what they'll do when she comes back, if he can see her, of course.

 Later, when they part, she will to a terrible job of hiding her sadness when Myk casts the slightest of glamours over Thoran. It hides his tusks, and the slight green cast to his skin, leaving him looking like a big ginger human lad with ruddy skin and bright green eyes. But still, so much of her features in his face. "Jus' fer travelin'," Myk says, softly.

"Ye, cause folks is dicks!" Thoran pipes up. Gaezull snorts, clutching him close and tight even as Myk scolds him softly. His mum undoes all that good work, and Myk's glad she's there to do so.

"Yeh, they're all big ol' smelly dicks."

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[eldritchdiplomacy]

Which muse needs the most attention on sinday?Which muse usually stays silent on sinday?Share some headcanons about your muses’ sexual and/or romantic orientation.

The first 2 would be the respective cousins, of course!

Which muse needs the most attention on sinday? Calline/Crevia, for sure. Girl has her needs. Hasun’s lucky if he gets out the house.

Which muse usually stays silent on sinday? Maris. Sundays are for sleeping late, catching up on work, and contemplating ways to be Better At The Sea Than Dawsons McCarthy. 

Share some headcanons about your muses’ sexual and/or romantic orientation.

I tend to be pretty predictable in that almost all of my characters are bi/pan, it’s not always natural-feeling to play anything else, haha. I’ve been surprised, though, with Crevia’s absolute dude-preference. She’s absolutely been the disaster-straight who frustrated everyone with the Bad Man Choices ‘til now. 

Maris is asexual, pan-romantic, and that really felt very correct. All-around not what was expected of the last surviving member of a wealthy Sin’Dorei family. “Gonna be a pirate, collect trash-elves, profit”. If someone gets through emotionally, it’s a Big Deal.

Losile (ff) is also ace, and is still figuring out how she feels romantically. I’ve barely had a chance to take her out to interact but overall I’d not be surprised if she’s aromantic as well. 

My two cis males who’ve managed to stick around (Talis and Myk) are both disaster bis who just want love that stays/doesn’t die. Myk has grown up a whole lot in that respect since becoming a father, while Talis thoroughly surprised me by being perfectly unphased, unbothered by the prospect of a nice healthy polyship. He’s pretty damn sure he has the perfect woman, but yanno.

[eldritchdiplomacy]

The FANTASTIC @sephiramy finished my Modern-AU commission of Mykhael and Wynn! I’m so ridiculously pleased, they really do look like half-siblings too XD I just keep staring at them. GO COMMISSION HER!

www.amymarieking.com/

[eldritchdiplomacy]

“...kill them all.”

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(music)

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  This...this wasn’t a day that was supposed to ever come. Mykhael sees it through a dense fog creeping through the corners of his mind, feels the collective pause in the line of his brothers and cousins, the larger worgen in front of him all jerking in their retreat from the Forsaken Front. A heartbeat’s pause, and then howls are filling the trees, guttural and wrenching and raging. A soul collectively torn out of the pack, as the Undead soldiers swarming Karrig O’Donnelly’s body thin, exposing the Elder dead on the Gilnean soil, his own spear thrust through his chest.

 “NO!” 

 The one coherent word pierces the fog in his brain, and Myk turns, mechanically, diving the other way, Tristen shouting for him to take the girl and run.

 “DA!” 

 He throws Tamsin over his shoulder as the girl sobs, tearing into his back with her claws, snarling. The rest of the pack is enraged, hurling themselves back into a force they cannot win against, to die as their Elder had. Fire scorches his fur as the mage sends unstable bursts of flame behind him, scattering bones and stringy flesh.

  The monsters keep coming, though, waves of them, breaking and scattering the line of teeth and claws and howling rage. 

 “WE KIN BURN ‘EM ALL, TAKE ME BACK!” Tamsin yells, and Myk runs, shaking his shaggy head, their sharpshooters, Del and Talis, already paces ahead of them, tearing up turf with their paws in the loamy earth. Get the youngest to the sea, that had always been Karrig’s command, if the line broke. The Elder had also said it would never break. 

 It broke. He got Karrig’s youngest to the sea.

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(( @ana-amaris @ginshaw @hamadeus1133 ))

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[eldritchdiplomacy]

♥ : Name one thing about the way their emotions work that they despise. Del, Izzy, Myk

Del: Her impulsiveness. Which is funny, as most of the time she loves that about herself. But it has gotten her into fights, in and out of a marriage, etc. Thus far it hasn’t messed with her professional life much, but still. She could deal with a few less bar brawls to her name.

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Istari: She knows she’s a know-it-all. And while she will never admit that she doesn’t always know better, she does know that snapping back at criticism or other people’s bad choices with a smartass comment more often than not hurts them, rather than helps them. Or herself. 

