vicit-vim-virtus

[vicit-vim-virtus]

✱˚｡⋆ ↪ 𝐀 𝐘𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄 .    (  a collection of  mixed action prompts.   adjust phrasing as desired.   potentially mature content within.  )

[ 1. ] sender steps between receiver and an aggressive stranger, voice low and steady: "walk. away."

[ 2. ] sender teaches receiver self-defense, hands firm on their hips as they adjust their stance.

[ 3. ] sender presses their forehead to receiver's, voice breaking as they murmur, "i don't know how to fix this, but i'm not leaving."

[ 4. ] sender shoves receiver out of the way of a projectile.

[ 5. ] sender combs their fingers through receiver's hair in the aftermath of a traumatic event, whispering words of comfort.

[ 6. ] sender whispers, “i’ve thought about this all day,” before pinning receiver against a wall for a searing kiss.

[ 7. ] sender wipes away the receiver’s falling tears with their thumb and whispers, “i’m here."

[ 8. ] sender patches up receiver's wounds, hands trembling as they whisper, "you can't keep doing this to me."

[ 9. ] sender shoves receiver into a hiding spot, hissing, "stay here or i’ll kill you myself."

[ 10. ] sender finds receiver drunk at a party, sighing. "let’s get you home."

[ 11. ] sender is discovered sleepwalking by receiver.

[ 12. ] sender steals receiver’s weapon and presses it to their own chest, daring: “go ahead. prove me right.”

[ 13. ] sender ‘accidentally’ flashes receiver while changing, purring, "see something you like?"

[ 14. ] sender whispers, "you’ll ruin me," before biting receiver’s lip hard enough to draw blood.

[ 15. ] sender takes over while receiver is giving themselves stitches, promising to handle it.

[ 16. ] sender frantically grips receiver by the shoulders, "don't you dare close your eyes."

[ 17. ] sender fixes receiver’s crooked [ tie / jewelry ], teasing, "nervous?"

[ 18. ] sender shakes receiver out of a nightmare, comforting them in the aftermath. "same nightmare again?"

[ 19. ] sender brings hot tea and medication to a [ hungover / ill ] receiver.

[ 20. ] sender invites receiver to dance with them, insisting, "what? this song's perfect."

[ 21. ] sender leaves a single rose on receiver’s windshield with a note: "you’re being followed. smile."

[ 22. ] sender pins receiver’s wrists during a sparring match, grinning, "yield."

[ 23. ] sender playfully steals something from receiver, initiating a chase. "come and get it, then."

[ 24. ] sender drapes a blanket over receiver, accidentally waking them. "sorry, go back to sleep."

[ 25. ] receiver returns home only to find sender already there. "finally."

[ 26. ] after a pleasant night out together, sender asks: "can i kiss you goodnight?"

[ 27. ] sender wipes the blood from receiver's face, murmuring, "let's get you cleaned up."

[ 28. ] sender shoves receiver against a vending machine to dodge security, breathless. "act natural."

[ 29. ] sender wakes receiver in the throes of a nightmare, reassuring them, "it's okay, it's not real."

[ 30. ] sender purposefully antagonizes receiver, hurling insults; "what are you gonna do about it?"

[vicit-vim-virtus]

[ Ooc: I had an online meeting with one of the coordinators and can now, officially, enroll for the programme. :3 I might even be able to do an additional programme, so I can teach higher (levels of) education, which is my ultimate goal, but I'd have to contact another department for that. Which I definitely will. >:) ]

[ Ooc: Also, also, also, I sent an email to the people coordinating the teacher's programme I'd like to enroll for. So, hopefully they respond soon, because I just want a job that's actually relevant to all the shit I studied for at university. ]

[vicit-vim-virtus]

Seeing someone — anyone — in excruciating pain, and being powerless to alleviate the suffering by but an ounce, would forever weigh heavy on his heart — unless such an awful fate befell a deadly enemy. And despite having been acquainted with this group, with these companions, with Gale, for so ephemeral a time, the knowledge of losing him — or any of the others — to the effects of arcane or corrupted magic — or whatever else empowered to purloin them of their lives —, didn't mitigate that feeling.

