[beauclaired]

[  𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐀 𝐆𝐎𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋?  ]  :  a  private  writing  blog  for  celine  marlow,  a  witcher  3  b&w  dlc  based  original character.  game  based  with  book  influences.  loved  by  nikita  ;  21+.  heavily  associated  with  @vaertein​. 

[saovaene-moved]

CELINE'S WITTY TONGUE IS A CONSTANT in a world that's ever changing. stubborn as she is kind, the lack of bite to her words only brings the echo of a grin to the elf's lips. indeed, unending errands seem to be his favourite. it has him forgive even her avoidant eyes. iorveth is quietly grateful to have crossed paths with her once more. something in him has grown fond of the sorceress and her earthy charm, her lack of misplaced arrogance those of her kind seem to be born with in his experience.

❛ ah, how could i forget your magical training in intrigue and trickery. ❜ an amused melody tugs at his tone then, and were she to turn to regard the elf who now walks behind her, celine would see a blaze in the green of his eye. ❛ i suppose it's all top secret. some mission that must be, to keep you out here in redanian forests. ❜ his curiousity is evident, asking in every way but words as to the meaning behind her mission, though that will be all he offers in the line of inquiry.

when their gazes meet then, his own mirth cools with the touch of her confession. ❛ don't go all soft on me, daerienn. might almost think you'd come to see me. ❜ a twinkle of his eye. how foolish that would be. ❛ let's not linger, my hideout isn't far. ❜ he nods then, deeper into the woods, away from the fading drums of the roses' march.

[beauclaired]

𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇 𝐀𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐏𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐊 in a half-hearted attempt to mask the wry grin that appears in response to his summary of her education (not wholly incorrect, just abbreviated). if anything, celine suspects she can detect a similar humor in him. it suits him despite its great rarity, she thinks absently as she treads over root and leaf more carefully than him, that hint of a smile. ❛ i hope you're not expecting that i divulge any of my secrets, ❜ she holds fewer than she might have expected once, less furtive agendas and more considerations of the heart, however ill-advised, ❛ they're far less impressive and significantly less just than all of your's, no doubt. you'd only just be disappointed, likely even bored. ❜

a huff of breath and, this time, there is no effort given to hide the smile that settles on her lips. ❛ watch yourself, iorveth, ❜ oh, but her tone is teasing now, fingers reaching out to brush over the silken moss lining the ancient trees surrounding them, ❛ if i didn't know better, i'd worry you think i was growing fond of you. ❜ she is, and has been, but it's easier to laugh around the edges of something difficult to consider.

❛ it's humbling, the forest, ❜ she states softly, thoughtfully, even as boots better suited for the cobbled streets of beauclair nearly snag on a twig, ❛ it makes one feel small, feel young, in a way cities can't. it's... not unpleasant, even if i've no interest in being humbled. ❜ a shrug of her shoulders as they continue, easy and light. it is not lost on her that the elf before her moves through it all effortlessly, silently, and not for the first time celine finds herself grateful that he does not call her an enemy. ❛ i should think this is a far more pleasant place than the sort you and i tend to meet in, iorveth. what a delightful change. ❜

[beauclaired]

celine is a fool

[beauclaired]

❛  go ahead. ❜ permission passes iorveth‘s lips quietly. just … be prepared, he is wont to say, yet recalls it would not be celine’s first time seeing the scar that carves through and disfigures the right half of his face. that leaves a hollow, where once shone a bright green eye. he waits, watching her eyes and discarding all snark. although a tinge of bitterness lingers, if only faint.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 (and last) time she had seen his scar stirs in her mind at the permission offered. their circumstances been dire and her actions a result of immediate concern as much as any care, but this... this feels like trust, an intimacy delicate enough that her fingers very nearly tremble when they brush against worn cloth. they do not, however, as he deserves better than that, and when careful knot slips loose, the recognition that he is beautiful sweeps over her.