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Myk: He’s a lot better now, but it still riles, responding to failure or bad turns with just fucking wanting to hide away, to bury himself away. In booze, in self-pity, he wishes he were as stalwart against storms as some of the women in his life. Again, he’s getting better. Staying sober has helped a whole lot. But he still considers himself a work in progress.

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[eldritchdiplomacy]

Wynn - I envy your ignorance. Myk - We have some questions.

((Shorter than of late, but I had mostly strong thoughty feels))

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Wynn: 

  The words take some time to settle into her bones. It had been an off-hand comment, in response to her excitement over the upcoming trip to the city. Lady Laerdis was very kind to her, compared to other druids. Perhaps because she, too, had once been chuckled at for pursuing her power. She was an elf still, though, and could not help but see Wynn as her small, regrettable charge. One who could not possibly live long enough to know every secret, and who must surely have no idea what she was in for, heading to the cesspool that was Stormwind City. 

  Wynn frowns, looking down at her fingers, at the long brown scar that runs from the top of her left hand to her elbow. She looks up at the trees above her head, all peace and blue light and wafting wisps. 

 She envies the ignorance they think she has, too.

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Myk:

 He pressed his palms into his eyes, letting out a long, gruff sigh, “What else could ye possibly want to be knowin’, mmm?” Myk grunted out, looking the Commander in the eye. The battle-hard woman sat back slightly, and the Gilnean Mage could guess why. He was well aware that he had the stare of a walking dead man, right now. Maybe he always would.

 “…Just a few things,” The soldier cleared her throat, “…things I personally don’t much care about, O’Donnelly,” She clarified, “You’re a fine fighter and a hero, as far as I’m concerned.”

 “…But?” Myk asked, his voice still flat. The Commander sighed.

 “…High Command would like to know, why you’d have been spared by the Horde when they decimated that camp?” She seemed offended by the words herself, and hey, that was a small compliment, once it registered in the white-noise box of his brain.

 “Ey, supposed t’be all buddies now, eh?” He tried a cheeky smile. It was apparently terrifying. Myk grumbled out another sigh, reaching up to absently pick at the bandages over his missing eye. “…The orc Shaman is th’ mother of m’ son. She saw that I got spared. This is me, sayin’ it all official-like. Can I go now?”

 “Aye…dismissed.”

.

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[eldritchdiplomacy]

They tried. - for Myk

((hey hey hey, let’s go back to Draenor! :|))

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He’d always thought it a bit of a cliche, when people described the loss of time that came with being imprisoned. Surely, it was an exaggeration. Well, Myk was eating his own thoughts now, slumped against the side of his rickety cage. How many days had it been? He didn’t know, the sky above this damned planet was cruelly unchanging, in most places. To think, he’d found it quite calming when he first came to Draenor, standing on the banks of Stormshield. 

 Now, watching the shifting nebula above him was less calming, and more his only escape from reality. Above the stink, the guttural noises, snarling, and laughter of the Iron Horde camp, it still moved in beautiful, indifferent colors and lights. He only had one eye now to watch it with, but still. 

 He wondered if any of the men under him had made it back to the Garrison. It had been a fucking slaughter, but once he’d shown himself as more than a cannon in cloth, that he was also a beast with anger and vengeance to spare, he’d been put among some mighty warriors. These Iron bastards couldn’t have gotten them all.

 Myk shifted where he was tied, wincing, the days’ open wounds scraping against the rough wood. A paltry little prison, really, except for the four crude rune stones set at all four corners, keeping him from conjuring, from reaching the Arcane. Even those he could’ve easily broken, with enough knowledge, were they not keeping him starved and bleeding. He huffed harshly into the night air…he doubted he could even shift at this point. 

 A noise broke through his dulled musings, registering in his cloudy, beaten head as…something new. Outside of the usual racket. It took him a few moments to realize, as Iron Orcs ran in numbers toward the southeast end of the camp, that something had happened to the ammunition stores. One, and then many small explosions, culminating in a blast that rocked the ground slightly under him. Half the camp was moving, it appeared, though he didn’t spot ol’ Kragh among the mob…

 A flash of movement in the opposite direction stole his attention, and his breath. Two swift blades flashing in the torchlight, and the one grunt still watching the cage dropped without a sound. On his back, a lithe little Night Elf looked to Mykhael O’Donnelly, grinning wide at him. Myk felt a surge of something he hadn’t known in days, hope welling in him, trying to get his damned voice to work. 

 “Dale is hauling ass away from the munitions!” The young elf hissed, lightly jogging to him. Myk shook his head, thinking of his gnarled Paladin second. Of course he, and Niria here, had made it out…only to come back. For him. He stuttered over his own tongue, as the girl neared his cage. 

 “Niria, wait! It’s…!” 