Luran listened attentively. His sapphire blue eyes fixed to the wizard, compassion and agony laced in the emotions residing within. Ah, so his already precarious affliction and the rate of its evolution, had advanced into its current state due to the insertion of the tadpole. Well, they'd all been witness to how the worm had influenced Astarion's "nature" — a vampire no longer a victim nor predisposed to vampiric weaknesses. Therefore, the elf wasn't wholly aghast by Gale's pitiful development.

'I see,' Luran mused, observing the wizard. 'That's most unfortunate, indeed — an understatement, I'm aware, but if it provides any consolation, any peace of mind, we shall try to find you adequate artefacts to quell the orb's hunger and placate its anger, for as long as we possibly could.'

He glanced over his shoulder, to where Karlach had dashed off to in order to find an artefact for Gale to munch on, hoping she'd make haste in aiding a fellow companion in need. And, from among the tents and crates, her disembodied voice called out "Got it!" and within a blink of an eye joined them, proffering a gold medallion to Gale.

'Hopefully, it suffices. For another day, at least,' the elf spoke, doubt intertwined his words of premature relief.

He hadn't wanted to go into this, not now, not here. Strands of hair hang limp in the wizard's face, shoulders slumped. The pain is one thing, of course. Draining, exhausting, agonising; something the others cannot truly understand. Maybe Karlach, to some degree, of course, knows what it's like to be a weapon with no hope in the future. At least he has some kind of possibility, beyond what Karlach has. Mystra could remove it.

Some part of him is convinced she won't, of course. The immediate way he was abandoned, the cold ache in his chest, the feeling of Mystra having thrown him to the dogs. He had made his mistakes, and she clearly didn't care any more. He had failed. Gods, if only he could win her back, prove himself…

"It - well, the needs of the orb have been increasing over time." he admitted, raspily, "But since the tadpole, I… the effects have increased rapidly. The more I consume, the less effect they seem to have. The orb… it is almost as if it is growing impatient. Angry at me…" he mumbled, and as if in response, the pain tightened further in his chest. His bandaged arm ached, dull and yet so incredible sharp, like ice digging through the inside of his veins.

[vicit-vim-virtus]

Luran Sageshadow. An original character whose conception is heavily inspired & influenced by Dungeons & Dragons. A royal advisor endeavouring to deceive the king, usurp the throne, and govern the kingdom.

“All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.”

vicit-vim-virtus is an independent, semi-selective roleplay blog penned by Parker.

[vicit-vim-virtus]

[ Ooc: Also, also, also, I sent an email to the people coordinating the teacher's programme I'd like to enroll for. So, hopefully they respond soon, because I just want a job that's actually relevant to all the shit I studied for at university. ]

[vicit-vim-virtus]

Trepidation still effervesced in his veins, pumping adrenaline throughout his tall, lithe physique — it consumed every fibre of his essence. He wasn't out of the clear just yet; thess people had antagonised Nere and his indoctrinated pawns — to the point where lethal violence was necessary to settle the discord... Gods knew what other diabolical schemes they had in mind — what they'd do to him...

A soft sigh of relief exited him when the leader of the group retrieved the axe to its sheath — a promising sign, or so, he hoped. He lowered his arms until they rested along his sides and offered the party a tentative smile, hoping his charming appearance and idiosyncrasies could sway them to curb any homicidal tendencies they might harbour towards him. Luran wasn't heroic, seldom sought adventure in a lion's den. He preferred to stick to his poetry, his music, and passing his knowledge of the violin on to his pupils. Therefore, this was a novel and disconcerting circumstance to him — to say the least.

Luran pretended not to take offence to her volley of queries, and chalked it up to her excessive vigilance, which was only apposite, given the whole sanguinary ordeal littering the place. And after all, he could be a bloodthirsty serial killer, too... with an indecent amount of perverted imagination, he might add. He'd never resort to depriving another of their life. Or would he?

'Ah. You'd like a reward for your deeds of heroism,' he read between the lines, pursing his lips in contemplation. 'I'm afraid, you assumed correctly; most of my possessions were ripped from me, along with my pride and dignity. I can impart nought but knowledge, if you remain true to your word and deliver me back to the surface — to Baldur's Gate, to be precise. If it's not too much to ask.'

