x-sanguinate

[x-sanguinate]

punch

spits up blood

ouchie

[x-sanguinate]

umbane

WILL YOU PROVE WORTHY? The demon’s voice had called to him from the very beginning, even days before he arrived at the Noxian convoy. It was a challenge, oft whispered, sometimes howled loud enough to wake Kayn from a sound slumber. WILL YOU PROVE WORTHY? The Darkin didn’t think it could be bested by anyone, but it had not yet met Kayn. Now, the Darkin weapon is his (and Master Zed’s, of course, but Kayn thinks it would be better if he kept a hold of it for now).

                                                                                                The Noxians who stood in his way are long dead now, sent to their graves before they could even suspect that something lurked, waiting for them in the shadows. He left one alive to tell the story of what happened, of the way soldiers fell one by one to an unseen foe, helpless in the wake of the killer who had come after their charge. The only error he had made was leaving Nakuri’s body there, a hint to the culprit if Noxus did their research, but … That was mostly Nakuri’s fault. He shouldn’t have followed Kayn, shouldn’t have tried to steal his glory … YES, HE GOT WHAT HE DESERVED, DIDN’T HE? Of course he did. Zed will understand.

                                                                                                Still, Kayn feels like he should dosomething about Nakuri’ He’s not sentimental enough to think he deserves a burial or a celebration of his life, but perhaps something could be done to conceal the shadow tattoos on his arms. Perhaps, now that Kayn isn’t so consumed by the bloodlust of the Darkin weapon — ARE YOU NOT? INTERESTING… — he could cover his tracks a little better. Zed would be proud of his foresight. WHO IS THIS ‘ZED’? SHOW ME.

                                                                                                  That is when they see a lone figure striding towards the scene of their massacre. Kayn’s massacre. He killed nearly all of them before reaching for the Darkin scythe. While it’s true that Kayn is happy to share his accomplishments with the world, now is just … a bad time. He has more important things to be doing. So he steps off the pillar into the shadows, bringing himself closer to the stranger

                                                                                                  ‘Out for a stroll, Noxian?’ The smiling voice seems to come from everywhere, impossible to track, twisted through with laughter. ‘Isn’t this place a little dangerous?’

        As he drew closer still to the Noxtoraa that served as the stage for a massacre, Vladimir could feel the trace of a familiar sensation upon his senses. It was a prickling feeling, one that gouged at edges of his consciousness like burning needles. He hadn’t felt such an impression since the age of the darkin, in which his mastery of hemomancy granted him a means of detecting organic life forms far before he would’ve gained awareness of their presence otherwise. But this was different. This was a darkin he felt—or at least the vestiges of one.

        It was close, he realized. Too close.

        A young voice cut through the night’s air like a scythe through grain, surrounding Vladimir in its chilly embrace. He stopped dead in his tracks, calmly adopting a guarded manner. Eyes of depthless crimson scanned the environment, watching the shadows with intense focus. It was hardly the kind of voice he expected to hear, but its source felt somehow connected to the darkin presence he was now sensing ... now that was strange. By all accounts, darkin weapons would consume their hosts within moments, as he bore witness to personally in the final days of the Darkin War. Had this boy—this thief—the strength to resist its corruptant influence?

        He yearned to find out. And thankfully, he possessed just the right means to do so.

        “Oh, without a doubt.” Vladimir finally answered, adopting a wry smile as he continued to look around, though he was fixating on something clearly out of sight now. He began to drift closer to the Noxtoraa until he stood within the massive shadow it cast upon the road. He was quietly trying to pinpoint the killer’s location, and at last, he found his mark. He was a sneaky one, Vladimir would concede to himself, but a living one, and no such creature—for as long as it had a beating heart—could evade him for long. Before springing into action, Vladimir added to his previous statement with a warning that came all too late. 

        “But not for me—”

        Like the crack of a whip, Vladimir dropped down, and his hand shot downward as he reached into the deep shadows of the Noxtoraa beneath him, gripping not dirt, but flesh. Its curvature and warmth indicated that he had grabbed a neck, and with that fact established, Vladimir allowed himself a smile of sadistic glee. Assassins were always coming up with new tricks, but you just can’t beat the classics. 

        His wide red gaze now bore holes into the shadowy surface he was reaching into, and with just as much intensity as before, he rose back to his full height, dragging his latest catch out of the ground beside him. Despite his delicate physique, Vladimir possessed an impressive degree of physical strength, due entirely to his mastery of the hemomantic arts. The Reaper cloaked in crimson cast his gaze down upon the Reaper shrouded in shadow, eyes narrowed.