 She didn’t see the ward until she’d stepped over it, a light exploding over Myk’s cage, knocking her onto the ground, hard. His heart in his throat, the mage felt everything in him mustering, yelling for the wolf to tear out of him, as the elf struggled back to her feet, dazed, clutching her head.

 Kragh was already there, his axe cleaving into the girl before she could take a step, laughing as a primal, visceral shout tore through Myk’s ragged throat. The twisted, scarred old Orc laughed on and on, wheezing, shaking his head, cleaning the elf off his blade. His hands tied behind hi back, Myk began bashing his head against the bars, snarling, willing his exhausted body to do SOMETHING. 

 But the worgen didn’t come, couldn’t, and Kragh’s hand reached through the cage, a fist around the mage’s throat. “Your friends are a supremely stupid breed, dog!” He boomed, amused. 

 Myk’s breath heaved, a twisting, wicked pain and guilt in his chest. He knew it would earn him another round with the whip. He didn’t give a proper shit in the moment though, mustering the only thing he could, sending a wad of bloody spit into his torturer’s eye.

 “They tried.”

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[eldritchdiplomacy]

“It’s funny that the first thing you have to say to me, after all this time, is that.”- For Myk // With you at my side, I can’t think of a reason to be unhappy.” -- Wynn // “I want to imagine that life can be what we make it.” -- Crevia

((Already wrote Crev’s!))

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Myk:

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 The ironic thing was, he’d gone across town for his meal because he hadn’t wanted to run into anyone he knew. The Recluse was full of people he’d made a grumpy arse of himself in front of, back when he’d been drinking, and Myk would have just as soon not had to deal with that. He wasn’t long for the city, simply picking up some books from Lady Firebrand, making sure Wynn had money, that Tamsin was…well, using protection. All he wanted was a quick bite at The Pig to end his day.

 After sitting, making his order (”No ale, no, just coffee”), Myk pushed a hand through his unruly, prematurely-greying locks, eying the guides Calline had given him. A slim, leather-clad form immediately slipped into a chair very near his. Without looking up, Myk sighed, “Nae interested, lass, thank y’though.”

 “…Ew,” Del cringed, and the man looked up sharply, blinking. The Gilnean girl gave him a grin and a wink. “Ey cuz. Y’look right filled out an’ old.”

 “…Thank ye,” Myk bust out chuckling, shaking his head, “…S’goin’ on?”

 “Well, I’m sailin’ north, y’see…reeeeal north…”

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Wynn:

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 Sometimes, she gathered, he was sad. 

 Some afternoons, his morning work done and neatly stacked on his desk, her father would turn his chair to the window, to the rainy city streets below. Wynn would watch him from her little corner in his study. He would take off his glasses, polishing them with worried, clever fingers stained with ink. He’d loosen his cravat, unbutton his waistcoat by one button, and become far away.

 At first, when Wynn became aware of this at around 3 or 4, she would simply watch him, vaguely concerned at this change. If a client arrived, or her mother came in with tea, he’d brighten again, or at least pretend to. But mainly, he remained deep in his musings. 

 Wynn would never find out why. She’d never know of how he’d think on her birth parents often, and other similar clients, for whom he’d hushed up worse secrets. That he hated how he’d only grown a backbone about such things after he’d become a father (though, when she grew up, she guessed).

 She did find out, though, that all she had to do to bring his smile back was to climb up into his chair, to cuddle close to his side, and ask him for a story.

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[eldritchdiplomacy]

...and I’m your Lionheart.

 They both have their father’s eyes, is the first thing Myk thinks, looking at her.

 The letter in her hand bears the Brightstone crest, and it’s unmistakable, how much she looks like Nell, the maid he’d liked so much. But there’s the similar slope to the nose, the cheekbones, the color of her thick hair that hearkens back to his father. Myk swallows hard, stepping forward, taking his half-sister’s hand in his, this slip of a girl who has shown up on his doorstep.

 The rightness is instant, flickering, the missing piece sliding into place, every cliche of a description he can think of. Blue eyes meeting green, auburn curls so like brown. 

 “Wynn, is my name,” She clears her throat, eyes on her feet, “I understand if you do not wish to acknowledge this, but...”

 Whatever she might have said is drowned in the moment of him yanking her into his arms, a tight hug, clutching. The girl shakes, and then breaks down, sobbing on his shoulder. They both knew, it was in their blood so very clearly. 

 “...I got so much t’teach ye.”

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[eldritchdiplomacy]

Number 10; Myk. If you're up to it! Number 7; Crevia

((Daaaamn Dyna, back at it again with the feels train))

Myk: “You’ll forget me”

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 “Da!” Thoran’s voice carries across the docks, the small, scrappy boy running full-tilt between the workers. “Look how high!” The kite trailing behind him is finally catching the wind, and Myk shields his eyes, grinning, watching. 