It probably was, but it was worth a try...

'The lands between here and the city are shrouded in darkness. I'd prefer not to traverse across the unpredictable and treacherous terrain in solitary — for I do not possess the resilience nor prowess to make it to the other side. Alive and with my wits unmarred, that is...'

HAD KATYA HAD HER USUAL amount of energy, she would have flung her axe past his head as a warning for the insult to her intelligence. But as it was, she was exhausted and far too hot to bother. If she threw it, it might end up in the lava - or far enough that it would be annoying to fetch either way.

She sighed, examining the man, her nose sniffing the air gently, trying to smell him out as she listened. He seemed just as exhausted as she did - and while he seemed nervous, he didn't seem to be lying. Not about being kidnapped or held hostage, at least.

A short breath left her nose as she finally, reluctantly, sheathed her axe and examined him. She could feel the unease in the rest of her party, air thick with it. But this man didn't look particularly useful - and Katya definitely did not want to add another pathetic little creature to her rag tag team.

She considered her options, weighing them with a grunt and was about to tell him to jump into the nearest vat of red hot liquid before one of her companions spoke to her via their connection.

' He might have overheard something useful while imprisoned. '

Katya sighed.

"Damn it - fine, whatever. I assume ya showed yourself for a reason? What dy'a want? An escort back to the nearest settlement? Or to the surface? I'm also assumin' ya don't have any gold," she grunted, looking a tad put out already at this new, thankless task.

She would do it for information if she had to, but if he pulled out his instrument even once, she was throwing him into the pit herself.

[vicit-vim-virtus]

A grimace distorted his countenance and his dark brows huddle together in vexation when she uttered the announcement regarding the road ahead; his gloved hand tightened around the reins and a soft breath of exasperation soared down his nostrils. It appeared that this little escapade was going to be wrapped in one setback after the other. First, they lost their way — and he his patience and sanity — in a forest only navigable by the native population, and now, this: the prospect of squandering valuable time on traversing across barely passable terrain... This accursed enterprise would be the death of him, he feared. Well, he supposed he'd prefer perishing in a forest than having his neck cleaved on the chopping block.

'Ah. How most unfortunate — we've opted to ride the wrong mounts into this endless farrago of tree and rock,' Luran muttered with displeasure — he already loathed nature and was all but enraptured at the notion of being detained by it for longer than he'd initially anticipated...

Perhaps, it had been gullible of them to think their glorious equines were up to the task — none had given the onerous journey that sprawled before them, a second thought. And the poor advisor had naively — foolishly — relied upon the persons responsible for the organisation of this pestiferous expedition — if only he had interloped on or been involved in the groundwork of this undertaking... No amount of lamenting would aid him now, and what-ifs were practically useless too; they had no other choice but to accept their fate and make peace with the consequences of their lack of adequate research into this foreign land. Marvellous.

His mental tribulations were interposed by the mention of significant temperature drops. His face fell at this even more condemnable prospect and he gritted his teeth. Back home, the temperatures were hospitable, pleasant, even after nightfall. He resented the cold — the feeling of being cold, and having nought but layers of cloth preventing you from shivering. If one was lucky to be swaddled in fabric that was thick and warm enough to exile the cold from one's flesh and bones...

'Just our luck,' the elf grumbled irritably, but endeavoured to present a more jubilant decorum at the stranger's willingness to aid them in securing a place that didn't equal instant death... 'We are much obliged,' he added with a slight inclination of the head — a way of showing his gratitude for the other's hospitality, despite the odds.

Luran tossed a glance over his shoulder at the guards, prior to encouraging his mount to follow their newfound guide, relieved its head was functioning as a shield between himself and the mage — for it had become quite plain to him that she harnessed potent magic. Quite unlike him. Sure, he was capable of igniting a fire, wielding a meagre flame betwixt his fingers and light a candle, but that was as far as his prowess went. His speciality and interests didn't lie with magic, he had no affinity with the arcane; he preferred the subtleties and intricacies of art — in many of its forms — and the complexities of diplomacy.