        “... So you’ve resisted its influence,” he begins, quietly noting the discoloration of the hand that grips the darkin scythe. “At least for the most part. Impressive.”

[x-sanguinate]

        Countless centuries brought with them countless stories, and yet, as if possessed by some human idea of sentimentality, Vladimir always found himself returning to his first. In spite of a life that now spanned a millennia, a life that consisted of numerous identities, this was something that never left him. This was the source—the infernal wasteland that gave rise to his life as he now knew it. He had not his father nor his mother to thank for where his life had now taken him. In truth, they were all but forgotten, insignificant specks on the volumes of his history.

        Here, under the scorching rays of a sandy expanse, was where Vladimir was born. The labyrinthine architecture that was once his master’s home still stood as sturdily as ever, despite its clear disrepair. He had come here many times over the course of his unnatural lifespan, as if to celebrate the day that has long since been lost to history. Guests were rare, and often short-lived. This was always a private affair, and Vladimir quite liked that. But this time was different.

        This guest was no mere mortal, nor was it an errant creature from beyond this plane. It was familiar, almost familial, in a way that made Vladimir’s features twist with disbelief. Yet another darkin was found, released, and managed to find its way back home, much like he had. This disbelief swiftly turned into anticipation as he wondered just what would happen if he could consume another of the fallen demigods. The power he could wield ... he would be unstoppable.

        But as he rounded a corner, he saw that this was not one of the innumerable darkin that comprised their number, but one he knew ... rather intimately. A wave of disappointment and fear nearly swept him away in that instant, and in that same moment of realization, a volley of arrows found themselves leading to his form. Vladimir entered a prepared stance, ready to attack, but just as swiftly was his assailant upon him. His preternatural speed was no trifling matter, no matter how much power Vladimir wielded over the human form.

        In his foe’s grip suddenly, with a handheld arrow threatening to pierce his chest. Vladimir stood with his weight on his back foot, casting a disdainful glare upon the darkin before him.  It was a mirror of palid creatures, both cast in red and purple hues. The hateful air between them simmered as either subtly (or not so subtly) threatened to take the other’s life.

        “Varus,” spat the Reaper. “You of all people should know that I am no one’s pet—not anymore. That time ended when the rest of your kin were slain or sealed.”

[x-sanguinate]

       With their hands joined together, the Reaper’s delicate grip pulls her closer, and in his hand, hers is steadied. Slowly his head lowers, his lips meeting the back of Luxanna’s offering, and like a sower of seeds, he plants a chaste kiss upon it. While he takes this action, his crimson eyes flicker up at her, scrutinizing her from his lowered perspective as she explains her answer. It appears satisfactory when a smile cracks upon his pale visage, the ghost of its movement detectable upon the back of Luxanna’s hand before he pulls away at last.

       “Oh, you flatter me, my dear ...” he responds, eyes narrowing with his smile. “But it is an understandable concern, on the part of your parents.” Finally withdrawing his hand and making a loose shrug, he cants his head to the side curiously. “If you haven’t been there yet, I must say that the Placidium is a true marvel. A testament to this land and its people’s oneness with it.”

        Retaking his teacup and lifting it for a drink, Vladimir continued. “It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Magic is everywhere to be found in Runeterra, but ... nothing to this extent. I fully intend to venture out into the more heavily forested regions later, if only to see if I can find some of this land’s more natural wonders. I trust that I won’t be disappointed.” 

        He arches a brow, his smile shifting to one side in the form of a smirk. “After all, if this is what a settled location looks like, then I’m beyond curious of what the actual wild looks like.”

A Curiosity in Crimson

[x-sanguinate]

“Vlad look what I managed to do!” The girl makes a bubble of red light in her hands, clearly mocking his own. Though compared to her average abilities, this one was pulsing as if it were real biomaterials. “Will you take me seriously now? Please?”

        A crooked smile exposed pearly teeth, his face twisting into an expression of wry amusement. He allowed himself a gentle laugh.

        “Well, aren’t you a cute little spellthief ...” He cooed, drawing his shoulders into a carefree shrug a moment later. “But to answer your question ... I just might, seeing as you’ve taken the time to so graciously mimic me.”

         A pause. Then, a more genuine smile. 

        “Thank you, Luxanna.”

