A Valyrian Tale

[Independent Elven OC RP blog for Ardyl Runevale] ~Universe is undetermined~ ~Ask for interaction~

[avalyriantale]

The air was overwhelmingly thick; tension practically causing heat waves in the underground bunker. Dirty sweat and blood free to fall after a dark helmet was thrown to the floor, accompanied by panting that seemed far too labored for a physically-well conditioned soldier.

No matter how hard he’d tried to keep the lump in his throat down, Reyes felt like every inch of his skin was crawling, eyes aching to just burst out into tears. Trembling hands grabbed the only stable object in the room; a desk with orders for a mission that his unit recently completed.

The assassin that the order called for was captured and taken alive for questioning, successfully leaving all civilians unscathed...

But one.

The image of young eyes losing focus, body collapsing as small hands reached for anything to hold on to flooded the soldier’s thoughts; making it almost impossible now to hold back any emotion.

In a quick fit of rage, Gabriel took hold of the pencil holder on the desk and chucked it across the room. Pens were sprawled all across the floor as the soldier moved to grab his helmet, and began smashing it against the desk.

It wasn’t long before the desk had a significant dent, the orders that lay on it now a crumpled mess. Again, labored breathing followed the sudden rage, crimson sweat dripping from dark locks of hair.

“Do you want me to give you advice or do you want me to just listen?”

Morrison had silently followed Reyes, only offering words when it seemed safe to. Gabriel’s gaze never left the desk as he did his best to regulate his breathing.

“He was a kid, Jack... a kid.” Gabriel’s voice cracking as he’d repeated himself. Drawing a single breath in before halting his next thought, he could barely speak as he did his best to express himself, “And I...”

Jack had a strong face, stern as if it held wisdom in his eyes, but just as young and naive as the rest of his team. Still, seeing his friend experience war first hand was a significant blow to the heart.

“I killed him.” Eyes no longer capable of containing the salty tears shifted up to Jack, “But I didn’t mean to.”

“Look, Gabriel...” Jack tried before being interrupted,

“There weren’t supposed to be any civilian casualties!” Gabriel’s voice started to boom in a sort of echo, his body following in a stiff attempt convey his anger. “But I fucked up!”

Gabriel’s Kevlar helmet being smashed once more upon the desk before finding its final place on the floor was his last exhausting attempt to find some sort of grip, but it failed.

Tears had started streaming down, Gabriel’s voice drawing now as a seething whisper, “I took an innocent kid’s life away from him and I...”

“You did as you were told,” Jack’s voice was low, but clearly broken. A stiff posture disputed everything his eyes were conveying to the other soldier, brows furrowed above his own tears welling.

Gabriel’s red gaze met Jack’s, almost in disbelief of what was said to him, but his rage was pacified upon seeing him fully. “And that Talon bastard gets to live?!”

They both knew that a cell was reserved for the assassin to live out his days.

“Gabe, it was an accident.”

[thelockscreen]

esse homem é uma escultura

like or reblog if you use/save xx

don’t repost

[rob-pattinson]

EZRA MILLER GQ Style UK S/S 2020 › ph. Jeff Bark

[ezrapie]

[avalyriantale]

“Well, I’m no expert but I think you just killed that person.”

It would have been too cliche to say that it wasn't what it looked like. Honestly, it wasn't, but the explanation would not have saved him the same fate of a murderer. How do you explain to a guard that the body on the floor was a dead man who was risen from the dead for your own expiraments; that your necromancy was nothing like murder? Even so, Ardyl had no idea that the body would begin falling apart. Something wasn't right with that spell...

"I'm going to need you to face me with your hands up."

Limbs scattered on the floor along with Ardyl holding what appeared to be a severed arm against his blood-stained robe was the perfect crime scene for the guard. Yet, the elf was determined, "This is not as it appears."

Knowing that any sudden movements would likely cause him more trouble, the elf slowly placed the arm on the floor. Bloodied palms were presented to the guard as Ardyl moved forward with light steps.

"That's close enough! Now to turn with your hands behind you."

As instructed, Ardyl began facing away from the guard, hands slowly finding their way to his backside. The vigilant guard took a single step forward to bind the elf's hands, silently promising justice to the man who lay in pieces.

In a quick switch of his hand, the elf took hold of the guard's, turning himself and the guard so that the lawman now faced away from Ardyl. Vines had appeared over the guards wrists, thorns growing from them to secure their hold. The elf rested his chin on the screaming guard's shoulder as his own free hand now came closing in on the guard's face. Only a sliver of space was left between the bloody hand and the guard's face as Ardyl began drawing out what looked like black sand from the guard's mouth. Fingers started closing in on each other as the hand was drawn out, the black sand trailing from the guard, who's face was now taking the same form. It first began with his mouth, then eyes, but soon, the guard was unrecognizable; a black skeleton was all that was left of the man's face. His essence was now a hovering ball of dust that began smoking. Ardyl released the guard, his body falling from him as the the essence was released in a puff of black smoke.

The elf had no further use for either body, but only collected the parts of the man he had once risen before finding a place to dispose of them.

"Studies, dear guard; this is all I wish to accomplish."