'Duly noted. Again, we seek no conflict with the native population of this region — bandits or otherwise... Though, I'm fairly certain, those malefactors will cerebrate twice, prior to resorting to violence, the moment they lay eyes upon the sizeable delegation that is travelling with me,' Luran spoke offhandedly, glaring at his dull and repetitive environs — trees and shrubs and more shambolic foliage. 'I'm rather starting to regret trading the luxurious confines of a palace for the rotting bark of trees and the insufferable buzz of insects... By the by, how many leagues is it to this shelter you spoke of?'

She appeared fragile, wounded and slender as she was, but make no mistake that Na’Elle was far more adept than one may first presume; her magic was familiar in its element, but its strength and very being was rooted within the mass of nature and belonged to a past now long forgotten. The Dalish were one guardians of nature, once housed rare but powerful mages, but lost to history within war and vulgarities; the few that remained had hidden and now dispersed for there was no hope of continuing their lineage. It was now a lost cause; their line was finally at an end.  

But it was clear, and perfectly expected, that the elven male before her had no idea of her roots and that was – for the moment – to her advantage.  The markings upon her face and her longer, larger ears were but the only hint toward her different nature of breed, and yet it could just be assumed that she had some bizarre genetics.   

Her grey gaze briefly scans his company once more, and his companions and wonders, silently, just what it was they were seeking in the regions surrounding the mountains and, perhaps, the mountain ranges themselves. For the moment, she decides to believe the arrogant male in her company – at least, regarding their potential attacking; if they were going to, they’d not be chattering in circles. She did, however, remain entirely poised and expectant of a change in that.  

"“You’ll be hard pressed to find anyone else to aid you for some time; the nearest settlement is some four days ride to the east and the terrain would be difficult on your steeds.” " Horses were not entirely common where they were, after all - - in the least, not slender yet beautiful beasts such as those. “Folk rely on draught horses more - - or elk.” Or harts though those were an intense rarity those days, to even glimpse one would be a blessing indeed.  Once... so long ago now, those woodlands would have been full of Halla, instead. 

“I’m not certain speaking to only you will aid in dismissing my concerns.” Na’Elle admitted, leaning her weight somewhat unto her staff as she shook a foot of lithe amounts of snow. Unsettled and uncertain as she was, the she-elf was not one to simply abandon those that were otherwise lost and, currently, not offering her harm. “Temperatures drop immensely here come the eve - - so I’ll at least guide you to a place sheltered enough that you and yours will not freeze to death come the night.” 

She supposes, while there, she could tend to her own wounds and then decide what she's going to do. As of the moment, she trusts he and his not an ilm; but alone as she was and largely gripped by existential dread, being around others for a short time wouldn't be harmful.

"You'd be wise to keep an ear out - - there have been bandits here of late attempting to access old mythril mines. They're exceptionally protective of their lacking stash-" As she had found out when she had come across the pass. For the moment, she steps down from the rock she had been perched upon and instead begins to head along what was barely a visible trail, attempting to keep her route to a lower elevation to make it easier for her company's horses.

[vicit-vim-virtus]

DATV!Luran's hair looks so freaking soft. AAAAAAA, I must... *brushes hand through his mohawk.*

[vicit-vim-virtus]

Luran: I prefer to remain silent. The face he chose to remain silent with:

and...

[vicit-vim-virtus]

Starter for @draelith

Herald of Andraste this... Herald of Andraste that... What codswallop! The lunacy! His jaws clenched in vexation at the preposterous title people had thrust upon him without — he might add — his consent. Whatever delusions festered in their minds, encouraged their mouths to regurgitate such idiocy, they were wrong; a fallacious conjecture based solely on his survival of a cataclysmic explosion, but which wasn't substantiated by evidence of the Divine, whatsoever. They might deem it a miracle. He deemed it plain, dumb luck — he'd been lucky to have retained his life after such a catastrophe. Nothing more. Nothing less. And no amount of reproving those he passed along the way, would ever alter their minds, it seemed. Save, perhaps, the truth — if ever it came...