[x-sanguinate]

my innocence died screaming for mercy.

[x-sanguinate]

@liondarius

He could easily take this pathetic pale man by the neck and snap it like a mere twig; take that small form that Vladimir so proudly upheld and grind him into a pulp to the point beyond recognition; made into nothing more than a stain on the ground beneath his feet. Darius could do it so easily too and get away with it, perhaps with only some disgruntled glances thrown his way by Jericho and LeBlanc. He was in such a position of power that no one would dare question as to where Vladimir might have gone.

The General dismisses the thought, no matter how tempting it might’ve been. He wasn’t the sort of man to abuse his role among the Trifarix, and even he could agree that this … creature had his uses. Though to have been the subject of this little game was not something he favored, nor would he dare let Vladimir go freely without some form of compensation.

While he would rather not kill the hemomancer, he had no qualms when it came to roughing him up a little.

A sickening chill cascaded down Darius’ spine as he assessed Vladimir’s words, the expression on his face only inches away from full blown rage as the feeling of disgust slowly snaked its way into his belly. Seeing his blood on those pale lips, only to be swiped away and consumed only made him want to retch. His thoughts, memories, life experiences - they were his to share, and not to be violated and stolen straight from him. And perhaps he might’ve even shared a piece if they had simply asked, but that was no longer on the table.

He didn’t care about the party goers and commonwealth alike that flowed throughout the room, his focus locked solely on Vladimir, who looked so smug with that despicable face of his. “Disgusting creature,” Darius snarled low, raising one hand to reach for Vladimir’s neck, clenching just tight enough as to keep him in his grip, wanting to ensure discomfort. “I will showyou hardships.” As he spoke, he began to drag him off into a more secluded area of the event, only to push Vladimir past the door and locking it once they were both inside. He didn’t care to pick and choose what type of room he opted for, as all he wanted was a private place to truly show Vladimir the Might of the Trifarix.

“I came to this event by request,” Darius spat, slowly approaching, one hand raised halfway, a single finger extended forward. His other hand clenched in a tight fist at his side. “That sacrifice? Wasn’t yours to make, you cur.” Lowering his fists back down to either side, he backed up Vladimir to the nearest wall, bringing a palm up to press against their chest, pinning them in place. “You, of all people Vladimir, should understand how to show respect to those greater than you.”

        Watching the General’s visage simmer with hardly-contained rage was a treat in itself, and the snarled insult only assured the Reaper that he had struck quite a nerve. However, the grin that found its way onto his face was dangerously short-lived, as the fist of a man likely twice his weight in pure muscle quickly found its way around his throat. It caused a sudden gasp of air, surprise evident in the sharp inhale and the widening of his eyes.

        Was it fear that had taken hold of Vladimir so? Not precisely. He had been both subject and witness to enough shows of force to know how these went. Even though Darius exhuded no less confidence, his fearsome aspect paled in comparison to the darkin that Vladimir once served. The Reaper himself, arrogant beyond measure, was certain that he had little to fear from him. People—mortals, like the one Vladimir pretended to be—were little more than cattle in his ancient and unknowable orbs of depthless crimson. 

        Still, this life was not without its thrills, and Darius provided no shortage of entertainment. 

        Allowing himself to be dragged somewhere secluded and away from the joyous festival-goers, Vladimir stood wherever Darius left him once they were both alone. There was a smug aura eminating from the Reaper as he listened, a mocking aura that extended to the very way he stood. Head half-tilted with the vague impression of a smile, his weight shifted to one leg while a hand rested at his hips, the other raising itself lazily when he was prepared to respond—except Darius was upon him once again, now forcing him back into a wall.

        A tired expression made itself apparent as the ghost of a sigh escaped his lips, his amusement with the whole affair swiftly wearing thin. “And I’m to believe, that by the place granted to you by the Grand General, you are greater than me?” He scoffs. “You are a strapping man, Darius, but do not mistake physical might for true power.”