[alicixvikandcr]

[avalyriantale]

Suffering

Having just been in a fight and is now dizzy, ears ringing

The brute that had been sitting to the elf’s right was not fond of the simple illusions that Ardyl had been showing the barmaid, who had been quite amused by his display. Refusing the hunter’s demand to cease the witchcraft, the elf continued to capture the barmaid’s attention with talk of grand voyages that lead him to defeat large trolls with illusions and conjuration alone. Perhaps the hunter had had one too many drinks or was jealous of how the elf had easily gathered company with the one who had been serving the drinks, but it was soon after that he’d forcefully yanked Ardyl from the bar, demanding that he’d continued on his voyages and allowed the rest of the tavern to be served. Knowing that he’d had every right to be there, the elf had given the hunter a smirk while raising his hands in a sort of surrender before moving back to his seat. The barmaid had moved to serve a few guests, even giving the hunter a drink, but then moved back to speak with the elf. 

Some of the patrons enjoyed the food and drink, but Ardyl was currently thankful for the conversation he’d been having with Leona. Just like the brutish hunter, many others in this part of the world would have looked at him with disdain and walked away if magic had been mentioned; it just was not practical them. 

Soon, the hunter grew tired of the conversation that the two were having and, once again, attempted to force the elf away from the bar before dragging him towards the door. Ardyl’s robe had ripped at the sleeve as he’d wiggled his way out of the hunter’s grasp, but the hunter had spun around and thrown a punch at the elf’s stomach. The blow had fallen onto his hip bone, knocking him back only slightly. Realizing that no words would have saved him from the hunter’s violent nature, Ardyl attempted to catch the second fist flying towards his shoulder and failed. It had been like electricity radiated from the hunter’s fist to Ardyl’s shoulder and collarbone, a throbbing pain sending him back once more. 

The elf had not had a chance to compose himself before he’d sent his own fists towards the brute, the attempts only falling short. Fighting was not a skill of his, but any knowledge he’d had of hand-to-hand combat had left him, leaving almost helpless. Trying to evade the situation was his only option. Leona had stated that they both needed to calm down or she would have them leave. The hunter heard none of it as several more of his blows had injured the elf, no matter how quickly Ardyl moved to keep from getting hit another time. 

Cool wooden panels now cradled the elf, his face leaving a bloody mark each time the hunter kicked him around. Ardyl found that for a brief moment, he could breathe; as painful as it was, it was possible. Yet, the moment was short lived as he’d felt his whole body being lifted effortlessly. He’d glanced up to see the barmaid running after the two, a distorted demand to put him down was the last thing Ardyl heard before his surroundings had gone dark.

The elf knew brutish hands were menacingly grasping his robe, feet dragging out the door, but the sudden obscurity left him defenseless. He’d been lifted higher, only to be thrown like a sack of flower towards the bench by the road. Ardyl had tumbled by it, but had rolled into the post, banging the side of his head. 

After being carelessly tossed out into the garden, the elf had quickly scattered around to find his bearings, once again preparing himself for another fight with an unsavory hunter. It was impossible to move without triggering some sort of pain, but he had gotten on his feet. The elf soon realized that it had been a mistake; playing dead would have been a better tactic. Through a hazy gaze, he could see that the barmaid was scolding the hunter for hurting the elf, the hunter only trying to get past her as she stated that he needed to leave. Words could not be distinguished through a sharp ringing in his ears, but the aggressive pointing away from the bar at least gave Ardyl the idea that the hunter was no longer welcome at the tavern. It had been the last thing he’d seen as he’d fallen back, the night sky now appearing like an abyss as he’d lost consciousness.

----

A wet rag had been gently pressed against what once was porcelain skin, attempting to clean several gashes with blood that painted Ardyl’s face. Even with his eyes closed, it had felt as if his eyes were scanning for some sort of clarity. It was pleasant; a cool, soft touch to wake him. Feather-light fingers moved damp strands of hair away from his face. His own fingers now sprawled out, feeling a woolen blanket underneath him. He was slightly comfortable, unsure of what was happening. But, he thought he was sitting on a wooden bar stool...

Where am I?

The electrifying sting had singed through the left side of his head.

Oh. Right.

The rag had brushed just a tad harshly over a wound on the tip of his ear, his entire body jolting forward. 

“I know, but keep still.” 

Leona had placed a gentle hand on his chest, easing him back down on the cot. The elf finally opened his eyes; at least the left eye. He could now see that Leona’s cream-colored shirt was stained with blotches of red from the collar to the cuffs. Was it the elf’s blood?

“Clearly, your charm doesn’t get you in trouble that often. Veris made a rag doll out of you.”

Ardyl had no words to her comment, only a blank one-eyed stare. The barmaid winced as she now could see how swollen his right eye was. Her lips parted to with an inhale as if her next words were troubling to say, but then decided to keep the thought to herself. It hurt less to keep both eyes closed, the elf relaxing as he’d figured that the worst was over. 

The silence was only occassionaly broken as the fire on logs cracked along with water dripping off of the rag that Leona had once again drenched and ringed out before continuing to wipe off any blood from the elf’s face. 

“Practicing illusions, perhaps, would merit such a response,” the elf’s voice was low, saving himself from the horse feeling if he’d gotten any louder, “If conversation calls for a beating, remind me not to demonstrate.”

“I’m guessing you can’t heal yourself?”

“One would think,” smirked the elf. Ardyl dedicated most of his studies to illusions and conjurations, as well as underappreciated forms of the arcane arts. Muttering in a quiet whisper was all he could manage, “I tend to cause more harm than good...”

Leona was unsure of how to receive his last confession. Was he remorseful that he couldn’t heal himself? She couldn’t tell, but she’d felt bad for him. The barmaid was only curious of studies, having very little interaction with mages or wizards in town.