Agitation rekindled, Luran flexed his right hand, unfurling his slender fingers, stretching them wide open, prior to burying the tips back into his palm, his knuckles straining and white. He repeated the movement several times, glaring at the hand that accursed him, yet blessed him. The power that lay — quite literally — within the palm of his hand could very well be the key to his own ascension to power. After all, it was he who all people relied on now; it was he who possessed the prowess to seal the rifts, breaches, and excise the demons gushing from it. And the results of his newfound powers had already begun to take shape: from a lowly Dalish elf, he'd climbed the ranks, had become valuable, important. He was the inquisitor now. He was in charge. He had his own set of advisors, his own posse of warriors willing to fight alongside him, fight for him... They were useful assets in his endeavour to obtain all he desired. If they prevailed, naturally. These were trying times and there were myriads of perils and obstacles on the road ahead, lurking in the dark of the unknown and capricious future.

The elf balled his fist one last time, and retrieved it to the other, which was still clasped behind his back. The balcony, upon which he stood, offered a breathtaking view of their new safe haven, Skyhold. The sturdy castle walls, the battlements, the watch towers, the snowy mountains encompassing it, holding it in a tight embrace. It was an improvement. It was considerably safer than their previous, utterly obliterated base where countless of people had succumbed to a sanguinary demise...

Nothing he could do about that — and he was certain many more would heave their terminal breaths in the battles yet to come... A dire, if not disheartening prospect. Yet 'twas a frighteningly realistic one. And the only outcome that was desirable, in his eyes, was to rise victorious — he wasn't going to settle for anything less. Even if it meant sacrificing his companions. He'd already apprised everyone of his incentive, his intentions, that he'd join the Inquisition for his own power. Granted, this revelation had elicited the necessary scowls, bafflement, and disapproval, but did he care? No. Just like they didn't care to ease off with the "Behold, the Herald of Andraste" absurdity, despite him beseeching them to. And whether they supported his pursuit for power or not, they had no choice but to follow him, for without him, life as they knew it, would most assuredly cease to exist...

A self-satisfied smirk quirked the corners of his mouth and conjured a euphoric twinkle to his sapphire blue eyes. They might end up regretting having appointed him as their inquisitor, but the die was cast — there was no turning back now. But much had yet to be done, and thus, Luran abandoned the quiet and much preferred tranquility of his bedchambers and traded it for the long, prosaic, diplomatic talks in the war room.

Upon entering, he skimmed the heads of his advisors — Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine — for an ephemeral moment, prior to taking a seat in one of the vacant chairs.

'What news? If, indeed, news has arrived at our doorstep,' he spoke serenely, regarding his advisors very carefully. 'How are the negotiations proceeding? Did we accumulate additional support? alliances? supplies? in whatever way, shape, or form...'

[vicit-vim-virtus]

[ Ooc: I found the perfect dice for Luran. PEACOCK DICE asdfghjkl. ]

[vicit-vim-virtus]

[ Ooc: Damn, I'd love to give DnD a try again. But as a DM this time, not as a player, because (unpopular opinion) I don't like being a player. My head is brimming with ideas. I might post a lil ad in one of those DnD disco servers and see what's going to happen. >:) ]

[vicit-vim-virtus]

The wretched thing was sputtering, struggling to sew together words constituting a proper sentence. Again, Luran didn't blame him, for the odds were stacked against him, and precariously so. Fear was growing master over the giant and the congregation of elves increased in number as well — either inquisitive souls seeking to behold a mythological being, or brutes flexing their toned limbs, preparing to incapacitate the monster, should the command to do so be enunciated.

Despite the amplification of chatter around them, Luran's gaze remained plastered to the inadvertent trespasser. He patiently awaited his arguments, his reasons, pertaining to why they shouldn't go ahead and dispose of him this instant, but, instead, value and commend his magical prowess. If magical prowess he possessed... When he opened his mouth and spoke a disjointed, yet somewhat comprehensible string of words, the advisor cocked his head to the side. The giant could create life? Creating life as in: creating life from dead tissue, dead things, dead persons, like a necromancer? Or, creating life as in: grabbing a dead branch and imbuing it with life so a new tree could sprout from it, like a druid?

Now, his scepticism was paired with suspicion, but he swore to himself, he wasn't going to draw any premature conclusions — conjectures — without allowing the giant to further elaborate and, subsequently, demonstrate his craft. Fortunately, the requirements roused no further repulsion — an effect practitioners of necromancy would've elicited in him — and quelled his suspicion. A druid, then. Very well.