Just a Taste

[x-sanguinate]

BOLD - applies always. italic - applies sometimes. STRIKETHROUGH - never applies.

tagged by : @talonisms tagging : head empty

✧ INCLINATIONS / HABITS :

is submissive | is dominant | prefers to top | prefers to bottom | likes to switch | identifies as heterosexual | identifies as homosexual | identifies as bisexual | identifies as pansexual | identifies as demisexual | identifies as asexual | enjoys sex with men | enjoys sex with women | enjoys sex with multiple people at one time | initiates | waits for partner to initiate | baits partner into initiating | spits | swallows | prefers sex in the morning | prefers sex at night | prefers sex any time | no sex drive | lower sex drive | average sex drive | high sex drive | hypersexual

✧ BODY / APPEARANCE :

small build | medium build | athletic build | muscular build | curvy build | voluptuous build | wears boxers | wears lingerie | goes ‘commando’ | shaves / waxes | doesn’t shave / wax | cup size a-c | cup size d-f | 1-5" in length | 6-9" in length | 10" or over in length

✧ SOUNDS :

is silent / makes little to no sounds | is very quiet | is very loud | grows in volume over time | bites hand / partner / pillow to muffle themselves | calls out partner’s name | curses | fakes / exaggerates | prefers a quiet partner | prefers a loud partner | is turned on by dirty talk | is turned off by dirty talk

✧ TURN-ONS / KINKS :

having their hands pinned | pinning their partner’s hands | having their hair pulled | pulling their partner’s hair | being watched (by their partner) | being watched (by a third party) | watching their partner | receiving oral | giving oral | calling their partner ‘daddy’ | being called ‘daddy’ | giving praise | receiving praise | biting / marking | being bitten / marked | spanking | being spanked | teasing | being teased | having toys used on them | using toys on their partner | giving anal | receiving anal | choking | being choked | dirty talk | being tied up | tying their partner up | being worshiped | worshiping their partner | humiliating | being humiliated | degrading | being degraded | knifeplay | blood play | being pegged | pegging

[x-sanguinate]

          Lying is, like, ninety five percent of what I do.

indie. priv. selec. leblanc of league of legends. penned by goose. ©

[x-sanguinate]

— SANGUINE SHADOWS 

@umbane​​

        The moon hangs high in the night sky, and a relic of the past walks the roads beyond Noxus Prime. He is alone. Isolated. Such a fact would leave highwaymen and assassins watering at the mouth, given the wealth that this wanderer carried on him in clothing and accessories alone.

        But this wanderer carried something else with him. Something far more terrible than any weapon employed by countryside murderers and thieves. At his beck and call was the blood of ancients, bound to his will through a millenium-old betrayal. While the origins of his power has been kept from the ears of all but the Matron herself, he has wasted no expense in making sure that everyone—EVERYONE—knows just how dangerous he truly is.

        It started as a way to clear his mind, walking alone at night like this. Now it was his way of taunting would-be robbers. He was untouchable, just like the cool winds that now swept across the tilled farmland to his right, and swept through the forestry to his left.

        As his distance from Noxus Prime grew, his distance from the nearest Noxtoraa shrunk. It was in the shadow of such gates that the visions of empire were cast, though such a vision was always subject to varied responses. Sometimes joy. Sometimes hate. Sometimes death. 

        It was in the shadow of this particular Noxtoraa that a Noxian convoy was attacked. All of its guards were slain, with the prize it was said to contain stolen. A darkin weapon was housed within, and now this weapon was lost, existing somewhere in someone else’s hands, out in the sprawling vastness of Runeterra. In truth, this weapon was actually quite close.

        So close, in fact, that it would take nary a moment for its wielder to be upon him.

[x-sanguinate]

quartlet

UPROARIOUS LAUGHTER RISES FROM STYGIAN DEPTHS,  darkly dreaming,  darkly reeling from such a question.  one utterance peels across one another,  then another and another after that.  time gnaws.  gravity itself reels under an unidentified pressure,  pooling at the bottom of the soured earth below.  the sound is an awakening of all sensations,  piercing the very metaphysical fabric until it eventually cracks like a swollen egg.  what pours out from its shell is another verse,  another hand which rises from inky droplets.

the laughter fades and fades and fades until  …  silence.  silence,  then noise.

❛  i am eVeRyThInG.  ❜   music notes lull from His tongue,  scraping against one another like metal and stone.  the sound would drive a mortal mad,  but the night - king wears his frock of divinity well,  thus His slip of an eldritch voice merely tickles his very aura.  he will have to tug at his godhood tightly,  for what sound comes next is a deepening shrill.  music breaks,  shattering into a thousand pieces at the Wide Eyed God sings so very sweetly.   ❛  i am the water,  the screams,  the rattles and the nothingness that remains !  i am Jhin.  i am tHe DaRk StAr. ❜

        The being—knowable only as the unknowable—that occupied such infinitely vast space in spite of His otherwise narrow figure cast a dark shadow upon the land; darker than anything Vladimir had born witness to within the blackest pits of mortal hearts. It was ancient, older and all-consuming in a way that made the mortals upon which the night-king feasted seem as though they were but innocent babes, as of yet unsullied by human consciousness.