iorveth must have been a different type of beautiful before the scar, before the marring, possessing that sharp, impossible loveliness of his kin, but now the beauty in him sings of survival, of a perpetual rebellion, and he is radiant with it.

celine does not turn her gaze, not like last time, and instead it traces slowly over darkened socket and harsh cheekbone, mottled scar and mouth. instinctively, reflexively, a hand lifts and there is a moment's pause, one brief, last chance for him to snare her wrist and turn her aside, and then her fingers are resting feather light against his cheek. he sees her in ways that go beyond words, perhaps even beyond understanding, and she him, (that much was always clear, from the very beginning) and it is this confusing, blissful recognition that has her mouth briefly tilt towards his. the sorceress pauses however, this is something must be asked rather than assumed, and when her dark gaze finds his it is bright with a silent request.

[beauclaired]

does your character shop at the same h&m as yennefer of vengerberg y/n

[saovaene-moved]

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄, this sorceress. he might almost think her kind less despicable, if only more of them were like celine of gors velen. ❛  they've begun the hunt on the elder folk again, as you'll surely have heard. ❜ there is something to his features then, as though they had become stone, hardened in place by a century old anger that has yet to abate, that has only carved its way deeper. ❛  as for me ... ❜

a strange question. and even stranger yet that he deliberates an honest answer beyond a snide remark that holds up the shield of pretense. that he is fine, that his knees do not bend and fatigue never takes him.

iorveth pushes aside a branch, holding it up to wait until celine has passed it by. ❛  i've been seeking purpose, i suppose, ❜ they answer at last, quietly almost, murmuring under their breath. do you not see ? i am weary and restless all at once. ❛  what of you, daerienn ? i would have thought you long returned to your duchy. ❜

[beauclaired]

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒 sharp features; she has heard of the renewed vitriol against his folk, yet another surge in a ceaseless storm. there's hardly anywhere left on the continent for non-humans to dwell peacefully, but always have the elves bore the harshest brunt of hatred. ❛ yes-, ❜ she states somberly, softly, as her gaze seems unable to meet his, ❛ word has reached toussaint. ❜

slipping gracefully past the branch with a quick incline of her head in thanks, celine allows a brow to lift amusedly. ❛ of course you would go & pick an unending errand, iorveth. purpose is difficult to find and even harder to take firm grasp of once determined. ❜ (she's still not found it herself, truthfully, and as the years have gone by the sorceress has come to understand why so many of her sisters have confused power for purpose.)

an amused huff of breath falls from her lips as they walk and the rich, damp scent of the forest is a welcome change from the bustling streets of toussaint, the markets and harbor. ❛ no, not just yet. i'm a sorceress, iorveth, aretuza would refuse to recognize me as a graduate if i didn't have some hidden machination i was pursuing.❜ the hidden machination is, no doubt underwhelmingly in the eyes of many, ensuring the few who linger in her mind, and especially one in particular, are well. ❛ hardly anything as meaningful as your quest for purpose, of course. ❜ a brief pause, her gaze meeting his as humor fades to be replaced by honesty. ❛ i'm very glad to see you alive, iorveth, i don't take it for granted. ❜

[beauclaired]

the chokehold bg3 has on me

[beauclaired]

a quick little starter call :)

[beauclaired]

after a solid year of brutally disappointing fantasy content, baldurs gate 3 is healing me

[beauclaired]

celine is simply not horny for geralt she is built different (she is built worse)

[sangreals-archive]

𝙲𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙴 𝙼𝙰𝚁𝙻𝙾𝚆 𝙾𝙵 𝙶𝙾𝚁𝚂 𝚅𝙴𝙻𝙴𝙽: 2/?