 “Told ye th’wind was better fer it down ‘ere,” The highlander returns to his work, grading the stack of papers in his hands. He’d taken over Lady Firebrand’s classes up North, and had a much greater appreciation for the woman’s calm (mage students were some seriously cocky arseholes). The sea air was soothing, though, blowing warm and salty, a far cry from the cold, processed, charged air of Dalaran. 

  After a time, his son joins him by his perch on the wall, looking down on the ships creaking in port, the gulls scrabbling for scraps. “Y’always come back,” The five-year old half-orc notes out of the blue, winding up his kite string. Myk glances over, blinking his good eye at him, and Thoran looks right back, “Said we was gonna, was gonna be up there mosta th’ time now, or at Unca Tristen’s, but we keep comin’ back here.”

 Myk sighs, looking back at the sea, another freighter from up north pulling in. He feels small brown fingers on his rough hand, a touch to the scrap of linen he always wears wrapped around his left wrist. Myk reaches up slowly, mussing up his son’s mop of curly, chestnut hair. 

 “…We’re keepin’ an eye out fer somebody, lad, s’all.”

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Crevia: “Do you even know them?”

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The first time she’s asked this, it’s her first trip home to her family in a long, long time. The scars cutting deep into her left flank are fresh, red, still oozing, and she is small even for her age, a reflection perhaps of how she’d spent a lifetime in mortal guise. Her Mother is gazing on her with a harsh stare, even as she tends her weakest child’s wounds, waiting for an answer.

 “No, I don’t,” Crevia replies, biting back her pains, fighting the urge to become the version of herself who can shed tears, “But she’s good and she’s brave, and she saved me. She lost a limb saving me!”

 “The mother who raised you is dead,” Tanzi says, flatly, “The father grows senile. So now you’d let another take you in, instead of standing on your own.”

 “I owe her,” Crevia’s voice hardens, bristles, pulling away.

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 Another time, years later, she’s sitting by the Cathedral fountain with someone she considers a close friend indeed. Another small paladin, with hair like fire, though this one has both of her limbs. They’re both looking at the shifting, hourglass-like ring Galen had put on Calline’s finger. A man she’d only known for a matter of weeks had asked her to be his wife, and by now, Calline is fully aware of the lunacy.

 “I believe I know him enough,” She assures Mairead, who seems to be satisfied with that answer. The conversation then swiftly dissolves back into its usual bawdy topics, all the while Calline feeling her hand grow heavier and heavier. 

 He would be gone by the next time she and Mair saw each other.

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 The most recent time, it is in a letter from Celebrant, in reply to the newsy one Calline had sent her way the week before, detailing the Sun’s exploits out in the Blasted Lands. Her dear friend, with whom she’d gotten into endless adventures, whose concern the mage would always take to heart. She rereads the letter a few times, wandering back and forth in her flat, feet still cold from the graveyard that morning. 

 Finally, she stops at her desk, penning an equally hasty reply, framing it in all she’d gone through those last 36 hours.

 “I really don’t,” She admits, “And that’s what’s making it particularly exciting.”

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[eldritchdiplomacy]

FOR MYKHAEL - Ahzrael, Agravaine, Tristen. (He likes paladins right?? :D)

*sneeerk*

Myk: Awww fuckin’ hell…

Marry: Well, a’right, fer sakes of keepin’ the family together, I’m marryin’ Trissy. Feel like ‘ats a loophole there, sexless, manly, Highlander marriage. I share ‘im with Lea anyways, basically.

Kill: Eh, Ahz looks like e’s half ready t’keel over any time, it’d be a kindness to the ol’ pile of Bacon really.

Fuck: ….fuggin’ hell that leaves Aggy, don’ it? D:

[eldritchdiplomacy]

RP Characters: Mykhael (Myk) O’Donnelly (Brightstone) of Clan McAlister

((Adopted Headlander, Magus, Worgen, Father to a Half-Orc, Freedom Fighter, Recovering Alcoholic, Former Wayward Son))

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“I set myself by the wish, by the watch, by the wall...”

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1. A Stor Mo Chroi - The Chieftains, 2. Babel - Mumford & Sons, 3. Take The Heartland - Glen Hansard, 4. Barton Hollow - The Civil Wars, 5. The Star of The County Down - Loreena McKennitt, 6. Riptide - Vance Joy, 7. White Blank Page - Mumford & Sons, 8. Two - Ryan Adams, 9. The Old Ways - Loreena McKennitt, 10. Werewolf Heart - Dead Man’s Bones, 11. Human - Of Monsters & Men, 12. Love Vigilantes - Iron & Wine, 13. Below My Feet - Mumford & Sons

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