        His very presence was an afront to the senses—sounds, sights, smells, and the touch of a disembodied voice that echoed through his core as though its source came from within. It was a violation of his divine majesty, more so than any manner of corporeal touch could ever be. Everything is what He claimed to be, and as He continued to revel in self-worship, at last came a proper name for the night-king to refer to such a strange creature by.

        “Jhin ...” He repeated, allowing the sound of His name to drift unhurried through the air. “You claim yourself to be the Dark Star?” A skeptical brow arched itself high upon Vladimir’s visage. He had heard of such an entity in the whispers of madmen and soothsayers, but was this truly all that it had to offer? Such power, magnificent as it was, left the night-king ... doubtful.

[x-sanguinate]

“Was a blind fool,” Vladimir corrected. “And now they’re a dead one. Truly astonishing how no one saw that coming until it was too late.” He then gave a playful shrug, clearly reveling in the reaction he was getting out of the hulking darkin before him. “Oh well. Tell me, old friend ... 

“How has the new age been treating you?”

@x-sanguinate

”I never requested an audience with a human, let alone a hemomancer.” the darkin hisses, red eyes narrowing at the man. ”Why do you present yourself to me?”

[x-sanguinate]

Similar eyes—the eyes of a darkin—glare up at Aatrox. Vladimir’s features stretch into a spiteful smile. “Come now, Aatrox ... surely it is no crime to catch up with a living reminder of your peoples’ failure?”

@x-sanguinate

”I never requested an audience with a human, let alone a hemomancer.” the darkin hisses, red eyes narrowing at the man. ”Why do you present yourself to me?”

[x-sanguinate]

        “You’d be surprised, my dear Luxanna,”

        He spoke her name with an elegant flourish, allowing the word to roll from his tongue as if he were very well tasting it. And from the pleasant look upon his face, it would seem clear that he enjoyed its flavor quite thoroughly. The Reaper lowered his teacup to the table, easing it to rest upon the small porcelain plate before him. There was a certain humor to be found in this exchange—a personification of death, clad in crimson, enjoying tea with a hopeful light mage who was brimming with life. 

        And yet here they were, completely unaware of each other’s lives.

        “But thank you ...” He responded, dropping his head into a half-bow when Luxanna complimented his manner of dress. “I take great pride in my collection.” Drawing his attention to the artificial claws that encased his fingers, he splayed them into the air, turning his hands around as he lazily examined himself. When his attention finally returned to Luxanna—one he was now considering adding to a particular collection—his eyes were half-lidded and damn near suggestive, but it was all simply a part of the charming mask he wore.

        “I am Vladimir. A pleasure to meet you.” He extended a hand in greeting, with his palm facing upwards. It was clear that he intended to take her hand, and though her noble history was beyond his knowledge, it seemed only proper to perform such a customary ritual for someone he was quickly beginning to fancy. For one of her knowledge, Luxanna would know that a kiss is what awaited the back of her hand.

        “And what might those duties pertain to?” He’d ask, voice brimming with curiosity while he waited for the lady sitting across from him to take his hand.

A Curiosity in Crimson

[x-sanguinate]

Welcome to the League of Legends Champion Masterlist, featuring YOU, the roleplay community!

Happy Pride month! It’s time for a new promotional post!

We’re an active roleplay masterlist promoting canon, OC, and non-champion characters in League of Legends! Please reblog/like this post and follow this blog to be added to the masterlist, as well as to see blog promotions from new and old faces in the community!

A note to original characters and non-champion characters: please have a reference pic to use for your spot on the ‘misc character’ page! It must be art you have permission to use. If you do not, a general picture from League itself will be used.

If you already have a place on the list, you can reblog this post to spread it around!