'Thus, in other words, you're a druid?' Luran asked, seeking some form of confirmation whilst ignoring the archbishop's utterances regarding devilry and calling the giant's pleads manipulative and treacherous. 'Release one of his arms, so he might provide evidence to this claim,' he added and gestured for a handful of elves, on his right, to execute his order, which they did. 'Demonstrate to us your powers — there is soil' — the advisor gestured to the lush grass beneath their feet — 'in abundance. Dig if you deem it necessary — if it is a particular kind of soil you require...'

He knew fuck all about soil — about nature in general. He wasn't a massive enthusiast of the outdoors; he preferred to stick to the imperial gardens, there where order and perfection had exiled all chaos and entropy, and the sole adversary he had to be vigilant of, were insects...

'Whenever you're ready...'

"Be-cause, I—"

Ingvar, truth be told, had not been entirely sure that he would make it this far, and be heard out at all. Pallid panic washed over his gruff face, and his heart dropped to the very soles of his boots. He clenched his jaw, desperately hanging onto what few breaths he took which weren't shallow and stilted and shaking, just as his body trembled. Could they feel it through the earth, his fear? Hear his desert-dry throat in his speech? His limbs already ached from the tight restraints which kept him firmly upon the ground. Could he break them if he well and truly tried, one final time? Perhaps. But the risk to attempt doing so was too great. He hadn't so much as raised a finger to fight back, and already he was being treated a horrible criminal. Murderer. He was a murderer, it was true — but not here, and never again.

Please work. Oh, Goddess, please let this work. Don't cry — speak. His logic wasn't sound; the elves were right; his desire to help them said nothing of his ability to kill another living thing. But he had no other argument.

"Be-cause my purpose is being... for creation of life, not destruction of it...! I... I can be showing to you...! I can be showing to you ability which I am having...!" he gasped, careful still not to speak with any volume beyond what would be necessary. He swallowed. His stomach was in such tight knots, he wondered if it would ever be without pain nor tension again. His heart felt like it might burst. "All that I am needing is use... of one hand — use of one hand, and... soil. Then... I shall be showing you...! That... I... I can be making plants to be growing in-stantly from no-thing except mine own strength."

[vicit-vim-virtus]

[ Ooc: At some point, while creating Luran, I was like: "What if he has like a thick Scottish accent, but he's just gaslighting everyone by pretending to be posh af." Tbh, it would be in line with his whole personality and aspiration to overthrow the reigning monarch. And besides, my boi isn't nobility, he's literally just a commoner born into a wealthy merchant family like. it would track. Imagine: the only times his accent slips is when he's really upset or angry. Boi just starts to bleat in Scottish asdfghjkl. ]

[vicit-vim-virtus]

@chainedbychoice sent: 💀 from here

'Put the knife down,' Luran demanded, darting aside, trying to preserve as much distance between himself and the rogue. 'Violence is never the answer!'

Or perhaps it was, if you were a bloodthirsty lunatic and brandishing a sharp, lethal object was your only go-to solution to settle a dispute... His blue eyes oscillated between Curumë and the knife; Luran was unarmed and therefore defenseless — an easy opponent for one far more proficient in the art of mortal combat.

'Curb your homicidal tendencies,' he advised the other, utilising the furniture he happened upon as a shield. 'Whatever I said or did to antagonise you, I offer you my sincerest of apologies — although I'm positive 'twas well-earned. But surely, my error doesn't warrant this degree of hostility? Let us discuss the matter in a more civilised manner...'

Was the word "civilised" even part of the sewer rat's vocabulary? Well, he supposed he'd soon find out...

[vicit-vim-virtus]

DARK/VIOLENT STARTERS

Send me a 💀 and I’ll generate a number, 1 - 111, for what my muse will say to yours. Note that some content below the cut may be triggering.

Keep reading

[vicit-vim-virtus]

[ Ooc: Peter Cap.ldi's Cardinal Richelieu has such Luran energy. A smart lil boi, constantly scheming, being sassy, loves pretty clothes. :3 I was thriving watching those scenes (ngl, those were the only scenes I watched, because the rest of that show is meh). ]