[beauclaired]

a quick little starter call :)

[beauclaired]

a quick little starter call :)

[beauclaired]

BEAUCLAIRED : [  𝘪  𝘢𝘮  𝘢  𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘭  𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘱  𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯𝘦𝘥  𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩  𝖆  𝖒𝖆𝖌𝖕𝖎𝖊'𝖘  𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖙  ;  𝘯𝘰𝘵  𝘢  𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯  𝘵𝘰  𝘣𝘦  𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘥  𝘣𝘶𝘵  𝘢  𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯  𝖙𝖔  𝖇𝖊  𝖘𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖉   𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒. ]  a  private  writing  blog  for  an  original  character  based  in  the  witcher  3′s  b&w  dlc  .  game  based  with  book  influences.  loved  by  nikita,  21+. 

[bladewarde]

The feeling is something shy of coming home. Laera knows she's coming close to her destination when the scenery becomes a little more floral, a vibrancy to the buildings and even the people that would scarce be found in places like Velen. Celine has always left a place open for her in her lady's home, likely because she proved herself worthy more than a few times, and she also bears the title of ' old acquaintance ' to the esteemed court mage. Celine offers a much welcomed familiarity; neither does she pry into what she gets up to when she leaves the immaculate boundaries of Toussaint. Even when they were girls -- fledgling sorceresses -- she always possessed a courtesy

They sit together on a balcony, a lull in their conversation offering a chance to listen to the gentle hum of conversation below; the soft whisper of the wind, and the surrounding birdsong. Laera's taken liberty to rid herself of her armour, replaced with a plain shirt and trousers, her orange hair hanging loose its usual style. ❝ When you graduated Aretuza, did you ever think you'd end up 'ere? ❞ She asks, breaking the tranquility with an inquiry that she's often wondered.

@beauclaired / ♥

[beauclaired]

slender fingers absently tap against the wine glass cradled between them. it's a habit that accompanies most evenings within beauclair's walls, truthfully, though an admittedly expensive bottle subtly withdrawn from the duchessa's stores has been uncorked in recognition of her visitor. lips purse with a gentle bemusement as celine considers the question, gaze flickering over towards laera. "regardless of whether you mean a court or toussaint specifically, the answer to both is no," a hint of a smile appears, lazy and relaxed in a way that few manage to conjure from her, "i was terrified i'd end up serving some backwoods noble or stowed away within some moldy tower, abandoned to the dull corners of the continent."

it has been a true fear in those days, one that had cut deep enough to draw relentless ambition from her. there was no family to advocate on her behalf, no connections by which a position might be leveraged. no, it had been only her and her magic and the burning refusal to be nothing. "and what of you?" a brow perks as she reaches for the bottle and fills laera's glass once more, "did you think when you left that you'd be living a life of adventure, of the sort of thrill most only encounter in tales?" while her tone is playful, there remains a genuine affection in her words. "i fear my life here must be insufferably boring to you, laera."

[beauclaired]

love that celine is just....not there for most of the events of the witcher novels. battle of sodden hill? at aretuza about to graduate. thanedd? down in beauclair day drinking.

[saovaene-moved]

❛ do you hear the drums ?    ❜ a sharp glance directed east, the rhythmic thrum almost thunder-like in his ears. thinned lips form a sneering grimace. ❛   do they think to drive out the plague with their torturous sounds ?   ❜ an insult to music, if you asked iorveth, who waves at @beauclaired to keep moving.

𝙻𝚈𝚁𝙸𝙲 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚂

[beauclaired]

jaw is set hard enough to ache as she walks, that old, familiar dread churning within the pit of her stomach. when disease had swept through gors velen all those years ago, it had come swiftly and without mercy, but this? death is so present here as to have it's own rhythm. "better the hands of living go to those drums," dark gaze slides to the elf aside her, his expression bearing the usual annoyance she has come to expect from him, "than other devices. fear can make idle hands as lethal as any plague."

tightening her cloak around her shoulders instinctively, the sorceress considers her words for a moment before continuing softly, "what of your kin? how have they fared?" any question asked of iorveth bears the chance of sharp rebuttal, words as piercing as any arrow from familiar quiver, but such has never stopped her before. if anything, a small part of her likes to think that the cutting edges of him have somewhat dulled towards her. "how have you fared, iorveth?"