[x-sanguinate]

talonisms:

             Had things between them always been so charged? Had he always yearned for Vladimir in this primal, visceral rage? Was that what had been the trigger on the loaded gun in their encounter last night? Oh this man… he brought out the carnal parts of him he’d long since buried, made his blood sing for more and the thoughtfulness that tended to accentuate his every movement fly right out the window and into the abyssal morning. Talon was no longer perturbed by the notion that perhaps Vladimir had wrapped him around his little finger in the span of a night… as judging by the Reaper’s reactions to his ministrations, the feeling was very, very much mutual.           He thinks to roll his hips again, to feel that divine body go taut beneath him and resist the carnal delight that he offered… just for the sake of his ego. What a wonderful game they were playing, riddled with all sorts of traps and minefields but Talon was, frankly,aiming to step on each and every one of them just to see what answer he’d get in response. Vladimir was proving a surprise at every turn… but not an undelightful one. How he yearned to take this game to the next level.

Keep reading

        Even as champions to the idea of an ideal Noxian—albeit those from vastly different ends of the political spectrum—the Reaper and the Shadow were not without their failings. In the savage union that they had enjoyed the night before, both men stoked the flames of animalistic passion that now threatened to consume them. Even as figures with reputations as grand as theirs, they were no less susceptible to the failings of human consciousness.

        The unbridled emotion with which they clashed against one another left the cool frames that contained them rife with cracks, and after having so soon reformed in the wake of last night’s affairs, they threatened to simply undo themselves once again. Upon Vladimir’s bed, both the Reaper and the Shadow were but ceramics to be shattered upon the pitiless and jagged shore of sybaritic excess. And yet, in their plummet, they seemed eager to be broken and consumed by such a violent and rapturous expanse.

        But the poetry of such a moment would be lost on them in this moment. 

        For now, they were far too concerned with each other’s touch—just as Talon frotted against Vladimir through his silken sheets, Vladimir’s hand played dangerously close to the familiar rear entrance of his companion. He could feel his body respond in kind to every ounce of Talon’s desperate efforts, his own arousal challenging his partner’s. Talon’s heavy breaths were swiftly met by those of the man beneath him, and together they formed a staccato of lustful pants, each speaker of this chant only driven deeper into excess by the rhythm of their dance. 

        When Talon’s demand graced Vladimir’s ears, the hemomancer—nearly lost in the throes of ecstacy—smiled deviously at the assassin who now rested his forehead against his own. In a rare show of submission to one of lesser status, Vladimir felt no greater desire than to follow his roguish lover’s request. “So demanding ...” purred the Reaper teasingly, raising his chin to press his wanting lips against Talon’s equally hungry tiers.

        That’s when Vladimir’s middle and ring fingers pressed against Talon’s threshold, providing enough pressure to slip inside and toy with the same passage that was already given so much love the previous night. And if their history was anything to go off of...  

          Then there would doubtless be more of that to come.

[x-sanguinate]

        A self-made king of the night stalks his domain like a watchful predator, unquestioned in his claim over the shadows nestled deep within mortal hearts. He was royalty, supreme and dignified. He was chaos, irreverent and bacchant. A Nightbringer he was, subordinate to his forebear, but by no means loyal. A king should suffer no equal, no greater, and if left unopposed, Vladimir would see his darkness consume even his progenitor. 

        Such reasoning is why this interloper, alien and magnificent as He was, posed a threat. In some fearsome dichotomy, His voice was a cry from heaven above, and a roar from hell below—all at the selfsame instant. Yet who was He to claim knowledge of what the king hungered for? Knowing one’s enemy was a tired adage, but here, in the face of a ceaseless infinity that awaited the first misstep, it was one worth adhering to. With a breathy voice whose height was constrained by a faint rasp, his words resonated through the still air between them. 

        “And who are you to speak of my desire?”

THIS MOON IS SO MINISCULE,   one tip in the right direction and it could be all but blotted out.  cracked.  dislodged.  no longer would it reflect pale,  mute light,  instead its blood would pour from the surface,  pried open like a heavenly egg while distant stars looked on.  their graves are already set.  their ends are already written.  He surmised as much,  He dreamed as much.  and where the Dark Star rises so does His visions and all the cackling voices whisper back,  they say His name over and over again.  one prayer.  one whisper.  one scream.  

❛  yOuR dEsIrE  …  ❜   between the cracks do gashes of darkness spread.  from fathomless colour do streaks of violet,  blue and gold litter themselves across this uneasy stretch of air.  that voice,  so deprived and ethereal,  rumbling from the pits of the earth and the night sky itself.  He cared not for the cold.  He cared even less for machinations built from stone. but the one named Jhin is made manifest nonetheless.  He almost cackles.  

❛  yOur DeSiRe RuNs DeEp  ! ❜

                                 HYPNOS  / @x-sanguinate​.